All persons are over 18.
All persons and places are fictitious.
A very short story inspired by a Psychological Transition thread on Authors Hangout.
https://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=1554145
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Squealers.
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(Acquiring a Humiliation and Degradation habit by reward and behaviour shaping.)
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Anyone can sit on a vacant bar-stool in Maigretville. He does.
“Hi mate, you don’t mind?”
“No.”
I’m an easy-going guy having a mid-day beer in an eaterie, taking the edge off my inhibitions in readiness to bar-hop when the girlie bars open at 2 pm. Meantime, I watch the street life pass by, especially the working girls in their skimpy ‘Love for Sale’ brand advergarments. Hanging from their backs, are signature shag-bags. Inside, a change of clothes, rubbing alcohol and a packet of free, Social Hygiene issue, Trust condoms. He’s, maybe, ten years older than me, slightly pudgy, wheezy, doesn’t look too fit.
As the girls in the street pass, their faces turn towards us and their eyes, filled with the promise of dreams fulfilled, meet ours and stick. Their heads rotate until their forward motion causes their heads to snap back to the front.
He orders and looks across at me. “You got a girl?”
“I’m Tom. No. I’ll hook up with someone later.”
“I’m Colin. I bar-fined out a hot one last night.”
“Where from?”
“Panama Jacks. Here, have a look.”
He has one of the new digital cameras and he hands it to me to view. “She’s Precious, her name.”
She’s a pretty thing, laying against the bed head, clutching her legs drawn up and parted. She’s eighteen or nineteen, teen breasts, tight figure, hairless as a baby and smiling charmingly.
“Precious from Panama Jack’s, I’ll remember that.”
“But not tonight. I’m bar-fining her again tonight.”
“You saw her first. She gave you the full ‘girlfriend experience’ then.”
“Terrific, my kind of girl.”
“Wife material?”
“Fuck off — No — A wannabe slut.”
I looked back at her picture. She looked so sweet, I’m sure she has much higher ambitions. “Really. She doesn’t look the type.”
“I can train her. She’s fresh meat, only been here two months, doesn’t know the ropes.”
“Well, a nice girlfriend anyway?”
“She’s still a farm girl. They come here thinking they have talent, but they’ve never fucked professionally, and they have romantic notions. I’m not here for romance, I come to spew six months of stored semen into them.”
“D’you visit often?
“Twice a year, for a month. That’s usually enough time to train up two new whores.”
“Oh. What’s your job?”
“Cabbie, I come in the low season months. Bilk the tourists in high season, 14 hours a day, and blow my ill-gotten gains in the low season.”
“London?”
“Yeh.”
“Me too.”
He adds, “It’s like awarding scholarships — I pay well and they get an expensive education. When I go home I leave behind two whores fully qualified to blow the mind of some naïve romantic fool and trap them into marriage.”
“You should register as an educational charity then you wouldn’t have to pay tax.”
He laughed. “Let’s say my untaxed earnings already fund this charity. What about you?’
“I’m freelance. I visit three times a year. I’ve bought a two-bed bungalow, cheap as chips. After the first year, I’d paid for it in saved hotel bills.”
“Just you there?”
“A girlfriend manages it when I’m away. She lets bed-space to her friends.”
“When you say, girlfriend…?”
“A professional girlfriend, we go back years. She works in Bird Cage, she lets out to the other girls. Any money she makes she keeps, but she pays all the bills and maintenance. She packs in five other girls.”
“Sex on tap.”
“I bring back takeouts… don’t want to cause friction at home.”
“Your girlfriend doesn’t mind then?”
“No. I’ll sometimes ask her to make up a threesome, but our relationship is shared memories and money. She’s a good housekeeper and makes a lot from running the house. She’s ambitious and talks about becoming a Mamasan and running her own stable.”
“Money always works, that’s how I train my whores.”
“How’s that?”
“Like Precious. She was bitching last night. But I paid for a whore and I wanted a whore. She ended up squealing and crying.”
“That doesn’t sound as if it went well. Why was that?”
“She didn’t want me to fuck her arse. I told her she’s a whore and I’ve paid so I’m going to fuck her arse, and I did. She’s squealing and crying, but the more she bucks the better it gets. After I shot, I told her to suck my cock clean. She’s still snivelling, so told her I was going to do it again in the morning.”
“How did she feel about that?”
“She was giving me all the ‘Please No, please don’t,’ bullshit. I told her she wasn’t going to short change me, she’s a whore now, she’s got to do a whore’s work.”
“What happened this morning?”
“I woke up with a boner, she’d hit my sweet spot and I wanted more. She wrapped herself in the sheets and pretended she’s asleep. I pulled her out and told her to give me a blow-job…
…While she’s sucking I told her what we were going to do. She’d put my cock ring on and then suck me big and tie me off. I’d fuck her pussy, then eat it, then I’d fuck her arse for as long as I could. When my balls were bursting I’d release my cock strap and unload into her rectum…
… Basically, that’s my money shot, that’s what they get paid for.
But I wanted her to hold her arse cheeks apart so I could photographer her dilated anus. She started crying and pleading again. I did the deed anyway…
… I gave her anus some serious punishment. The more they squeal the more I make them squeal ‘cos I just get more excited. When my boner was too painful I pulled the strap and released such a gusher I almost got cramp in my dick. Then I got some fantastic pictures of her winking anus. That’s what I want for my money.”
He handed me back his camera displaying a picture of her kneeling and bent over on the bed, parting her cheeks to show her dilated, red and swollen anus. “Scroll through.” There must have been ten shots. Then there was a picture of her sitting, deflated, glum-faced and teary-eyed on the end of the bed.
“There, I’d just shown her the pictures of her anus. She kicked off again when I told her I was going to put them on the internet with her name and phone number. I told her it was free publicity and she should be grateful I’d be putting work, and money, her way.”
“You said you’d bar-fine her again tonight: why’d she agree, she doesn’t look happy.”
“She doesn’t know. I’m going to surprise her?”
“Maybe she won’t come.”
“It’s a compulsory bar-fine bar. She starts at 6 pm, I’ll pop in at 2 pm when the bar opens and pre-order.”
“What if she’s reluctant?”
“I’ll tell her I’ll show the pictures of her winking anus to her friends. But I doubt I’ll need to do that.”
“Why not?”
“Look at this picture.” He showed me a picture of her standing at the door about to leave. Her delightful smile was back on her face, her outstretched hand holding two 1000p notes.
“She’s already learned ‘there’s no gain without pain’. Tonight I’ll promise her 3000p if I can unload three times. In ten days she’ll be calling me to ask if I want to take her out. But she’ll have stopped squealing. I’ll move on to a new virgin arse. I love squealers. I love training up anal whores…
… Once I’ve fucked the foolishness out of them and they embrace their whoredom a whole new world of profitable possibilities opens up to them. They’ll seek out their customers darkest desires to satisfy — if the price is right.
The customer will always be right and they’re addicted to money. When you put the money in their hand they’ll smile, like Precious did. That’s the tell-tale sign of a trained whore.”
“Well, give me her number and I call her in a month or so.”
###
A month later I’m back in London. At 1.30 in the morning, I call Precious.
She answers. “Hi, who call me.”
“Sorry, I’ve blocked my caller I’d. I didn’t know who’d answer. Is this Precious Lazatin?”
“Yes. I’m Precious.”
“I’m calling from London. I saw your advert, I didn’t know if it was a wind-up.”
“What advert?”
“It was stuck on the wall in the gents’ toilet at Waterloo station. I’ve seen it a couple of times. I took a chance that it was genuine. I like your photos, very arousing, it says ‘anal whore available to satisfy all cocks, any size’, is that correct.”
“Not in London.”
“I know, but I can travel.”
“OK, if you’re here in Angeles. Are you a friend of Colin?”
“Not so far as I know. Who is he?”
“Never mind. When will you travel?”
“I can travel very soon, but before I travel I ought to say I have other tastes a girl like you may entertain?”
“Like what?”
“I like to pee on girls, in their mouths, and have them pee on me.”
“OK, that’s OK.”
“And I’d like to do these things when you’re tied up? I can pay well, money’s no object.”
“I like a rich guy but you still have to bar-fine two girls, one to guard just in case.”
“No problem, but you needn’t worry, I’m really a sweetheart.”
“But your wife don’t think so?”
“I’ve never married, I’ve never met a girl who understands.”
“Oh, rich… and available. Me too, I’m available, and I understand. Tell me anything and I’ll do it.”
“Well, you sound a very nice girl.”
“Yes, a very nice girl. I can meet you at the airport and be your guide.
“Excellent, you’re so considerate, I like you already. Well, if I see your advert in the gents again, I’ll take it down. You may not need to advertise anymore. Have you ever been to London?”