Disclaimer: Any and all Twilight characters belong to SM.
The streets passed in a blur as the university bled into the dark background behind me. I turned left onto Flamingo Blvd and continued up the streets, past the bright lights of the sprawling Las Vegas Blvd. Ballys sat to my direct left, the beautiful Bellagio fountains adjacent, and Ceasar's Palace in front of me. Memories flooded through my mind as the minutes ticked by as I idled at the red light.
Ballys, an older hotel and casino in Las Vegas, was one of the first places I became familiar with. My family, then living in South Carolina, had planned their annual trip to the sunny, dry heat of this beautiful desert. It was the first night of our trip when my dad – for all intents and purposes, embarked on a leisurely stroll and invited me to tag along. The excitement of exploring this city of lights and wonders was almost too much for my 13-year-old mind to absorb, and with an eagerness that bordered on hyper, I slipped on my shoes and left the coolness of our room at the MGM Grand. We had boarded the at the time new monorail, which only consisted of two stops – MGM itself and its sister establishment, Ballys.
The monorail deposited passengers outside the casino, in an alcove nestled above the yawning entrance. Dad guided me towards the escalators and we rode them in silence as I took in the unfamiliar landscape. At the entrance of the hotel were archways of lights, dancing with colors, and surrounded on either side of the walkway with peaceful waters. As we walked through the awning, the hotels spread before us, the cars rushed by on the famous Las Vegas Blvd, and the chatter of people – talking and laughing met my young ears. I snorted – that summer was only five, almost six, years ago, and yet I felt aged beyond my short eighteen years on this Earth.
So lost in my memories, I was abruptly startled by the crass sound of a horn blaring behind me. I looked up to see the bright, friendly green light smiling down on me, and gingerly I pressed the gas pedal. The Strip, while beautiful and somewhat awe inspiring, was also dangerous and heavily patrolled with police at all hours of the day and night. I knew all too well this intersection was dangerous due to tourists, sober and drunk, who would dart across the road in spite of traffic. Looking both ways as I crossed through the junction, I sighed with relief that no tourists were headed my way. As I passed Caesar's Palace, I navigated into the far right lane, and eased my car onto the I-15.
Perhaps in other cities – places not always awake and bustling, the freeway would be empty as people slept in their beds and dreamed of what tomorrow would bring. In Vegas, people were just getting off work, or headed to work, and construction crews who like vampires sought refuge from the blistering heat of the sun, worked through the early hours of the morning to complete their work before the dawn approached. As I neared the Spaghetti Bowl, where the I-15 and US-95 met in the heart of the city, I could smell the distinct odor of tar and asphalt as the crews worked tirelessly to widen the narrow five-lane interstate. In the four years of my residence, I had observed such rapid growth, and with it all the normal pains of a booming city. Cars stopped and started as they crawled through the heavily crowded junction, and I cheered silently as I pulled onto the ramp for I95 North.
There was no construction or traffic as I cleared the convergence of vehicles and construction, and I pushed harder on the gas pedal. Landscape flew by in the night with each mile I conquered, the Meadows Mall seemed to blur sweetly on the edge of my vision, and fast approaching was Summerlin Parkway. The ramp jutted at a steep angle to arch up and over the 95 and then almost plummet down to the two lanes provided. Five short exits later, I was home – or at least, to my parents' home. I turned off the engine and sat in my warming car deep in thought.
Edward had seemed nice, the conversation flowed easily and I had found that we both agreed on several important political points. He came across as a gentleman, intelligent, and well spoken. Yet, I worried at how drawn I seemed to him. In the little experience I had – two serious boyfriends and a couple of non-serious ones, men were overall trouble. It was ironic though, given my perspective, that the number of male friends far outweighed the girlfriends in my life. Male friends were to be kept at arms' length so they couldn't betray or hurt me, but something inside me whispered that he was different and that not only could I trust him, but I would be safe with him.
Pffttt…. Not likely.
With a sigh, I gathered my faded duffle bag, purse, and my water bottle and shuffled up the sidewalk to the front door. My parents had purchased this house only two years ago, the warm caramel colored stucco that was so common in the desert, was trimmed in a dark cocoa color that contrasted nicely. The front yard had a small patch of grass with a little tree, and a riverbed of smooth stones. Leading to the walkway were two waist high pillars with a pale bone colored stucco, and a black iron gate that opened to the walkway to the front porch. The porch itself was smallish, as so many porches out here were; gone were the long, wide porches of the South. Images of rocking chairs and tables came to mind as I recalled the oversized front porch from my childhood home.
My childhood home had been an early 20th century schoolhouse converted into a house; technically it was one story, but had a downstairs den where the broiler room had been, and a large over sized garage where the gym had existed. This house stood in contrast – new where our South Carolina home had been old, two stories compared to the one, and much smaller bedrooms. But the home was nice, modern, and had a comfortable feel. As I stepped through the door and into the foyer, I could make out the formal sitting room that was open to the also formal dining room; to my left were the guest bedroom and the great room family area with the breakfast nook and open kitchen. Nestled between the formal areas and the guest room was an extra wide staircase that led to the master bedroom, loft, and two spare bedrooms. My bedroom lay at the end of that hall, just beyond the loft.
Quietly, I tiptoed up the stairs, past my parents' room, and into the relative comfort of my own four walls. When the door clicked into place, I breathed a sigh of relief and began to peel away the red dress I had randomly selected for the evening and kicked off my sandals. In the darkness, I fumbled for the lip of my dresser, tugged the drawer open and retrieved what felt like a tank top and sleep shorts. Dressing quickly, I kicked my dress to the closet and took one last look around the room. Exhausted, I finally slipped beneath the cool covers and allowed sleep to take me.
The sun leaked too bright through the wooden blinds; I moaned and turned over stuffing a pillow over my head.
Too early.
Squinting I peeked from the feathery softness to peer at the red illuminated digital clock on my white oak nightstand. Ugh. Already ten in the morning and I knew there would be no hope of sneaking back out of the house or using the excuse that class would be starting soon. My mind scrambled to consider my schedule for the day – I had a night shift at work, but otherwise had the day free.
Thick, swollen hands fumbled and reached for the cell phone that should be charging right behind the clock. My fingers found the thick device and yanked it towards my line of sight.
Should I call Edward? See what he has planned today?
The voicemail icon blinked rapidly on my gray home screen alerting me to a new message. I pulled the phone to my ear and listened carefully, "Hey babe, it's Paul, was just wondering what your plans were today. Let me know if you want to meet at Moose's for lunch."
Delete.
Fucking Paul.
The next voicemail started, "Hey Bella, it's Laurent, I wanted to see if you were still available for those pictures we talked about. How does 2 PM work for you? Let me know."
Delete.
Last message was from an unknown number and was from just an hour previous, "Hey Bella, it's Edward. I had a great time hanging out with you last night. Let me know if you want to meet for lunch or something. And just in case you lost my number," he laughed, "it's 702-555-7399."
Without thinking, I saved the message and then programmed the number into my phone. My stomach growled loudly and I could not recall when my last meal had been. Quickly, I gathered some clean clothes and walked into my Jack and Jill bathroom. Though the spare room was empty, I locked both doors and then turned the shower to the hottest setting. Steam filled the room quickly and I inhaled the moist air. I stepped beneath the thick streams of water and allowed the heat to relax my tense muscles, then lost myself to the mindless chore of bathing.
I showered and dressed quickly, applied a little makeup, and quickly brushed and dried my damp hair. In the mirror, I scrutinized my almost shoulder length hair that fell in soft waves. Over the past nine months, my hair had grown out from the short, spiky do and was now thankfully past the awkward "I'm growing my hair out" phase. As I examined my mirror image, I could not help but notice the dark shadows under my eyes and I dabbed again with a concealer that promised to "brighten and refresh" my complexion. Outside the purplish bruises beneath my dark eyes, my complexion was flawless – a tanned olive color with a straight petite nose in the center, a lower lip that was fuller than the top, and a heart shaped face. My body was soft – not toned or lean like an athlete, but still slim and my clothes fell nicely on the gentle swells, dips, and curves of my body.
Sooner or later you have to face her. Get dressed, eat something, pack a bag, and get out.
I tugged faded, cropped jeans over my hip hugging panties and a bright pink tank top with a scooped neckline. The mirror me smiled widely back, but it did not reach her eyes. The hazy reflection, that seemed to swirl as the mist from the steam dripped from the mirror, scowled in reaction.
The door opened wide and I returned to my room. Searching about the room, I found another week's worth of clothes, including a few work uniforms, socks, work shoes, and my toothbrush.
Inhaling deeply, I worked up the courage to walk downstairs and grab some breakfast. In the distance, I could hear the faint hum and buzz of the television and knew I'd have to face her sooner or later. The strap of the bag looped easily over my shoulder, I grabbed my purse, gave my room one last forlorn look, and shuffled down the hall and stairs to the kitchen.
The sun lit the room and the gentle swooshing of the ceiling fan provided a light breeze to waft throughout the room. Determined, I plastered a wide – albeit fake, grin across my face and deposited my things at the foot of the stairs. Nonchalantly I meandered through the short hall and into the living room and kitchen.
The couches that traveled all the way from South Carolina were a dark blue and purple with a flowered pattern on them. Thanks to mom's meticulous care, even though they were several years old, they still stood firm with no traces of sagging. Mom sat on the loveseat, breakfast at her side, her ever-present oversized cup filled with ice cold 7-up next to her plate on the end table. Her legs were tucked under her and she was apparently watching Judge Judy. Idly, I wondered if she even noticed my appearance, but was abruptly met with, "Morning Bella."
"Morning Mom," I replied and continued my shuffle towards the pantry. I prepared a bowl of cereal and sat at the often-ignored kitchen table. Quickly, I inhaled my food so as not to prolong the uncomfortable silence I often met. My actions were blurry, as if someone else completed them, as I finished my food, cleaned my dishes, and awkwardly stood to go. "Well, gotta head out. See ya," I waived goodbye.
"Mmmhhmm," she replied.
And with that, I left the house and walked to my car.
Decisions, decisions.
The clock now informed me it was almost noon and I realized it had taken me much longer than I initially thought to get out of the house. Laurent wanted to meet in about two hours, Edward had hoped to have lunch together, and Paul apparently just wanted to hang out. Yeah right, what he meant was he didn't have any other dates and wanted to hook up. Again, I scowled and my mother's voice broke through my mind reminding me that my face could get stuck like that.
Hanging out, or hooking up, with Paul was defiantly out, and while I wanted – almost too much for someone I had just met or well, rather gotten to know better – to hang out with Edward, I decided that I should give that front a little more time to develop before running off to meet him just because he called. Laurent it was.
My car started easily and pulled out onto the road to head towards the Desert Inn area he lived in. Thoughtfully, I chewed my lip as I drove.
Laurent had started out as a co-worker at my second job outside of high school, at thirty-five he was almost twice my age, but had seemed like a nice guy. When the tech company we worked for went under and we had to find separate jobs – I went to work for Victoria's Secret in their makeup department, and he had gotten a job with another contractor, we had kept in touch. Despite the age difference, we had hung out a few times before it became glaringly apparent that he liked me in a more romantic way. In an attempt to put some distance between us, I had listed classes and my sorority activities as reasons to not hang out. However, in the year we had known each other, he easily saw through my lies and had yet to confront me. It was always in his tone of voice when I dismissed his requests to hang out that told me he knew I was untruthful.
About a month ago – during the start of the "off again" phase for Paul and I, the relationship between Laurent and myself shifted. It went from one of friendship with the romantic feelings held at bay, to a business one. In need of a bed to crash in, a shower, and some food in my stomach I had finally relented and came to hang out at his place. He made drinks for us and we hung out at the pool in his backyard; of course this required swim attire – a green checkered string bikini to be exact. I could feel his eyes drinking me in as I lied on the reclining chair and absorbed the warm sun into my body. What he had said next had taken me completely off guard, "Have you ever thought about doing nude pictures?"
My drink had sputtered and caught in my throat, burning its way down my windpipes. "What?" I stuttered as I tried to breathe in without coughing.
He nodded towards me, as if his reasoning was obvious, "I have connections you know, people who run websites. You could make good money – easy money," he clarified, "just by taking some pictures."
That conversation had been eating away at me ever since. Although I was gainfully employed at the time, full time hours and all the perks that went with it, I hated my job. Well, perhaps not the job itself – but the people I worked with. My manager was a dictator, someone I was loath to work with, and two of my other co-workers were from the Greek system. There was Jamie, not only my sorority sister but also my pledge, er new member sister. She was beautiful and looked exactly like a sorority girl should with a tall body, all sinew and lean lines, yet somehow unfairly blessed with a large bust and golden hair with brown undertones that fell past her shoulder blades. Big expressive eyes dominated her slightly round face, with a full, even pout that grew animated whenever she talked. Her boyfriend, a Pike, also worked with me, and while it was funny in the beginning – he was actually quite good at what he did. Women seemed to flock to Mike, whether it was his good looks or his charm, and he was shockingly the top sales person in the store. Mike was a painful reminder of the drama that had ensued after Paul transferred from community college to UNLV and pledged the Pikes, and shamefaced I tried my best to avoid him. Shockingly, though, Mike held no ill will towards me and was friendly regardless of all the water under the bridge, or over the bridge between myself and the fraternity; although he did admit that matters were not helped that one of the brothers – Tyler, bragged that I slept with him during the pledges' hell week. My cheeks flamed in embarrassment at the memory; while I did actually sleep with him I did not have sex with him. Tyler had offered his bed to me one night after a long bought of drinking, and promised to sleep on the floor. Apparently, once I was passed out, he climbed into the bed and allowed everyone to think other things had happened.
I hated working there, but with a car payment and in need of things like fuel, money to wash my clothes, and pesky food, I was stuck. So I had considered Laurent's offer and after much mulling had decided to take him up on it just once to see how it all worked out. When I arrived to Laurent's house only thirty minutes later, I felt my stomach roll and churn with nervousness.
Come on, you can do this. And remember, you'll get $200 out of it.
Chin held high, I grabbed my purse and walked up the walk to his door. Laurent's townhouse was older, and the bone colored stucco was faded and a tad dirty, his front yard was all pebbles and smooth stones with one lone sapling planted. The interior was nice and had obviously been well cared for, with three bedrooms, a study, and the commonly found great room connecting the kitchen, living, and dining room all together. When he answered the door, his hair was dripping wet and he even appeared shocked. Whoops, I had forgotten to call ahead and let him know I was coming.
Regardless, he smiled brightly and waived me inside. He was wearing his swim trunks, his thin chest exposed and slightly tinged pink, and I could only guess he was in the pool prior to my arrival. "Hi Bella!" he greeted cheerfully, "I wasn't sure if you were still coming."
I nodded, my nervousness growing by the minute. "Uh, yeah. But I just want to see how this time goes."
He nodded again and waived me to the study. "Let me grab my camera and dry off, then I'll be right back. Make yourself comfortable." He left then and bounded up the stairs taking them two at a time.
The study was always tidy, but significant changes had been made this time. All the furniture was pushed awkwardly to one side of the room with the longest expanse of the room had a couch pushed up to the side and a thick blanket on resting on the arm. The curtains had all been drawn close and the room was lit with a few high-powered lamps that crowded the center of the space. Yep, apparently I was really going through with this.
When Laurent returned, he wore faded jeans – no shirt, but had a camera in one hand and was considerably drier. He grinned at me then nodded towards the kitchen, "You look nervous, want a drink before hand?"
I waffled and glanced at my watch, it was barely one o'clock in the afternoon and I did not have to be to work until seven. Mentally, I calculated how much I could drink and the time required to become sober before attempting to drive. "Okay, I can have one or two, but then nothing but water after that. I've got work tonight."
"Sure, sure. Let me go make something, c'mon – join me and tell me about your week." He took long strides towards the kitchen with me in tow behind him; I sidled up to the bar and sunk into the thick leather seats. Idly, I chatted about my week – classes that I had not attended, my sisters, and made careful note to skip over my meeting the previous night with Edward or the message from Paul this morning. In turn, Laurent told me about his week, work and hanging out with friends as we drank his daiquiris. The mushed up ice and alcohol both soothed my throat and burned it as the liquid worked its way down, and by the second drink I was feeling the bravado that only comes with alcohol.
Noticing my relaxed demeanor, Laurent waived us back to the study and closed the doors. He instructed me to disrobe and then positioned me on the couch. As the camera clicked away, the alcohol having completely squashed my inhabitations, I began to have fun in spite of myself. After several shots of my breasts and legs, Laurent began instructing me to touch myself as he shot more pictures; his voice became harsh and rough sounding as he directed me to open the folds and pinch my clit.
And then, it seemed it was over. The clicking had stopped and the only sound that remained was Laurent's harsh breathing. "Bella," he started and then cleared his throat, "you've certainly earned the money today. Would you like to earn more?"
Suspicion grazed my alcohol induced mind, but I quickly swatted it away, "How much and what?" I asked, my words slightly slurred.
"Three hundred in cash."
Five hundred dollars! That was more than a week's paycheck for only a few hours and drinks worth of work. But, he hadn't mentioned what I would do.
"For what?" I asked, the suspicion coloring my voice.
"More pictures," he explained and I could tell there was something he was not saying.
"Of?" I edged.
"Well," he cleared his throat again, "of giving me a blow job," he suddenly blurted.
I laughed as if the prospect of someone paying me to give them a blowjob and take pictures of it were funny. "Why?"
"Well, the site has all kinds of pictures, and the ones of you touching yourself will be a hit. My buddy had already asked if he could get pictures of you blowing a boyfriend or something, but I knew you," he drifted off uneasily, "anyways, it wouldn't mean anything to either of us and it'd be more money in your pocket."
I attempted to rationalize this in my brain, logically I knew I should say no, take my $200 and sober up so I could drive to work. But, I knew I probably needed that $500 and really what was the harm? I'd known Laurent for a whole year, while he was interested in me he had never tried anything funny with me before, and overall I knew I could trust him.
What's it going to be Swan? You going to earn that money that we both know you need? He's not a bad looking guy, who cares? I cringed inwardly at my reasoning, but had to acknowledge my inner bitch was right. Since my initial break up with Paul last fall, I had kind of become a slut. Paul had been the second guy I had ever slept with, but in the past year I had slept with two others alone. It wasn't like I was inexperienced or anything and with a mental shrug decided it didn't really matter.
Mustering my inner whore, I put as much passion in my eyes and slowly slinked from the couch and raised myself onto my knees. Laurent watched me intently and when I opened my mouth for him, I heard him hiss in return.
His actions were almost painfully slow, as I stayed there, on my knees with my mouth hanging open, as he carefully placed the camera down on a side table and then languidly unbuttoned his jeans, slid the zipper down, and withdrew his hard cock. He retrieved the camera then, and took several shots of my position and open mouth. "Stay just like that," he barked out in his hoarse voice, "and do as I say, okay?" I nodded.
"Lick your lips like you're hungry for it," I did and the camera snapped over and over.
"Good," he praised. "Now, I'm going to rub this along your face, and I want you to try to catch it." Again I nodded.
Then he smeared his cock across my cheek, the pearl of pre-cum wet and sticky against my skin and I turned my head in attempt to capture the bulbous head between my lips. He groaned as my tongue met with the tip and I felt it throb against me. The faint sound of the camera clicking continued in the background as I listened for his instructions.
"I'm gonna put it in your mouth now. Do you swallow?"
The few blowjobs I had given, had never ended with the guy well ending, it was usually foreplay that ended in sex. Did I want to swallow? I wasn't sure, but the thought seemed to disgust me. "I don't know," I answered honestly.
A jerk of his head indicated that he heard me, but it was a moment before he answered, "You have two choices, I can cum in your mouth and take pictures of you holding it in your mouth," ugh – gag, "or I can cum on your face."
"Face," I replied, not wanting to taste much less hold anyone's cum in my mouth. Ugh.
"Okay, open your mouth." He slid his cock between my lips and began to thrust slowly as the camera continued to click in the background. He hissed and moaned as his now slippery cock slid in and out of my mouth. "I'm going to pull your hair now, but keep going," his voice instructed through clenched teeth.
Then his hands tangled in my hair and painfully pulled at the roots, I could feel tears welling behind my eyes and with another sharp tug felt them roll hotly down my cheeks, "Ah yes, that's perfect, look up at me," I looked up as the camera seemed to appear only inches away from my blotchy face as he dick continued to work my mouth.
It only took a few minutes longer before he was moaning, and slamming into my face, the camera all but forgotten as both hands gripped my head holding me in place, "Ah, I'm cumming," and suddenly his hands were gone as he retrieved the camera at his side, "lap it up, open your mouth, really look like you want it all over you," and I did as he said.
Afterwards, I showered again and cleaned myself off. Thankfully, after several bottles of water and the shower, my head had cleared and I felt entirely sober. My cheeks flamed in embarrassment of what I had done, but forced it back as I chastised myself – it was done and over with and I was five hundred dollars richer.
Still, when Laurent paid me, stuffing a combination of hundreds and twenties into my palm, I felt awkward. What could I say to him? "That was great Bella, I know those shots are going to be very popular. I'll polish them up and send them over to my friend, then let you know what he says in a couple of weeks – how's that sound?"
"Sounds good," my voice sounded small and timid, but I cleared my throat to mask my nervousness. "Well, thanks for the er, job – but I've gotta fight the traffic on the Strip to get to work on time. If I'm late again," I shuddered.
He nodded in understanding but called out to me as I walked towards the door, "Bella," I turned and faced him, "you know, if those pictures are as popular as I think they'll be, you won't have to work at that job if you don't want to." He winked at me and I practically stumbled out of his house.
A/N: **Peeks out** So for those of you who have read other stories of mine, you may notice this one will be more gritty than the others. In this story, I'm not kidding when I say Bella has some real issues and is kind of damaged. All of my characters here will be OOC, so don't expect canon personalities.
That said, what do you think?
