I had worked at Miss Fletcher’s boarding house for over a year. Mother had died when I was young. Father had never gotten over it. Her illness was quick and cruel. He found solace only in the bottle, and had been increasingly violent. When I was sixteen, he arrived home in a drunken stupor. I tried to get him into his bed, and he… he wanted me to join him. Called me my Mother’s name. I tried to bring him to his senses, but he was insistent. I fought him off, and he struck me.

It was the first and only time he had hit me, but it was enough. I gathered what little I could carry, took all the money I kept hidden to avoid it being drunk away, and took the boat downriver. I wandered until I came upon a small seaside town. It was charming, and I decided to start my life anew. It wasn’t long before I was broke. I had met Miss Fletcher at the general store as I begged the shopkeeper to lower the price of a night’s worth of food.

Miss Fletcher offered to pay for me and asked me if I would join her for dinner. She was a distinguished woman in her late fifties. Her clothing was fine and new. She brought me to her small mansion, which she used as a boarding house. I told her of my struggles and was offered room and board if I agreed to work as her maid.

It was a comfortable enough arrangement. The guests stayed from a few days to months at a time. I cleaned the rooms, helped with the laundry, and cleaned the kitchen after Miss Fletcher cooked. I made a few coins a week from gracious customers, but found it was little more than pocket change. I wanted the pretty dresses I saw other girls wearing. I wanted the sparkling jewels like Miss Fletcher owned. But mostly, I wanted the safety and freedom that only money could buy.

One evening, Miss Fletcher invited me to drink with her. After a few cups of her homemade cordials, I had begun to feel rather silly. I suppose that’s what she intended, to loosen me up before offering her wizened advice.

She asked me if I was interested in earning the kind of wealth she had accumulated. I said I was. Thus she regaled me with the story of how she had become the madam of this house. Miss Fletcher was much like I was when she was young, working as a maid herself at a large hotel in New York. A handsome young man had propositioned her, offering coin for a few intimate minutes of her time. It was then she found spreading her legs to be quite a profitable endeavor, and after a few years had secured enough funds to go into business for herself.

I wasn’t forced into it by any means. Simply a suggestion from an older professional. Of course she had pointed out such amenities would drum up more business and allow her to raise the rates of our rooms. But if I wanted to continue to be a simple maid, pure and poor, that would be fine by her.

I studied the glimmering gems on her rings and the fine silk of her dress. I didn’t hesitate to ask for her guidance.

Miss Fletcher taught me to look in a man’s eye and search for the desperation. Then I was taught to gauge their need and charge accordingly. I was taught that men were a lot like the laundry. They were dirty, but one could learn to wring them dry.

My first time was quite forgettable. I thought I would feel disgusted or sinful. He was a portly older man in town on business. I entered his room in the early morning and offered him the ‘special turnaround service’, as Miss Fletcher called it. He smiled and asked me how much. I assumed he would be angry with the ridiculous sum Miss Fletcher advised me to ask for. But he was quick to offer payment. I lay face down on the bed and lifted my dress. In a few minutes I had earned a month’s wages.

And you know what? I didn’t feel bad at all. I found the whole experience rather… silly. Men are such simple creatures, spending away their fortunes for such simplistic pleasures.

Thus, I learned a new trade. Miss Fletcher would tell me who to offer myself to and for how much. I learned to use my mouth and hands to give my customers pleasure, something I found less boring than lying there. I grew prideful with the speed at which I could get in and out of a man’s room with my pockets full. I learned quickly to recognize the look Miss Fletcher saw, and eventually she left me to handle my own business.

She was a fair and good employer. Always did her utmost to leave me be and was never judgmental about who I chose to lay with. That was until one day, when Professor Warrick arrived with his wife and child. Mrs. Warrick had been melancholy in their home and was ordered on holiday. They would be spending a few weeks with us.

The Professor was in his early forties. A doting husband and a loving father, he held hands with his wife and spoke affectionately to her always. Miss Fletcher asked me to help them with their bags. That’s when the Professor saw me. There was that desperate hunger I looked for, a yearning his wife couldn’t satisfy. He wouldn’t be my first married man. In fact, I enjoyed my wed customers. They always paid quite well for fear of being exposed. But there was something different about what I saw in his face, something that made me feel quite small.

I was taken aback. I had helped them settle in their luggage and found his gaze never left me. I was already making my plans to seduce him when Miss Fletcher interjected. “Miriam. Don’t offer yourself to the Professor.”

“Oh?” This was curious. “And why is that, Miss?” She had allowed my judgment to dictate my actions, and never had I been strictly forbidden from selling myself to a guest. I was rather taken aback by it.

“You’re a clever girl. I’m sure you felt it, though you may not understand what it means. There’s a sickness in that man. A barbaric glint in the way his gaze consumes you. He’s more animal than human. Trust in me, girl. You will regret it.”

I was greedy, I admit it. My nest egg had been growing, and I wanted more. So I wanted an excuse, any reason to doubt Miss Fletcher. It came for me that night.

I looked out the dark window of the servants’ quarters in which I lived. It was on the side of the house facing a picturesque hill. It was there I saw two figures giggling and sneaking to the gazebo. It was a popular spot for a little romp and provided many nights of entertainment. It was under the stars and private enough, save for my tiny window. I had watched many couplings in the little structure, and I would soon see another.

It was the Professor and his wife, of course. Likely ducking away from their sleeping child for some carnal delights. I watched intently. They were younger than most who stayed with us, and made a very fetching couple. He was well built. I believe I heard him say he was on a rowing team in college during dinner. It showed. And his wife had such a supple bosom and round buttocks. She must be from money. It was a rich sort of plump, the kind you get from being well-fed and under-worked. I found her quite becoming, and for the first time I found myself wondering what it would be like to lie with a lady.

They had stripped their clothes quite quickly enough. Their frenzied need was quite endearing. Mrs. Warrick leaned back on the bench, and the Professor had dropped to his knees and licked her cunny. I had heard of this, but never quite considered how much I wished to experience it myself. I had never enjoyed final gratification with any of the men I had been with. Which is why I found his intention to grant her such a gift charming.

I began touching my breasts, perched on the edge of my bed. I enjoyed my private show, grinding my slit against the bedpost as I watched them. I began imagining myself in her place, or perhaps even beside her. Holding her hand while I was luxuriated by the Professor’s tongue. Loved and cherished. Then they traded places, sitting upon the bench where she had been. Both were drenched in moonlight as she lowered herself into his lap and pierced herself upon his staff. His hand rubbed her bright red bush and gripped her bosom so hard it spilled between his fingers. Slowly they rocked together.

I would like to think I completed with them, as though we all came together as one. I found it quite romantic. And I thought about how he had looked at me, wanting me. I found myself jealous, yearning to experience such attention. I told myself Miss Fletcher had read him all wrong. She had long been out of practice. And as I lay fingering myself in my bed, I prayed I would get my chance to lie with him.

The next morning, I set the tables for breakfast. The Warricks came down early, partaking of the apple porridge and boiled eggs. I eavesdropped as I set the table for the other guests. The scene with their child was wholesome. He sat next to his father, telling him stories of a cat he had seen and asking if he would come with them today. The professor seemed quite sad as he told him he wouldn’t. Mrs. Warrick would be taking the child to the beach for the day and meeting some family friends. While the Professor would be remaining in their room to send out important correspondence and finish writing some important paper.

He would be alone, and then he would have me. Quickly, I cleaned, leaving the Professor for last. I didn’t knock as I entered. I simply acted surprised to find him there. “Oh, my apologies, Professor Warrick. I thought you had left with your family.” I had learned the men liked it when I was coy and unassuming.

He smiled at me, that flash of wicked desire in his eye that meant this would be very profitable. And hopefully quite fulfilling. I had longed to cum with a man, to be as lavished as his wife was. “Oh, they won’t return till the evening. I had found myself quite behind with my research. Would you like me to step out while you clean?”

Quite the gentleman. His wife was lucky. But he was a man after all, and I found few of those had the resolve to resist what I offered. “Oh, please, Sir. Do not worry yourself.” I shut the door behind me, bringing in my small cart of linens. “I can work around you, that is if I’m not too much of a distraction.” He smiled kindly at me, and I became as much of a distraction as possible.

There was a dance to raising my price. Firstly, the room actually had to be cleaned. If his wife complained, Miss Fletcher would be irate if I neglected the basic duties I was to perform. But I made sure to work with an innocent bounce in my step. Stretching my body to show my curves as I reached for the top of the paintings to wipe away the dust I knew wasn’t there. Then I bent down low, sweeping the dirt into the dustpan as my bum bobbed in the air. He had set his book down, fully focused on me. “Girl, how old are you?”

“Oh, I just turned sixteen, Sir.” I was, in fact, nineteen. But men yearned for young girls, and as with everything else I had done, this drove up my value. The hunger grew, and he was fixated, staring only at me. “I suppose I look young for my age, which is why you asked.” I didn’t. My breasts have grown quite full, and my figure was quite womanly. But men are quick to believe that which they wish to be true.

“You seem quite devoted to your work. Thank you.” The room wasn’t the only thing I had straightened. His bulge was quite visible. His smile was warm, but his eyes had become feral. I had him primed. My cunny had become hot and dampened in anticipation as I felt sweat running down my thick black bush. “How long have you worked here?”

I bit my lip and gave him my most innocent look. “Um, Sir. I’m afraid I don’t have much time for conversation. Miss Fletcher has much work for me yet. But, rather than talk…” I reached my hands downward, over my pert breasts as my nipples poked against the thin black fabric. I untied my apron and let it slip to the floor. And to complete my seduction, I pinched my dress upon my thigh and lifted. Revealing the blue ribbon that tied my stockings above my knee, and then further to offer him the flesh of my thighs. “Perhaps I could interest you in my special turnaround service?”

I was considering his ravenous stare, and how much I would be able to squeeze out of him. He never asked how much. With a smirk, he opened a desk drawer and withdrew a small satin purse. He threw it at me, and by the heft I realized it was far more than I dared suggest. I clutched it. Never before had I been offered such a sum.

“Th-thank you, Sir. How would you…” During the next few minutes, I would think back to watching him make love to his wife in the gazebo. The tenderness. The admiration. The laughter. It was like an act of worship.

And I wondered how that could be the same man who did what he did to me.

I was grabbed by my hair and dragged across his desk. He swept his work off to the floor. I felt an instinct to scream. Maybe I should have. But I bit my tongue. I had rough men before. And they came quick enough, and it was over. Maybe this wouldn’t be the experience I had hoped for, but it was at least quite profitable.

He lifted my dress over my buttocks and slapped me across the rear as though I was an insolent child. “No knickers. Just as I thought, you’re no maid. Just a common little whore, aren’t you?”

For this first time, I felt a pang of shame. I didn’t like the way he talked to me. But at the same time, could I argue? I had danced around the issue in my mind, saying I was different than the women on the street corner or in the brothels. But I wasn’t. A whore is exactly what I am. “Yes, Sir.”

“That’s what I thought. You are filth.”

I gasped as I felt him tear open the back of my dress. “P-Professor!”

“It’s cheap fucking fabric on a cheap fucking trollop. I’ve paid you more than enough to replace these trash rags.”

I whimpered as I felt him fumbling behind me. One hand on the back of my head, keeping me bent over the desk as he undid his belt. I heard the sound of his pants drop and I felt the hot flesh of his hard cock pressed against my backside. He ripped my garment fully, splitting it up the seam along my spine and laying me bare from behind.

And I felt the prod. Not between my legs. He gripped his member and guided it, but not toward my aching cunt. He pushed it between the cheeks of my buttocks. I panicked, bucking back against him and clenching my ass tight. “SIR! I never have… I mean… that’s… that’s sodomy, Sir.”

“Now don’t insult me by pretending you’re better than this.” He pressed my face flat against the wood, and dropped another purse onto the desk. It bulged and clattered. This one had to be twice as full as the last. My mouth went dry. Could I refuse such a sum? “It’s just another hole, isn’t it? Now, are you going to be a good little strumpet?”

His sticky cock leaked onto me, and in my gut I knew the answer I should have given. I would have refused and stormed out of the door with what little dignity I had left. But then a strange thought occurred to me. If I told him no, what if that didn’t deter him? But I wasn’t scared by that. No. No, I wish I felt fear. What made me truly nauseous was the thrill that idea gave me. And how it made my cunny leak juices down my legs.

I dare not refuse, because I was scared I would enjoy it being violated. What kind of woman would that make me? So if I agreed, I wouldn’t have to know.

I closed my eyes, and I nodded.

He cupped his hand over my mouth. My mind was slow to consider, my reactions like I was moving through thick mud. I remembered wondering why he had covered my lips until the first thrust made it abundantly clear. His fingers grasped tightly around my face, the scream muffled and died in his calloused palm.

The pain shot down my thighs and made my knees weak. I had to rely on the desk to carry the entirety of my weight. My legs had been rendered unreliable after one thrust. He grunted behind me and gave me another jab, and I kicked helplessly into the air. Neither grievous assault had penetrated, though I wished to god they had. “Loosen yourself, whore.” He pulled my hair, and I yelped into his hand. Then he went still, and chuckled. “Oh, is this your first time selling your ass?” There was a hellish glee clinging to the question.

I needn’t answer. There was no mercy accompanying this revelation. In fact, it had spurred him to jam himself harder into my tight anus. This time, I felt an invasion by the head of his cock. It burned as I was stretched open to accommodate. He made a sickening grunt of satisfaction with every slam against my rear. He laughed when I squirmed and moaned when I cried out.

I realized something that chilled me. It wasn’t my tight hole he enjoyed. It was my pain. My humiliation. My violation was meant far more to torment me than to bring pleasure to him.

“Open your eyes, whore. I wish to see you cry.” I didn’t want to. I wanted to withhold this vile satisfaction from the monster.

“Yes, Sir.” But I didn’t. Because more than anything, I wanted him to finish. As soon as I opened my eyes, the tears came like flood waters from a broken dam. A strange whining sob was forced out of my chest every time he forced himself deeper inside me. He released my mouth, now content to enjoy the mortifying noises passing through my lips.

And for all the men I had let have me before, in all their much gentler treatment, none of them had confused me so. I should have hated it, hated him. Instead, I found myself rather taken by this manner of man. The Professor was savage, and my body submitted to it.

“Fingers in that hairy cunny, whore. I want no part of that fuck hole. Lord knows how many dirty cocks you’ve let stuff you. But I want to see you cum, and I want you to tell me how it feels to be buggered.” He was close. I could hear it from the rasp in his throat and the way he swelled inside me.

“Yes, Sir.” I worked my arm underneath me and pushed my fingers inside. I felt my cheeks burn red as I realized how easy it would be to finish. The position was awkward with him on top of me, and my arm ached as it was pinned between my body and the desk. “It hurts, Sir. It… Oh God! It hurts!”

I found myself staring at the stuffed rabbit his young son had left on the bed. Looking blankly into his button eyes as my body went limp. I felt like I was the toy, watching this slut of a maid, my body lose herself to the beast that fucked her silly. It made my heart giddy. And I giggled.

The Professor’s cock throbbed inside my bottom, and he grabbed my waist and put all of himself into his last thrust. He let me scream this time, let it fill the room as he remained plunged inside of me. His hot seed filled me and soon began spilling forth. “Keep going, slut. You’re not done till you cum.”

It didn’t take much longer. It was frighteningly easy to push myself over the edge as my backside remained impaled. More so than when I was comfortable and alone in my room, driven by my own desires for love and romance.

And for the first time with another, I climaxed. It was shameful, the way I moaned.

He laughed. “You sound like a pig. But I guess you poor bitches aren’t much better than livestock.” He pulled out, and I fell to the floor at his feet. “Now finish your work. Clean up the mess.”

In a daze, I looked around. Realizing he was pointing to the papers and books he had pushed onto the floor to make room for my brutalization. And with my torn dress falling off me, still sobbing, I crawled and collected his papers. He watched with satisfaction while his cock dribbled onto me. I was worried he would want more, or was I excited? He leaned down and ran his fingernails down my spine. “Now get out of my room, whore. I’m done with you.”

It hurt to walk, and I slinked away. My knuckles were white as I clutched the two purses in my hands. I saw one last crooked smile as I limped away from him. Disgraced, I made my way to my room. Fate was merciful, allowing me to pass without running into another guest with his seed dripping from my backside onto the carpet. I let my ripped clothes fall from my body and fell into my bed, unable to will myself to bathe.

Miss Fletcher stopped by my room after dinner, bringing me my meal and checking on me. She took one look at my face and sighed with annoyance. “I told you about the Professor, didn’t I?” I suppose over the years she knew what a dalliance with a bad customer looked like.

I nodded and took the plate.

“This doesn’t mean you aren’t expected to do your chores in the morning. Next time, listen to me.” I shouldn’t have expected grace. Miss Fletcher was always much too pragmatic for such things. But her lack of concern made me feel all the more lonely. I wished she would stay. I wanted someone to talk to, and she was the only one I could have asked why I had enjoyed being treated so poorly.

That night I couldn’t sleep. And when I looked out the window, I saw the Professor with his pretty wife partaking of more loving copulation at the gazebo. As soon as his pants had dropped, she took him into her mouth. I wondered if she tasted me.

It was much like the night before. A sweet and wholesome consummation of their affection. Yet this time, I felt nothing. No desire to be treated with such fragility. I didn’t wish for words of love. This Professor, the family man and caring husband, was boring. And it was a lie. I wondered if he ever showed the silly creature who giggled and bounced herself upon his prick what he really was.

I closed my eyes, embracing the loathsome, slimy shame that came with what I was about to do. I thought of Professor Warrick as the monster I knew he was. I went over to the bedpost. I had long used it for my pleasure, but now I needed it differently. I pulled my ass cheeks apart, and forced the knob into my aching, sore anus.

I grunted and embraced the discomfort, imagining him behind me. Then I thought of his words to me as I rubbed myself. And I found myself chanting it like a prayer as I pleasured myself.

“Just a common little whore. Just a common little whore. Just a common little whore.”