Julie led a pampered life as a modest (though highly sexed), suburban housewife. Now that all was changing, after her husband Brad suddenly lost his high paying corporate job. At first neither of them felt too worried. Surely a man with his experience would soon land a comparable, if not superior, job. In the meantime they made the most of all the increased leisure time. With the pandemic, most of that time was spent indulging themselves at home, frequently in bed. But weeks stretched into months, and no good job offers materialized. Soon their savings were depleted, and one after another their credit cards maxed out. They never had real savings to begin with. To them, living well and living frugally was a total contradiction. Money flowed through their hands as quickly as it fell into them. Now the spigot was dry.
As the bills piled up her husband's self confidence crumbled. He stopped applying for high paying jobs, fearing the certainty of another stinging rejection. He became less sure of himself in every way, even in bed. Sex, which had always been care free, ceased to be reliable fun. More to the point, Brad ceased to be reliable. Two days after a disappointing tryst, Brad told Julie he lined up some work, two new jobs in fact, both in the service industry. Neither paid well. Between them Brad made a small fraction of his former pay, not enough to make ends meet, and the cumulative long hours he now worked kept him away from home almost all of the time. In her darker moments Julie wondered if that was why Brad chose those jobs. When he got home late at night, on days when he wasn't working overnights, he was "too exhausted" for sex. Brad was building a wall, ,with Julie on the other side.
Julie too got depressed, both by their economic straits and by a growing sense of physical estrangement from the man she always counted on to be there for her, to provide her every need. But sheer panic finally forced Julie, however haltingly, into action. They were behind on mortgage payments on their dream house, and Julie was desperate over the prospect of losing it. At first she diligently looked for a respectable job that paid decently, but Julie soon found out that she had no marketable skills. So she lied to Brad, telling him she soon would bring in good money from a new gig selling costume jewelry to well off wives in the neighborhood, but she had already failed miserably when she tried to do just that. But that innocent sounding lie gave Julie a perfect cover for what she knew was inevitably next, selling herself to strangers.
With no prior experience in the sexual underworld, and lacking any personal connections with the denizens who inhabited it, Julie anxiously ventured out (on one of the nights when Brad would not be coming home) dressed in a lovely sheer silk blouse that her husband had bought her for their last anniversary. She only wore it once before, but that time she was safety accompanied by Brad. They dined at a posh restaurant, and of course she wore a bra.
This time Julie would be alone, and this time there would be no bra to obscure her stiff pink nipples from view. Though she had never been to that part of the inner city before, Julie knew where the red light district was. Everyone did, the local news invariably covered some titillating story that for some reason took place there at least once or twice each month. Julie drove around nervously for what seemed like a half hour, staring at the seedy array of liquor stores, porn movie houses and adult book stores that made up the neighborhood whose streets were haunted by rough and disheveled men, each one looking more homeless than the next. Finally she picked out a parking spot in front of an old boarded up store front, locked her doors, and sat there frozen.
Julie found what she was looking for. She spotted them before but it took Julie time to screw up the courage to actually park. On the corner stood three women clustered together.Their high heeled boots looked incongruous to Julie in the setting of a slum, and they all wore impossibly short skirts, and tops that were either ridiculously tight or plunging to expose their breasts. Julie's plan was to find a street hooker like these women, and then to approach her. What she would say to her she never got clear on, but that proved not to be an issue. Alert to all of the comings and goings in a neighborhood as familiar to them as their own bedrooms, the streetwalkers noticed Julie long before she noticed them.
One peeled off and walked to the drivers side of Julie's car and tapped on the window, "What's the matter honey, you lost or something? You just don't look like the type of woman who belongs here." Leaning in closer she peered more closely at Julie, whose body was clearly illuminated by the glow from the nearby street light. "Hmmph", she said, and then chuckled. "Or maybe you do. Damn, you got nice tits." It didn't take long for the hooker to get the full story from Julie, who by that time had half opened her window and begun to cry. There was something about Julie's obvious vulnerability, and the soft swell of her breasts, that softened Jasmine's features - the two women were by now on a first name basis.
"Julie honey, I know you need dough, and lord knows there are men who would gladly pay for you. You still look put together for your age, and some Johns will figure they can fuck you at a discount. But the truth is, you won't last five hours out here on your own. Oh you might get lucky the first time, or the second, but men can smell a newbie, and, excuse my french, stumbling onto a rich bitch like yourself? They might not all be, well, let's just say friendly. Out here you're fresh meat for hungry lions. There's some brothers on this street, they get mean streak when they sink their teeth in white meat. You need someone to watch over you girl, to protect you, to hook you up with Johns who won't hurt you bad. A classy cunt like you shouldn't be on these streets. You should be set up in a room, you know, in a whore house. Call it a brothel if you like that better."
"My man runs one. It's illegal as sin, but you don't have to worry about getting busted there. A good pimp makes sure the heat gets paid, and he pays them well. Of course you won't make as much as a kept whore as you otherwise might, but he has a lot of expenses. sure as hell pays better than Burger King though, or the money you can make hawking stupid trinkets. And Tyrone will keep you safe babe, make sure you go home in one piece. Shit, he'll let you work regular hours if you want, and Brad don't need to know nothing about it."See, that's Tyrone over there. He been watching you. Tyrone, he don't miss a thing. He told me to check you out."
With that, Tyrone stepped from the shadows and approached the women, who now both stood leaning against Julie's car. Jasmine took Julie's hand in hers, then locked eyes with Tyrone and nodded. A quick grin lit up his angular dark features, It wasn't a warm one. This bitch is vulnerable, he thought, lost and scared. Best to take charge while she was emotionally drowning.
Jasmine introduced Julie to Tyrone, and he immediately took control. She dimly heard Tyrone assure her that everything would be OK, as he and Jasmine steered her up some stairs into a nearby flat. Seating Julie in a room that resembled an old time parlor, Tyrone told Jasmine to bring them drinks, and she quickly returned with scotch on the rocks. Smiling, Jasmine handed Julie a glass, "Here you go babe, drink this. You'll feel better if you do. Tyrone only serves the best." Julie reflexively swallowed a large swig, anything to calm her nerves. Tyrone nodded approvingly, and grinned again. This was his favorite part. Time to break her in.
What followed was a blur. Julie found herself naked with Tyrone on top of her, grunting loudly while his fierce thrusts impaled her with a hard cock twice as big as her husband's. His pounding was painful, but it didn't natter, somehow nothing mattered. And then the darkness closed in again, as black as the body that was violently pressing against her. She came to again in a different room. Julie was on her back, getting fucked royally by a much older man. He screamed out as she felt him spurting inside her, "Aw fuck! You cunt, cunt bitch FUCK!" He spit in her face before he left.
Julie's world was spinning as another man showed up to mount her, and then the next. As each man stumbled out spent, another entered the room to take his place inside her. Most were older than her husband, and some of them emitted a strong sour stench, but they each attacked Julie with wild abandon, squeezing, pulling, probing and biting the most intimate parts of her body, with no regard for what she felt, Perversely, that seemed to make the sex more intense for Julie. The rougher they got, the stronger her orgasm, or more accurately orgasms, became. Three hours and eight men later, Tyrone appeared. "I see you've met some of the locals" he said, laughing at her. He told Julie to take a short break "to freshen up." A large group of men, "a crew" he called them, would be arriving soon. They had Julie reserved for at least four hours. "Hope you like gangbangs" he told her. "We do a lot of them here, they're our house specialty."
Julie was flooded with strange and inflamed emotions, feeling lust and fear in equal measure, with sharp disjointed memories of the non stop raw passion that had reduced her to a quivering mass, her nude wet body splayed across the bed, like a ragdoll abandoned by the side of a road. The "break", if you call it that, she got was short, barely long enough for Julie to wash out her sore crotch. Holding a sperm covered washcloth in her hand, Julie was surprised to find herself smiling as she heard loud footsteps, and coarse male bantering, approaching her from down the hall.
This whore thing, she was starting to realize, might work out better than she thought.
As the bills piled up her husband's self confidence crumbled. He stopped applying for high paying jobs, fearing the certainty of another stinging rejection. He became less sure of himself in every way, even in bed. Sex, which had always been care free, ceased to be reliable fun. More to the point, Brad ceased to be reliable. Two days after a disappointing tryst, Brad told Julie he lined up some work, two new jobs in fact, both in the service industry. Neither paid well. Between them Brad made a small fraction of his former pay, not enough to make ends meet, and the cumulative long hours he now worked kept him away from home almost all of the time. In her darker moments Julie wondered if that was why Brad chose those jobs. When he got home late at night, on days when he wasn't working overnights, he was "too exhausted" for sex. Brad was building a wall, ,with Julie on the other side.
Julie too got depressed, both by their economic straits and by a growing sense of physical estrangement from the man she always counted on to be there for her, to provide her every need. But sheer panic finally forced Julie, however haltingly, into action. They were behind on mortgage payments on their dream house, and Julie was desperate over the prospect of losing it. At first she diligently looked for a respectable job that paid decently, but Julie soon found out that she had no marketable skills. So she lied to Brad, telling him she soon would bring in good money from a new gig selling costume jewelry to well off wives in the neighborhood, but she had already failed miserably when she tried to do just that. But that innocent sounding lie gave Julie a perfect cover for what she knew was inevitably next, selling herself to strangers.
With no prior experience in the sexual underworld, and lacking any personal connections with the denizens who inhabited it, Julie anxiously ventured out (on one of the nights when Brad would not be coming home) dressed in a lovely sheer silk blouse that her husband had bought her for their last anniversary. She only wore it once before, but that time she was safety accompanied by Brad. They dined at a posh restaurant, and of course she wore a bra.
This time Julie would be alone, and this time there would be no bra to obscure her stiff pink nipples from view. Though she had never been to that part of the inner city before, Julie knew where the red light district was. Everyone did, the local news invariably covered some titillating story that for some reason took place there at least once or twice each month. Julie drove around nervously for what seemed like a half hour, staring at the seedy array of liquor stores, porn movie houses and adult book stores that made up the neighborhood whose streets were haunted by rough and disheveled men, each one looking more homeless than the next. Finally she picked out a parking spot in front of an old boarded up store front, locked her doors, and sat there frozen.
Julie found what she was looking for. She spotted them before but it took Julie time to screw up the courage to actually park. On the corner stood three women clustered together.Their high heeled boots looked incongruous to Julie in the setting of a slum, and they all wore impossibly short skirts, and tops that were either ridiculously tight or plunging to expose their breasts. Julie's plan was to find a street hooker like these women, and then to approach her. What she would say to her she never got clear on, but that proved not to be an issue. Alert to all of the comings and goings in a neighborhood as familiar to them as their own bedrooms, the streetwalkers noticed Julie long before she noticed them.
One peeled off and walked to the drivers side of Julie's car and tapped on the window, "What's the matter honey, you lost or something? You just don't look like the type of woman who belongs here." Leaning in closer she peered more closely at Julie, whose body was clearly illuminated by the glow from the nearby street light. "Hmmph", she said, and then chuckled. "Or maybe you do. Damn, you got nice tits." It didn't take long for the hooker to get the full story from Julie, who by that time had half opened her window and begun to cry. There was something about Julie's obvious vulnerability, and the soft swell of her breasts, that softened Jasmine's features - the two women were by now on a first name basis.
"Julie honey, I know you need dough, and lord knows there are men who would gladly pay for you. You still look put together for your age, and some Johns will figure they can fuck you at a discount. But the truth is, you won't last five hours out here on your own. Oh you might get lucky the first time, or the second, but men can smell a newbie, and, excuse my french, stumbling onto a rich bitch like yourself? They might not all be, well, let's just say friendly. Out here you're fresh meat for hungry lions. There's some brothers on this street, they get mean streak when they sink their teeth in white meat. You need someone to watch over you girl, to protect you, to hook you up with Johns who won't hurt you bad. A classy cunt like you shouldn't be on these streets. You should be set up in a room, you know, in a whore house. Call it a brothel if you like that better."
"My man runs one. It's illegal as sin, but you don't have to worry about getting busted there. A good pimp makes sure the heat gets paid, and he pays them well. Of course you won't make as much as a kept whore as you otherwise might, but he has a lot of expenses. sure as hell pays better than Burger King though, or the money you can make hawking stupid trinkets. And Tyrone will keep you safe babe, make sure you go home in one piece. Shit, he'll let you work regular hours if you want, and Brad don't need to know nothing about it."See, that's Tyrone over there. He been watching you. Tyrone, he don't miss a thing. He told me to check you out."
With that, Tyrone stepped from the shadows and approached the women, who now both stood leaning against Julie's car. Jasmine took Julie's hand in hers, then locked eyes with Tyrone and nodded. A quick grin lit up his angular dark features, It wasn't a warm one. This bitch is vulnerable, he thought, lost and scared. Best to take charge while she was emotionally drowning.
Jasmine introduced Julie to Tyrone, and he immediately took control. She dimly heard Tyrone assure her that everything would be OK, as he and Jasmine steered her up some stairs into a nearby flat. Seating Julie in a room that resembled an old time parlor, Tyrone told Jasmine to bring them drinks, and she quickly returned with scotch on the rocks. Smiling, Jasmine handed Julie a glass, "Here you go babe, drink this. You'll feel better if you do. Tyrone only serves the best." Julie reflexively swallowed a large swig, anything to calm her nerves. Tyrone nodded approvingly, and grinned again. This was his favorite part. Time to break her in.
What followed was a blur. Julie found herself naked with Tyrone on top of her, grunting loudly while his fierce thrusts impaled her with a hard cock twice as big as her husband's. His pounding was painful, but it didn't natter, somehow nothing mattered. And then the darkness closed in again, as black as the body that was violently pressing against her. She came to again in a different room. Julie was on her back, getting fucked royally by a much older man. He screamed out as she felt him spurting inside her, "Aw fuck! You cunt, cunt bitch FUCK!" He spit in her face before he left.
Julie's world was spinning as another man showed up to mount her, and then the next. As each man stumbled out spent, another entered the room to take his place inside her. Most were older than her husband, and some of them emitted a strong sour stench, but they each attacked Julie with wild abandon, squeezing, pulling, probing and biting the most intimate parts of her body, with no regard for what she felt, Perversely, that seemed to make the sex more intense for Julie. The rougher they got, the stronger her orgasm, or more accurately orgasms, became. Three hours and eight men later, Tyrone appeared. "I see you've met some of the locals" he said, laughing at her. He told Julie to take a short break "to freshen up." A large group of men, "a crew" he called them, would be arriving soon. They had Julie reserved for at least four hours. "Hope you like gangbangs" he told her. "We do a lot of them here, they're our house specialty."
Julie was flooded with strange and inflamed emotions, feeling lust and fear in equal measure, with sharp disjointed memories of the non stop raw passion that had reduced her to a quivering mass, her nude wet body splayed across the bed, like a ragdoll abandoned by the side of a road. The "break", if you call it that, she got was short, barely long enough for Julie to wash out her sore crotch. Holding a sperm covered washcloth in her hand, Julie was surprised to find herself smiling as she heard loud footsteps, and coarse male bantering, approaching her from down the hall.
This whore thing, she was starting to realize, might work out better than she thought.
