Her Last Trick

  • 8 months ago
  • 19 min read
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Jenna Morris sat at the bar, nursing a tonic water.

Her brother, Dale Morris, sat in a booth, across from the bar, pretending he didn't know her. He was big, a muscle-bound tough. He wore a loose-fitting black jersey, as much to hide his physique as to conceal the identifying tattoos on his arms and chest. The bar was dimly lit. Smokey. One of those places men go nightly to drink themselves to death.

Dale had found it. He knew all the hustles.

Jenna worked to keep her eyes off Dale. He'd paid to get her fine black hair cut short, spiky. He'd even bought a stud for her nose. It was Dale's way of boosting her confidence. She loved the look but couldn't escape the nagging self-doubts she felt wearing it.

She fidgeted on her stool, looking to the man sitting on her left. He was big, broad-shouldered, with dark, smoldering eyes. He'd purchased the tonic water she now held in her hand. Not long ago, the barkeep had placed the glass in front of her and then nodded to where the man sat across the bar. Jenna had grinned at him appreciatively. He'd crossed the bar and took the seat next to her. His size alarmed her, but Dale had dealt with bigger men. Jenna and Dale had a good hustle together. Jenna would take the mark into the parking lot and agree to satisfy him for a small fee. She always insisted on getting her money upfront. "You can't unsuck a cock," she'd chirp. Her youthful exuberance always made the marks grin.

Jenna would toy with the mark until her brother showed up. He was ruthless. Barred from the UFC for life, Dale knew how to take a man down. He was quick. Deliberate.

"What's your name?" the big man sitting next to her asked.

Jenna could feel the nervous tension in her tummy. Except for a brief appraisal, before he took his seat, he hadn't even looked at her. He held his whiskey to his mouth and scanned the room.

"Natasha," Jenna said. Her voice sounded high pitched. Squeaky.

The mark slowly turned his head to her, a big grin on his face. He seemed to know it wasn't her real name. He had a bald head and a strong chin. Jenna could see some sort of tattoo peeking out from the neck of his jersey.

He lowered his drink to the bar and appraised her body.

Jenna's cheeks went hot, but she enjoyed the warmth. She liked the look in a man's eyes as he calculated her worth. Not her true worth, but the amount he was willing to pay for twenty or so minutes of her time. She wore cutoff jeans and a halter top. Leather combat boots, laced just above her ankle. Dale felt her best bet was to dress like an innocent—some sort of truant, a waif, or a runaway. But he warned her not to overdo it. He'd given her a fake driver's license that said she was drinking age and she needed to look the part.

She swiveled on the stool to give the mark a better look. Make her intentions clearer. She crossed and then uncrossed her legs, tapping her boney knees together. Tossing out her small breasts, she bit her lower lip and watched his eyes slide to her navel, her slender hips.

The big man leaned forward.

He put his lips near her ear, a hand on her knee. He whispered that he would give her one hundred dollars if she would let him "go" in her mouth.

Jenna felt an electric pulse in her groin.

A few weeks ago, on her birthday, Dale had come to collect her from Saint Joseph's Orphanage for Abandoned Girls. She'd been living there since she was eight years old. She'd yet to sit with a boy in a darkened theater. She'd never felt a boy's hand in her own, nor walked with a boy under an umbrella. She'd never felt her shoulder collide with a boy's, listening to the patter of raindrops above her head.

Saint Joe's had certainly never offered her an occasion to let a boy go in her mouth.

She squeezed her thighs together, sipping her tonic water. Setting her glass down, she held up two bony fingers. She looked at the mark.

"Two hundred," she whispered.

He straightened on his stool. She didn't know why she was asking for so much. It wasn't like the negotiations even mattered. After Dale knocked him out, they would just take all his money.

The big man stood and knocked back his drink.

Jenna focused on her sweaty glass. She was afraid to look. If he walked off, she would have to lie to Dale. Make something up. They would have to get back on the road again. Move on to the next little town. Sleep in Dale's van. Maybe this time they could head towards Florida. California. Someplace warm. Jenna hesitantly cut her eyes to the mark.

He grinned. Tilted his head toward the door.

Jenna's mouth dried up. Negotiations did matter. They mattered to her.

Two. Hundred. Dollars.

Her heart beat faster, her pussy grew moist. Now she wanted to suck the big man's cock. Wanted to somehow repay him for what he had just given her. Slipping from the stool, Jenna couldn't suppress a big, silly grin.

Two hundred dollars.

She forced herself not to look at Dale.


Jenna briskly strode to the spot Dale had shown her. It was in the alley behind the bar, past a small fenced-in area for dumpsters. The mark suggested spots of his own, but Jenna kept a purposeful stride, rattling off excuses why those other places wouldn't do. Slipping into a small but surprisingly deep brick alcove, she turned to face the mark.

A streetlamp in the alley threw the alcove into deep shadow. The mark looked around and took a deep breath. Turning his back to the alley, he gazed at Jenna.

She hugged her arms, though the night air was still quite warm.

He reached for her, stroking her neck. She nuzzled his hand and grinned. She held her hand out, rubbing her fingertips together.

"Money?" she asked.

The mark laughed and reached into his pocket.

"Right," he said. "Can't unsuck a cock."

Jenna looked at him curiously. She'd been saying that to marks for weeks and could no longer remember where she got it. It wasn't hers, but she'd never heard anyone else say it before.

He starte

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Written by Huck Pilgrim
Hochgeladen October 6, 2020
Notes An innocent waif poses as a prostitute only to find she must suck the john.
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