Lizzie had the taxi drop her off in front of the place. Her heart was thumping and she nervously clawed the purse with bright, pointy nails as her heels clopped on the sidewalk.

A theater. Seriously?

It was usually a nondescript apartment, or a middling hotel. A few clients had tried to lure her into cheap motels but she always declined — Lizzie was a high class girl, after all.

But a theater?

Maybe it was one of those guys who wanted her to be their girlfriend for one day. A pretend fiancée, to trick his family and friends and coworkers into thinking he’s got the gambler’s kind of sex life, the one where you pay upfront and hope the magic will happen a few dinners and movies and nights down the line.

He never did specify, though.

All she had was a time and a place and a note to look for a certain gentleman.

And that time, and that place, was the premiere of Maestro Mancini’s latest Violin Concerto at Morius Theater.

And that certain gentleman was to be wearing a suit and a white flower in his pocket: she saw him right away, standing idly by the entrance. She introduced herself with just a little stutter and he smiled. He was a little older than she’d pictured, but not so old that it became disgusting.

The man smiled at her and gestured to follow him. Without a second’s hesitation she did, and they were soon making their way through the creamy yellow halls and red curtains of the theater.

After all, the place was too crowded for a serial killer and hey: in case he was a creep, at least she could listen to some good music as she finished him off.

Last but not least, she’d never been offered that many zeroes.

Lizzie was a professional, and she was determined to give this caller his money’s worth. She tied her long, blond hair in a chignon, applied just enough make up to make her blue eyes sparkle and her lips enticing. She wore a tight dark red dress that showed off the black choker around her slim neck, just a hint of cleavage, and enough legs to keep walking for weeks around a man’s head. On her feet were high-heeled sandals, in black leather, with a white flower on top. As she tied a black belt around her waist, looking herself over in a mirror, all she thought was, “perfect”.

A few flights of stairs and a long corridor later, the man stopped in front of one of many small wooden doors that lead to a loge, a private box with just a few seats set high up on the theater wall opposite the stage. He opened it for her. As Lizzie entered the dark room, she heard him wishing a good evening and shutting the door.

At first, she thought it was a prank. Had he locked her in? The balcony was supposed to be facing the stage but the heavy curtains were shut and there was barely enough light to make out the two velvet couches in front of her.

Confused, she went to open the curtains when a dark, deep voice ordered her to stop. She did, with a gasp, and dropped her purse. She went to pick it up, but the voice said, “leave it”, and she did.

She realized someone was sitting on the couch right beside her, but she couldn’t make out his features. She remained still for an eternity, until he said:

“Take off everything.”

She closed her eyes and a small giggle escaped her lips.

All that hype, all that wondering, and he was just another normal client with control fantasies and sexual frustration.

She calmed down instantly and undressed slowly, getting into her best “scared innocent girl” character. In her experience, that was the one these clients liked best.

There wasn’t that much to take off, really.

The belt whistled away after a single, smooth gesture, and the buckle thumped on the soft floor. She slowly undid the zipper on her back and deliberately took her time sliding it off her sweet curves, teasing with smooth hip movements.

In the end, the red dress found the floor and she stepped out of it, covering up her full, proud breasts with one arm and her shaved mound with one hand, in a fake display of modesty.

“Shoes, too.” The man commanded.

Was he a fetishist, or what? She sighed quietly, then she sat down, her knees tight against each other, so she could unlatch her sandals without showing anything.

Soon enough she felt the carpet under her bare feet; her mind wondered how dirty it had to be.

She was about to ask, “what next?”, when the man’s soft, deep voice ordered “undo your hair.”

She turned aside her head so she could pull apart her chignon with her arm still clutching at her breasts; a few shakes did the rest.

Sensing a pattern, Lizzie began taking off her choker, too, but the man’s firm “no” left it there.

She asked herself how he even knew it was there, then she realized that her eyes, too, were getting used to the dark. He’d been in that room far longer, so he could probably see every sweet, delicate curve of her young body.

She focused, trying to make out the man’s features through that last layer of darkness, but he thwarted her plans yet again with another firm command: “put your hands on the wall.”

Lizzie slowly made her way to the wall, bare feet shuffling on the carpet, and her palms found it cold, and hard.

She made a big show out of uncovering herself, milking the fake shy girl act for all its worth, but in the end she took her position, leaning forward, hands on the wall, blond hair falling over by the side, leaving all her slick back exposed.

Her butt pointed towards the man on the couch, firm and tight and lovely. She stood on her tiptoes, so her legs looked even more supple and perfect.

A draft blew past the curtains on her right, and Lizzie shook in a quiet shiver. She heard the audience gathering outside, and realized how exposed she was, and how close other people were: she could hear the chattering in adjacent loges!

She felt a slight warmth building up inside her, and she wanted to disbelieve how much she was actually enjoying this weird situation.

A hand grabbed her shoulder; the skin was rough, but the gesture delicate. She gasped nonetheless at the unexpected contact. He shushed her and put his other hand around her waist, pulling her close. She felt something hard poking at her back, and acted out a moan.

He pulled her, this time strongly, sinking fingers into her side and wrapping a thick arm around her neck, choking out a scream. “Don’t lie to me”, he whispered, “and don’t be loud. They will hear you.” Instinctively, Lizzie’s hands went out grasping at the man’s grab; he expected nothing less, and took advantage by pushing her into the wall.

With a slap, her breasts flattened against the marble; pink, hardy nipples tried hard to stand but couldn’t. The wind blown out of her, she let out a scared moan. He kept her quiet, wrapping a hand around her mouth as the other slid between her legs.

Overpowered and helpless, stuck to the wall by a man twice her size, Lizzie actually found his hand on her most private of places quite comforting: it reminded her that he was just yet another client, anxious to rush through her services. She’d had rough clients before and knew how to deal with them, so she slid back into her character and let him keep the lead.

The room got even darker and the audience went entirely silent just as the man’s fingers found her clitoris. He was actually quite good, but she wasn’t going to let this get personal, so she pushed back into his hard rod, with the quietest moan she could muster, to shift positions and disrupt the rubbing.

That got him mad.

He tightened his grip on her mouth, rammed her against the wall and pinched her clitoris at the same time, hard enough to make her whimper through serrated lips; Lizzie heard a woman in the adjacent loge asking “what was that?”, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

The man whispered, again, “don’t lie to me”.

Lizzie was mad, more than scared: if he wanted rough sex, he just had to ask. She resolved to let him do as he pleased, grab the money, and just chalk it up to yet another shitty client.

The man freed her mouth, resting the hand on her chin and neck, as the other hand started rubbing the clitoris yet again.

Damn, was he good.

His fingers went in little circles, rubbing her just the right way. The warmth she already felt grew into a tingling sensation and her hands instinctively reached behind to feel the man’s strong body.

They freed his member, big and hard as a rock.

The violin started playing on the stage, sweet and delicate and not entirely loud enough to cover the screams that were begging to get out of Lizzie.

Building up his rhythm on her pleasure button, as her breath grew more and more like a pant, he asked her, “you like anal?”

“N-no…” she stuttered.

During the quietest moment in the music, Lizzie felt two fingers finding their way inside her; she moaned, surprised, not realizing how wet she already was.

The same woman from before asked, “did you hear that?”

The man’s fingers, rough and big, twisted around inside her, then came to a stop, pushing hard against her g-spot.

“I am going to repeat my question. If you lie again, I am going to hurt you for real this time. Do you like anal?”

With those fingers pushing into her most sensitive spot, a barreled chest flattening her breasts and nipples against the cold stone wall, her voice trembled, her pitch out of control: “I… I didn’t lie… I don’t do anal on the job… That’s for my boyfriend only…”

She realized her bare feet were resting on the man’s shoes. When did that come to happen?

The rock hard penis pushed against her butt cheeks. She clenched and gritted her teeth, determined not to let him in.

He grabbed her choker, pulling her back off the wall and into his embrace. He wrapped his arm around her breasts; she relished the warmth after all that cold.

The fingers inside her resumed their dance and she could only breathe in sync with it.

“I think you could make an exception for me.” She shook her head, as any talking would have let out far too much noise.

“Don’t I pay you enough?”

“It’s not about th-” He closed her mouth as she was mere instants into the scream; nonetheless, the annoying nearby woman reprimanded: “would you please be quiet?!”

Lizzie flushed over with embarrassment as she realized the people in adjacent loges just had to know what they were up to by now.

The man insisted, “Don’t you like me?” sticking three fingers in, as deep as they would get, rubbing hard on the g-spot as the thumb slapped her swollen clitoris.

The loud, wet sound was only superseded by her loudest moan yet, escaped through her lips as he let her free to speak.

The annoyed woman kept complaining, but Lizzie didn’t mind her anymore.

If anything, all her embarrassment and shame had turned into excitement by now, and she was losing her mind to the attention, the violin music, and the fingers driving her insane.


He pushed her over the couch and threw her naked body over its back; she was bent over it, ass in full display and cheeks spread apart. She protested with a groan but it caught yet again the attention of the other guests, so she kept quiet as the man worked his fingers into her…

As three fingers made their way into her pussy, she felt one slick, lonely finger poking at her anus. Try as she might not to think about it, the truth was that she wanted it, she wanted it bad.

She relaxed and let it in as the violin built up momentum.

Cold drops of lube found their way into her as the finger kept slowly teasing and loosening up the most private hole. Lizzie flushed and gasped as the man dug into her and everything went warm.

When the probing finger left her she braced herself: she knew what was coming next.

She cried in pain as the man pushed into her parted buttcheeks. His firm hands kept her sides in check even as her legs kicked around.

“That’s it” said the neighbouring lady “I’m calling security.”

But Lizzie didn’t care. She bit into the cushion, lost in her storm of pain and pleasure. The man got deeper and deeper with every push, moving her whole body back and forth.

Her nipples, hard as rocks, chafed against the couch’s rough texture. Her feet burned as they slid on the carpet, looking for balance. She tasted the bitter cushion on her tongue as her teeth bit down ever harder. Her ass stretched open as far as it would go, the man probing her most sensitive depths.

She had a moment of realization, of shame: not just because of the level of intimacy she’d allowed herself to reach in such a public place, but also because she felt like she was cheating.

Anal sex was something she’d always saved up for her boyfriend, and him alone. In her mind, this kept the physical part of their relationship special despite her day job.

But now, writhing around this stranger’s rod, heavily breathing only in sync with his every push, all of that fell apart.

She asked herself how to feel about this, what to think, what to say, but all her mind could focus on was that this felt so damn good.

She gasped. Propping herself up on her arms, she pushed back into the stranger. Mouth smiling agape, face all red, eyes shut; she moaned and gasped in uncaring ecstasy as the orgasm built up in her stomach.

She was close, so close… And the stranger pulled out.

She groaned, frustrated, and turned around with a scowl; she found her man was distracted, facing the door: only then did she realize someone was knocking on it.

Panicked, Lizzie started looking around for her clothes. She’d never felt so exposed, wearing just a choker on her hot, sweating body, still wet and reddened by all the pleasure and abuse.

She tried to move too quickly, however, and fell on her knees. The thump alerted the man standing outside, who asked, “What’s going on in there?”

Her fall also recaptured the stranger’s attention.

He grabbed her by the hair and, despite her protests, dragged her all the way in front of the door. There, kneeling behind her, he pushed her face and breasts down on the rug, so that her back was wide open and in full display.

The stranger said “Why don’t you tell him, Lizzie?” as his big hand found her privates once again “Tell him what we’re up to.”

His every caress sent shivers down her spine; fear of being caught, shame at having anal sex so close to strangers. She mouthed an objection but it sank in her throat as the stranger’s hand once again entered her.

Her orgasm hadn’t faded at all.

His fingers, digging in both of her holes, enkindled its flame. She pushed into him and wiggled her waist, but fingers alone could never give her release.

“Tell him” the stranger insisted “tell him what you’re up to… And I will let you have your orgasm.”

Hearing that deep voice say orgasm blew away any remnant of rationality her mind still clung onto.

She needed that, at any cost. The stranger lifted her head by the hair. She was now facing the door, no more than ten inches away.

“I… I am…” She stuttered. The hand slid out of her.

“Louder” he commanded.

She obeyed “I am… I am having…”

She felt the tip of his penis, big and hard and wet, pushing against her loosened anus. “I am…” The tip got in. She gasped “I’m being fucked!”

It got all the way in, touching her deepest recess. Her whole stomach warmed up, her pussy tingled, her clitoris burned. She felt it all the way to her nipples, spreading pleasure and joy. Her limbs tensed up as she cried: “He’s fucking me in the ass, and I love it!”.

Finally, release. Her body shook with pleasure as the orgasm exploded, and she squirmed, satisfied, all along. The stranger also groaned as he came inside of her. His warm seed flooded her whimpering figure and they embraced, warm and perfect.

When it was finally over, Lizzie found herself lying on the warm moquette, sweaty, exhausted and glowing.

Strangely enough, nobody had opened the door yet.

Suddenly, the lights came on in the loge. She instinctively sat up and hugged her knees to her chest to cover herself, then grimaced as she felt the warm seed oozing out of her back and onto the floor.

“The guy wasn’t expecting a locked door” the stranger said, throwing Lizzie’s dress at her. “If we’re quick enough, we can leave before he gets back with the master key.”

Lizzie didn’t catch the dress, and it flew past her naked figure. She was too shocked to react: she’d seen the stranger’s face and all she could do was blubber “You…!”

The stranger smiled. “Happy anniversary, hon.”

All characters are over 18.

“Ola, hello, welcome to club 18 -22, I am Miguel and I am your pimp for the week,” the sun bronzed Spaniard announced as he walked into the girl’s room.

Sandra laughed drunkenly and said, “Oh right, Pimp eh, maybe your English isn’t too brilliant?”

“Pimp, he said Sand!” Irene replied equally drunkenly, “Because if he’s our pimp that makes us.”

“Prossies!” Sandra exclaimed, “Sluts, bring it on!”

“Que?” Miguel replied.

“Boys, bring ‘em on, that’s what we came for!” Sandra insisted.

“Boys, men, chop chop,” Irene laughed, “Just a minute I’ll slip into something more comfortable,” and she hoisted her tee shirt over head, “Never seen tits before?” she queried as Miguel stared.

“Call those tits, these are tits,” Sandra declared and she hoisted her tee shirt over her head and popped her DD breasts out of her bra cups, “What’s up Miguel?”

He looked very uncomfortable, “You want fucked?”

“Well we didn’t come for the ballroom dancing!” Irene declared, “Find us some boys!”

“Chop Chop,” said Sandra, “Bollocks, where’s the bog? I got gyp,” and she went off to throw up

It all started nearly two months earlier back in Yorkshire when Irene found a club 18 – 22 leaflet in the College Library, she showed it to Sandra, “Look, a week in the sun for just a hundred and fifty quid,” she laughed.

Sandra looked carefully and spoke her thoughts, “Sun, sex and,”

“Sunburn! It has to be better than Skeggy.” Irene jokingly made reference to the East Yorkshire North Sea resort of Skegness, famous for it’s icy winds and frequent rain.

“We’re going to Bridlington, to watch the sunrise.” Sandra said, “Again.”

“Maybe, now we’re eighteen, we could like?” Irene suggested, “In the holidays.”

Irene broached the subject of a week in Spain with club 18-22 when she took Sandra home for tea after before choir practise on Thursday .

“You’re not going,” Mrs Braithwaite told Irene straight out when she asked, “Club 18-30 holidays what ever next!”

“But it’s not our Mam,” Irene insisted, “It’s club 18-22 and its completely different, look there’s phone number and they do mentoring and everyone has to be in their room by eleven at night!”

“And its very reasonable price considering,” Sandra, Irene’s friend from college insisted.

“I wonder how they do it.” Mr Braithwaite said as he looked at the flyer the girls brought round, “You couldn’t have a week in Skeggy for that.”

“It’s cheaper out there Mr Braithwaite,” Sandra explained.

“Well,” Mr Braithwaite agreed, “We’ll sleep on it, see what Albert and Frieda say.”

Sandra stood up to go and Irene followed her, “Our Mam said the same,” Sandra said, “See what Harry and Ethel say, we’ll end up stuck in Filey if we aren’t careful.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t have to borrow the money,” Irene sighed, “We should have saved up.”

“Maybe we could put it on the card?” Sandra said.

“Pay ten per cent interest, I should coco,” she said, “I’ll ring tomorrow and see what they mean by ‘Easy terms.”

Sandra rang the number, “Is that Club 18 – 22?” she asked.

Forty miles away in the garage of a typical English suburban semi detached house Justin and Sebastian were chilling over a game of pool on their miniature pool table.

The phone on the wall rang, Justin answered it “Yes Club 18 -22,” he agreed motioning Sebastian to be quiet, “How may I help?”

“Well we wants to go on trip to Spain next month, but we’re a bit short.” Sandra explained.

“Well, that’s difficult, would ‘we’ be your boyfriend?” he asked.

“No me mate Irene and me,” Sandra said.

“Well perhaps we can do deferred payment but you do need to apply on line, you must have a current Facebook account and a working web cam so we can make sure you sign the online form,” Justin explained, “You need your passport obviously, but log on and send an application and we’ll be in touch.”

Sandra sighed, “OK she agreed uncertainly, “But can’t you tell me the priceover the phone?”

“I’m afraid it’s company policy,” he said, “Everything done digitally so there is no confusion, no argument, just log on, its really very simple,” he explained.

“OK,” Sandra agreed reluctantly.

“I’ll look forward to your application, good bye,” Justin said and hung the phone up, “Minger,” he said to Sebastian, “Yorkshire accent as thick as treacle, yuck.”

“Probably thirty eight, thirty eight, forty two,” Sebastian laughed “Don’t hold your breath.”

Sandra saw Irene in the college refectory, “We have to apply on line,” she said.

“There’s computers in Library,” Irene pointed out.

They went to the Library after class, logging in was simple but the girls struggled

and it was only when the Librarian showed them how to input the web address instead googling it that they got on the club 18-22 site.

They filled in the forms, and pressed “Submit.”

Forty miles away the incoming email pinged loudly, “Oh,” Sebastian acknowledged, “Bingo!”

“Great, no web cam,” Justin sighed sarcastically, “Email her.”

Sandra and Irene switched off the machines and went home so they never found the emails requesting they use the web cams until the next day, and by then Justin and Sebastian had just about agreed that Irene and Sandra were a waste of time.

Irene phoned on her mobile, “Its Irene Braithwaite, I emailed and you wanted to see me on web cam, well its working.” she said.

“Minger alert,” Sebastian mouthed, “OK, yes, right,” he said as he frantically fiddled with the computer, “Oh got you,” he agreed as a slim if slightly top heavy brunette filled the screen.

“Me mate Sandra’s here,” Irene said helpfully as her friend ducked in front of the camera.

“Hi,” Sandra said.

Sebastian grinned as Sandra’s long blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders and her pert boobies bulged unnaturally as she craned around to look into the lens.

“Yes,” Sebastian agreed, “Well that tallies with your Facebook acount, when did you want to go?”

“First week in August?” she suggested.

“Excellent,” he agreed.

“So how much?” Sandra asked.

“How much?” Sebastian replied, “Fifty pounds deposit and the balance by Christmas?”

“I don’t know,” Irene demurred, “Like how much.”

“We have a few spare rooms that week so a hundred and fifty?” he suggested, “Fifty deposit and ten pounds a week.

“You sure?” Sandra asked, “That sounds too cheap.”

“We make money on the food and drink, they aren’t included,” Sebastian lied, “Maybe the boys will buy your drinks.”

“Whooo boys bring them on,” Sandra laughed.

“Sand!” Irene said in mock outrage.

“Good, I’ll send the tickets,” Sebastian agreed, “Probably fly out overnight.”

“From Leeds?” Sandra asked.

“No an airfield,” Sebastian laughed, “Our Minibus will pick you up.”


Irene and Sandra stood outside Woolworth in their anoraks and jeans carrying their backpacks waiting for the Minibus, the town hall clock showed 11.30 like it always did since the clock winder was made redundant and it was actually only 10.32 when the Combined Training Corps minibus loomed out of the shadows.

“Sandra and Irene?” Justin’s girlfriend for the day Sabrina asked, while feeling a fool in her stewardess uniform, “Welcome to Club 18-22!”

They threw their backpacks in the back and joined another half dozen girls in the old Ford Transit van. Justin drove smoothly and carefully so as not to draw attention as didn’t have CTC’s permission, the right licence or any insurance and they were soon on their way to the airfield.

“What about Customs and that?” Sandra asked, as the drove straight past Terminal One and up to an elderly 747 airliner which stood outside the UK Mail building bathed by floodlights.

“Oh, we do that at the Spanish end,” Justin said breezily, “You do have your passports?”

“Yes,” they agreed and they had the novel experience of climbing the stairs to the 747s door only to find the cabin was actually full of containers.

“Passenger accommodation on the top deck,” Sabrina announced, “Help yourself to drinks,” she said pointing to the well stocked bar, “And don’t make too much noise or you’ll wake the pilots.”

“How’s this work then man?” a girl from Newcastle asked.

“Cost cutting, we use spare space on the freighter,” Justin explained as he admired her E cup tits, “Have you joined the mile high club?” he asked.

“Ask us again a bit later,” she replied.

“Where’s the emergency exits and that?” a nervous girl asked.

“Look have a drink, chill,” Justin advised, “Don’t be so negative, but they are at the back OK?”

Sabrina handed round some glasses of 35% proof fruit punch and quite quickly everything became blurred. so much so that Irene and Sandra remembered nothing of their flight, the taxi to the hotel or check in and only woke up the following morning in a strange darkened room illuminated only by the light of a TV screen as the blinds were tightly drawn . They found themselves dressed only in their underwear lying on a queen- size double bed…


Sandra and Irene woke to the sound of urgent knocking on their door, Sandra staggered across and opened it, “Yes?” she said as a sun bronzed Spaniard wearing swimming trunks and a tee shirt stood smiling at her.

“Ola, hello, welcome to club 18 -22, I am Miguel and I am your pimp for the week.”

Sandra looked at the and laughed drunkenly. “Oh right,Pimp eh, maybe your English isn’t too brilliant?”

“Pimp, he said Sand!” Irene replied equally drunkenly, “Because if he’s our pimp that makes us.”

“Prossies!” Sandra exclaimed, “Sluts, bring it on!”

“Que?” Miguel replied.

“Boys, bring ‘em on, that’s what we came for!” Sandra insisted.

“Boys, men, chop chop,” Irene laughed, “Just a minute I’ll slip into something more comfortable,” and she hoisted her tee shirt over head, “Never seen tits before?” she queried as Miguel stared.

“Call those tits, these are tits,” Sandra declared and she hoisted her tee shirt over her head and popped her DD breasts out of her bra cups, “What’s up Miguel?”

He looked very uncomfortable, “You want fucked?”

“Well we didn’t come for the ballroom dancing!” Irene declared, “Find us some boys!”

“Chop Chop,” said Sandra, “Bollocks, where’s the bog? I got gyp,” and she looked round helplessly for somewhere to throw up.

“Yes,” he said, “Bog is there,” he said pointing as Sandra rushed away, “You have en suite this room,” he said to Irene, “All very up to date at club 18-22, we have reputation!”

“Right,” Irene said, “No boys after 11 o’clock?”

“Oh no, door is locked after 11, boys can stay!” he said, “It keeps parents happy.”

“Oh, right,” she said, “Where’s the best place to meet boys?”

“Is all right, I bring them,” Miguel explained, “Is part of the service!”

“When’s brekky, I’m starving!” Sandra said as she returned.

“I have the toast and the fruit juices, on my trolley, momento,” he explained and he fetched his trolley, and “Ola!” he removed the cloth with a flourish.

“Oh it’s gorgeous,” Irene announced as she took a sip of 35% proof Orange Juice and Vodka

“MMmm,” Sandra agreed, “Gorgeous!”

“You want fuck now?” Miguel asked.

“Of course we want to fuck, we didn’t come for the ballroom dancing!” Irene chuckled drunkenly as her hand stole to Miguel’s crotch and cheekily twisted his balls.

“Hands off he’s mine!” Sandra said as she pulled her panties down to reveal a neatly trimmed blonde bush.

“I saw him first!” Irene protested.

“Ladies there is plenty for everyone!” Miguel boasted as Irene pulled his swimming trunks off.

“Oh,” Irene gasped as she found a woollen football sock stuffed in Miguel’s trunks, “Maybe not.”

“Momento,” Miguel said anxiously, “I look at porn, then you see.”

“No way shorty, we want a proper man,” Sandra insisted,

“Men,” Irene agreed.

“Want a proper men!” Sandra repeated.

“One minute,” Miguel insisted, “I find you big cocks, promise!” He rushed from the room. locking the door behind him, “Mr Sebastian, they call me ‘Shorty’ the want big cocks!”

“Not a problem, got a couple of Aussies downstairs,” he said and he flicked a button on his phone, “Send them up, room 14.”

“Good day, I’m Bruce and this is my mucker, Stanley.” Bruce announced as Miguel showed him into the apartment.

“Hi Bruce,” Irene said, “You got what it takes?” she asked as she stared at him.

He stared back, her tits were out of her bra cups and she had the gusset of her panties pulled aside and was was gently wanking herself, “Only shorty here came up short.”

“We aim to please,” Stanley explained as he unzipped to show ten full inches if man meat, “You never seen nothing like fourteen inches before.”

“It’ll do me,” Sandra agreed.

“Cause that’s nothing like fourteen,” Bruce said automatically before he did a double take, “What?”

“Do me,” said Sandra, “What you waiting for big man, do me!”

“No me first,” Irene said urgently, “I’m ready.”

“You still got your knickers on,” Sandra countered, “Do me.”

“One at a time ladies,” Bruce insisted, “Now who wants Grosser Knackwurst?” he asked as he unzipped to show his monster cock, not quite ten inches but bigger round than most girls fists.

“I go, you knock,” Miguel insisted.

“Ohhhh, that’s too much!” Sandra gulped.

“You know what they say Sand,” Irene gasped, “Too much of a good thing is wonderful! come here big boy!”

Bruce stepped forward and knelt down in front of Irene, “Where’s the condies ladies?” he asked

A key rattled, the door opened, Miguel stood there apologetically, “Sorry, I forgot, here is box of hundred, you tell when want more, is enough for now.”

“You got large?” Bruce asked.

“Is none your business,” Miguel retorted.

“Condies, large XL comprendi?” Stanley explained as he grabbed the plain unbranded box and pulled out a foil pack, “Oh they’re Mates, they’re fine, I can’t fit in a durex.”

“It’s all right for you!” Bruce complained as Stan chucked him a condom, “Yours is like a pipe cleaner!”

“Oi, don’t listen at the keyhole,” Sandra advised, “Dirty bugger!”

“It fits!” Irene exclaimed as she triumphantly peeled the condom down over Bruce’s straining shaft, “Stick it in me big boy.”

“Uhhhh,” Sandra sighed as Stan eased his length up her sopping hole, “Oh that’s so good, like a pint of Tetleys that.”

“Amber nectar English style,” Bruce confirmed, “Christ you’re bloody tight Sheila.”

“Try again,” Irene suggested.

“Bloody relax,” Bruce prompted, “Jesus its like trying to screw a keyhole.”

“So suck me tits or something,” Irene suggested, “I’m a woman not a blow up doll.”

“Jesus,” Bruce sighed, “Hey Stan can I have a poke at your’s?”

“Yeah, swapsies, why not?” Stanley confirmed as he humped away at Sandra’s ever loosening fuck hole, “Ready, three, two, one.”

Stanley pulled out of Sandra with an audible ‘plop’ “Hey,” she cried, “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No,” said Stan and Bruce together as they changed places.

“Ohhhh fuck that’s too too big!” Sandra cooed, “Oh fucking jesus!” she exclaimed as the sheer size of Bruce’s cock overwhelmed her.

“Oh thats nice,” Irene exclaimed as Stanley slid his cock easily where Bruce’s had been too fat to go.

“Nice and tight like a Roo’s arse,” Stanley joked, “Hey I’m only joking,” he said, “I never poked a Roo’s arse in me life, never poked a Roo at all come to think of it.”

“Oh Bruce, that’s wonderful,” Sandra insisted.

“Oh Stan, that’s perfect.” Irene replied.

“Oh Bruce that’s better than perfect,” Sandra suggested.

“If we wanted marks out if ten we’d have gone on Australia’s got talent, put a sock in it the pair of you.” Stanley suggested.

“Couple of gasps wouldn’t hurt but,” Bruce added, “Maybe fake an O or something.”

“Fake one, gee I reckon I just had one,” Sandra insisted, “Come on cowboy ride me.”

“Wrong continent Sand,” Irene insisted before the waves of impending orgasm swept over her and her mind dissolved like surf crashing on the rocks.

“Right, better get some Tinnies in.” Stan said a while later as he wiped his cock and zippered up his pants, “See you round maybe?”

“Later?” Irene queried.

“Yeah maybe,” Stan replied, “Too ra loo.”

“Oh,” Irene exclaimed as they shut the door, “Right, no bloody box of roses then.”

Miguel knocked, “I have your lunch Misses,” he said as he eased the door open, “Just a light lunch, you like?”

“Salad,” Irene said disappointedly, “What do you think we are Rabbits?”

“You were bonking like one!” Sandra exclaimed.

“And after I have gentlemen to meet you,” Miguel exclaimed.

Sandra took a few leaves and a tomato and sat on the bed munching away while taking sips of Orange juice.

“It’s not bad for rabbit food,” Irene commented as she munched lettuce washed down with 35% proof Vodka and Orange juice.

Miguel returned a few minutes later, “You wanted to meet more boys yes?” he asked.

“On the beach maybe,” Sandra admitted as she tried to stand up, failed and sprawled across the bed again.

“I have Mr John Smith and his brother to meet you,” he said.

John stepped smartly into the apartment, “Charmed I’m sure,” he said, “Don’t waste much time eh!” he said as he admired Sandra’s bare tits.

“No, is best not waste time time is money,” Miguel agreed.

“I’ll hang my jacket in the wardrobe if that’s all right,” John said, “You’ve met my brother John I take it?”

“John’s brother, John?” Irene asked, “That’s weird.”

“Hi, I’m John,” John said as he came in, “That’s Mike my brother.”

“John’s brother John is called Mike?” Sandra queried.

“It makes sense,” Irene agreed drunkenly as she watched the Johns take off their jackets and hang them neatly before slipping their shoes and socks off and systematically undressing.

“You prossie strippers or something, only you’re all synchronised or whatever?” Irene queried.

“Sas,” John replied, “Sturrock Andersson Sturock solicitors!” he joked, “So which one of you lovelies is giving me a blow job.”

“Neither we want you cock inside us!” Sandra insisted.

“We came to get fucked,” Irene explained.

“Sea Sand and fucked,” Sandra added.

“Right?” John exclaimed in mild confusion, “Eenie Meenie Miney, Mo,” and by that time his brother John who was Mike really had Sandra pressed firmly against the en suite door post as he fumbled with a reluctant Mates condom as he tried to roll it on inside out.

“For fucks sake stick the bastard in me,” Sandra said seductively in her best Yorkshire accent as the other John rolled his condom neatly onto his shaft while gazing into Irene’s rather bleary brown eyes while trying to avoid the alcoholic fumes she expelled with every breath.

“Oooohhh that’s champion,” Irene agreed as John eased his cock between her eager cunt lips, “Squeeze me tits or something can’t you.”

“It’s all right for you, you got the bed,” Sandra complained, “You, Oooooh, want to, Agghhh, Oooohh that’s nice,” she said and she forgot about complaining and decided to enjoy her holiday instead.

John and John stayed a while, they put channel 4 (Horse) racing on the TV which surprised Irene as she never realised they could get UK channel 4 in Spain.

The 4.30 from Kempton Park provided the perfect build up to renewed love making, with John fucking Irene while John fucked Sandra, at least that’s what Sandra thought at the time.

John threw his used condom in the waste paper bin, combed his hair and pulled on his socks, “I’ll look you up again,” he lied as he continued to dress, and then he was immaculate as before, “Right back to the office and head for home!” he exclaimed, “Bye!”

Miguel brought food as soon as the Johns left, “Is good yes, Fish and Chip?”

“Might as well have gone to Skeggy,” Sandra admitted.

“I have the fancy dress and toys for you,” Miguel announced, “See,” and he held up two sexy waitress uniforms and a double ended dildo.

I lay still and quiet, pensive, studying the way the morning light cast a golden glow upon Tiffany’s wavy blonde locks. Her hair was down, free and natural, mussed from sleep and midnight passions.

“Updo girl,” I mused, remembering how I had first come to think of her.

I smiled. Now she was just Tif, and we were lovers. I snuggled in more closely against her. We were both naked and I lay with my face against her neck. It was one week after the gang bang assignment with Victoria.

Tiffany had returned a day after that night.

I had told her everything.

We had spent the past week in relative seclusion with each other, spending the nights together in her room. We had been given “time off” to recover from our activities.

I think that Tif probably had more fun frolicking around the Caribbean than I had experienced at Victoria’s beck and call. I had kept my directed appointment at the medical facility downstairs, and I now sported a sexy new tongue stud. Just as Brentwood had said, there was little recovery time after the procedure. I was adjusting to the feel of it. My speech was still a little affected, but I would soon overcome that. Its presence would soon be a trifle, more normal than not.

Tif certainly enjoyed it last night when my face was buried between her thighs.

She had said afterward that the feel of me flicking the stud against her clit, coupled with the image of me that she played in her mind while I licked her, drove her wild. Apparently it was a “hot button” for her.

I once again wore my intimate chain, connected between the piercing in my navel and in my clit hood.

My clue that Tif was awake too was an affectionate whisper from her as she slid one hand down to rest it upon my hip.

“Hey you,” she said.

“Mmm…” I murmured.

“We need to find Victoria’s weakness. Everyone has one, or more than one,” she said.

“Victoria’s secret, I wonder what it is,” I said.

We both laughed softly.

“But, yes, I agree, though we have to be very careful. I don’t want to risk Jos, or you,” I said.

Tif spoke again.

“What about the Masquerade, and Brentwood? You said that she said not to choose me over her publicly. I think she probably meant something like refusing her something openly with others present, especially if it involves me. Inviting me instead of her might not violate her rules… Fuck, I hate this Vi. I wish I could fix it, but I can’t think of a way without risking your migration partner,” she said.

“I know,” I whispered, playing my fingers against her stomach.

I started to slide my hand lower, but paused, sensing that the mood might not be right.

“And what the hell is it with her peeing on you or peeing in your mouth. Do you think it’s a fetish she has, or is she doing it just to humiliate you?” Tif asked.

“A little of both I think,” I replied.

“But you like a lot of what she does, don’t you?” Tif coaxed.

“Yes, you know I do. I don’t know why – it’s just how I am, but I don’t care about her. I care about you, a lot…” I said.

Tif hugged me.

“I care about you a lot too. Maybe we have a future together after this is all over – when our debt is paid, I mean,” she said.

I replied, “I think I would like that very much. We have about ten years to get through before then though…”

We kissed.

“I smell… pussy,” Tif said.

“Sorry,” I said. “I…”

“Don’t be,” she whispered. “It’s fucking hot.”

We kissed more deeply and Tif suckled my tongue.

“I love that stud. Remind me to send a thank you note to Brentwood,” Tif teased.

“And we both smell like pussy,” she cooed softly.

“Let’s shower then, and maybe get something to eat. No pun intended!” I said, kissing the tip of her nose.

“Sounds good,” Tif said enthusiastically.

She slipped from bed, pulling me playfully along behind her.

“What’s mine is yours, as long as you’re mine,” she said, turning her head to glance at me with her expressive green eyes.

“I’m yours,” I said. “No matter what else happens or who it happens with… I just hope that you are strong enough to keep wanting me.”

The shower was awesome. One thing that could be said for our apartment building was that it offered excellent water pressure, and a seemingly endless volume of hot water. We soaped each other and rinsed, playing our hands over each other’s bodies. Shampooing each other’s hair was next, with a few shoulder kisses added for affection. One thing lead to another and I soon found myself backed up against one wall of the shower with three of Tif’s fingers pushed up inside my pussy.

Her thumb danced delightfully over my clit.

I was squirming, and rocking my hips against her efforts.

She took control – the way she knew I liked it, and she pinned me firmly between her and the shower wall. Tif was about four inches taller than me, stronger and more voluptuous.

I was the lithe dancer and she was the leggy bombshell.

She began to truly ravish me. Her fingers and thumb were relentless in and against my sex, bringing me roughly to a hard sharp climax.

I whimpered and clung with my arms around her neck as my pussy clenched on her fingers again and again, until I went limp against her.

“That’s my girl,” she murmured. “I like it when you cum for me.”

I hugged her a little more tightly.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Along with a toothbrush, I had stashed some clean panties and a few basic items of clothing in Tif’s room. Most of the time I did not wear wear a bra unless for something formal or when the bra itself was my outer wear. For outer wear, I usually opted for a bralette.

We talked while we dressed.

“Victoria has her little clique, and connections spread throughout Chalis; otherwise, she wouldn’t know what she knows and she wouldn’t be able to make the threats she makes. We need to learn her network – who she deals with, and whether they are allies or pawns in her game. As the saying goes, knowledge is power,” she said.

What do you think?” Tif asked.

I replied, “I think that we can’t let her suspect anything. It will take time, and we will need to be consummate actresses in order to outsmart her. Either that, or we will need to get really lucky…”

Tif’s NetDisplay started beeping. She went over and tapped the screen and started reading.

Once I finished pulling up my exercise shorts, I padded up beside her and peered at the screen too.

“Brentwood is calling a meeting of all girls on premises – in the cafeteria, thirty minutes from now,” Tif summarized aloud.

“I wonder what it’s about,” I said.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Tif replied. “Let’s head there now and beat the rush!”

“Race you!” I said, grinning.


Violet and Tiffany came bounding down the stairs toward the cafeteria with Violet in the lead by just a few steps. For a brief moment they were just two young women caught up in a moment, engaged in a playful competition. They were excited and happy together. Tif caught Violet just as they both reached the back of the line inside the cafeteria. There were only a few girls ahead of them. Violet grabbed a tray and lifted it over her head and pranced.

“I win!” she said.

“Ok, you win,” Tif laughed softly. “What prize do you want?”

“Mmm… just you,” Violet said, conveying more with her light gray eyes than with the simple words.

“Done,” replied Tif.

“Good,” said Violet, blushing slightly before turning back to the serving line.

Soon enough the cafeteria had filled and roughly a hundred girls were scattered around at the different tables, engaged in eating their breakfasts, talking, whispering, eyeing each other. A few were quiet, but most chatted animatedly amongst themselves. The main topic seemed to be guessing the reason for the gathering. It was easy enough to see some of the more obvious cliques and circles among the girls.

Tif nudged Violet with her elbow.

“Remember, observe everything, especially relative to you know who.”

Tif shifted her eyes pointedly in the direction where Victoria sat with Chelsea and Melissa, and a few other girls whom Violet did not recognize.

Violet glanced surreptitiously over in the direction Tif was indicating. She saw a very pretty black girl sitting at the table with Victoria and her crew, but the girl seemed a little withdrawn, not part of Victoria’s clique, at least not yet.

Just then, Victoria glanced toward Violet and their gazes locked. Victoria made a kiss gesture to Violet with her lips and smirked, then turned back to her inner circle.

The black girl must have noticed Victoria’s action because she turned her head to look toward Violet and Tif.

Violet noticed the other girl’s eyes then, for they had been genetically and surgically altered to look like a cat’s eyes. Violet wondered whether the girl had undergone any other modifications to make her more feline in appearance.

There was a stir near the cafeteria main doors accompanied by a sudden anticipatory quiet, and then Director Brentwood made his entrance. He was accompanied by a very sophisticated, elegant looking woman. She appeared to be about his age; in her early to middle forties, and she was dressed professionally in a woman’s business suit and fabulous, very expensive looking black heels. Her hair was the natural color of gray that some people gained early and which gave an air of wisdom and sophistication to the person, especially in conjunction with their otherwise still quite vital appearance.

Brentwood and the woman moved to a central point in the cafeteria and turned to each other, conferring quietly for a moment, and then Brentwood turned to address the gathering.

Tiffany and Violet were, luckily, or unluckily, sitting directly to the left of Brentwood, with noone between the Director and themselves.

Violet edged a little closer to Tif, leaning against her, as the more passive partner in a relationship is wont to do.

“Good morning girls,” Brentwood began.

“I have a few announcements to make. Most of you will like most of them,” he said.

He actually smiled with genuine warmth as he looked around the room.

There were various responses from around the cafeteria as some of the girls replied to Brentwood’s greeting.

Violet and Tiffany both chimed in, “Good morning Director Brentwood.”

Brentwood turned toward Violet and Tiffany and allowed his gaze to linger there for a moment, as if assessing something. He nodded to the pair and then looked back to the general gathering.

He began speaking.

“First, for those of you who do not yet know her, I would like to introduce Dr. Ahlgren. She does not step out in public often, but she knows every one of you better than you know yourselves. Dr. Ahlgren is our chief Psychologist here at Chalis, and she personally makes the final decisions on each applicant or pair of applicants regarding acceptance into our programs. Each of you is subject to periodic interviews with Dr. Ahlgren to assess your mental and emotional states. You will cooperate, and obey her directions as you would my own,” he stated.

Brentwood continued speaking.

“Next, as you know, our annual Masquerade event is nearing. This year’s theme is ‘Saints and Sinners’ and the main party will begin at Club Gothic. I will be posting a sign-up list in the Main Hall, here in your building, for all of you to access. The usual crop of CEOs, executives, and media stars, as well as a few foreign dignitaries will be attending. I expect to see one or two of your names filled in next to each person on the guest list by seven days from now. I have indicated the preferred number of girls by each name based on known client preferences. Don’t disappoint me. Work it out amongst yourselves. For the first two days, only the senior girls, those here for longer than five years, may sign up. After that time, the list is open to all. I am exercising my executive privelege of choosing who will accompany me personally to the Masquerade. This year, I will be attended by Violet, and… Tiffany,” he said.

There was a slight buzz among some of the girls but it ended quickly.

Brentwood made this choice even though he had originally given Violet the opportunity to decide which other girl would join them. He preferred real passion and desire between two girls when engaged in group sex with them. He felt that reality offered a far more enriching experience than when the girls were simply putting on an act. It was clear by the body language between the pair that they were lovers.

Violet looked first at Tiffany, and smiled, but then she glanced worriedly toward Victoria.

Victoria’s expression was very dark and brooding. She did not look at Violet, but rather leaned to whisper something in Chelsea’s ear.

Chelsea in turn looked at Violet and smirked wickedly, then shifted her attention back to Brentwood, who had begun speaking again.

“Not long after the Masquerade – the exact date is not yet set, we will be having our quarterly Ops weekend. I know that this event is popular with some of you as it is an opportunity to reacquaint briefly with your migration partner, if that is something you wish to do. Otherwise, our Ops boys build up a lot of excess sexual energy, with little outlet. We enforce a very strict training regimen. Those boys need some pussy now and again, and it’s up to you all to provide it,” he said.

Brentwood paused while some mostly warm and understanding laughter ensued among the girls.

Brentwood raised a hand and continued speaking.

“Finally, I want to remind you all of the constant evaluation and monitoring of performance we maintain on each of you, and that good performance and financial results will be recognized. We will also be shuffling room assignments somewhat in the near future. If some of you want joint rooms, and your performance warrants the reward, we will make that happen. That is all,” he finished.

Brentwood spoke softly to Dr. Ahlgren briefly and then both of them turned and made their way from the cafeteria.

Tiffany and Violet attempted to make a discreet quick exit by blending into the crowd of girls who were now leaving the cafeteria, but they were unsuccessful.

Violet felt a hand clasp upon her arm, and turned to see Chelsea restraining her.

Victoria passed by Tiffany and whispered in Tiffany’s ear, “I’m going to take her away from you, or ruin her, or both…”

Violet saw anger flare in Tif’s expression, though Violet had not heard what Victoria had whispered. Violet shook her head slightly, communicating to Tif that it was ok, to “let it go”. They both knew that this would happen, and that it was something that they would need to work hard to overcome.

Tiffany looked at Violet and the pair exchanged silent communication.

After a moment, Tif turned and joined in with the overall exodus from the cafeteria, leaving Violet once again in the clutches of Victoria and her crew.

“Let’s all go play in my room,” Victoria said wickedly. “Melissa, you’re not needed this time, but, Niobe, you are.”

Violet turned to see the black girl with cat’s eyes assessing her.

“I like to play,” Niobe replied.

Niobe’s voice was sultry, deeply feminine, and somehow affected such that she sounded like she was purring each word forth as she spoke it.

Violet felt an anticipatory rush of heat and moisture begin between her legs as the foursome made their way upstairs toward Victoria’s room, and hated herself for it, every step of the way.

Do you know how sheep get lost?

One nibble at a time.

That’s exactly how it happened to me. My name’s Janie. I was 24 at the time. I got myself into debt with my credit cards. It was my fault, I’ll admit it. I wasn’t careful. Before I knew it, I was in over my head.

It’s the same, sad song plenty of others have sung in this crazy country. What was different in my case was the change in bankruptcy laws that took effect the year before, in 2028. No more bankruptcies for individuals, the government said. Only for corporations.

With the privatization of prisons, and the re-establishment of debtor’s prisons at around that time, it sure looked like I’d run out of choices. I was sure some filthy, scummy prison had to be in my future. I had visions of sharing a cell with some musclebound dyke who would sit on my face every night as she fucked my asshole with her chubby fingers. Not my idea of a good time (though if it’s yours, don’t worry – I won’t judge).

When you’re afraid you’ve got no more choices, and a stranger appears out of the blue to offer you one, what do you do? You take it.

My savior, it seemed, was Mrs. Lockhart. My overworked legal-services lawyer introduced her a few days before I was scheduled to go to trial.

Mrs. Lockhart was all business. She looked like some high-priced corporate lawyer in her tailored gray suit. She was tall, blond-haired and gorgeous. What really stood out about her, though, was her high-heeled designer shoes. I would have called them “fuck me” pumps.

Turns out, it wasn’t Mrs. Lockhart who was about to get fucked — big time. But, how could I have known that?

Mrs. Lockhart told me she was working for a pilot program, an alternative to traditional incarceration. Her company, a government contractor, was looking for females in their twenties and early thirties to volunteer for a new kind of pre-trial intervention program. Young women like me could work off their debt by hiring themselves out as domestic servants to rich people.

No prison. Wow. I’d be willing to push a vacuum cleaner for a couple years to avoid that.

I’m interested, I said. Tell me more.

Just come with me to the information session, said Mrs. Lockhart. She laid a form on the table. Just sign here, it’s a standard release. I signed without reading the small print.

Big mistake.

Next thing I knew, I was sitting in a van with tinted windows, along with four other women about my own age. Mrs. Lockhart was in the front seat, along with the driver. They were separated from us by a think, plastic partition like they have in taxicabs. It was only then that I noticed the doors had no handles on the inside.

Not good.

We drove for a couple hours, way out into the country. We pulled up at a gate in a chain-link fence topped with razor wire. The driver flashed some kind of pass at a bar-code reader. The gate slid open automatically, then closed behind us.

Really not good.

We pulled up at a low, cinderblock building with very small windows, way up high. We got out. Another bar-code reader, another automatic door closing behind us.

Next thing I knew, our little group of five had been ushered into a small auditorium, joining about a dozen other women, all in their twenties or early thirties. Unlike the plain, run-down exterior of the building, this room was all rich-looking wood paneling and very comfortable seats.

Mrs. Lockhart walked up on stage in her fuck-you pumps. She pulled out some kind of remote, pushed a button, and a screen rose up from the floor behind her with a soft, whirring sound.

“Welcome, ladies,” she said, showing brilliant white teeth behind her tight-lipped smile. It might as well have been a Mary Kay sales meeting. “You are at a corporate retreat center owned by my employer, the Halliburton Corporation. As you may know, we are a government contractor. In 2026, through a series of mergers and acquisitions, we became the largest contractor operating prisons for the government.”

Mrs. Lockhart pushed a button on her remote. The lights dimmed and our seats automatically reclined like we were in some amusement-park ride. A video lit the screen.

A Halliburton logo appeared before us, then the words, “Distributed Incarceration: Better Corrections Through Chemistry.”

The short video was all about the overcrowding in the prison system. It told how Halliburton had been awarded a government contract to farm out inmates to private citizens, who would pay for the cost of their incarceration in exchange for “personal services.” The video showed a silver-haired business-executive type, accepting a glass of whisky off a silver tray, held by a very good-looking young woman dressed sort of like a first-class flight attendant. I did notice she had really big boobs, and was showing a good bit of cleavage.

The lights came back up, and a ditzy blonde in the front row put up her hand. Mrs. Lockhart looked annoyed. “Yes?”

“There’s something I don’t understand, Mrs. Lockhart. Why are you showing us a video about inmates, when we haven’t even gone to trial yet?”

Mrs. Lockhart’s voice was all sweetness and light, but the meaning of her words was anything but. “My dear, the release form you signed has the legal force of a guilty plea. As far as the law is concerned, you already are an inmate. Halliburton is certain you will all prefer the choice you have just made, and that you will enter the Distributed Incarceration pilot program. In the event you think otherwise, we are willing to consider your request that the court transfer you to a more traditional prison.”

“Shit,” I heard the woman next to me whisper under her breath. “We already signed up for this place, and didn’t even know it.”

My mind raced on to consider the choice that was now before me. Posh auditorium seats and track lighting, on the one hand. Or Spike, the iron-pumping lesbian-linebacker cellmate, on the other. Which one to choose? I had a sudden vision of Spike perched on the edge of the stainless-steel toilet, beckoning me with a tattooed finger: “Aw, come on over here, Sugar, your tongue is so much better at cleaning off my soggy cunt-hairs than toilet paper.”

The choice seemed obvious, even if Mrs. Lockhart had been underhanded in getting us to sign that form.

Turned out, when it came to underhandedness, we didn’t know the half of it.

I remember sitting in a small, windowless interview room — no handle on the inside of the door — waiting for Mrs. Lockhart to come in and “process” me. I felt really, really tired all of a sudden. “What’s that strange smell in this room?” I thought to myself, even as I lay my head down on my forearm and drifted off to sleep.

I woke up feeling groggy, in a hospital bed, in another windowless room. No handle on the inside of that door, either, of course.

There was a TV and a remote. I reached out and clicked it. Mrs. Lockhart was on the TV. On every channel.

“Greetings, Distributed Incarcerations pilot program volunteer. You have just undergone a medical procedure to implant Halliburton’s patented medication mini-pump into your upper chest.”

I reached up and felt around the base of my neck. My fingers touched surgical sutures at a spot near my collarbone.

“The tiny, implanted pump releases small amounts of medication into your body on a continuous basis. The effect of this medication is to cause steadily increasing waves of nausea and general malaise. This will become disabling in time, if not headed off by a counter-dose of medication administered by your host. You will need this rescue dose approximately every 48 hours, before the symptoms start to manifest themselves.”

“Shit,” I thought to myself. “This thing is moving way faster than I could imagine.”

Mrs. Lockhart’s face continued to smile back at me from the TV. “You can think of this system as a chemical version of an electronic ankle-bracelet. Some have described it as a 21st century chain gang, but without the chains. Unless, of course, chains turn you on — or have the same effect on your host.” (Did Talking Lockhart-head on the screen just wink at me?)

“This innovative program,” she continued, “takes inmates out of the prison system and places them in private homes. The convicts work as something like domestic servants. They perform personal services for the host until their debt to society is paid. In exchange, the host agrees to provide the prisoner with room and board. For services rendered, as it were.”

Mrs. Lockhart’s talking head was replaced by a cartoon diagram of a woman’s naked upper chest, with an arrow pointing to the spot near the collarbone where I’d just felt those sutures. It didn’t escape my attention that Cartoon Woman had extremely large, perfectly-proportioned breasts.

“The drug released by the mini-pump is a unique chemical match to the drug the host will administer at least once every 48 hours. As long as the dose is administered within the time frame, the program participant will feel normal. If the dose is delayed, the unpleasant symptoms will insure that the participant does not stray far from the host.”

Next, a cartoon image of a naked man appeared on the screen. He was sporting a rather large erection.

Suddenly, I could see where this was going. “Oh — my — God,” I whispered to myself, very slowly.

“The host takes a daily pill orally, that transforms his body into a medication-delivery system. The medication collects in his prostate gland, and, prior to ejaculation, mingles with his semen. It is absorbed into the program participant’s body through one of three portals: her mouth, her vagina or her rectum. The choice of which portal to use is up to the host.”

“Fuck,” I whispered to myself — instantly realizing how oddly appropriate was my choice of expletive.

“There are two more ingredients in this innovative medication cocktail,” Mrs. Lockhart continued, her image now restored to the screen in a full-body version. She was dressed, now, in a lab coat, but still wearing her fuck-you pumps. “A mildly narcotic additive creates a feeling of well-being. A second additive is a highly-effective oral contraceptive.”

The Halliburton corporate logo appeared on the screen. “The Distributed Corrections system, by Halliburton: better incarceration through chemistry.”

The TV clicked off. A few hours later, a male orderly appeared and delivered a tray of food. I tried to get him to talk to me, but he said nothing.

A nurse appeared at intervals and checked my vitals. She had nothing to say, and didn’t respond to my questions. I wondered if she even spoke English.

A day passed, then another — and, let me tell you, everything that video promised about horrendous side-effects began to come true. The nausea grew worse by the hour. I began to get some really weird hallucinations: insects crawling on my skin, truly psycho stuff. God, I wanted that awful feeling to go away.

After several hours of agony, the door to my room abruptly opened. A middle-aged man in a lab coat entered. “You must be Janie,” said he, in an expressionless voice.

“That would be me,” I whispered through gritted teeth, feeling like I was about to puke my guts out.

“We regret having to put you through the withdrawal symptoms,” he explained, “but it’s part of the protocol. You need to experience what withdrawal feels like, so you’ll be properly motivated to cooperate with the program requirements. You will be relieved to know I’ve been dosed with the oral medication unique to your treatment plan. I am prepared to administer your rescue dose. Please stand up and remove your hospital gown.”

I had only one thing on my mind, and that was making that terrible feeling go away. I felt oddly detached from my own self as I stood beside the bed and loosened the cloth tie behind my neck. I shrugged and shimmied, watching the flimsy gown puddle around my ankles. There I stood, in all my bare-naked glory.

Without thinking, I let my hand drift in front of me, discretely covering my thick brown patch of pussy-hair. Then I realized the absurdity of the gesture. No point in covering up what the Halliburton Corporation already owned. I let my hand drift back to my side.

“Good girl,” said Mr. Technician.

I watched as he unbuttoned his lab coat and let it fall to the floor. Only then did I realize that fucker wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He was fifty-something, with an immensely hairy body and a pot-belly. A pair of half-glasses perched on the end of his nose.

I’ll bet he thought the sex-gods were smiling on him when he landed this job.

He sat on the edge of my bed, absentmindedly playing with himself, coaxing his equipment into a semi-hard state. “Kneel,” he ordered, pointing to the patch of floor between his feet. “Be a good little girl, open wide and say ‘Ah.’”

I did as he commanded. His short, thick cock was pointed directly at my face. A shiny droplet was hanging from the softly puckered slit. God, I wanted to taste that pre-cum more than anything in the world.

I stuck out my tongue and licked the drop up, smacking my lips to let him know I wanted more. Then, slowly and deliberately, I swirled my tongue around the cockhead, before opening wide and devouring his entire shaft. I haven’t exactly been Ms. Party Girl in the past, but I have had a social life. One thing I’ve learned is how to keep on taking it, inch by inch, until my lips are pressed up against the guy’s pubes.

I don’t think H. Wellington Science-Nerd was expecting that. His gasp of pleasure, followed by his grunts and heavy breathing, confirmed it.

It didn’t take him long. When the thick wad of his cum hit the back of my throat, I swallowed every drop. Who was I to let a good drug-hit go to waste?

Almost immediately, a glowing warmth suffused my body. All symptoms of nausea ceased and I was struck by a feeling of well-being. I licked the sticky cum from each of my fingers, one by one. I looked up at him and flashed a mischievous little smile. “I forgot to ask your name.”

“The protocol suggests you address me as ‘Master.’”

“Thank you, Master,” said I.

And I meant it.

To be continued…

Greg and Annie were amazed at the size of JFK airport. They had flown into LaGuardia when they came to NY on the Attorney Barker’s private plane. The driver took them to a VIP entrance, so they did not have to stand in long lines. There was a customs official there who cleared them and directed to the first class passenger’s lounge. The lounge had a complete buffet of food. They filled their plates and sat at a table overlooking the runway.

As the flight time approached a beautiful young Italian woman in a knee length dress and jacket walked toward their table. Both Annie and Greg were instantly struck with her beauty. Black velvet hair reached half way down her back. Her beautiful dark eyes complete with eyeliner and shadow seemed to reach across the room to them. As she reached their table she said, welcome to Alitalia Airlines. My name is Caterina and I will be your hostess for your flight.” She told them they would board just before takeoff, after the other passengers were all in place.

As she left to check on the status of the flight, she turned and said, you are the only first class passengers tonight, so you will have my undivided attention. I hope to take care of your every need between here and Italy.” She looked at Greg and licked her upper lip. Annie wasn’t sure what that meant, but Greg had to wonder if Mrs. Blair had given her special instructions.

As she walked away, Annie watched Greg watching Caterina and said, “You seem to be very attentive to the sway of her ass. So what was that licking of the upper lip about?

“How would I know, maybe she had something on her lip.”

“Or maybe she wanted something in her mouth, like that bulge in your pants that she kept looking at.”

“Sisters always have such imaginations.” They both laughed.

A few minutes later Caterina returned to escort them to the plane. As they entered the plane, Caterina introduced them to the co-pilot, Andino. He was as handsome as Caterina was beautiful. Now it was Greg’s turn to watch Annie as she quickly checked out the handsome co-pilot. Andino personally escorted Annie to her seat and said, “I hope you enjoy the flight.” When he looked back, before entering the cockpit, Annie licked her uppers lip. Andino smiled and continued into the cockpit.

“So, now look who’s licking the lip?” Greg said. They both laughed again and buckled in for the long night’s flight.

Once they were in the air, Caterina came to determine what they would like for dessert. Annie said “How about a date with the co-pilot?”

“That could probably be arranged,” Caterina said. “He is married, but his wife is very flexible and willing to share.” Annie was a little shocked with the answer, but excited about the possibilities.

After they had dessert, Annie moved across the aisle to stretch out for the night. Caterina brought her a pillow and covered her with a blanket. Greg decided to work on his computer for a while. Pretty soon, he could hear by Annie’s breathing that she was sound asleep. Caterina sat down beside him and asked him what he was working on.

I am editing some pictures I took of a friend. Caterina looked at the screen and said “Wow, that is a great shot of Mrs. Blair.” I get to see her every time she flies to Tuscany.

“Have you known her long?”

“Our families have known each other for many generations. Many of my family members work for companies she owns in Italy and also for some of the Blair companies. She is one of my favorite people. She has helped many people in this country get an education and has provided many the opportunity for good employment. I need to check on something. When I come back, could I see more of your photography?”

“Certainly, in fact, I have some you will really enjoy that I took several years ago.”

When Caterina returned, Greg noticed she had removed her jacket and had a blanket around her shoulders. As she sat down, he saw the top of her breasts, since the dress she was wearing was topless and revealed a lot of cleavage. The lights had been turned off for the night flight, so most of the light was coming from his laptop. There was just enough light in the aisle to see shadows. He looked across the aisle and saw Annie snuggled in her blanket.

Fortunately, he had the pictures from Mrs. Blair’s daughter’s wedding and the portfolio pictures for one of her bridesmaids. He had many pictures he did not plan to show her. She was fascinated as she watched the pictures. In orders to position herself better to see the picture, she kicked off one shoe and put her leg under herself. In the process her skirt hiked itself (with what appeared to be a little intentional effort) high enough to reveal where here stockings met the garter. Greg slanted the screen a little bit more her way and the light from the screen lit up her leg, breast and face. She was leaning so close to Greg that their faces were almost touching. She put a hand on his thigh to study her. Her hand was less than an inch from his erection, which was totally expanded.

She couldn’t believe the beautiful portfolio shots and asked, “Would you take those kind of pictures of me sometime?”

Greg looked into her eyes and told her how beautiful she was and how much he would love to photograph her.

“Do you have any pictures of women you have photographed in the nude?”

“Is that the way you would like to be photographed?” Greg asked as he mentally undressed the beautiful woman sitting beside him.”

“It is something I have always wanted to do and I hear you are the best. Do you have some nude photos I could see?”

Greg decided to show her the pictures of Jane that he had taken form the penthouse in NY. When he got to the picture he had photoshopped that made it look like Jane was nude on the boat sailing up the East river, Caterina moved her hand to rest on Greg’s Cock. He decided two could play that game and ran his right hand up her stocking covered thigh until he reached the bare flesh. Caterina started moving her hand up and down his cock while his hand moved higher. He was amazed not to find underpants blocking his way as he began to run his finger up and down her slit. As he slipped his finger inside, she began to moan and was moving against his hand. All of a sudden Caterina asked him to stop. He did as he was requested, but was confused why the signals suddenly changed.

Caterina said, “I didn’t realize I would get this excited and I was very near an orgasm.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It is in the plane. The problem is I am a screamer when I have an orgasm. If I let you take me to an orgasm, I will wake up every one in he plane. We will find another time to let you hear me scream.

“Maybe photography day will be about more than taking pictures.” Greg responded.

“We still have plenty of flight time tonight.” Caterina said as she unzipped Greg’s slacks and released his cock. She started to stroke it before placing her lips over the head of Greg’s cock.

She stroked harder and harder until Greg whispered “I am about to cum.” She did not let off as Greg shot cum down her throat and she continued till she sucked him dry.

Annie had been watching the shadows for several minutes, although Greg thought she was asleep. Just as he exploded into Caterina’s mouth, Greg looked toward Annie and she gave him a thumb’s up. Uh Oh, Busted!

Caterina had brought the blanket with her to hide what was going on in the event that anyone came into the cabin. Holding it up in front of her, she said, “the zipper is on the back of my dress. If you were to pull it down, you could examine what else you will be photographing. She leaned forward to allow Greg access to the zipper. He then put his hand under the blanket to examine the merchandise.

They heard the cockpit door open, so they both quickly sat up. It was a good thing Caterina had the blanket, because she was nude to the waist. The co-pilot came in to inform them that they would be landing in about 30 minutes. He sat down beside Annie and asked her how her flight had been. He also gave him her card and said if there was anything she needed while she was in Tuscany, to give him a call.

“Does that include you?”

“That is why I gave you my card. I was hoping we could get to know each other.” When he returned to the cockpit, Caterina asked Greg to zip up her dress and then she left the cabin.

Annie moved over beside Greg and felt his cock. “Did you save some of that for me?”

“There is always some for you and it looks like you might get some from the co-pilot.”

They were really getting to enjoy flying.

Caterina came to get them to escort them to the valet parking. When they arrived there was a silver Lamborghini “She handed them the keys and said, “Your luggage is already in the trunk. Looking at Greg, she asked if he was an early morning person? When he acknowledged, he was, she said “I would love to be photographed at sunrise on a remote beach. I know just the spot.”

Greg responded, “How about tomorrow morning?”

“That would be great.” Turning to Annie, she said “I know the co-pilot has the day off tomorrow if you would like company for breakfast. The chef at the villa where you are staying happens to know his favorite foods.” She kissed them both on the cheek and told Greg that she would pick him up at 5:45 a.m.

When they got in the car, a voice said, “What is the name of the driver?”

When he got over the shock, he said “Greg Johnson”

The voice asked, “Do you prefer to be called Greg or Mr. Johnson?”

“Mr. Johnson is my father, just call me Greg.”

“You have a sense of humor. What is the name of the passenger?”

Annie responded with “Annie”

The voice said, “Please adjust the seats to your most comfortable position and Greg, would you please adjust the mirrors and the tilt of the steering wheel?” When they had completed the settings, the voice said, “I will automatically set them for you each time you drive the car. The first time you sit in the opposite seat, you will each need to adjust that seat. Annie, if you would like to lie back, just say ‘Lie Back’ and when you are ready to sit up, just say ‘Sit Up’ and I will bring you back to the sitting position. What is your destination?” Annie gave the voice the address of the villa. The trip will take a little over an hour depending on your speed. If at any point, you would like to rest or enjoy the scenery, just say “Take Over” and I will remotely drive you to your location. When you leave the parking lot, turn right and go to the end of the street.”

Greg and Annie just looked at each other in amazement as they left the parking lot and continued down the street. The voice would advise them when they were within 100 feet of a turn in town or 1 kilometer on the open highway. As they drove along some winding highway, Greg could not believe how the smoothly the Lamborghini rounded corners. He also had never experienced a car with this much power. Just over an hour after they left the parking lot, the voice said, “Your villa is the next property on the right.” They came up around the turn with Water on the left and a beautiful landscaped villa on the right. As they drove up the driveway, the garage door opened and they drove into a 3 bay garage. There were two motor scooters in one of the bays.

A butler came from the house to unload the bags and show them around the villa. He assured them that if they needed anything, they could simply call for any service or to have meals prepared.

As soon as he left, they both had the same idea. The best way to start their time in Tuscany was with a little sex. They raced to the master bedroom, tore off each other’s clothes and got in bed under the covers. Their nude bodies came together and they ravaged one another for the next hour. Exhausted from the plane trip, jet lag and sex, they both fell asleep for several hours.

Since Annie had slept more than Greg, on the plane, she woke up first. She went to open the packages of clothing that had been sent from Saks. In addition she found a tennis outfit, tennis shoes and a new Becker racket. Mrs. Blair had planned everything perfectly and it appeared she had also done some advance match making for both of them

She called Andino and invited him for breakfast. He confirmed that he would love to come for breakfast and would like to spend the day with her as her private guide if she was available. She said that would be wonderful and as she remembered the way he had looked at her and the thought of being with him all day, she could feel the wetness in her pants. As she was talking to him, she had her hand under her gown and was massaging her tits. She did not realize that Greg was standing in the doorway nude watching her.

“I always loved eavesdropping on your conversations.” He put one hand over her shoulder and started massaging the other tit. His other hand went beneath her robe and felt the moisture on her underpants. “He has you excited already, doesn’t he?”

Grabbing his fully extended cock, she asked, “Did I cause this or were you thinking about your day tomorrow with Caterina?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not at all,” she said as dropped to her knees and sucked him in. Actually she was thinking about the night that she had spent with Arlene and Frank. Frank’s cock was almost identical in size to Greg. It curved up on the end, which created exciting feelings along the top of her mouth and as it, was traveling down the inner canal.

She had gone shopping with Arlene. Arlene wanted Greg and Annie, to meet her husband Frank, so she had invited them for dinner and the evening. Arlene had been upset to learn that Greg would not be joining them. So instead of being two couples, it would be a threesome. During dinner, Arlene openly told Frank about the sex that she had shared with Greg and Annie. Annie told him how Arlene had introduced her to sex with another woman and hoped that Frank would share Arlene with her that night.

“Is Arlene the only person here you are interested in having sex with tonight?”

Annie laughed and said, “I am open to a variety of possibilities as long as I don’t have to sleep alone tonight in a strange bed.”

Arlene went up to change into nightgowns while Frank finished cleaning up the kitchen. When they returned, he was sitting on the sofa in the den and they sat down beside him. Greg had given Arlene a copy of she and Annie making love at the penthouse. Arlene put it in the DVD and started it playing. Both women watched the expression on his face and the bulge that was growing in his pants. This was a whole new Arlene to Frank and Annie’s body also excited him.

Without saying anything, Annie reached over and unbuckled Frank’s slacks. He lifted his ass enough for her to pull his pants and jockey shorts below his knees. With the pants still around his ankles, she pushed his knees apart and took hold of his cock noticing the way the end hooked upward. She licked the pre-cum and thought how it tasted different than Greg’s cum. She took his cock into her mouth like a lollypop and ran her tongues all around it. She closed her lips around the head and sucked until her face was turning red. Frank let out a sigh. He had never had a woman do that before, and a lot of women had sucked on his cock.

When Arlene and Frank were first married they were part of a key club. About 10 couples would get together for a night of eating, drinking and dancing. At the end of the night, the men all put their keys in the middle of the table. The women would then put on blindfolds and pick a set of keys and go home with the man who owned the keys. Each man would take the woman to her home the next day.

Annie them started to deep throat his cock, close her lips and pull back until the only thing in her mouth was the head. She then would take him all in again. She repeated that process several times until he could hold it no longer.

Annie was absolutely wild. She was sucking as she had never sucked before when she felt hot cum running down her throat. She started to say “Oh Frank” when she suddenly heard Greg say, “Wow, What set you off?” She told Greg, it must be Italy. She didn’t want to tell him she was thinking about another man while she was sucking his cock.

Greg decided to return the favor and buried face between Annie’s legs. He started by licking around her pussy. He then licks each lip lightly. It was like sticking little pins of anticipation into Annie. She took his head and tried to direct him into her pussy. But he would not be rushed. He continued to lick the top of her legs and the lips of her pussy. Then he started running his tongue from her ass, up the slit and pausing at her clit to press a little harder with the tongue. Greg was going slowly, because he was thinking about his date to photograph Caterina. He wondered what her pussy looked like. He knew from when she fingered her on the plane that she had a nice bush of hair and that her G spot was very sensitive. He was looking forward to hearing her yell when he brought her to the first of what he hoped would be many orgasms.

As he was taking his time, Annie was getting more agitated and began to gyrate her pussy around his mouth. He finally split the lips with his tongue and started pounding his tongue in and out like a jackhammer. He paused the hammering and closed his lips on her clit and gently stroked it with his tongue. This sent Annie into her first orgasm and Greg returned to his jackhammer technique. Annie knew who he was now. This was Greg’s unique technique that he had developed. No one else who had ever eaten her pussy could even measure. Frank had alternated the tongue and his fingers, Arlene had been very gentle, but Greg was in a class all his own. She held his head and kept rising to meet him. When she thought she could take no more, he rose up and planted his cock deep inside her. For a kid with limited experiences just a couple of weeks ago, they had explored and learned to please each other quite well.

As Greg was pounding in and out of her, he looked at her beauty and continued to wonder about what tomorrow would be with Caterina, but for now he was fucking the one he loved.

It was early afternoon and Greg had to search out the stores that would have the surveillance equipment he needed. The equipment in New York would be sent back to his home via Attorney Barker’s private plane. He knew it would never clear customs. Annie wanted to go with him to learn more about the equipment, so that they could work separate projects once the college year started. Before going to the store, they went to the Blair’s villa to scope out what would be needed. They checked with Mrs. Blair to be sure that no one would be there. She had given them the code to open the garage door and pull the car directly into the garage to avoid suspicion.

Once inside the house, they were able to plan out where camera and recorders needed to be placed.

The store he found was light years ahead of anything he had found in N.Y. The camera and recorders could be placed almost anywhere without detection and had computer software that could get into phones and cell phones and record multiple conversations at one time. Each phone you wanted to monitor had its file in the computer and recording took place on all incoming and outgoing calls giving all callers identifications.

They returned to the villa and placed enough equipment inside to monitor every move. As Annie wandered around the villa, she said, “I could live here while I study art in Italy for a year. Of course I am going to have to be sure all this equipment is removed so that my little brother is not checking up on me.”

“Would I do that?” Greg responded. She just looked at him as only sisters look at brothers.

“Are you ready to drive the Lamborghini?” Greg asked.

“You bet!” As soon as they got into the car, the voice said “Hello Annie. Please adjust the seat and mirrors. Greg, you can adjust the passenger side to the way you like it.”

Steve Welker hated his job. He had learned quickly that the promise of a good job after college was a myth that fooled the 1.5 million graduates each year. Fortunately he had received his degree in accounting, which gave him far better prospects than the poor bastards graduating with a degree in History or English. Still, it could be better; recruited by a mid-sized auditing firm, and with no other options, he had settled for life as a “floater.” After a year at the head office, which gave him enough time to pass his certification exams, they sent him on the road. He bounced from office to office, filling in where extra help was needed and occasionally flying out to meet clients alone.

Their financial logic was sound, if not a little harsh; since he spent 230 days out of the year on the road, they cut his pay significantly. Steve had always thought it was supposed to work the other way around, but was desperate enough for a job that he didn’t fight it. Instead of trying to maintain an apartment on his meager salary, he simply slept wherever he could when not on the road: at a friend or family member’s place, or in a hotel if he had collected enough chain loyalty points or frequent flyer miles to swing it without too much of his own money.

When the plane touched down in Dallas, he sighed and collected his carry-on from the overhead apartment. Making his way through the crowd towards the baggage collection area, he waited for his small suitcase to come around. Tucking both straps over his shoulder and smoothing out his suit jacket, Steve walked outside and turned. The dusty, humid air hit him like a wall; pulling on a pair of sunglasses, he could already feel a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead. Stepping away from the crowd jostling for taxis, he moved down the line and nodded to a driver leaning against his hood smoking a cigarette. Tossing his bags into the backseat, he shut the door and felt the car rumble to a start.

Steve surfed the web on his phone while the cab rambled south on 360 towards Arlington. He settled on a La Quinta Inn, figuring that the $49.99/night rate plus tax would fit into the $60/night accommodations budget that he was allotted. Usually, if he got away from the airport and closer to the edges of town, there were plenty of chain motels that would fit into his price range. Giving the cab driver the address, he kept his eyes down and scanned through the emails he had received while on the flight.

“You here on business,” the cab driver asked with a glance in the rearview mirror.

“Mmhm,” Steve mumbled.

What gave it away, he wanted to ask. Flying in to hell’s hotbox in a fucking suit?

Dallas, in his experience, was an exceedingly boring place. When anyone thinks of Dallas, the immediate next step is the events surrounding JFK…and when a presidential assassination is what you’re known for, all bets are off. One of his first trips on the road had been Dallas, nearly a year ago, and he had spent what little free time he had exploring it with gusto. His second visit to the city had been a little less exciting…the third had bordered on mundane, and he expected the fourth to be no less than agony.

When the cab swung into the hotel parking lot and stopped, Steve pulled out his wallet and handed the cab driver $40.

The front doors to the hotel were closed, he hoped in an effort to keep the inside cool against the stifling heat outside. The second set of doors was propped open by a stack of phone books; Steve suspected that they were broken, the hinges probably worn from years of disrepair. Stepping up the desk, appraised his selection; as expected, the lobby had the smell of cleaning solution; everything seemed clean, if not a little worn. Between the front desk and elevators was a small seating area, comprised of mismatched furniture that had probably been purchased in the 90s, and already used at the time.

Seated on one of the small sofas was a rather thin woman, texting on a pre-paid cell phone and kicking around a small bag at her feet. She glanced up, her lips curling back in a smile that displayed an unfortunate set of crooked teeth. She probably wondered what someone like Steve was doing in such a place; he had stopped asking that question months ago. Her dark hair was lusterless and unkempt, her clothing as new and well-cared for as everything else in sight: a shirt that seemed one size too large, and a pair of cotton and spandex pants that hugged her pockmarked body and had seen better days. She certainly wouldn’t win any beauty contests, but it was nothing a few hundred dollars couldn’t fix.

Already feeling out of place in a suit, the desk clerk’s faded and cigarette-burn covered “uniform” shirt did little to ease his apprehension. Having gone through the check-in process countless times before, he let his mind wander while the clerk booked him into a king-sized room with a desk.

Taking the small card-sized folder she offered him with “507″ written on the outside, Steve picked up his bags and walked towards the elevator. He took another look at the woman seated on the sofa, wondered what she was doing, and immediately forgot about her as he rode up to his room and dropped his bags at the foot of the bed.

Changing into a t-shirt and shorts, he flipped open the hotel guide and looked at the list of nearby restaurants. Killing nearly an hour by slowly rereading the guide, and figuring that no one ever went wrong with Applebee’s, he retraced his steps back outside and down the street.

After a salad and a beer, he sat and nursed another draft to postpone returning to the hotel. Finally squaring up the bill, he headed back to his room. The walk felt like one he had taken a hundred times in a hundred different cities: the sound of a nearby interstate, the smell of exhaust fumes, and the occasional bit of garbage that blew across the dusty sidewalk in front of his feet.

As he padded down the silent hall, thumbing his keys, the woman from the lobby came into view. She was leaning against the small alcove by the room across from his.

“Hey baby,” she said with a snaggle-toothed grin, slurring her words a little.

Shifting from one foot to the other, she hooked her index finger into the collar of her shirt and pulled it aside, exposing a few inches of equally pale skin and the edge of a small tattoo.

“You look like you could use some company.”

There it is, he thought to himself. It was one of the two phrases he had come across too many times to count. “You look like you could use some company” and “Are you looking to party” were virtually interchangeable, both putting forth the same statement: I’ll fuck you if you pay me.

He had been with his fair share of escorts, usually one every few months when he was in the mood and couldn’t pick someone up at a local bar. But the streetwalking type he had avoided, each reason for doing so as good as the next. He didn’t bother to question whether she was at the hotel to actively seek out clientele, or if she just decided that she could use a few extra dollars and saw him as a potential candidate.

With a chuckle, Steve shook his head and turned to go into his room. He heard her step across the hallway, but didn’t have time to turn before she pressed into his back. Reaching around, she grabbed at his crotch.

“Come on baby, I’ll make you feel real good.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he said with an uncomfortable smile as her hand fumbled down the inside of his thigh.

Shrugging his shoulder to try and get rid of her, Steve opened his door and walked in. When he turned to shut the door, he found that she had pushed her way over the threshold. Shutting the door, he turned and watched her walk into the room. Staggering away from him, each step more unstable than the last, her hands reached back to bunch up her hair in a poor attempt at seduction. When he had followed her past the end of the bed, she turned and smiled at him.

“My name is Rose,” she whispered.

He could smell alcohol on her breath, and lots of it.

Curious as to whether she would ask his name, and already scrambling to come up with a fake one if she did, Steve watched as she reached out and hooked her hands around his neck. The feel of her fingers playing with the back of his hair made him a little uncomfortable. Licking her lips, she looked up at him.

“So what are you interested in, baby? You want me to suck your cock?”

What the hell, he thought. She can’t want more than a few bucks. He figured that he would be able to get rid of her with the $10 bill in his wallet, provided he didn’t let her see the rest. He also thought that it would be more trouble than it was worth to try and get rid of her now, and assumed that was part of her modus operandi.

Steve grunted a response, and she took that as a yes. Rose pushed him lightly on the chest; feeling the bed hit the back of his legs, Steve sat down.

“I bet you got a huge cock,” she whispered, running her hands down his chest and over his thighs.

Proposition, seduction, and flattery; she had tried the three-step process, failing miserably at each. Turning around, she dropped down onto his lap. He instinctively flinched as soon as he realized that she had flopped down without any care to look at what she may be landing on. Grinding his teeth, he adjusted her as she started to grind. He had to admit that, if nothing else, her ass was at least firm. There didn’t appear to be a shred of fat on her body, no doubt finely tuned by a steady diet of crack.

Gripping his knees, she rubbed her ass back and forth on his crotch in what he assumed was an attempt at a lap dance. It wasn’t until he reached up to grab at her small breasts and maneuver her body in the right direction that it had any effect. Finally, after nearly ten minutes (a period that he liked to think would have been much longer if not for the two beers he had consumed), he began to grow stiff under her. Unable to miss the feeling of his shaft prodding and pressing into her, Rose pushed herself off and turned to face him.

Reaching towards the foot of the bed, Steve dug around in his bag and found a condom. Pushing Rose off of his lap, Steve felt along the edge for the small indentation that he could use to open it.

“You don’t need that, sweetie,” she said, reaching to take the condom from his hand.

Yeah, right, he thought to himself. Lifting it away from her grasping fingers, Steve tore open the wrapper. Holding the rubber disk in one hand, he lifted himself off of the bed and pulled the front of his shorts and boxers down together. Centering the condom over his shaft, he carefully rolled it down the length of his cock until the tight ring was snug against his sack.

Leaning forward, Rose took the first half of his covered member between her lips and started sucking. Without fail, she disappointed him yet again; her mouth moved too fast to tease, but too slow for anything else. It was nothing short of an uninterested, monotonous, “I’m just trying to do this and get the fuck out of here” act that took away any fleeting pretext that she was after more than money. Steve let her hair fall into her face, partly because he didn’t want to look at it and partly because he couldn’t be bothered to sweep it aside.

After several minutes, Steve grew bored; he knew that at the rate she was going, it would be hours before he came…and that was if he could at all. The likely outcome would be him finishing himself off. Fuck that. I might as well get what I can out of her.

Reaching down, he put his hands on the back of her head. In one fluid motion, he thrust off of the bed and stood up; his shorts hit the floor, pooling around his feet. Rose gagged as his cock hit the back of her throat, her eyes widening in surprise. Her neck tried to pull back, but his hands kept her lips pressed snugly against his loins. Slowly pulling his hips back, Steve watched the head of his cock drop from her lips. She took a deep breath, then sucked in the saliva that had crept out onto the edges of her mouth.

“What are you…”

Before she could finish, he pushed his length back into her mouth and began to move her head back and forth on his shaft. Every time he thrust her head down on his cock, either a choking sound or groan of protest would emanate from her lips. She looked up at him with red eyes, her makeup starting to smear a little. Rose brought her hands up, bracing them on his thighs and trying to slow down his pace. Realizing that his progress towards an orgasm was almost as slow as it had been when she was left to her own volition, Steve let her spit his cock out.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he turned and pulled her to the edge of the bed. While her lips sucked in lungful after lungful of air, he dragged a pillow from the headboard over to where her face met the comforter; in the event that Rose tried to make any unnecessary noises, he could shove her face into it to muffle the sound.

Reaching down, Steve lifted his shirt up and off of his body, leaving him completely naked. Tossing it over the desk next to the bed, he stepped towards her and bent down. His hands roamed over her legs, ending at the waistband of her pants; hooking his fingers under the elastic, he roughly snatched them over her ass and down to her thighs, then down and off of her legs. Nestled between the cheeks of her ass was a thin ribbon of dark blue material; seizing the waistband of her panties, he pulled them down to her thighs. He briefly toyed with the idea of taking them off and pushing them into her mouth, but decided it wasn’t necessary at the moment. Cocking his head to the side, he could see her exposed pussy.

Dry as a damn bone, he thought. Fortunately, the condom sheathing his rod still glistened with her saliva.

Lifting her up until her waist was bend around the edge of the mattress, he put his hand in the middle of her back and squatted down. Spreading her legs with his feet, Steve used his free hand to guide the head of his cock between the lips of her pussy. Raising his hips and thrusting forward, she gasped as he buried every inch of his length inside of her. Planting his feet on the floor and holding on to her waist, he began to thrust. Her arms began to flail, trying to swing back and make contact with him. When she finally did, her fist weakly slapping against his thigh, Steve stopped and raised his hand.

Bringing his arm down sharply, Steve’s palm hit her exposed cheek; she gasped, recoiling from the slap. Her skin flushed a little, and he gave her ass a light squeeze. After waiting to see if she continued resisting, and seeing her stretch her arms out across the bed, he resumed.

Reaching down and hooking his hands under thighs, he lifted her ass up off of the bed. Thrusting his hips forward and pulling her back into him at the same time, he quickly fell into a steady rhythm. The steady sound of their skin slapping together grew louder and faster, celebrating the state of her flesh pressed firmly into his loins and his cock buried deep inside of her. She continued to squirm, signaling her vexation but not enough to warrant another cuff; still, he raised his palm and brought it down firmly on her ass. The strike made her lurch forward, his shaft slipping from her entirely.

Reaching down, Steve slipped his arm under her throat and lifted her off of the bed at a forty-five degree angle. His other arm held her stomach, holding her in place to receive him. Bending his knees, he let his cock find its way back to her entrance and thrust upward.

As his hips bucked back and forth, Rose lifted her hands up to the arm around her throat and gripped it tightly. He was unsure as to whether or not she was simply holding on, or struggling to breath. Assuming the latter, he loosened his hold on her without relinquishing any control. He continued to plunge into her for what seemed like an hour, her moderately used walls failing to have a significant effect. Finally, he began to feel his loins tingling. Nearing the end, he shoved her back down onto the bed and reached for her knees.

Picking up her legs and holding them back in a “V” shape with her feet pointed straight back, he pushed forward into her. It didn’t take long for the feeling in his groin to return, and then spread up his spine and out to his extremities. His entire body was burning, partially from physical exertion and the rest from his rapidly approaching orgasm. His rhythm became less regular, nose-diving into downright sporadic in the quest for complete release.

With a grunt, Steve arched his back and thrust forward one last time. The head of his cock erupted, his heavy balls draining as wave after wave of his sticky seed pulsed into the condom. When he was sure that it was over and his member began to soften, he carefully pulled out of her and stood up.

Dropping her legs, he heard her gasp when her knees hit the corner of the mattress. Stepping out from between her legs and sitting down next to her, he slowly peeled off the condom and tied the top into a knot. Dropping it next to her head, he watched at her eyes slowly glanced over at it.

“I’ll bet you would have loved for me to shoot that load deep inside of you,” he whispered.

His hand wandered over her lower back, index finger slowly stroking the indentation above her waist.

“But if you think I would waste a drop of cum on a whore like you, you’re wrong.” With that, he brought his hand down again on her reddening cheek.

She whimpered in response, a tear streaming down her face and staining the pillow. Steve stood up, and pushed her up onto the bed. She instinctively curled up, sobbing quietly. Pulling his boxers back on, he picked up the condom; carrying it into the bathroom, he flushed it away and watched as the repository swirled, quickly disappearing down the pipes.


Steve was sitting at the desk, pecking out an email when he heard the bedspread rustle. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Rose squirming against the bonds he had placed her in while she lay asleep, just after he stripped off her remaining clothing and piled it in the corner. His belts, one casual and one dress, had each been looped around an ankle and hooked through the bed frame, keeping her legs spread as wide as possible. A pair of socks had sufficed to bind her hands; they were dress socks, and held enough elasticity to securely tie her hands down on the other side of the bed. Glancing at the clock, he calculated that she had been asleep for 2 hours.

“Well, look who’s awake.”

Standing up and striding over to the bed, he reached back and brought his palm down on her rear. She bucked against her restraints, whimpering when he struck her.

“And I’ll bet you’re just dying for round two, aren’t you?”

His fingers gripped her ass, spreading it apart far enough for him to see what he had already decided would be his next undertaking.

“Please,” she whispered with a sniffle. “Please let me go. I swear I won’t tell no one.”

“Tell them what? That you were selling ten-dollar blowjobs, and I got a little rough? No one is going to believe a crackwhore like you.”

Standing up, Steve walked over to his bag and dug around in the side pocket. The sound of glass clinking together filled the air as he fished out two small, single-serving mini bottle of vodka. Unscrewing the lid on one, he walked around the bed and sat down next to Rose’s head.

“Especially when you can’t blow under the legal limit.”

He forced the mouth of the bottle past her lips and teeth, tipping the contents into her mouth. He watched her throat ripple as she swallowed, a small cough escaping her lips. Unscrewing the second bottle, he held it up; she tried to turn her head, groaning negatively. With a sigh, he reached down and firmly pinched her nostrils shut. After a few seconds, her mouth opened with a gasping sound. He dumped the contents of the second bottle into her throat, and held her nose until she swallowed again.

August 2018
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