Whore [erotic fiction]

You stand in the doorway. Light from the streetlamp eludes you, your face is shadowed as you count the money dealt out to you by the stranger. The black, leather trenchcoat you wear gives you an air of menace, protected as you are by its thick, concealing folds. In contrast I am exposed, vulnerable - all my flaws unveiled as I stand under the harsh light, my back against the post, arms above my head; not because I am bound in that position by rope, chains or shackles, but because of you - because you told me to.

I am your whore. The man who searches through his handful of change to find the last twenty pence for the five pounds you have charged him, is eager, but drunk - or drugged. His crude, trying too hard, clumsy movements, seem to suit him though, and match his appearance. His clothes are label brands, stained with drops of food and drink from an evening on the piss. His baseball cap can't conceal how dirty his hair is, and the white t-shirt, blue jeans and trainers are a perfect match for those worn by his friends who stand a few feet away, drinking from cans and laughing, joking, and arguing over who gets to go next.

The transaction complete, you step forward, into the light for a moment. I look into your perfect eyes and you answer my unspoken question.
'No.'

You unbutton my coat, slowly, while you kiss me. You pull up the thin, satiny fabric of my skirt, and push my ruffled panties down. I step out of them, and you put them in the pocket of your trenchcoat. I'm left with only my top, cut low and revealing, heels, fishnet stockings and the coat that frames it all. You work your fingers inside me, step back and suck the silky wetness from them.

Turning, you nod your head at the man who just paid to fuck me. He grins in dazed fashion, and unbuttons his jeans with rushed haste. The air tastes of diamonds tonight, cold and bitter as I breathe in, quenching the sickness in me. His cock is of average size, but he holds it as if he were a club to hit me with. It's not yet fully hard, filled as he is with alcohol and amphetamines, and it looks and smells unwashed. I part my legs as he approaches me, and he rubs the plump lips of my perfectly clean and shaven pussy with his dirty, inadequate prick.

He shoves it in. I shift uneasily to gather balance. I look at you, standing watch in the doorway, and there's a warning in your gaze. I look up, instead, and watch the stars, falling in my mind, pieces of the sky inside my head, inside me. An empty place, now filled. The man grunts and shifts position. Now that he's worked his way in fully, I can feel he's becoming harder. He shouts over his shoulder to his friends. 'Fuck, this is brilliant! Her pussy's really tight. I'm gonna fucking come in a minute!' His buttocks thrust mindlessly, as he falls into a rhythm. He is a single speed thruster fuck - his sole aim being to shoot his load inside me as quickly as possible, using my cunt to jerk himself off, job done. I am surprised then, when he slows, and turns his face towards you, hands still on my hips, thrusting still but his focus on his question. 'I can stick it in her arse, yeah?'

'That costs extra', you reply. 'Two quid, pay up front before you do it'.
'No fucking way?! Two quid? Fucking hell!' He sighs, loudly. 'Oh, alright then...' He rummages in his pocket for change, his rhythm becoming erratic. He turns around and shouts out to his mates, who are laughing with almost hysterical amusement. 'Anyone got a couple of quid?' His friends come up with the money between them, and pay you the extra. Your face is utterly serious. You don't return their smiles. I know they disgust you as much as they disgust me. You are using them, like a whip, or a crop - as a tool.

He pulls out of me, and then feels between my legs for my puckered opening. He doesn't know that it's not necessary - you've trained me to angle my body for you perfectly, and my asshole splays itself for you on your first touch. He jams his fingers inside, awkwardly, and I wince with pain. He doesn't notice - but you do. I see your cock twitch inside your jeans, sensitive as I am to every aspect of your presence, however transient or trifling. More confident now, he brings his cock to meet his fingers and starts to push himself in. 'Ahhhh, yeah - fuck yeah', he sighs. He pushes in with force and falls into a rhythm again. With each assault on my body I feel myself come closer to sobs. I won't give in, I won't. Not to him.

He shoves roughly into me, jamming his prick as deep as it will go. His jeans are around his ankles now, and his pitiful buttocks twitch and clench as he pokes his dick into my arse relentlessly. His moans become closer together and louder, he cries out with shocking noise as his prick convulses inside me, shooting hot, scalding, plentiful cum into my body, into my arse, as he empties his anger at a world that he is too ignorant to understand, inside me.

He jerks away, not wanting to touch me, now that he's left me mired in filth like his own. Cum dribbles down my legs, soaking into my stockings, dripping in warm, creamy droplets onto the gritty pavement on which I stand, my legs apart still.

Before he's even buttoned up his jeans again, the next customer stands forward to trade with you for your whore.

And afterwards, after they've all taken what they paid for, you let me sink to the floor, stinking and fouled in mind and body. You clean me with soft words and rock me as I cry, I cry for you, sobbing into the leather of your coat as you cradle me.

'You fucking whore', you whisper, as you pull me closer still. 'You're mine. My whore. Mine'.