Julie enjoyed a pampered life as a normal, modest (though highly sexed), suburban housewife. But now that all was changing, possibly forever, after her husband Brad suddenly lost his high-paying corporate job. At first, neither of them felt worried. Surely a man with his experience would easily find a comparable, if not superior, job before too long. In the meantime, they made the most of their increased leisure time together. With a pandemic raging around them, much of that time was spent indulging themselves at home, quite frequently in bed. For them, there was nothing like a good orgasm to banish all of life's anxieties.
Living well and living frugally had long seemed a contradiction to both Brad and Julie. Money flowed through their hands as quickly as it fell into them. Eventually, the spigot began running dry. Weeks turned to months, with just a few good potential jobs materializing, none of which Brad landed. What little savings the couple once had soon vanished, and one after another their credit cards maxed out.
Brad would make it to final interviews but inevitably get edged out. The last time that happened he took it particularly hard. A friend at a firm that was hiring had championed Brad for the position, assuring him that he all but had it in the bag. The final decision came down to Brad and one other applicant, a younger black man who was much newer to the field.
"Well, thank you for the consideration" Julie overheard Brad say into the phone. "Yes, of course, I would love to be notified if another suitable position comes open." He looks stunned, Jule thought, and his face is strangely contorted. "God damn Nigger" Brad muttered angrily, once the phone call was safely terminated. "No way in hell he's as qualified as me!"
"Oh, Brad" Julie reacted, reaching out to console him. "They made a real mistake not hiring you. You'll get a better job, just wait and see. I know you're upset now, but it'll be OK. I've never heard you talk that way before" she added softly. He must be stressed out, Julie thought to herself. No one they knew used that epithet out loud. They were Democrats.
"I know, I shouldn't have said that. But Jack told me the guy they gave it to comes off like a smug ass like he was owed that job. I earned it and he got it. How do you expect me to feel?"
"Let me fix you a drink," Julie said, walking over to their bar. I need one too, she thought, pouring out two doubles. Brad's not a racist, she told herself. We both had black friends in college.
As more bills went unpaid Brad's self-confidence crumbled until he was reduced to a shadow of his former self. Brad stopped applying for high-paying jobs, fearing the seeming certainty of another crushing rejection. Daily he became less sure of himself, which showed up in the bedroom. Sex inside their marriage, which had always been carefree, ceased to be reliable fun or more to the point, Brad ceased to be reliable. When Julie married Brad she swore to stand by him through thick and thin, Sex wasn't the glue that held their marriage together, their bond was much deeper than that, but when money was tight during those early years, sex would emotionally sustain them. Lately though Brad. hardly wanted to touch her, let alone make love for hours like they used to.
With each job rejection, Brad pulled back further from her embrace. None of it made sense to Julie. She could tell that stress was affecting Brad's libido, though he denied it and blamed work weariness instead. But sex was more than a physical act to Julie, it confirmed that someone wanted her. Julie craved the sense of connection and intimacy sex brought her even more than the feeling of Brad's hard cock inside, though she had to admit that she missed that too. At her center, Julie had a void that, since her early adolescence, she desperately sought to fill. Marrying Brad kept that hollowness at bay, for which she was eternally grateful to him. Her married world held reassuring substance for Julie, and Brad's love for her was tangible But now the emptiness was starting to return.
Three days after a particularly disappointing tryst, Brad informed Julie that he finally had lined up some work, two new jobs in fact, both in the service industry. Neither of them, however, paid well. Between the two he brought home a small fraction of his former income, not nearly enough to make ends meet, and the cumulative long hours they entailed kept Brad away from home, and from Julie, almost all of the time. In her darker moments, she wondered if that was why Brad chose those jobs. When her husband got home now late at night, on the days he wasn't doing an overnight shift, he was always "too exhausted" for sex. In his depression, Brad was building a wall around him, with Julie left alone on the other side.
Julie became mired in her depression. The man she loved was losing interest in her, and their financial crisis had her worried sick, Desperation at last compelled Julie to act. They were falling behind on mortgage payments for their opulent suburban house, and Julie was terrified of losing it. She started looking for respectable employment that would pay her well, but Julie, who had never before worked a day in her life, discovered quickly that she lacked any marketable skills, beyond her talent in bed.
Finding nothing better, she signed on to sell costume jewelry to well-off wives in their neighborhood, wildly exaggerating her likely commissions when she broke the news to Brad. Julie knew it would take a miracle for her to earn that much, but she wanted to offer him at least a shred of hope. Something needed to break the downward spiral that now gripped, and virtually neutered, her husband. She would do whatever it took to save their home, If that meant she had to lie, she was lying for them. Julie needed Brad more than ever, but he was slipping beyond her reach. She needed to feel him want her, and she needed her world restored, with Brad again at its center where he always belonged.
"Brad honey" Julie whispered as she slid under the sheets beside him, "Don't you want to hold me?" It was one of the rare nights when Brad made it home hours before dawn, and she had stayed up for him, As a surprise, Julie slipped out of her normal nightgown while she was in the bathroom. returning minimally draped in a negligee Brad bought her the previous Christmas. When Brad felt particularly horny he often asked her to wear it, jokingly calling it her slutty tennis dress. He then treated her like a total slut when she put it on. It was a game they both liked playing. Julie flicked on the nightstand light before Brad could utter "C'mon, let me see it" the way he always did.
The thinnest of spaghetti straps held up a narrow horizontal swath of pale blue translucent silk that almost covered her nipples, leaving the tops of her areola visible and her cleavage on full display, The contours of her breasts could easily be made out through the fabric. The bottom flared out slightly at Julie's waist, descending from there in pleats to a point barely below her pussy lips. It had no frills or lace, offering overt exposure instead, with just the minimal fabric necessary to keep it interesting. No wonder he treats me like a whore when I'm wearing this, Julie thought to herself. I guess you can say I'm asking for it. If it pleases him, I am.
"Brad, I miss you baby" she again whispered in his ear. "I waited up for you. Please let me taste you, sweetie" she added while caressing her husband's shoulder. She used the pet phrase that always resulted in her face getting stuffed with cock. Not tonight though. Brad faintly murmured something, sounding a thousand miles away, but his body failed to stir. Julie moved to wrap her body around his, looking for some reaction, but then hesitated, before falling back against the mattress, defeated. It wasn't right to push herself on Brad if he refused to take her on his own.
She had never been one to pleasure herself, not since she was 12 anyway. The nuns who taught Julie left their mark, Their repeated stern admonishments against the evil of masturbation made her evermore uncomfortable with the act. a dispute having long since lapsed in her Catholicism. No, Julie needed a man to unlock that pleasure for her. For over fifteen years, since they first met in college, Julie depended on Brad for that.
So she lay there frozen for what seemed like fifteen minutes, though only five had passed. Julie knew what she needed to do, but it seemed so unnatural, Feeling Brad's warmth pressed up against her thigh, she felt her body responding. If I focus on Brad being here, Julie thought, if I imagine that it's him, maybe I can do it.
She flicked the nightstand lamp off again, then silently pulled the sheet back from her side of the bed. Reaching down under it, Julie felt for the box she had hidden there that afternoon. Thank God for the internet and plain brown paper wrappings, she thought to herself when her fingers found it. No way I could have bought this in person. When the mail had arrived Julie furtively opened the parcel but, feeling embarrassed and more than a little ashamed. she quickly stashed it away. Now, removing it from the packaging, she held her new dildo for the first time. It was much heftier than a real prick, Julie thought, and harder than Brad had ever been. The shape she chose mimicked an erect male circumcised penis, but not too closely. The dildos extolled for being "realistic" creeped her out, the "flesh-colored" ones especially, so hers was jet black instead.
God, It's too big, Julie started to panic when the dildo touched her pussy. She thought she was buying a medium-sized dildo, not understanding that everything that vendor sold was intentionally super-sized, even their so-called "smaller" models. Her new dildo wasn't one of the longest they offered, nor was it one of the shortest. It was however thicker than most, a fact she failed to take note of in the listing. That made it, to Julie's anxious eyes, massive. Her husband's dick was average at best, maybe a tad less so in circumference. He used it extremely well, so Julie had no complaints. But being childless her cunt, as Brad preferred to call it, remained tight, Inserting the large dildo that now pressed up against it would be a stretch.
It was too late to stop, Julie knew. Her face was flushed, and her shallow breaths were quickening Rotating the head of the dildo, she began rubbing it against her entrance. Her pussy lips were already moist as they slowly began to part, clearing a path forward for the hard intruder. With her free hand, Julie slipped under the top of her negligee, her fingers brushing a turgid nipple and standing there in rapt attention. Instantly her clit reacted, and Julie's faint moan broke the silence in the room. Her nipples were super sensitive, a fact that Brad often used to their mutual advantage.
Now Julie pinched the erect pink bud, triggering her thigh muscles to contract sharply around the black shaft poised to invade her. Using the nail on her index finger, she pressed hard into her nipple's tender flesh. This time Julie's reaction was more violent. Her body jerked suddenly as an intense jolt of pain and pleasure seared along the nerves from her nip into her clitoris At that same moment, Julie reflexively thrust the dildo forcefully into her opening, It was all the huge black head needed to overcome any resistance her narrow passage still could muster, and it penetrated Julie with a vengeance, burrowing in one instant several inches up her inflamed newly stretched cunt.
"Ahhh!" an involuntary cry escaped her, which Julie struggled to suppress, biting down hard on her lip. The throbbing of her pussy all but filled her world, but a small part of her still realized that she dare not wake up Brad. Trying to control the panting that caused her chest to heave, Julie lay as still as possible, her mind searching the darkened room for sounds. There was the ticking of a clock that they rarely if ever noticed, and there too, quietly, was the sound of her husband breathing. Brad sounded slightly labored, but that was not unusual, she thought. He had not slept peacefully in months. Finally, after an eternity that lasted at least a minute, Julie's attention shifted to her pussy again. With both of her hands now wielding her dildo, she imagined that Brad was inside her. Much more slowly this time, she forced the dildo deeper than Brad had ever been.
Her husband lay there in anguish, desperately feigning sleep. He pretended not to hear her when Julie begged for his cock. Now Brad forced himself to stay silent while she satisfied herself without him. I'm fucking shit, he told himself, a worthless piece of shit. What type of man can't provide for his wife? She's fucking selling jewelry so we don't lose the house, and I can't even provide a dick hard enough to suck on. If she didn't still need my shit paychecks she'd be better off without me. Maybe she should find some dude whose cock responds without fucking pills, he said to himself bitterly. Julie needs more ...
Just then he felt her shudder when Julie reached a climax. He clenched his teeth while he listened to the panting of his wife, and the faint ticking of the clock.
________________________
The next mortgage payment was coming due. There was no way for them to cover it, and they were already two months behind. Julie hid the shortfall from Brad by lying about her commissions, implying they were ample. In reality, Julie's foray into selling jewelry was an utter failure. A check was in the mail, she assured Brad and that part of it was true, but her total commissions for the month were less than five hundred dollars. They needed at least $900 more, and there was only a week left to find it.
She felt trapped in a nightmare as if there was a freight train bearing down on her that Julie had no way to stop. She stood on tracks carved from a cliff on a ledge with no room to spare. Below a ravine lay obscured by fog, but the train rushing toward her was clear. Time was running out to jump. But could she?
Her product display sat near the door, She could peddle her jewelry a few nights more, but why? The money wasn't there for what Julie was offering. Not in the amount she needed, not in the time she had. The only way to raise that money fast was to sell her body. Lots of men pay for sex, Julie told herself, I'm not too old to fuck. The thought turned her face beet red and tied her stomach in knots. Julie never cheated on Brad before, she would never do anything to threaten their marriage. But now that marriage was in peril, having sex with other men was her only chance to save it.
The jewelry franchise is a bust, but at least it offers me to cover, Julie, reflected, forcing herself to face the inevitable. That's how money laundering works, she realized. My own fucking body needs to be laundered. A wan smile flickered for an instant when her unconscious choice of expletives hit home. I let Brad think I'm out selling necklaces, while I spread my legs to make the mortgage.
With no prior experience with the sexual underworld, and lacking connections to the denizens who inhabit it, Julie wasn't sure of how to offer herself to men. She ruled out being anyone's mistress, something Brad's ex-boss had once shown real interest in. Brad might still have his job had I said yes, Julie thought, though that wasn't clear at the time. But Julie didn't want a new man in her life. She belonged to Brad. She needed faceless, paying, total strangers instead; men they would never cross paths with in their normal lives, who would fuck her for cash and expect nothing more.
In time, Julie knew, she could figure out a plan to locate discreet and respectable clients, But there was no time and she had no plan; just her body to sell and a need for money, a lot of it, by Monday. Her fevered mind raced, obsessed with finding ways to entice strangers into sex. Finally, an idea, more of a vision really, came to Julie, building on an erotically charged memory that was humiliating at the time. She rose unsteadily to her feet. Brad will be out all night, she knew, working a double shift. I have to do this now.
Passing through their master bedroom, Julie stepped anxiously into the adjoining dressing room. After hesitating for several moments, she reached to the back of her walk-in closet to retrieve a lovely, but uncomfortably sheer, silk blouse that her husband had bought her for their last anniversary.
Her hands trembled as she stripped out of the conservative top she was wearing, before draping the mere wisp of white silk of his gift blouse over her naked breasts. Julie had only worn it once before, with Brad on their anniversary. On that occasion, she insisted on wearing a bra beneath it, since he always preferred that she go without one. When Julie informed Brad of her one condition he grinned slyly and handed her a brassier he specifically purchased for her to wear under that blouse.
Seeing the urgent twinkle in his eye that evening, Julie understood that refusing him was not an option, not if she wanted her husband happy on a day that meant so much to them both. Now, standing alone in her dressing room, fumbling to fasten enough of the buttons on the rear of that silk blouse to walk out into the night without him, Julie relived the memories of that prior outing, placed on display in the same silk blouse for Brad.
He arranged for them to dine at the most elegant restaurant in town. Brad vowed that their table would be secluded, hidden from the view of other diners. He reserved it (at a premium) for that very reason, in a small alcove that most other patrons didn't even know existed. Julie was taken aback though, upon their arrival, to discover that their alcove was far better lit than the main room of the restaurant where they previously had dined, which was always tastefully shrouded in the dim ambiance of candles and indirect lighting,
Here, to Julie's great discomfort, they were fully illuminated by a crystal chandelier, which cast white light down directly onto their table. The seating however was, as Brad had promised, very private. Given her indecent attire, Julie was relieved by that. Pretty much only their waiter would be able to view her sitting there, and Julie resolved to block him out of her mind to the maximum extent possible and to focus only on Brad instead.
Even so, Julie tensed up visibly when their waiter, a vaguely unpleasant man in both appearance and demeanor, quickly became overly attentive to her every need, at times hovering mere inches over her shoulder as he obsessively refilled Julie's water glass almost every time she touched it. Her husband didn't seem to mind the excessive male attention being lavished on his wife, she noted. If anything Brad smiled more broadly whenever the man leaned over her.
For his part the waiter was enjoying the view that he freely availed himself of at every opportunity, taking particular pleasure from this ho's clear discomfort in his presence. They're all just sluts, he thought to himself, especially the rich ones like this, parading around their servants with plunging necklines and sheer bodices, looking for our attention but acting like we aren't there. This one though can't get away with pretending that her oh-so-precious nipples aren't intentionally revealed to me. Her husband likes it and she knows it. What's wrong, bitch? Did the shit just get too real for you? He chuckled to himself, suppressing a strong impulse to wink at Brad.
Julie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This blouse is nearly transparent, Julie thought, cringing under the waiter's intense gaze which he made no effort to disguise, and my bra is virtually see-through. I am pinned here almost topless for this creep to savor at will, she realized, struggling to contain a growing sense of panic. Why did Brad insist that I wear this outfit to go out with him tonight? But Julie already knew the answer to that question. Brad always liked to see Julie provocatively dressed, and he wanted other men to view her that way also. Brad was proud of her body, Julie knew, and of her breasts in particular, and he enjoyed seeing them sexually vulnerable, especially in the presence of other men.
This time though was more extreme than usual. Brad was using their anniversary as an excuse to fulfill a fantasy. That explained his gift of an exquisite, but scandalously sheer, blouse to her, accompanied by a see-through bra. Brad wanted her breasts on prolonged full public display and had gone to great effort to arrange it. Not wanting to disappoint the man she was happily married to, against her better judgment (or so she thought at the time) Julie went through with his carefully choreographed exhibition of her body. In truth, she felt powerless to back out of any of it now.
Though the evening began with Julie distressed and ill at ease, Brad made sure to keep top-tier champagne flowing, and between the steady onslaught of her favorite alcoholic beverage, and Brad's repeated assurances of how stunningly beautiful she looked, Julie became progressively less self-conscious about her semi-lewd exposure. Increasingly intoxicated, Julie finally relaxed and fell into a warm sensual stupor, under the watchful eye of the man she loved, and his chosen witness.
Reflecting on that fateful evening, Julie knew she was right to have pleased Brad that way. She saw how happy it made him, and ultimately that made Julie happy too. Nothing had gone wrong. Her worst fears never materialized. Though their waiter was lecherous, he never laid a finger on her. Julie went home that night with her honor fully intact, to some of the hottest sex the eager couple had ever known.
God, what she wouldn't do to have sex like that again, she wistfully recalled. Her husband was almost a different man, animal-like in his intensity, trying to devour every inch of her naked flesh, owning and consuming his most prized possession, the woman he had married. After all this time though, Julie was forced to admit, she could never erase the waiter's leering face from her mind, or forget the pure lust her tits had kindled in his eyes. If revealing her veiled breasts to a stranger could elicit that type of response, she would try it out again tonight, only this time for cold cash. And this time there would be no bra to partially obscure Julie's pink and stiffening nipples from the view of men drawn to them.
While she had never ventured into that part of the nearby city before, Julie knew exactly where its red light district lay. Everyone did, the local news invariably covered some titillating story that for some reason took place at least once or twice a month there. It was long notorious for harboring low life, a place politicians repeatedly vowed to clean up but never did, an urban blight that Julie and her like-minded friends reflexively looked down upon. Now, however, it was her destination, a mere 40-minute drive from her quiet suburban neighborhood, but located in a different universe. She almost turned around three times before she reached its outskirts. But she didn't, she couldn't, she knew she had no choice.
The streetlights all showed dimmer once she exited the main road. Julie drove around nervously for almost a half hour, staring at the seedy array of liquor stores, porn movie houses, and adult book stores that dominated the neighborhood whose streets were inhabited by a type of rough and disheveled men, each one looking more homeless than the next, that she had never encountered closely before. The idea of approaching one now, and possibly allowing him to physically touch her, was horrifying to Julie, and instinctively repulsive.
Suddenly Julie shuddered uncontrollably. She jerked the steering wheel hard right at a traffic light and headed back toward the freeway and the safety of her home. But at the next corner that she came to she slowed her car to a crawl, and then turned right again. Julie did the same at the following corner. A sinking feeling rose from a tight knot in her stomach as she once again faced the abyss now looming in her windshield. There would be no escaping this fate, she knew, Julie couldn't leave this human cesspool empty-handed, or soon she might be as homeless as all of the wretched men she saw lying ***** in the recesses of countless doorways she had driven by. After some more circling, and what seemed like an eternity, Julie picked out a parking spot in front of an old boarded-up storefront, locked her doors, and sat there frozen in her car, on the verge of tears.
Julie had found what she was looking for. She had spotted and passed them on an earlier drive down the block, but it took a while for Julie to screw up enough courage to park her car. There on the corner stood three women clustered together. The hot summer night wasn't reason enough to explain how they chose to dress. Their high-heeled boots looked incongruous to Julie in the setting of a slum, and they all were wearing impossibly short skirts, and tops that were either ridiculously tight or plunging low to (mostly) ****** their breasts.
Julie had planned to locate one or more street hookers like these women, and then approach them. What she would say to them she never had gotten clear on, but that proved not to be an issue. Alert to all of the comings and goings in a neighborhood as familiar to them as their bedrooms, the streetwalkers had noticed Julie long before she noticed them.
One of them peeled away and walked over to the driver's side of Julie's car. Reaching out she tapped on the window, "What's the matter honey, you lost or something? You just don't look like the type of woman who belongs here." Leaning in closer she peered more closely at Julie, whose body was illuminated by the glow from the nearby street light. "Hmmph", she said, and then she chuckled. "Or maybe you do. Damn, you got nice tits."
It didn't take long for the hooker to get the full story out of Julie, who by that time had half opened her window and begun to cry. There was something about Julie's obvious vulnerability, and truth be known, the soft swell of her breasts, that softened Jasmine's features - the two women were by now on a first-name basis.
_______________________
"Julie honey, I know you need some dough, and lord knows there are men who would gladly pay to use you. You still look put together for your age, and some Johns will figure they can fuck you at a discount. But the truth is, you won't last five hours out here on your own. Oh, you might get lucky the first time or the second, but men can smell a newbie, and excuse my french, stumbling onto a rich bitch like yourself? They might not all be, well let's just say friendly. Out here you're fresh meat for hungry lions."
There are some brothers on this street, that got a mean streak when they sink their teeth into white meat. You need someone to watch over you girl, to protect you, to hook you up with Johns who won't hurt you badly. A classy bitch like you shouldn't be working the streets. You need to be set up in a room, you know, in a whore house. Call it a brothel if you like the sound of that better."
"My man runs one on the side. It's illegal as a sin, but at least you don't have to worry about getting busted there. A good pimp makes sure the heat gets paid, and Tyrone pays them all off well. Of course, you won't make nearly as much as a kept whore as you otherwise might, but like I said Tyrone has a lot of expenses. He sure as hell pays better than Burger King though, or the money you can make hawking stupid trinkets. And Tyrone will keep you, safe babe, make sure you go home in one piece. Shit, he'll even let you work regular hours if you want, and Brad doesn't need to know anything about it. See, that's him over there. He has been watching you, girl. Tyrone doesn't miss a thing. He told me to check you out."
With that, Tyrone stepped out of the shadows and approached the women, who now both stood leaning against Julie's car. Jasmine took Julie's hand in hers, then locked eyes with Tyrone and nodded. A quick grin momentarily lit up his angular dark features. It wasn't particularly warm. This ho is vulnerable, he thought to himself, lost and scared. Best to take charge quickly, while she was still emotionally drowning.
Jasmine introduced Julie to Tyrone, and he immediately took control. She dimly heard Tyrone assure her that everything would be OK, as he and Jasmine steered her up some stairs into a nearby flat. They seated Julie in a room that resembled an old-time parkour, with walls adorned with paintings of nude women, most of whom looked half Julie's age. Tyrone told Jasmine to bring them drinks, and she quickly returned with scotch on the rocks. Smiling, Jasmine handed Julie a glass, "Here you go babe, drink this. You'll feel a lot better if you do. Just knock it down. Tyrone, he only serves the best."
Julie obediently swallowed a large swig, quickly followed by another gulp, anything to calm her nerves. Tyrone nodded approvingly and grinned again. This was always his favorite part, time to break her in.
The next few hours were a blur for Julie. She remembered being dressed but somehow now she wasn't. Her clothes lay on the floor, and Tyrone lay on top of her, grunting loudly while his fierce thrusts impaled Julie with a rock-hard cock nearly twice as large as her husband's. His pounding caused her pain, but it didn't matter, somehow nothing seemed to matter. And then the darkness closed in again, as black as the body that was ****** her violently. Julie awoke again in anguish, lying in a different room. She was pinned on her back in a contorted position, getting methodically fucked by a large and obese middle-aged man, who dwarfed anyone she had ever known in bulk.
A pillow was shoved under Julie's ass, elevating her cunt to make it accessible to him despite the grotesque protrusion of her assaulter's stomach. Her legs were immobilized under his enormous girth, doubled back sharply above her naked torso, with her boobs flattened by pressure from her thighs being rhythmically forced down onto them. Suddenly her assailant screamed out and Julie felt him empty his seed inside her, "Aw fuck! You cunt, cunt bitch FUCK!" Exhausted he then collapsed, with his full weight resting on her, suffocating Julie in the folds of his sweaty flesh.
Julie struggled to breathe, lying crushed beneath this man, unable to talk let alone scream. But who would care even if she could? They might only be angered by resistance from her, leading to God only knowing what worse fate. After a seeming eternity, the behemoth rolled his body off of Julie. Looming over her heaving chest, he stared down into her tear-streaked face with malevolent indifference, then spat on her before he left.
Julie's world was spinning as another man showed up to mount her, and then the next. As each man stumbled outspent, another would enter the room to take his place inside her. Most were older than her husband, and some of them emitted a strong sour stench, but they each attacked Julie with wild abandon, squeezing, pulling, probing, and biting the most intimate parts of her body, with no regard for what Julie wanted, or could handle. Perversely, that made her responses more intense for Julie.
With their repeated nonstop assaults, she devolved into a sexual animal. The rougher the men got, the more powerful Julie's orgasm, or more accurately orgasms, became. Bypassing her consent, Julie's body succumbed, becoming an open reciprocal for unadulterated lust. As her last shred of volition dissolved, Julie was adrift in the throes of something more primal than she will. Three hours and eight men later, Tyrone appeared again.
"I see you've met some of the locals," He said, laughing at her. Then he told Julie to take a short break "to freshen up." A large group of men, "a crew" he called them, would be arriving soon. They had reserved Julie, minimally for two hours. "Hope you like gangbangs" he told her. "We do a lot of them here, they're our house specialty. The Johns will use you hard, in all your holes repeatedly. They might do more than that. With a bitch your age they looking for a cheaper pound of flesh, and a chance to do to you what they can't do anywhere else. They expect more bang for the buck from older whores. I'm giving them a discount for helping break you in, but they still will need their money's worth", he added with a note of menace.
Tyrone might as well have slapped Julie in the face. His sudden entrance, his harsh words, and his jeering tone crashed her hard to earth, falling out of the sex and pain-crazed hormone and adrenaline-fueled delirium that had engulfed her nonstop for hours. Julie's ass cunt and breasts were throbbing wildly as she lay there naked on a filthy mattress, soaked in the sweat, saliva, and semen of a dozen men, defenseless under Tyrone's unblinking gaze. Looming above her, his cold eyes stripped Julie to her core, consuming her flesh, leaving no doubt he was viewing Julie as his personal property.
"A white girl like you will be treated rough" Tyrone continued. "Don't count on none of that gentle shit. Rich white cunts have been calling us niggers all our lives, here the tables are turned. Maybe you ain't racist, but no one's gonna know or care. The brothers ain't paying for no fucking conversations. A lot of them looking for payback more than sex. I cater to that here. You'll feel the difference right away, ain't nothing subtle about it.”
"I keep cameras on you at all times, I set them at different angles. Ain't nothing good gets missed. I'll be watching you bitch, mostly for your safety, but I like a good show too. Don't bother trying to hide your face, I got it on film already, including smoking hot closeups of the multiple orgasms your white ass already had. When it gets freaky enough, like it just got with you, I edit that shit together and save it. Johns can buy a copy if they want.”
Julie's stomach convulsed as she heard those last words. She had just been a cum soaked fuck toy for more men than she could remember, and every minute of her degradation was on film, available to the rapists who used her. But that wasn't what terrified her most. Julie sensed what was coming next. She was right.
"Any hint of trouble from you," Tyrone went on, "it all goes on the net, right up there with the rest of the extreme porn perves download and collect. I'll see that Brad gets his copy, and maybe your parents and neighbors too. I have been through your wallet, Julie, I know exactly where you live. Play your cards right, you can crawl home before dawn tonight before Brad knows where you've been. You need to put in a full shift first, then we'll see about that. I'll assign your next hours if and when I let you leave. Fail to show up for that shift, bitch, and you'll regret it for the rest of your pathetic short life. You don't want me hunting you down when I'm feeling mean girl, trust me on that.”
"Everything Jasmine told you about this place is true, Julie. Ain't no one gonna hurt you badly, not while you're my whore. Nothing permanent anyway. Your tits and ass are more valuable to me intact.” And with that Tyrone was done with her, for now. He flashed a last cold smile and left, firmly closing the door behind him as he exited. She heard a deadbolt slide into place.
Julie was buffeted by warring emotions, fear definitely, but also the aftermath of lust. Tyrone's words flew past Julie like birds of prey, each sinking claw in her fevered mind. More than anything Julie was overwhelmed by sharp disjointed memories of nonstop raw passion and pain, a blizzard of conflicting sensations that reduced Julie to a quivering mass, her spent nude body splayed across the wet stained mattress, like a rag doll abandoned by the side of a road.
The "break", if you call it that, Tyrone gave Julie was short, barely long enough to stifle her tears and clean out her bruised crotch. She mindlessly dabbed at the bite marks on her boobs. Holding the sperm-coated washcloth in her hand, Julie fell back into a trance of sorts, reliving being reduced to raw white meat continually penetrated by strangers. Abruptly she got jarred back to the present by the sound of loud footsteps, and a coarse male bantering, approaching her from down the hall. To her amazement, Julie realized she was smiling. Her thoughts crystallized slowly, into a mantra of sorts: They are coming in to take me, to use me, to fill me. All of them need me. I will please them, I have no choice. This whole whore thing, Julie was just starting to understand, might turn out better than she expected.
Living well and living frugally had long seemed a contradiction to both Brad and Julie. Money flowed through their hands as quickly as it fell into them. Eventually, the spigot began running dry. Weeks turned to months, with just a few good potential jobs materializing, none of which Brad landed. What little savings the couple once had soon vanished, and one after another their credit cards maxed out.
Brad would make it to final interviews but inevitably get edged out. The last time that happened he took it particularly hard. A friend at a firm that was hiring had championed Brad for the position, assuring him that he all but had it in the bag. The final decision came down to Brad and one other applicant, a younger black man who was much newer to the field.
"Well, thank you for the consideration" Julie overheard Brad say into the phone. "Yes, of course, I would love to be notified if another suitable position comes open." He looks stunned, Jule thought, and his face is strangely contorted. "God damn Nigger" Brad muttered angrily, once the phone call was safely terminated. "No way in hell he's as qualified as me!"
"Oh, Brad" Julie reacted, reaching out to console him. "They made a real mistake not hiring you. You'll get a better job, just wait and see. I know you're upset now, but it'll be OK. I've never heard you talk that way before" she added softly. He must be stressed out, Julie thought to herself. No one they knew used that epithet out loud. They were Democrats.
"I know, I shouldn't have said that. But Jack told me the guy they gave it to comes off like a smug ass like he was owed that job. I earned it and he got it. How do you expect me to feel?"
"Let me fix you a drink," Julie said, walking over to their bar. I need one too, she thought, pouring out two doubles. Brad's not a racist, she told herself. We both had black friends in college.
As more bills went unpaid Brad's self-confidence crumbled until he was reduced to a shadow of his former self. Brad stopped applying for high-paying jobs, fearing the seeming certainty of another crushing rejection. Daily he became less sure of himself, which showed up in the bedroom. Sex inside their marriage, which had always been carefree, ceased to be reliable fun or more to the point, Brad ceased to be reliable. When Julie married Brad she swore to stand by him through thick and thin, Sex wasn't the glue that held their marriage together, their bond was much deeper than that, but when money was tight during those early years, sex would emotionally sustain them. Lately though Brad. hardly wanted to touch her, let alone make love for hours like they used to.
With each job rejection, Brad pulled back further from her embrace. None of it made sense to Julie. She could tell that stress was affecting Brad's libido, though he denied it and blamed work weariness instead. But sex was more than a physical act to Julie, it confirmed that someone wanted her. Julie craved the sense of connection and intimacy sex brought her even more than the feeling of Brad's hard cock inside, though she had to admit that she missed that too. At her center, Julie had a void that, since her early adolescence, she desperately sought to fill. Marrying Brad kept that hollowness at bay, for which she was eternally grateful to him. Her married world held reassuring substance for Julie, and Brad's love for her was tangible But now the emptiness was starting to return.
Three days after a particularly disappointing tryst, Brad informed Julie that he finally had lined up some work, two new jobs in fact, both in the service industry. Neither of them, however, paid well. Between the two he brought home a small fraction of his former income, not nearly enough to make ends meet, and the cumulative long hours they entailed kept Brad away from home, and from Julie, almost all of the time. In her darker moments, she wondered if that was why Brad chose those jobs. When her husband got home now late at night, on the days he wasn't doing an overnight shift, he was always "too exhausted" for sex. In his depression, Brad was building a wall around him, with Julie left alone on the other side.
Julie became mired in her depression. The man she loved was losing interest in her, and their financial crisis had her worried sick, Desperation at last compelled Julie to act. They were falling behind on mortgage payments for their opulent suburban house, and Julie was terrified of losing it. She started looking for respectable employment that would pay her well, but Julie, who had never before worked a day in her life, discovered quickly that she lacked any marketable skills, beyond her talent in bed.
Finding nothing better, she signed on to sell costume jewelry to well-off wives in their neighborhood, wildly exaggerating her likely commissions when she broke the news to Brad. Julie knew it would take a miracle for her to earn that much, but she wanted to offer him at least a shred of hope. Something needed to break the downward spiral that now gripped, and virtually neutered, her husband. She would do whatever it took to save their home, If that meant she had to lie, she was lying for them. Julie needed Brad more than ever, but he was slipping beyond her reach. She needed to feel him want her, and she needed her world restored, with Brad again at its center where he always belonged.
"Brad honey" Julie whispered as she slid under the sheets beside him, "Don't you want to hold me?" It was one of the rare nights when Brad made it home hours before dawn, and she had stayed up for him, As a surprise, Julie slipped out of her normal nightgown while she was in the bathroom. returning minimally draped in a negligee Brad bought her the previous Christmas. When Brad felt particularly horny he often asked her to wear it, jokingly calling it her slutty tennis dress. He then treated her like a total slut when she put it on. It was a game they both liked playing. Julie flicked on the nightstand light before Brad could utter "C'mon, let me see it" the way he always did.
The thinnest of spaghetti straps held up a narrow horizontal swath of pale blue translucent silk that almost covered her nipples, leaving the tops of her areola visible and her cleavage on full display, The contours of her breasts could easily be made out through the fabric. The bottom flared out slightly at Julie's waist, descending from there in pleats to a point barely below her pussy lips. It had no frills or lace, offering overt exposure instead, with just the minimal fabric necessary to keep it interesting. No wonder he treats me like a whore when I'm wearing this, Julie thought to herself. I guess you can say I'm asking for it. If it pleases him, I am.
"Brad, I miss you baby" she again whispered in his ear. "I waited up for you. Please let me taste you, sweetie" she added while caressing her husband's shoulder. She used the pet phrase that always resulted in her face getting stuffed with cock. Not tonight though. Brad faintly murmured something, sounding a thousand miles away, but his body failed to stir. Julie moved to wrap her body around his, looking for some reaction, but then hesitated, before falling back against the mattress, defeated. It wasn't right to push herself on Brad if he refused to take her on his own.
She had never been one to pleasure herself, not since she was 12 anyway. The nuns who taught Julie left their mark, Their repeated stern admonishments against the evil of masturbation made her evermore uncomfortable with the act. a dispute having long since lapsed in her Catholicism. No, Julie needed a man to unlock that pleasure for her. For over fifteen years, since they first met in college, Julie depended on Brad for that.
So she lay there frozen for what seemed like fifteen minutes, though only five had passed. Julie knew what she needed to do, but it seemed so unnatural, Feeling Brad's warmth pressed up against her thigh, she felt her body responding. If I focus on Brad being here, Julie thought, if I imagine that it's him, maybe I can do it.
She flicked the nightstand lamp off again, then silently pulled the sheet back from her side of the bed. Reaching down under it, Julie felt for the box she had hidden there that afternoon. Thank God for the internet and plain brown paper wrappings, she thought to herself when her fingers found it. No way I could have bought this in person. When the mail had arrived Julie furtively opened the parcel but, feeling embarrassed and more than a little ashamed. she quickly stashed it away. Now, removing it from the packaging, she held her new dildo for the first time. It was much heftier than a real prick, Julie thought, and harder than Brad had ever been. The shape she chose mimicked an erect male circumcised penis, but not too closely. The dildos extolled for being "realistic" creeped her out, the "flesh-colored" ones especially, so hers was jet black instead.
God, It's too big, Julie started to panic when the dildo touched her pussy. She thought she was buying a medium-sized dildo, not understanding that everything that vendor sold was intentionally super-sized, even their so-called "smaller" models. Her new dildo wasn't one of the longest they offered, nor was it one of the shortest. It was however thicker than most, a fact she failed to take note of in the listing. That made it, to Julie's anxious eyes, massive. Her husband's dick was average at best, maybe a tad less so in circumference. He used it extremely well, so Julie had no complaints. But being childless her cunt, as Brad preferred to call it, remained tight, Inserting the large dildo that now pressed up against it would be a stretch.
It was too late to stop, Julie knew. Her face was flushed, and her shallow breaths were quickening Rotating the head of the dildo, she began rubbing it against her entrance. Her pussy lips were already moist as they slowly began to part, clearing a path forward for the hard intruder. With her free hand, Julie slipped under the top of her negligee, her fingers brushing a turgid nipple and standing there in rapt attention. Instantly her clit reacted, and Julie's faint moan broke the silence in the room. Her nipples were super sensitive, a fact that Brad often used to their mutual advantage.
Now Julie pinched the erect pink bud, triggering her thigh muscles to contract sharply around the black shaft poised to invade her. Using the nail on her index finger, she pressed hard into her nipple's tender flesh. This time Julie's reaction was more violent. Her body jerked suddenly as an intense jolt of pain and pleasure seared along the nerves from her nip into her clitoris At that same moment, Julie reflexively thrust the dildo forcefully into her opening, It was all the huge black head needed to overcome any resistance her narrow passage still could muster, and it penetrated Julie with a vengeance, burrowing in one instant several inches up her inflamed newly stretched cunt.
"Ahhh!" an involuntary cry escaped her, which Julie struggled to suppress, biting down hard on her lip. The throbbing of her pussy all but filled her world, but a small part of her still realized that she dare not wake up Brad. Trying to control the panting that caused her chest to heave, Julie lay as still as possible, her mind searching the darkened room for sounds. There was the ticking of a clock that they rarely if ever noticed, and there too, quietly, was the sound of her husband breathing. Brad sounded slightly labored, but that was not unusual, she thought. He had not slept peacefully in months. Finally, after an eternity that lasted at least a minute, Julie's attention shifted to her pussy again. With both of her hands now wielding her dildo, she imagined that Brad was inside her. Much more slowly this time, she forced the dildo deeper than Brad had ever been.
Her husband lay there in anguish, desperately feigning sleep. He pretended not to hear her when Julie begged for his cock. Now Brad forced himself to stay silent while she satisfied herself without him. I'm fucking shit, he told himself, a worthless piece of shit. What type of man can't provide for his wife? She's fucking selling jewelry so we don't lose the house, and I can't even provide a dick hard enough to suck on. If she didn't still need my shit paychecks she'd be better off without me. Maybe she should find some dude whose cock responds without fucking pills, he said to himself bitterly. Julie needs more ...
Just then he felt her shudder when Julie reached a climax. He clenched his teeth while he listened to the panting of his wife, and the faint ticking of the clock.
________________________
The next mortgage payment was coming due. There was no way for them to cover it, and they were already two months behind. Julie hid the shortfall from Brad by lying about her commissions, implying they were ample. In reality, Julie's foray into selling jewelry was an utter failure. A check was in the mail, she assured Brad and that part of it was true, but her total commissions for the month were less than five hundred dollars. They needed at least $900 more, and there was only a week left to find it.
She felt trapped in a nightmare as if there was a freight train bearing down on her that Julie had no way to stop. She stood on tracks carved from a cliff on a ledge with no room to spare. Below a ravine lay obscured by fog, but the train rushing toward her was clear. Time was running out to jump. But could she?
Her product display sat near the door, She could peddle her jewelry a few nights more, but why? The money wasn't there for what Julie was offering. Not in the amount she needed, not in the time she had. The only way to raise that money fast was to sell her body. Lots of men pay for sex, Julie told herself, I'm not too old to fuck. The thought turned her face beet red and tied her stomach in knots. Julie never cheated on Brad before, she would never do anything to threaten their marriage. But now that marriage was in peril, having sex with other men was her only chance to save it.
The jewelry franchise is a bust, but at least it offers me to cover, Julie, reflected, forcing herself to face the inevitable. That's how money laundering works, she realized. My own fucking body needs to be laundered. A wan smile flickered for an instant when her unconscious choice of expletives hit home. I let Brad think I'm out selling necklaces, while I spread my legs to make the mortgage.
With no prior experience with the sexual underworld, and lacking connections to the denizens who inhabit it, Julie wasn't sure of how to offer herself to men. She ruled out being anyone's mistress, something Brad's ex-boss had once shown real interest in. Brad might still have his job had I said yes, Julie thought, though that wasn't clear at the time. But Julie didn't want a new man in her life. She belonged to Brad. She needed faceless, paying, total strangers instead; men they would never cross paths with in their normal lives, who would fuck her for cash and expect nothing more.
In time, Julie knew, she could figure out a plan to locate discreet and respectable clients, But there was no time and she had no plan; just her body to sell and a need for money, a lot of it, by Monday. Her fevered mind raced, obsessed with finding ways to entice strangers into sex. Finally, an idea, more of a vision really, came to Julie, building on an erotically charged memory that was humiliating at the time. She rose unsteadily to her feet. Brad will be out all night, she knew, working a double shift. I have to do this now.
Passing through their master bedroom, Julie stepped anxiously into the adjoining dressing room. After hesitating for several moments, she reached to the back of her walk-in closet to retrieve a lovely, but uncomfortably sheer, silk blouse that her husband had bought her for their last anniversary.
Her hands trembled as she stripped out of the conservative top she was wearing, before draping the mere wisp of white silk of his gift blouse over her naked breasts. Julie had only worn it once before, with Brad on their anniversary. On that occasion, she insisted on wearing a bra beneath it, since he always preferred that she go without one. When Julie informed Brad of her one condition he grinned slyly and handed her a brassier he specifically purchased for her to wear under that blouse.
Seeing the urgent twinkle in his eye that evening, Julie understood that refusing him was not an option, not if she wanted her husband happy on a day that meant so much to them both. Now, standing alone in her dressing room, fumbling to fasten enough of the buttons on the rear of that silk blouse to walk out into the night without him, Julie relived the memories of that prior outing, placed on display in the same silk blouse for Brad.
He arranged for them to dine at the most elegant restaurant in town. Brad vowed that their table would be secluded, hidden from the view of other diners. He reserved it (at a premium) for that very reason, in a small alcove that most other patrons didn't even know existed. Julie was taken aback though, upon their arrival, to discover that their alcove was far better lit than the main room of the restaurant where they previously had dined, which was always tastefully shrouded in the dim ambiance of candles and indirect lighting,
Here, to Julie's great discomfort, they were fully illuminated by a crystal chandelier, which cast white light down directly onto their table. The seating however was, as Brad had promised, very private. Given her indecent attire, Julie was relieved by that. Pretty much only their waiter would be able to view her sitting there, and Julie resolved to block him out of her mind to the maximum extent possible and to focus only on Brad instead.
Even so, Julie tensed up visibly when their waiter, a vaguely unpleasant man in both appearance and demeanor, quickly became overly attentive to her every need, at times hovering mere inches over her shoulder as he obsessively refilled Julie's water glass almost every time she touched it. Her husband didn't seem to mind the excessive male attention being lavished on his wife, she noted. If anything Brad smiled more broadly whenever the man leaned over her.
For his part the waiter was enjoying the view that he freely availed himself of at every opportunity, taking particular pleasure from this ho's clear discomfort in his presence. They're all just sluts, he thought to himself, especially the rich ones like this, parading around their servants with plunging necklines and sheer bodices, looking for our attention but acting like we aren't there. This one though can't get away with pretending that her oh-so-precious nipples aren't intentionally revealed to me. Her husband likes it and she knows it. What's wrong, bitch? Did the shit just get too real for you? He chuckled to himself, suppressing a strong impulse to wink at Brad.
Julie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This blouse is nearly transparent, Julie thought, cringing under the waiter's intense gaze which he made no effort to disguise, and my bra is virtually see-through. I am pinned here almost topless for this creep to savor at will, she realized, struggling to contain a growing sense of panic. Why did Brad insist that I wear this outfit to go out with him tonight? But Julie already knew the answer to that question. Brad always liked to see Julie provocatively dressed, and he wanted other men to view her that way also. Brad was proud of her body, Julie knew, and of her breasts in particular, and he enjoyed seeing them sexually vulnerable, especially in the presence of other men.
This time though was more extreme than usual. Brad was using their anniversary as an excuse to fulfill a fantasy. That explained his gift of an exquisite, but scandalously sheer, blouse to her, accompanied by a see-through bra. Brad wanted her breasts on prolonged full public display and had gone to great effort to arrange it. Not wanting to disappoint the man she was happily married to, against her better judgment (or so she thought at the time) Julie went through with his carefully choreographed exhibition of her body. In truth, she felt powerless to back out of any of it now.
Though the evening began with Julie distressed and ill at ease, Brad made sure to keep top-tier champagne flowing, and between the steady onslaught of her favorite alcoholic beverage, and Brad's repeated assurances of how stunningly beautiful she looked, Julie became progressively less self-conscious about her semi-lewd exposure. Increasingly intoxicated, Julie finally relaxed and fell into a warm sensual stupor, under the watchful eye of the man she loved, and his chosen witness.
Reflecting on that fateful evening, Julie knew she was right to have pleased Brad that way. She saw how happy it made him, and ultimately that made Julie happy too. Nothing had gone wrong. Her worst fears never materialized. Though their waiter was lecherous, he never laid a finger on her. Julie went home that night with her honor fully intact, to some of the hottest sex the eager couple had ever known.
God, what she wouldn't do to have sex like that again, she wistfully recalled. Her husband was almost a different man, animal-like in his intensity, trying to devour every inch of her naked flesh, owning and consuming his most prized possession, the woman he had married. After all this time though, Julie was forced to admit, she could never erase the waiter's leering face from her mind, or forget the pure lust her tits had kindled in his eyes. If revealing her veiled breasts to a stranger could elicit that type of response, she would try it out again tonight, only this time for cold cash. And this time there would be no bra to partially obscure Julie's pink and stiffening nipples from the view of men drawn to them.
While she had never ventured into that part of the nearby city before, Julie knew exactly where its red light district lay. Everyone did, the local news invariably covered some titillating story that for some reason took place at least once or twice a month there. It was long notorious for harboring low life, a place politicians repeatedly vowed to clean up but never did, an urban blight that Julie and her like-minded friends reflexively looked down upon. Now, however, it was her destination, a mere 40-minute drive from her quiet suburban neighborhood, but located in a different universe. She almost turned around three times before she reached its outskirts. But she didn't, she couldn't, she knew she had no choice.
The streetlights all showed dimmer once she exited the main road. Julie drove around nervously for almost a half hour, staring at the seedy array of liquor stores, porn movie houses, and adult book stores that dominated the neighborhood whose streets were inhabited by a type of rough and disheveled men, each one looking more homeless than the next, that she had never encountered closely before. The idea of approaching one now, and possibly allowing him to physically touch her, was horrifying to Julie, and instinctively repulsive.
Suddenly Julie shuddered uncontrollably. She jerked the steering wheel hard right at a traffic light and headed back toward the freeway and the safety of her home. But at the next corner that she came to she slowed her car to a crawl, and then turned right again. Julie did the same at the following corner. A sinking feeling rose from a tight knot in her stomach as she once again faced the abyss now looming in her windshield. There would be no escaping this fate, she knew, Julie couldn't leave this human cesspool empty-handed, or soon she might be as homeless as all of the wretched men she saw lying ***** in the recesses of countless doorways she had driven by. After some more circling, and what seemed like an eternity, Julie picked out a parking spot in front of an old boarded-up storefront, locked her doors, and sat there frozen in her car, on the verge of tears.
Julie had found what she was looking for. She had spotted and passed them on an earlier drive down the block, but it took a while for Julie to screw up enough courage to park her car. There on the corner stood three women clustered together. The hot summer night wasn't reason enough to explain how they chose to dress. Their high-heeled boots looked incongruous to Julie in the setting of a slum, and they all were wearing impossibly short skirts, and tops that were either ridiculously tight or plunging low to (mostly) ****** their breasts.
Julie had planned to locate one or more street hookers like these women, and then approach them. What she would say to them she never had gotten clear on, but that proved not to be an issue. Alert to all of the comings and goings in a neighborhood as familiar to them as their bedrooms, the streetwalkers had noticed Julie long before she noticed them.
One of them peeled away and walked over to the driver's side of Julie's car. Reaching out she tapped on the window, "What's the matter honey, you lost or something? You just don't look like the type of woman who belongs here." Leaning in closer she peered more closely at Julie, whose body was illuminated by the glow from the nearby street light. "Hmmph", she said, and then she chuckled. "Or maybe you do. Damn, you got nice tits."
It didn't take long for the hooker to get the full story out of Julie, who by that time had half opened her window and begun to cry. There was something about Julie's obvious vulnerability, and truth be known, the soft swell of her breasts, that softened Jasmine's features - the two women were by now on a first-name basis.
_______________________
"Julie honey, I know you need some dough, and lord knows there are men who would gladly pay to use you. You still look put together for your age, and some Johns will figure they can fuck you at a discount. But the truth is, you won't last five hours out here on your own. Oh, you might get lucky the first time or the second, but men can smell a newbie, and excuse my french, stumbling onto a rich bitch like yourself? They might not all be, well let's just say friendly. Out here you're fresh meat for hungry lions."
There are some brothers on this street, that got a mean streak when they sink their teeth into white meat. You need someone to watch over you girl, to protect you, to hook you up with Johns who won't hurt you badly. A classy bitch like you shouldn't be working the streets. You need to be set up in a room, you know, in a whore house. Call it a brothel if you like the sound of that better."
"My man runs one on the side. It's illegal as a sin, but at least you don't have to worry about getting busted there. A good pimp makes sure the heat gets paid, and Tyrone pays them all off well. Of course, you won't make nearly as much as a kept whore as you otherwise might, but like I said Tyrone has a lot of expenses. He sure as hell pays better than Burger King though, or the money you can make hawking stupid trinkets. And Tyrone will keep you, safe babe, make sure you go home in one piece. Shit, he'll even let you work regular hours if you want, and Brad doesn't need to know anything about it. See, that's him over there. He has been watching you, girl. Tyrone doesn't miss a thing. He told me to check you out."
With that, Tyrone stepped out of the shadows and approached the women, who now both stood leaning against Julie's car. Jasmine took Julie's hand in hers, then locked eyes with Tyrone and nodded. A quick grin momentarily lit up his angular dark features. It wasn't particularly warm. This ho is vulnerable, he thought to himself, lost and scared. Best to take charge quickly, while she was still emotionally drowning.
Jasmine introduced Julie to Tyrone, and he immediately took control. She dimly heard Tyrone assure her that everything would be OK, as he and Jasmine steered her up some stairs into a nearby flat. They seated Julie in a room that resembled an old-time parkour, with walls adorned with paintings of nude women, most of whom looked half Julie's age. Tyrone told Jasmine to bring them drinks, and she quickly returned with scotch on the rocks. Smiling, Jasmine handed Julie a glass, "Here you go babe, drink this. You'll feel a lot better if you do. Just knock it down. Tyrone, he only serves the best."
Julie obediently swallowed a large swig, quickly followed by another gulp, anything to calm her nerves. Tyrone nodded approvingly and grinned again. This was always his favorite part, time to break her in.
The next few hours were a blur for Julie. She remembered being dressed but somehow now she wasn't. Her clothes lay on the floor, and Tyrone lay on top of her, grunting loudly while his fierce thrusts impaled Julie with a rock-hard cock nearly twice as large as her husband's. His pounding caused her pain, but it didn't matter, somehow nothing seemed to matter. And then the darkness closed in again, as black as the body that was ****** her violently. Julie awoke again in anguish, lying in a different room. She was pinned on her back in a contorted position, getting methodically fucked by a large and obese middle-aged man, who dwarfed anyone she had ever known in bulk.
A pillow was shoved under Julie's ass, elevating her cunt to make it accessible to him despite the grotesque protrusion of her assaulter's stomach. Her legs were immobilized under his enormous girth, doubled back sharply above her naked torso, with her boobs flattened by pressure from her thighs being rhythmically forced down onto them. Suddenly her assailant screamed out and Julie felt him empty his seed inside her, "Aw fuck! You cunt, cunt bitch FUCK!" Exhausted he then collapsed, with his full weight resting on her, suffocating Julie in the folds of his sweaty flesh.
Julie struggled to breathe, lying crushed beneath this man, unable to talk let alone scream. But who would care even if she could? They might only be angered by resistance from her, leading to God only knowing what worse fate. After a seeming eternity, the behemoth rolled his body off of Julie. Looming over her heaving chest, he stared down into her tear-streaked face with malevolent indifference, then spat on her before he left.
Julie's world was spinning as another man showed up to mount her, and then the next. As each man stumbled outspent, another would enter the room to take his place inside her. Most were older than her husband, and some of them emitted a strong sour stench, but they each attacked Julie with wild abandon, squeezing, pulling, probing, and biting the most intimate parts of her body, with no regard for what Julie wanted, or could handle. Perversely, that made her responses more intense for Julie.
With their repeated nonstop assaults, she devolved into a sexual animal. The rougher the men got, the more powerful Julie's orgasm, or more accurately orgasms, became. Bypassing her consent, Julie's body succumbed, becoming an open reciprocal for unadulterated lust. As her last shred of volition dissolved, Julie was adrift in the throes of something more primal than she will. Three hours and eight men later, Tyrone appeared again.
"I see you've met some of the locals," He said, laughing at her. Then he told Julie to take a short break "to freshen up." A large group of men, "a crew" he called them, would be arriving soon. They had reserved Julie, minimally for two hours. "Hope you like gangbangs" he told her. "We do a lot of them here, they're our house specialty. The Johns will use you hard, in all your holes repeatedly. They might do more than that. With a bitch your age they looking for a cheaper pound of flesh, and a chance to do to you what they can't do anywhere else. They expect more bang for the buck from older whores. I'm giving them a discount for helping break you in, but they still will need their money's worth", he added with a note of menace.
Tyrone might as well have slapped Julie in the face. His sudden entrance, his harsh words, and his jeering tone crashed her hard to earth, falling out of the sex and pain-crazed hormone and adrenaline-fueled delirium that had engulfed her nonstop for hours. Julie's ass cunt and breasts were throbbing wildly as she lay there naked on a filthy mattress, soaked in the sweat, saliva, and semen of a dozen men, defenseless under Tyrone's unblinking gaze. Looming above her, his cold eyes stripped Julie to her core, consuming her flesh, leaving no doubt he was viewing Julie as his personal property.
"A white girl like you will be treated rough" Tyrone continued. "Don't count on none of that gentle shit. Rich white cunts have been calling us niggers all our lives, here the tables are turned. Maybe you ain't racist, but no one's gonna know or care. The brothers ain't paying for no fucking conversations. A lot of them looking for payback more than sex. I cater to that here. You'll feel the difference right away, ain't nothing subtle about it.”
"I keep cameras on you at all times, I set them at different angles. Ain't nothing good gets missed. I'll be watching you bitch, mostly for your safety, but I like a good show too. Don't bother trying to hide your face, I got it on film already, including smoking hot closeups of the multiple orgasms your white ass already had. When it gets freaky enough, like it just got with you, I edit that shit together and save it. Johns can buy a copy if they want.”
Julie's stomach convulsed as she heard those last words. She had just been a cum soaked fuck toy for more men than she could remember, and every minute of her degradation was on film, available to the rapists who used her. But that wasn't what terrified her most. Julie sensed what was coming next. She was right.
"Any hint of trouble from you," Tyrone went on, "it all goes on the net, right up there with the rest of the extreme porn perves download and collect. I'll see that Brad gets his copy, and maybe your parents and neighbors too. I have been through your wallet, Julie, I know exactly where you live. Play your cards right, you can crawl home before dawn tonight before Brad knows where you've been. You need to put in a full shift first, then we'll see about that. I'll assign your next hours if and when I let you leave. Fail to show up for that shift, bitch, and you'll regret it for the rest of your pathetic short life. You don't want me hunting you down when I'm feeling mean girl, trust me on that.”
"Everything Jasmine told you about this place is true, Julie. Ain't no one gonna hurt you badly, not while you're my whore. Nothing permanent anyway. Your tits and ass are more valuable to me intact.” And with that Tyrone was done with her, for now. He flashed a last cold smile and left, firmly closing the door behind him as he exited. She heard a deadbolt slide into place.
Julie was buffeted by warring emotions, fear definitely, but also the aftermath of lust. Tyrone's words flew past Julie like birds of prey, each sinking claw in her fevered mind. More than anything Julie was overwhelmed by sharp disjointed memories of nonstop raw passion and pain, a blizzard of conflicting sensations that reduced Julie to a quivering mass, her spent nude body splayed across the wet stained mattress, like a rag doll abandoned by the side of a road.
The "break", if you call it that, Tyrone gave Julie was short, barely long enough to stifle her tears and clean out her bruised crotch. She mindlessly dabbed at the bite marks on her boobs. Holding the sperm-coated washcloth in her hand, Julie fell back into a trance of sorts, reliving being reduced to raw white meat continually penetrated by strangers. Abruptly she got jarred back to the present by the sound of loud footsteps, and a coarse male bantering, approaching her from down the hall. To her amazement, Julie realized she was smiling. Her thoughts crystallized slowly, into a mantra of sorts: They are coming in to take me, to use me, to fill me. All of them need me. I will please them, I have no choice. This whole whore thing, Julie was just starting to understand, might turn out better than she expected.
