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HAVE HER CAKE & EAT IT TOO || LIVVY & JACK
“Well?” She said expectantly, twisting the new engagement ring around her finger while she regarded him with her cat-like stare. There was something of a dare in it. He was determined not to take the bait, but finally, he couldn’t just sit there and watch her spin that fat ice chip around her finger all goddamn night.
“Well what?” He said through ground teeth, pouring out two more fingers of whiskey.
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” She asked as if it was so tedious to have to teach him to be nice.
“You gonna marry that Yalie fuck? The one with the boat?”
“Leslie Ashburn?” She chirped, goading him with the lilting challenge in her voice. Damn stupid name.
“Whatever his fuckin’ name is.”
“Yes, Leslie.”
“Congratu-fuckin’-lations.”
She was continuing to watch him with that sly, expectant look. High-class dames were a piece of fuckin’ work. After a long pause, she said gleefully.
“I don’t love him, you know.” She said as if she were proud of herself for it.
He snorted into his glass. No shit, sister. You don’t love anybody, he thought.
“And come down to it, he doesn’t love me either, not really” She declared. “But it’s good for his career to get in with Daddy and I can’t say no to a socially secure future. And I suppose his conscience caught up with him about all those weekends screwing around on his sailboat.” She sighs, shrugging. “But the point is, I have every intention of carrying on with you just as I please.” He doubted very much the hapless Mr. Ashburn was aware of this arrangement.
“Oh yeah? And what if I don’t want to two-time your high-class crumb of a husband? What if I said no?” Though he admitted that pulling one over on the exact kind of smug, spoiled shit that Leslie Ashburn was that made him just a little bit turned on.
“You won’t. The idea thrills you, I’m sure.” He wondered, not for the first time, what his tell was. How was she so maddeningly perceptive to even a hint of arousal? But as she reached under the edge of the bar to slyly touch him through Van Escort his pants, he knew she was right.
They fucked in the car. He ripped her panties off, left the French silk balled up on the floor. She clawed his face and licked the blood from his torn lip, giggling like a demented child. He pinned her against the seat with his forearm against her throat, slapping her little tits until she squealed and kicked. She dragged her nails down his back so hard his shirt bloomed pink and red as he shoved himself inside her. They always left each other scratched and bruised, covered in bite-marks and limping sore. How very like both of them, intoxicated by the violence and obscenity of it. She hid her wounds under long dresses, pressed her fingers into the sore places in the middle of the night while she touched herself. He kept the torn scraps of monogrammed silk, a trophy to remind him of his debauched high-class conquest.
“Is that what you wanted, you little bitch?” He hissed, listening to her giggling turn into moans under him. Felt her squirm up to meet his thrusts. “Can’t live without my fucking cock? Your pathetic little Leslie can’t give it to you like I can. That’s why you keep coming down here, slumming it to get this cock. I’m the only one who’s ever gonna be able to give you what you need. Say it, say you’re a filthy little minx who can’t get what she needs from anyone but me.”
She nodded, eyes glittering, and he slapped her across the face.
“No, princess. Use your words. I wanna hear you say it. Go on. Say it out loud, you little slut.”
She swallowed thickly, his handprint blooming on her cheek.
“You like being my little whore. Say it.”
She gasped indignantly, even though she’d said it a dozen times before while he pinned her against rough brick walls in back alleys she had no place being in or on top of cigarette-singed sheets in hideous roadside motels.
He stopped moving. He made a motion like a careless shrug and rocked his hips back so that he slid out of her, rubbing uselessly against her thigh. He grinned, knowing how much this would infuriate Van Escort Bayan her. Nothing pissed Livvy off like taking something she wanted from her, but it was very entertaining making her whine and beg and humiliate herself for a Cadillac of coke or for his cock. Grinning like a cat, he lifted one long stockinged leg over his shoulder, reaching down to rub the head of his cock against her clit but not deigning to dip inside.
“Be a good girl, princess, say it and I’ll give you what you want.”
“I’m your whore, I’m your whore, I’m your whore, goddamn you!” She mewled, frantic and angry, nails dragging down his chest, leaving welts. “Fuck me, you filthy stupid bastard.” She got another slap across the face for her lip but got what she wanted as he nailed her to the seat. Biting into her calf and thigh, leaving wet smears on the laddered nylon of her stockings, his free hand spread across her face, holding her down against the leather. The reminder that she was just a whimpering hole to him; a stupid, fancy, frilly toy he could and would use however he wanted. The car lurched as he drove into her over and over again. He called her names and bit and scratched and she looked at him through his spread fingers, mascara running down her face, lipstick like a bloodstain across her cheek and she was crying but her mouth was twisted in a victorious sneer. His movements become furious, one hand wrapping around her neck slamming into her until she audibly sobbed, the cries shuddering into a moan as she came, writhing on his cock, nails scrabbling at the door of the car. He felt her heartbeat, a desperate flutter against his fingers, her sticky choking breaths. His fingers closed like a vice and for half a moment she looked almost afraid. But it was enough and he came, hard, even as he released her and she laughed breathlessly, as if she had never really been frightened, not even for a moment.
She fixed her clothes as best she could while he tossed the rubber out the window. She set up a couple of lines of snow on the dashboard and then laid back in the passenger seat, caressing all her new bruises.
They Escort Van fucked again back in his apartment, heedless of his sleeping neighbors as he belted her like a disobedient schoolgirl over the end of his bed. Smeared her ruined makeup across his scratchy cotton pillows as he fucked her face down, slapping her ass as it bounced along his length. He made her take it on the face, watching her indignant pouting face as he came over her lips, dripping on her cheek and a drop clinging to her hair. He made her mop it off with her pretty silk handkerchief.
When they were done, she laid on his chest while he smoked one of her fancy cigarettes and watched her diamond engagement ring sparkle in the greasy light of the lamp outside. She was humming to herself, clearly pleased as punch. Having her cake and eating it too, that was Livvy all over. He’d have felt sorry for Leslie if the man wasn’t such a limp-wristed, inbred drip. He did, however, feel pretty goddamn sorry for himself, letting Livvy get under his skin like that. Coming all the way down here just to piss him off to get what she wanted. He could tie her up, slap her, choke her, make her beg for cock or drugs, make her cry, make her scream, make her debase herself in alleyways all he fucking wanted but he knew, he knew she called the shots. She knew exactly how to wind him up, to play into his need to see somebody like her on her knees for him. It pissed him off and it only wound him up all the worse and that started the game all over again.
In time she got up and dressed, with the usual irritated realization that her panties were somewhere in his car and probably torn to pieces. So she went without, and with torn stockings. What did she care, he thought, she could just buy more. Nothing mattered to high-class dolls like her. It was all so easy to throw away and find the next frivolous thing.
“We’re going to Switzerland for our honeymoon.” She announced as she finished buttoning her dress and went to collect her fox from where it had been thrown to the floor on arrival. She bent over him on the bed, kissing his cheek. “I’ll be sure to send you a postcard, tell you how much I miss you.” She said, giving his cock a squeeze beneath the sheets. “I’ll be seeing you, Jack.”
And then she was gone, but he knew– with that certain surety that all addicts know– that she would be back.
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