So, I Guess I’m A Sex Slave Now
So get this, right. I’m walking down the street minding my own beeswax—you know, listening to my iTunes, headin’ on down to the mall later—when this old dude comes up to me and starts spouting out some gibberish. I don’t know, he was probably thirty or fifty or something. The point is he was old. Like way too old to think he has a chance with me. I like to think I still look like jailbait, but I guess reaching 18 has given these old geezers an excuse to waste my time.
Anyway, this douche is jabbering something in Pig Latin or whatever and I just flip him off and sideswipe him. Of course his daughter or sister or who-the-hell-knows jumps out of nowheresville and tackles me. Right in the middle of a parking lot. I’m like, “Listen up, bitch. I don’t know what your deal is, but if you lay another hand on me, I’ll shove those stilletos right up your ass!” She says some dyke-ish thing like “Ooh, that sounds fun,” and then grabbed at my chest. The old dude, and two more bitches grabbed me and actually drug me into this van of his. In broad daylight. Really. There’s like, seriously, no cops in my town. It’s disgusting.
So, I’m in this dude’s van, and he, naturally, has me gagged and tied up. Doesn’t stop me from giving him the ‘stare o’death.’ At least until he put the blindfold on. I mean, really, blindfold? What are we in Mexico? It’s not like the guy was Spanish or Hindu or something. He was an old white guy. Maybe Jewish, I don’t know. Do Jews kidnap people? Oh, that’s a little racist. Sorry.
Anywho, I’m gagged and tied up, and hear more and more of this idiotic Hebrew or whatever, and I’m sure this dude’s going to rape me or something. I know if he wants a blowjob, it’ll be the last blowjob this rapist ever receives. But he doesn’t really rape me afterall. After what seems like hours, this guy just rips off my clothing, and tosses me out in the middle of the desert. I manage to finagle the loosely-tied blindfold off and saw where I was. I was naked, with my hands tied behind my back and my feet tied close together, although I could walk. Sorta. You know how they say nudists are liberated and whatnot? Well, maybe it was the ropes, but I felt pretty constricted by my nakedness at the time. You know?
So I shuffle along about a quarter mile, maybe more. Thinking I’m going to die in the desert, crying, all that bullshit. I mean really, what the hell was the point of all that? Eventually I come across the old brothel. So, I’m only about 30 miles from the city. That’s cool, I thought. At the time. I figured I’d shuffle in, and they’d make the phone calls, and get the police, and I might make the 7 o’clock news. ... Not so.
I plump myself onto the floor, because: A) it’s freaking hard to walk with your ankles tied, even loosely, and B) the carpeting is nice and I wanted to make an entrance. I screamed bloody murder, “help! help! I was raped!” stuff like that. I was being a bit of a prima donna. The dyke bartender just rolled her eyes and snickered. She’s like, “One of Harry’s girls?” and I’m like “What?” and she’s like “Huh?” It was a little confusing.
They untie me and set me down, and are a little nice, although I still don’t know what the hell’s going on and why they’re not calling the cops. The Dykemaster General’s all like “So, what’s your name?” And I’m like “...”
That is when I realized I didn’t remember anything from before the parking lot fiasco. I mean, really, amnesia? Is that real? Whatever that creepy old dude was muttering wiped my memory clean. Although I still know a bunch of stuff, like the alphabet, or toilet training. I just don’t know my own damn name! How crazy is that?! So, naturally, I’m freaking out, trying to remember who or what the hell is going on. I don’t have any ID or clothing, but I know I live near here. But... not exactly where.
So, I yells to the lesbo, “Hey, mister! Why the hell aren’t you calling an ambulance? I was, A) raped, and B) have some type of trauma-induced memory loss. Like on House.”
She slaps me and next thing I know, I’m being hosed down in this other room. I do my best to soil myself, you know to make this whore’s job all the more tougher. I get a laugh, but she has the gall to rape me herself! I don’t know if you call it rape or whatever, but she stuck her hand right into my pussy. She’s all making creepy gutteral sounds like “Ooh, I’m such a lesbian dyke that I get my rocks off sticking my hands into other pussies.” Really? Was I supposed to enjoy this? Because I kinda was.
They say time flies when you’re having fun. Well that’s only half true. Sometimes it also stands still and stops. In what seemed like maybe 30 minutes, this whore had done more to my vagina than I ever have. I swear, I probably should’ve been taking notes or some nonsense. Her hand was replaced by her tongue and her tongue by... well, I don’t know what you call it. It was like a vibrator or dildo or something, but more futuristic and seemed to heat up. I’m sure all the whorehouses have ‘em, but I really would like to buy one when I make enough money.
So while I’m all in a post-sex blaise she finishes cleaning me up, including the mess she just caused, and puts a bunch of whore makeup on. “Woah, woah, woah” I said, being dragged out unto the floor all naked and pampered, I was like “What the hell are you doing?”
Ms. Muffdiver is all “You work here now,” and... and...
And I really didn’t see a problem with that. I’m not sure if it’s the way she said it, or those crazy words that old dude Harry was talking about, or just me all high from the orgasms the other whore gave me. So, okay fine. I was old enough, I could be a ‘lady of the night’ I guess. My cousin was arrested a few years ago for being a crack-whore, so I guess it might run in the family.
So, I’m ready, for some reason, for my new life as a high-class super-prostitute. Like Julia Roberts or Jennifer Gardner or something. But they have their doubts or what-have-you, despite the fact that I’m now fully committed to this new job. I guess Megan, the whore that was all super-lesbian to my private parts, told them I was a virgin, so they had me go through weird sex education classes. And I thought I would be done with school this last semester!
So I go through a few courses of “How to fellate a guy” and “How to stick a dildo up your ass”—usual things like that. Thank god Megan was there to be my friend and get me off at least once a day. I soon learned to return the favor, mastering the arts of super-dykery for her sake.
Eventually the offers come in, some dude pays me 500 dollars, yes 5-double-o just to fuck me the first time. It hurt a bit and I bled like I was on my period or something, but... 500 dollars is sweet to have. I think the House might’ve got a cut or something, but I got 500 big ones to spend on anything I wanted. Of course, I bought me one of them heat vibrators. Ooh, and a fake ID. And a new iPod player. Then I ran out of 500 dollars pretty quickly and had to do it yet again. Too bad Megan didn’t pay me, I’d get 2000 dollars a day from her alone!
So about two weeks in, I start getting these flashes. Names, dates, my ex-boyfriend’s face, my mother’s address, things like that. I tell Laura, the lesbo bartender from before that runs the place, and she calls up Harry. He does more of that mumbo jumbo on me and the flashes are gone. Thank god too, because they were really annoying. And I guess the cops came by or something, because they just hid me under the stairs for a couple days with little more than a bottle of whiskey and a porno mag to diddle with. So, one more week and I’m out of the country. The fake ID works, barely, to get me onto some derelict boat on it’s way to Russia or Australia or wherever the hell this is. Harry, or “Harry Ballz” I like to call him, ‘came’ along. Seriously, that guy needs to shave or something, because he was giving me skin irritation daily just from that month living with him on the boat.
So I arrive in this country, wherever the hell I am, and after a quick abortion it was off to the races. One guy this night, another guy the next night. I’m still fucking Harry all the time, bo-ring, but he’s at least kind enough to share. I don’t know these guys and most of them don’t speak English. They’re all speaking Chinese or German or something. But they all like blowjobs. And surprisingly, fistings. I don’t like it, but, what’re you going to do?
I don’t get money anymore, but I still get stuff. Especially if I ask nicely and play my cards right. Maybe next year, I can get an iPod again.
So that’s about it. What was that you guys wanted? Double penetration, followed by a titfuck and a facial? Oh, and a blowjob and some assplay of course. Sure thing, boss.