*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1992080
by Pony
Rated: 18+ · Draft · Drama · #1992080
Dakota Allen's illegal business is brought down.
The world reeled in colors and smoke, the dull thrum of bass filling up all the bodies in the room. Sweaty, smelly whores. Everything smelled metallic, but I knew. Sweaty, smelly whores. I grinned. The world spun. I danced. Everything was so livid. The air was drinkable, the music thick enough to cut with a knife. Faces whirred by in blurs and the whole mass of people surged together to the music. I was part of this. I was part of this. Only I was the best piece in this writhing mass of sin. Dakota Allen, the best damn whore in Vegas.



He reached from behind me, taking my waist in his hands. I stopped dancing, leaning back into the man behind me. I could feel him against my ass.



“How much?” His lips were so close to my ear. I shuddered and turned to face him. His face whirled. I smiled. Just another customer.



“Oh, Babe, I’unno.” I pulled him closer. Our lips met. I drew away as he put his tongue in my mouth. Coffee. My customer groaned unhappily.



“One fifty?” I licked my lips. My good mood crashed down, burying itself six feet underground. I exhaled. The man before me came into focus. Black hair, blue eyes, young; he was decent. I frowned.



I need another hit.



“Uh, uhm…” The boy before me stuttered awkwardly. I raised my eyebrows and ran my fingers along the inside of his thigh. “Eighty’s all I got!”



My tongue rolled in my mouth. My teeth still tasted like crack.



“Oh, but I’m a classy bitch.” My hand reached his crotch and I drew it away. He looked like a pained animal. “I want one hundred for sex. Eighty might get you a blowjob.” He looked a virgin the way he was writhing. Maybe he’d just lost his girlfriend?



I would take eighty for sex. The thrill of the chase; the depression of coming down. I wouldn’t let him know it. More money, more crack. I had weed in my pocket.



The music filled the space between us. People rammed into us as they danced and writhed in the night club. Colored smoke filled the heavy air.



“But my dope money!” I rolled my eyes at him. I crossed my arms and waited. My head pounded. “Oh damn Dakota, fine!”



So he knew my name. I scrutinized him. He probably went to school with me, he looked young enough. I tried not to stare at the athletic man standing before me-- I’d see plenty of him soon enough. I motioned for him to follow with a nod of my head.



Just another sweaty, smelly whore roaming the Strip. I scowled. I needed crack. I needed cocaine. Crack. Cocaine.



The cool air of outside hit me like a wall as I exited the night club. Goosebumps rose on my arms as the warm air caressed my body. I took a breath, attempting to smell the night air of the city. Everything smelled metallic. My nose was numb. Instead of the warm musty smell of a Las Vegas night, my body was filled with a cold reminder of the lines I had snorted earlier.



“Here!” He was behind me. I turned and took the wadded-up Benjamin from his outstreched hand, stuffing it in my little black purse next to my crack pipe. The boy grabbed my arm after I closed my purse and pulled me toward a sporty-looking car. He let go of me as he opened the door, motioning for me to climb into the backseat.



“Hey, hey, just’a minute, Sirry.” I set my purse on the hood of the car. The car was gilded with a giant golden bird. My head pounded as I tried to place it. I didn’t know much about cars. I pulled a joint out of the back pocket of my bleached-out shorts and dug a lighter out of my purse. My customer came closer.



I took a hit.



“Want some?” My voice had turned hoarse. Smoke bellowed into the sky, my throat burning. He shook his head. I shrugged.



“Be right with you,” I breathed and pulled myself onto the hood of his car. The headache began to subside. The older ones wouldn’t be so patient. Maybe I should have charged him less.



Hit.



Smoke.



The orange lights from the street lamps danced through the haze. It was a warm night. I smiled and smote the roach against client’s car. I stored it in my purse.



He came forward, his hands on my hips. I hummed happily at the contact and melted into his embrace. He led me to his car, allowing me to climb into the back first. I threw my ripped crop top and bleached shorts into the passenger seat. The car’s cloth interior was rough. He closed the door and laid on top of me. He was warm against my legs.



“What’s your name?” I pulled him close to me, my lips against his.



“Jared,” he mumbled. We kissed.



He was such a virgin.
© Copyright 2014 Pony (pony702 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Log in to Leave Feedback
Username:
Password:
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!
All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1992080