Chapter #15A Taste of Sasha by: Nostrum   You wake to the sound of a slam at the door, in a bed with soft satin sheets. The dim light of the room is already giving you a headache, and you turn your body against it, resting your head on the soft pillows.
Ugh... I shouldn’t have gone so hard with Mr. Stevens last time...
Soon, your eyes accustom to the light, and you check on your phone. Two days. Two days since your last job.
But something’s very off. You’re at your room, rather than the by-house. Has the donna allowed you to return to your home at last?
Why? You’ve been banking money under her service. You don’t see where it goes, but you don’t need a lot – other than the bunch of calories you’ll burn with your clients.
You stand, your legs wobbly and weak from the last time you were awake. You’re well-rested (of course!), but the constant phase-outs make your feet feel like stepping on glass.
You reach your mirror to admire your beauty. The mane of long black hair falling from the crown all the way to your breasts. The sharp, killer look of your sky-blue eyes and the easy smile from your plump lips, mercifully untouched by collagen.
You’re blessed with a wonderful metabolism, though. Despite your voracious hunger, you have a banging body. (Why would I say it’s a banging body? Of course it is!) Two breasts, as large as juicy cantaloupes and with perky nipples, hang from your chest like torpedoes ready to launch. Your ass is getting bigger and softer, as does your hips (so good fat goes where I want it!) and your abdomen’s as slim as ever.
And that shaven pussy... God, it’s already wet. What anyone would give to fuck you, and you have this all for yourself. You shove your fingers inside, feeling that delicious shock all over your body that makes your already weakened legs falter. You fall, deprived of that monumental look before you, your moan echoing on your mind.
You take the nearby stool for support. And as you look at that horny bitch pleasing herself, your thoughts become disparate and chaotic.
Fuck, you’re amazing.
Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?
And you’re all mine now.
Of course I’m mine. Why wouldn’t I?
I want you for myself.
But you have me. Why would anyone else would? The donna orders, but she can’t own me. Only I own myself.
I want to be you. I love being you. You’re all I need.
But I am myself. And why wouldn’t I love being myself?
You like what I’m doing to you, bitch? Because I do.
You’re not doing anything to me. I am doing this to myself. Because I want to.
Because I want to? You stop, as something goes horribly, horribly wrong.
You know Tessa – the donna – said you’d spend some time inside one of the skins from her personal collection. You recall Cassie shooting the pen at you, which means she (or they) must have placed you inside. This must be the one – and what a choice she gave you!
But it feels like someone else’s riding up inside your head. It’s a sultry voice, able to drop low with a droning, hypnotic hum. One whose moans spike up into screeches of pleasure. One that could be an excellent announcer’s voice.
Well, I trained for it. There it is. That alluring voice. You wonder who she can be, and how she got there.
Aleksandra. But you can call me “Sasha”. Everyone does.
The door opens, and you see Cassie poking her head it. “Hey, bestie! You are you yet?”
“Whaddya mean if I am I?”
“Yeah, that’s my bestie.” She’s on her panties, which she promptly takes off; she sits at your lap and wraps your arms around her waist. “How did it feel?”
“What?”
“Waking up as that slut. Literally.” Your face must have told her something, because she giggles childishly as she takes a second pen – the brown one. “That’s what this one does.”
“So... That’s why I can hear her?”
“Only if you ask her questions. Or someone asks you questions.”
Interesting... “So that thing gives us their memories?”
“About that...” Cassie bites her lip, giving a muddled grin. “Only what she tells you. Maybe if I show you...” She moves away, grabbing a picture frame. “What’s your mom’s name?”
Nastasija, she says, sounding like “Natasha” but with a slide from her tongue. Nastasija Ivanovič.
“Can you describe her?" She gives you some details - long black hair, button nose, very slim – but not enough to give you a visual image.
“Yeah, fits the bill.” Cassie turns the frame to show a thin, frail and sad-looking woman sitting with a young girl.
“Yeah,” you say, as Sasha’s voice confirms it. The little girl is her – though you have a strong feeling to claim it’s you – and the woman is Nastasija. There’s also a strong feeling overwhelming you. “That was before cancer struck.”
“That should help you understand,” she says, rather callously. “You get info, maybe identify things, but don’t expect to fondly remember your first kiss. Nothing that creates a mental image either.”
“Alright...” That doesn’t seem that useful. “So, I can only get some information?”
“Nah...” Cassie closes her eyes, snickering. “Like, you can also act as her.” Her posture, her tone and even her vocabulary changes. “You just have to, like, get into her, and she gets into you – y'know what I mean?”
That’s a lot more useful. “And how do I do it?”
“So...” She stands before the mirror and urges you to do the same. “Keep looking at yourself, and tell yourself that you’re her. Do it a couple times until you feel it.”
Looking at her piercing blue eyes, you take a deep breath and repeat the same words as a mantra. “I am Sasha Petrović. I am Sasha Petrović. I am...”
And like a switch, she flows into you. I am going to make a lucky man my slave.
--
You’re back from a lovely evening at Seaside restaurant, near Tyneside’s coast. You’re still wearing the diamond necklace your client – Dan Scioscera, one of the local capos neutral to the donna – lent you, alongside matching earrings and bracelets. You’re zipping out from a lovely silvery dress, open V, with a bare back and long skirt (a daring choice, since your hair can only hide part of the entry scar) and matching sandals with three-inch heels that make you match his stature.
Now on the nude, you pull him by the tie and push him to the bed. It should be simple – a good fuck, then payout – but the donna wanted to put you to the test. Can you bring him to your knees?
Physically, yes. You sit on him, caressing his cheeks, then make your first move. “Do you want dessert or should I start first?”
“Suck me dry first.” That doesn’t take long – he's a quick one. You know the signs, and at the last minute, you deftly wrap your tongue around his thing and grab it until he squirts. He’s quite surprised, and a little disappointed. “I thought you’d swallow.”
“And have you taste your semen in my mouth?” You push him with a finger, back to the bed, then lay your groin on his face. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Oh, definitely!” Before his tongue could even touch yours, though, you step back, wiggling your finger.
“That’d be too easy, baby. If you want it...” You stand, opening your labia defiantly. “Come and get it.”
And, like a sitting puppy, he kneels before you and starts licking, thrusting his tongue into you. You even drive him lower, as you grab his arms with your legs and squat.
But that’s not the challenge. You need to bring him to his metaphorical knees. Make him beg.
The constant teasing and kissing have him ready, but you step back. You assert your dominance – he paid well, but you have that price for a reason. He tries to assert his – he paid you, and for the time being, he owns you. But you fight back – he didn’t set the price. You did.
(Well, the donna did, but he doesn’t know. Nobody knows Tessa Wright owns the best escort service in Tyneside and surrounding regions, after all.)
He relishes the challenge, and though he tries to be rough, you end up rougher. You have a magnificent athletic body despite your large assets, and your constant teases leave him wanting for more.
But there’s one thing you don’t allow him. You dip, you rub, you even make it swipe on your buttocks, but you don’t let his thing inside yours. You play hard to catch, and when he feels frustrated, a little kiss on the neck makes him pliable once more.
All this, to bide the time. You discreetly checked the alarm clock on the room, synchronizing it with your phone. Thirty seconds before two, you finally plunge his thing in, ready for the master blow. “I think it’s time to end this game, don’t you think?”
“I like you. You play hard to get. But I paid a lot for you, and I’m getting it.”
You comply, and in those last fifteen seconds, you begin thrusting and moaning. Then your phone blares its alarm, and you stop. “Time’s up, baby.”
As you slide out, his eyes glow red with anger. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“You paid to be with me, stud. You should’ve established you wanted to fuck before you paid – that would’ve cost you a bit more, but you’d have been satisfied.”
“You slut... You tricked me!”
“I didn’t. Of course, you could extend the time – but I see what you can afford. I think I’m changing my rates.”
“I’ll afford nothing!” He tries to grab you, but you let him fall. You grab the phone and make a quick call.
“Mom? Scioscera’s playing rough and his time’s up.” You hear the donna’s words, and smile at him. “It’s for you. She’s angry.”
--
“I knew I chose well,” Tessa says as you step away from the hotel room. The Uber you called awaits you, and while you’re dressed casual, you’re still wearing the jewelry he “graciously” gifted you. “His group’s now in my possession.”
“His wife’s favorite set was a nice bonus,” you cheerfully add. “Can’t wait for the divorce.”
“Unless someone else’s more to your liking. Play with Sasha a bit more – next week, you’re trying someone else.”  You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author