"Because you love it, that’s why."

Alison tried to protest the answer to her question, but she could tell by the tone of Davenport’s voice that her Handler was serious. She also had a mouth full, so responding was near impossible.

Davenport was distracting her and the heavyset man with the wide cock had been getting frustrated. His response was to grab the forty-two-year-old woman's dyed blonde hair and shove in hard.

"Suck my cock, whore! It's why you're here."

Davenport chuckled. The client was right. Alison Raynard was a whore. His whore.

At five six, the shapely, toned woman, a strutting suburban stereotype, had made him a lot of money (and her for that matter, when he deemed her worthy of receiving it). The well-off pillar of her community did not need a dime of it but making her take the money was just another form of humiliation.

Alison's reaction to the fatty was to moan in both shame and massive arousal. He was right, she was a whore. And she hated how much she loved being one.

In fact, just kneeling on this worn and stained carpet, naked with the word "WHORE" written in lipstick across her perfect breasts, made her orgasm twice.

This motel near the airport was a regular spot for Davenport’s clients. Sometimes she met them by herself sometimes with him as back up. She appreciated that he looked out for her, despite the fact that she had let him take over her life.

As this smelly, aggressive man held her head tight and emptied his load into the back of her throat, she came for the third time in less than twenty minutes.

"Ohhh, fuck yes! Take it all you cum slut!"

"Frrrkkthh!" she wetly growled around his rod.

As she swallowed then licked off any remnants, Davenport leaned down, his traditional weed breath burning her eyes.

"What do you say, old whore?"

Alison panted, then gulped thinking I'm forty-two, you pig!

She looked up at the disgusting client who was grinning with almost a full set of tan teeth. "Thank you, sir, for giving this useless cunt your delicious cum." Her stomach turned...and her damn pussy after shocked a squirt.

The man spat onto her left breast, smearing the already messed up "U". He laughed and promised her handler he would be back. Alison was relieved he had not paid for a fuck, or worse, anal. As she stood, she used a towel soaked with her clean spit and his spend to wipe off her fire-engine-colored letters of humiliation.

Davenport droned on about her next appointment in two days.

She had a moment of recollection and nearly cried.

You are a School Board Member and have yoga twice a week. How did you let this scumbag take over your life?

***

Last fall, after dropping off her daughter at dance practice, Alison had innocently pulled her white SUV into a gas station not too far from home. At seventeen, Emily was old enough to drive but had already amassed three traffic tickets and a fender bender--thus suspending her license for six excruciating months.

Emily now unaffectionately called her mother "Muber."

As Alison pumped her gas, she chatted a friend through her Bluetooth earpiece. "You think I want her there? She is a total bitch, but...her husband, Ryan, is hot as fuck!" As Liz laughed on the other end, Alison suddenly had the urge to use the bathroom. She could wait until she got home, but she knew this station had a clean facility. "Hey, gotta call you back, Liz!"

Besides, thoughts of Ryan Planter had her pussy twitching and maybe she could rub one out.

She walked quickly, her ponytail swinging behind her through the opening in her Nike cap. Her yoga pants clung to her perfectly fit body maybe a bit too tightly. Although she enjoyed the occasional camel toe and the looks it got from those she deemed less than her. It made her feel fun slutty not dirty slutty.

She slipped into the second stall and quickly pulled down and hovered to pee. A strange noise came from the stall next-door: the soft moans of a woman in sexual ecstasy. The sounds of wet slurping soon followed. There was no mistaking that a blowjob was being administered right next to her.

“Oh my god, that’s disgusting," she whispered to herself. She hoped a quick wipe and a flush would scare away the perverts next-door. She was soon washing her hands in a hurry to leave. As she stepped towards the door, the other stall flew open and a tall, thin man of roughly mid-fifties stepped out, not bothering to zip up his pants.

She stopped short and was shocked by the nonchalance of his very hard and dripping cock pointing straight at her

“Pardon me ma’am. Didn’t mean to chase you away. My whore here was simply performin’ her monthly act of gratitude.”

Alison stood still from fear and disgust yet glanced into the stall. The redhead who sat on the toilet was similar in build and age. Her fit body was partially dressed in identical athletic wear to Alison; her tight tee was pulled up and her well-made tits were pushed over the top of a stylish sports bra. Her head was adorned by a Nike cap. She was covering her eyes, and her chin and neck were dripping with a white substance that Alison assumed was this disgusting pervert’s ejaculate.

“Oh my god! That is so - Get out of my way, you pig!"

The dark-haired man with the goatee and a single gold tooth in his jagged smile, refused to move. She let out a scoff of disgust and went to shove him.

Something stopped her. The redhead was looking up, and her face looked highly aroused. It was then that Alison noticed the word “slut” was written across the woman’s breasts in red lipstick.

Alison Raynard had seen a lot of sex in her life. She had fucked around in both high school and college before meeting her husband and settling into a perfect suburban existence. She had even had a standard issue three-month affair 10 years ago with her former best friend's husband, the aforementioned Ryan. And when David, her own husband, wasn’t home, she regularly watched porn while she played with her secret toys, calling herself nasty names.

In other words, she liked a lot of sex.

So much so, that when her 16-year-old daughter bravely asked if her mother would help her buy a vibrator for herself, Alison gladly agreed and even made suggestions about style.

But this?

She wanted to run away and call the police or at least tell the manager! Her shaking hand pulled out her phone and it fell on the floor. The pig man picked it up.

The redhead uncovered her green eyes, and the two women made contact. There was something indescribable in the woman's eyes that made Alison softly gasp. She looked satisfied, even happy and... something else... She was humiliated yet not moving to cover up or even clean up. It was as if -

"She likes it, being used like this." The man had stepped closer and Alison's heart rate increased. "Mary, you like being a filthy whore in a public bathroom?"

Alison now saw the woman had been rubbing her own wet crotch. A dark stain showed copious excretions.

The two women had not broken eye contact. Mary hissed out, "Yesss..." as her body shook with a very satisfying cum that made Alison squeeze her own fit thighs together. "I ammm...nghhh...a filthy WHOrrrre!"

The last was guttural, sounding almost like a, well, a whore.

The rush of blood to the blonde woman's ears and face had her a bit disoriented. When she shook her head to clear it, she found her left hand was on her own, needy vulva.

She yanked it away and put it behind her back as if to hide it. The man laughed.

"You like that, Blondie? You like seeing her cum while covered in cum?"

"Oh god..." Alison backed up toward the wall, unsure of what to think.

"Here." The man offered her something and Alison was shocked to see her phone, forgetting she had dropped it.

She found her adrenaline rushing. She snatched her phone and shoved past the pig, rushing out the door. He laughed as she ran.

"See you soon, Blondie!"

In the confines of her SUV, she drained her Yeti bottle, mopped her forehead with her yoga sweat towel, and sanitized her phone with wipes she kept in the center console. She leaned her forehead on the steering wheel.

After a minute, she pushed the start button and turned the shift knob. She had to get home to - no, to the store for - what am I- ?

Oh fuck! Get it together!

She started to go and stopped suddenly. She saw the redhead, Mary, walking out of the gas station with the same swagger Alison often portrayed. It was the confidence of a woman who had all she needed, and wanted everyone to know it. Her appearance was remarkably repaired; her perfect tits proudly displayed in a designer athletic wear top.

Her pokey nipples were the only thing hinting at what had just happened.

She was heading toward a parked vehicle, a white SUV. A sticker on the rear window read, "My child is an honor student at Patterson -"

Alison gasped, "Oh fuck! That's Emily's school!"

The redhead paused before getting in and once again locked eyes with Alison. The look was remarkably calm. Serene even.

She politely waved and Alison found herself returning the gesture.

What the fuck is happening?

***

Fifteen excruciating minutes later she was ripping off her clothes and leaping into the shower. Her eyes were closed as the water hit her chest. She was attempting to scrub off the word ‘Whore’ that was not there.

She was afraid she was losing her mind as she imagined cum dripping off her face. She nearly collapsed when she frantically rubbed her aching clit while shoving two fingers into her need.

She masturbated with the shower head and had a screaming cum that scared her thirteen-year-old.

"You okay in there, Mom?" her son Theo had called through the door.

A weak, "Fine, sweetie," sent him on his way.

Hoping Emily would not notice the change in clothes; she was soon getting back in the car when her phone pinged. It was a message from someone called "Handler." She saw it had an attachment, and without thinking, she tapped it.

A video popped up of the woman in the bathroom giving the blowjob followed by the entire exchange between Alison and the pig!

Her heart was racing, hands shaking. She was about to delete it when a series of texts came up.

Blondie.

I can make you a dirty old whore like Mary

know one when I see one

She felt like the phone was on fire and she tossed it on the seat.

In a flash, she was uncontrollably drowning in recent porn imagery while gripping the steering wheel like it was a life preserver. She saw herself sucking his cock, letting strangers fuck her, and the worst: having David find her in their bed with two black men, the word ‘Slut’ written on her forehead with red sharpie.

She slapped her own thigh to draw her back to focus and hit the accelerator. She nearly took out the Stegers’ garbage cans as she rushed out of the neighborhood.

Three tortuous days followed, every morning starting with a simple text from the Handler: Well?

Sexual filth and fantasy popped up everywhere. She imagined sucking off the crossing guard at Emily’s school. She dreamt of David leaving her naked in a park full of horny old men. She even pictured this Handler pissing on her face as she begged to be fucked in her “whore's asshole!”

And… She could not, stop, masturbating!

Once, Emily called her out as she emerged from the bathroom. “Horny much? I could hear you all the way down the hallway. And, eww, your fingers smell!”

Normally, she would have chastised her for being over-the-top inappropriate, but she had to agree with her daughter, and that made her feel disgusting.

She had blushed at the idea of her sexy daughter knowing what she had been doing. Now thoughts of her own seventeen-year-old doing the same or perhaps even--

Stop! stop now!

Alison Deborah Raynard was a good mom and a pillar of her community. She had the right car, dog, and husband, She was even nice to her landscapers. So why had she been crying in her bathroom jilling off to a humiliation porn of a woman being gangbanged in a shoe store?

Why was she wanting the Handler to make her a filthy whore?

And why had she not deleted the texts and blocked his number?

The answer came that Friday night when she attacked her husband as they got into bed.

She had a simple, lustful NEED!

He was not surprised as he had noticed she was extra agitated lately.

He was shocked, however, when she asked him to choke her and call her a nasty slut! They enjoyed the periodic kinky moment, so why would he complain? Especially when he came harder in her prone, spread body than he had in months. Especially when she asked for a round two almost immediately.

After four fucks he collapsed around two in the morning, convinced she could keep going…

Neither one was aware that their beautiful daughter was listening at the door, leaning against the wall, her hand wet from her own insane cum.

***

The weekend was ending. Alison was instantaneously no longer a mess of warring uncertainties.

A few deep breaths…and she texted how will this work?

Twenty painful minutes later he responded I’ll explain at Shirley’s on 49 at ten Monday morning

***

The diner coffee was awful, and they had no almond milk. She wore one of Emily’s hoodies and sunglasses even as she nibbled the eggs he ordered for her.

“You know, ain’t nobody gonna recognize you half an hour away from your town. If you’re trying not to draw attention that get up is doing exactly the opposite.”

She took the glasses off.

“Oh fuck, have you been crying?”

She shook her head, “Maybe a little bit. This is more from lack of sleep….”

He leaned forward; his breath was terrible. “Can’t stop thinking about getting used like a cheap fuck toy, can you?”

She attempted to squeeze her perfect manicure into the butt of her palm, hoping to wake her from this nightmare. She shook her head. “What did you do to me?”

“Showed you the light. Like I said, I know one when I see one, Blondie.”

“Alison, my name is …” Her eyes suddenly went wide as she realized there was no need to tell him her real name. Her usual sharp mind was dull as the knife on the not so clean table.

“Blondie will work. I don’t wanna destroy your ‘real life’ or nothin’. Honestly, the whole soccer mom vibe you put out? — lot a guys out there gonna wanna crack at you. So what do you say? Are you ready to drop to your knees whenever I tell you to?”

Her face shot up, a look of pure hatred and disgust filling her blue eyes. She wanted to take the fork and stab his smug filthy neck. She stiffened her body and squeezed her thighs as tight as she could to keep from cumming.

“Oh, you got the fever. Bet hubby has been loving the hot fucks lately!”

Her face was more shocked than she had been thus far. “How did -?”

He threw his head back, clapped his hands and laughed more wickedly than the situation called for.

“Fuckin’ perfect! Come on Blondie. You got all the symptoms. You're ready to be your true whore self.”

A tear dropped as she looked down at the mediocre breakfast, face flushed with pink at the humiliation of what had just transpired. She shook slightly as she could not deny how wonderful these last five days had been - how the orgasms had been like never in her life.

“Yes…”

Her heart sank and her nipples sparked.

“That’s my whore…”

They agreed to stick with weekdays while her kids are at school. He gave her three refusals for emergencies. But they both knew she would never use them.

To seal their “contract," Davenport, the Handler, had her give him a blowjob behind the dumpster in the back of the diner. The whole area smelled, and she feared she would never get the stains out of her gardening jeans. One of the cooks watched from the doorway while smoking. Her face was crimson, but she almost came from the shame.

One thing was certain, a dirty cock never tasted so good. She devoured it like it was the best she’d ever sucked. He complimented her as she wiped spit and bitter semen off her chin.

“Fuck yes, Blondie. You are golden.”

A small smile played across her face at the compliment.

***

Now, nearly half a year later, the fat guy gone, she was about to leave the motel room. The calm and devious voice stopped her with a common reminder.

“You know, you could’ve stopped at any time. Problem is, you’re addicted, Blondie.”

Her body trembled at the thought of losing this.

She stood there with her hand on the doorknob, hating he was right. He was always right.

He was now all business. "Next appointment?"

“Thursday afternoon, 1 o’clock here. Two guys; make sure my ass is clean.”

It always was, he just liked to make her say it.

And with that she was gone.

Thursday went incredibly well. She lost how many times she had orgasmed. She had sticky nasty loads in each hole and these studly construction workers only quit because of time. She believed the three of them could’ve gone on for hours.

And each time they spit in her face, slapped her cheeks and called her a three-hole slut, she begged them for more.

Tossing cash on the bed, where it could get cum-stained, was the last act of degradation that always made her know she’d be coming back for more.

Heading home, redressed, and re-applied she could not help but enjoy the soreness when her asshole periodically spasmed.

It reminded her she needed to pick up more one time clean outs from the store on the other side of town.

She had at least an hour before she had to pick up the kids and...