Chapter 4
In the next couple of months Jim and I got to be very close and in addition to having loads of exquisite fucking we found ourselves really digging each other in every way. I no longer had the feeling that I had in the beginning that Jim regarded me as just another little high-school cunt he could use and then abandon-I still had the feeling that he was using me, but we really dug each other at the same time. And I'd learned that there's no contradiction in that it's possible for people to really care for each other, and yet still use each other and seem as cold on the surface as could be. So even though Jim continued to look at me with his icy eyes and that cool smirk of his, I could sense that we were growing together in lots of ways.
But I was developing into the kind of woman who no matter how comfortable the situation she was in would never be content to ride on the back of someone else's motorcycle. I'm the sort of woman who wants her own wheel, who wants to control her own direction and her own speed, and it was only a matter of time until my thoughts turned towards getting a bike of my own. I knew in advance that there was no one in my family who would stand for my getting a bike, and so, as soon as school was over, I made as graceful an exit as I could-which wasn't very grateful, there were some tremendous scenes around the old household-and I went to the city. I had told my parents that I was going to be looking for some sort of secretarial job, but in reality I had decided to do some hooking in order to raise enough money for a bike in the shortest amount of time.
I had spoken to Jim about my plans before putting them into effect, and he felt very favorably about it. He told me that he wasn't eager to see me leave town, as it would mean we would see much less of each other, but he said that a good bit of whoring makes a woman more well-rounded, puts her more in touch with some of the sleazier, potentially sexier elements in her character. So if not with my parents' blessings, at least I set out on my career with the blessings of the man I really dug.
So I packed a bag and Jim drove me up to Joplin which was the nearest town of any size. As soon as I got there I started looking for an apartment and it wasn't long before I found one. It wasn't much, it was in a sort of ramshackle old building, but it was just at the edge of the really honky-tonk part of town, and I knew it would suit my purposes perfectly. The landlord looked me over very suspiciously before he rented me the place, but Jim had loaned me enough money for a couple of months' rent and when that old fart saw cash on the line he no longer cared whether I was going to use the place for so-called immoral purposes or not.
Jim spent the first couple of nights, helping me get used to the change in atmosphere. We had some excellent fucking during those few nights because as I gradually realized Jim was really turned on by the idea of having me be a prostitute. In keeping with his preference for keeping in control, he especially liked the idea of having someone buy the right to be in control. He himself, because of his wonderful personality and wonderfully obedient cock, never had to pay for it in his life, but the idea still turned him on in a very perverse way.
In addition to helping me. settle into my apartment, Jim came out with me to shop for my wardrobe. Back down in the country, I'd always dressed in very simple clothes-jeans mostly with a frilly shirt here and there, but certainly nothing that would attract tricks on the street. So when it came to shopping for new clothes, I had one thing and one thing only in mind, leather. Now, being naive as I was, I didn't even know that leather had other implications. I thought it just meant motorcycles. But Jim, being much more sophisticated than I, told me a little bit about the implications of leather in S & M, and though I was greatly intrigued by the notion, I felt I better go easy on the leather. Sort of ease my way into sadism or masochism or whatever else came along. Knowing about the kind of people that hang around the honkytonks in Joplin, I had no doubt that I'd be discovering a lot of things about it soon enough. Well, after I was pretty comfortably settled Jim decided to head back down and leave me on my own. So the first night when I was on my own, my very first night of whoring, I walked out onto the street, and my knees were shaking not so much from fear or embarrassment but just from the sheer invigoration of the thing. I loved the idea.
So I stood there half in the dim light of a street lamp leaning against a wall trying to look provocative. Actually I felt sort of giddy and it was hard for me to keep from laughing-I wasn't even twenty yet and I felt so ballsy about the whole thing I just wanted to laugh. I was very proud of myself.
I guess every hooker remembers her first trick, and I certainly remember mine because it was one of the strangest encounters of my life either before or since. I was standing there leaning against the wall giving the eye to everyone who walked by and even sort of blowing kisses at the ones I found more attractive, and then up walks this figure in a kind of a faggy trench coat with a hat drawn down low over his face. Now it was summer, and still quite warm and seeing a person in a trench coat struck me as very strange to begin 'with. As a matter of fact the figure looked so bizarre that I didn't even look at it, blow it a kiss or anything, but it just came up without hesitating for a second and stood in front of me. Without looking me in the eye, still keeping that slouchy hat poked towards my face, the figure asked in a gruff and apparently fake voice if I would take $25 for a couple of hours fun. I said sure and just started walking off toward my place, knowing that the john would follow.
Well, we got up to my place-at this point I must admit I was nervous not because I was at all uptight about sex, but only because I thought this character might try and knife me or something-and when I heard the door click shut behind us I turned around to get a better look at my first customer. Well, the hat came off, and what should have come out from underneath it but a beautiful head of long blond hair. Then the trench coat opened up and rather than seeing what I had expected to see-the sort of belly and intimidating body of a middle-aged man-the beautiful shapely body of a woman in her late twenties. I was so surprised that I just sat down at the foot of the bed and stared. The woman was wearing a tight blue sweater and a pair of baggy pants that she had needed to complete her ruse as a man. But the sweater was definitely a woman's, and the full breasts that bulged beneath it were definitely the real McCoy.
I suppose I sat there open-mouthed and silent for a few seconds, because finally the figure spoke to me in a rather impatient tone, "What are you staring at, bitch? I'm here to fuck you not to be stared at."
Well, I certainly had never been spoken to that way by a woman before, and I didn't quite know what to make of it. Her tone excited me though, and the way she stood and stared back at me-hands on her hips, breasts thrust forward-I knew I was in for yet another fresh adventure, yet another taste of what a full and free sex life had to offer.
Before I could answer her, she had approached me on the bed and pushed me backwards roughly by the shoulders. I lay back, not knowing whether it would be a better idea to resist or to give in to whatever she had in mind. Then I remembered that I was a whore, a paid sex machine, and that I had no right to resist no matter what she did. So I just lay back and waited to see what happened. She reached down for my legs and held them roughly against her waist. With a deft and strong hand, she yanked off the boots I'd been wearing. The boots were very tight, and the friction of the leather being stretched over my calves and ankles was strangely exciting. When she had taken them off me, she threw the boots roughly across the room and dropped my legs back onto the ground so that my heels hit the floor.
She stood there high above me, looking down. Then she said to me "And how old are you, my pretty?" Twenty-three I lied.
"Bullshit," she said. "You're probably not even twenty yet. And how long have you been a hooker?"
"Oh, a couple of months," I said. Lying again.
"That's bullshit too," she said, "You've probably been out there a week at the most, if that."
Well, I was flattered that she thought I had had even a week's experience. As it was I was intrigued-I was getting horny already even though I was so confused-I really didn't know what was expected of me or how to react. Fortunately, my client was of the type who wanted to do everything herself anyway and so I didn't have to make any of the decisions. I just lay back and enjoyed the show, or perhaps I should say enjoyed providing the show.
She bent down over me and undid the zippers at the sides of my skirt. Then she yanked roughly at the waist, forcing me to raise my hips so that the cloth could slide over my legs and down onto the floor. I was now nude from the waist down, though I still had on my tight see-through shirt. Assuming that she wanted me to take it off, I started lifting it over my head, but she roughly grabbed my wrist and told me to leave it on. "No," she said. "Your little titties look too nice with it on. Besides, it would be vulgar to see your bare breasts. You look much more enticing like that, with your ass and your cunt bare, and your breasts hidden coyly behind that hint of cloth. I like the way you look like that. You look like a whore."
I could feel my cunt getting wet now. I don't know why this is, but I seem to react very well to being verbally abused. When Jim would talk dirty to me, it would inevitably cause me to get wet and to want to fuck. And now with this woman-this bizarre dyke who walked around in a trench coat and an old slouch hat-was cursing at me, calling me a whore and I loved it. Before she had even really touched me I could feel that my cunt lips were glistening with anticipation.
"And now," said my client, "Stand up and let me look at you."
I stood up, rather stiffly, and she walked around me gobbling me up with her eyes. Then she roughly grabbed one of my legs and forced me to put a leg up on the bed, the better to spread my thighs apart. Then she sat down on the floor in front of me, and just stared up at my cunt. Her face was so close that she could have eaten me if she wanted to, but that apparently was not her intention. She just wanted to look, to feast her eyes on my cunt, and to make me feel debased, to make me feel that I was nothing more than an object for her voyeuristic gratification. And for some reason that notion excited me terrifically and I could feel my juices flowing more as she watched. I could tell that I was giving her just what she wanted-a view of the wet cunt, a cunt getting wet for no other reason besides the fact that it was being looked at and that it was being examined and paid for.
She watched me for a while, but it soon became apparent that that was to be only part of the evening's amusement. Eventually, she got up from her viewpoint between my legs and started walking around me again. Without ever touching me, she ordered me into various positions where she could view me to her heart's content. For example, she made me kneel on the bed with my ass in the air, and she kept urging me on to force it up higher and higher, until my back was painfully arched; and my cunt was pointing straight up toward the ceiling. From the strain of the position, I could feel my cunt lips opening of their own accord, and I could feel her eyes on the pink place where the lips were separated, even though I had no way of seeing her since my face was buried in a pillow.
Then, having tired of seeing me in that pose, she ordered me to sit in a chair, and to splay my legs over either arm, so that my cunt was opened up wide, lying in the hollow made by my lifted and spread legs. And all the while she ordered me about and stared at me, she kept talking to me in the filthiest language imaginable, she called me a peachy young slut, a tender bitch, a total cunt, and she promised me that she would make a dyke out of me before the night was through. She asked me if I had had women before, and I lied and said yes, but she just laughed in my face and told me that I was lying. She apparently was a very, very experienced woman and I could see that my lies were to no avail.
Well, apparently, merely looking at me was only part of her intention. After she had ordered me into perhaps half a dozen poses, and taken her time staring at me in every one, she told me just to stand up opposite her. We stood very close to each other, eve to eye, face to face, our nipples almost touching-mine standing up stiff and prominent through the cloth of my blouse and hers pointing out of the tight sweater-and she looked right at me and said, "And now my dear, let's see how you wrestle."
And before I had time to reply or even to really realize what she had said, she had seized me roughly by the shoulders and was in the process of throwing me down onto the rug. In an instinctive gesture of self-defense, I turned sideways and tried to throw her, and we tumbled down onto the floor together. The woman was very strong, and apparently well versed in the gentle art of wrestling women, but I myself had been quite a gymnast in school, and I felt that I could handle myself in any fray. Once on the floor, we grappled like two men would-we strained against each other, we sweated, we gripped each other's arms and legs as hard as we could, grunting and groaning with the sheer strain of it. At one point, we reached a position where neither of us could move, and through bare teeth she said to me, "If you lose, you bitch, you'll be tied up, you realize that, don't your'
Apparently excited by her own words she seemed to get some extra strength from somewhere and threw me roughly onto my back. I struggled in vain to get free, but she was able to pin my shoulders with her knees, and I lay there helpless, defeated. She looked down at me with an evil grin on her face, and reaching into the pocket of her baggy pants-she had remained dressed the whole time, the better to debase my nakedness-and pulled out two slender nylon cords. Reaching far forward so that her knees stopped the circulation in my arms, she wrapped the cords around each of my wrists, and then tied them to the leg of my bed, so that my arms were spread far apart, immobilized. Then she stood up and undressed. I lay there, unable to move, and watched as she slowly and lasciviously unclothed herself. With one smooth lift, she removed the tight sweater. Her breasts were very full and heavy, and they stood straight out from her chest with only the slightest bit of sag. Her nipples were very prominent and very dark, almost a cocoa brown against the pale skin of her tits. Then she removed the baggy pants, and revealed an ass and thighs that were surprisingly slim but well-developed. Ripples of muscle were visible in her thighs and along the sides of her buttocks-clearly she was an experienced wrestler.
She moved toward me and straddled me, standing, looking down from an immense height. Given the angle at which I looked at her, her most prominent feature was her cunt which stood above me seeming very hairy, the mound seeming very exaggerated, and the lips seeming positively to bulge out, a rich, purplish red. And I must admit that I felt a surge of gratification to see that her cunt lips too were glistening. The added thrill of being looked at had not been experienced only by me. This woman was clearly a connoisseur, a consummate dyke who was a voyeur, a wrestler and apparently a bit of a sadist all rolled into one compact package.
Slowly, very slowly she lowered herself to her knees, and brought her thighs and bottom down to me. Naive as I was, there was no doubt in mind as to what she intended to do-she was going to bring her cunt down onto my face, to force me to eat her while I lay there helplessly, unable to resist. Slowly, very slowly, I saw the puffy and glistening bush descend, and teasing me, she tickled my face with the hairs before actually bringing the full weight of it down onto me. Then in a final swoop, she brought her cunt down full on my face and I was amazed at the heat and wetness of it, as well as by the puffy fullness of the lips. Unable to contain myself, I buried my face in the hot place, kissing, nibbling, licking at it, thrusting my tongue deep into the ruby hole, tasting the juices of another woman. I was so turned on by the thought of eating the cunt sap of another woman that I immediately began gyrating my own hips, and though I could not move my arms, and could barely move my neck, my legs and bottom danced wildly on the rugged floor. i
But my customer was apparently one of those women who liked to cause their whores at least as much discomfort as pleasure, because she now increased the weight of her cunt on my face, bringing her hips down full force onto my face, practically suffocating me with the strong athletic smell of her pussy. I had no choice but to inhale her cunt, I could feel the rich sap all over my face mingling with my breath, and as I inhaled, I could actually taste and feel her sap entering my lungs, my entire body. I was being totally drowned by the juices of another woman! But still, besides my discomfort, I licked, I nibbled, I bit, I darted my tongue in and out. I was so involved in my own pleasure, at the, thought of my first lesbian encounter, that I barely realized that my client was moaning loudly, tossing her head in a wild rhythm as I brought her closer and closer to orgasm with my mouth. When I finally did realize it, the thought that I could bring another women to orgasm, that I could make her peak and come, excited me still more and I began bouncing my hips up and down on the floor, feeling my own cunt dripping and somehow imagining that there was a cock inside of me, or maybe the lips of a woman on it.
Growing hotter and hotter, I worked my mouth more furiously, bringing my teeth into play more and more, biting at the clit that seemed to swell and throb between my lips. I worked harder and harder, and I heard a quiet groan grow louder, turning to shrieks, shrieks of pleasure, shrieks of domination. And then, as her rapid breathing and total loss of control indicated that she was rocking toward orgasm, she swiveled slightly, and with her cunt still squarely plastered all over my face reached into my own cunt with her hand. Very roughly, she thrust three fingers up my own swirling cunt, and with a total animal rhythm, she swiveled her hips over my face at the same time that she jerked her fingers in and out of me. And now we were both coming to the point of orgasm together, she from the stimulation of my tongue and lips and teeth on her clit, and I from humiliation of being tied and abused, and the pressure of her fingers inside my cunt. She frigged me harder and harder, yanking at the flesh under my pubic bone, slashing her fingers around inside me, making my cunt still more distended than it had ever felt before, and at the same time never losing the rhythm with which she roughly brushed her pussy over my face. She increased the vigor of her thrusts so that the crack of her cunt ran from my forehead all the way down to my chin. My face was covered with cunt, it seemed to seep into my very pores. I could not open my eyes. We both seemed to be . involved in a shared, long-lasting, never ending orgasm. The fingers inside me seemed to be working with an almost superhuman vigor-like the piston of a motorcycle-and I myself seemed to be using my mouth as a sort of engine, a sort of machine that would do one thing over and over again, and do it perfectly.
Finally, all trace of control was gone, I felt my hips and my legs flop totally out of control, I felt my hips and my thighs swivel and rock without any conscious awareness of it, and the fingers which had frigged me so wonderfully suddenly flew up to my face and rubbed my own cunt juices into my skin. I lay there exhausted, spent, humiliated, my face covered with the cunt juices of two women, the sap now beginning to dry up on my skin, on my face, all the way up to my head.
My customer, imperious as ever, stood up, stood above me, smirking and with her toes untied the ribbons which had been binding me. She looked at me with a look of incredible scorn, of incredible debasement and she said to me, "You're a slut. I'll be back again to fuck you."
I said to her, not being able to think of anything else to say, "What's your name?"
"You're a whore, you've no right to know my name."
And she left leaving a fifty dollar bill on my dresser.