I try not to smirk as I curl the fingers of my free hand in Audra's hair. With a wild groan, she throws herself onto me, sliding my dick as deep into her throat as she can get. And oh yes, Miss Holiday knows how to deep throat like the best of them. My mouth curves up at the corners as Clarice babbles onto the line, desperately seeking my attention. She knows I've got another woman with me and instead of being jealous, all she can think about is how to win me back. If my status as a god was ever in question, it certainly isn't now. The beast purrs inside of me with pleasure. I'm in control again, and nothing in this world is better.
“Okay, okay. Cunt.” Clarice whispers the word, which annoys me, but I'm tired of dealing with her, so I hang up and toss the spare phone – an older model I was fortunate to have lying around – onto the coffee table. In my enjoyment of the moment, I'd almost forgotten about Mark's corpse lying a few feet away, wrapped in a blanket, dirty sneakers sticking out the end. It's not a particularly attractive thing to have around – actually, it's quite gross – but I can't stop. The demons won't let me stop.
I keep a firm pressure on the back of Audra's head, shoving my dick deep into her throat. Her beautiful body looks divine from up above, her shapely calves curving back, her high heels gaping away from her porcelain feet. She's as dark as I am, maybe darker, but she doesn't stay quiet like I do. Audra is a chorus of grunts and moans, whispers of pain against the bare shaft of my cock. She isn't touching herself though, not like I'd first thought. Instead her hands are curled in the black fabric of my slacks, hanging on with a tense anxiety and desperation that hints at her future needs. Own me. That's what Audra's posture, her whimpers, her hot dirty mouth, all say to me. No, not just say. Beg. She's begging me to own her, chain her demon down and put it on a leash. That's my specialty, locking the beast away, so it can't hurt anyone or anything without permission. Based on her behavior today, Audra Holiday desperately needs this.
I clamp both hands on the back of her skull, pounding my dick into her mouth, letting my hips fuck her face. My balls slap against Audra's chin as I pummel those full lips, letting my body take control of the motion. She doesn't complain, relaxing her throat and breathing so heavily through her nose that the breath tickles my shaft and brings me to a full orgasm before I'm ready. Miraculously, I manage to stay quiet, blowing my load into the back of Audra's throat, watching with wicked glee as she sits back, a string of saliva and cum attaching my cock to her lips. She wipes it away and stares at the floor.
“That was awfully quick,” Audra snaps, sniffling and standing up to adjust her heels. “Pamela pays you for that?” I pretend not to hear the insult and drag a wet wipe from my pocket to clean my cock. I don't miss Audra's quickly smothered look of surprise when she sees that I'm already hard again.
“Yes, well, I don't particularly have the time or leisure to play games right now, do I? We have,” I tuck my dick back in my pants and check my watch, “about two hours until sunrise begins. I'm not interested in carting around a dead body while my elderly neighbors are out pruning their roses.”
“I've heard a lot of excuses in my life,” Audra says, sweeping her hair away from her face and meeting my gaze full on. I enjoy the challenge in her eyes, the flicker of defiance coupled with a strange hypocritical acceptance. “But hey, baby, we got a dead man up in here sounds a hell of a lot more likely than I was tired or I got shit to do.” Audra's imitation of her past lovers sounds suspiciously like the late Mark. She must have a very specific breed of lowlife trash she goes for.
I smirk at her and step forward, running my fingers down the side of her face.
“If you want proof of my prowess, I'm more than willing to give it, but first you're going to deal with the mess you made. We'll discuss payment later.” Audra scoffs at me, stepping back as I approach the couch. Her voice, when she next speaks, is full of challenge.
“Payment? Fuck, you should be paying me for that shit.”
“Are you a prostitute, Miss Holiday?” I ask, bending down and peeking underneath the afghan. Mark's visage hasn't changed much in death. He still looks sloppy and useless, a failure of a man if I've ever seen one. The smell is absolutely toxic – a mixture of old blood and shit. I feel my hard-on wither away inside my slacks.
“Obviously not. That's your gig, isn't it?” I stand up and wad my used wet wipe up in my hand. Getting angry with this woman won't get me far. Besides, I don't intend to make losing control a regular habit. I move past Audra, purposely ignoring her, and dump the wipe in the trash. Then I bend down and retrieve two pairs of rubber gloves and a second box of garbage bags from under the sink. I don't intend for Mark to ever be found, but if he is, I'd like to minimize the already blatant trail of DNA evidence slathered about his person.