Page 4 of Filthy Mouth

I guzzled it down, because apparently tonight I was a Gucci-clad prostitute.

I listened to him call his driver and nearly rolled my eyes.

Let’s see if the old man lived up to his filthy promise.

??????

At least he was a gentleman to someone he thought was a prostitute. He held the door open for me, and I climbed into the Rolls-Royce Phantom. I should have charged more, but it was too late now.

He peered into the car with a frown.

“Is that Gucci you’re wearing?”

“Are you kidding? It’s a knock-off,” I scoffed.

His face cleared, and he climbed into the car beside me.

Damn, all those years of staying silent, smiling, and lying were finally paying off. Who’d have thought it would come in handy to pretend to be a prostitute? I wondered what kind of small talk prostitutes had with their customers.

“What a lovely car you have, Daddy,” I simpered.

“One of many,” the oaf bragged.

I glanced down and saw the outline of his dick. My eyes widened. Said dick was leaning to his left, and the bulge was considerable. I considered his dirty words and tried to think if there was honey and lemon in the house.

I’d need something if my throat was going to take a bashing tonight.

??????

The apartment was exactly what I expected from the address he gave me—in the Canary Wharf area and right next to the river. I cringed when I walked into the reception area. Talk about gaudy decor. From the oversized chandelier to the abstract artwork, it was an eyesore. Whoever the interior designer was for this building needed their head examined.

“Oh, good evening, Mr Lan—”

“Good evening, I’m just off to my apartment,” Mr Marcus‘Trentham’said.

I guess we were both liars.

It was comical when he put his arm around me and practically made me run to the elevator.

“Why are you in such a rush, Daddy?” I said, chuckling, glad I’d finished my second drink before I left.

He was tense in the short car ride, and he couldn’t take his eyes off my mouth. I almost touched my lips to make sure there wasn’t something other than gloss on them. The mysterious Mr L could have a lip fetish.

Was that even a thing?

“Do you have any hard limits?” he asked as the elevator doors closed.

I stared at him blankly.

What kind of hard limits were there for oral sex?

I narrowed my eyes at him as I thought about his lip fetish.

“A hard, fuck no, to shitting in my mouth,” I snapped at him.

His jaw fell open, and he burst into laughter. In fact, he laughed so hard he was holding onto his ribs with tears running down his face.

He was still gasping when he spoke.“I meant if you had any rules about using a condom for a blow job.”