A/N: What 30 minutes of pure smut writing and sleep deprivation do to me. Enjoy. ;)


The world didn't know Desiree, and to Desiree the world was the larger-than-life city which she prowled. She never spoke much, and as a result no one ever spoke to her. Her job of the night required her to do as such; she was never permitted to speak more than a few words an hour by most of her clientele, and she would rather it that way anyway. It didn't make her feel so shitty when she would filch into their ridiculously expensive leather pouches and steal a few bills, or when she would turn the tables on them and apply a blow to the right area with the right amount of pressure. They would be dead to the world as she drained their bank accounts.

Desiree had trained extensively at a martial arts center in a secluded strip mall on the outskirts of New York City and that had resulted in extensive knowledge of the anatomy and where exactly to hit someone if she wanted to knock them into unconsciousness. However, this training didn't get stop her parents from shooting themselves and leaving her with nothing on the street at the youthfully ripe age of sixteen, yanking her from a life of parties and high school to a life filled with prostitution and pick-pocketing to survive.

However, she hadn't endured her plight for no avail. Eventually, streetwalking and being fucked by dirty old men in seedy motels transitioned into being a regular part of a high-class escorting business and steamy nights on Egyptian cotton sheets. It also made the occasional pick-pocketing turn into professional thieving, which included draining of bank accounts, identity theft, and larceny. She'd gone from a lost girl living in poverty to an independently wealthy woman. She had enough money stored away to last her a life of luxury, but she continued to frequent the escort business. It had become more of a game for her than a necessity.

Desiree glanced down at the key card in her hand as she rode up the elevator of the hotel in which her pimp had set the business in that night. There had been a call for a blonde and the offer was over two grand, which was a large deal to the pimp. So, being the most experienced girl and blonde, Desiree was chosen for the job. It was her first night in a place such as the Hilton, and the escort was certain she'd be able to snag more than a few grand and get off clean. Perhaps this could be her last night involved in such a deplorable business?

She had no idea, but she would gladly accept the proposition if offered to her of course. But, she had full intentions of incapacitating her client and escaping with his identity in her hands, unless he didn't own a credit card, which was highly unlikely. Either way, she would get what she desired. Heels clicking as she walked, she sauntered out of the elevator and into the hallways of the luscious hotel. Much to her surprise, the hall wasn't bustling with wealthy men and women, high class escorts, or parties. In fact, there was very little to be seen at all.

An ominous feeling began to gnaw at her gut as she approached her assigned room, tentatively pushing the key card that she held in her clammy palm into its slot. Stepping into the room, she shut the door behind her and began to untie her coat, revealing white satin negligee beneath it. Desiree tossed the garment aside and stepped into the spacious suite, which was seemingly vacant.

Frowning slightly, she glanced at her right inner thigh and pulled the small pocket knife she'd stashed in her fish-net stockings and flipped it open. The room was blanketed in a deadly silence and the escort apprehensively took a few steps forward, as erect as a dancer and as graceful as a feline. The carpeted floor beneath her feet stifled the noises her steps would've made, for which she was grateful as she gradually progressed more into the room, with her knife raised and ready to strike. She was ready to catch her prey and flee wherever the night would take her, and her heart pounded in her ears.

"I don't believe that's in your job description," said a sardonic voice behind her, and before she could turn around there were hands on her, knocking the weapon out of her hands. Her instincts kicked in and she tried her best to land a smack, kick, or punch on his body. However, her training didn't matter, as she seemed to be merely a flailing pile of limbs to the man as he pressed her against the wall. Desiree noticed the veins that stood out of his reddening face.

"Not a real blonde, I see," he quipped, noticing her well-concealed brunette roots. Just when she thought he was calm, he grabbed her by a handful of her platinum hair and held her close to his face.

"On your knees."

Desiree noticed just by his barking tone that the young man was an alpha male. And, from first-hand-experience, Desiree knew that alpha males got what they wanted at whatever cost. So, she slowly stood on her knees, glancing up his body and at his face.

"Suck."

Desiree's shaking hands came to unzip his fly, and she pulled it slowly down, followed by undoing the button and his belt buckle. Pulling his trousers to his knees and letting them fall to the floor, she began to pull off his boxer briefs before his hand swatted hers away. "With your teeth."

Taking his waistband between her pearly whites, she put forth a vast amount of effort in pulling them down halfway before letting them fall off completely, leaving the man nude from the waist down before her. Pre-cum poured from his throbbing erection, and its tint was near purple in his arousal. He was definitely well-endowed; from all the cocks she'd seen this was, by far, one of the biggest.

Slender fingers moving to fondle his sac, she brought her tongue to lap at the pre-cum that poured from his slit, forcing herself to swallow the musky taste. She teased him like this for a few moments before he demanded that she take him fully, and after giving herself a moment to relax her gag reflex, she took him fully into her mouth, his engorged prick bobbing against the back of her throat as he held her by fistfuls of hair and face-fucked her. Her chin brushed against his balls as she moved her head up and down in time with him, trying her hardest not to choke at the brutality of his motions. Forcing herself to swallow the pre-cum and saliva that poured into her throat and mouth, Desiree lapped at the sensitive underside of his girth, making grotesque slurping noises as she did so.

His moans grew louder, and his pace of thrusting into her mouth increased. Trying to encourage his quickly coming orgasm, her skilled fingers stroked at his testicles, fondling the seed-filled sack as all hard nine inches of his member were forced into her mouth and down her throat with every thrust. It was becoming incredibly difficult to even breathe; there was no room. The world around her suddenly became an inferno and stars clouded her vision, but she tried her best to keep up her ministrations.

Just when Desiree thought she could take it no more, he jerked and roared violently, his hot seed pouring into her throat as he pulled out, getting his cum all over her face and jaw and the beige-colored rug beneath them. Swallowing the musky taste of his semen, she glanced up at him, cum dripping down her face.

Upon recovering from his powerful climax, the man gulped in air before emitting another command. "Wash it off," he said, gesturing to his deflating cock. Taking the limp member into her mouth, her mouth swirled around it, the wet muscle wiping off remnants of semen and bathing his cock in saliva. When she was finished, her mouth made a 'pop!', and she was yanked to her feet. Facing the flushed, smirking face of the handsome, young man she'd given head only moments prior, she felt something cold and metal and sharp caress her milky inner thigh.

No, oh god, what's happen-

Before she could respond with any of her fighting tactics, with a yelp, or with anything, the knife she was going to use to incapacitate him was shoved deep into her womanhood, blood pouring from her white panties and onto the floor. White-hot pain filled the core of her soul and, before she could let out any sort of scream, his hand covered her mouth. He twisted the knife and shoved it deeper, and she could feel it hit her cervix before she was dropped onto the floor in a feeble pile of blood, satin, cum, and limbs. It was much too agonizing to scream; it was better to lie in her misery and suffering as she was torn asunder.

The man grinned malevolently as he circled the quivering, pathetic excuse of a being. Nothing would've stopped the sheer force of him; not even Desiree's military training.

Patrick Bateman's madness was engraved deeper into his soul than whatever spark of fight his prey had. And, although he definitely preferred real things to knock-off things, he would bask in an incredible amount of enjoyment with the sobbing woman before him.

And nothing could stop the monster now.