A Whore is Born
By
Cindy May
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Cindy May
Connie was happily married to her childhood sweetheart until a ‘friend’ spiked her drink at a hen night and the male stripper knocked her up. Confronted with a mixed race child that was not his, her husband divorced her. Interracial sex, brothels, drugged sex, striptease, lezzy sex, gangbangs and an unexpected romance in this searing portrait of the trials facing helpless and abused women. Adult
******
‘We’re doing it my way Mandy, whether you like it or not. You can fight and it will hurt, or you can be sensible and I’ll make it sixty instead of the fifty you’ve already had.’
‘For twenty-five extra, I’ll do it.’
They would decide that Mandy was a prostitute who took punters without protection. Her old form master was the second man she had taken that day. It would be her unsupported word that she had said no. Sir would claim that she had agreed, and later tried to blackmail him into paying more.
Mandy glared at him but she stopped struggling.
‘All right, an extra tenner then.’
******
‘Connie, pull the zip all the way down. You know you want to.’
Connie convulsively pulled the zip all the way down, revealing the stripper’s cock in the pouch. She stared at it. The first and only other cock she had ever seen had been her husband’s cock.
‘You want to take it out Connie, don’t you?’
Connie knew she wanted to take it out, so she reached out and gingerly took hold of the shaft and pulled it out of the pouch.
‘You want to peel the foreskin back Connie, don’t you?’
******
Connie started gagging as the rock solid tube of flesh was rammed in and out of her mouth. Mandy called out.
‘Stick it up her cunt mate.’
The Captain waved to her.
‘You heard what Mandy said girls. Shall I stick it up her cunt?’
‘Yeah … yeah … yeah. … fuck the slut … ream her out.’
The audience now desperately wanted to see Connie taking cock up her cunt.
Copyright 2012
The Moral Right of the author has been asserted. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Places and Incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. To the best of my knowledge there was no ‘Pretty Pussies’ Massage Parlour in Birmingham at the time of this novel, and any resemblance to any business of such a name is coincidence.
Author's note: Explicit scenes in this work of fiction are confined to characters who are 18 years of age or above.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The Cotcote Chronicles Series
A Whore is Born
By
Cindy May
Chapter 1
Mandy Ward was exceptionally slender, with a twenty-two inch waist and quite small boobs, and if she dressed right, she could easily pass as a fifteen year old. She spoke with a pronounced Brummie accent, but that was not surprising, as she had spent the whole of the eighteen years since she was born in Birmingham, living in the city.
In common with her two older sisters, she had started at the local comprehensive. It was familiarly known as ‘The Brothel on the Hill’ due to the above average number of teen pregnancies that girls attending the school achieved. It was the only achievement where the school was above that national average, and not one that the headmaster relished.
Mandy had left school at eighteen, although her attendance during the last two years had been infrequent. Like both her sisters, she had lost her cherry before she was thirteen, but that was hardly surprising at the brothel on the hill, and by the time she was eighteen she had lost count of quite how many guys she had been with.
It was the start of the 1990s and there was a recession. Jobs were in short supply, and whilst Mandy had visited the Employment Exchange, she had not liked the snooty bitch that had interviewed her, nor had the bitch much liked her. Mandy had not been terribly concerned at the lack of any jobs that paid a pittance.
She had other plans. Every morning shortly after eleven she would get off a dark blue and ivory Wumpty Buzz, which to non-Brummies meant a West Midlands Passenger Transport Executive bus, and walk along Edward Road in Balsall Heath. She would be wearing her old school blouse and dress, the latter being black with a zip-up front.
Once the dress had nearly reached her knees, but she had taken up the hem so that it only just covered her crotch now. When she got to the corner of Hallam Street, she would nod to any regulars standing there, and then she waited for the first punter.
Four or five other girls worked the corner, but thankfully not all at the same time. They would eye one another to see if any of them had an unfair advantage and if your skirt was too short, they could be a bit catty.
You were all rivals, but sometimes a punter wanted a couple of girls. No working girl in her right mind turned down profitable work, so it paid to have tolerable relations with some bitch that you might have to go down on some day.
With her willowy figure and flat chest, Mandy knew she looked younger than her eighteen years, and if punters asked her, she would shyly admit to them it was OK to do her, as she had turned sixteen a week before.
Mandy knew her ‘Miss Sweet Sixteen’ image pissed off some of girls who worked Hallam St. They were well into their twenties, and no amount of make-up could create a sweet-sixteen image. As a lot of punters preferred fresh young meat, it gave Mandy a marketing advantage that she would use while she could.
Lashing of eye liner and eye shadow, glossy red lipstick, and high heels enabled the punters to work out that she was not some silly little miss, but a working girl, and a provocative pose as any car cruised slowly by solved the problem.
In her choice of career, Mandy had followed in the family tradition. Her mum, Janice, had been a working girl back in the 1970s. Janice no longer worked the streets, but advertised in one of the contact magazines instead.
Her sisters, Liz and Kathy, worked in one of the massage parlours on the Bristol Road. Although they were not twins they were alike as two peas, and the parlour found a steady supply of punters wanting to sample the delights of ‘twin sisters’ as they pretended to be.
There was a predictable pattern to life on Hallam Street. You would see a car driving slowly down Edward Street, as if the driver was looking for a specific address. In reality, he was looking to see what was on offer on the corner of Hallam Street and elsewhere in the red light district in Balsall Heath.
Within a few minutes, the car would return, perhaps coming down Edward Street again, but punters who knew the area might turn into Jakeman Street and double back along Willows Road and along Hallam Street itself. A working girl needed eyes in the back of her head to make sure she was ready for business.
Often the punter would stop at the corner, as if lost, and open the passenger window for directions. Mandy had the patter off to a fine art. She remembered what might have been an embarrassing moment a week after she had started working the streets. The car stopped and she walked over to lean against the door.
It showed her smile and her cleavage off nicely, and meant the punter could not readily drive off when she had her head poking through the passenger window.
‘Hi Bab, do you want business?’
The guy stared at her and said in astonishment
‘Mandy?’
‘Sir?’
He looked unsettled. It was clear he was wondering whether to drive off and leave her. Mandy was also shocked, but did not want the guy to drive off, as that would cost her money.
‘It’s OK Sir, and if you do want business, I’ll give you a discount.’
‘Sir’ smiled at her.
‘How much then, Mandy?’
‘Hand job is fifteen, French is twenty-five, and a full service is thirty-five, but I’ll knock a fiver off for you, Sir.’
‘Is French with or without?’
‘Depends on what you want, Bab.’
‘How much is French without?’
‘Thirty five, Bab.’
‘Do you swallow, Mandy?’
‘Uhuh, if that’s what you want, Sir.’
The mixture of ‘Bab’ and ‘sir’ showed that Mandy was just as confused as ‘Sir’ by this unexpected development. Sir opened the car door and Mandy slid into the front passenger seat and put on the seatbelt. Sir reached out and stroked her right knee and thigh.
‘Where to Mandy?’
Although Mandy had not given the guy her name, it was not surprising that he knew it. Sir, otherwise Mr Tony Brown, had been her form master for three years at ‘The Brothel on the Hill’ and when she had been summoned to his office over the way she was forever ‘wagging it’, or playing truant from school in Brummie terms, a free fuck had got her out of trouble.
Thereafter, Mandy was able to avoid trouble at school by being extra friendly to Mr Brown, an arrangement that suited both of them down to the ground. In the winter, from November to February, Mr Brown would pick her up a short distance from the school and drive along Scotland Lane, past Bartley Reservoir, and pull in on a grassy track leading into some woods. Before long, Mandy would be impaled on his cock.
Now that she was a working girl, Mandy had negotiated the use of a room nearby for two days a week, another girl having previously booked the other days. For the rest of the week, it was a matter of finding somewhere quiet to take the john and doing it in the car. She replied.
‘I got a room in Willows Road, Bab.’
It seemed strange addressing Mr Brown as ‘Bab’ but she was a working girl and he was a customer, and he needed to be clear on that. They were no longer teacher and pupil, with him getting it in return for minor favours. Tony Brown doubled round the side streets, pulling in when Mandy told him to do so.
She walked to the door of the house where she rented an upstairs bedroom and led the way up the steep flight of stairs. She walked into the room and turned round.
‘You want French without, Mr Brown?’
‘Mr Brown’ had slipped out by force of habit.
‘Yes Mandy, but as you’ve been a naughty girl, I think you need to be spanked.’
Mandy smiled.
‘An extra twenty, Bab.’
Mr Brown handed her fifty pounds.
‘Leave your dress on you naughty girl.’
‘Whatever you say, sir.’
Tony Brown removed his tweed jacket, shoes, socks, trousers and shirt and sat on the bed.
‘Bend over my lap for your punishment, Miss Ward.’
‘Yes Sir.’
Mandy bent over Mr Brown’s lap so that her bottom was across his right thigh. He used his left hand to raise her skirt.
‘I glad to see you have not been a really bad girl and worn panties.’
‘No Sir.’
‘You know why bad girls wear panties, Miss Ward, don’t you?’
‘No Sir.’
Mandy did know, as she had played the same game in Mr Brown’s office at the brothel on the hill.
‘Bad girls often put a book in their panties, so that their hot little botties don’t get slapped as hard as they deserve.’
‘That’s cheating, Sir.’
‘Yes, Mandy. Now are you going to admit that you’ve been a bad girl.’
‘Yes Sir, I’ve been a bad girl.’
‘You’ve been fucking with boys, haven’t you, Mandy?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘How many boys have fucked you today Mandy?’
Mandy thought hurriedly. It was now five, and she had started work at eleven, and in that time she had serviced five punters, so she might as well tell the truth.
‘Five, Sir.’
‘Where did they cum, Mandy?’
‘Three came in my mouth Sir, and two fucked me after I blew them.’
‘Did the boys who fucked you use a condom Mandy?’
‘One did, Sir. The other offered me an extra twenty-five pounds if I forgot about the condom.’
‘Did you, Mandy?’
‘Of course I did Sir.’
‘Well, you definitely need to be punished, Mandy.’
As Mr Brown said ‘punished’ his hand fell hard onto her right ass cheek, the slap of flesh on flesh accompanying the blow. Mandy shuddered convulsively. Although she had been expecting the blow, the timing and the severity were both unexpected. She cried out.
‘Fuckin ‘ell, that hurt.’
A second later, her left ass cheek smarted as Mr Brown chastised her, causing Mandy to twist on his lap. Before she had stopped writhing from that blow the next blow fell. This time it was on her right ass cheek, and landing on the already sore flesh was ten times more painful than the first one. As Mandy choked back a tear, she heard Sir say to her.
‘That’s your punishment....’
The though ‘thank God for that’ died as he continued.
‘….for the first boy you sucked off. Now for Number Two.’
Three more blows at approximately one-second intervals rained down on her tender bottom. The red imprint of Mr Brown’s hand was now clearly visible on her smarting bottom.
‘That’s your punishment for the second boy you sucked off, Mandy.’
Mandy moaned in pain and despair. Three slaps per boy and she had admitted to five boys, so nine still to go.
‘I’m going to smack you again, Mandy, as you’ve been a bad girl, and this time it will be hard! Stop wriggling about.’
The seventh blow was without doubt the hardest yet and Mandy knew that her bum cheeks must be bright red by now. Two more blows followed.
‘That was for the third boy you sucked off Mandy. Did you swallow his cum Mandy?’
Mandy gasped.
‘Yes Sir.’
‘Did it taste good, Mandy?’
‘Yes Sir.’
‘So you have three lots of cum in your belly now.’
‘Yes Sir.’
Her bum still ached from the nine blows that Mr Brown had administered, but the discomfort was easing by the moment, and the respite whilst he had spoken to her was a blessed relief.
She felt his finger press against the top of her bum crack and slide downwards. Automatically she parted her legs to provide better access. His index finger reached her cunt slit and slid inside.
‘You’re a wet little slut, aren’t you, Mandy.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Mandy was wet, so there was no point denying it. Although she did not particularly enjoy it when punters fucked her, Mother Nature ensured that a girl lubed up when she was being fucked, and Mandy had taken two punters up her cunt during the day and three down her throat.
One guy had fucked her with a condom, but as she had told Sir, another punter had offered her an extra twenty-five quid if she was a sensible girl and did not demand a cover. Mandy had decided to be sensible.
He had unloaded in her, jetting three or four shot of cum in her cunt. Whilst there was an alley near the corner where she stood, and where the girls did go to pee, she could not piss all the cum out of herself. As there were no convenient public toilets for her to use, it was not surprising that she was still wet.
One day, when her mum, who now usually rode without a condom out of necessity as she was almost fifty, had a couple of drinks, Mandy had asked her how she had coped back in the seventies. In those days, before the AIDS scare, street girls habitually took the punters uncovered. Mum had shrugged her shoulders.
‘You pee as much of it out of you as you can, and to be honest a lot of guys like a working girl if she’s got cum in her.’
With Tony Brown’s finger sliding rhythmically in and out of her cunt she knew she was starting to lube up. Suddenly the finger was removed! Crack! Once again the suddenness of the blow was unexpected. Over her shoulder, Mandy could see his hand raised in the air. Her bum was still stinging from the previous slap but she knew there would be another two in quick succession.
She shut her eyes and tensed herself for the next blow. Crack! Crack! Another two heavy blows tormented her reddened bottom, making her squirm on Sir’s lap. Mandy was sure that her bottom was not only reddened and of fire with pain, but that the severity of the blows would have caused raised welts to appear.
‘Turn round Mandy.’
She heaved a sigh of relief as she had expected another three blows for the fifth guy, but if she was to turn on her back, Sir had apparently finished tormenting her bottom. Gratefully Mandy rolled over on Sir’s lap staring up at him.
To allow her to turn Sir had removed his index finger from her cunt. She was not surprised when he slid two fingers into her wet cunt and sloshed them around inside of her. Nor was she surprised when he withdrew them and offered them to her lips. She opened her mouth to suck her own secretions and such cum as was left from the guy who had done her a couple of hours previously.
He removed his fingers from her mouth, but instead of sliding them into her wet cunt as she had expected, he brought the palm of his hand down in a sharp slap on her pubic mound or Mons Veneris.
‘Fuck, that hurt. Stop it.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do, you cheap little slut! You took one load up this dirty little hole so this needs to be punished. There are another two slaps due.’
Mandy shuddered at the prospect and stared at the hand that Tony Brown raised eighteen inches above her groin. For a fraction of a second it was still and then he brought it down in a blur. Mandy stared transfixed as the hand swept in a graceful arc, to connect with her pussy mound.
With a normal spanking you could feel and hear it, but not see it. With this frontal spanking, you saw it as well and even before the blow fell, she was trembling with pain. The blow was even worse than she had anticipated, not least because of her fear.
The hand rose again and was stationery for a moment before the down stroke. Mandy realised she was screaming with fear before the hand had actually connected with her Mons. She shuddered, as it the hardest blow yet. Tears were now rolling down her cheeks, but even as she cried, she also realised that her cunt was getting increasingly wet.
She mumbled.
‘That fucking hurt!’
‘You’ve had your punishment now, Mandy. Take your clothes off.’
Chapter 2
Mandy Ward sat up and climbed off Mr Brown’s lap. Her bum cheeks were reddened and smarting and her pussy was on fire. In her overheated imagination, it seemed that the fire from her bum had penetrated so deep into her body that it had met the new fire emanating from her Mons Veneris.
She pulled down the zip on her shortie school dress and slipped it off her shoulders and threw it on to the chair in the bedroom she rented from eleven in the morning to six in the evening and which cost her £30 a day regardless of whether she pulled any punters or not.
She unfastened the buttons on her white school blouse as sexily as possible to make it more appealing to ‘Sir’, and shrugged it off her shoulders. She placed it on top of the dress. As she was not wearing any undies, she was naked.
‘Do you want to go on top or shall I got on top and blow you, Bab?
‘You go down on me and do it good.’
Mandy crouched between Sir’s knees and bent her head towards his groin. As she touched the head of his cock with her outstretched tongue, Mr Brown put his hands each side of her head and pulled her face down on to his groin so that the shaft slid between her lips. Mandy started bobbing up and down slowly, Sir controlling the up strokes, so that his cock slid almost but not quite out of her mouth.
As the cock slid in and out of her mouth, she could feel the saliva building up as her reflexes sought to ease the movement of the invading body in and out of her mouth. With the added lubrication, the cock was sliding in and out more easily and Sir was jerking her head up and down faster.
Mr Brown’s cock was now hitting the back of her mouth and Mandy who had never accomplished deep throat before was starting to gag. Breathing was difficult with her lips clasped firmly round his shaft, and she was starting to feel breathless.
Her eyes were watering and she started to struggle when he tried to force her down on to the full depth of his cock. Sir detected her resistance immediately. He snapped at her.
‘Breath through your nose, you stupid little cow.’
The word ‘cow’ came out as his cock head struck the back of her mouth, but to her horror, Sir grasped her head even more tightly and drove her on to himself, so that his cock head pushed past her tonsils and entered her throat. Mandy started to panic and tried to pull back, but Mr Brown was stronger than she was.
Her eyes were moving frantically as she desperately tried to breath, but with his fingers interlocked around the back of her head, her lips were being relentlessly pressed against the wiry pubic hair at the base of his cock.
‘I told you to breath through your nose, you fool. Have you never done a proper blow job before?’
Mandy felt she was going to pass out, but desperately tried to take air through her nostrils. To her relief air was reaching her tortured lungs. As she adjusted to this method of breathing, Sir pulled her head back until the rounded helmet of his cock was between her lips. A moment later he forced her head all the way down to his groin.
After a couple of minutes of this treatment, Tony Brown felt his semen starting to rise out of his balls. He had paid her for ‘French without’ but the idea of fucking her properly seemed much more appealing. As the little slut had taken one man that way already it should be no problem so he pulled her head back.
Mandy sat up. She had sensed he was about to cum and was puzzled why he had dragged her off his cock just seconds before his climax. In her limited experience as a working girl that was the last thing a punter did. In fact, guys were far more likely to drive their cocks as deeply into your mouth as they could in the last few seconds.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Get on your back.’
‘Why, we were nearly there?’
‘Fucking do as I tell you!’
‘But what for?’
‘So I can fuck you.’
Mandy looked round for her handbag where she had a supply on condoms.
‘I’ll just put a rubber on you, Sir.’
‘Shut up about that nonsense and get on your back.’
‘No, I won’t.’
‘Yes you will, you already told me one guy did you properly earlier today, so move!’
‘It’ll cost you more.’
‘I’ve already paid, so shut up.’
‘That was to slap my bottom.’
As Mandy spoke, Sir sat upright, grasped her shoulders and forced her sideways on to the bed. She yelled at him.
‘Stop it!’
‘Shut up.’
Tony Brown forced her down on to the bed and rolled over so that his body was on top of her. She waved her arms ineffectually but felt him driving his thighs between hers.
‘We’re doing it my way Mandy, whether you like it or not. You can fight and it will hurt, or you can be sensible and I’ll make it sixty instead of the fifty you’ve already had.’
‘For twenty-five extra, I’ll do it.’
Sir shook his head. He released her left arm to use his right hand to line his cock up to penetrate her and she tried to slap his face. It was a foolish idea, as his hand returned before she had connected with his face, diverted her blow away. Instead she got her face slapped hard.
‘We’re doing it Mandy!’
If she went to the police afterwards, it was her word against his that he had taken her against her will, and intercourse without a condom against her will was unlawful even when the girl was a prostitute. That was perfectly clear, but she would have to go for tests and they would show two men’s semen in her.
One would be identified as Sir’s cum, but she could not pretend the other cum belonged to a boyfriend without producing the boyfriend, and the guy who had cum in her was not local and she did not have a clue who he was. There was only one conclusion the police could draw.
They would decide that Mandy was a prostitute who took punters without protection. Her old form master was the second man she had taken that day. It would be her unsupported word that she had said no. Sir would claim that she had agreed, and later tried to blackmail him into paying more.
Mandy glared at him but she stopped struggling.
‘All right, an extra tenner then.’
‘Sensible girl.’
Mandy nodded and responded sullenly.
‘Yeah.’
Sir let her go and sat back on his haunches.
‘All right Mandy, you go on top then and ride me.’
He stretched out on the bed beside her, his cock sticking up like some totem pole from a deranged Western.
‘Stick your cunt on top of that.’
There was no point in arguing, so Mandy started to swing her leg across Sir’s chest, but he shook his head.
‘No the other way round, Mandy. I want to see your cute little asshole when I’m fucking you!’
Mandy flushed but turned so that she was presenting her backside to her former teacher. She straddled him with her knees each side of his thighs. She squatted down until his cock was touching her vaginal lips. Holding the base of his cock with her right hand, Mandy lowered her hips so that the shaft penetrated her.
Continuing her downward motion, she drove her cunt further and further on to his cock until she had taken his entire length and she could feel his pubic hair mashed against her cunt lips. He commanded her.
‘Lean forward and put your hands each side of my knees.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Earlier ‘Bab’ had been mixed with ‘Sir’, as she tried to emphasise that they were now a working girl and a punter, not the teacher and a schoolgirl. Their ‘dispute’ or whatever you wanted to call it, on the bed had settled who was in charge. It was Sir again.
Mandy put her arms forward as Sir had directed and realised that in this position it would expose her ass crack to view and make her reddened bum cheeks and tight little asshole more visible. She rose off his groin, taking care not to go too far so that his cock fell out, and slammed down hard on to his groin, his pubic hairs scraping her cunt lips.
‘You look great, Mandy. A pair of nice red bum cheeks and that dirty little asshole. Have you taken many guys up your bum yet Mandy?’
‘No.’
That was actually a lie, as she had taken one guy up her bum and she had not enjoyed the experience. She went on.
‘If you want to do me that way, it will cost you. I’m not doing that for a lousy tenner.’
‘Fair enough, Mandy. If you’re a sensible girl today, I’ll call round tomorrow and we’ll christen your bum hole.’
‘It’ll be seventy-five if you want to cum in my bum.’
That was more than two blowjobs would earn her and more than a fuck.
‘OK, but you do a good job this time.’
‘OK, Sir.’
Sir was speaking again.
‘Christ, Mandy, you’re soaking wet. I don’t know whether it’s your cunt juice or what the guy who unloaded in you earlier left up there, but it’s dripping down my cock.’
Although she was still angry at having to ride without a cover for just a tenner, Mandy was a realist, and if Sir wanted to give her an anal fuck tomorrow, he might well turn into a regular customer.
If she could find ten or fifteen guys who would do her once a week at sixty or seventy quid a fuck that would give her £600 to £900 a week. Maths had never been her strongpoint but that would be a hell of a lot more than a checkout girl earned at Sainsbury or Tesco.
The problem with working the streets was the fucking ‘Vice’. From what her mum had told her when she had been on the game, it had not been so much of a problem. If the ‘Vice’ did pick up a girl and she was co-operative, which meant spreading her legs and grassing up any criminals you knew, she would walk free.
Nowadays with political correctness on the agenda, the ‘Vice’ officers were more circumspect, and you were likely to get arrested. Up to now she had avoided any busts, but she had only been working for a week and had definitely caught the eye of a patrol car a couple of times, so it would be her turn sooner or later.
Apart from Sir, another guy might be a regular. Two punters would not be enough, but it was a start. It was also less risky for them, as the cops loved to hand out the names of the punters they arrested to the papers in order to shame them and wreck their marriages.
Mandy was ramming her crotch up and down on Sir now, and from the grunts that were coming from him, it was clear that Sir liked the erotic sight of the teen cunt of one of his former pupils clinging tightly to his cock as she rammed up and down. Sir had his hands on her waist now, accelerating her motion.
After a few seconds his right hand drifted round to her cunt and she felt him slide it inside her for a few seconds. She wondered if he wanted to finger her cunt as well as fuck her, but the finger was withdrawn. A second later she understood the reason, and Sir’s finger pressed against her anal sphincter.
One guy had already been up her bum and she had hated it. About a third of the punters she had serviced in the past week had tried to finger fuck her bum hole, but she had pulled their hands away. She sensed that would not go down well with Sir.
She trembled as she felt him hold his hand rigidly as she commenced her down stroke. The pressure on her ring was painful for a moment and then her sphincter gave up the struggle and his finger slipped into her asshole all the way to his knuckle.
As she pulled upwards his finger lagged so that it partially slipped out of her, but he left the top joint inside her, ready for the next down stroke. As she rammed her holes down on his cock and his finger, Mandy realised it was the first time in her life that both holes had been filled at the same time.
With the whole of his index finger up her bum, Mandy assumed that he would partially withdraw on the up stroke, but was surprised when he moved his hand up with her. Suddenly she knew why! He was waggling his finger inside her bum hole stroking the lining of her anal cavity.
It was a weird sensation, unlike anything she had every felt before, and pleasant rather than unpleasant. A moment later he started rotating his wrist left and right so that as well as stroking up and down the finger was traversing a spiral course inside her body. Mandy had not expected to enjoy having a finger up her bum, but found her backside was starting to quiver at the strange sensations.
‘You like it, Mandy, don’t you.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Looking forward to my cock there, Mandy?’
‘Yeah.’
Mandy hoped that her bum would turn Sir into a regular customer. If she could find ten guys to fuck her at £60 a week, she could forget about the streets. That was something to look forward to, and if her bum hole was the price to pay, so be it. It would be great.
To her surprise there was a second reason. What Sir was doing was exciting and it seemed to be making her even wetter, as she could feel her juices bubbling out of her cunt. His other hand released its grip on her waist. She wondered if he was going to insert a second finger in her, but the answer came a moment later.
Her left bum cheek exploded into fire again as he brought his palm down on to it with a resounding crack. She jerked violently and grimaced, but did not protest, as ‘customer goodwill’ was important.
Although she could have done without Sir slapping her bum, the relentless pounding of Sir’s cock in her cunt, and the way he was fingering the inside of her anal cavity was highly erotic. After the fifth slap on her now tingling bum, the attention to her cunt and anus triggered her climax.
She could feel a bigger gush of fluid than ever before drenching the insides of her cunt. Simultaneously her entire body shuddered uncontrollably and she screamed out at the top of her voice. It was the first time she had climaxed with a punter, and it was something she had thought was most unlikely.
Sir must have been close to cumming in her at that moment, and her climax seemingly drove him over the edge. She felt his left hand grab her waist and drive her forcefully down on his cock and not let her rise again.
Although she was now so wet that she could not feel his semen jetting inside of her, she could feel the way his body had quivered and his cock had pulsed in her cunt, making it clear that he had unloaded deep inside her. His gasped.
‘God, Yeah.’
That was further evidence if any was needed. For about fifteen seconds, Mandy sat on Sir’s groin, the only sounds being the tortured breathing from both of them, as it had been a highly energetic fuck.
Mandy resented the way that Sir that forced her to take him without a cover for a measly ten quid, when that extra service was worth at least twenty-five quid of anybody’s money. That was shit, but if he was willing to return the next day and give her seventy five to take her bum, that was a hundred and thirty five in two days.
Chapter 3
‘Stop being a pain in the ass, Bab. I’m getting married and every girl is entitled to kick up her heels on her hen night with her mates.’
Liz, at twenty-two, was the eldest of the three Ward girls, and like the middle sister Kathy, worked at one of the massage parlours on the Bristol Road. Their younger sister, Mandy had recently started on the game, but worked the streets in Balsall Heath.
Liz had not pronounced girl as ‘girl’, but as ‘gerl’, as any Brummie gerl would, but that did not surprise Connie Devlin, as she too had a strong Brummie accent, both girls living on the outskirts of Birmingham.
They had started together at ‘The Brothel on the Hill’, the expressive nickname for what went on at the local comprehensive school, when they were eleven, and had been friends ever since.
Of the two girls, Liz Ward was the wild one, having lost her cherry when she was twelve, whilst Connie, improbably for a girl at a school where teen pregnancies exceeded the national average, retained her cherry intact until she was fifteen, to the undisguised scorn of the rest of the girls in her class.
Connie had married her childhood sweetheart, Tommy Devlin, when she was nineteen, so had now been married for three years. Tommy had popped her cherry when she was fifteen, and she adored him.
The only drawback to their marriage was that Tommy was a rating in the Royal Navy and was stationed at Faslane where he was serving on board one of Her Majesty’s SSBNs, or Nuclear Powered Ballistic Missile submarines, HMS Royal Oak.
Although the couple had married quarters near Faslane, both families still lived in Brum and when Tommy was at sea, usually for sixty days at a time, Connie would stop with her parents at their high rise flat in Bartley Green.
She did not want to go to Liz’s hen night, as there was too much drinking at such events, and from what Liz had told her of the hen nights than some of their friends had attended, getting laid by the male strippers was not unheard of.
As she and Liz were best friends, it was hard to get out of it. Reluctantly she replied.
‘All right Liz, I’ll come.’
‘If you’re lucky, you might just get to cum, Bab.’
‘I don’t fucking want that.’
‘All right, all right, don’t get a cob on. I were only joking, Bab.’
‘I’ve not got a fucking cob on. I’m not mad at yer.’
‘Yes you are, you’re right mardy.’
Connie glowered at her friend. She knew she was in a bad mood, and did not want to go to the hen night, but she did not want to upset her friend either. Liz stood up.
‘Let’s get the buzz and bomb inter town.’
An outsider might wonder what Liz was talking about, but as they were both ‘lowkel gerls’ Connie knew that Liz was suggesting they take a bus into town.
‘I’m not goin’ round the back o’ Rackhams.’
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell Connie. I didn’t mean that.’
Connie grinned at her friend. The ‘back o’ Rackhams’ was slang for a ‘working girl’ or prostitute. Connie was not a ‘working girl’, and although she knew that Liz did work at a parlour, had not abandoned her long-term friend because of that.
Posh middle class families looked down on working class girls like Liz who spread their legs for a few quid, but if you were poor and went to a crap school, legitimate jobs that paid a decent wage were few and far between.
If Liz had been a ‘smartypants’ from a posh school, she could have had a dozen jobs, but she was not, so she spread her legs. Connie was not going to dump her old friend because of her background or what fate had ordained for her.
Two days later, Connie was in the bar of ‘Hot Lizzies’ Nightclub. She had arrived by bus and walked in to the bar where she was to meet up with Liz and Mandy before the start of the Hen Night. This would take place in the Function Room of the nightclub.
Connie knew that Mandy had worked ‘the back o’ Rackhams’, or more precisely that she had strutted her stuff on the corner of Hallam Street in Balsall Heath. She did not like Mandy, but for Liz’s sake was always pleasant to her kid sister.
As Connie walked across the crowded bar, her heart sank. There was no sign of Liz, but Mandy was wearing a black fishnet halter-top, with silver studs around the band. The top was tied behind her neck and behind her back. She was wearing a matching fishnet micro-skirt that was barely six inches deep and only just concealed her cunt when she was standing up.
The skirt also had silver studs around the waist. Both items were see-through, and the most perfunctory glance at her skirt made it clear that Mandy had not bothered to put on even a g-string, let alone panties.
Understandably Mandy had the undivided attention of every unattached male in the place, and it was not a perfunctory attention. Every guy there could see that the cheap slut had turned up in a see-through outfit. Every guy could ogle her fleshy cunt lips and legs that were bare almost up to her crotch.
To Connie’s dismay, the moment Mandy saw her, she ran across to greet her, threw her arms around her and then arm-in-arm walked her to the bar. Connie cringed, but managed to confine her drink to a shandy. As she sat talking to the girl who was easily the biggest slut in the bar, Connie prayed that Liz would not be equally slutty.
A couple of minutes later Liz appeared from the ladies. Her outfit was better, but not a lot better. She was wearing a two tone pink and silver gathered cup halter-top and an ultra short matching skirt with a bubble hem. As with her sister, the skirt was so skimpy that it barely concealed her crotch, but at least the material was not blatantly see-through.
When Liz joined Mandy and Connie at the bar, a proportion of the guys switched their attention to the new slut, not least because Liz’s sheer Lycra top was moulded to the shape of her nipples, which were erect and pointed.
Other than noticing that a third girl was keeping company with these two sluts, no one paid much attention to Connie. This was not because of her looks. With a 36-24-36 figure, shoulder length auburn hair, cornflower blue eyes and flawless teeth, which were evident whenever she smiled, Connie was the prettiest girl in the place.
She was the kind of girl that would have won the old fashioned Beauty Pageants where the babes appeared clothed and then in swim suits, and she did not need a sexy outfit to look good. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a sweetheart neckline and a gathered skirt that finished half way between her crotch and her knees.
It was her sexiest outfit and one that Tommy enjoyed her wearing when they went out when he was on leave. Liz and Mandy were both good looking, but in looks Connie would always be the winner, but on a slut index, Liz merited at least a 2 and maybe even a 1, whilst Mandy would merit a 1***.
By Contrast, Connie would not even make the slut threshold, so no one looked at Connie, and everyone ogled Liz and Mandy. After an excruciating twenty minutes at the bar during which most of Liz’s friends turned up, Mandy, who was acting as organiser, held her hands up.
‘Gals, it’s time that we all took out butts off to the fucktion room.’
Connie had no idea whether Mandy thought that was the correct pronunciation, with the emphasis on fuck, or whether she was already half drunk, but it caused a few laughs.
When she went in to the Function Room, Connie headed for a table at the back of the room, but Liz grabbed her arm.
‘No yer don’t Bab, you’re my best friend and I’m not sitting up front without yer.’
Reluctantly Connie allowed herself to be dragged to the table next to the raised platform. Most of the other women knew the ropes, and had wisely opted to sit further back, as any girl next to the stage was likely to get plenty of attention from the male strippers.
As Connie had never attended a hen night in her life, she did not realise just how vulnerable she was. Even so, she was acutely embarrassed to be sitting with her two slutty friends in full view of every one else.
It seemed that Mandy was trying to be nice to Connie in her own slut way, for no sooner had the girls sat down that she offered to get the drinks for the three of them. She returned and plonked three glasses down plus some cans. She glanced at Liz.
‘Jack and cokes for us, Bab, and a plain coke for Connie here.’
Connie had told Mandy that she did not want to get drunk, and appreciated that Mandy had respected her wishes and not brought a JD and Coke which comprised one part of Jack Daniels Tennessee whisky and three parts of coke, and could blow your head off. Connie smiled at her and responded.
‘Thanks, Bab, that’s ace.’
Mandy picked up her glass.
‘OK Connie, we drink to the adorable bride. To Liz, and remember Connie, all down in one go!’
Connie smiled and gave the toast.
‘To Liz.’
Mandy added
‘And all who ride in her.’
Connie flushed at the sexual innuendo but you had to drink the toast no matter how naughty.
The three male strippers came on five minutes later to a crescendo of cheers, wolf whistles and applause. One of the guys was a six foot heavily muscled white guy. The second was a 6 feet 6 tall ebony black guy who could have taken a lead role in the film ‘Zulu’.
The third guy was swarthy, with a drooping black moustache. He could have been Spanish, Mexican, South American or Arabic, but was dressed as a Mexican caballero.
Mandy leaned across the table and pointed to the ebony guy.
‘Bet he’s got a big cock on him.’
Liz giggled.
‘You’ll see it soon enough, Mandy. Probably it’ll be up you before long.’
‘That’s all right by me. I’ll take him any time. How about you, Connie? Which one of them do you fancy up you?’
Connie shook her head. Tommy’s cock was sufficient for her, and she was looking forward to when HMS Royal Oak returned from patrol in about a fortnight’s time. Two of the strippers moved off stage, circulating amongst the women.
To Connie’s dismay, many of the women already seemed half drunk. They were reaching out to fondle the crotches of the strippers through their trousers and making ribald remarks about it being a big one, and looking forward to seeing the goods later on.
The evening had hardly begun, but it was worse than her worst fears. Mandy was already saying how she fancied getting laid by one of the guys, so presumably would head off with him to the changing room after he had strutted his stuff.
The white guy remained on stage, and as a driving beat started, began thrusting his groin back and forth in a lewd manner. Connie had no wish to look at him, clothed or naked, but if she looked the other way she would be seen as spoilsport.
If only she could have been at the back of the hall, she could have shut her eyes and no one would have been any the wiser, but because she and Liz were best friends, that was not on.
After a couple of minutes, the guy, who was dressed as a cop, unfastened his tie and held it from one hand so that it was dangling in front of his crotch. He reached round from behind his legs with the other hand, caught it and seesawed the tie back and forth, eliciting a storm of whistles, catcalls and off-colour remarks from the audience. Connie heard Mandy yell out.
‘Get ‘em off mate, we want to see what you’ve got.’
The guy took of his cap and looked round the audience. Given the loud comments from Mandy, Connie was not surprised that the guy made a beeline for their table.
If her remarks were not enough to attract any man, Mandy had pushed her seat away from the table and had her legs parted and facing straight towards the stage. Even from his elevated position on stage the stripper would have been able to see virtually the whole way to her crotch.
As the bright lighting on stage also bathed the occupants of the first row of tables, of in other words, Mandy, Liz and Connie, in light, her fishnet mini made it obvious that Mandy was devoid of panties. Understandably he walked up to Mandy, and put his legs each side of hers, lowering his crotch to straddle her lap.
She smiled at him.
‘Do I get to unwrap the goods?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think I get to unwrap the goods.’
As she spoke Mandy reached up to the top button of his shirt. Methodically she unfastened each button from neck to waist, and then reached out with her hands to push the shirt off the stripper. Before she could do so, he caught both her hands and stood up.
She looked disappointed but he pulled her to her feet and led her on stage. He stood facing her and then took her in his arms kissing her on the lips. Mandy opened her mouth so that he could plunge his tongue between her inviting lips. After a tongue fight between the stripper and the off-duty prostitute, the guy pulled back.
He shrugged his shoulders, Mandy taking that as a sign to push his shirt off. She put her hands to his neck and pushed the garment off his shoulders so that it fluttered to the ground. He pulled her face to his and they kissed again. As he did so, the audience could see that he was fiddling with the tie at the back of her neck, undoing the bow.
He broke the kiss, his arms going to her neck and he took the two loose ends of the halter. He pulled them towards himself, peeling the fishnet bra panels away from her breasts. He let go, the cups dropping down and the halter straps reaching below her waist.
Mandy did not try to cover her naked breasts. Instead she smiled at the stripper. He reached out and cupped both breasts, rolling them in clockwise and anti-clockwise circles for a few seconds before teasing her nipples between his two thumbs and forefingers.
He smiled at her and in a voice the entire room could hear commended her.
‘Turn round.’
He put his hands to her back tie, pulled the bow and let go. The halter-top bra had never been much of a covering but as it dropped away from her body, it meant she was topless.
He took her hand and led her back to the table. When the stripper had strode towards the table, Connie had been petrified in case he selected her, but to her surprise as Mandy unbuttoned his shirt, she found herself increasingly blasé about the whole business.
It was a hen night, and at hen nights there were male strippers, and when there were male strippers and randy women around, there was bound to be audience participation. By the time the stripper led Mandy on stage, Connie regarded it as quite natural that a girl who had been sitting next to her was removing a male stripper’s shirt on a public stage.
Connie was swaying in her seat and felt overheated as the stripper undid her friend’s halter-top and Mandy’s tits popped into view. The stripper courteously showed Mandy to her seat and then straddled Liz, sitting on her lap. He reached out to cup the pink and silver cups of her halter-top.
He put his arms around Liz’s neck and once again Connie saw a halter-top being unfastened, this time from less than six feet away. Liz sat with a soft smile on her face as the stripper drew the ends of the halter-top forward and let them drop past her chest, the bra cups peeling away to reveal her breasts.
The stripper stood up and pulled an unresisting Liz to her feet and led her on stage. Connie watched what was going on with interest. Presumably the stripper would get Liz to take his trousers off.
As he had not been wearing anything underneath his shirt, Connie wondered if he had anything on under his trousers. It would be interesting to find out. The stripper told Liz to stand behind him and to reach round his waist with her arms to undo the patent fastener on his trousers and then to unfasten his zip.
When she had done so, he told her to kneel down in front of him and to pull his trousers down. She did so, and to Connie’s disappointment, the guy was wearing a male G-string. It was red with a black stripe on the waist bad and a red pouch to cover his cock and balls.
What made it extra sexy was the metal zip with a pull ring on the opener that ran from just below the waistband to the bottom of the male stripper’s crotch. The pull ring would have looked ideal on a can of beer. Connie could feel herself lubing up at how good it would be to see Liz drag the pull ring down and reveal the hidden treasure within.
Liz reached for the pull ring but the stripper shook his head to her obvious disappointment. It was a disappointment the whole audience shared, including Connie, who now felt breathless and light-headed. The stripper led Liz back to the table.
Chapter 4
Once again the stripper showed the girl to her seat. He turned to Connie and smiled at her. She smiled back. He stepped across to her and straddled her, sitting on her lap. He put his arms around her and pulled her face against his manly chest. The hairs tickled her nose.
‘Kiss my nipples, love. You know you want to.’
Connie assuredly did want to kiss his nipples, and she took his right nipple in her mouth and sucked on it in much the way that Tommy sucked on her tits when they were making love.
‘You want me to slip your shoulder straps off, don’t you love?’
The words were delivered in a voice that the whole room could hear. Connie decided that was a very good idea. She whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry, love, I couldn’t hear that. You need to speak louder.’
‘Yes.’
Instead of a whisper, she spoke quietly.
‘Louder love, you want everyone to hear you, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what?’
‘Take my straps off.’
‘Your tits will be on show but you want that, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Louder.’
‘Yes.’
‘What is it that you want. Love?’
Connie stared at the guy. How could anyone be so dumb? She wanted her tits on show.
‘I want my fucking tits on show, like Liz and Mandy.’
The guy pushed the straps off both shoulders and sat back.
‘You want to push your dress down, don’t you?’
Connie felt that was a very good idea, and convulsively grabbed at her bosom and pulled the sweetheart neckline down. As the dress was not one you could wear a bra with, she achieved her ambition. Her tits were on show.
Although she had not noticed it until that moment, Sheena Taylor, a girl she had known at school was standing about six feet away with a video camera recording the way that she had pulled her dress down to display her tits.
Connie smiled vacantly at Sheena. As she did so, the stripper said loudly.
‘You want to caress your tits, don’t you, Connie?’
He was quite right and Connie put her hands to her boobs.
‘Move your hands in circles …. Now grasp your nipples between your forefingers and thumbs and roll them back and forward so they get nice and hard. … Smile to the camera, Connie.’
Connie did as she was told. The audience watched fascinated at the mental hold the stripper had over the shy and reserved Connie. No one had been surprised at how willing Mandy and Liz had been to show their tits, but Connie was a big surprise.
The stripper stood up and took her hand and let Connie on stage. She was unsteady on her feet, unsure of her footing and perspiring, but acquiescent that she should be paraded topless on stage.
‘Kneel down in front of me, Connie.’
Connie did as she was told.
‘You want to see my cock, don’t you, Connie?’
She whispered.
‘Yes.’
‘Tell everyone what you want to see, Connie.’
‘I want to see your cock.’
‘Louder.’
‘I want to see your cock.’
‘Undo the zip, Connie.’
Connie put her right hand to the pull ring. She did want to see the guy’s cock, but a voice told her she shouldn’t really want that.
‘Connie, pull the zip all the way down. You know you want to.’
Connie convulsively pulled the zip all the way down, revealing the stripper’s cock in the pouch. She stared at it. The first and only other cock she had ever seen had been her husband’s cock.
‘You want to take it out Connie, don’t you?’
Connie knew she wanted to take it out, so she reached out and gingerly took hold of the shaft and pulled it out of the pouch.
‘You want to peel the foreskin back Connie, don’t you?’
Yes, Connie was sure she wanted to peel the foreskin back, and as she did so she stared at the helmet shaped glans with its tiny slit or meatus at the end where the piss and cum came out from.