DOGGY STYLE! LITTER-ALLY!

AT 25, Laura Windslow wasn't suffering financially. Her job as a free-lance book-publishing editor saw to that little matter. How she was doing socially was another story altogether. She was a dud in the attracting men category. And she knew it.

Book publishing. That fits me, she thought more times than not, the bookworm. The little dull as dishwater bookworm.

Her cat jumped up on her lap. "Wiggy, don't you ever get tired of all this excitement?" She giggled. "You don't give a rat's ass, do you Wiggy? It's not just another lonely, boring night to you, oh, no, to you it's just another day of living. How do you do it, old Wig? Day after day, the same old shit. Don't you ever want to break out and raise some hell? Go catting, ha ha, about town? Screw everything with fur you can get your little paws on?
I forgot. Those days are long behind you, old Wig." She scratched him behind the ears, and enjoyed his purring.

"Oh, well, Wiggy Waggy, maybe the Halloween party tonight will lead to something romantic. Oh, that reminds me, I haven't even looked at the costume Margo dropped off for me. She said I'd get a real hoot out of it. Hoot! She probably got me an owl suit! Fits my bookworm image, don'tcha think, Wig?" Wig just purred, not giving a hoot about much of anything.

She got up, and went to get the big box the costume was packed in, with Wiggy tagging along. She noticed something she hadn't spotted before. A tag. It read: Crafty Costumers: 1 costume: Streetwalker.

"Mmm, streetwalker, Wig. It looks as if Margo has gone round the bend. Oh, well, at least it's not a freaking owl. Or a worm!" She opened the box, and there it all was. A streetwalker's dream come true.

Black fishnet stockings. A black garter belt. A fire engine red mini-skirt. A white, see-thru midi-blouse that looked as if it would end just below the breasts, leaving the navel out there for all to see. White, see-thru panties, as if that was necessary. And a wig, a black, frizzy wig. It needed a brushing up. And a black corset. That's a mistake, she thought, it's not needed with a red mini-skirt. The box was now empty.

"What, no knee-high boots? Wiggy, what hooker worth her salt would leave the house without her tall boots on? Sheesh, Wig, I'll just have to use my own. Yeah, right, Wig, as if I'd ever be caught dead in this costume." She put everything back into the box. "Margo, you idiot, why couldn't you have found me an owl?"

She went into the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of wine. Red Burgundy wine. She looked down at her feet. There was Wiggy. Old Faithful. She went to the couch, and plopped into it, being careful not to spill the wine. Old Faithful Wig was right there with her, sitting next to her, waiting patiently for a rub.

She took a good sip, and said, "What are we gonna do, Wig? The party is tonight. Where am I gonna get a new costume in time? Shit, I can't go as I did last year, as a corked-faced hobo. I'd be laughed out of town . . . again!" She giggled at Wiggy, rubbed his head, and took another healthy sip. The wine was starting to feel nice, so she took another good sip, and felt its warmth spread through her.

"Wiggy, Wiggy, Wiggy, it looks like our old goose is cooked. It's either beg off the party, or, brrrr, do some streetwalking." She scratched his head. "Whatcha think, Wig? Stay home or go out hooking?" She giggled again, and took another good sip. She was feeling giddy. And a tad daring.

She got up, found the costume box again, and emptied its contents onto the sofa in one fell swoop. She threw off her robe, removed her bra, and, just for kicks, put on the black corset, and the stockings, and the garter belt. She picked up the black wig, crammed it onto her head, and went over to the hall mirror for a peek. She took a black sweater from a hat rack, and draped it loosely over her shoulders.

"Mirror, mirror, in the hall . . . "

My, God, she thought, is that really
me? Just the wig had made her face
look different somehow, and strange
looking.

"Wig," she said, her eyes glued to the
weird mirror image. "You know, with a
little carefully applied makeup, and
with my contacts in, shit, my own mother wouldn't know me!" Creative possibilities were now running rampant through her mind.

She walked briskly to the couch, took a good gulp of the wine, and hastened to try on the rest of the outfit. In less than ten minutes, she was ready for another peek in the hall mirror. She approached it slowly, as if afraid of what she might see in it.

"Holy shit, Wiggy, I don't recognize me!" It was true. The woman in the mirror looked absolutely nothing like the bookworm Laura. In fact, and in all truth, the word streetwalker was way too mild a term, for staring back at Laura now, was the sluttiest, trampiest, hooker whore imaginable. It was a transformation that was both scary and intriguing at the same time.

"Wiggy, I'm gonna do it! Why not? It's wicked, and it's wild, and it's not me, but shit, Wiggy, where has looking like goody two-shoes gotten me? And who knows? Maybe it will make Ken notice me a bit more. Ha ha. The only time he notices me is when he feeds you, and waters my plants when I have to go out of town. Shit, Wiggy, at least he pets you!" She pouted at the cat. Then gave him a quick head rub.

Ken, Ken White, her next-door neighbor. A sweet, lovable guy if ever there was one. And a hunk in the looks department, too. Laura would be the first to admit she had a schoolgirl crush on Ken, but she would only admit it to herself. He was so different from the one and only boyfriend she once had. That schmuck. The lying rat. Tells a girl he loves her, takes her cherry, and says ciao, baby, sayonara, adios, goodbye. The bum.

She was glad she no longer pined after him, as she had for that long year after their breakup. But she knew she had only replaced that loser with someone else to pine for. And he lived just next door. But at least he didn't seem a loser.

She removed the outfit, took a shower, and brushed the wig. She put the costume back on, but took greater pains this time in getting it just right. Then, it was mirror time again.

She looked. Amazing! She felt like a new woman, a wild and wanton woman. A lady of the evening, in all her lusty glory. She smiled at the image, half expecting it to wink at her. When it didn't, she fixed that by winking at it. Now it winked back! The dirty slut.

She had thirty minutes. She'd call a cab in ten. She poured a half glass of the red, and swigged merrily away. Crazy thoughts entered her head. She wanted to shake up the world a bit with her new look. So she decided not to wear a coat over the outfit. She could hardly wait to see the face on her doorman, Carlos, and the cabby’s face, too. How wickedly delicious!

She called for the cab, and started for the door. A last quick glance in the hall mirror convinced her she was, indeed, totally crazy. But she was having fun now. She rode the elevator down, hoping someone would see her. No one did. Shit! No one. Not even that nosy Parker, Mrs. Goldberg.

Carlos was a bummer, too. He wasn't at his station. Shit! Then came the cabbie. Shit! He paid her no mind at all. Shit, she thought, he must see a ton of hookers in his daily work. I'm just number eighty-four for tonight. Shit!

Oh, well, she thought, wait'll they get a gander at me at the party . . .

* * * * * *

LAURA got out of the cab, and soon realized the dumb ass cabbie had dropped her off at the wrong block, and she was two blocks short of her end destination.

She started to walk, with the high boots pinching her toes without mercy, and saw a middle-aged man standing in front of a brownstone. He looked neatly dressed in a polo shirt and slacks, and was of average height and weight. To her, he did not look the least bit threatening.

As she approached him, he said, "Hi, doll, how much? I live right here, so we won't have far to travel." He smiled at her, and patted his back pocket.

"I'm not . . . " Oh, my God, she thought, he thinks I'm a hooker! The outfit. Then a thought hit her, a wild and nasty thought. She smiled back at him, a sensuously seductive kind of smile, and said, "I'm not working just yet, mister, but a quickie will cost ya . . . say fifty. OK?" Oh, my, she thought, this is so naughty of me. Was fifty too much? Too little? Should I tell him I'm only funning with him? Or should I just . . . ?

"Forty." he said, flatly. Should I haggle, she thought? She decided not to. She was on thin enough ice as it was. Should I? Dare I . . . ?

"All right, but as I said, a quickie." He nodded, and turned to go up the stairs. She followed him, feeling absolutely exhilarated. Thoughts flew through her mind: I can't believe what I'm doing! Sex with a total stranger! Sex! Oh, my God! He's going to actually fuck me! Do I ask for the money up front? Will he expect me to suck him off? Oh, God, I'm getting wet! This is too insane! Why am I doing this?

Once in his bedroom, he stood there looking her over, as if inspecting the latest merchandise. She felt a broad flush come over her, and her knees weaken. Get a grip, girl, she thought, he's only a man. Relax! How bad can it be?

"What's your name, honey?" He now grinned at her.

"Lau . . . uh . . . Lana. Lana . . . uh . . . Licks. Lana Licks, What's yours?" She now had a new name, a hooker-sounding name. What fun.

"Larry, babes, but all my friends call me Spike." He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet, extracted two twenties, and offered them to her. She took them, jammed them into her purse, and said, "Well, Spike it is, then. Shall we get to it, Spike? As I said, it has to be a quickie. OK?" He nodded, and started to remove his clothing. Oh, God, she thought.

As she watched him undress, while undoing a button of her own, she thought: Oh, God, I sounded so brazen just then. So hussy-like. My, my. It seems the bookworm has turned.

As she dropped the white, see-thru blouse to the floor, she felt a cold breeze hit the tops of her breasts. The air conditioner. She unzipped the mini-skirt, let it fall to the floor, and stepped out of it. The chilly air now hit her all over, making her realize just how hot her body really was.

Before Laura was down to just her bra and panties, Spike was totally nude. She stole a quick glance at his cock, and thought about how big it looked to her. It had to be over 8" long, and was very thick, and had an acute upward curve to it. The head, purple tinged, looked bloated and swollen. It looked as if it would hurt her upon entry. She shivered, just thinking about this. And felt her pussy tingle and twitch.

"Here, baby," Spike said, hoarseness to his voice. "Let me help you with those. I like to do that." He came over to her, and knelt down. He slowly lowered the panties, as if relishing the surprise to come. As the panties cleared her bush, he leaned in and kissed her there. A quick kiss, with his tongue doing a flick at her pussy lips. A jolt of electricity seemed to go through her entire body, and it took a great effort to stop her legs from wobbling. She had the urge to swoon.

He then put his arms around to her back, and unclipped the bra's single hook. As he pulled the bra from her, she felt a thrill in her breasts, and the nipples seemed to be hardening up. Spike looked at her chest.

"They're beautiful, honey, absolutely beautiful." He reached out with both hands, cupped her breasts and, using both thumbs, tweaked her swollen nipples. "Oh, yeah, baby, these are something else!" He bent over and kissed her right breast, his lips targeting the nipple. She felt a shiver go through her entire body, and her legs seemed to want to give out.

As he switched his lip's attention to the left breast, she moaned. "Oooh, that feels good, Spike, real good." She placed both hands on his head, and drew him to her, pressing his face into the tit. He now moaned. And then kissed and sucked the now face-flattened breast excitedly, as his hands kneaded them both at the same time.

He worked her breasts for quite some time; kneading them, sucking them, pressing them to his cheeks, while constantly moaning. She, feeling now more like a Lana than a Laura, entwined her fingers into his hair, and pressed him even closer to her. She moaned constantly, and just let herself fall into the lewd magic of it all.

She felt Spike's fingers find her pussy. Then his fingers plied the entrance, and then plunged in, stirring around inside her. At first, she felt a twinge of shame knowing he was discovering just how wet and hot she was, but then she relaxed by saying to herself: I'm a hooker, for crissakes! I'm supposed to be hot and wet! Ain’t I?

So she let herself just enjoy it, not even caring when an intense orgasm overtook her, and made her throw her arms around his neck, and yell out loud, "Oooooh, Spike, oh, oh, you just made me cum! Ooooooooh! Oh, oh, Spike. You darling man, you!" She felt herself slightly collapsing again at the knees.

Spike whispered, "On your knees, Lana, darling." At first, she didn't understand. Then she did. He wanted her to suck on him. Instinctively, she reached down and took hold of the base of his cock. She looked at it as she lowered herself to her knees. Up close, it looked even bigger, and scarier somehow. And much hairier.

She wondered if he would know she had never sucked a cock before? She tried to remember what she had read on the Internet about giving good head, but her mind was fudgy. But how hard could it be, really? Wasn't sucking a natural thing? No one had to teach a baby how to suck on a nipple.

She moved her head closer to the cock head, letting her lips brush against it. She opened her mouth, formed a toothless oval, as she had read how to do, and took the large cock head in. With both her eyes closed tightly.

The large head filled her mouth immediately, its bumpy underside pressing firmly into her tongue. It felt odd, both hard and soft at the same time. It also felt strangely pleasurable, as sucking on a large nipple would. As she moved her mouth forward on the shaft, and crossed the bumpy ridge, she was aware of her saliva. It seemed to be coating the cock, and making it feel slick and nice. She took a little more of the shaft, and heard Spike moan above her.

"Oh, Lana, what a mouth! It's as hot as Hades!" He took her head into his hands, and pulled her mouth farther along the thick shaft. She felt the head hit the back of her throat, and not stop. She thought of the Internet. As the cock head touched her gag reflex, she swallowed hard, as if ingesting a large piece of meat, just the way the article had mentioned. And was amazed when the cock went down her throat without making her retch.

With both eyes still tightly closed, she felt the curly hairs on the base of his prick gently touch her lips and nose. Oh, my God, she thought, I'm actually deep throating him! She had to see for herself. She opened her eyes and saw it was, indeed, true. The entire 8" of Spike's solid cock was in her mouth and down her throat. It had to be, for her eyes were less than an inch from his pubic hairs. And she hadn't even gagged once.

"Oh, baby, you suck cock like no woman I've ever met. Keep doing that. That taking it all thing. OK?" He heard her mumble around his dick. "Mmm, mmm." With both eyes open now, she deep throated him repeatedly, relishing in her newfound accomplishment.

And it was just too much for Spike.

"Oh, kiddo, I can't help it, I'm gonna cuuuuummm!" He pulled back to where just his cock's head was fully in her mouth. Then he came . . .

And it surprised her. The warm, sticky liquid came shooting into her mouth with unbelievable force. The first spurt hit the back of her mouth, and she felt it go down her throat, forcing her to constrict her throat slightly. The second blast hit the same spot, but she was ready for it. She swallowed just as she felt it hit, helping it on its way to her stomach. She felt her eyes tear up. She blinked them a few times in an attempt to dry them.

Then more cum of Spike's followed, but with less force. More of a dribbling effect. A large puddle of cum formed itself on her tongue. She felt it, sticky and glue like, between her tongue and Spike's prick. It squooshed out around the cock, coated her cheeks, and escaped her lips. She was aware of it on her chin.

She swallowed, and felt, for the first time, the slightly burning sensation of semen in her throat. She sniffed in, and could smell the musky odor of his sperm. It all had an unusual effect on her. She found herself loving it, this blowjob thing, and she even loved the taste of his ejaculate. She knew Spike was finished, but she chose to keep sucking on him. Her plan, if it was a plan, was to let him tell her when she should stop.

Finally, he did. "Okay, sweetie, that's good." He pulled his now flaccid cock from her mouth, and released his hold on her head. He then helped her to her feet.

"Baby, you give one fine blowjob!" He grinned at her. "Unreal!"

"You really think so?" She was fishing for a compliment, but she didn't care, as she wanted to hear it.

"Oh, yeah, I've had some good cocksuckers in my time, pardon my French, Lana, but none were as natural at doing it as you were. Christ, I know a bunch of guy who would pay the whole fifty just to have you blow them! If and when you have more time, that is."

Then Lana, the wanton cocksucking, cum-loving hooker said, "Really? I'd like that, Spike, and I could sure use the money." Oh, God, she thought, what if he actually sets it up? What then? Do I do it? Can I do it? Oh, God, a bunch of men! Naked men! With their hard, erect cocks out!

"Listen, Lana, I really wanted to fuck you, but you made me cum too fast, so how about I set something up for the future? And we could make a deal. If I find you five guys, at fifty each say, for just blowjobs, I get a free fuck. How's that sound to you?" He looked at her, and waited for her response.

"Let me think a sec, OK?" Thoughts raced through her mind. Should I do this? This crazy thing? Five guys! Five blowjobs! All that cum! It's so slutty! But who would know? Just me. Who would it hurt? No one.

"Okay, Spike, we have a deal." Whew, it was that easy to become a slut.

"Good. Now, Lana, how can I get in touch with you?"

She thought a moment, and remembered the computer she had seen in his other room.

"I can only be contacted by e-mail, Spike, so I'll give you that address . . . "

* * * * * *

LAURA WINDSLOW, aka Lana Lick, the newest slut cocksucker hooker of the evening, could have taken the taxi the few blocks to the party, but she didn't want anyone else to see her in this getup. Especially friends.

One look at her in this costume, she knew, and the snide, but funny comments would start. They would be joking, of course, but she felt she would blush so violently, even at the first comment, that they would guess what she had done just blocks from them: Sucking the big cock of a total stranger. They would read it all over her face. As if her face was covered in Spike's cum.

It was ludicrous, to be sure, but the feeling was strong enough to have her give the cabbie her home address. She was there in less than twenty minutes.

As she got off the elevator on her floor, she saw a man at Ken's door. When he keyed the door, she realized it was Ken. He was all dressed up, with a suit and tie, as if he had just come home from either working late, or an early-ended date.

He turned and looked right at her, his key still in the door. "Hi, there, just move in?" He smiled. Shit, she thought, he doesn't recognize me. Well, why should he in this outfit? For some odd reason, she played along, making her voice sound deeper and sultry, and sexy.

"No, I'm just visiting . . . uh . . . my cousin. Maybe you know her? Laura Windslow?" She smiled at him. "My name is Lana, Lana . . . Lick." She had almost forgotten what last name she had used with Spike.

"Nice meeting you, Lana. I'm Ken, Ken White, and sure I know Laura. We've been neighbors for ages now. I feed her cat, Wiggy, and water her plants whenever she's out of town." I know, you dummy, I know. "But I'll tell you, Lana, you two sure are different from one another. You must be distant cousins." He grinned at her. She thought, what's that supposed to mean, ass hole?

"What's that supposed to mean?" She hoped it sounded a tad pissy. Even without the ass hole tacked on the end.

"Uh . . . nothing. It's just that Laura is . . . well . . . and you are . . . uh . . . both different, but both lovely, to be sure." He reddened a bit, and grabbed a quick breath. "You just look different, is all I mean."

She diluted the piss a bit, but it still had some acid in it. "Oh, I see. Laura dresses mousy like, and I dress . . . how would you say I dress, Ken?" She was having fun with it, this putting him on the spot. Especially so because his ears had reddened again. And his mouth now hung agape.

Before he could speak, she said, "Like a tramp? A tart? A trollop? A hooker? Tell me, huh, Ken, I can take it." Oh, what fun! What delicious fun. He looked stunned. And dopey like . . .