The 7: Gluttony Read online

  “Are you hungry? You didn’t eat much tonight.” More like not at all. The bone protrusion at her collar and shoulders indicate Ms. Perez does not eat very often, most likely reserves it for life saving times, and when she does indulge, I suspect she will politely excuse herself from whatever ridiculous gathering she’s forced to attend to purge the offensive intrusion out of her body.

  “Uh, no. I don’t want food,” she says, her words husky, eyes glazed with lust. “I don’t want food.”

  Grinning wickedly, I lead her into the bathroom, turn on the water to the tub then leisurely remove my tie. Every move I make is planned, thought out, and after many, oh a great many women later, the craft is perfected. Like the animals in the wild, I begin a slow, predatory mating ritual with my eyes, with my hands. Seduction is the game; I am its master.

  The water running behind me, keeping my eyes on the woman, I take off my shirt, button by button, dragging it out while slowly revealing my muscular chest and tight stomach. This is why I am worth the price tag; this is why woman talk about me in their little gossip corners. I am the best-kept, well-known secret in Chicago’s wealthy society, and my well-defined, hard body is for hire.

  Letting the shirt fall to the floor haphazardly, I watch, humored as Mirana licks her lips eyeing my nipples. I run a hand through my hair, making my pectoral muscles jump. The woman’s eyes widen at the sight, and I decide to close in on Mirana’s personal space. Her breathing is rapid, little whiffs across my bare chest while her dark hazel eyes grow even wider in anticipation. She looks away nervously. I place a finger under her chin, and she raises her face to mine obediently.

  “Don’t been nervous, Mirana.”

  She swallows hard but holds my gaze.

  “It’s been a while since…” A blush floods her pale cheeks.

  Nodding in understanding, I lower my lips to her forehead, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss there before pulling back.

  “That’s why we are going to take a bath, to relax a little first, okay?”

  Faces mere inches apart now, she hesitates for only a heartbeat, then nods, giving me the go ahead to proceed. Carefully, as if the move is purely innocent, I lightly graze the back of my knuckles over the tight bud of her right nipple. The heat from her body sears me through the fabric of the dress. Eyes glazing over instantly, a tiny whimper escapes her wine stained lips, and her balance slips. Sliding an arm around her tiny waist to keep her upright, I meticulously unzip and peel away the dress and undergarment. Mirana immediately tenses and covers her breasts as I reveal her body. Glancing sideways in the mirror off to the side of the room, I am struck dumb at the sight. For the first time in my life, I am shocked beyond sound or thought.

  It’s possible she was once in excellent shape, judging by the file photos that were sent to me prior to agreeing to this night. Those images showed a woman, healthy, vibrant, and flourishing in life. But only one of two things has to have happened; the photos were taken some time ago when Mirana actually consumed food, or they were simply doctored because the reality of it is reminiscent of a skeletal nightmare.

  Years of either suffering from bulimia or starving herself, maybe even both things, have left their marks on Mirana’s wasted body. What should be ample curves and full breasts, are nothing more than loose flesh encased in crepe skin, withered from lack of nutrition, held up by the smallest frame I’ve ever seen. The dress she wore moments ago hid this repulsive figure. The long sleeves, the high neckline, and below the knee hem must’ve been designed to camouflage this hideous creature.

  Catching sight of my own reflection and noticing the ugly look of distaste I’m wearing, I snap out of my silent hysteria. I recall who and what I am and remind myself this is a job. No, it’s not always pleasant, but it is profitable, and I have the other half of my pay to lose if it’s not completed.

  But just how the fuck am I’m going to get through this without gagging?

  The money, that’s how.

  Mirana is clueless to my reaction, her head bowed in what I know is shame. She’s oblivious I’m a hairsbreath away from running from the room. Taking a deep, calming breath, I step back and begin removing my pants.

  “You are beautiful, Mirana. Do you know that?” I say finally, lying through my teeth.

  She shakes her head and glances uncomfortably at the floor. Carelessly, I take off my shoes, socks, and toss the pants to where the shirt lies all the while not looking at the pitiful female before me. When I finally do, I have to bite back a string of curse words. Her hips are those of a withered corpse, legs misshaped, oddly bulging at the knee, and from the reflection of the mirror, I can see the outline of every vertebra on display. If not for the money, no way in fucking hell would I do this.

  “Look at me, beauty, watch me.” I say, summoning up all my skills of seduction.

  Do this. Get your fucking money, Colt.

  Mirana’s eyes meet mine reluctantly, and once I have her full attention, I stoke my cock, once, twice in invitation. It doesn’t budge, not nary a twitch, but I put on a show of total arousal.

  “Come, join me,” I command, reaching a hand out to guide her into the now full steaming tub, shutting off the water as we go. Mirana looks uncertain but does what I ask.

  Slowly, cautiously least I break her, I lie back and pull the ailing woman against my body. Nothing about her makes me hard. On the contrary, I feel shame for her and the addiction that is so obviously killing her. Seems strange a woman with her money and power would have such a disability. But, like every client, it’s not my place to be concerned. I am here for one thing, and it’s not as a psychologist, not as a friend, but a different form of therapy altogether. Thankfully, my dick is on board with this mindset, and a few tugs gets it up and ready to meet the demand.

  Surely, by the time the initial horror wears off, I’ll be good to go?

  With skilled, trained hands, I remove the pins holding her dark hair up then lightly run my fingers through it soothingly. She smells of jasmine, and the woman at the church enters my thoughts. I mindlessly wonder what she smells like.

  Would she feel frail against me like Mirana?

  I grab the soap and work the suds over the boney protrusions of shoulders and chest so thin, I’m shocked she doesn’t crumble under my touch. I focus and swallow back bile while I work my hands over those poorly developed breasts, pinching the nipple then soothing the sting away with my thumb. Mirana responds with small moans of pleasure. Timing my kisses on her neck and ear just right, I cup water and rinse, taking turns with it and caressing, petting, lightly biting. By the time I kick the stopper down to drain the water, Mirana is panting, practically begging me to relieve the ache I’ve created between her legs.

  “Spread your legs,” I whisper into her ear.

  The water is mostly gone so I can see her oddly swollen sex as she parts her thighs. Fighting the urge to look away, I force my hand down and begin forming tiny circles with my fingers at her ribs while my other hand wraps easily around her middle to pin her down. She begins trembling with anticipation as I move inch by inch to her most sensitive place.

  See? Just another job.

  Exposed, on display, I glide a finger down the wet seam, slippery with water and her own desires. Mirana’s head falls back on my shoulder, and I briefly shut my eyes so not to see the bones shift as I skillfully work on her body. Tiny hands slide through my hair as I slip a finger just to the opening between her legs.

  “Oh God,” she pants and squirms for complete penetration.

  But I hold off on the entry. Instead, I abandon it and proceed to apply pressure at the nub. She pulls at my hair in response, and I apply a little more pressure.

  “Yes, yes!” Hips grinding, body tensing, I penetrate her fully with one finger. Her hands leave my hair and grab the side of the tub. Lost in sensation, total abandon, Mirana spreads her legs wider, hiking her hips up, inviting me in deeper. Answering the call, I add a second finger, grazing my thumb over her clit as I go. Whimpering f
or more, moaning with the ecstasy, Mirana begins grinding against my palm. Just as the intensity grows to a boiling point, I remove my finger from her tight little sheath and stroke with a fury, concentrating on that tiny sensitive jewel. Her body freezes at the swift shift of sensations, skyrocketing her senses, paralyzing her to do nothing else but be held in a state of suspension until she is bursting apart with energy so unbelievably rewarding, she’s utterly drained from it.

  Falling back against me, limp and shaking with aftershocks, I see Mirana is no longer shy and trying to keep her body hidden. She has abandoned all notation of modesty and lies sprawled and spent, her grotesque body, with its jagged edges, causes me to recoil inwardly. Fighting back a sick desire to flee the room, I repeat my mantra of my bank account numbers and their balances. Mirana has paid a hefty price for my attentions, and I haven’t bailed on a client yet, no matter how repulsive.

  I allow her a moment to relish in the pleasure just experienced and begin the process of peeling my back away from the tub. Mirana shifts to give me room to escape, and her full spine comes into view. Closing my eyes at the sight, I climb from the tub, mentally checking myself. As I once again face her, I see she is looking at me, and my less than enthused cock. A tiny frown of worry is followed by the raising of one questioning brow.

  Glancing down and back to her, I grin playfully.

  “The absence of warmth does strange things to the body. Don’t worry, I am not finished with you, beauty. And I am up for it all.” My voice comes out thick and full of promise, but internally, I’m gearing up for the main event and the effort I’m going to have to put in it.

  After retrieving a towel for her, then wrapping one around my waist, we make our way to the bedroom, stopping only to retrieve my wallet from my pants. Mirana is guarded, shoulders tense once more, and I inwardly kick myself at the thought of her dissatisfied.

  If nothing else, I can give this woman one fucking night, right? It will be over in no time.

  But the woman at the church comes to mind as I walk to the bar, and I wonder if she has secrets, major secrets like Mirana. Then I think of the priest. His stern stare, his probing questions. He thinks I’m a stalker.

  But I am a stalker.

  “Would you like a drink? I could use a drink.” I don’t wait for a reply. I just pour a tall glass from the decanter of whiskey I had delivered earlier in the evening.

  “No, I’m all right right now, maybe later?” Mirana says, from the bed.

  Downing the first, I pour another and dig out the blue male performance pills I tuck away in my wallet with the condoms, just for times like these. Popping the pill as inconspicuously as possible, I drain my second glass and return to the bed, condoms in hand. Thirty minutes of foreplay, and I’ll be hard as stone, even with the likes of this creature.

  “Can I,” Mirana begins to rise, awkwardly, and her shoulder joints ripple beneath thin skin. “Can I start this? Can I—” she stammers and looks uncertain. The tendon in her neck twists as she tilts her head.

  Fuck, that is so nasty.

  “What would you like, beauty?” I reach down and cup her chin to guide her head back so I can see her eyes more clearly. They’re sad as they stare back at me, distant and tragic, sunken back into the sockets. Her cheek bones appear even sharper with her hair down, and she looks closer to death than a beautiful woman in her prime. Biting back any repulsion, I smile tenderly. “Show me what you want.”

  Climbing up on her knees, she cautiously reaches for my towel. She tugs lightly; it falls to the floor. She looks at my limp cock in wonder for moment before lowering her head to kiss me on the chest, trailing down my abdomen, my navel, until finally she places my unresponsive dick in her mouth. Closing my eyes, I imagine my college girlfriend and her big tits stuffed into her cheer uniform, what she looked like from behind with that short skirt pulled up, resting just above the crack of her ass as I drive into her from behind. It takes some imagining, but I grow marginally hard at the memory. Then the sucking noises bring me back to the present, and I open my eyes.

  The image before me is one I will never forget, not as long as I live. Mirana is still busying herself with my cock, which is apparently dead, but it’s her ass I can’t look away from. The boney point of her tail bone is jutted straight out, and I begin to wonder just how the fuck it hasn’t come through the skin already? It looks like something from a horror film, and I’m so lost in the sight, I stumble backward fighting the urge to throw up. The bourbon churns in my gut, and I have to breathe through my mouth for several moments to get myself under control.

  “What is it? Did I hurt you?” Mirana asks, covering her unnaturally shaped breasts.

  Can’t get paid the remaining balance if the client isn’t happy, douche bag.

  “No,” I say, rubbing my eyes dramatically, “I think that bourbon was stronger than I’m used to. Lost my balance.” I chuckle and close the distance between us.

  Though Mirana looks back at me suspiciously, she allows me to guide her back to lie flat onto the bed. Hoovering over her fragile body, I nuzzle her face, lightly tracing it with my nose. Once she’s relaxed, I begin trailing my lips down her neck, purposely avoiding her collar bones and shoulders.

  “That feels so good.” She arches, rubbing her nipples on my chest, and as long as I don’t really look at her, I think I can do this. Either way, the blood is flowing to my cock, hardening it finally. I may not be into this right now, but I’m willing to do what’s expected of me to get paid.

  I resign myself to the fact I must proceed and acknowledge I’ve come too far to stop now, so I reach to the table and retrieve a condom, tearing it open with my teeth. I rise to my knees and avert my eyes from the woman while I mechanically glide the condom in place, giving my dick a hard tug of warning to stay hard or else. Nice and steady, just what she needs, I brace my weight on one arm and slowly position myself at the juncture between her too thin thighs.

  “You good?” I ask, keeping my eyes directly on hers, lest I see her body.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” she whispers, smiling sadly.

  She places her hand on my back and raises her hips, allowing me better access. The heat penetrates the condom, burning me as I slowly sink inside. It isn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling, at least, not until my pelvis is stabbed with a hip bone. Gritting my teeth, I begin a stead rock of my hips, grinding into the wet heat I, until this moment, didn’t think a negative thought about ever. Mirana feels like woman, just like any other woman from the inside, but the outside is literally making me sick.

  As I look down at her, all I see is the protruding features, the corpse-like chest bone, the sunken eyes that are thankfully shut tight in an expression of pleasure. And as she moans, the base of her throat hollows out, and it’s enough to make my skin crawl. For the love of money, and the desire to have more, I keep at it, adding my thumb to the mix after a while.

  Sensing Mirana’s orgasm is close, I pick up the pace, fucking, rubbing, grinding while praying she’s almost done. After several moments of this, she comes, only offering a slight whimper as indication and giving me the go ahead to grunt in what I hope sounds like a pleasurable orgasm of my own. The clenching of her sex subsides, and I bury my head in the pillow beside her, trying to catch my breath from the workout.

  My heart pounds wildly and again, my stomach roars with displeasure of the feel of the woman underneath me. An arm as small as a twig wraps around my neck, pressing her sharp shoulder up and into mine, and my gut demands to be released. Pulling back, I shut my eyes and withdraw my unsatisfied dick, mumbling something about being right back before shutting the bathroom door and falling to my knees.

  A sick, sour gush rushes to the surface and lands in a horrid splash in the toilet. My stomach clenches violently and releases, over and over. Five minutes, I kneel emptying the contents consumed at dinner. Images of Mirana’s tail bone moving just under the surface causes me to wretch harder. The alcohol doesn’t help as it burns my throat on exit, ma
king my eyes water and my nose run freely.

  Only when the dry heaves last more than a moment or two do I pull off the condom and toss it into the toilet to flush. Sitting up cautiously, I get my breathing under control then stand to wash my face. My dick, still hard from the pill, stands mocking me in the mirror. If I knew it wouldn’t hurt so bad, I would punch it into submission. Yanking a towel off the rod, I pick up my clothes and head back to the bedroom.

  Mirana is standing wrapped in a bath towel at one of the tall windows looking out into the night. She has dimmed the lights at some point, but I can see her small outline against the backdrop of street lamps. Her hair is messy, her face, a mask I can’t make out, but there’s an eerie stillness about her that wasn’t there before. The statue-like stance makes me uncomfortable so I approach cautiously.

  “Sorry, the whiskey really was stronger than I’m used to,” I say amused. Mirana gives no reply, no movement to show if she’s heard me. She just stands there, arms protectively hugging her middle and stares outside. “Would you like someth—”

  “Your money is on the table by the door,” she says quietly, cutting me off.

  The sound of the far away voice that is as distant as her stare causes me to forget what I was about to say entirely. For the first time in my adult life lived as a cock for hire, I am being dismissed. She must’ve sensed my reaction to sex with her, had to have guessed right as I puked my guts up. Feeling guilty, I run a hand through my hair trying to figure out what to say.

  “There’s no need to say anything further, just know I enjoyed tonight but I’m tired now, I would like to be alone.” Mirana sounds truly exhausted but still doesn’t turn to look at me, just casually excuses me from her room. “Please leave. Your pay is on the table by the door.”