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Welcome to Hell
…

For all intents and purposes, let’s just call me V. I’m twenty-two years of age, but well beyond my years in knowledge. I’ve been there, done that, won the piece of shit award and put it in a box with the rest of my dirty laundry. No matter how old I get, people still continue to look at me the same way. Too young to be experienced and too old to experiment. I don’t want to get into niceties, as my story isn’t something I want you to remember. There is no happily ever after for me or for the people whose lives I poison. I don’t intend on doing this forever, just until I find myself, however long that takes. I don’t feel guilty about the things I’ve done in the past to get where I’m at and I’m not sure that I ever will. I look like an angel, but I’m built for sin. And I sin, oh how I sin. Lust, greed, gluttony, pride; you name it, I’ve done it. I have no family and no friends. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. You see, I have a tendency to steal the souls of those that love me. Now this isn’t some paranormal story, so get that out of your head before we even begin. I just mean in a realistic sense. I literally bring men and women to their knees and make them bow down before me. I wish that I could change. Except, not really. I am who I am, deal with it.

I
’m currently kicking it in New York, NY and loving it here. I have enough cash to get me by, but I still do odd jobs here and there. I’m pretty much good at anything. I’m a fast learner. I tend to travel sporadically and never settle in one place for too long. I can almost hear the wheels in your mind turning. Why would a twenty-two year old girl be traveling around by herself, you ask? Simple, I don’t settle. I never have and I never will. Life can be gone in a blink of an eye and I want mine to be filled with fun, passion and sensory overload. Notice that I didn’t mention love. That thing, it’s just not in the cards for me. I’m not sad or upset about it, I’ve come to terms with the way I’ve been hard wired long ago. I’m a creature of want. I get what I want, from who I want, whenever I want, and I feel no remorse for the paths I choose to cross on my way. This is just another stop on my journey of total gratification and then I can die a happy woman. Live fast, die young…my motto. I have it tattooed on the inside of my wrist. I have so many tattoos now that I can hardly keep track. Every place I visit, I get something that is meaningful to that chapter in my life story. I’m a walking canvas and I have few qualms about strangers examining the artwork. I am beautiful on the outside and a dark pit on the inside. A pretty present wrapped in an expertly wrapped bow. I use good looks to my advantage. Like a black widow spider, I lure in my mates and use them to fulfill me. Use and be used, I’ll never get enough. By this story’s end, you’ll be both intrigued and disgusted with the workings of my world and I’m okay with that. Let’s just say you’ll get absolutely nothing out of this. You question why there is no moral to the story, you have no remembrance of names or places, and I’m just a tiny blip on your radar, nothing but a small hindrance of emotion that crawls its way into your brain and refuses to exit. That, my friends, is when my work is done.

You make my heart beat faster
.

I walk the city streets with a chip on my shoulder and a story to tell. The vibrant noises fill my ears and I walk down the sidewalk like I own the place. I don’t live far from the clubs and bars, so I don’t mind calling a cab or walking. I’ve never owned a car in my life. I don’t even have a driver’s license. I feel like a small fish in a big pond and I don’t like it. I like being in charge, dominant to a fault. I’m in charge of my own destiny and I hold nobody else accountable for my actions or the way the tides turn. I’m heading to Club Thirteen. The name I’ll never fully understand. It makes the place sound like a pre-teen hangout, but it’s actually a really laid back and fun place to be. I’m dressed to kill in a tight white mini-dress and blood red stilettos. I wear white to feel virginal. I’m the lamb laid out to be slaughtered. I decide against any jewelry tonight, wanting the attention to be on my body and not my bling. I go light with makeup, except blood red lipstick to match the shoes. I have long blonde hair. It almost looks natural. It’s amazing how easily us women can change our looks, our makeup, our clothes, and still look like we’re supposed to look. My tattoos are proudly on display tonight, the dress leaves little to the imagination. I’m petite and I hate it. People look at me like I’m some innocent young girl—if only they knew. People will think what they want, no matter how much realism you force in their faces, so I’ve given up trying. I’ve decided to own the innocence, to portray the little girl just the way they picture. It’s just easier that way.

The bouncers let me in immediately, all I have to do is flash my pearly whites and I
’m golden. Like I’d ever fucking wait in a line as long as that, get real. I can hear the people whining behind me, they’ve been here for hours, yada yada. Don’t care, call me selfish, oh well. I enter the smoky club and make my way past all of the grinding, sweaty animals and take a seat at the bar. I light up a Marlboro menthol and inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs to full capacity. Just the way I need it. The bartender ignores all of the mediocre looking individuals and eases his way into my space.

“What can I get ya
, doll?” he asks with an adorable accent. I’m originally from the Midwest, so I’d consider myself to be accent-free. I do let a bit of southern twang slip every now and then when it’s to my advantage. I take a long drag of my cigarette and exhale the smoke fluidly into his face. He has the look of a lost puppy dog, and despite my brashness he wants me, I can tell. I don’t blame him. If there’s one thing that looks good on me, its pure sexuality. My body is every bit woman, all soft and curvy in just the right places. I take care of myself because why the hell not?

“I’ll take a rum and coke on the rocks, please.” I bat my eyelashes and he’s putty in my hands. He rushes off to make my drink and returns in less than five minutes. He brings me a bowl of cherries, which I didn’t ask for
, mind you. Something about cherries equates to being a whore and men crave the shit out of watching women eat them. I put my cigarette out in the provided ashtray, loving the way my lipstick stains the end. I’ve always found smoking to be sexy. I get all the hoopla about tasting like an ashtray, etcetera, but just the way it looks, the movement, and the mouth…yum.

I take a long sip of my drink
, which is absolutely made to perfection. Too much rum and very little coke, just the way I like it. There’s no possible way for him to know that, though. This bartender is just trying to get me drunk, and right now, I’m appreciative of him. Hard to find an attentive bartender in New York. The clubs are always packed wall to wall and most of the women look relatively attractive, dressed to the nines. You have to stand out to get some attention in this city. Mr. Bartender watches my lips the entire time I drink and I’m determined to give him a good show. I take a cherry from the bowl in front of me and suck the tiny red fruit into my mouth, savoring the taste on my puckered lips. After eating the cherry, I take the stem and pop it onto my tongue for show. I tie it in a knot and push it out of my mouth until it slides out from between my lips. He’s practically salivating and I can’t help but giggle as the thought of the Pavlov’s dog experiment circulates in my mind. He stares at me and gives me a crooked grin like I’m laughing with him and not at him. Like I said, putty in my hands.

“What ya doin
’ after four, doll?” he questions. Must be the time he gets off work.

“You, if you’re lucky. Are you feeling lucky
, love?” I run my crimson fingernail down his chest as he leans over the bar. I wink, grab my drink, and stand to walk elsewhere.

“I’m feeling pretty lucky tonight
, sexy. Meet me back here at four and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do in the meantime. By the way, I didn’t catch your name?”

“You can call me V.”

The smile on my face cannot be rivaled as I walk away without looking back. The feeling of being wanted gives me a high like no other. Little does he know I won’t be meeting him when he’s off work. Hopefully he’ll meet one of the other drunk girls in this bar that’s a little bit more his speed. Who am I kidding? I don’t give a damn if he meets anyone or not. The guy’s cute, but I’m yearning for a little more than that tonight. I need intense physical and primal attraction. I want lust in every sense of the word. I want to be fucked thoroughly and not by some guy that claims to have a big dick, but is really sporting a millimeter peter and doesn’t know how to use it. In the last couple of years I’ve become a very good judge of character, and frankly, I can tell who knows how to fuck and do it properly. The more confident, the better. I continue gliding through the crowd, sipping my drink down to the last drop as I go. Believe it or not, I’m a lightweight and already feel just tipsy enough to have a good time and not make an ass out of myself. I don’t ever drink to get drunk. I like to have my wits about me. I may come off to others as a naive little girl, but I’m far from it. I’ve been around the block a time or two and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

I set my empty glass down on the tray of a passing waitress. I catch her eye and lick my lips as I devour her. The uniform of this place is a barely there white top and a plaid school girl skirt. She has
on knee high socks and Mary Jane shoes. I can see her black bra through her white shirt and her double D sized breasts trying to escape the bra’s tight grasp. I want to skim my tongue over the top of her cleavage and watch goose bumps pop up on her tanned skin. She has long brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. She looks exotic and has curves in all of the right places. She instantly recognizes me checking her out and likes the attention, I can tell. I highly doubt she’s ever been with a woman unless it was for attention or some type of drunken escapade. I feel an immense urge to take her places she’s never imagined. As much as I love being railed hard and fast by a man, it doesn’t compete with an orgasm given by a woman. They know what you want and how to give it to you. It’s not just about self-gratification for a woman, well, at least not most women. There’s an exception to every rule, I’m one of the exceptions. I’ve found that females are more attuned with the needs of another’s body. As far as an actual relationship goes, woman are too catty for me. Too clingy and absorbed. Not that I’m a relationship type of gal in general anyway.

I saunter around her curvy frame and get a nice long look at her back end. She
’s built like a girl you would see in a rap music video. She has an hour glass shape and a huge ass. I want to kiss every inch of it. She giggles at my scrutinizing and throws her butt out even farther for show. It’s funny to me how I can turn straight girls gay. Seducing has never been a difficult task for me. Most human beings thrive on pleasure and it doesn’t matter to them how they get it. I place both hands on her hips and pull her against my chest.

“You and
me, bathroom, now.” Normally I’m a lot more subtle in my attempts, but just looking at her has me wet and needing, and the fact that I’m slightly tipsy doesn’t help. I pull no stops when it comes to being sexually sated. She giggles again, places her tray down on a vacant table, and leads the way to the tiny employee restroom located in the back of the bar. I’m sure other employees notice me going in that direction, but nobody stops us.

She steps into the bathroom first and I follow immediately after, locking the door behind me. She climbs on top of the sink counter and hikes her skirt up to her waist, revealing a tiny black thong. Her pussy lips are visibly wet through the straining fabric. I can smell her sweet musk and I
’m hoping it tastes as good as it smells. I step closer and save the small talk, running my fingers gently up her exposed legs. When I reach the top of her thighs, she begins to whimper and beg.

“Please touch me
,” she requests.

“Touch what?” I ask her sweetly and bat my eyelashes. I enjoy playing coy. If I make people think they have one up on me
, then I’m always a step ahead. I continue my trail until I reach the outside of her panties and lightly trace her swollen lips. I bend down and place my mouth where my hands were taking residence and suck with such force that she screams out in ecstasy and I haven’t even removed her panties yet.

“My pussy, please eat my pussy!”
she begs. I’m slightly taken aback that she’s so blunt. She appeared to be really shy at first. Not that a shy girl would allow a strange woman to eat her out, but more in her demeanor. She appeared to be nervous, even though her voice sounded confident when she spoke. Or in this case, begged.

“Your wish is my command.” And with that I pull her panties to the side, stick my tongue inside her beautiful pink pussy, lapping up every ounce of sweet nectar and tongue fucking her sweet center until she falls apart and screams for mercy. She pulls my hair and bucks against my red lips as I lick and suck every inch. I’m eating her like it’s my last meal and I don’t hear any complaints. She comes quickly at first, so I slow down and pay special attention to her clit. I suck it into my mouth, all the while running my hands down her legs and back up her body. After she comes for a second time and urges me to stop, I step back and look at my handiwork. Her brown hair is knotted in a mass on top of her head and she looks too disheveled to just pick up and head back to work.

“Did you like that, baby?” I demand. I trail my fingers up the front of her and peel off her white top. I unclasp her bra and throw it on the floor with her shirt. She has the most beautiful pair of tits I’ve ever seen, with the exception of my own, of course. I attempt to grab each in a hand, but they are much more than a handful’s worth. I draw her right nipple into my mouth and lick around her dark aureoles. She moans and begins to yank my hair again. I can only imagine how thoroughly fucked I look just from her pulling my hair and she hasn’t even touched me yet.

“
Mm-mm,” she murmurs and sheepishly smiles at me. “Love.” 

“Are you normally such a naughty girl? Letting a stranger play with your delectable pussy in the bathroom at work?” I inquire. She giggles and I smile at her.

“Only if they’re as gorgeous as you,” she answers. Flattery, the way to a woman’s heart.

“Would you like it if I played for a little longer?” I ask. I already know the answer. She wants it as much as I want to give it to her. My pussy is screaming for attention, but I need to keep the yearning at bay for a little while longer and show her that I can take her places with just the use of my tongue and fingers. Once I gain her trust, I can take her whenever I want. And I want a lot.

“Please do. I’ve never had such an intense orgasm before. I usually can only get off at the hand of my battery-operated boyfriend.” She stares into my eyes and I can’t help but break my cardinal rule and kiss her on her beautiful nude colored lips. Our tongues intertwine and dance together in perfect sync. I knead her breasts and barely notice hands gripping my ass and pulling me into a huge, hard bulge. I quickly turn around, breaking the connection of our mouths.

“What the hell!” I scream and a big hand is placed firmly against my mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s just me.” I recognize the voice, but am still confused by the sudden intrusion. I try to respond, but only muffled noise is coming out.

“I’ll move my hand away if you promise not to scream
,” he replies smoothly. I nod vigorously. He’s lucky I recognize his face or else I would have hurt the fuck out of him and made sure he was never able to use his dick again. He moves his hand away and I gasp for air. The warm, stale air in his hand just wasn’t doing it for me.

“What the fuck
, Bartender?” I’m seething and he throws me a goofy smirk like everything is just fine.

“I can’t help myself
, Blondie. I saw you and Eryn come in here and I had to follow. I could hear the moaning from outside the door and you two made my dick so hard it’s about to break it off if I don’t bury myself inside one of you right now. I have a master key to all of the doors.” I pant at his honesty. I’ve never had a guy be so forceful with me before and usually I wouldn’t let one get away with it. But for the sake of fun, I’m going to let this play out.

“And what exactly do you intend to do about your little problem?” I question.

Eryn is entirely too silent behind me, so I turn around and see what’s going on. She looks as white as a ghost.