Professor Warrick and his family stayed in the boarding house through their summer holiday. Miss Fletcher didn’t understand at first. She thought me downright greedy when I returned to offer my Turnaround Service on the occasions when he was alone in the room. But as always, she allowed me to make my own choices.

“Is it worth it to be so degraded and used?” she asked me. I had been walking with tender caution since I had been buggered roughly that morning. The Professor wasn’t much for variety. It was much the same every time. But that was fine. I liked feeling lost in it. Staring into the button eyes of their son’s stuffed rabbit while being something of a rag doll myself. Hollowed out. Yet alive, so alive as my body screams with pleasure and degradation.

But unlike the first time, I was able to make my appearances and continue with the chores as though it hadn’t happened. Except for the limp, of course. I noted his used prick would always stir as he watched me tenderly hobble away. The last time didn’t leave that much of an impression, but on account of his past efforts I still feigned the hurt.

I sat in the chair next to Miss Fletcher’s fire and sipped cordials with her. It was a pleasant way to finish the day. I shrugged. “He pays well, Miss.”

“And does that money wash away what he does?” She placed her hand on my shoulder and spoke to me lovingly, almost as my Mother had before she passed. “Miriam, I can tell he’s hurting you. I see the look of humiliation on your face after he’s had his way. I know you aren’t in a desperate way financially. So, why would you lower yourself like this?”

I couldn’t conceal the glee as I recalled the way he stripped me of my dignity. How he made me feel like I wasn’t a person anymore, more like livestock being slaughtered with all the dignity the butcher gives the hog. I smirked.

Miss Fletcher considered my smile, and shook her head in disappointment. “Perhaps we aren’t as alike as I thought.”

————

On the day of their departure, Mrs. Warrick had approached me in an anxious state. “The carriage is loaded, but our son cannot find Finn. His doll, the stuffed rabbit, you may have seen it when you serviced our room.”

Why did the thought of his button eyes make me prickle?

“I have, Ma’am.” Quite intimately. As her husband engaged in his depraved amusements, Finn accompanied me. He was safe. At night, I thought of switching places, to be the rabbit watching my limp, helpless body being violated. I lowered my head respectfully and offered, “I’ll go look in your room. Wait right here.”

“Oh no, Franklin gets along quite well with the coachman. And they haven’t seen each other in such a long while. They could use some time together.” I looked over to them, as the large and handsome driver tossed the boy in the air. They had remarkably similar jawlines.

Strange.

Now, I had sold myself to husbands before. I found a resounding lack of guilt when I dealt with their wives. Just as I never felt the need to go to church on Sunday mornings or confess to the lofty priests. Perhaps I lacked something most people had. Or maybe God had abandoned me when I chose to sell my body, retracting his gift of humility. And I found, conversely, a certain sense of pride.

Besides, it was a gift to her. I saw from my little window how he had delicately treated her. If it weren’t for myself and whatever other whores he most certainly dabbled with, his darker urges would clash with her sensibilities. I opened the door to their room. It seemed so much larger now that their luggage had been loaded and their things removed.

“Miriam, I did want to thank you personally.” Her voice was so sweet as I stepped into the room, only to hear the door close and lock behind me. “You have taken such good care of my husband. I simply had to reward your service.”

The rabbit sat on the bed, just as it always had. Hello, Finn. I get a sense I will be needing your company. When I turned to face Mrs. Warrick, I saw the Professor was waiting behind the door. He sneered as he walked over and dropped four bags of coins at my feet. A payment for things to come, with no negotiations. “Good afternoon, whore.”

“Wh-whore? Professor, I have no idea what you mean!” My flesh felt cold, and my heart pounded. Their child was outside under the watch of the driver. Why was he choosing now, of all times, to admit what he had done to me in front of his wife?

Mrs. Warrick had the look of the cat who caught a mouse. A certain prideful violence danced about her eyes. “No need for the act, Miriam. My husband and I keep no secrets from one another. And he tells me you’ve been… My love, how did you put it?”

“She’s been a pathetic little pig, squealing with gratitude as I fucked her rotten bottom.” Now this was interesting. I felt my knees go weak at the thought of it. Every husband I had serviced was scared to death that their misdeeds would be brought to light. Were there others like the Warricks that shared such experiences so openly?

“Eloquent as always, my dear. Thank you.” They stood between me and the door, blocking my escape. An unnecessary gesture. I could never have imagined such a fascinating turn of events! I wished to see what would become of this. “Tell me, did you enjoy it?”

I felt my cheeks burning. I couldn’t imagine the color of crimson I must have turned. In my few attempts to discuss such fancies with Miss Fletcher, I found myself unable to broach the taboo of my enjoyment of ravishings. Just as now, the words never reached my mouth. After standing there, gasping for breath with my hands scrunching my dress in balled fists, I managed a slight nod.

“I told you, my dear. She’s disgusting. I believe I was throwing my money away when I paid her. She’s less than a whore, she is a dirty animal.”

Mrs. Warrick leaned over to her husband and kissed his cheek. “So she is. But remember, dear. She’s the animal. Not you. So you will pay her, even if she doesn’t ask.” They looked at each other with an odd sense of loving, all things considered. “Bring her to her knees. I wish to enjoy her as we did your cousin.”

My eyes must have been as wide as tea saucers. Questions flooded my mind, much as the way my cotton knickers were doused in sinful wetness. The Professor scruffed me by the back of the neck, much in the way a mother cat subdues her kittens. His fingers dug in, and I was forced down to the floor. “Open that mouth, you dirty beast. You are about to be given a gift you don’t deserve.”

When he had paid for Turnaround Service, he was always quite single-minded when it came to sodomy. I wondered what sort of roughness he would extend to my throat. Obediently, I opened wide and turned my face toward the bulge in his pants. I was stunned by the unexpected crack across my cheek. The blow hadn’t come from him, but his wife. She seemed so beautiful as she gloated over me.

They shared an amused chuckle as his wife stroked my stinging face. “No, no. You think filth of the street is worthy of sucking my husband’s cock? I think not.” She bent over, her full tits hung tightly restrained by her dress and inspired a foreign lust. I was baffled as to what I was being paid for, then I recalled the way her husband had licked her cunny on the gazebo bench.

“My apologies, Ma’am. I would be happy to offer you Turnaround Service, if you would have me.” I found my voice. It came out in quiet breaths. A dizzy feeling of desire overtook my body as she began hiking up her dress. Her regal thighs were curved, a good amount of meat and not much muscle. It was a style of beauty only the rich could afford.

I held out my tongue as she exposed her cunny to me. It was shorn clean. I found this style most intriguing, wondering if it was a trend amongst the upper crust to have their mounds as smooth and neat. I felt a shame for the wild state of my grooming. I extended my tongue, moving toward her cunt, longing to taste it.

It would not happen. The Professor slapped me hard on the back of the head. “You dare? You think I would allow a rancid whore’s tongue to taste my wife’s glory?” He forced my head lower, and she stepped wide and spread her legs. I was about to beg for direction, unsure what was expected. Until it was made very clear what was wanted.

Mrs. Warrick growled, and a hot stream of piss flowed. Her husband was quick to position my head. He had treated me like I wasn’t human. But she didn’t even afford me the luxury of an animal’s respect. I was no more to her than a bedpan. “That’s it, Miriam. Keep your mouth open. I want it full. And once you can’t hold anymore, I want you to close your lips tight. If you are a good girl, you may not swallow my piss without permission.”

I think I was crying. It was hard to make sense of it, and she had filled my mouth so quickly. It tasted vile, and as I closed my mouth I found myself gagging as her stream continued to soak my face. It was like a beast marking territory. If there were tears, they would be indistinguishable from urine running down my face as her stream began to wane.

“Peter,” she said sweetly as she daintily sat on the end of the bed. Peter. I almost chuckled. I had never asked his name. “On the floor. Hurry it up. We can’t leave our son waiting too long.”

He had such a loving look as he blew her a kiss. I was afforded no such kindnesses. I was forced onto my back, my full cheeks aching to hold the detestable concoction as I was indelicately handled. My skirt was lifted, and my feet dangled in the air by his hips. To my surprise, his prick slid into my cunny as he gave me a look of disgust. “Don’t you dare spit that at me, beast. If it weren’t for my wife’s wishes, I would never use such a lowly cunt.”

For all his bluster, he couldn’t hide his enjoyment. He fucked me hard, but compared to the buggering he preferred, it was an entirely enjoyable sensation. I might have even been able to reach a climax if he had been so inclined.

He wasn’t, of course.

Mrs. Warrick sat with a grin as her husband treated me in a manner I may go so far as to call downright rude! She was still and content, as though she were enjoying a play from the box seats of the theater. Most of my concentration was devoted to keeping her piss from spraying from my lips. In a way, it was a kindness. With my mind so focused, I didn’t have such bothersome thoughts of the retched act itself.

Whore. Pig. Fuck meat. I didn’t understand why such objectification delighted me, much more so than the cock pounding at me. The Professor wasn’t overly concerned with getting his wife’s urine on his clothes as he fucked me in the puddle she had made. My wet dress clung tight as his spittle sprayed down through clenched teeth.

And he stopped, his eyes fixated on his wife as he held his breath. His cock jammed hard inside me, trembling. And with all the gravity of selecting the tea for her morning breakfast, she calmly told her husband, “Breed her.” With two little words, my mind went soft. Their unbearable weight was too great a load to bear.

I looked past Mrs. Warrick. Finn was watching me. A handsome little rabbit, with button eyes watching out for me. And I went limp. Hollow. And sublime.

His cum erupted inside me. It was hot and plentiful. I found myself giggling at the tickle when it dribbled down my backside. I felt like I was a butterfly, pinned to the ground and displayed for the pleasure of Mrs. Warrick. Her husband held me there, panting. She nodded, and the Professor withdrew his cock. “That was vile, my dear. I simply can’t understand why you find such pleasure in seeing me rut with the pigs. It’s humiliating.”

“You don’t need to understand it. You must simply accept, my love. It is my pleasure. Now go, make yourself presentable before returning to our son. Allow me a moment with young Miriam.” He looked down at me once more. My mouth felt so very sore. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold in the piss.

“If a boy grows, bring him to me. I’ll pay you for it. If it’s a girl, I don’t give a damn.” His final goodbye was spitting on my face before walking out the door.

Mrs. Warrick walked to me, a content sense of satisfaction seeing me dribbling her husband’s seed from my cunny and lying in her piss. She held out her hand and removed her glove. The radiance of her made me feel so ugly, lying beneath her on the floor. Even as she knelt and plunged her fingers into my cunt.

“You may spit it out. Or, if you are a good girl, you’ll drink. I’ll leave that decision to you.” She patiently waited as she toyed with my sticky, hairy cunny. I chose to swallow, something that proved difficult as she coaxed whorish moans from me. And it wasn’t just that. It was the taste, so much more vile as it ran down the back of my throat. The repugnance of drinking her piss made me wretch, and it took several swallows. And even as I forced myself to finish the last splash in my gullet, I began to heave. “Good girl, I enjoyed that.”

I had never been touched by a woman in such a way. Her fingers were slight and much more knowing than men’s. Her thumb played with the pink little hill of pleasure that always remained unattended by my gentleman callers. I found myself lifting my hips to push her fingers inside, letting her stir the cauldron of cum her husband had left inside me. I couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. The fine lady made me feel so unworthy. So I stared into Finn’s button eyes, and she brought my body to climax. “Thank you, Ma’am.” I choked out between gasps.

“I like you, Miriam.” She suddenly pulled her fingers from me. I whined like a child whose dessert was snatched from their plate. She wiped her fingers onto my chest before putting her glove back on. “What did you think when I told him to breed you?”

I wanted to masturbate. I wanted her to watch just as she had when her husband had fucked me. Instead, I found myself crawling to my knees and kneeling before her like a hound begging for table scraps. “In the moment, I hadn’t time to think it through. It… It scared me. But there was a thrill, a gnawing joy when you had told him to do so. And a fear. What if he found his mark?”

“Have you any interest in motherhood?” It was an odd question. One I had never really considered in earnest.

“No, Ma’am. I don’t think I have the disposition for it.” I couldn’t picture myself raising a child of my own. And suddenly I felt a sickness in my gut. I don’t know if it was her piss sloshing around or the sudden realization of what her husband had done to me. I began to feel ill, wishing to wash myself out. Not wishing to be saddled with a babe.

“Oh, worry not. My husband is quite incapable of producing an heir. I’ve played the part of the cuckoo, you see. My husband lovingly cares for another man’s heir. No harm done. He doesn’t know this, of course. So let’s keep that little gem between us ladies.” There was an immense sense of relief, followed by intrigue. And I remembered the resemblance between the driver and her son. I found myself laughing.

“Ma’am, may I ask while you’re telling me this?” I was dumbfounded by how casually she told me such disgraceful information. I suppose no one would believe a maid anyway.

“My family has trouble keeping the help at our estate. I’ll be frank. They are monsters.” She popped an eyeball and brushed a piece of hair from my eye. “But you seem to have quite a bit of resilience to monstrous treatment. Isn’t that right?”

I struggled to say it out loud. Again, I nodded. She smiled brightly.

“Then it’s settled. I’ll write my mother a letter of recommendation. My family, as hellish as they are, are my kin. They are a rather incestuous lot, not that I haven’t had my fun with an occasional cousin myself. The practice has muddled our blood and made us rather short on healthy heirs to carry on our legacy.”

I imagined them as snakes. Slithering, squeezing. My nipples stiffened at the concept of being used by such vile people. “Miss, what are you asking of me?”

“Take their abuse. Spread your legs. Make sure they cum inside you. Should something grow, play the broodmare.” She smiled and rustled through her small purse, leaving me a card with her family’s address as well as another purse. This one bulged and was perhaps larger than the other four combined. “If it’s a boy, they’ll take the child off your...