The Choking of a Beautiful Girl by the Bastard George Clooney (2 page)

Americo curses at the door.

He comes back to her, puts his hands on her
shoulders. Lisa shudders. She wants to lay her head on his chest
and cry. "Natasha," he whispers. He coos softly in her ear, leading
her to the wall. "This is your hole." He says something in Spanish
to the woman already at the part of the wall, and she moves off.
"This hole is reserved for only the most attractive men."

"Don’t'," she whispers. Her voice breaks and she
looks away from him. "Don't patronize me," she squeaks.

"It is the truth," he says. "The truth." His
voice rings with confidence.

She turns to him and falls to her knees. "I'll
suck your dick," she whispers in a throaty voice. Reaching for his
belt buckle, she looks up at him. "I won't tell Danny," she
says.

He takes her shoulders in his hands and squats,
his face inches from hers.

"Danny knows." Americo grins at her. He has a
gap between his bottom front teeth. "I told him I would bring you
here, put you at the wall."

Lisa doesn't know what to do with this
information. His somber grin.

"It was the very last thing I said to him,"
Americo says. He tucks her hair behind her ear, then puts his hand
on her cheek. He has rough, calloused hands. A cock comes through
the hole in the wall. It's long and brown.

"I promised him I would watch you tonight." He
strokes her head.

Her breath is short, her mouth dry. She licks
her lips.

"And I will."

Americo leans forward, inspecting the cock.

"Natasha," he says, pointing to the wall. "It's
Brad Pitt." He makes a face as if this is an impressive
development.

She sits back on her haunches. The woman to her
right has her breasts in her hands, her mouth on the cock jutting
from the wall. Americo raises his brows, and Lisa takes a deep
breath. Taking the cock in her hand, she wipes the pre-cum from its
head.

She puts it in her mouth and Americo makes a
soft sigh of delight.

He strokes her back. He whispers encouragements
in her ear. She'd sucked Danny's cock on the ride across the
border. He couldn't come. He was too high and too stressed about
his meeting with Americo. The hole is big enough that she can see
the man on the other side is wearing denim work pants. His pants
are down around his thighs and he wears no underwear. No shirt. He
has a small tattoo on his abdomen. She wanted Danny to fill her
mouth with semen, but he couldn't.

The cock in her mouth swells, and the man
presses his hips against the wall.

Taking the dick from her mouth, she fists him.
To protect her shirt from his cum, she puts her other hand over the
head of his cock. He sprays into her palm. After he finishes, she
sits back on her haunches and looks into her hand.

Americo grabs her wrist, glaring at her
palm.

"Natasha," he hisses. A lump of fear rises in
her chest and she closes her fist. Pulling her wrist from his
grasp, she wipes her sticky hand on the seat of her jeans. He moves
his face inches from hers. She can smell mint on his breath.

"Not attractive enough?" Americo asks.

Another cock comes through the hole. The man who
owns it is still fisting it. This cock is dark and thick, with a
fat head and a veiny shaft.

"George Clooney," Americo hisses.

She puts the cock in her mouth. The man who owns
it is wearing slacks, his fly is open and his boxers are white with
some sort of pattern. Maybe he is George Clooney. His cock swells
in her mouth. She touches one hand to her breasts, the other
strokes George Clooney's cock. In the car with Danny, her head in
his lap, she settled in for the tiresome task that lay ahead. She
squeezed her thighs together, the tight denim rubbing between her
legs. When it took Danny a long time, she'd learned to satisfy
herself. He could take forever. He was always stressed. Always
high.

Americo snakes his hand between her legs from
behind. She instinctively pulls her hips in, then lowers her body,
trying to squirm away from his touch. His hand follows her, rubbing
between her legs. He is right behind her, whispering softly in her
ear. She squeezes her thighs together, his hand jammed between her
legs, fingers rubbing where all the seams run together. The cock in
her mouth is thick and wet, its owner humping her face.

Soon she realizes Americo's hand feels good,
better than her own, so she relaxes her thighs, opening her legs.
Before long his other hand is on her breasts.

She rocks her hips, surrendering her bottom to
his touch. It is not impossible that George Clooney is in Mexico.
It's unlikely, she knows, but not out of the realm of
possibilities. He has to be somewhere. Why not here? She presses
her face into the hole, and George Clooney jacks off into her
mouth, his fist brushing her lips.

Americo stands, his hand still between her legs.
He lifts her by the crotch and she squirms against his hand. She
finds she must rise from her knees to keep his hand in the right
spot. It's awkward and unwieldy, especially with George Clooney's
cock in her mouth.

She does it. She has to put both hands on the
wall, but she does it.

Her hips are higher than her shoulders and her
weight is against the wall when she comes. She squeezes her thighs
together and moans with the cock in her mouth. George Clooney comes
in her mouth. A thick rush of semen hits the back of her throat and
she gasps and swallows. She chokes and swallows, struggling to
retreat from the wall, the cock firing into her mouth. Americo has
his hand between her legs, his other hand on her hip.

He sees she is in trouble and pulls his hand
away. She bends over coughing, then falls to her knees, her eyes
filling with tears. The crotch of her jeans is wet and she feels
the afterglow from her orgasm, but her throat burns and the acrid
taste of cum fills her mouth.

Her cheeks burn with shame.

Americo grins, touching himself between the
legs. His cock makes a visible outline in his pants.

"Well done, Natasha," he laughs. "Well
done."

She pushes the hair from her face and finds a
strand of semen lodged in her hair. She tries to remove it with her
hand. Americo finds a stool and moves it near Natasha's hole. From
inside his vest, he pulls a small silver flask. "I am going to
enjoy this night immensely," he says with glee.

She lifts her shirt to wipe the semen from her
face.

Another cock comes through the wall.

It's long, black. Hard.

Americo sips from the flask, then points to the
wall. "Denzel," he says.

Leaning forward, Americo offers her the flask.
The whiskey burns going down. She winces and wipes her mouth. She
takes another long pull.

The girl with the round face and dark hair
approaches, saying something in Spanish. Americo listens with a
bemused look. She points to Natasha and says something else.
Looking at the cock in the wall, the Mexican girl puts something in
her mouth.

"Ja, ja, ja," she says, pointing her finger at
Americo, her words garbled by whatever she put in her mouth.

She leans down and takes Denzel in her mouth,
her silky black hair glowing in the soft light. In seconds she
stands, puts her hands on her hips, and leans toward Americo. "Ja,
ja, ja," she says. Whatever was in her mouth is gone.

She glances at Natasha and smiles, then retreats
back into the room.

Americo sips from his flask.

"Denzel," he says flatly.

She puts the cock in her mouth and discovers it
is covered in a condom.

Inspecting his cock, she sees it's just half a
condom, the open end jagged, as if it had been used before,
rescued, and then pressed back into service. The tip covering his
cockhead is whole, though, and unbroken. Natasha looks at the
Mexican girl. She has a cock in her mouth. She takes the cock from
her mouth and grins, sticking her tongue out, and making a
face.

Natasha puts Denzel back into her mouth.

The small piece of latex is such a comfort.
Finding a better position, she moves her head, uses her hand. It's
a relief she'd like to believe she would have offered the Mexican
girl in similar situation, where their roles reversed.

Natasha's jaw aches and she takes the cock from
her mouth.

Her head is woozy from the whiskey and she looks
down the line. The Mexican girl works on the cock in front of her,
her hand buried between her legs. Natasha sighs. She looks at the
black cock jutting from the hole. It's not Denzel. It wasn't George
Clooney. Not Brad Pitt.

It's just a bunch of Mexicans.

She returns the cock to her mouth. If their
positions had been reversed, it's not something she could have done
for the brown girl. It's not something she would have done for
any
girl. Her cheeks burn hot. She throws herself into the
task before her.

But it could be, she thinks. Maybe it could
be.

Don Manley pulls his car over where she wants to
get out and leaves the motor running, the wipers beating the
windshield. She is cute, young. Thin blonde hair spilling over her
shoulders, a worn jean jacket. Thirty days sober. He can’t remember
her name.

He smiles at her, waits for her to slip out.

She reaches for the door handle, then stops. “Do
you want to come up?” she says.

Her face is turned from him, looking into the
street.

He’s surprised, speechless. His wife knows when
the meeting ends but is usually asleep by the time he gets home. He
reminds himself that he’s been sober for as long as this young lady
has been alive.

“Sure,” he says. “You got coffee?”

Looking him in the eye, she grins. Her smile
lights up her face. “Tea,” she says.

He feels his cock swell, his breath quicken. She
is one attractive girl. A small upturned nose, clear blue eyes.
High cheekbones dusted with faint acne scars.

She’s never been in Carnal before this
month.

Don parks the car and they run to her door. She
has a room over Leo’s Bar and Grill, near the main entrance to the
mill. Don stands in the rain as she fumbles in her purse, and then
with the lock. He keeps lookout for familiar cars, but the street
remains mercifully empty. By the time they’re inside, Don is
soaked.

It’s dark.

She grabs for his hand and leads him down a
corridor, up some stairs. He can hear the sound of a television, a
baby crying. Someone is having a conversation in Spanish in another
room. She pulls him through a door. Another dark room.

“Hold on,” she says.

She lets go his hand, but he can sense her body
is still close by. A cord pulls, the space lights. She opens her
arms, as if to present the room. A narrow mattress on the floor,
clothes stacked in piles. A tall mirror leaning against the
wall.

“Tea?” she says, tucking her hair behind her
ear.

Don smiles.

She goes to the sink and runs water. Don crosses
the room, peeks through the blinds that hang in the window. He
hears the chime of buttons on a microwave. Watches a long flatbed
semi navigate a turn through the intersection, inching its way into
the mill.

She pulls off her jacket then sits on the
mattress, patting the area next to her.

“Sit,” she says.

Taking off his jacket, Don sits.

He feels awkward. Wonders if he should
leave.

She busies herself, tugging off her boots.

“Stay . . .” she says, as if she can read his
mind.

She leans over him, reaching for something on
the other side of the bed. Her warm body presses against his chest.
She smells like lavender and cigarette smoke.

“I'm sorry,” she sighs. “Excuse me.”

He places his hand on her hip and she twists her
body and then his hand ends up on her bottom. She laughs and looks
back over her shoulder. She was reaching for a towel, which she now
has in her hands. Slipping off the mattress, she kneels in front of
him. Mops her face and chest with the towel, tilting her head down,
a waterfall of blonde hair.

“I should go,” Don says.

“Don’t leave,” she whispers.

The microwave makes a loud noise but she ignores
it. Raking her fingertips over the wet denim on his thigh, she
looks like she is going to speak, but her voice catches.

She bites her lip.

They are going to do this little dance of
theirs. He is sure of it now.

She is lonely, he is weak.

Don leans forward. Their dry lips meet.

It's brief, perfunctory kissing, all lips and
closed eyes, the kind of kissing reserved for johns.

He tilts her chin up.

“Can you—” he pauses, not sure how to present
it. “Do me a favor,” he finally asks.

His cock strains against his wet pants.

She grins. Nods her head, silently
acquiescing.

Don runs his hands between her legs, along the
insides of her thighs. Such a tight, athletic body. His hand roams
over her hips and tummy. Damp cotton, wet denim.

She closes her eyes. Mewls softly. He watches
her face, looks at her scars. So young.

Her breathing is getting rhythmic, deeper.

Don stands. Opens his pants, unzips his fly, and
fishes out his cock.

She rises on her knees, looks up at him.

She’s just a baby, really, but then she takes
him in both her hands, and her warm mouth is on him, and around
him, and making those sloppy, wet sounds.

She uses her fists and tongue.

Her teeth.

Don positions himself so that he can watch her
in the mirror. Raising his shirt, he watches his slick cock
disappear in her mouth. He puts his hand on her head, takes his
dick in his fist. Pumping into her mouth, he can feel his scrotum
contract.

She pushes back suddenly, his cock spilling from
her mouth.

Wiping her chin and mouth with the back of her
hand, she says, “Please don't come in my mouth.” Her lips are
puffy, her voice thick with sex. Don is mildly surprised. There is
a beat of quiet where he doesn't say anything.