warm, sticky fluid. It poured up inside her womb, splashing against her cervix and rolling back again, overflowing out her open vulva and dripping downward, just as it had with Denise.
Dane groaned with the crushing bliss of sexual release and shoved his bubbling pecker all the way back in her, collapsing on top of her soft breasts with a gush of tortured breath. Nikki groaned in disappointment at being cheated out of her orgasm, but then she felt Denise smoothing the perspiration from her forehead and crooning, 'That's all right, baby… that's all right now.'
Now Nikki remembered the old adage she had read somewhere and then had heard more than once from Denise herself-it wasn't 'professional' for a working girl to cum with her clients. You could make a hundred dollars in less than thirty minutes with some yo-yo you never saw before or after that occasion… that was professional as hell. But cumming with clients, or cumming for clients-either way-oh, no, that we didn't do!
Well, Nikki thought as her stinging clit plagued her from beneath Dane's motionless, fiercely panting body, she had been professional as a sonofabitch. Unfortunately, she was still hornier as a platypus bitch in heat under a full moon…!
Many long, panting, recuperating minutes later, Nikki was amazed when Dane's first words to her were: 'I didn't… didn't mean to cum… I wanted to eat you… Didn't mean to cum so soon.'
She was tempted to tell him to get down there now and whale away; don't stop until he'd lapped up every single drop of his own sperm and she'd had five or six orgasms herself!
But Denise quickly intervened. 'Well, how about next week, baby? Come back and see us then and you can eat her until she climbs the walls!'
To Nikki, she leaned close and whispered in her ear: 'You'll like it next week, too, Sweetie… North Carolina will probably beat our asses off!'
Chapter 7
Nikki Newman was angrier than she had ever been in her life.
She sat on the bed in her small apartment, shaking with fury. This was the final, crushing straw! This was the last sneaky, slimy, underhanded insult she could take! She wasn't going to be treated like a piece of shit in this world any more!
In her trembling hands, she held the tiny black.32 snub-nosed revolver that she had bought back in Silver Spring before making her first trip to the big city. She turned it over and over, occasionally cocking the hammer and snapping the trigger, as if to reassure herself that they still worked. On the bed beside her was a little Styrofoam container of bullets. They stood in neat, soldierly rows, their brass jackets glinting dully in the dim light.
Well, she told herself viciously, her chin curdling, her lips trembling helplessly… something was going to be done about this! This was one she wasn't going to let go! She gritted her teeth fiercely, a small whine escaping her, but in spite of herself she felt the large, hot tears dropping on her knees. That made her even madder and she looked about frantically for something she could do to vent her anger, for something she could smash, for something she could throw. She finally tossed the gun aside and began beating her fists savagely into her pillows, raining one brutal blow after another into the yielding fabric, her arms wind milling furiously, until at last the killing edge came off her anger and she collapsed in an explosion of sobs.
This was too fucking much, Nikki told herself desperately… she didn't have to be the victim for shit like this!
Could you imagine the balls of that motherfucker bastard Friedman! She had gone to talk to Amanda Trafalgar, just to see if there was anything she needed to know and hadn't been told about the shoot. Had to bribe the booking agent at Hawley's fifty bucks which she didn't even have to get the goddam address, then when she got there it cost her another twenty to persuade the doorman to take her up.
Seventy fucking dollars! Christ, if hadn't been for the weekend of part-time hooking with Denise, she wouldn't have even been able to seethe fucking bitch! And for what?-to find out what! That the motherfucking shoot was already over, had been done weeks ago, and that Friedman wasn't even the sonofabitch handling it anyway! He'd been such a pimpy, obnoxious dicksucker about the whole thing, Amanda said, that Finnelli had finally told him to shove it up his ass and went to Stuart Simms.
And those official, proper, signed contracts were nothing but crap! They were nothing but toilet paper to wipe the shit out of your ass, she told herself bitterly, bursting into another helpless string of sobs. They were completely bogus all the way! Just sitting there waiting to help that nasty, old, shit-faced bastard exploit some other unsuspecting victim, exactly like he'd done to her!
Well, by God, she told herself savagely, sitting up on the bed, he wasn't going to get away with this one! She was going to kill the motherfucker!
She reached for the gun, her face hot and flushed with crying, her hair mussed, her lips swollen and still trembling, her teeth ferociously clenched. She dumped the Styrofoam holder on its side, pushed the cylinder out of the.32 and began shoving bullets into the empty chambers, working as fast as she could with her shaking hands.
She was going to take this motherfucking gun, and she was going to put it up to that big, ugly bastard's head, and she was going to blow his fucking brains out all over the floor!… Then they'd see just how goddam funny the bastard felt about that…!
She finished loading the revolver and slammed it shut, handling it like a policewoman who'd been dealing with weapons for years. She jumped off the bed and stuffed the gun in her purse, working it down to the bottom so it would be out of sight. Then she dragged out her keys, struggled into her vinyl coat, and hurried out to her car. It was pretty late now, so she could be almost certain of catching Friedman at home.
She smiled grimly to herself as she started the engine and headed the automobile for Friedman's expensive apartment. The old bastard would never dream she'd have the guts to do something like this! She was gonna' catch him flatter than a pancake run over by every steamroller in the whole world!… This was going to be beautiful! She was gonna catch him with his pants down a hell of a lot further than they'd been the last time the two of them met!
That idea put another interesting thought into her head. What the hell… maybe she'd blow his balls off first, then kill him!
Chapter 8
Nikki was about halfway to Howard Freidman's apartment when she realized that she couldn't do it.
She pulled over to the side of the street, shut off the engine, and cried some more bitter tears. God knew the filthy bastard deserved it, but she didn't have what it took to kill somebody over something like this. Not that it wasn't important-it was goddam important to her! It was her career, for Christ's sake; it was the break she'd been waiting, and hoping, and praying for!
And not only that, it was humiliating, too! It was a slimy, dirty, rotten trick, and the sorry bastard deserved to have something done to him… But she couldn't do it. And she couldn't afford to hire somebody else to beat him up or something, either.
Still, she supposed it wasn't really very important in the great, grand scheme of things. Besides, what did she want to do-spend the rest of her life with a bunch of bull-dyke lezzies in some fucking jail somewhere? Nikki thought briefly of using the gun on herself, but that thought was erased by another that popped into her head, seemingly out of thin air.
Suddenly she remembered something Amanda Trafalgar had said in the course of their conversation. The famous model had felt pretty sorry for her, and in an effort to soothe Nikki's obviously crushed emotions, she had said perhaps more than she should have.
Nikki had been in a total daze at the time, feeling like a safe had been dropped on her from the moment she heard they'd already finished the shoot. But now she recalled Amanda saying that she was a nice-looking girl and
