Most men didn’t know what they were doing in between her legs, or, she figured, didn’t care if they did. Some tried to impress her. Those with egos bigger than their cars. She didn’t care though. The only feeling she sought from the sex she had, was the feeling of money on her palm after the deed was done. She wasn’t after comfort, it was hard to be comfortable when you bent over the hood of a car, while a stranger rode you from behind, grunting with every thrust. She wasn’t after satisfaction, how could you be satisfied when half the men you had sex with, came after a few seconds and the other half got you to the edge of the precipice, only to lack the strength to push you over? It didn’t matter. Money was all the comfort and satisfaction she needed. After all, this was her life, the life of a Nairobi Whore.
Susan had wanted more from life. She knew sucking married men’s cocks in their cars as their wedding bands shone in the moonlight, wasn’t all there was to life. She loved Fashion and had enrolled in a Tailoring College. One day she’d be the Kenyan Chanel, didn’t Coco fuck rich men before she found her fortune? Fees didn’t come cheap though and living in Nairobi was no picnic either. Hence she did what the other girls at the college did for money, pussy for pesa
. Sometimes one of the girls would find a Captain-Save-a-Hoe and leave the night work. It was the prostitution Holy Grail. To finally leave the numbingly cold streets, riding off into the sunset on some rich man’s dick.
The life of a flesh peddler was riddled with danger. Ironic since it’s main aim was to provide pleasure. Biological and material. If it wasn’t City Council askaris beating them like rabid dogs, they were getting raped by chokoraas, condomless. This made you unwittingly grow thick skin, to stop life from overwhelming you. And Susan’s was exceptionally thick. Her empathy ebbed away with every customer that invaded her vaginal walls and when she had to run in high heels from the authorities who’d catch her anyway, and every time some ruffian forced her thighs apart and attacked her not so private parts. She was teak tough.
She sipped her Single Malt Scotch Whiskey and shifted in her seat on the bar stool. Expensive drinks attracted men of discerning taste. Not the Tusker Baridi riff raff who wanted to fuck for free. She asked the bartender for the day’s newspaper. He reached under the counter and handed it to her. There on the front page was the headline, “Kilifi Killer strikes again”. She shook her head.
A serial killer had gripped the coastal town of Kilifi in terror after a string of grisly murders.The nature of these murders was calculated and macabre. His victims of choice were beach hoes, the kind that sold only to whites. Several Harlots spoke, under anonymity, to the investigative journalists. Lamenting how business had gone down due to the fear of getting your vagina torn up. That was the mode of murder. He would insert a sharp object into the vagina of his victims and tear it to shreds with devilish ferocity. The victim would die from severe blood loss. As usual the whores asked the Government to intervene.
‘Yeah right!’ Susan thought to herself, the killer could even be some spurned police officer with a vendetta against these girls. Every one knew they were psycho, these policemen. Plus the authorities probably thought the killer was doing them a favour ridding them of these disease riddled prostitutes. There were no leads anyway, no one knew what the killer looked like and he left no trace of himself anywhere. ‘Yeah, definitely a cop’ she thought. He was effectively a phantom. A figment of the imagination with murderous intent.
Susan’s attention was divided by the person who sat in the seat next to her.
“This seat taken?’ Inquired the husky female voice.
“No.” Susan replied. She gave her new counter companion a once over to see what the competition was offering tonight. She was tall but not hulking. Her skin complexion was like a poor man’s tea, with just enough milk powder in it to take the darkness away. Her small dress emphasized her breasts that jutted out like two mountain peaks. Her smile made you feel like you owed it an ode to its beauty. she was stunning.It was going to be a tough night,Susan thought to herself.
“Can i buy you a drink?” The beauty asked. Stunned, Susan shot her a look!
“You want to buy me a drink? Aren’t you supposed to wait until you get a client so that you can start throwing money around?”
She burst out laughing, as if what Susan had said was ridiculous.
” Hi my name is Clara. Mimi sio malaya”
Susan blushed. An apologetic shade of red flushed her cheeks. It was then that she realized, Clara was a client. She accepted the offer for a drink, graciously. The conversation was easy, the wit flowed. It was a while since a client had gripped more than her breasts. And so the question intrigued Susan, what was a bombshell like this doing looking to pay for company? Any man who passed the counter couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She could have the pick of any man, and woman in here. But Susan knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
After an hour or so, Clara asked the bartender for the bill and looked at Susan.
“Shall we get out of here? ”
Susan nodded in agreement and picked up her clutch. The unwritten rule in regards to walking out of a club, was to walk in front of your client, so that they could have a good view of what they were paying for, made sure they didn’t skimp on the payment later. So she did. Sashaying her ample ass in front of Clara. It worked, Clara grabbed her by the waist and whispered in her ear, “Your pussy is mine tonight”. Susan smiled.
When they got to the parking lot, Clara dug through her purse for her car keys. Two beeps and a BMW flickered its headlights. Susan tried her best to hide her awe at the unadulterated display of opulence on show. Clara was obviously wealthy too, and she hadnt asked the price was for her services. That was a first for Susan.
Susan got into the passenger seat. Clara sped off, clearly comfortable behind the wheel. She drove a few miles from the club, all the while staring at Susan’s thighs.
“I cant wait anymore”. She said to her passenger’s surprise. Clara pulled over by the road. She reached for Susan’s hand and pulled her close and met her with her mouth. They kissed deeply, Clara’s tongue sensually licking Susan’s lips. Clara’s hands caressed Susan’s thighs, and started to reach into her skirt. Susan was already wet with anticipation. She parted her thighs to allow Clara inside. Clara could feel Susan’s panties were already drenched! She pulled them to one side and touched her pussy. Susan gasped. She couldn’t believe that she, a seasoned professional, was being strummed like a guitar by a client. She loved it.
Clara, put her fingers inside her swollen mons, collecting then rubbing some of the wetness on Susan’s clit. Then she started drawing small circles around it, slowly, applying more pressure with every completed circumference. Susan started heaving. She could already feel the wave, overwhelming her. She was about to cum.
She dug her fingers into the car seat as the wave drew closer and closed her eyes…..!
The cold of sharp metal inside her vaginal walls, brought her crashing down from the heights of ecstasy. She tried to scream. She couldn’t. Clara had one hand over her mouth, blood lust in her eyes. Clara pushed in the metal again with such force, tears streamed down Susan’s face. The pain was as incredible as it was unbearable. She couldn’t even move to fight Clara off, something in her drink perhaps?
With each thrust of the metal, Susan could feel her strength waning, slowly, into oblivion. So this was what death was like, a snail paced decline into nothingness through an ocean of pain and anguish. Before Susan lost consciousness, for good, Clara cupped her face and whispered in her ear.
“I liked you, I wish I could’ve waited and taken you to Kilifi”