Kamalia By Kara Leigh Miller

Kamalia’s high school guidance counselor once told her to find something she was good at—something she loved—and then find a way to make money doing it. It was a no-brainer for her. Prostitution hadn’t been her first choice. She’d tried to be a legitimate adult film star, but all of the lights and cameras gave her performance anxiety. It all worked out though. In fact, she preferred to be her own boss.

Kamalia wasn’t your average two bit-hooker that stood on the street corner in fake leather boots and imitation snake skin mini-skirts hollering, “Hey baby! You looking for a good time?” Her boots were real and she preferred silk to snake skin. She was a full service, professional hooker—the kind that dealt with a very elite clientele. Threesomes, gang bangs, fetishes, bondage, sadomasochism, role playing, erotic asphyxiation…whatever your pleasure, Kamalia was more than willing to accommodate. She drew the line at rim jobs and getting tea-bagged though. A girl’s gotta have standards.

Of course all of that was back in her glory days; back before she became the devil’s concubine. Kamalia smiled at the reference. Her protégé was always chastising her about referring to her herself as a concubine and her husband as the devil. But until she found a more suitable description, Ian Daniels would be known as The Devil.

# # #

“I hear you deal in risqué matters of the flesh,” he said.

Kamalia remained seated at the table as he spoke. She looked him over. He was tall with short black spiked hair and eyes such a deep shade of purple they looked like the midnight sky. The stranger was attractive enough, except for the beer gut that flopped over the waistband of his khakis.

She nodded for him to sit. He did. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Ian.”

“Tell me, Ian, why have you come to see me?”

# # #

Kamalia hummed the theme to I Dream of Jeanie as she sprinkled a generous amount of seasoned salt on top of her perfectly shaped meatloaf before covering it with ketchup. Ian loved ketchup. He ate it on everything from scrambled eggs to bologna sandwiches. He even dipped his potato chips in it. No wonder he was so fat, she thought. She put the pan in the oven and wiped her hands on her stained yellow apron. Her life had gone to hell.

# # #

“So, what’s your pleasure, darlin’?”

Ian dropped a small red duffel bag on the bed of the cheap motel room he’d rented for the evening. He slowly unzipped it and pulled out two pairs of metal handcuffs.

“Bondage, huh?” Kamalia smiled. “You or me?”

“You,” he stated. “Would you mind putting this on first though?” Ian handed her a strap-on dildo. It came equipped with an engorged head, faux veins, and balls.

“Impressive,” she said, slipping it on.

“Lie down on your back,” Ian instructed.

Obediently, Kamalia lay down on the bed and assumed the spread eagle position. Ian cuffed her wrists and ankles to the bed. She watched as he meticulously took off his clothes, folded them and set them on the dresser.

# # #

Ian would be upset if she wasn’t dressed in red leather and black heels. That was her meatloaf attire. It was better than the white corset, lace thong, and running shoes that he required when she cooked chicken parmesan. Which reminded her, she had to run out to the store and pick up some lemon-lime Gatorade for him. That was his drink of choice with meatloaf. God knows she wasn’t in the mood for the rubber tickler he’d use to punish her if a tall ice cold glass of his favorite drink wasn’t served with his dinner.

Kamalia chuckled as she slipped on her trench coat. God knows. That’d send Ian into a fury if he ever heard her speak His name. It’d serve him right though. Fucking narcissist.

# # #

“Just lay still,” Ian said. He had his cock in his hand, slowly stroking it as he approached the bed.

She rattled the handcuffs and smiled. “It’s not like I can do much anyway.”

Ian leaned over Kamalia’s naked body. He closed his mouth around her nipple and sucked on it for a few moments before moving to the other one. His mouth was hot and her nipples always were super-sensitive to touch. Kamalia arched her body to him.

“I said lay still.” He left her nipples and kissed his way down her stomach. Ian continued to stroke his cock as he sat on his knees between her legs. He bent over and took the dildo into his mouth—all six and a half inches of it.

Kamalia had seen a lot of things in her line of work. She’d watched two guys have oral sex and anal sex. But never had she seen what she was seeing right now. A small smile formed as Ian’s head bobbed up and down. She could hear his moans vibrating against the fleshy dildo.

# # #

“Kami!”

Only one person called her Kami. She looked up to see her neighbor, Mrs. Roter waving to her from the opposite end of the juice aisle. Kamalia smiled and walked towards her. “Hello, Becky.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” Becky smiled.

“Not really,” Kamalia said. “It’s the curse of living in the suburbs. Only one grocery store.”

Becky laughed. “You’re always so funny.”

“I used to be a comedian in a former life,” Kamalia said dryly.

Becky’s high-pitched giggle pierced the quiet of the aisle. “I’m making roast duck for Charles tonight. You and Ian should join us.”

“Sorry, I’ve got a meatloaf in the oven. Well, I really need to get going.” Kamalia tapped her watch before walking away. She hated her neighbors. Every last one of them. They were nosy, annoying, and boring. She was willing to bet money that “Perky Little Becky” had never had a toe-curling orgasm. Grabbing an eight-pack of lemon lime Gatorade, Kamalia rushed out of the aisle. The happy homemaker, “vanilla” scene was getting to be too much.

# # #

Kamalia continued to watch as Ian gave the dildo a blow job. She had to admit, she was impressed. He knew how to give head. Maybe she could get him to teach her a few tricks.

“You like that, big boy?” she asked, thrusting her hips up, shoving the dildo deeper into his mouth.

Ian took the dildo out of his mouth. “I told you to lie still,” he said, pinning her hips to the bed with his hands.

“Just trying to help you out,” Kamalia said, a hint of humor in her voice.

“I don’t need any help.” Ian straddled Kamalia’s waist, his back towards her. He grabbed the base of the dildo and held it still as he slid down on it. His deep, throaty groan of pleasure filled the tiny room.

Kamalia lay perfectly still as Ian fucked the dildo hard and fast. His left hand grasped the blankets, anchoring him to the bed while his right hand feverishly stroked his cock. The faster he moved on the dildo, the harder he’d jerk off. The harder he jerked off, the louder his moans became.

There had been a few rare occasions in her professional life when she’d been bored, but this was a new low. She slowly thrust her hips up, meeting Ian as he slid down on the dildo. He didn’t yell at her to lay still. She moved a little faster.

“Talk dirty to me,” he said breathlessly.

“You like the feel of that big, hard dildo stretching your ass open, huh? It makes you want to come doesn’t it, Ian?”

“Call it a cock,” Ian demanded. “It’s a cock, dammit. Call it a cock.”

Kamalia sighed in frustration. Why hadn’t he just hired a male prostitute? she wondered.

# # #

Kamalia arrived at home just in time to save her meatloaf from burning. Ian refused to eat anything burnt which was rather ironic considering he lived for anything that flamed. Especially men.

She set the pan on top of the stove and busied herself with preparing the vegetables to put in the steamer. Ian would be home in less than half an hour.

# # #

“That cock feels good doesn’t it? You like feeling it slide in and out of you?”

“Deeper,” Ian said while stroking his cock harder.

Kamalia thrust her hips and the dildo deeper into Ian’s ass.

“Your voice,” he breathed. “Make it deeper.”

She fought the urge to laugh. Deepening her voice she said, “Ride that cock, Ian. Fuck it hard.”

“Deeper!” Ian shouted.

He was joking, right?

Ian stopped riding the dildo and bent over. He bit Kamalia on her leg, just above her ankle.

Nope. He wasn’t joking. Kamalia deepened her voice until it physically hurt and said, “Make yourself cum, Ian. Stroke that cock. Fuck that cock harder. Deeper.”

Ian let out one final howl. Seconds later, Kamalia felt the warm gooeyness of his cum on her leg.

# # #

Kamalia scraped the vegetables off the cutting board and into the steamer. It was time to make the final dish—potatoes. Ian demanded to have hot mashed potatoes with three tablespoons of butter on top. She always saved their preparation for last so that they’d be at a temperature of his liking and because she absolutely despised peeling potatoes.

It was a small wonder he hadn’t died of a heart attack yet with the way he eats. She’d never get that lucky. That particular night though, the night he’d made his offer, she’d thought she was the luckiest prostitute in the world.

# # #

Sexually frustrated and prostitute don’t typically fall into the same category but there was no other way to explain her encounter with Ian. It was one of the strangest nights of her working life. Up until that point, turning tricks had always been exciting for Kamalia. Her clients always left satisfied and so did she.

“Why do you do this?” Ian asked, interrupting her thoughts. He drew a long puff of his cheap menthol cigarette.

“Do what?” Kamalia asked.

“Engage in depraved sexual acts for money?”

Kamalia raised an eyebrow and smiled at him over her shoulder. “They can’t be too depraved. You enjoyed them.”

Ian crushed his cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside stand. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and reached for his khakis. “Don’t you want more out of life?”

“You paid me for sex. Not pillow talk,” she told him coolly while slipping her feet into her silver studded green stilettos.  “So it’s all about the money?”

“And the sex.” Kamalia smiled.

“What if I could offer you the money and the sex without the danger?”

# # #

Ian made Richard Simmons look straight. She should’ve known. It was right in front of her the entire time. But, she had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. And look where it’d gotten her? Married to a man who was in serious denial about his homosexuality. Kamalia was nothing more than his trophy wife—a cover for his true identity.

She’d tried to get out of the business a couple of times, to no avail. The moment a potential suitor learned of her previous entrepreneurial skills, he’d drop her like rotten garbage and run for the hills. She had to face the fact: At thirty-seven, Kamalia’s body wasn’t what it used to be. She knew it was time to find another way to support herself. Ian was her answer. So, she had allowed him to marry her. And they had tried to consummate the marriage.

# # #

“Why are we here?” Kamalia asked.

“I thought it’d be romantic to spend our honeymoon at the same place we first made love,” Ian said with a smile.

Kamalia looked at him with disbelief. Made love? She must’ve missed the part of that night where she’d gotten any pleasure from him. The La Fiesta Motel was the cheapest motel in town and one she frequented with her clients. It was the last place she wanted to spend her honeymoon.

“Come on. I got the same exact room,” Ian said.

Kamalia faked a smile and followed him to the room. She had a feeling it wasn’t going to be the only thing she had to fake that night.

It didn’t take long for both of them to strip naked. Kamalia lay down on the bed and waited for Ian. He wanted to do it missionary style because he felt it was the appropriate way for a husband and wife to have sex. Kamalia thought it was boring but marriage was about compromise and it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

Ian approached her and positioned himself between her spread legs. He pressed the engorged head of his cock into the hot, wet opening of her pussy. Kamalia sucked in her breath at the feel of him. It was the first time she was going to feel him inside of her and her anticipation was high.

Unfortunately, her pleasure was short lived. After two shallow strokes, Ian went flaccid inside of her. He pulled out, closed his eyes, and stroked himself hard. He entered her again. And once again, he went flaccid.

“Maybe we should try a different position,” Ian said.

Thank God, she thought. “Sure, darlin’. How do you want me?”

“On your knees, head on the pillow and ass in the air.”

Kamalia obeyed. Doggy-style was one of her favorite positions.

Ian continued to stroke his cock until it was hard, a small bead of pre-cum glistened on the head. He stuck it in Kamalia’s ass with a single, hard, forceful thrust. And as long as Kamalia didn’t speak or moan or scream or look at Ian, his dick stayed hard.

# # #

The sound of Ian’s powder blue Prius pulling into the garage snapped her back to reality. Kamalia put his plate of food on the table along with his glass of Gatorade. She did a quick inspection of the kitchen. Ian hated messes.

“Better put that away,” she mumbled, screwing the top onto the jug of antifreeze and tucking it away under the sink.

Kamalia met him at the front door. “Hi, honey. How was work?” she asked just like she did every night of the week.

“Good,” he replied in an effeminate voice. “I see we’re having meatloaf.”

“Your favorite,” Kamalia said, following him into the kitchen. He sat in front of his prepared plate and picked up the glass of Gatorade. Ian took a long slow drink then puckered his lips, smacking them together. “Mmm, tangy,” he said.

Kamalia leaned up against the counter and fought back a smile. Soon, she thought. Soon her nightmare would be over and she could go back to doing what she loved.

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