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So looking at her as someone else would. She is one sexy thing. She is. The mixture of slutty clothes and makeup and her natural shyness is what gets me going. Even if I didn't know just how slutty she can be. Even if I didn't know how shy she really is. It's a mixture straight out of male fantasies inc. I know she gets attention from guys wherever we go. It's guaranteed and it makes me feel warm inside sometimes during long cold nights. Or something.

But, of course, thoughts evolve. Slow I may be but I am moving. Being an asshole is not just a state of mind, it's a dynamic, interactive thing. Being an asshole all by yourself really has no significance. You are only so much of an asshole as others see you. I decided to. It was a long way coming anyway. She knew it, damnit, she is smarter than me in these things. Even I knew it. I think. Maybe I did know all the way from start but couldn't cope with the knowledge. After all, it all proved to be almost too much for me and my barely-there sanity.

I decided to. I decided to do my part for the community finally. All those jealous looks on the back of my head, all those undergrad students and college kids devouring Clarissa with their eyes and hating me for being the exclusive proprietor of that body, that face, hating me for all the imaginary blowjobs and shags they had sketched in their heads. Not even knowing it was way better than they dared imagine. Fear not kiddies, Santa is here.

I didn't tell her about it. I mean, I did tell her frequently that I will make her fuck anyone and everyone I tell her to fuck. It worked well in our sessions of sex and torture, it made her unbelievably excited. But up to this point, to me it was just another tool in making her excited, aroused, humiliated, another way to demonstrate I own her. I wasn't meaning any of that shit. What the fuck, I have done some bad things in my life, but I have never pimped my girlfriends to other men.

So actually deciding to do it was a real issue for me. And, let me tell you, it wasn't even carefully planned and then executed. No, sir, old Nicky-boy just plunged into it headfirst when something in his green brain clicked and it was a decision made in split second, another person born in a crash, another world scrawled on a wet Kleenex tissue...

Because, you see, I couldn't really stand to face it. I didn't even dare really think about it. It was a forbidden area in my mind, secured by razor-wire and guarded by Pitbulls kept on a steady diet of yoghurt and lettuce for longer than it was enough to make them bloodthirsty in the literal sense of the word. I didn't dare step there. I knew I'd do it once, but I couldn't bear thinking about it before it happened.

Sure as shit, I wasn't going to sit down and imagine Clarissa doing it with other guys and see all the poses and all the juicy details. It's funny, because I understood perfectly well that pimping Clarissa to others would only confirm my complete ownership of her, present a final triumph of my will over hers. But still I couldn't hold my thoughts on the subject for more than a second, before they'd slip off and run into any other direction.

So it happened. I let it happen.


It was a confusing evening. The wind was high and my lips were dry and I was completely fucked out of my head. I drank and I smoked and the green made my mouth dry so I drank more. It was hot inside with all the bodies in the room, with all the motion and all the music and smoke and drugs and voices and laughter. Young people having fun. A room with no visible limits, with shadows serving as a transition area between reality and imagination. Young people engaging in rituals of social entertainment, complex body talk and sex innuendo.

Older people out to hunt and kill and devour young prey. Junkies and drag queens as necessary to identify this world as home as air and water and forests and concrete are. Even a couple of pathetic glue-sniffers to remind me of my estate-days back in the depths of my youth spent in Londra.

It was a usual maelstrom of faces and clothes and breasts and furry eyebrows and nostrils hungry for yet another white line, gold chains and silver rings, smiles and seductive gazes. I was surfing on top of this wave even though I was aware this was no ocean, more like a pool of stale piss, really. But I got used to it a long time ago. I know it's all about grace and style, not about making it in the open sea. I lost that ambition a long time ago.

In any case, Clarissa was there with me, fragile and black, shiny and somewhat out of focus. Her outline against the backdrop of changing faces and clothes and bodies and lights and shadows was just a black cut out, like something out of comic books. She was all sharp edges and straight lines. God, she looked so hot in that short, short, short skirt and her stockings and her dangerously high heels.

She turned heads with her legs and cleavage and her black lipstick and her black eyeliner and her black nails and her silver chain going through her navelring, looking so sexy under her short top. She was approached by many a bloke, sometimes even while I was right beside her. She did that to guys, she made them lose it over her, because she looked like a slut. And she did, she looked like she was there out looking to get laid. Looking to be fucked hard, not really important by who.

Many of them blokes decided it was worth trying their luck and some of the opening lines shot her way I have overheard were embarrassing. Holy shit, some other time and place and I would have cracked someone's head open. I mean, really does it ever work? Do you ever get laid when you come up to a lady and tell her in no uncertain terms what you'd do to her using toilet language? It seemed that most of the guys who tried to talk to Clarissa felt the need to use the first 30 seconds of their conversation to explain how hard she needs to be fucked and what they plan to do about it.

And she was so sweet, this little girl of mine. Looking like the horniest slut out there, but acting like the shyest schoolgirl, she confused them all. Some of them got really angry but none of them got aggressive which is always a bonus. Though I did feel like fighting to some extent. It's been a while since it was me vs. the world and I was drunk and reasonably grumpy.

But it was just a series of Clarissa's face going red and her eyes going down as she replied in her soft voice. I couldn't make out any of her replies but she turned down each and every of them. She probably told them she was here with someone and some of them were sober enough to identify this someone. I met their angry, pissed off gazes. They were jealous. They knew she was my slut and mine only. Fuck you, dickheads, she is mine. Those were small victories, really unworthy of going down in history, but at this stage in life you take what's there.

However it changed that evening. It changed just like that. I seem to be making most of my major decisions when drunk. That should worry me but any time I get worried I tend to start drinking. It's a vicious circle. It's negative feedback to the max. It's a crash course to oblivion.

So I was nearly passed out in the back seat of this taxi, riding back home. The wind has brought his friend rain along and even if it wasn't as bad as it can be, there were some distant thunders in the sky and sporadic drops of rain travelling downwards from a place better than we have ever known.

Clarissa was a happy warm breeze at my side, radiating confidence and joy. I bet she was wet. I bet she was, so many guys recognised her for the slut she is that evening, so many lips forming the word "fuck" and shooting it her way, deadly accuracy, target destroyed over and over. She was happy and warm at my side, waiting to get home to fulfill the final part of her slut role, to be a slut just for me, to please her master, her owner.

And that's exactly when it clicked. At three A.M. With rain trying to decide whether to go down in style or just to fool around a little bit more. With cracking neurons of lighting carving their insignia into my retina.

The taxi driver was one lucky bastard. He was unshaven, his skin dark as far as I could see through the haze pulled over my eyes. His English was rather poor. He must have been 23, no more than that but already sporting marks of old age on his face. The life was not kind to him. Well, has it been kind to any of us? Fuck that, I just felt generous.

Clarissa never asked me about it later. And that's because she knew. Obviously, I wasn't out of money. Well, I never said I was. I made an offer to him. An offer he could not refuse. Oh, it's not like he didn't try. He struggled and pretended he didn't understand well. He explained that he is married and told us about his daughter. Poor sod, a five year old child at his age. Immigrant, but not like me. A true, sad, desperate one, doing a fucking graveyard shift giving taxi rides to drunken fools and aggressive jocks and couples with no money to even rent a room to do their thing.

And he wasn't even going to get money for this ride, no. But he couldn't refuse. I bet looking at Clarissa made his intestines melt. I could see drops of sweat on his dark forehead as his panicked look shot from my shitfaced mug to Clarissa and back. She must have looked like something out of a dream to him. I improvised around this thought.

"...at her, boy! Have you ever fucked such a hot slut?"

Her hand clutching my arm was almost completely white against the black of my clothes.

"She is dying to suck your cock, nephew. She loves sucking cocks of men she doesn't know, it makes her feel like a complete slut."

And near my ear I could hear her, just above the level of awareness.

"...please, don't, please, don't, Nick, please..."

But it was a tiny voice, like a recording played back on small headphones someone took off and forgot.

"Look at her and tell me, honestly that you can turn her down. I bet your wife won't even have sex with you these days, does she, money? You have to deserve it, don't you? She just lets you have some of that pussy on special occasions and even then she's just consenting, isn't she, handsome? None of the ol' enthusiasm you used to get before the little miss came, right?"

He was cracking, I could tell. And Clarissa was trembling. I could feel her whole body tremble as her mantra of whispered pleas lost any sense and became just another layer of music playing in my head 24/7. She was begging but it meant nothing to me. I couldn't feel anything but the words I was saying. They were big, ugly chunks of burning wood and I was spitting them out one by one, hitting the bull's-eye each time.

The poor fucker still refused to play ball, but we all knew where this was going to end.

"Let me be honest with you, boy, ever since I have made this slut my property, I don't even bother taking money with me to pay for rides. All the other guys seem to think it's fair deal she sucks their cock in exchange for a ride. Man, I'm telling you, she's trembling with lust, she needs your cock in her mouth. Come on, you know you can't turn her down, don't be cruel, she needs you to ram your cock down her throat and make her swallow it all."

I took a quick look at Clarissa's face and she was on the verge of tears. Then I looked at him again.

"Come on, nephew, ask her if you don't believe me. She will do things to you your missus never could think about, things you'd never dare ask her." He was shaking his head but he couldn't take his eyes off her face any more. I knew he was looking at her lips, a stroke of black against white canvas of her face.

"Come on, slut, tell him, can't you see the lad is shy."

And she did in that soft voice of hers. The voice that gave me many a hard-on.

"P-please... please let me suck your cock..."

My hand was resting on her thigh, as I was showing her qualities to him. My grip became tighter and she got the message. At least she thought she did, her voice became a tad louder, her words...

"please, I need your cock in my mouth, I need you to fuck my face, to cum inside me and make me swallow every single drop"

The three last words said as if each of them was a sentence in its own right, lower in tone and more seductive than the preceding one.

"I will make you cum like you have never cum in your life, please, I need your cock, I'm so wet I'm going to cum just by sucking you off"

Oh, yes, my grip on her thigh was tighter and tighter, but it wasn't just me showing her who is the owner here. No, it wasn't.

Man, this was my girl. My girl telling a complete fucking stranger what she wanted him to do to her. And I made her do it. Oh, yeah, you need to be talented to make situations this complicated. I am a talented bloke.

Bowing down, she was a creature from dreams and imagination. Her perfume must have hit him when he made that one deep breath. It must have gone straight to his head. You can't stop breathing now, money. That won't do. He surrendered just a minute ago and she just climbed over to the front seat, like a cat. No turning back for either one of us now.

She took his cock out and I heard her make the sexiest, sluttiest sigh of pleasure when she felt how hard and wet he was.

The way I remember it now is awkward. It's a series of frozen polaroids. I don't remember how long it lasted. But it could not have been long. It wasn't long.

The guy, bless him, had such a hard-on that I actually thought he was going to cum even before Clarissa had the chance to put it in her mouth. The bastard had a bigger cock than me. Ouch. You asshole. You freak.

It must have lasted a minute or something, which I think was as good a time as we could have hoped for.

His voice went up a few notes when Clarissa slowly lowered her head and accepted his throbbing, swollen flesh into her mouth. I was shivering. I felt my skin crawl all the way down my back. It was unreal. He was moaning like a girl, he was completely lost. He must have been wondering where's the catch, are we going to kill him afterwards. But he just let it go and his hips moved uncontrollably up and down. And it was unreal. She was doing it the way only she could.

I have never seen her do it from this perspective. She was repeating the same movements, the same noises, she was having the same expression on her face, it was like having an out-of-body experience. Except that the body she was working on was not mine. And the noises of pleasure and lust she was making were muted by someone else's flesh. And when she took it out of her mouth, to suck on his hairy balls for a second, the penis in her hand looked so much bigger than mine.

I honestly can't recall if I had erection. I can not force my mind or body to fully get back into that night. I might have had it. Then again, I might have not. My head was a mess of excitement and curiosity and misery and drunken stupidity. Fuck, maybe I even cried. Honestly I can't recall.

But I do recall encouraging Clarissa to suck his bone with selected lines learned through decades of dedicated porn-watching. She was a slut doing it for her pleasure. I made it blindingly obvious for both of them. The embarrassment he must have felt was probably nothing compared with profound shame that was doubtless raging through her. The sounds she was making were not a playact. Her excitement was bigger than his.

"Ooh, you are a slut. Suck his cock, come on, swallow all of it, bitch, show you're a good whore, come on. Eat his dick, take it all in, let him fill your slutty mouth with his cum, come on, you know he's expecting you to swallow it all, take it down your throat, you whore." And so on and so forth, I was telling her all kinds of degrading stuff I could come up within the space of seconds I had at my disposal.

I remember now what it was that made him last a whole minute. He was probably nearing the home stretch when his mobile phone rang. Man, how he jumped in his seat. The pathetic sinewave rendition of Mozart probably never sounded so threatening to him. Well, yes, at 3 in the morning, it could realistically be only one person in the whole world. Even in my drunken ugliness, I had a moment of lucidity and realised.

"Well, come on, money, it must be the missus, innit? Come on, pick it up, tell her you are nearly done and that you'll be home with her and the kid in no time. Hell, let her hear you're having a good time while we're at it." He was panicking and completely confused as to what he should do. And Clarissa played it just right even without me having to so much as lay my hand on her.

She started sucking his cock even more eagerly, swallowing it all, burying her nose into his bush of pubic hair, salivating over his balls with every thrust of her head. The veins on her neck showed me the effort she was making to let his manmeat go down her throat. She was moaning and making sucking noises that would turn a whole battalion of saints into sinners.

The poor fucker, about to lose his erection when the phone rang was taken to a whole new level. He cracked, one last shred of his dignity burned in fire of demonic passion. The phone kept ringing and he put both his hands on the back of her head and pushed her down brutally. The fucker made her take it all in, he was not concerned with whether she enjoyed it or even whether she could breathe, he pushed it all down her throat. And she was all the slut he could ever have imagined.

I still don't know if she was just faking the orgasm. I still don't know whether she did it to amuse me and him and to feel like a slut or... Or indeed being forced to be a slut, being forced to pleasure a stranger, degraded to a level of street slag, forced to perform in a filthy taxi parked in front of my house, being called all kinds of names, indeed it all made her come, without even touching herself down there.

What I do know is that it pushed him over as sure as the devil has a tail. He was screaming. He was coming straight into her mouth, down her throat and she was swallowing it all. Well, to a certain point, at least. He had way more sperm in his little storage made of wrinkled skin than one would rationally expect. I guess I'd been right about his wife not really being down to do it most of the time, poor lad.

The cum was dripping from Clarissa's mouth, there was too much of it, and when the pressure of his hands on her head decreased, she moved back and started jerking his cock off, her face still only inches away. In a very dramatic fashion a nearby lightning bathed the whole scene in white, surreal light.

I saw a spray of sperm shoot from his cock and fall on her face, the shadow it made against the dashboard, like in slow-motion. Then another and another, and another, her face was covered with his sperm as she was jerking him off and repeating "yes, yes, yes, yes", a slut to put sluts to shame. Her hair, her eyelids, her lips, covered with thick, white slimy pearls.

She obeyed me. She did.

He was moaning as she was sucking his cock clean.

"You don't want to leave this nice man a mess, whore do you?"

I sounded positively cruel. Maybe I am.

"You made a mess, bitch, now clean all of it. It serves you right he sprayed all of your face in his cum, you deserve nothing better."

She was obedient, her eyes closed, her mouth efficient, collecting slimy fluids off his cock, licking swallowing.

"Slut."

"Whore."

"Slut."

Slut.

Slut.

When I remember that night, it's still just isolated images, like a photo-story from any old porn mag I held under my bed, her eyes closed, her lips around his cock, her makeup mixed with his semen, her hands being gentle and caring. I could cry right now, man. It was divine. She was majestic. I could cry now. I was a brave little soldier right there. I was scared shitless and shivering, but I was a brave little turd right there. I could cry now.