One, Maybe Two At Most

She was lying in bed, grateful to put her feet up, which was ironic, considering she made her living by putting her feet up. She listened to him taking a piss in the bathroom; as clients went, he was fairly normal. Straight sex, some head. Nothing like the guy she'd scheduled last week, the one who wanted to pretend he was a pirate so he could plunder her for buried treasure. She stretched her arms above her head and pointed her toes; she was getting too old for this life. One, maybe two years more at the most, and then she'd retire. Put her feet up for good.

He wandered back into her room and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her right foot into his hands. He began to gently massage it; she closed her eyes and smiled. What a considerate gesture, she thought. She let out a contented sigh and sunk deeper into the pillow. He finished with the one, then began on the other. She felt her body begin to relax, and had to fight to keep her senses about her. Don't let your guard down, a little voice said. She felt his hands drift up her legs, the stubble of his beard brushing against her inner thighs. He began to kiss her, letting his tongue dart across her flesh. She started to respond with her usual scripted words; "Oh yea, oh baby" but he stopped and sat up. She opened her eyes; her immediate reaction was one of apprehension.

"Don't" he said, a dark look clouding his face. "Don't pretend. I hate when women pretend. I'd rather you just lay there and let me enjoy myself."

She tried to get a read on him, began to question her initial assessment of him. She felt her survival instincts kick in.

"Sure baby, whatever you say. Enjoy yourself, but I wasn't pretending. You're really good. The best."

The look on his face got darker, and she felt her adrenaline begin to kick in.

"Don't fucking lie to me. I hate when people lie to me."

She tried to smile, tried to gain control of the situation again. Tell him what he wants to hear, the little voice said. She let out a deep breath.

"Ok,I'll stop pretending. You do what you gotta do to get your money's worth."

She saw him begin to relax, saw the black mood begin to dissipate. He bent over again, pushing her legs up, letting her feet drape over his shoulders.

"I fucking hate liars" she heard him mumble as he resumed his ministrations. She lay back and tried to find a happy place. One more year, maybe two, then she could retire. He moved up her body, plunging inside her. She could feel his mouth next to her ear.

"You hate this, don't you?"

"Fuck you, pal. You're not paying me to enjoy it."

"Yea, you hate this, and all the guys like me who buy you. You hate the fact that you can't tell me what a loser I am, that you have to pretend that I'm the best thing that's ever crawled into your bed. You hate the sense of powerlessness it arouses in you, don't you?"

Oh Christ, she thought, this one wanted to screw with her mind as well as her body. She tried to clench her pelvic muscles tighter in an attempt to make him cum faster. He started his interrogation again, mistaking her silence for acquiescence.

"So why do you do it, sweetie? Why do you let any schmuck with a c-note do whatever he wants to you? Were you molested as a child? Did your daddy make you take a shower with him? Or maybe it was your choir teacher making you stay after school to clean his pipes? Was that it? Go on, tell me, sweetie, tell me all the dirty details."

Sweet Jesus, this guy was a freak. She decided to play along, tell him what ever he wanted to hear.

"Yea, baby, you're right. It was my math teacher; I was fourteen, he was forty-five. He used to make me meet him during lunch, used to lock the door to the classroom. He'd make me touch him while he sucked my tits, letting his fingers probe me until they were sticky. Sometimes he'd spank me with the pointer, making me calculate Pi to fifteen decimal places. He called me his sweet piece of Pi. Get it darling, like pie? It's a play on words."

She could hear his breathing becoming shallow, his thrusts quickening as he grew closer to climaxing. Suddenly he pulled out and began to thrust between her breasts, depositing a pearl necklace along her throat. He let his hands wrap around her neck, rubbing the sticky substance into her skin and onto her lips. He bent down and kissed her, hard. Most guys would rather die than taste their own spunk, but not him. He lived for that taste. He rolled over onto his back, letting his head swim. He was just about to slip into a deep sleep when he felt her elbow in his ribs. He opened his eyes, slowly turning his head towards her. She was sitting up, smoking a cigarette.

"Come on, pal, time's up. Get dressed and get out."

He smiled and closed his eyes again.

"Not yet, baby. I've got a wallet full of hundreds. I plan on spending all of them."

She took another drag on her cigarette, then got out of bed, walking over to the dresser. She opened the drawer and pulled out the .22, making sure it was loaded. She looked over her shoulder and paused; he was watching her. He stared intently at her, then laid his head back onto the pillow.

"Put the gun away, darling. You'll never get away with it, and I'm not worth spending the rest of your life locked up. Come back to bed and rest; we've a long night ahead."

She sighed, placed the gun down, closed the drawer, and walked back to the bed, laying on her side facing away from him. He rolled next to her, his arm over her like a snare. She closed her eyes and tried to think of a happy place. One, two years more at most. Then she could retire.