This story has rough sex and degradation. It is the prequel to the Raven 01 — 04 stories.
My mother once told me that once you’re an alcoholic, you’re always an alcoholic. Yeah, you might be a recovering alcoholic or a cured alcoholic, but you’re still an alcoholic. And when you go to the meetings, that’s how you begin; by saying, “My name is . . . and I’m an alcoholic.” It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since you’ve had a drink. I often wondered if the same was true for whores. Once a whore, always a whore. I was never an alcoholic, but I was a whore.
I only vaguely remembered my mother being an alcoholic. Before I was 10 years old, she had stopped drinking and was turning her life around. She worked at the nearby 7-11 for a few years and then moved on to a local gas station/convenience store to earn more money. She dated a few men, but it didn’t seem like anything was serious.
And then when I was in my mid-teens, she was accidently shot and killed in a hold-up at the store. Since I never knew my dad, I stayed in our apartment by myself and managed to use some of the money that my mother had saved to keep a small amount of food on the table and pay the bills. Thankfully, social services never caught on to a skinny black orphan living on her own in the slums of Detroit. They were more focused in the more affluent neighborhoods and making sure that parents didn’t spank little Johnny or Mary anymore because it may affect their self-esteem.
I lived there for quite a while and was fortunate that I never got caught. When I finally finished with school, I left to make my way in the world. I carried my meager possessions in a small backpack and an overnight bag. I hadn’t bought much during the time I lived alone because my money had to go towards food and an occasional rent payment.
Well, inner city Detroit isn’t the best place to go searching for employment opportunities. However, I was quickly noticed by Deshawn ‘The Knife’ Martin. When he approached me, he scanned my thin body from my face to my feet and back. I was wearing a pair of mid-thigh shorts and a loose ‘Motor City’ tee shirt.
“Hey baby. What’s going on?” He asked. “What chu doin out here all by your lonesome?”
When he spoke, I saw a gold tooth in the front of his mouth. I guessed him to be in his mid-20s and he was dressed with a purple jacket, yellow shirt and plaid pants. He had a big smile as he spoke.
“Nothin,” I said. “I’m just lookin for a job and a place to stay.”
“Well, baybee, you done come to the right place. It’s lucky I found you,” he said. “I can solve both of your problems. What’s yo name?”
I smiled at him as I began to get excited at the prospect of getting a job and a place to live. “I’m Raven. What do I have to do. Mr?”
“You call me Knife, baby. Unnerstand?” As I nodded, he said, “Come with me.”
He grabbed my small overnight bag with one hand and my hand with the other and turned to walk down the street. I fell in beside him. We walked for about a block when he put his arm around me and let his hand fall onto my breast. Although I was neither a prude nor a virgin, I was surprised at his boldness. But since he had been so nice and was going to help me find a job, I didn’t object.
Well, to say I was naïve would have been an understatement. The excitement of being on my own, getting a job and a place to stay blinded me to my own stupidity and what was to come next.
Knife took me to a seedy hotel where we shared a bottle of cheap wine. Apparently, he put something into my drink, and I soon found myself naked and under his body as his cock thrust in-and-out of my pussy. He used my slender body all night long and broke in my virgin ass. When I finally realized that he was dumping load after load of cum into me, I was thankful that my mother had started me on the pill long ago, due to some female issues, before she was killed.
He had me screaming and coming like a whore. My previous experiences were nothing compared to what Knife was doing to me. “Oh fuck!” I screamed. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Aarrrrgggh!” I don’t know how many orgasms I had that night, but I think I was beginning to fall for this older guy called Knife.
When we got up in the morning, he gave me a couple more pills and promised that they would let me float above the whole world. I quickly swallowed them and spent the morning on a pretty good buzz.
Well, after that, he had no trouble putting me to work for him on the street. He let me keep one pair of jeans and a tee shirt and dumped everything else. He bought me the sluttiest nastiest clothes I’ve ever seen. There were tiny little plastic skirts that barely covered my ass. The two pairs of shorts he bought let the bottom half of my ass hang out. There were no bras, but with my ‘A cup’ tits, I really didn’t need a bra. The panties were all transparently thin thongs. The tank tops were several sizes too small, and the single dress was a tiny little white halter top that was backless and almost frontless. Not much was left to the imagination. At that point, I quickly got over my infatuation with Knife and realized that he was just interested in turning my cunt into his cash register.
He started me off fucking his close friends. Apparently, they all wanted to try the new girl before she was ruined by hundreds of different cocks. Knife let me keep about 20% of my earnings to buy food and to pay him rent on my new apartment, which I shared with two other hookers working for Knife.
At first, I tried to keep track of how many men I was with, but at the end of two weeks, I gave up when I hit 34. Nothing seemed to be off limits to the men. There was a price to use each of my holes and there was a price for me to clean their cocks afterwards.
I used some of my earnings to buy the magical pills that Knife had given to me on our first night. Eventually, he introduced me to his dealer, Marcus, and his friends Leon and Bobby V. It didn’t take me long to begin buying directly from him, and it didn’t take him long to have his cock in all of my willing holes in exchange for a few pills.
The second time I bought from him directly, he said, “Take off your clothes, bitch.” I must have looked at him kind of puzzled. “Take off your clothes and get on your knees and I’ll give you a few extra this time.” I was on my knees with his big black cock in my mouth in a flash. Before he came, he bent me over a trash can in the alley where he transacted his business and pounded my pussy with his cock. I screamed and begged him to pound my black pussy with his cock and to give me his cum.
After that, Marcus would often let Leon and Bobby V fuck me when he was finished. They all made fun of the skinny whore with the tiny tits, but none of them ever turned down a free fuck or blow job. Leon eventually made me rim his ass, after explaining to me what a rim job was. I thought it was kind of gross, but once I had given the first rim job, the men seemed to want one each time they fucked me.
It didn’t take Marcus long to introduce me to heroin, and I quickly became addicted after just a few days. Knife was furious with me and beat me with his fists and with his belt. He screamed that I was a worthless drug addicted whore who would trade her cunt for a needle. And he was right. He took me to an old warehouse and chained me to a radiator. He brought me food and water and kept me there until I stopped seeing monsters chasing me and stopped screaming.
Knife told me that if I ever used heroin again, that he would kill me. He showed me a few of his knives and ran them over my body cutting my clothes off with the sharp blades. I was petrified until he gave me a couple pills to calm down. He told me that I had cost him a lot of money by not selling my pussy on the street this week and that I would have to work extra hard until I made it up to him.
The following weekend, Knife sold me to a bachelor party with 10 big men. All he said to the men, as he handed me some more pills, was, “Don’t permanently mark the bitch. OK?” The men all grinned and nodded as Knife walked out the door.
The men were a mix of black, white and brown and each of them dumped at least two loads of cum into my body before the night was over. They had me air tight several times. They spit on me, slapped my face and ass and called me a black whore, cum dump, black trash, skank and anything else they could think of. And I guess I was.
I could hardly walk when they had finished with me. I later discovered that they had paid Knife $1,000 to use and abuse me that night, but I hadn’t gotten any of it. Knife told me I still owed him for when he had to take me out of circulation because of my addiction to heroin.
During the eight months I worked for Knife, I had cum spewed over every part of my body every night. I’m guessing that almost 200 men had used my body. Cocks had been rammed into all of my holes, and many times, all my holes were filled simultaneously. I had been whipped, spit on and punched. I licked and shoved my tongue into ass holes of all shapes, ages, colors and sizes. I had been tied up, suspended from the ceiling, fucked over a dumpster, and pissed on many times. I was a whore. A cheap skinny black whore who would do anything for a few dollars or for a few pills.
After paying Knife his share and paying for my rent, I used most of my remaining money for drugs. But it was never enough, so Marcus, Leon and Bobby V fucked me at least once-a-week for some pills or a couple lines of coke. They were rough and they always made fun of my tiny tits. They made me beg for their cocks and beg for my coke. And I always did.
I won’t say that I enjoyed the eight months with Knife, but I can say that I had one hell of a lot of orgasms. I also had one hell of a lot of good highs during that time. There were many times when I thought I must have sucked or fucked every dirty sleazy slimeball in Detroit.
On my last night with Knife, I wore one of my tiny vinyl skirts that barely covered my ass. I did a line before leaving the apartment and then made my way to the street. I was feeling pretty good when I made it to my corner near the CVS drug store. Knife was across the street talking to a few of his friends when I was approached by a big white man. He must have been 6’4″ tall and weighed over 300 pounds. His gut hung over his belt and he was as homely as anyone I’ve ever seen.
“Hey slut,” he said. “You give blow jobs?”
‘Oh fuck,’ I thought to myself. It had to be this big fat creep who’s looking for a blow job. That seems to be the story of my life.’
“Sure, I do, honey. I’d love to suck your cock,” I replied in disgust.
“I’ll bet you would, you skinny whore. How much?”
Well, I knew this fucker wasn’t a cop, and I also knew I couldn’t turn him down or Knife would beat the shit out of me. “$40,” I said.
I saw Knife watch the man hand me four tens and I led him around the corner into the alley. Well, after he insulted me a few more times about being a slut and being too skinny and being black, he dropped his pants and let his seven-inch pasty-white cock flop out of his pants. It was filthy and it stunk. I thought I would throw up as I approached it. But somehow, I managed to lick and suck the disgusting behemoth to an orgasm. Even though it grossed me out, I swallowed his cum in hopes of getting a tip that I wouldn’t have to share with Knife. And then I tucked his cock back in to his pants.
I stood, walked around the corner and got back to my spot in front of the CVS when that beautiful Honda Goldwing pulled up in front of me. And the rest, as they say, is history.
To see what happens to Raven next, read Raven 01 — 04.