She wore a fur coat and carried a Louis Vuitton handbag on her elbow. She laughed again and entered the room, took Larry by his handle and lead him to the bed, spun him around, pushed him backwards and climbed on top of him.
The room door closed behind them with an heavy clack.
Her tight dress hitched up to her waist and she pressed her groin firmly against the hilt of his penis. Larry looked down her panties were showing. Black transparent panties.
"Three hundreds and fifty pounds?" she said and rocked her hips back and forth against him, lifting and lowering his rod.
"Wow, that's ... um, not sure I have enough ..." said Larry.
"Yes you can afford. You can pay Bitcoin, or debit card, or cash, of course" she said.
Then she sat upright and took hold of his penis and stroked his erection like a baker glazing dough with an egg wash.
"You can fuck the Saša, or, you can wank alone for free?" she added and let his penis slap down.
Larry smiled and nodded.
"So, um, Saša? What's the name on the, um, the receipt?" he said.
Saša got off him took off her coat and picked up her expensive handbag. She took out her phone and a small square credit card reader. She unlocked the phone and opened and App, tapped on the screen and handed her phone to Larry.
"You choose" she said.
Larry saw a list of different company names, and he looked at her and nodded, she was a professional in every sense of the word. Each of the companies had a brief description, he looked at the first one, "Kids Bouncy Party Palace for Hire". None of these companies were in the UK, very clever he thought. After all who would be buying a "bouncing castle" at eleven o'clock at night? But, if the seller was company in Portland, Maine, well then your eleven PM is during their office hours. These were exactly the kind of details Larry himself would look at, silly mistakes that trip liars every time. A software company in India seemed the correct fit for him so he tapped on it and gave the phone back.
"That one" he said
"Good" she said.
She clipped the card reader on the back of the phone, tapped around and looked at him.
"Extras? You want add any extras?" she asked
Larry shrugged.
"Suck and fuck, most popular ones, but no anal, you want anal so you need extras" she said.
Larry was given another list with check-boxes down the side. Each row had a bold title, a brief description and a price. The top rows, "Suck" and "Fuck", each had a tick in the margin. The third row, "Anal", was unticked. He scrolled down out of curiosity. Each title on each row unpacked itself in Larry's imagination as an advert trailer of forthcoming attractions. In each scene Saša was the leading lady, and Larry was the protagonist in a pornographic melodrama. The description of the row set the stage, and the price, over in the right column, set the tone.
The further down Larry scrolled the more insidious the pornography became, going from kinky and bazaar to openly violent and depraved. Her inventory became completely unpalatable about halfway down the page, and Larry stopped scrolling. Her resume offended his imagination.
"OK then, so, this is what you do?" he asked
"Yes" she said.
"All of it?" he asked.
Saša nodded.
Larry handed the phone back.
"Well that's fine for now. If I'm still feeling peckish I might add something later" he joked.
"What is peckish?" she asked
"Never mind. Suck and fuck. Good" he said.
"Good, good" she said.
She updated his order and showed him the total. At the bottom of the screen he pressed a large blue PAY NOW button, but it beeped in protest. A pop-up message instructed him to accept the conditions of use and sexual consent policy. He did. The screen refreshed, with a message telling him to return the device to the seller. He did. She took the phone and opened her palm.
Larry rolled over, got his credit card and handed it to her, she inserted it in the small square reader, and looked away awkwardly as Larry punched in this PIN. They waited in silence. Seconds later a happy little chyme confirmed the transaction.
"Good" she said.
Saša unhooked the devices and put them in her handbag and pulled out three belts of Boots branded condoms. She looked at Larry's penis measured him and tore off a single condom from the second strip and put the silver sachet on the side table. Next she took out two plastic bottles; a large half full bottle of lubricant and a smaller bottle of gel.
"Hands" she said.
Larry obeyed. She cranked to generous squirts of gel into his palms and watched him rub his hands dry.
"Good" she said and packed the bottle away.
Saša bent her leg so the heel almost touched her butt and reached down to unbuckled the strap. She looked like a crane. The sexy stiletto slipped off and she pointed it at Larry's evergreen erection.
"You have heart attack from Viagra I no take you to hospital" she said.
"Oh this, no, no, this is not that. Seriously, I'm not on V's" said Larry.
"Of course. Is never Viagra. You are real man. I know, I know. But any problems, mister real man, I just going. You understand yes?" she said.
He sighed and nodded. In that moment he became aware of the unfathomable gulf between beauty and personality and the impasse that their respective cultures had produced to ensure the divide. That difference was huge. A rift so broad that to bridge it would require materials made from love itself. Love and time, of course, lots and lots of love and time. Neither had either.
Larry watched her.
She unstrapped the other foot in the same way as the first and put her shoes together neatly beside the arm chair. Without them she looked tiny.
Next she exposed each shoulder, slipping her arms free then wiggled her dress down, over her chest, over her hips and thighs until it dropped on the floor.
She stepped clear of the neat ring of clothing. Her underwear was sheer black and semi-transparent. She bent down and picked up a hollow tube of cloth. A sock minus the foot. Moments earlier, in the elevator, it was the sock that sold the foot, her dress was her pimp, but now it just was a lame yard of fabric.
She halved the dress and then halved the half and ironed it flat with her palm. She hung it neatly over the chair back. As she leaned forward some hair slipped free and dangled across her face. She puffed it away. It slipped back. She gathered it and tied it back into a tail. Then she clipped and pinned the shorter bits.
Saša noticed Larry watching she smiled without her eyes and continued, doing what she did, like she had done hundreds of times before, and would do a hundreds again. The action of the undressing where unworthy of remembering to Saša. They where spent time, worthless minutes. Mundane procedures of her occupation. She would not at some point in her far future think back in time to this moment, and sentimentally cherish it. She would not recall living it. In the future this never happened. This did not justify an entry in the ledger of her own life. However in Larry's future every movement would be cherished in high fidelity.
Saša's skin was very pale and the contrast with her underwear, made her look literally black and white. She removed her bra folded the cups together and put them on the dress, then pulled her panties off and did the same. She could have been a teller at a supermarket. But then he saw it.
It was right there on the flank of her left thigh. A crude teenage protest chiselled into her skin in anger, with a home-made instrument, a needle taped to the end of a ballpoint pen perhaps, and then belligerently tapped and dipped into black ink, to and fro, over and over again, until it was done, and all that remained was a seeping bloody wound marbled with ink on inflamed skin in the shape of a cartoon character. From the Disney franchise. A tattoo of Mickey Mouse.
Larry's mind cartwheeled over the events of earlier. The name he gave away impromptu. The vagrant poem. He couldn't recall the exact words, but neither could he forget the gist either. Was this that? Larry wondered if he had inadvertently created these events, perhaps he had unconsciously twisted the will of the universe to manifest what was happening in the hotel room. And then with a simple shift of weight, and twist of hip the vulgar tattoo was gone. Out of sight, but not out of mind.
Saša lifted her foot onto the chair, and squirted a dollop of lubricant across three finger tips and spooned it inside her. She did that twice then wiped what remained on her outside bits, and got rid of the residue, on her hands by raking her fingers together and rubbing them with a folding motion. Next she unlocked her phone.
"Ok Google, set alarm one hour" she said.
"One thirty seven AM, set" said the phone.
Then she walked to the bed, climbed on, crawled to Larry and sat on his upper thighs.
Then she leaned over him to reach the table and get the condom, her neat breasts hung above his nose and taunted him. She opened the sachet pinched the tip and rolled the condom onto Larry and sat her gentiles on his. The lubricant was so cool against him. Larry hadn't realised how hot it was down there. His thing was radiating heat like fresh sunburn. The cold contrast felt wonderful.
"Ready?" she said.
Larry nodded and raised himself up to kiss her. She pulled her head back and wagged her finger at him
"No kissing, no fingers" she said.
"No kissing?" he asked.
"No kissing. And. No fingers." she said.
She looked at him and cocked her neck.
"What?" he asked.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Larry" he replied.
"Is baby name" she said
"It's not a baby name! That's what people call me, 'Larry' or 'Laza' or or ... It's easier than Laurence." he said.
"Laurence" she said.
The word hung on the air as if it was made of smoke. It twisted and curled and eddied and then it was gone. As if reality had a magicians slit in it a place were awkward silences got to be gone.
Larry thought about his unabridged name. He had not said that word to anyone for years. He wondered when he became his nickname. He couldn't remember. He regretted telling her. How many names had she been told?
Saša seemed to understand his name. Her eyes seemed to convey that she heard it right and proper, absorbed it, as if it was a more than just a word, more than a chord of syllables welded together. As if Laurence was in fact not a word but rather a sentence of great significance, or maybe more, an entire paragraph perhaps, a paragraph packed with meaning. Maybe all names where actually compounded phrases that where recorded in an in an ancient book of spells. And each time it is said, the phrase, the incantation of your word reconstitutes you, it reinforces your existence on this mortal coil.
Saša was no longer looking at him, she was looking into him with those eyes the colour of ancient ice. Larry could feel their cold prehistoric depth bore into him, and behind them a force that belonged to an old world being shaped by glacial force long before God was born. Then she blinked and it was gone.
"Lovrenc" she said.
"In my country; Lovrenc. Not Lallie. That is so stupid name. Lovrenc. Is much good."
Saša squared her shoulders and straightened her back, like an equestrian rider, her hands gathered in her lap, and took the horn of her saddle. She sat forward and stroked him with herself tilted her hips and mounted him.
Larry's eyes rolled backward, the lids shut and he sighed in gratitude. This was Saša's favorite part of the job. She smiled as Larry surrendered his sight. Sometimes they didn't. Saša was wise to the ones that didn't. Those clients where busy bodies with heads full of noise. Those men were always thinking, and thinking men are tricky. By contrast navigating a premeditated man was the worst part of her job.
But Larry was not like that. Larry was entirely hers. To her, in that small moment, he was docile cow, chewing hay, in a shed behind her grandmothers farmhouse. She was doing her chores as she had done before, as she would do again. The animal was full and the family was poor. And so each morning Saša would decant the cow. She would pour the milk from her pail into an old metal urn and swap the empty cow for the next cow. So it would continue until it was time for school. The old matriarch would decent from the house, enter the shed with a satchel. The innocent young girl would stop wanking the teets of the cow, rinse her hands, kiss her grandmother and bounce off to school. Since that moment and this only the animal had changed.
So she needed to gauge the value for money, how long should it last, and weather or not she wanted repeat business. That was a very important factor in the art of sex.
Saša was inclined to Larry. He had the money, he was arrogant and not terrible to look at, and of all the strange reasons to like someone his name spoke to her.
She railed herself back and forth along his shaft then tilted her pelvis downward and swallowed him into her. He gasped with pleasure. He felt very hot inside. She rode him gradually faster, and then it happened.
His erection engorged. She felt it erect within itself. It thickened and lengthened. A penis within the penis. She felt full. Not uncomfortable, just really full. She stopped moving to evaluate her insides. Then the thing did something unexpected, it slide in-and-out of itself, telescopically extending and contracting. She gasped and pulled herself forward and let the thing leave her and slap down on his belly.
Larry's eyes popped open, and they where momentarily white, the pupils looking up into his head, as the lids opened, then slipped down, the pupils enlarged, and entirely dilated, black holes but for the thinnest hazel edge. The pupils contracted into olive green, and he frowned in confusion.
What? He asked
Saša looked at it. It was bigger, definitely, but not typically bigger like a large courgette, instead it was more almond shaped, broadest in the middle, and tapered up to the tip and down to the hilt. It was longer but only slightly and not uncomfortably. Apart from that it looked normal ... ish. She hoped there might be a reason to stop, but there wasn't. He had a strange looking cock, and that was it. But there something was odd about him.
Something was intangibly wrong about him. Apart from the over-inflated ego and extraordinary arrogance, these are all forgivable, and in another situation could be quite seductive, but no, there was something else. When a man weeps, and all men weep at some point, the bravado gets washed clean with their tears, the only thing that can't be washed is violence. But Larry did not have the smile of a violent man. It was a sourness in his sweat, something she had not encounterd before, and it see,ed to come from deep inside him.
And if Saša was wrong, she was never wrong about voilence, but if she where, there would be a swift retribution. In her purse very nasty things lay waiting. Hard things, sharp things and other things of abominable cruelty and awful pain. The things of Law.
Saša knew her rights, and understood that to have a human right we must first demonstrate the how to punish human wrong. Her rights can't exist without law enforcement.
"Please don't stop. Jesus that feels good" said Larry
His words plucked her back into rent paying reality.
So she guided the deformed thing back into her, inhaled as the broadness stretched her open and exhaled when it was in. Many years before she had a regular client, an impotent man into BDSM and fetish, who used an inflatable latex dildo. This reminded her of that.
Larry was disappointed by the change of rhythm, he was well on his way and the little pit-stop undid it all. The whole erection thing was a curiosity at first, quite complimentary at first, but over an hour had gone by and neither cold water nor naked grandmothers nor an old fashioned tugging had any effect. What he just wanted relief.
What Larry did not expect was this. Saša was extraordinary. Larry and Dave did like a bit extra on the side, and at the end of a good litigation they would treat themselves to some coke and cunt. Larry was a bit of a connoisseur in his own estimation. But this bitch, Sasa, well she was on a totally different planet. Or something. There was no play in her. No giggling and smiling and such. Nah. She was all about the business. She got it.
She had music in her, real music. Larry wanted to look at her. He opened his eyes. And those fucking eyes where right there waiting for him. Like a cocked cobra swaying bach and forth. Larry had lifted the curtains to his soul and in fucked her snakes. Her eyes like his cock. They just went in all the way. Right to the very back of you. She bumped down on him with the timing of a metronome. Larry fucked her and she fucked him. Her nipples hung in his face. He reached his lips up to suck on her, but as he did she arched and pulled away.
"No kissing." she said.
She looked into him and nodded.
"No kissing. No fingers" she said.
Larry dropped back into the pillow.
His orgasm had begun it's journey. He imagined it as a stone pip. It was tucked in the deep recess of his anus. The tiny grain grew with the rhythm of her sexual rowing, and so it moved. The stone was heading up toward the tip. The frustration of evicting it was the frenzy of the flesh. A fight within to keep it, as long as possible while suppressing the craving to sneeze and drown in the pleasure of its release. This work continues until at some point you reach the gate to ecstasy, a place where you cannot stay long. You cross the threshold and pleasure posses you, your body is owned by it, and you thrash in spasms of sublime pleasure, and surrender to ecstatic violence. A demonic exodus ensues, and you fuck the pebble out. Waves of relief wash over you and you feel your breath. And rational thought returns. And then it is done.