Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

He’d probably seen this a thousand times before. He’d probably be checking his watch before I was halfway done, filing off my efforts as just another desperate little bitch after his money.

I shouldn’t care.

My legs stayed steady enough on the sand as I made my way over to the huddle of guys. My heart was in my throat as I weighed up the point I needed to drop to my knees and make a slut of myself. It came quickly. So damn quickly. Conversation dried up between the three happy drunks as soon as I came into clear view, the streetlights glowing bright enough from the path above that I could see all three pairs of eyes feasting hard.

The cleavage tug had been a good idea.

I closed my eyes as I dropped onto all fours on the sand, holding my breath as I fought the urge to bail on this madman’s crazy game.

Every movement was heavy, nerves rattling loud as I began the crawl. I opened my eyes in time to see one of the guys elbow another with a big fat grin on his drunk mouth.

“You look a little lost, babycakes,” he blurted out. “Had a few too many tequila slammers?”

I kept moving. Slowly. Pretending I was on some seedy porno as I wiggled my hips for the benefit of the backstage viewer.

“Need some help on your feet?” one of the other guys said, and my faith in humanity was restored just a little.

“She looks like she needs some help alright,” guy three offered right after him, and his tone said it all. My faith in humanity died a death all over again.

I kept going, eyes flitting between them as I ventured to a spot between the three. They stiffened, all three of them, as I coughed up the words.

“Please,” I began, sounding like the most pathetic prostitute on the market. “I want to suck you. All of you. I need…”

“You need to get yourself back to dorms for the night,” the good guy interrupted. “I think it’s past your bedtime.”

“Shut it, Jake,” the next one blurted. “I don’t think it’s her bedtime quite yet.”

“Yeah, Jake,” the third voice offered. “I think this little babycake needs a nightcap.”

I focused my eyes on guy three and my job was already done there. His palm was already on the tent in his pants as he stared at me.

“Say it again,” he continued. “You want dick, right? Big fat dick for that pretty little mouth of yours? You got it, baby. I got one right here.”

He looked like a jerk. Sports shirt under an open jacket and a tacky gold chain around his neck. His hand was already in his jogging pants as I edged further his way, and I hoped the monster in the shadows could see how eager this guy was.

How good I was at following instructions.

How good I could be for him.

“Cut it out, Chris,” the good guy muttered. “We should get her back to dorm.”

My heart dried up in a beat, confidence draining. But not nearly as much as it did when his next words came right after.

“Paige, right? Psychology? I’ve seen you on campus.”

Oh fuck.

It wasn’t humiliation so much as panic.

Panic at failure. Panic at the promise of a new start slipping on by. Panic at the thought of disappointing the monster who’d seen it all from other girls better than me.

I didn’t get the chance to answer good guy before Chris shunted to his knees and headed my way.

“Paige?” he leered. “Pretty name for a pretty little dick slut.”

Good guy got to his knees right after him, but a flash of my eyes held him back.

They must have been burning. Hungry. Hungry for dick and the money that would come from it.

In that moment I knew I’d make the cut. Whatever it took wouldn’t matter. I was here for my sister and a brand new life. It was as simple as that.

The third guy was the one who called judgement on the dynamic shift. He joined the other two in front of me, and his hand moved to the bulge in his pants to match seedy Chris.

“Fuck my mouth,” I hissed at them, and this time I didn’t recognise myself. “Please, fuck my mouth.”

It was Chris I went for first, keeping my posture low as I pressed my open mouth to the fabric at his crotch. His fingers were in my hair in a beat, twisting hard as he fumbled with his waistband.

“Dirty bitch,” he grunted, “I’ll fuck your fucking mouth alright.”

The friend to his right shoved his hand down his jeans with equal enthusiasm, but good guy didn’t say a word. I felt shit for him. Sad for him, being friends with such douches as these.

I wasn’t anywhere near ready for the musk of hairy balls in my face. Wasn’t ready for them to grind at my open mouth as dickhead Chris worked his hard on in his fist.