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Naked Whore with a Gun

They say you can't judge a book by its cover. How about a story by its title?

Yeah, in love, war—and paying for sex—it's all fair game.

Naked Whore with a Gun by Will Viharo




The naked whore had the john’s own gun trained on his erect cock.
           
“Are you going to shoot me?” he asked, standing at the foot of the bed with this pants around his ankles.
           
“Maybe,” she said. “Depends on what mood I’m in.”
           
“Well, what mood are you in?” he asked.
           
“A bad one.”
           
“I guess that doesn’t bode too well for me,” he said.
           
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head, the motion of which jiggled her bare, pert and pointy titties. “It sure don’t.”
           
“Well, mind if I sit down?”
           
“Yea.”
           
“Yea, I can sit down, or yea, you mind.”
           
“The second one.”
           
“Meaning no.”
           
“Yes.”
           
“So you do mean yes, I can sit down, or—?”
           
“I mean no. Stand still and shut the fuck up until I say so.”
           
“Okay.”
           
The naked whore took a seat on the bed, with the gun still pointed at the john. His holster was still dangling off the bedpost, next to his jacket. Careful not to let him out of her sight, she removed a cigarette from inside the jacket, put it between her lips, and said, “Got a light?”
           
“Yea, in my pants.”
           
“I don’t mean your dick, asshole.”
           
“Neither do I. My lighter is in my pants’ pocket. My pants are around my ankles. May I reach down and get it?”
           
“Sure, just be careful as hell,” she said, cocking the piece.
           
The john reached down carefully, took the lighter out of his pants pocket, and shakily lit her cigarette. She blew the smoke in his face, and he coughed.
           
“Now, stand back and stay put,” she said.
           
“Sure, for how long?”
           
“Till I either shoot you or tell you to leave.”
           
“Okay.”
           
With the gun still pointed at the john’s crotch, the whore looked around the barren hotel room, then her gaze stopped in the mirror at the bureau. She was fascinated by her own reflection.
           
“I’m pretty hot, ain’t I?” she asked the john rhetorically.
           
“I think so,” he said.
           
“You like my body?”
           
“Love it.”
           
“Love?”
           
“Well . . . I guess lust is the better word.”
           
“That’s what I thought. That why you still have a boner?”
           
“Yes.”
           
“So . . . jerk off while I watch.”
           
“Are you sure?”
           
“This gun is cocked and loaded.”
           
“So is mine.”
           
“So shoot.”
           
The john gave his stiff cock five quick pumps and he shot his load all over her gorgeous face and glorious tits. Her erect nipples were dripping with his semen. One drop had hit her in the eye. She wiped it out and licked her fingers, the gun still firmly in her other hand’s grasp.
           
“My turn,” she said, pulling the trigger. The john screamed and fell to his knees.

The naked whore stuck the gun up her snatch, walked across the blood-stained floor, went downstairs to the kitchen and made herself a tofu sausage sandwich. The john came downstairs and joined her.
           
“That was intense,” he said, sitting down at the little table.
           
“Yea, I guess.” She shrugged. “Coffee?”
           
“Sure.”
           
The whore, still naked and glistening with various bodily fluids, none of which were her own, poured the john a cup of coffee. He had put his pants back on and was fully clothed.
           
“Have you learned your lesson yet?” she asked him.
           
“Not yet.”
           
“I didn’t think so. Take your time. It’s your money.”
           
“Speaking of which, I have to get to work,” he said.
           
“Me too,” she said.

“See you tonight.”

The john drank some of the coffee, got up, put his badge back on, adjusted his tie, kissed the whore on the cheek, and left.
           
“Next!” the whore yelled.


Will Viharo is the author of several novels including A Mermaid Drowns in the Midnight Lounge, Freaks That Carry Your Luggage up to the Room, Chumpy Walnut, Lavender Blonde, Down a Dark Alley, It Came from Hangar 18 (with Scott Fulks), and the “Vic Valentine, Private Eye” series, the first of which, Love Stories Are Too Violent For Me, is in development as a film by Christian Slater and was recently reissued by Gutter Books. www.thrillville.net