Page 18 of The Seller

Her juices cling to my cock. Her scent is slicked all over me, and I’m not sure I want to wash it off.

I have fucked a lot of women. I have done depraved things to many, if not all of them. I have used female flesh a thousand times. But it was never like that before. Those were experiences of the flesh. That, whatever happened just now, was spiritual - and I don’t believe in anything.

I rest against the bars, getting my bearings. That fucking orgasm was more powerful than any I’ve had before. Not because it was wrong. Most of my orgasms are wrong. It’s because it was so fucking right. It didn’t feel like I was forcing myself on her in any way, because I wasn’t. I hadn’t manipulated her, not in the way I usually do. She wanted me. She presented herself to me, and there was real lust there.

I am in trouble. So is she.

“Are you happy now?” She asks the question softly. She hasn’t moved from her place on the floor where she lies crumpled, a well fucked, cage discarded doll. God she is hot. She doesn’t know how she appeals to every part of me - and she never can.

“Never,” I reply.

I turn around and sit down in the dark, my ass on the same concrete she’s lying on, my back against the same bars which cage her. I drink in the darkness of the room, the silence which is almost complete apart from the soft little sounds of her breathing. Usually, the first time I fuck a girl I feel a thrill of domination and control. There’s nothing like claiming a pussy I’m going to sell. It’s the ultimate rush to know that the most sensitive core of a woman is wet for me, wrapped around my cock, given to me in spite of the fact she knows what is in store for her. I never have to force any of my girls to do anything sexual. By the time my dick gets near them, they are dripping for it. Just like Siri was.

I’ve been blaming her for being different, but the truth is, it’s not her that’s different. It’s me. It’s the way I react to her. There is something about Siri that reaches into the very core of me. I thought fucking her might get it out of my system, but it has only made it worse.

“When are you going to sell me?” Another question breaks the silence.

I don’t reply. I don’t have an answer. Right now, I want to keep her in that cage and have her all to myself, but I know that’s a pipe dream. Men like me can’t have relationships with women, not of the sane, monogamous kind. If I ever settle down, I’ll be out of this trade for good - and frankly, I don’t want to be. I like this work. I’m good at it.

“Is it going to be soon?”

“Be quiet.” There’s just enough grit in my voice to make her obey - for all of ten seconds.

“I hope it is soon,” she says quietly, almost to herself.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the bars. They never want to be sold after the first time with me. It takes a few more times, a few friends to break them in and make them willing with other men. Siri is defying my expectations again, and I both love that and hate that. I only control her as far as I can predict her, and her habit of being completely unpredictable makes that impossible.

Siri

“Why were you studying Economics, Siri?”

What kind of question is that for a man who just coated me in cum? I think about it for a moment before I answer honestly.

“I, er, think it’s the only subject matters.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm. Everything is for sale, right?”

“So the irony of this situation can’t be lost on you.”

“No.”

I don’t want to talk too much. We’re not lovers, even if we did just fuck. We’re certainly not friends. We’re two people making up part of a transaction. He is the seller. I am the sold. It’s as simple as that, and it helps me to keep thinking of it that way. I know lots of girls would probably start wanting him. He’s handsome, charming, and utterly ruthless. He’s exactly the sort of man our animal brains are programmed to want, and I’m no different. I can feel the temptation to give in to instinct and start craving him, but I refuse.

“Why do you want to be sold?”

“I want out of here.” Close enough to the truth.

“You think whoever you are sold to won’t cage you?”

I fucking know they won’t, but he doesn’t.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“No?” I hear the change in his tone. This is a post-coital interrogation. He thinks I’m off-guard now, but that’s because he’s a man and men are stupid and sleepy after they orgasm.

“Don’t you ever feel bad about what you do?” I answer his question with another question.

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