"I'm ready to ride the range now, Bobby." She laughed, tossing her bleached blond hairdo around a little and making a face at him. Something about her was very sexy. She had a great way about her, he decided, tremendous style. "Know what this is, cowboy?"
"A quirt," he said.
"This is in case you're a bad boy to Mama. You're gonna behave, aren't you?" She brandished the thing like a large riding crop with a leather flail.
"Yeah. You bet."
"Take your clothes off." She towered over him with those big stiletto-heeled boots on. "You can leave your jock on—if you're wearing one."
"Sure." He smiled, pulling his sweater off. Eager to obey. "Aren't you going—" He started to ask her a question and she whipped him hard with the quirt—hard.
"Jesus Chr—" He rubbed himself where she'd caught him on the hip. This was no fun at all. She was a fucking nut case.
"I told you to talk when I ask you to talk and not before. Now get those little pants off, cowboy."
He obeyed in silence, his hip and leg burning like fire. She'd really let him have a stinging slap with the thing.
"Nice. You're a pretty one." She came over and played with his nipples and pulled his head to her and kissed him hard on the mouth. Then she backed away and looked him over as if he were a piece of meat, standing there in his briefs with a reddening welt on the side of his hip where she'd whipped him. "You got a cute set of buns, Bobby. Come on in here for Mama," she said, taking his hard, muscled arm and pulling him down the hallway. But instead of taking him into the bedroom, she brought him into her tiny, filthy bathroom. He thought about just turning around and using his fist on this old bitch a few times. But something stopped him.
"This toilet of mine is so dirty I don't even want to shit in it," she said, roughly. "You understand me?"
"Yeah," he said. She got a toothbrush out from under the sink and handed it to him.
"You get down and clean this thing for me, cowboy. Make it real pretty for Mama—you do that?"
"Um." He didn't know what he wanted to do. He could just go pull his pants on and book, for one thing. But something made him want to see what she had in mind. He knelt down in front of the commode and started scrubbing with the toothbrush.
"Oh, shit. Yeah! That's it," she said softly in an urgent tone. "Go to it, you bitch. Clean my fucking toilet. Oh, do it." She was touching herself. "Don't look at me, you little whore!" she yelled at him, and he concentrated on cleaning the stained porcelain. "That's better, you sweet, sexy little cowboy bitch. You fuckin'…oh, uh-huh—yeah!" She was really getting off watching him scrub her potty. After a bit, she let him get up and they kissed, and she told him to lay the toothbrush down and wash his hands, and then come in to bed.
He didn't even want to touch the corroded faucets, or the nasty looking soap bar, or the scummy towels. Even the water from the tap looked dirty. He obeyed, however, and padded into the bedroom to find her seated in bed.
"Get over here," she commanded, spreading her legs a little. He tried to crawl between her legs and she shoved him away. "Not like that, Bobby. Get on your tummy for Mama." He moved. "Yeah. Right alongside me here. Umhmm." He jumped when she touched him. He felt the briefs ripping. "There! Now I can see that pretty boy butt of yours." He felt the bedsprings move with her as she got something.
"See?" She held a box under his face and opened it. "Those are Ben Wa balls." Balls on a string. So? "From where you were stationed—eh?" He thought of the Ben Hoa airstrip where the spike team had once gone during a mission. He couldn't remember anything about the place but grunts, choppers, and fucking gooks. Too many moons ago. Everything was all mixed up now. Spike teams and spiked heels, Ben Hoa and Ben Wa balls. Too much that was weird.
"Oh!" he said.
"You know what these are for?"
"Huh—no. I-I don't know," he stammered. Her long fingers were touching him. Going up in him, forcing him open in back and pushing into him. The long cool fingernails that had pinched his chest.
"They're for a woman's pussy."
"Un."
"Uh-huh." She was rubbing one against him. "For your pussy, cowboy." She shoved a ball into him and he moaned and it just about drove her crazy. She started touching herself again, and he could feel his nipples harden. He was still sore there where she'd pinched him, and his hip and ass were sore.
"You cunt," she whispered to him, forcing another ball in. Moaning in ecstasy, rubbing him, touching herself, reaching around and squeezing his nipples, then touching him down there.
"You fucking whore. You goddamn shit-ass dick-fucking tramp—" She was cruelly squeezing his balls, and his cock started getting hard. He couldn't help himself. He was getting a boner that was threatening to drill straight through the bed, with his nose full of her cheap perfume and the dirty bedspread and the sex of her. He'd never been so hot. "Go ahead, you little bastard fuck, go ahead and get that dick fucking hard and come all over my bed, you no-good son-of-a-bitching pussy-assed slut."
It was too much for him. He couldn't hold it.
"You cleaned the shit out of my toilet and now I'm treating you like a fucking pussy slave. Mama's cowboy snatch. And you're loving it, aren't you, pretty bitch?"
"Yeah."
"Answer me, goddamn it."
"Yes. Yes."
"You're loving it to death, aren't you?"
"Oh, oh—yes!" She shoved the third ball up his exhaust pipe. Oh, God. He couldn't hold it back anymore. Not another second.
"Yes," she said, as the hot jism shot onto her fingers. "Now you can learn what's what, you fuck. Now you can find out what it's like to have real balls." And she started slowly pulling the smooth balls out of his butt, and he screamed with pleasure as he ejaculated. It felt as if he must have shot the load of loads, the king shit orgasm of the century, as the gut-tearing ultimate climax went ripping through him. He'd never known such total abandon and almost unbearable pleasure.
Her coarse tone cut into him as he lay jackknifed across her bed, nude, spent, almost unconscious in a kind of post-paroxysm of complete docility. If she'd told him to go back in and clean the rest of the house with her toothbrush he'd gladly have obeyed. He thought he was falling deeply in love with Cindy Hildebrande. He couldn't wait to buy her a fucking diamond or something outrageous.
"Come on. Let's go. I gotta get moving. Okay?" Her tone was the same as when he'd reached for her in the car. A man's command voice. A tough soldier's voice. A fucking D.I.'s voice. He didn't understand. Hadn't she liked it, too?"
"Cindy, wasn't it good—you know—for you, too?" he asked her, genuinely perplexed at her sudden shift in attitude.
"Yeah. Sensational. Now I got to hit the bricks, doll. Come on. Get your clothes on. Let's go." Rushing him into his clothing, for crissakes. He pulled on slacks, the sweater, got his shoes back on. She was hustling him out the door almost as if she were bringing in the next shift. What was her trip?
"Man, you had me goin'," she said, conversationally, as she handed him his wallet, pager, keys, and pocket change. "I saw that pager—and I knew you weren't any fucking doctor. I thought maybe you were Vice." She laughed. He had no idea what she was talking about. She physically pushed him out the door. "I got my five hundred. I took it out of your wallet when I checked for I.D.," she said in a nonchalant tone. Just letting him know she'd been paid. His heart sank like a chunk of concrete.
She was a fucking hooker. He was a goddamned john to her. He laughed, by reflex, so that if any people were watching him they wouldn't know he was so upset. She'd conned him. Played with him. He snuffed back the tears at first, but then he let them come, streaming down his face as he got into the car, banging the wheel with his fist. He started the car up, but changed his mind, shifted into park, with the brake set. Got out and unlocked the trunk and took his baby out and put her together right there in the street. Fuck it. Snot running from his nose. Snuffling like a little kid. He blew his nose into the street and slid a big pointed APEX (X) into her. Lock and fucking load. Walked back across the street, spitting, blowing, clearing his throat. Trying to hold the tears back for later.