Thessaly
17th March 2005, 00:29
Title: Defying Lechery
Author: Thessaly
Disclaimer: Yes! I own them all! Smallville, the characters therein and the actors belong to me. Also I have the body of a sixteen year old and hair that is glossy and manageable.
Rating: R (rude words and sexual references from characters that should know better)
Spoilers: End of Season 3. Because "Truth" pissed me off with the entire Lana/Chloe scene. "Oh, I don't trust you, Chloe. But I can keep living in your house until I bugger off to Paris, right?" "Sure, Lana. In fact, next time I see you, it'll be like we never had this conversation. Bitch."
Feedback: Please. It's better than cake.
A/N: Again, thanks to Tigerbaby who is a kickass beta who reassures me that I don't suck as a writer and Nonky for sending me transcripts and info and basically being the Chlex oracle. Tigerbaby has suggested that I ask people not to reveal the ending. So please don't. Otherwise I'll send you Lexana fics via e-mail.
Defying Lechery
The wind barrelled round the corner of the street that Chloe Sullivan stood on, slicing through the thin, revealing clothing that barely stretched across her curves. She swore vividly. It was bitterly cold but still, it was unusual to see the Metropolis boulevard deserted. It was only, she checked her watch, twenty to one in the morning and normally other girls would be waiting around for customers or squabbling over a particularly profitable patch. Every so often, pimps would be coming round to take money from the girls and slap them around if there wasn’t as much profit as hoped for. She was a little worried that the emptiness of the road known locally as Carn Alley would put off any prospective johns. Normally it was only this unpopulated if one of the pimps got wind of a police raid and tonight the men who crawled along the curbs in their family cars weren’t hanging around to pick her up when they saw how vacant the street was. Only the most desperate or stupid client would take the chance of being picked up with a prostitute by the cops and charged.
She sighed and shuffled from foot to foot. She was rapidly losing feeling in her toes. Not only had the cold frozen her extremities but she had been standing about for the last two hours in four-inch patent leather peeptoe heels, which were crippling her. Chloe had always thought it was a shame that women couldn’t do this job in thermal underwear and Doc Martens, if they had to do it at all. Instead she was standing in downtown Metropolis in a bra which upgraded her breasts into lethal weapons, a red Spandex dress that Paris Hilton would have dismissed as too slutty and her beloved fuck-me pumps. She wasn’t wearing panties; she hadn’t seen the point and they ruined the skin-tight line of her dress, but she was beginning to regret the lack of an extra layer. She really didn’t want to explain to her doctor how she’d caught a chill up the skirt. She swore again and then chuckled. How had it come to this? If anyone had told her a month ago that she’d be spending her Saturday night soliciting business on a street corner, she’d have laughed hysterically. And then knocked them out. Chloe Sullivan would never sink so low as to barter her body to anyone. Fate must be up there, wetting himself with laughter at the moment. She shot a rueful smile up at the sky and right on cue, raindrops started to slice down, slanting with the wind. Within moments, she was soaked through, the dress clinging to her like a second skin.
“Screw it,” she muttered to the empty street. “No one’s going to come out in weather like this. I’m calling it a night.”
‘Wait,’ a tiny voice said to her, a voice that had increasingly been guiding her actions for the last few weeks. ‘Just a few moments longer’
Straining to hear the voice again, she became aware of another noise. A car was coming her way, a truck by the sounds of it. She cheered inwardly at the thought that tonight might have a pay-off after all and assumed a sexually provocative pose; chest thrust out, hip cocked to one side and lips pouting.
A red truck that had seen better days rounded the corner and slowed when the driver saw her. She sighed in relief. This john was clearly from out of town. She could all but see the straw still clinging to the tailgate and he didn’t suspect anything when she was the only one touting for business on what was normally a notoriously busy street in the red light district. Maybe the relief of escaping his prudish wife and the anticipation of getting laid was making her hayseed reckless. She smothered a chuckle, adjusted the brunette wig she was wearing and sauntered seductively towards the cab of the truck. She glanced quickly at her client as she leaned down to the open passenger window. Just what she’d been waiting for, she thought, grinning. A small-town pillar of the community out to get laid by professionals. It was so typical of that type. He’d probably want to lecture her on morals while she did him in the car. He’d been here before and a couple of the other girls had taken his money. From what they’d said, this could be over very quickly.
She smirked and then dropped her voice to a husky timbre, raising her head and thrusting her breasts further into the window.
“Hey, baby. You looking for business?”
The weather-beaten blond leered goatishly at her revealed cleavage before he returned to scanning the surrounding area suspiciously. “How much?”
She shrugged, aware that her breasts heaved enticingly as she did so and equally aware that he could catch the movement in his peripheral vision. “It depends,” she said breathily, “On what you want me to do to you, baby. For thirty bucks, I’ll give you hand relief, for fifty, oral. And for a hundred bucks,” she continued conversationally, “I’ll fuck you until your eyes roll back and you come like a bullet train. Up to you, baby, but frankly, you look like you need to be screwed every way from Sunday.”
She ducked her head further into the shadow and drew a teasing finger across her exposed chest. “What do you think?”
Her prospect was breathing heavily through his mouth, she noticed with distaste, as his eyes followed the direction of her fingers but his face was twitching. Chloe realised with amusement that he was trying to think. A certain animal cunning crept into his eyes, overlaying the glaze of lust.
“A hundred bucks is a lot of money,” he said, wheedlingly. “Why don’t you get into the truck and we can negotiate from there? You’re soaked through. You shouldn’t be standing out here in this weather. Bad people out at this time of night.”
Chloe smiled at him through the shadows. “Thanks, but why don’t you just tell me what you’re willing to pay? I wouldn’t want to get wet inside the truck for nothing.” She ran her tongue over her teeth at the double entendre, certain for a moment that she could hear faint laughter.
Her pillar of the community frowned, parsimony temporarily beating lechery into the background. “I’ll give you forty bucks to suck me off in the cab. And I want my money’s worth.”
“Satisfaction guaranteed, baby,” Chloe promised as she reached for the door handle. With the other hand, she fumbled inside her shoulder bag as her john reached for his wallet. “Got some protection?”
“Yeah,” he grunted, fighting to extract two twenties from a wallet that probably hadn’t been opened since Dukes of Hazzard was on TV.
“Uh-huh, me too,” she said, her tone of voice changing completely as she stepped away from the truck. “Nothing says safe sex like a tape recorder and a taser.”
She grinned at her prospective client as he looked back at her, horrified. Holding the running dictaphone towards the cab, she carefully whipped the wig off with the hand that held the stun gun.
“Hey, Mr Kent. Do you have a couple of words for the folks back home? Perhaps “I’m a hypocritical scum-sucking weasel”? Or “Sorry, Martha”?”
Jonathan Kent stared at her, his face a terrible greenish white. She brandished the taser towards him as he made a convulsive move towards the passenger door.
“I wouldn’t,” she warned him. Chloe watched in delight as he whimpered and wrenched the car into motion, heading for the uncertain safety of Smallville.
“Heh, that was fun,” she informed the empty street as she strolled around the corner. She hesitated until she noticed light gleaming darkly off a car that lurked like a predator in a shadowy alleyway. Twirling the wig on her index finger, she undulated her way towards it. One of the windows rolled down noiselessly. Leaning down, she propped her arms on the doorframe. “Hey, baby, you looking for business?” she purred, smirking.
Lex Luthor leaned forward from the luxurious upholstery and opened the door for her. She slipped inside and settled into the seat opposite him, plucking the receiver that he’d used to communicate with her from her ear.
Chloe grinned at him. “Did you get it?”
“Of course,” Lex confirmed. “Security had quite a job clearing the street of the regulars but you were covered at all times.”
“Security can kiss my Spandexed ass,” Chloe said, dismissively. “I knew you’d make sure I was safe. Did you get the video and audio tape?”
“Of course.” Lex smirked as she relaxed. “That’s quite a vocabulary you have, Miss Sullivan. One would almost imagine that you knew what you were talking about.”
Chloe smiled at him, maliciously. “Until the day comes when I offer to suck your brain out through your cock, Luthor, you’ll never know. You’ve got the leverage you needed to find out Clark’s secret. And the side benefit of torturing Jonathan Kent until he ends up in Belle Reve, claiming that he’s the Easter Bunny. Now what about our deal?”
“The ticket is booked and I’ve bought out her half of the Talon. She’s scheduled to leave the day of the trial. Barring unforeseen circumstances, I see no reason why you should ever have to see Miss Lang again,” Lex informed her, his expression speculative. “Leaving aside the intriguing thought of your other oral talents, I’d like to know what’s driven you to this action regarding Lana.”
Chloe curled her lip. “She told me she didn’t trust me. After all I’ve done for that pouting bitch, she told me that she didn’t trust me. And her coffee sucks. How about you? Why are you using the big stick on the Kents after all this time?”
Lex looked uncomfortable. “Pretty much the same reason.”
“Oh.” Chloe digested that for a moment and then gave him a blinding smile. “Well, once we’ve completely destroyed our friends’ trust in humankind, ruined a twenty five year marriage and sent your father on a felon’s honeymoon with a burly trucker named Bear, you want to buy me a decent cup of coffee?”
Lex leaned forward and tapped on the divider that separated them from the chauffeur. The limo purred into life and started to head smoothly back to Smallville.
“Of course,” Lex agreed, smirking at her. “And then perhaps, we can talk about that brain-sucking thing…”
Author: Thessaly
Disclaimer: Yes! I own them all! Smallville, the characters therein and the actors belong to me. Also I have the body of a sixteen year old and hair that is glossy and manageable.
Rating: R (rude words and sexual references from characters that should know better)
Spoilers: End of Season 3. Because "Truth" pissed me off with the entire Lana/Chloe scene. "Oh, I don't trust you, Chloe. But I can keep living in your house until I bugger off to Paris, right?" "Sure, Lana. In fact, next time I see you, it'll be like we never had this conversation. Bitch."
Feedback: Please. It's better than cake.
A/N: Again, thanks to Tigerbaby who is a kickass beta who reassures me that I don't suck as a writer and Nonky for sending me transcripts and info and basically being the Chlex oracle. Tigerbaby has suggested that I ask people not to reveal the ending. So please don't. Otherwise I'll send you Lexana fics via e-mail.
Defying Lechery
The wind barrelled round the corner of the street that Chloe Sullivan stood on, slicing through the thin, revealing clothing that barely stretched across her curves. She swore vividly. It was bitterly cold but still, it was unusual to see the Metropolis boulevard deserted. It was only, she checked her watch, twenty to one in the morning and normally other girls would be waiting around for customers or squabbling over a particularly profitable patch. Every so often, pimps would be coming round to take money from the girls and slap them around if there wasn’t as much profit as hoped for. She was a little worried that the emptiness of the road known locally as Carn Alley would put off any prospective johns. Normally it was only this unpopulated if one of the pimps got wind of a police raid and tonight the men who crawled along the curbs in their family cars weren’t hanging around to pick her up when they saw how vacant the street was. Only the most desperate or stupid client would take the chance of being picked up with a prostitute by the cops and charged.
She sighed and shuffled from foot to foot. She was rapidly losing feeling in her toes. Not only had the cold frozen her extremities but she had been standing about for the last two hours in four-inch patent leather peeptoe heels, which were crippling her. Chloe had always thought it was a shame that women couldn’t do this job in thermal underwear and Doc Martens, if they had to do it at all. Instead she was standing in downtown Metropolis in a bra which upgraded her breasts into lethal weapons, a red Spandex dress that Paris Hilton would have dismissed as too slutty and her beloved fuck-me pumps. She wasn’t wearing panties; she hadn’t seen the point and they ruined the skin-tight line of her dress, but she was beginning to regret the lack of an extra layer. She really didn’t want to explain to her doctor how she’d caught a chill up the skirt. She swore again and then chuckled. How had it come to this? If anyone had told her a month ago that she’d be spending her Saturday night soliciting business on a street corner, she’d have laughed hysterically. And then knocked them out. Chloe Sullivan would never sink so low as to barter her body to anyone. Fate must be up there, wetting himself with laughter at the moment. She shot a rueful smile up at the sky and right on cue, raindrops started to slice down, slanting with the wind. Within moments, she was soaked through, the dress clinging to her like a second skin.
“Screw it,” she muttered to the empty street. “No one’s going to come out in weather like this. I’m calling it a night.”
‘Wait,’ a tiny voice said to her, a voice that had increasingly been guiding her actions for the last few weeks. ‘Just a few moments longer’
Straining to hear the voice again, she became aware of another noise. A car was coming her way, a truck by the sounds of it. She cheered inwardly at the thought that tonight might have a pay-off after all and assumed a sexually provocative pose; chest thrust out, hip cocked to one side and lips pouting.
A red truck that had seen better days rounded the corner and slowed when the driver saw her. She sighed in relief. This john was clearly from out of town. She could all but see the straw still clinging to the tailgate and he didn’t suspect anything when she was the only one touting for business on what was normally a notoriously busy street in the red light district. Maybe the relief of escaping his prudish wife and the anticipation of getting laid was making her hayseed reckless. She smothered a chuckle, adjusted the brunette wig she was wearing and sauntered seductively towards the cab of the truck. She glanced quickly at her client as she leaned down to the open passenger window. Just what she’d been waiting for, she thought, grinning. A small-town pillar of the community out to get laid by professionals. It was so typical of that type. He’d probably want to lecture her on morals while she did him in the car. He’d been here before and a couple of the other girls had taken his money. From what they’d said, this could be over very quickly.
She smirked and then dropped her voice to a husky timbre, raising her head and thrusting her breasts further into the window.
“Hey, baby. You looking for business?”
The weather-beaten blond leered goatishly at her revealed cleavage before he returned to scanning the surrounding area suspiciously. “How much?”
She shrugged, aware that her breasts heaved enticingly as she did so and equally aware that he could catch the movement in his peripheral vision. “It depends,” she said breathily, “On what you want me to do to you, baby. For thirty bucks, I’ll give you hand relief, for fifty, oral. And for a hundred bucks,” she continued conversationally, “I’ll fuck you until your eyes roll back and you come like a bullet train. Up to you, baby, but frankly, you look like you need to be screwed every way from Sunday.”
She ducked her head further into the shadow and drew a teasing finger across her exposed chest. “What do you think?”
Her prospect was breathing heavily through his mouth, she noticed with distaste, as his eyes followed the direction of her fingers but his face was twitching. Chloe realised with amusement that he was trying to think. A certain animal cunning crept into his eyes, overlaying the glaze of lust.
“A hundred bucks is a lot of money,” he said, wheedlingly. “Why don’t you get into the truck and we can negotiate from there? You’re soaked through. You shouldn’t be standing out here in this weather. Bad people out at this time of night.”
Chloe smiled at him through the shadows. “Thanks, but why don’t you just tell me what you’re willing to pay? I wouldn’t want to get wet inside the truck for nothing.” She ran her tongue over her teeth at the double entendre, certain for a moment that she could hear faint laughter.
Her pillar of the community frowned, parsimony temporarily beating lechery into the background. “I’ll give you forty bucks to suck me off in the cab. And I want my money’s worth.”
“Satisfaction guaranteed, baby,” Chloe promised as she reached for the door handle. With the other hand, she fumbled inside her shoulder bag as her john reached for his wallet. “Got some protection?”
“Yeah,” he grunted, fighting to extract two twenties from a wallet that probably hadn’t been opened since Dukes of Hazzard was on TV.
“Uh-huh, me too,” she said, her tone of voice changing completely as she stepped away from the truck. “Nothing says safe sex like a tape recorder and a taser.”
She grinned at her prospective client as he looked back at her, horrified. Holding the running dictaphone towards the cab, she carefully whipped the wig off with the hand that held the stun gun.
“Hey, Mr Kent. Do you have a couple of words for the folks back home? Perhaps “I’m a hypocritical scum-sucking weasel”? Or “Sorry, Martha”?”
Jonathan Kent stared at her, his face a terrible greenish white. She brandished the taser towards him as he made a convulsive move towards the passenger door.
“I wouldn’t,” she warned him. Chloe watched in delight as he whimpered and wrenched the car into motion, heading for the uncertain safety of Smallville.
“Heh, that was fun,” she informed the empty street as she strolled around the corner. She hesitated until she noticed light gleaming darkly off a car that lurked like a predator in a shadowy alleyway. Twirling the wig on her index finger, she undulated her way towards it. One of the windows rolled down noiselessly. Leaning down, she propped her arms on the doorframe. “Hey, baby, you looking for business?” she purred, smirking.
Lex Luthor leaned forward from the luxurious upholstery and opened the door for her. She slipped inside and settled into the seat opposite him, plucking the receiver that he’d used to communicate with her from her ear.
Chloe grinned at him. “Did you get it?”
“Of course,” Lex confirmed. “Security had quite a job clearing the street of the regulars but you were covered at all times.”
“Security can kiss my Spandexed ass,” Chloe said, dismissively. “I knew you’d make sure I was safe. Did you get the video and audio tape?”
“Of course.” Lex smirked as she relaxed. “That’s quite a vocabulary you have, Miss Sullivan. One would almost imagine that you knew what you were talking about.”
Chloe smiled at him, maliciously. “Until the day comes when I offer to suck your brain out through your cock, Luthor, you’ll never know. You’ve got the leverage you needed to find out Clark’s secret. And the side benefit of torturing Jonathan Kent until he ends up in Belle Reve, claiming that he’s the Easter Bunny. Now what about our deal?”
“The ticket is booked and I’ve bought out her half of the Talon. She’s scheduled to leave the day of the trial. Barring unforeseen circumstances, I see no reason why you should ever have to see Miss Lang again,” Lex informed her, his expression speculative. “Leaving aside the intriguing thought of your other oral talents, I’d like to know what’s driven you to this action regarding Lana.”
Chloe curled her lip. “She told me she didn’t trust me. After all I’ve done for that pouting bitch, she told me that she didn’t trust me. And her coffee sucks. How about you? Why are you using the big stick on the Kents after all this time?”
Lex looked uncomfortable. “Pretty much the same reason.”
“Oh.” Chloe digested that for a moment and then gave him a blinding smile. “Well, once we’ve completely destroyed our friends’ trust in humankind, ruined a twenty five year marriage and sent your father on a felon’s honeymoon with a burly trucker named Bear, you want to buy me a decent cup of coffee?”
Lex leaned forward and tapped on the divider that separated them from the chauffeur. The limo purred into life and started to head smoothly back to Smallville.
“Of course,” Lex agreed, smirking at her. “And then perhaps, we can talk about that brain-sucking thing…”