Sophie moved across the
dance floor, her eyes glassy, her lithe young body twisting and writhing to the
pounding music. The club was jammed with young people of every description,
most, like her, having little purpose in life other than to party and enjoy themselves.
It was three in the morning, but she wasn’t tired. She hadn’t wakened until
well after noon, after all.
She wasn’t dancing with
anyone in particular. She was simply letting her body move to the music,
feeling the bass thumping against her slender chest, swaying and twirling and
moving her legs and hips without a care in the world.
Occasionally, in the dark,
crowded mass, a hand would dart out and grope her as she passed, but Sophie had
no particular care about that. There was very little in life that interested
Sophie, so she was a sexually adventurous girl. It was fun, and didn’t cost
anything, so why not. And if someone wanted to cop a feel of her tight butt as
she swirled past, or run their hands across her breasts, well that was hardly something
to shock or upset her.
Sophie wore very little
that night – or morning – to get in the way of those groping hands. Her skirt
was extremely short, barely covering her pert young bottom, her top was a gauzy
square of fabric stretched taut across her full breasts which hung from her
neck and tied behind her back.
It was hot that night on
the coast, but while Sophie’s raven hair was tied back in a loose tail,
numerous strands had escaped as she moved, matting against the side of her head
and face as perspiration made her tanned skin glisten. There was still a thick
tail hanging down between her bare shoulder blades, however, more than enough
that when a hand grasped it and pulled her backwards she arched back with a
gasp silenced by a pair of lips that crushed down against hers.
Carlo was a bit of a creep,
as far as she was concerned, which he reaffirmed immediately by thrusting his
other hand up under her top to grope her breast openly.
She twisted free
resentfully, then forced a smile as he pulled her in against him, crushing her
breasts against his chest and kissed her again. This time his hands slid down
to cup her ass through her skirt, squeezing roughly, then forcing his hands
underneath and up to slap her bottom. That raised her skirt behind her and
bared her bottom to anyone, but it was only her ass, after all, so Sophie
wasn’t terribly concerned.
Besides, Carlo would buy
her a drink if she was nice, and she wanted another drink.
She gently forced him back
so they could dance, and he leered at her as he moved in time to the music. He
wasn’t, in fact, much of a dancer, but he was at least enthusiastic, in a
greasy sort of way.
She waited until the song
had transited into another before pressing her breasts against him again. “I’m
hot,” she shouted into his ear.
“You are,” he said,
mistaking her and grabbing her ass again.
“I need to sit down and
have a drink,” she said, pulling away.
He dutifully followed her
back to the table, and like a good boy, got her a drink. Her interest in him
waned after that, but she would be polite as they joined the group of young
people who congregated off to one side around their usual tables.
Mia pulled her aside,
blonde Mia from Milano in the north and tried to whisper something into her
ear. Of course, the guys noticed and jeered and taunted them, and Mia turned it
into a mock lesbian thing as they kissed deeply and pressed their breasts
together. But then Mia pulled her away
from the others and led her out back to the alley where she could have a
peaceful smoke.
“Hey, she said, “What are
you doing these days?”
Sophie shrugged as she lit
her own cigarette.
“Look at my new watch,” Mia
said a bit smugly.
Sophie raised her eyebrows.
The watch looked expensive. So did the ring on the blonde girl’s finger. Yet she
knew full well Mia had no more money than she did. Both were unemployed. Mia
had some family, at least, so she lived rent-free, but she didn’t have the kind
of money to buy shiny baubles like these.
“Who’s the guy?” Sophie
asked with a smirk.
Mia smirked back. “It was a
present from a guy named Dmitri.”
Sophie frowned. “What kind
of a name is that?”
”He’s Russian,” Mia said.
”Russians are pigs.”
“He is a pig, but he has a
lot of money. And a lot of friends. He has a huge yacht and he likes to have
pretty girls in bikinis along for rides.”
“For rides or riding?”
Sophie said with a smirk.
“For both. But he gives
presents, you know, nice presents, if he likes you. He gave a girl a Mercedes.”
Sophie stared at her.
“He’s like super rich. It’s
nothing to him. I seen him stuff thousand euro notes
into girls tops as little tips and presents. It’s nothing to him. You should
see his yacht, and it’s not even his only yacht. He has an even bigger one only
his special friends get on.”
“Nice,” Sophie said.
“You want to come?”
“Come where?”
“To his yacht.”
“And do what?” Sophie asked
warily.
Mia rolled her eyes. “Hang
around and party, dance, get drunk, fuck. Whatever. He has the best food and
free booze, too.”
“And he gives this to
anyone?”
“No, stupid. Look, he has
guests there, you know, rich guys, politicians, movie stars, and he likes to
have pretty girls in bikinis hanging around to look at and dance with and
fuck.”
“You gotta
fuck him?”
“When was the last time you
went the whole day without fucking someone?” Mia demanded.
“I don’t fuck guys for
money,” Sophie scowled.
“You’re full of shit.
You’re nice to guys all the time if they buy you drinks and pay your way into
clubs. And you’ve fucked guys before just because they were there. You’re no
fucking virgin, Sophie.”
“Yeah, maybe, but I fuck
hot guys, not rich old wrinkled guys with fat bellies.”
“You don’t have to fuck
anyone,” Mia said. “You come, hang around, eat, drink, and party. If you want
them to let you back, though, well, the nicer you are, the more likely you’ll
get invited back. And the boat doesn’t stay there. It travels the
Mediterranean, stops in Greece and France and Spain. It’s like a party ship for
the super rich. Dmitri isn’t the only one gives presents, and some of the guys
are hot. You think fucking around with Carlo is more saintly?”
“He has a nice cock,”
Sophie said.
They both snickered.
“Come to my place tomorrow
at two. Bring your smallest bikini. Dmitri sends a limo for me and he said I
should look for friends to bring.”
Sophie returned to her tiny
flat, a third floor walkup tenement off a narrow street jammed in under the
mountain. You couldn’t even see the sea from there, much less get any breeze,
but it was cheap, and didn’t have bugs, and so long as others paid for her
entertainment, and some of her food, her unemployment cheque
would stretch to pay the rent.
Her parents and brother had
died when she was young, leaving her with the government as her parent. It had
been an unloving and neglectful parent, to say the least, and she’d been on her
own since she was sixteen. She was a beautiful girl with long dark hair, and
quite used to trading on her looks for favors. She didn’t like Mia’s suggestion
she would actually fuck a guy for money, though. She only fucked guys when she
wanted to fuck guys.
Of course, fucking was one
of the few things she could do in life that brought pleasure – sometimes – and
didn’t cost her anything, so she naturally did it a lot. But that was for fun,
not for money, not really. And she didn’t like the idea of letting some old,
ugly, fat Russian guys paw her for money, no matter how rich he was. It wasn’t
like she was even guaranteed to get the money either. Mia said it was just
“presents”.
But then again, it wasn’t
like she had anything else to do. Her life was essentially meaningless. She had
no particular ambitions or goals except a vague one to some
day get some kind of job she didn’t hate so she could get a nicer flat
and a nicer TV, maybe.
She wore her black bikini,
the one with the thong bottom and small triangle cups on top under a loose
black top which was open from top to bottom except where it was tied together
just between her breasts. It showed her slim belly and a nice amount of
cleavage without being slutty. She also wore tight, low riding jeans which were
so low, in fact, she had to push the straps of her thong bikini bottom well
down to avoid looking gauche.
Cynically, she hoped to be
able to get some food and booze and then get off before having to “pay” for any
of it. She wore dark glasses and an attitude, for she thought little of
Russians. They were so crude and boorish they made Americans seem like
sophisticates.
Mia was wearing a very small but very
fashionable and, unless Sophie was wrong, expensive dress when she showed up at
her flat. She was just finishing with her hair, brushing it repeatedly so it
hung around her rounded face in fluffy waves.
“Let your hair loose,” was
the first thing she told Sophie. “They like your hair loose.”
“Fuck them,” Sophie said.
“If you want, but keep your
hair loose.”