Dog Eat Dog by Edward Bunker

say she epitomized the sexually attractive body, she would be insufficiently thin for the fashion of the era. She put a foot on a chair and reached to unsnap her garter belt.
    “Don’t,” he said.
    “Oh, you like that,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
    “Yes,” he said, “with legs … like yours.” It made him grin; passion had made him momentarily lightheaded. Was he going to faint over pussy before he got it? He was like a horny schoolboy in the clutches of a horny housewife. He wanted to laugh at himself, but he wanted to put his hands on Dominique even more.
    “Do you fuck with your clothes on?” she asked.
    “Uhhh. No, no, no …” He kicked his shoes off and nearly tore the shirt buttons loose while unfastening them.
    The pistol! He remembered it as he started to slip from the shirt. Too many women were weird about firearms. As he took the shirt off, he turned and shielded the pistol as he pulled it and the clip-on holster from his waistband and put it under his jacket on the chair. She was pulling down the bedspread and missed it. Good. Even a whore might get antsy if she saw a piece.
    When he took off his socks, he remembered that wearing them now would be the most unromantic thing in the world.
    Dominique removed the bedspread and fluffed the pillows. Her breasts danced with the motion.
    She took something small from the nightstand and turned toward him. As she crossed the room, naked save for garter belt, stockings, and high heels, he was hypnotized by radiant warmth from her body; he felt it five feet away. He had no wish to say anything. He was too seduced, blind as Samson from desire.
    On reaching him, she grabbed him between the legs with such perfect pressure that he trembled—and then with the dexterity of a farmer preparing a stallion for a mare, she slipped the latex condom down over his penis. He didn’t care what she did, as long as she spread her legs and he could slip it into her. Never in life had he wanted to fuck a woman the way he wanted this one.
    She took his hand and led him to the bed. Whores had taught him how to give a woman pleasure. It was no esoteric secret from the Kama Sutra; it was simply patient and prolonged touching and stroking, with gentle hands and the tip of the tongue. A woman’s body took much longer to get ready to fuck, a truth that horny youth found difficult to appreciate.
    Troy had the same difficulty this time. His fingers touched the warm silky skin inside her thighs and then he got dizzy as she spread them like the wings of a resting butterfly.
    “Want a little head?” he asked.
    “That’s nice … I love it … but this one’s for you. I’m gonna fuck your brains out. Come on …” She pulled his hand and moved to open her legs for him. She clipped the dark mound of hair so it was a neat V. Its bottom tip marked the spot.
    She guided him inside. She was a little tight, but she could take it, and she quickly relaxed her body. She dug her heels into his butt and pressed her pelvis upward so he was totally inside her. “Let’s fuck,” she said.
    He kept his arms extended as he fucked her, so he was up above her, looking down at her face looking up from the pillow. He was blind except for the sight of her face and the feel of her pussy and thighs cradling him.
    She fitted her rhythm to his and began to coach him, “Cum for me, baby … cum for me, sweet man. Ohhh, fuck me good.”
    It goaded him and he reached for the orgasm. Up … up … strain the brain … and when he reached the top, he fell down through it in a series of convulsions. His arms ached and he was dripping sweat.
    Dominique smiled in the manner of the Cheshire Cat. George had paid her well, but this was more than business. It wasn’t love, but it was a pleasurable roll in the hay. She enjoyed the obvious ecstasy she’d provided. Some women had the power to lead men by their dicks; Dominique was among them, and she enjoyed her power. She had exercised so she could control the