The alley smelled of wet cardboard and stale beer. Rainwater dripped from a broken gutter onto a discarded mattress. Mimosa leaned against a graffiti-covered dumpster, adjusting her fishnet stockings. Her stiletto heel tapped impatiently on the cracked pavement.

A silhouette appeared at the alley's entrance - broad shoulders filling the space between brick walls. He stepped into the sodium light, rainwater glistening on his dark skin. His white tee clung to defined muscles, jeans hanging low on narrow hips. Mimosa's tongue darted across her lips.

"You lost, handsome?" Her voice cut through the drizzle's patter. He didn't smile, just scanned her from stilettos to blonde wig with deliberate slowness. His gaze lingered where her microskirt hugged her thighs.

She stepped forward, hips swaying deliberately. The rainwater plastered her blouse transparent against her breasts. "You look like you could use directions." Her hand brushed his forearm, tracing the hard ridge of muscle beneath damp cotton. "Or maybe... something warmer?"

He caught her wrist, grip firm but not painful. "What's your price?" His voice was gravel wrapped in velvet, eyes locked on hers. Mimosa felt the familiar thrill coil low in her belly—the dangerous edge beneath the transaction. She tilted her head, letting the alley's orange light catch the glitter on her eyelids.

"Price?" Her laugh was sharp as broken glass. "You think I'm selling?" She pulled her hand free, running painted nails down his chest. The damp cotton rasped under her touch. "I choose who touches me, sugar. And tonight..." Her gaze dropped meaningfully to the straining denim at his hips. "...I'm feeling generous."

Rain slicked his collarbones as he studied her. She saw the calculation in his eyes—the flicker between suspicion and hunger. Good. Let him wonder. Mimosa pressed closer, her breath warm against his neck despite the chill. "That alleyway behind the butcher's shop," she murmured, teeth grazing his earlobe. "Three blocks east. Smells like blood and sawdust."

He stiffened at the suggestion, knuckles whitening where they gripped her hip. "Payment," he repeated, insistent. The word hung between them like a cheap perfume. Mimosa's smile tightened. Always this dance—men thinking cash could erase the tremor in their hands when they touched her.

She let her fingers trail lower, brushing the thick ridge beneath his zipper. "Put your wallet away," she murmured, the command velvet-wrapped steel. His breath hitched. Good. She wanted that hunger raw, untamed by transactional grease. The butcher's alley awaited, its promise thick as the rain-slicked air.

His hesitation lasted only a heartbeat. A rough hand slid up her thigh beneath the microskirt, calluses scraping fishnets. Mimosa arched into the touch, a low hum vibrating in her throat. Payment forgotten, replaced by the electric language of skin on skin. He pushed her backward against the dumpster, the metal cold through her soaked blouse.

The butcher's alley swallowed them whole. Coppery tang of old blood mingled with wet concrete and the sharp scent of sawdust piled near the back door. Dim light bled from a single barred window high above. Mimosa sank to her knees on the damp pavement without hesitation, her fingers already working his belt buckle. The rasp of denim sliding down powerful thighs echoed louder than the distant traffic.

She pulled his cock free into the cool, thick air and gasped—a sharp, involuntary intake of breath. It wasn't just long; it was thick, heavy in her hand like warm iron, veins standing proud against flushed skin. Her own cock strained painfully against the lace of her panties, dampness spreading. She leaned forward, her blonde wig brushing his thigh, and took just the swollen head into her mouth. Salt and musk exploded on her tongue.

Slowly, achingly slowly, she worked her lips down the shaft, hollowing her cheeks. His groan vibrated against her palate, low and animal. She felt his fingers twist in her wig, not guiding, just holding on. The rhythm built—her head bobbing faster, deeper, taking him fully until her nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base. The sounds filled the alley: wet suction, ragged breathing, the slick slide of her lips stretching around him.

Her own cock throbbed against the damp lace, a desperate ache mirroring the urgency of her mouth. She reached down, fingers fumbling beneath her skirt, pressing hard against the trapped erection. The friction was maddening, sharp relief against the pressure. Her moan around his cock was muffled, desperate. She sucked harder, tongue swirling relentlessly under the ridge, tasting the salty pre-cum leaking onto her taste buds.

His grip in her hair tightened suddenly, wrenching her head back. Her lips popped free with a wet gasp, a thin strand of saliva stretching between her mouth and his glistening tip. "Up," he growled, the gravel in his voice rougher now. He hauled her upright with brutal force, her stilettos scraping against the wet concrete. Before she could regain her balance, he spun her around, shoving her face-first against the cold, rough brick wall of the butcher shop. The scent of old blood and damp mortar filled her nostrils.

One large hand pinned her shoulder blade flat against the unforgiving surface. The other hooked under the hem of her microskirt, yanking it up around her waist. Cool air hit her exposed ass, clad only in soaked lace panties. He didn't fumble; a sharp tear echoed as he ripped the flimsy fabric aside. Mimosa braced, arching her back instinctively, spreading her legs wider. She heard the slick sound of him spitting onto his palm, then the thick, wet slide as he coated himself.

No preamble. No gentle breach. He drove into her with a single, brutal thrust. Mimosa gasped, her knuckles whitening against the rough brick. The stretch was immediate and searing – he was thicker than he'd felt in her mouth. Her cry echoed off the alley walls, sharp and involuntary. He didn't pause, didn't let her adjust. His hips pistoned forward, burying himself to the hilt in one deep, claiming stroke. The impact slammed her pelvis against the cold wall. Pain flared, hot and bright, but beneath it, the deep, delicious ache bloomed – the exquisite friction she craved.

His left hand, thick-fingered and calloused, snaked around her hip. Not gentle. Possessive. It found her own straining cock, slick with pre-cum against her belly. His fingers closed around it, a rough, demanding grip. He jerked her sharply, once, twice, a brutal counterpoint to the deep grind of his hips inside her. The dual assault was overwhelming – the deep invasion stretching her ass, the rough friction on her cock. Mimosa choked on a sob that wasn't entirely pain. Her head fell back against his shoulder, blonde wig askew, her breath ragged clouds in the cold, blood-scented air.

He didn't relent. His thrusts hammered her against the brick, a relentless rhythm punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin and the rasp of her fishnets against his jeans. His grip on her cock tightened, twisting on the upstroke with a cruel precision that sent sparks behind her eyelids. The pleasure built like pressure in a volcano, sharp and undeniable, coiling tighter with every deep plunge into her ass and every rough pull on her shaft. She felt her balls draw up tight, the familiar, inevitable crest impossible to deny.

A guttural cry tore from Mimosa's throat as the orgasm ripped through her. Her body arched violently against the wall, pinned only by his iron grip and the relentless pistoning of his hips. Thick ropes of her cum pulsed onto the damp brickwork, pearly streaks against the grimy surface, each spurt shuddering through her as he kept stroking her cock, milking every last drop onto the cold wall. The scent of her release mingled sharply with the butcher shop's metallic tang and the musk of their sweat.

He grunted low in his chest against her ear, a primal sound vibrating through her back. The rhythm of his thrusts faltered, growing erratic, deeper, harder—each slam driving her pelvis into the unforgiving brick. Mimosa gasped, her spent cock twitching weakly in his fist as she felt his cock swell impossibly thicker inside her. 

Rough hands spun her around abruptly. Her knees hit the wet pavement hard, the impact jarring up her thighs. Before she could catch her breath, his slick, swollen cock pressed against her lips, glistening with a mix of her saliva and his own pre cum. Mimosa opened her mouth without hesitation, taking the thick head inside, the familiar salt-musk taste flooding her senses. She sucked urgently, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue swirling under the sensitive ridge—cleaning him, claiming him back. Her painted nails dug into the taut muscles of his hips as she took him deeper, throat working around the heavy shaft.

He groaned, fingers twisting in her blonde wig, holding her head steady as she bobbed fiercely. The rhythm was desperate—wet, sloppy sounds filling the butcher’s alley, her nose buried in his coarse pubic hair with each deep take. She could feel him hardening even more against her tongue, the pulse of his cock against her palate. Her own spent body trembled, but she didn’t slow, sucking with a hungry intensity that drew ragged breaths from above. Rainwater dripped from his jaw onto her forehead, mingling with sweat.

He gripped her wig, fingers twisting in the damp blonde strands, holding her head steady as she bobbed faster. Her throat stretched around him, gagging slightly but pushing through, her nose buried in his coarse pubic hair with each deep plunge. The rhythm was frantic—wet, sloppy suction filling the alley, her painted nails digging into his hips. She could feel him swelling impossibly thicker against her palate, the pulse quickening. Mimosa sucked harder, humming around him, desperate for the hot release she knew was coming.

With a guttural groan, he pulled out abruptly. The swollen, slick head popped free inches from her face, glistening under the dim light. Mimosa gasped, mouth still open, lips swollen and wet. One rough hand gripped the base of his cock, knuckles white. The first thick rope of cum hit her cheekbone—hot and viscous, splattering across her skin. She flinched instinctively but kept her eyes locked on him, watching the primal triumph flare in his gaze as he jerked himself roughly.

Another pulse streaked across her forehead, painting a pearly stripe through her eyebrow glitter. Mimosa parted her lips wider, tongue extended—a silent, desperate invitation. He obliged, aiming the next jet straight into her open mouth. The salty bitterness flooded her tongue, thick and warm. She swallowed greedily, throat working, as more spattered her chin and dripped onto her soaked blouse. Her own breath came in ragged pants, fogging the cool air.

She wiped her face slowly with the back of her hand, smearing the viscous streaks across her cheekbone. A slow, satisfied smile spread across her lips as she gazed up at him. Rainwater mingled with the cooling mess on her skin. "Tastes good" she murmured, her voice husky, licking a stray drop from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes, dark and glittering beneath smudged mascara, held his—a challenge, a promise. She didn’t look away, even as his softening cock twitched against her chin.

He stepped back, breathing hard, tucking himself back into his jeans with rough, efficient movements. The zipper rasped loudly in the sudden quiet of the alley. Mimosa pushed herself up from the wet pavement, wincing slightly as her knees protested. She smoothed down her torn lace panties beneath the microskirt, the damp fabric clinging to her skin. Her fishnets were shredded at the knees, dark runs snaking up her thighs. She adjusted her wig, fingers combing through tangled blonde strands until it sat crookedly but defiantly atop her head. The scent of sex and rain hung thick between them.

He pulled a worn leather wallet from his back pocket, thumbing through crumpled bills. Mimosa watched, a smirk playing on her swollen lips. "Keep it," she said, her voice rough from exertion. She dabbed at the drying streaks on her cheekbone with the edge of her ruined blouse. "Consider it a tip."

"Mimosa," he said, his deep, dark voice thick with sexual exhaustion. "You are the best fuck in town."

Mimosa tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips. "Nice to see you again, Cherie," she purred, her voice raspy but warm. She leaned against the damp brick wall, feeling the cold seep through her torn blouse. "Same time next week?" Her gaze dropped pointedly to the bulge already reforming in his jeans. "Give my regards to your wife."