Working girl

Sue moved through the city like a ghost, her long coat fluttering with each step. Beneath it, her bare skin hummed with anticipation. The fabric barely clung together—only the pressure of her hands in the pockets kept her from full exposure. But that was the thrill of it.

Every passer-by was a potential witness, a chance encounter that sent a jolt through her. She let her fingers relax occasionally, allowing the coat to gape open just for a second, just long enough for a sharp eyed stranger to catch a flash of pale thigh, the curve of a breast or her shaven pussy. Most didn’t react. Some blinked, hesitated, then hurried on. But the ones who saw, those were the moments that made her pulse spike.

The streets grew rougher as she wandered, the shops shuttered, the pavement cracked. Traffic still rumbled past, headlights cutting through the gathering dusk. A reckless energy seized her. She pulled her hands free and let the coat fall fully open, bracing herself against the cool air. Eyes closed, she counted down from ten, imagining the hungry glances of unseen watchers, men in cars, women on the sidewalk—all staring at her exposed body.

A screech of tires shattered the fantasy.

Her eyes snapped open. A white van had jerked to a halt beside her, the driver leaning out the window. He was wiry, rough around the edges, his high-vis jacket streaked with grime. A labourer, maybe. Late thirties. His gaze raked over her, lingering where the coat barely covered her.

"Are you working?"

The question hung between them. Sue knew what he meant. The thrill of the game surged through her.

"Yes," she said, voice steady.

He rubbed his stubbled chin. "How much?"

Her lips curved. "What do you think?"

"Open the coat. Let’s see what I’m paying for."

She obeyed, parting the fabric fully. His breath hitched as he took her in her breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach, smoothness of her pubic mound. His fingers darted out, pinching a nipple, twisting just shy of pain.

Realization struck. He thinks I’m a prostitute.

The thought should have repelled her. Instead, it sent heat pooling low in her belly.

"Two-fifty for a fuck," she blurted.

He scoffed. "Fuck me, that’s steep. For that, I want it bare."

"Deal." She held out her hand. "Show me the money."

He peeled off a wad of notes. She counted quickly, then climbed into the van without another word.

The cab smelled of sweat and tobacco, the musk of a man who worked hard. His jeans were already tented. Sue reached over, unzipping him, freeing his cock. It was thick, already half-hard in her grip. She stroked him slowly, watching his knuckles whiten on the wheel.

"I’m not paying two-fifty for a wank," he growled, slapping her hand away.

She smirked. "Then what are you paying for?"

He drove to a derelict lot, parking behind a crumbling warehouse. The moment the engine cut, he turned to her, eyes dark. "Suck me off. Then I’m fucking you against the van."

Sue shrugged off her coat, letting it pool around her waist. She leaned in, her lips parting, taking him deep. He groaned, fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her rhythm. She could taste him, salt and musk and the power of it made her wetter.

When she pulled back, his cock glistened. "Now fuck me," she whispered.

Outside, the cooling air bit at her bare skin. She braced herself against the van, arching her back as he positioned himself behind her. His hands gripped her hips so much smaller than hers, yet commanding.

"Wrong hole," she murmured when she felt him nudge against her ass. She guided him lower, sighing as he sank into her.

He wasn’t tall maybe five foot nothing but he fucked with a desperation that made her gasp. Each thrust sent sparks up her spine. She hadn’t expected to come so fast, but the first orgasm ripped through her without warning, her body clamping around him.

"Fuck" she gasped. "I should be paying you."

He laughed breathlessly, slamming into her harder. The second climax hit like a wave, and she felt him pulse inside her and the wetness drip out of her pussy, his groan muffled against her shoulder.

Afterward, he handed her a crumpled paper towel. She cleaned herself with deliberate slowness, watching him tuck himself away.

"If that’s your patch," he said, climbing back into the van, "I’ll see you again."

Sue smiled, pulling her coat back on. She didn’t answer.

The warmth between her legs lingered as she walked away, the city swallowing her once more.