On the Run After a Night Out

“God. That’s a man’s cock.”
I had my hand around a nice thick one and started
stroking and pulling on it. “You’re much bigger than
the guy I came here with.” I put my other hand behind
his head and made him kiss me, hard.
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
“The guy you came in with.”
“He went to talk business.”
“Here?, in a night club?”
“He’s a mobster.” I knelt on the cloakroom floor, on
a pile of furs and coats - this was a classy joint -
and put his cock in my mouth.
“You’re cheating with me on a mobster?” He didn’t pull
out, and I worked him deeper into my mouth, making big,
sloppy suck noises.
“He’s got a lot of cash on him.” I wiped the cummy
slobber off my chin. “Are you a tough guy?” I put both
hands on him and double pumped, twisting and
squeezing that fat thing. “We could be out here in ten
minutes with ten large and be in Miami for the weekend.”

It went faster, and messier, than I thought. Things got
out of hand. Rodrigo was a vicious k**, younger and a lot
faster than Guido.

Two days later we’re in Florida, some shithole town,
some shithole motel, on the run from Guido’s torpedoes:
living trashy, sick of each other, crappy cable, the money
going fast. I told Rodrigo convenience stores were easy.
I told Rodrigo I’d have us cleared out of this joint, that I’d
boost a car. that I’d be waiting for him.

Twenty minutes later I heard sirens roaring in, sk**ding
on gravel, radios blaring. I was in a room three doors
down from the one we had stayed in. I was in black leather
and fishnets, letting this guy take pictures of me.

Rodrigo was a hot-head, stupid. Three cops opened up when he
went for his piece. After an hour, after things cooled off,
after I sucked off Bobbie, we did one last line each and
then hit the road for Daytona so he could deliver the blow.
I was going to steal that shit, for sure.