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Who's That Whore?

A woman enjoys being used like a prostitute

I didn’t recognize the girl moaning like that. How could she sink so low? She didn’t even respond to her own name. A man could say, “slut,” and she’d go to him. Another could say, “Whore,” and she’d crawl to him. What could make a girl do that? She was turned on, sure. But where did that inclination come from? Maybe it was the house she’d visit. Whenever she was there, a beast would come out of her. She’d stay nude except for a red silk ribbon in her hair. Sometimes with the shoes she came in —high heels or flats.

 The three men who lived there were like her pimps. She’d answer to them, no matter what filth they had her do. I wanted to tell her to wake up and get away. Maybe she was brainwashed. Torture can change the inside of you. A reward and punishment thing. If she sucked cock well, she’d get a reward. Money? Yes, she was getting a little extra. I could use a little extra money myself. But why like this? Drugs? No, not drugs. I heard some girls are drugged and continue being pimped out just to get a hit. She didn’t do that. But there must have been something else, another kind of high she was getting from all of this.

 Like last night. She was there. Her pimps were in the kitchen. She was nude, of course. She had just finished serving them beers. The  doorbell sounded. They ordered her to answer it. There was a surprise for her. She grinned all happy. So stupid, she was. She skipped her way to the door like it was Christmas. She opened the door. It was a complete stranger. Some guy she'd never met before. But she beamed at him like he was a gift. This guy looked her over and licked his lips. She looked at her feet pretending to be shy. I know shy. I’m shy. This strumpet is not shy. But it gives the guy confidence. He pushed his way in, wrapping his arms around her naked waist. She threw her arms around his neck as if he were a long-lost lover returning from a war or something. She kissed him.

 She actually kissed him. A complete stranger. But she kissed him lovingly. And made whimpering sounds. She was loving it. He groped her breasts unromantically, but she moaned with ecstasy. He grabbed her crotch unceremoniously and she gasped and grunted with pleasure. Was it really pleasure? I shouldn’t like that, but she seemed to. She reached into his pants begging for his cock. She held it in her hand and looked up at him like a child asking for cake. He called her “bitch” and the fool kissed him again. She led him to the couch. He had her lay on his lap so he could spank her. She begged him to punish her. Why? What did she do wrong? For being so horny all the time, maybe. He spanked her hard before jamming his fingers into her pussy and her anus. But he did it in a mean way, trying to hurt her. She groaned and stared into his eyes. For mercy? For him to stop? No, to pant for more like a dog.

One of her pimps treated her like that, too. Made her crawl. Made her bark into his ear. Made her pick things up from the ground with her mouth. And she’d call him, “Daddy.”

 Maybe that was it. Our dad and how he treated us. Let him fondle and we’d get a treat. Let him kiss and we’d get a reward. Not just money, though. He’d give us attention. Love. This was so cliché—abused girl becomes slutty. And incorrect. A lot of girls don’t become like this. I certainly didn’t. But this poor girl still needed that attention, that reward of love in the form of penetration.

After she was done with her john, she went back to the kitchen, wiping cum from her chin. They asked her if she pleased him right. She nodded enthusiastically, like a bimbo who doesn’t know she’s being used or mocked. She handed the money to them. All of it. One of her pimps took it and slapped her ass and said, “Good job.” The second pimp was on the phone, inviting a friend over tomorrow, telling him, “Yeah, she’ll suck you off real good. Right, baby?” Again, like a ditz she nodded eagerly and giggled, loving how they were talking about her. The third pimp had his cock out and told her to come practice. She could’ve easily walked to him, but she instead chose to get on her knees right where she stood and go to him on all fours. It made him smile. And on to his cock she put her mouth.

 Early next morning she left to go home, finally putting some clothes on. Her slutty heels. But my leggings. My blouse. My coat. And she walked out the door. And she became me again. The ordinary girl going home to wash up so I can go to my ordinary job.

Until the evening came, and then I’d let the slut take over again. So she could help us find that love we’ll never get again.

 

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