Her Last Trick
- 6 months ago
- 19 min read
- 1,000 views
Jenna Morris sat at the bar, nursing a tonic water.
Her brother, Dale Morris, sat in a booth, across from the bar, pretending he didn't know her. He was big, a muscle-bound tough. He wore a loose-fitting black jersey, as much to hide his physique as to conceal the identifying tattoos on his arms and chest. The bar was dimly lit. Smokey. One of those places men go nightly to drink themselves to death.
Dale had found it. He knew all the hustles.
Jenna worked to keep her eyes off Dale. He'd paid to get her fine black hair cut short, spiky. He'd even bought a stud for her nose. It was Dale's way of boosting her confidence. She loved the look but couldn't escape the nagging self-doubts she felt wearing it.
She fidgeted on her stool, looking to the man sitting on her left. He was big, broad-shouldered, with dark, smoldering eyes. He'd purchased the tonic water she now held in her hand. Not long ago, the barkeep had placed the glass in front of her and then nodded to where the man sat across the bar. Jenna had grinned at him appreciatively. He'd crossed the bar and took the seat next to her. His size alarmed her, but Dale had dealt with bigger men. Jenna and Dale had a good hustle together. Jenna would take the mark into the parking lot and agree to satisfy him for a small fee. She always insisted on getting her money upfront. "You can't unsuck a cock," she'd chirp. Her youthful exuberance always made the marks grin.
Jenna would toy with the mark until her brother showed up. He was ruthless. Barred from the UFC for life, Dale knew how to take a man down. He was quick. Deliberate.
"What's your name?" the big man sitting next to her asked.
Jenna could feel the nervous tension in her tummy. Except for a brief appraisal, before he took his seat, he hadn't even looked at her. He held his whiskey to his mouth and scanned the room.
"Natasha," Jenna said. Her voice sounded high pitched. Squeaky.
The mark slowly turned his head to her, a big grin on his face. He seemed to know it wasn't her real name. He had a bald head and a strong chin. Jenna could see some sort of tattoo peeking out from the neck of his jersey.
He lowered his drink to the bar and appraised her body.
Jenna's cheeks went hot, but she enjoyed the warmth. She liked the look in a man's eyes as he calculated her worth. Not her true worth, but the amount he was willing to pay for twenty or so minutes of her time. She wore cutoff jeans and a halter top. Leather combat boots, laced just above her ankle. Dale felt her best bet was to dress like an innocent—some sort of truant, a waif, or a runaway. But he warned her not to overdo it. He'd given her a fake driver's license that said she was drinking age and she needed to look the part.
She swiveled on the stool to give the mark a better look. Make her intentions clearer. She crossed and then uncrossed her legs, tapping her boney knees together. Tossing out her small breasts, she bit her lower lip and watched his eyes slide to her navel, her slender hips.
The big man leaned forward.
He put his lips near her ear, a hand on her knee. He whispered that he would give her one hundred dollars if she would let him "go" in her mouth.
Jenna felt an electric pulse in her groin.
A few weeks ago, on her birthday, Dale had come to collect her from Saint Joseph's Orphanage for Abandoned Girls. She'd been living there since she was eight years old. She'd yet to sit with a boy in a darkened theater. She'd never felt a boy's hand in her own, nor walked with a boy under an umbrella. She'd never felt her shoulder collide with a boy's, listening to the patter of raindrops above her head.
Saint Joe's had certainly never offered her an occasion to let a boy go in her mouth.
She squeezed her thighs together, sipping her tonic water. Setting her glass down, she held up two bony fingers. She looked at the mark.
"Two hundred," she whispered.
He straightened on his stool. She didn't know why she was asking for so much. It wasn't like the negotiations even mattered. After Dale knocked him out, they would just take all his money.
The big man stood and knocked back his drink.
Jenna focused on her sweaty glass. She was afraid to look. If he walked off, she would have to lie to Dale. Make something up. They would have to get back on the road again. Move on to the next little town. Sleep in Dale's van. Maybe this time they could head towards Florida. California. Someplace warm. Jenna hesitantly cut her eyes to the mark.
He grinned. Tilted his head toward the door.
Jenna's mouth dried up. Negotiations did matter. They mattered to her.
Two. Hundred. Dollars.
Her heart beat faster, her pussy grew moist. Now she wanted to suck the big man's cock. Wanted to somehow repay him for what he had just given her. Slipping from the stool, Jenna couldn't suppress a big, silly grin.
Two hundred dollars.
She forced herself not to look at Dale.
Jenna briskly strode to the spot Dale had shown her. It was in the alley behind the bar, past a small fenced-in area for dumpsters. The mark suggested spots of his own, but Jenna kept a purposeful stride, rattling off excuses why those other places wouldn't do. Slipping into a small but surprisingly deep brick alcove, she turned to face the mark.
A streetlamp in the alley threw the alcove into deep shadow. The mark looked around and took a deep breath. Turning his back to the alley, he gazed at Jenna.
She hugged her arms, though the night air was still quite warm.
He reached for her, stroking her neck. She nuzzled his hand and grinned. She held her hand out, rubbing her fingertips together.
"Money?" she asked.
The mark laughed and reached into his pocket.
"Right," he said. "Can't unsuck a cock."
Jenna looked at him curiously. She'd been saying that to marks for weeks and could no longer remember where she got it. It wasn't hers, but she'd never heard anyone else say it before.
He starte d flipping through the wad of bills in his hand, but then just handed all of the money to her. "Count it," he said.
Jenna felt a warm buzzing in her pussy as she flipped through the bills. Slipping the cash into her shorts, she licked her lips.
This was maybe her favorite part. Once in Atlantic City, she'd watched a young black man stroke his cock until the big head glistened with something wet. She'd wanted to reach out, touch the moisture with her finger. Put her finger in her mouth. In Scranton, she'd actually placed her hand on the throbbing bulge in a truck driver's pants. He'd had curly red hair and sky blue eyes. As Jenna massaged his manhood, she watched him close his eyes, and then his head suddenly lurched forward with the force of Dale's punch. At the Jersey shore, she'd only just reached out to the black man's penis before he went tumbling head over heels into the sand.
She watched this mark undo his belt. He opened his pants, lowered his fly, then fished his penis out of his shorts. Jenna gazed at his long cock. It was pink and veined, a thick shaft that arced gently toward her, its bulbous head swaying, like some sort of naked charmer.
Jenna felt a delicious rise in the alley's temperature.
She looked into the mark's eyes, seeing his desire. It was just how she'd always imagined a boyfriend might look at her. She reached out, gingerly touching the shaft with her fingertips. She blew air gently from her lungs. Using both her hands, she held her first dick. She felt its warmth. Felt it grow in her hands.
She listened for the soft padding of footsteps. Hearing nothing, she quickly bent over and nuzzled her cheek on his cock.
Jenna stood. She chuckled. Beside herself with her own good fortune, her cheek tingled where his cock had been. She let go of his penis, then wiped her hands on her shorts.
A dog barked somewhere far away.
For the first time since she'd started working with Dale, she considered what she'd do if he didn't show up. A stab of nervous energy coursed through her chest and Jenna chewed her bottom lip. Dale always showed up.
Suddenly the mark startled as if he had just remembered something. "Oh," he said. "Right."
He reached for the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head. His chest was magnificent, hairless, and tattooed, his arms thick like muscled oak. He deftly folded his shirt in half, then half again, and placed it on the ground at his feet.
Jenna felt her knees go weak. Where was Dale?
Her heart raced but she smiled.
She reached out to the mark, taking his hands in her own. She held onto him for a few seconds, then used his hands to lower herself to her knees.
She looked up at him, looked at the cock wobbling between them.
Her precious chastity was on the line. Her mind raced through images of all her wholesome friends back at the orphanage. She saw her best friend in fourth grade, Ela Johnson, head bowed, lips moving in silent prayer. She saw the faces of stern priests and pious nuns.
She took the stiff cock in her hand.
She looked away, waiting for as long as she dared. When nothing happened, she simply turned her head, opened her mouth, and wrapped her sweet, young lips around his big pink head. For the first time in her life, Jenna had a cock in her mouth.
It was warm. It didn't taste like anything, really. Maybe a little salty. She put her hands on his hips. Forced herself to relax.
His dick is inside me, she thought.
Soft slurping noises came from her mouth. His pubic hair caressed her nose.
I'm sucking a cock, she thought. I'm sucking a cock.
He grew in her mouth.
She took him from her mouth with a noisy slurp, stroking his big dick in her fist. She was breathing heavily. Fisting the wet length of it, she looked up, grinning.
"Does this make me a cocksucker?" she whispered. The question popped into her mind and came out of her mouth before she could stop it.
She felt embarrassed. To prevent herself from saying anything more, she put him right back into her mouth. She used her fists, her tongue. She hoped against hope that she was doing it right. She remembered the money he had given her and redoubled her effort. Jenna had to stop every so often to catch her breath. During one of her breaks, she found herself listening for Dale, only this time she hoped he wouldn't arrive.
Soon she heard the mark grunt.
He took her head in both his hands and began rocking his hips. His fingers splayed in her short, punky hair. Jenna knew what was about to happen. If she felt a little trepidation for what she was about to receive, she no longer felt self-conscious about her hair. He would be the first man to go in her mouth, just as he'd said he would. She promised herself she would at least taste it.
And just as Jenna made this promise, the first splash of juice hit the back of her throat. It went down before she could stop it. Before she could even taste it. She felt some disappointment, but she didn't have long to wait for a second chance. Another warm stream followed the first. She repositioned his cock and let his semen pool on her tongue.
He grunted and milked himself.
With his cock in her mouth, she watched his abdomen seize and release. She noted the way his tummy contracted in synchronization with the fresh sprays he added to her mouth. Soon he slowed his writhing, stopped his squirts.
With a noisy slurp, Jenna removed his cock. She looked at him, her eyes wide. Her mouth filled with his warm, bitter cum.
"You don't have to—"
Jenna lowered her head and worked the muscles in her throat. She swallowed it all. Looking back up, she gasped. She rubbed her palms on the legs of his pants.
He made a lusty growl deep in his chest.
Jenna remained on her knees, panting. She knelt to give herself time to think. She knelt to come to terms with what she had just done.
I sucked a cock.
I swallowed a mouthful of cum.
Jenna felt a warm pride blossoming in her chest. She'd finally done it.
For two hundred dollars.
She felt the fat lump of bills stuffed in her shorts and thought: I'm a whore.
Jenna winced. She bit her lip.
A cocksucking whore.
She swallowed to temper the taste in her mouth. She watched as he began assembling his pants. Suddenly his head jerked violently forward.
Jenna quickly sat back on her haunches.
The mark toppled forward, his arms rising to protect his head. Dale was on him, peppering his kidneys and head with hard thudding blows. Scrambling to safety, Jenna watched the two men go to war. She cringed when the mark connected with her brother's head.
But then Dale threw the big man over his shoulder, and Jenna felt a pang of something in her chest. She'd never felt anything for a mark before. He was on the ground, doubled over, his head locked between Dale's powerful arms.
Jenna stepped forward.
The mark's eyes were clenched, his face bright red with exertion. She could see a huge vein throbbing in his forehead. She reached out to him with the tips of her fingers. His eyes popped open. He looked as if he wanted to say something to her. Jenna tilted her head. She moved as close as she dared.
For a moment, he had the most peaceful expression.
And then his eyes lost focus.
He noisily exhaled.
His eyes closed and his body went limp.
Dale groaned with relief. He relaxed his grip. The big man's head lolled forward, then pitched back. Jenna caught it in both her hands, a big, sweaty melon. As Dale extricated himself from his opponent, she lowered the mark's head to the blacktop. She retrieved his shirt and used it as a pillow, nestling his head into the soft folds.
Dale was breathing hard, rifling the mark's pants pockets.
"Nothing," Dale said. "He has no money."
Jenna reached into her jeans. Grabbing the wad of bills, she gave it to Dale. "He has no other money?" she asked.
Ignoring her question, Dale asked: "You okay? Did he . . ."
Jenna averted her eyes.
"I got stopped by the cops coming out of the bar," Dale said. He began counting the money in his hands. He sounded defensive, he sounded guilty. He had blood on his lip, and he wiped it with the back of his hand.
Jenna looked at her mark.
He'd had two hundred dollars. He'd given it all to her, just because she'd asked. She brushed a bit of dirt from his forehead. He'd thought she was worth it.
"Jenna," Dale said, his voice sharp.
She looked at her brother.
"Did he . . ." Dale's eyes blazed.
He searched for the right words. "Did he hurt you?" Dale wanted to know if the mark had stuck his cock in her mouth.
She had a bitter taste that started at the back of her throat and went all the way to her core. The mark's fly was open and she could see the print on his boxer shorts. She rested her hand on his sculpted chest. She felt it rise, felt it fall.
"Dale," she said evenly. She didn't know how to begin.
Dale lunged forward, grabbing the mark by the neck and cocking his fist back, but Jenna threw herself over the man's unconscious body, pressing his big head between her small breasts.
She glared at her brother. "Dale!" she hissed.
Dale made a low animal growl deep in his throat. Twisting his face, he gritted his teeth and made an obscene grin. He turned and punched the brick wall, his fist landing with a dull thud.
He punched the wall three more times in rapid succession, punctuating each blow with an ugly grunt.
"I can't do this anymore," Jenna said.
She gently returned the mark's head to the makeshift pillow, got to her feet, and then strode down the alley. Her chest welled with emotion. She swallowed and swallowed and swallowed but the mark's taste remained.
"Jenna," Dale called, trying to keep his voice low.
She heard him padding after her. He grabbed her arm and spun her around.
"I'm staying here," she said.
She pulled her arm from his grip.
"This shit hole?" Dale asked. "Do you even know where you are?"
Jenna spun on her heel, giving Dale her back.
"Keep the money," she said, moving purposefully toward the street. She called out proudly over her shoulder, "It's two hundred dollars."
She turned the corner, making her way back toward town. The night was dark and she was dressed to pick up men. The bad taste in her mouth would not relent. The streetlights cast lonely pools of light. She found herself on a deserted stretch of road, used car lots and fields of dandelion on one side, the dark remnants of some sort of mill stretching out into the distance on the other.
Dale's van pulled up to her, one of its cylinders tapping noisily as it inched alongside her. Dale leaned over, rolling the passenger window down.
"Did he hurt you?"
Jenna stopped. The van came to a halt with a soft squeal.
She hugged her arms, refusing to look inside the cabin of the vehicle.
"Look," Dale said. "I'm sorry I was late."
"He didn't do anything to me that I didn't already want doing," Jenna said.
She felt tears welling up in her eyes. Cocksucker, cocksucker, cocksucker. She kept her face turned away from Dale. Didn't want to look him in the eye. Didn't want to see his disappointment.
"It's my fault," Dale said. "I was late."
His voice was soft.
He was trying, but he still didn't get it.
"I can't work with you anymore Dale." Jenna sighed. "I'm staying here." She didn't exactly know where here was, but it was going to be home for a while.
"Okay," Dale said. "We'll stay here, then. . .
She looked at him. Keeping her face even, she asked: "Find real jobs?"
"Sure," Dale said. "Ma would have liked it that way."
Jenna kicked her boot against the van's rusty fender. Standing along the side of the lonely road, she didn't say anything. She loved her big brother.
The fight was over. She felt such relief. She grinned and climbed into the passenger seat.
They drove in silence.
Soon Dale pulled to the side of the road. He pointed to a roadside sign: WELCOME TO CARNAL. In smaller print, just below it read: Enjoy your stay!
"Looks like we're in Carnal," Dale said.
The van sputtered, then died. The headlights dimmed.
"I'm sure we'll enjoy our stay," Jenna laughed. "Can we stop somewhere and get me something to drink?" she asked.
No matter how much she swallowed, she still had the taste of the mark's juice in her mouth. She recalled how his stomach muscles had contracted with each flush of fresh semen, her own moment of indecision with his warm cum pooled in her mouth. Sometimes you made one small choice and then it echoed endlessly into the night, an irreversible change, of course, marked only by the moon and the distant stars above.
Dale cranked the engine.
In the dim light of the dash, Jenna watched her brother drive her into this small town. He wouldn't hesitate to cut down any man who tried to hurt her. There was a benefit to having such an invincible protector.
She swallowed again, licking her lips.
But there was also a cost. She'd sucked the mark's cock. She hated it and she loved it all at the same time. She'd wanted to suck him so badly. She felt very far from all her sweet little friends at the orphanage. Looking out the window, she watched the little town slip past, deserted streets, row homes, and neon bars signs.
Who was this girl she'd suddenly become, only a few weeks away from the orphanage?
The moon glowed in the sky above the mill. The clouds swirled, reflecting an eerie light. A vision emerged in the clouds, a picture of herself, splayed out on a narrow bed, nude, surrounded by swarthy men, their cocks all big and throbbing. One of the guys mounted her from behind, and another stood with his cock pointed at her face. An electric pulse of desire shot through her, straight to her core. The clarity of the vision made Jenna gasp, and even as it began to break apart and disappear, swallowed by the clouds and the shifting colors of night, a peaceful feeling settled over her.
She looked at Dale.
He drove silently, his back straight. His chin upon his chest.
"You okay?" he asked. He glanced at her.
She looked back into the sky, but it was only dark sky and silver moonlight above her. She wondered if she'd imagined it all. Her pulse still raced, the only remnant of her strange vision.
"I'm fine," she said.
Even as she said it, she found herself savoring the sour taste in her mouth. The genie was out of the bottle now. She could never return to Saint Joe's. She hoped this little town would have something good to offer her, a hungry girl with a crazy big brother.
Copyright © 2020 Huck Pilgrim. All right reserved.
Huck Pilgrim has lived on the streets of New York City, in a communal home for Christians, and on an American submarine out of San Diego. He has washed dishes, made costumed helium balloon deliveries, and robbed designer jeans from department stores.
Huck writes gritty stories about submission, blackmail, and coercion. Occasionally he tosses a hand grenade of action and adventure into the mix. Huck’s stories are vivid fantasies, exploring the darker sides of submission and exposure. In Huck’s stories, the mousy girl becomes suddenly bold and capable, often discovering the hidden slut inside her. The men are handsome, hard-bitten, and cruel, enjoying all manner of debauchery.
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