Jag

By: Stevie J. Cole

Chapter 1

My mouth was dry, like someone had shoved a fistful of cheap off-brand cotton balls in it. I ran my tongue over my teeth in an effort to wipe the film of bourbon off of them. Yawning, I rolled onto my back and stretched out in the king-sized bed before lifting the sheets back over my body. The smell of the detergent floated up to my nose, and my lips curled up. No matter how nice the suite was, the sheets always smelled like that damn hotel laundry detergent. I couldn’t stand that smell.

I heard someone next to me pull in a deep breath, and then the covers shifted off my body. Seconds later, I felt warm skin against mine, and then a hand wrapped around my stiff-ass dick. Fingers skimmed along its length, stopping to play with the metal bar lodged through the head.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. The sun was beaming in through one of the windows, and all I could see out of it was an overly crowded skyline. The sun glinted from the windows of the grey concrete skyscrapers competing for space; only a few slivers of blue sky managed to peep between them. I’d almost forgotten that I was in New York City. I couldn’t really recall how she’d ended up with me, and I certainly had no idea what her fucking name was. To the best of my knowledge, I guessed she’d been at the club the night before. It wasn’t out of the usual at all for me to wake up with an unknown woman beside me; it was habitual. One day, I’d probably luck out and bring back a psycho that’d try to off me, but I’d worry about that when it happened. Most of the time the sex was worth that small risk – at least it usually was when I could remember it.

Do I want to look over and see what she looks like, or not? That’s one of the pluses about not letting them stay with you; you don’t have to look poor judgment in the face.

Her grip tightened, and she gently stroked me in her hand. “Good morning,” she whispered.

I grunted and closed my eyes again. I hated when they ended up staying the night. That was never the plan because it was so fucking awkward the next morning when I was sober and trying to piece together what all we’d done. I hated having to talk to them; having to listen to them go on and on about what a big fan they are, how this is the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to them; and, worst of all, having them ask me if they can post the pictures from last night on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Fangirls, they’re just dying to brag about having been bent over backwards and rammed by me, and rightfully so. It was quite the achievement.

Peeping through one halfway-opened eye, I saw a woman. Okay. Well, at least I got that right despite being completely wasted. She looked to be about twenty-four. And thank God. She’s legal. Her platinum blonde hair stuck up in all directions, and black rings of mascara were smudged underneath her eyes. This girl was an absolute mess. It was obvious I’d been there and had a good time marking my territory.

She wasn’t bad looking, but she was absolutely no different than the rest of the other privileged rich girls whose daddies bought their horny daughters’ way into the VIP areas. When she smiled, nothing on her face moved. When she abruptly sat up and slid her way down to my dick, her unnaturally round tits didn’t budge either. It was evident she’d already started with the plastic surgery addiction. This was the kind of girl I was used to: fake, horny, and willing to do anything for a brush with fame.

A slight giggle bounced from her lips as she tugged the covers off my naked body, and then her warm, slimy tongue, coated with morning breath germs, traced up my shaft. The sensation sent a small tingle shooting up from my groin. I looked down to find her staring up at me, her eyes locked intimately on mine as she sucked half of me back into her throat.

Letting out a short sigh, I leaned back and shut my eyes, no hint of a smile on my face. The way she was wrapping her tongue around me felt damn good, and even though I really had no interest in her being there, I wasn’t going to deprive her of the joy she’d get from watching me get off one more time. I tried not to be selfish with that privilege.

After just a few minutes of her head bobbing up and down, her hand twisting at just the right moments, and her choking on my length a few times, I felt my body relax. My legs stiffened up, and then my entire body heated from the overwhelming rush of endorphins coursing through me. It’s amazing how quickly orgasms come when you’re not strung out on coke, or a bottle of oxycodone, or speed. Quicker, but weak compared to the euphoria that drugs granted me.

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