Deranged - Scene 4

Dr. Charlie Hayes dropped her coat at the door and poured a neat one. The glass fogged in her hand. Flash of memory. She was eighteen again, no apartment, no prospects, boots filthy, hair whipping her face on the corner where Lisette stood smoking and waiting. Lisette offered a square of black cardstock. Thick. Gold edge. One line typed. Tonight. Midnight. No refusals. Charlie unfolded it on the bar napkin now and the words still burned. Below it, Lisette’s address in ink that ran if you touched it with sweat. Midnight arrived dragging its feet. Charlie climbed three flights, heels loud on bare wood. Mick, Lisette’s lover, opened the door wearing only black trousers and a line of sweat down his sternum. No hello. Just the smell of sex already thick in the air. Lisette lay on a battered chaise, dress bunched at her waist, thighs open, cunt glistening. Mick’s belt clicked like a bullet sliding into a chamber. He grabbed Charlie by the nape, steered her straight to the chaise. “On your knees,” he said. She dropped fast. Tongue met wet heat before she even took a real breath. Lisette tasted like salt and metal and sin, every slow lick dragging another shiver from the girl’s spine. Mick sank his cock into Charlie from behind without warning, fat and insistent, stretching her open until her moan vibrated right into Lisette’s soaked pussy. One of Lisette’s hands fisted Charlie’s hair, the other reached down to smear the spit and slick across Charlie’s mouth. “Deeper, little stray,” she hissed. Mick answered with harder strokes, hips slapping skin, balls swinging heavy against Charlie’s swollen clit. Charlie came first—tight, sudden, teeth scraping Lisette’s inner thigh. Lisette followed with a low guttural cry, grinding down against Charlie’s tongue until she trembled through the aftershocks. Mick pulled out, painted Charlie’s back in three hot stripes, then rubbed the mess into her skin like he was branding her for later use. Now, ten years later, Dr. Hayes took another sip of bourbon and let the cut-crystal glass rest against her lower lip, remembering exactly how that invitation tasted in her mouth when she opened the door.