Page 32 of Reclaimed

Well shit, those noises do more for me than the shrill porno moans she was making earlier.

Rocking back on her heels, she kneels between my legs and stares up at me with red-rimmed eyes, still dazed from whatever she snorted off my cock earlier.

I shift to the side and pull out my cigarettes, flicking my zippo open to light one. Taking a long drag, I study her for a beat.

It’s unnerving how compliant this bitch is. I can’t help but wonder how much difference there is between a stripper and an Asset– beyond the whole choice, free will, and consent shit, of course. Maybe this whole despondent thing is just her vibe.

Is this what most men want? Is that the appeal of having an Asset– just a pocket pussy who does the dishes?

Smoke curls in the air around me as I exhale with a frown.

If that’s the pinnacle of satisfaction, I don’t want it. I need the fight. The fire. That raw collision of instinct and honesty that strips everything down and anchors me to the moment. The primal rush flooding my nervous system as I chase a euphoric release that satisfies something deeper than the need to drain my balls.

I take another drag and tip my chin at her. She shifts forward, crawling closer and nestling between my thighs.

“Now what, big guy?” she purrs.

So much for release erasing my annoyance.

I stab my cigarette in the glass ashtray beside me and tuck away my softening cock. Leaning forward, I brush the blonde hair off her face that’s stuck to the tears and spit, tucking it behind her ear as my fingers glide down her jawline. For the first time all night, she lets out a whimper that doesn't set my teeth on edge, looking up at me through her lashes.

I exhale my smoke in her face, but she doesn’t react.

So much for that.

“Get me a whiskey," I say, running a hand through my hair as I lean back.

“But you have me all to yourself for 20 more minutes,” she says, her hand sliding over the crest of my thigh. “You sure you don’t want something else?” Her palm comes to rest on the still unbuttoned fly of my pants, my dick twitching in fear of being subjected to more of the grating sounds she makes. “See?” she murmurs, giving it a squeeze. “He still wants me.”

My boot comes up between us, the scuffed toe planting right between her fake tits before I straighten my leg and shove her back on her ass.

“Well I want a fucking whiskey,” I snarl.

Her face twists up in a scowl, bruises from my fingers already forming on her throat. Seeing the picture of Jersey with my marks sent blood rushing to my cock, but seeing them on this bitch has it as limp as her performance.

“But…” she starts to protest as she pushes to her feet and adjusts her shimmery thong back into place.

My lip curls in disdain, jaw tightening. “You fucking heard me.”

She rolls her eyes with a huff, swiping up her neon mesh top from beside me and pivoting on a heel. “The best dicks are always attached to the biggest dicks,” she mumbles as she stalks toward the bar.

Two compliments in one.

“Make it a double” I call out after her, zipping my fly.

“You really have a way with the ladies,” Slade remarks with a chuckle.

I glance over to see him peering over the back of the naked woman folded across his lap, one hand resting lazily against the back of her head as she bobs and gags on his cock. The other is buried deep inside her cunt, halfway to the elbow.

It’d probably be a jarring scene for some, but I grew up with Slade. I saw the porn sites he hacked into when we were teenagers, have seen him grabbing medical supplies from the compound’s supply closet before escorting a bow legged girl through the halls, and this isn’t the first time we’ve shared a private room at the Eleventh House. Fisting isn’t my thing, but I don’t really give a shit what gets him off.

“I thought ventriloquists weren’t supposed to move their lips,” I deadpan.

His mouth tips into a smirk as he pistons his arm. The girl moans around his cock, cum gushing down his forearm as she screams.

“That better?” he asks, raising a brow.

I shake my head and slip my phone from my pocket, right as the human squeak toy returns with my whiskey.