Sonora

[Vintagecock]

“Housekeeping!” the voice said.
Nick lifted his head off the pillow, squinting around at the room. The harsh sunlight blasting in the front door nearly blinded him, and he recoiled.
“I’m sorry! I can come back!”
“No, no,” he mumbled. “It’s fine. Really.”
He looked over at her. Faded jeans that fit her thick hips snugly, and a worn uniform shirt that strained across her chest. Jesus, he thought. What is a gorgeous piece like her doing cleaning rooms in a shithole like this? Obviously, there weren’t a lot of choices out here in the ass end of nowhere.
It was a shithole, but it was also the only option for about fifty desolate miles, and he had had a late meeting last night. Nick was in the kind of business where you had midnight meetings in the middle of the godforsaken desert near the border. He looked it. His face had deep lines and his nose was bent where it had been broken. He had broad shoulders, heavy muscles, but a spare tire around his middle. His face was lined with a 3 day beard, salt and pepper like his hair, and his dark eyes were predatory, even in his hungover state.
She gasped. He followed her stare. The nightstand. The tequila bottle. The 9mm Ruger.
“Oh,” he said. “It’s just for self defense. I’ll put it away.”
He swung his legs out of the bed. Pulled the sheet across his lap, because apparently he’d passed out naked last night. She was stammering an excuse to leave again. He shoved the gun in the bag and pulled out a bundle of C notes in a bank strap. He broke the strap and peeled off a hundred.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “Forget the gun, ok? Just relax a minute.”
Her eyes were still wide, but she wasn’t moving towards the door. It was progress.
“Look, I need to take a piss, find my pants. Can you just wait here a minute, please?”
“OK,” she whispered.
He went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth while he peed, wrapped a towel around his waist when he came out. He looked at her. She was gorgeous. She was staring at the stack of bills on the bed, but it didn’t look like she had touched it. It didn’t look like she had moved.
“I’m Nick,” he said, as he stepped past her to the coffee maker. It smelled ok, so he poured some water in and started making himself a cup. When it was brewing, he turned to look at her again. He sat on the bed and picked up the stack of cash.
“How about you take off your shirt and I give you another one of these?” he said, pulling another 100 off the stack.

(open to female - looking for someone willing to do what it takes to escape this tiny desert town, even if it means becoming Nick's personal fucktoy. Where we go from there is open to discussion)

 

[canyoufeelme]

She glanced over at the door, then down at her shirt, back to the stack of cash. She thought briefly about how hard she sobbed in the shower this morning before pulling this stained piece of shit back on for another shift. And another shift. Never making enough to really have any hope, just to keep from starving or going without a roof-- maybe something to take the edge off on occasion. Too bad other people couldn't control themselves -- it certainly wasn't her fault. For a few seconds she just stood there, paralyzed by the paradox of her future.

No. That wasn't acceptable. Anything but that. She grabbed the $100 and folded it into her back pocket with a face of total resolve, her full, rosey-brown lips pulled down at the corners ever so slightly. Her dark honey-brown eyes filled with enough determination to cover the despair. She kept a steady gaze with Nick as she reached for her top button, slowly undoing the grey-blue button up. She paused as she got to her cleavage. "I'm going to need more than that if I get fired from this cleaning job, señor." She didn't have much of an accent, not like her aunt who raised her, who -- no, let's not go there. She looked at the ceiling for a second and took a deep breath, feeling her braided hair slide over her sun-worn shoulders.

She focused on Nick again, taking him in first in pieces and then as a whole. He wasn't bad to look at but his eyes scared the shit out of her. His eyes didn't scare her enough to keep her from her decision, though.

"My name is Meeya. If you can get me out of here, with plenty of this-" She gestured at the money, "I can do more than take off my shirt for you. I can do whatever you want. But you have to promise I can disappear and not end up back in this place or anywhere like it. We got a deal, Nick?"

 

[Vintagecock]

Nick smirked as the girl started to unbutton her blouse. These small-town chicks were almost too easy, he thought, and felt his cock starting to stiffen in anticipation. Then she stopped.
His eyes hardened.
"I'm going to need more than that if I get fired from this cleaning job, señor."
She took a deep breath, which did nice things for her cleavage. Then she looked at him. He glared at her. She seemed to have found a little backbone, which would have been entertaining, if she hadn’t already taken the money. He was still half asleep, though, and before he could make up his mind, she spoke again.
"My name is Meeya. If you can get me out of here, with plenty of this-" She gestured at the money, "I can do more than take off my shirt for you. I can do whatever you want. But you have to promise I can disappear and not end up back in this place or anywhere like it. We got a deal, Nick?"
He chuckled softly, and poured himself a cup of coffee. This girl has some balls, he thought. He sipped the coffee. It was nasty, but it would do the job. He stepped closer to her, put his free hand on her waist, and leaned in.
“Well, Meeya,” he whispered, his breath was hot in her ear, but his voice a bit chillier than the last time he spoke. He pulled her closer to him, pushing his thigh between hers. “That is an interesting offer. If I bring you with me, I promise you’ll never have to see this place again. But I’ve already given you a hundred dollars for you to take off your shirt, and you stopped to renegotiate halfway there. I need to know you’re going to give me what I want without a lot of bullshit. So… strip. Now.”
He stepped away, his lips turned up in a smile, but his eyes were cold, assessing her. The towel was tenting up as his cock started to stiffen. He took another swallow of the coffee and waited to see if she would follow through.

 

[canyoufeelme]

Shit. She thought to herself. I really have to work on negotiations.
Was she going to get a better answer than that? Most likely not-- she tried to suppress a shiver as his breath hit her ear, as his hand found her waist with a strong grip. It seemed like he was holding back but swiftly losing patience and she wasn't interested in seeing what happened when that patience wore out completely. Those eyes didn't speak of mercy, but that kind of merciless bastard would be the only kind of bastard that could get her out of this place, this mess.
The fabric of her jeans was rough against her crotch as his thigh pushed between her legs, and she realized that there was nothing she could do at this point. No one would be looking for her, at least not for a few days and the sound proofing was the only feature that this POS establishment had put any money in when they built the place. Meeyna wrestled with internal terror that she could almost mistake for excitement if turned her head sideways. She pressed into Nick's thigh as he said the word "strip," and felt cold as he pulled away. So much heat radiated from his body. She didn't like that she wished he'd come back.
Her hands found the buttons of her shirt again and she stared defiantly right back at his cold, assessing eyes as she reached the last one and slipped the shirt from around her shoulders. She reached around to undo the clasp of her worn-out black bra, and let it drop to the floor beside her, kicked it to the corner with one sneakered foot. She had a tan line that went up her chest and around her neck from summer days spent baking by the poolside in a string bikini and wide, dark pink areolas with protruding nipples, peaked because of the chill in the room. Really. It's just the chill. This is just for the money. She ran her hands down her neck, across her c cup breasts, gave them a quick squeeze.
"Ahora què? What now, Nick?" She put a hand to her left hip and cocked it out the side, one eyebrow raised and a straight poker face. "Is it too early to ask for a drink?" She gestured at the bottle on the table. It looked like there were a couple shots lingering in the bottom along with a wrinkled lime about to roll off the edge of the stand. "You seem like someone who mixes business pleasure and whatever else you damn well please but I could be wrong."

 

[Vintagecock]

He watched her eyes as she unbuttoned her top, glowering at him as though he were the enemy here. Maybe she thought he was considering taking her out of this shithole because he was a nice guy. He chuckled at the thought. He was many things, but nobody had mistaken him for a nice guy in a long time. So she was standing up to him. Trying to keep some control over the situation.

He let himself be distracted for a moment when she reached back to unclasp her bra. Her eyes may be saying no, but her tits were out. Nice ones, too, he thought. He watched her hands glide over them, saw the nipples pucker and stiffen.

Then she started throwing a little attitude his way. He chuckled again. If she wanted to leave with him, she would have to show him, but for now, he’d play along.

“It’s never too early for a drink,” he said. He leaned over and snagged the bottle off the nightstand. He took a swallow, feeling the burn of tequila pushing back a little of the hangover. Best cure, really. He looked at the bottle in his hand, and then he looked at her and raised an eyebrow, curiously.

He held the bottle out to her. Before she could reach for it, though, he pulled in back with a grin and took another sip.

“But I told you to strip, and you’re still wearing pants,” he said. “So it’s too early for you to drink.”