If there was one thing Charlotte Kennedy couldn't stomach, it was boredom. As far as she was concerned, it was a burden no one should have to bear. Increasingly, as of late, evading boredom meant another line of coke or another tab of acid or another hit of molly. But she was young, and hot, and that made it easy to get drugs. And the easiest way was just to date a drug dealer.
And Charlotte was always easy.
Trent, the aforementioned drug dealer boyfriend, was stressed for a leisurely drive, constantly checking his mirrors and looking over his shoulder. Totally killing her vibe. What's the deal, babe? Are we going to a party or an execution?
He didn't answer, just eased up to the red light. Here, he said, digging something out of his pocket. A little baggie with two small white pills. Take them both.
Charlotte didn't need to be told twice because she could not deal with his paranoia sober. From what she could tell, as she swallowed down both pills together, he was either taking her somewhere really fun or really boring.
Fuck, this molly makes me thirsty. And fucking hot. She tugged at the low neckline of her thin white dress, peeling the cotton material away from sweat-damp skin. The sun might have gone down, but the humidity remained, turning her scandalously short dress into a moist rag that stuck to her skin.
Yeah, well, you probably won't need to wear that dress for much longer; we're here. Here was a mansion in the hills, long driveway lined with lush bushes in neat little rows. And then they reached the house. Garish, trying to fit too many styles on one building, between modern glass windows and traditional marble columns. Tudor accents on a ranch inspired sprawl.
It didn't look like much of a party. No pulsing bass beat, no writing dancers, no freely flowing liquor. No wonder she was going to need the ecstasy; she was already bored. Hard men in neat suits circulated the long stretches of hallway, eying her and her now nearly sheer dress. They didn't talk much, and whatever they said amongst themselves was drowned out by the clicking of her stilettos on the marble floor. At the end of the hall, they entered an office, housing a very serious looking man in a fine Italian suit that barely fit his rippling physique. Trent introduced her to a very stoic nod, and she zoned out as they talked business, swaying and bobbing her head to music only she could hear. Cold hard eyes looked her up and down, betraying nothing but a casual boredom. Does he know how to suck dick?
Do I know how to suck dick? Charlotte giggled, mocked, unable to take anything seriously while the ecstasy coursed through her veins. Still giggling as he urged her to her knees and worked open his pants. He wasn't very hard yet. Maybe he needed the ecstasy. She managed to stifle that giggle because a lot of guys didn't like it if you laughed while eye level with their junk and ran her tongue up the length of his shaft. It usually wasn't a big deal. She got high, she fucked some dude, or dudes, whatever, and they got some drugs. Trent would sell some, to keep them comfortable, and theyd do the rest. But lately, that rest was more and more, and their bills were piling up. So now she had to fuck some guy higher on the distribution chain, or so Charlotte figured.
Her lips closed around his bulbous, throbbing head, and her tongue worked the slit and tasted his salty precum. Saliva drooled down his swollen cock, and her mouth followed, working more and more down her throat.<|im_end|>
Trent had his head buried on the steering wheel of his car because Charlotte indeed knew how to suck a mean cock. He had firsthand experience, but as of now those talented lips belonged to someone else. Of course it was a trade that he was regretfully willing to make. Twenty thousand dollars of debt owed to a man like Victor Salaki left him with little choice in the matter. He sighed sadly once for Charlotte before starting up the car. At least Victor had been kind enough to toss five grand worth of heroin on top of wiping out the debt in return for his newest redheaded piece of ass.
He needed a place to go, somewhere he could chill and wash the memory of this night away. Fortunately Trent knew several other women just like the one he was leaving behind. Whatever, within the hour he'd have some other whore wrapping her lips around his dick and this time around he'd make sure he wouldn't fall into debt with Victor again. At least that was the plan, but Trent was never very good at sticking to the script.
She worked him over like a seasoned pro and it left Victor seeing dollar signs. So long as the bitch could keep taking orders this investment would pay itself off at a far more reliable rate than that young punk ever had managed to do. That power he had over the fates of losers like Trent and his latest slut of a girlfriend was the best drug on the market as far as he was concerned. Hands buried around the side of her head, guiding her sweet mouth up and down over his throbbing cock, forcing her to take him until she was gagging, that was up there too. But as much as sexual pleasure thrilled him, Victor was a man who took far greater pleasure in causing others to suffer under the rule of his tyrannical thumb.
All he needed was an excuse to go off.
"That's it bitch," Victor growls, gazing intently across the top of Charlotte's bobbing and swaying head. "You're gonna take every cock that I tell you to take." The strangled words fall from between his clenched teeth as he pulls himself free from those succulent warm lips. With a simple push from his boot against her chest, Victor knocks Charlotte over onto her back. He can see quite clearly how glazed over her eyes are, doped up as she is; he wonders if she even knows that Trent has abandoned her during the course of their silent barter.
Victor starts to unbutton his shirt while he looms over Charlotte as she lies sprawled out beneath him. "Because you're my property now," he says, his voice low and menacing. "Your little retarded boy toy traded you in and settled up his debt." The tall and muscular man rolls his head upon his shoulders while his shirt continues to slowly fall open. "Now guess what? That debt is yours, and you're gonna make sure it's paid in full." The shirt hangs loose around his cut and chiseled physique as he reaches down and takes hold of Charlotte by her hair.
"So shut up, do what you're told, and we'll get along just fine," Victor says, twisting his fingers like steel cords around her hair. "Now flip yourself over, get on your hands and knees, and stick that ass up in the air." Victor begins to slide out of his shirt, folding the expensive custom fit piece up into a neat bundle. He turns away to lay the garment down across the smooth mahogany surface of his desk, leaving Charlotte to either fall in line or face the consequences. Fate though intervenes as a vibration followed by a repetitive buzz sounded from Victor's cell phone where it was resting upon the table.
He picks it up and sticks it against the side of his jaw. "Yeah?" His tone is sharp as he listens for a moment, ignoring the existence of Charlotte while his fingers stroke over the exotic puzzle box. "Alright, I'll be down in a minute." He ends the call abruptly, his piercing eyes linger on the box that his fingers remain steepled around before finally setting his newest acquisition down.
"Just stay put and don't touch anything," Victor says to Charlotte without looking at her. "We'll finish this when I get back." He stuffs his still hard and saliva-smeared cock back into his dress pants and zips up. Without a glance then he strides past her to the stout double doors, opens them, and steps outside. With a resounding thud, the doors close and lock behind him.<|im_end|>