Hobbling on one leg the fat hairy man bent to pull on one sock, too drunk to try holding onto the bed for support. He struggled, almost falling twice, but finally succeeded and put his foot down with a loud thump. As he looked for the other knee-length black sock he raised his head momentarily to grin at the sleek young girl who lay on the bed watching him.
You fat bastard, Paula Moore thought as she smiled back at him. She was relieved that he had turned his head away in search of his other sock, but not half as relieved as she would be when he left the room, after he put his money on the table, of course. She inhaled deeply on the cigarette she was holding. The money was the important thing, she thought. He can do anything he wants for money… and he had.
Paula could not ignore the burning pain that seared deep into her ravaged rectum. She hadn't been in the business long, but she was quickly learning the ways of "johns" who were willing to pay a girl for any perverted obscene pleasures they desired. This fat ugly man who now sat on the floor had not been the first to demand something unusual of her. Some had forced her to submit to fellatio or cunnilingus, while others had begged her to be cruel to them, beating them with a various assortment of instruments they had provided.
True, he hadn't been the first, but his demands had been the worst, she thought as she watched him crawling around the floor looking for his shorts his huge belly almost touching the carpet. It took an ugly man to do such an ugly thing, her thoughts continued. Paula could still feel the pain of the slap he had given her when he had demanded that she do as he ordered. How terrible it had been, how animalistic when he had turned her over and suddenly thrust his finger brutally into the tight virginal ring of her anus.
Paula tried to force the horrible picture from her mind but could not. She remembered screaming with fear as much as pain when he had first violated her. That was when he had slapped her with his wide flat hand. She had tried to get away, but he had thrown her back onto the large bed and had told her to shut up or she would get even worse.
Worse, she thought. What could have been worse than having that depraved creature force his fat stubby prick into me like that?
The throbbing in her rectum would not relent and she wished that he would hurry and leave. She inhaled again on the long cigarette, watching him pulling on his shorts while he bent over, unable to touch his toes because of the huge mass of flesh that he called his overpaid stomach. Lucky for me, she thought, that his prick hadn't been any bigger, or he might have really hurt me. She nearly laughed as she looked at the tiny bump in his shorts. At least Jed was a man in that respect, but in no other respect.
Paula Moore had experienced many emotions during the first nineteen years of her life, but the strongest was hate. Two men shared the distinction of being hated by Paula. The first was her boss, Wade Jackson, but the second, the one who had caused all her misfortune was Jed Dearborn.
Paula could not forget Jed for a moment, not even while she watched the drunken man hobbling around the room with one leg in his trousers, unable to gain his balance to put the other pantleg over his flabby calf.
She remembered the homespun restaurant in Davenport, Iowa where she had waited on tables and helped clean the kitchen for ten hours a day after her parents had died when she was just barely eighteen. She had received a few thousand dollars from the insurance company, but by the time all the debts were settled she had less than three thousand left and had gone to work so that she could continue her schooling.
But Davenport was so small and so limiting for a young girl who needed excitement. There were no boys her own age that interested her, and the only men that did appeal to her were already married, and therefore taboo to a girl whose strict morals refused her access to them. She was a woman at eighteen and needed a man, but none were available as far as she was concerned.
None were available, that is, until that hot August afternoon when Jed walked through the door and sat down at the counter she was serving. His blond hair was longer than most men's, but it seemed to suit him perfectly. His entire face, perfectly chiseled, seemed to be centered around his deep blue eyes. Paula had tried not to stare when she brought him a glass of water, but it was impossible. He was the sexiest man she had ever seen and she had to look at him, secretly hoping that perhaps she would be able to touch him.
Paula remembered him well, though her memory could not recall any of their conversation. She inhaled the menthol cigarette again and watched the fat man pulling his suspenders over his rounded shoulders. There was no comparison between this ugly man and Jed with his large muscled shoulders and slim hips, she thought, and retreated back to her memory.
It had been Saturday when Paula met Jed, and she got off work at three o'clock. Each word that Jed had said to her had seemed like magic, and for some reason, she had agreed to go with him for a drive. She pointed out parts of the rolling countryside as he guided his new red convertible along the highway, but he hardly listened to her. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was entirely one-sided, his side.
Jed talked incessantly about big cities, about gambling, about the girls he had known and all the money he had. It wasn't long before Paula stopped talking altogether. Despite her intelligence she believed his every word, and hung on his arm, taking it all in as gospel. She had thought he was the most exciting, most interesting man she had ever met, and decided that she could not let him go.
He had talked through dinner and half the night, never touching her, but teasing her with words she had long since forgotten. But by dawn she was completely naked in his motel room, her virginity gone and her whole being fulfilled.
Paula thought about that bright morning as she watched the fat man tie the broad striped silk tie around his bulging throat. She remembered Jed fixing his own tie as she lay nude on the warm sheets, her firm breasts rising with her breath. She remembered running her slender fingers along the supple flesh of her torso, teasing herself with her own touch. It was that morning that Jed had made his proposal to take her to Miami. They could be married as soon as they arrived and live together forever as man and wife.
Paula felt a sharp pain of anger rise in her breasts. That bastard! Jed's promise was as full of hot air as everything else he had said. After she drew all of her savings out of the Davenport Bank Monday morning, they had driven day and night to reach Miami.
For more than two weeks they played in bed and in town. But Jed kept putting off the marriage, saying that his doctor had to run special blood tests to be sure there was nothing wrong with him. Paula had believed him and even felt sorry for him, fearful that something might really be wrong with his health.
All those hours for two weeks, gambling and dining and drinking on her money, Jed saying that he had to wait for a transfer of funds from his San Francisco account, all that time for nothing! She easily remembered that terrible morning Jed had left the room to get a morning paper. When he hadn't come back by noon, she began to worry and by midnight was frantic with fear that something had happened to him.
She had called the police and even gone out looking for him herself, but to no avail. For three days she waited for him to return, drinking and crying the whole time.
Finally, on the fourth morning, the hotel manager came to the door with the bill. He told her she had to pay the balance before he could let her stay any longer. Paula had opened her purse and saw her wallet was empty. Jed had taken every dollar she had hidden in the secret compartment and now the manager was demanding six hundred dollars!
Six hundred dollars, she thought, as she watched her customer put a crisp hundred dollar bill on the table beside the bed. She had lost more than the six hundred for the hotel bill that morning.
The obese stranger said something Paula did not hear and left the room and she immediately got out of bed and walked gingerly toward the bathroom. Her anus burned with pain, and she was sure it was bleeding.
Once in the bathroom, she put out her cigarette and started the water roaring. The hotter the better, she thought. That's what Wade had told her. Wade!
Watching the bathwater, she remembered what the hotel manager had told her. There was one way she could raise the money… yeah, one way, Wade Jackson. With hardly any hesitation she had allowed the manager to call Wade for her, and explain the whole situation. Half an hour later he had arrived with the six hundred dollars cash, told her to pack her things and took her from the hotel to his car.
Still half in tears over Jed, she wasn't aware of what was happening to her when Wade took her to his penthouse apartment and told her to unpack. Shocked, she refused at first, but he told her he needed a maid, and she could work off the money she had owed him.
Finally, she consented, thinking that she could work it off as his maid, but two days later she discovered differently, when he came into her room and raped her. Unable to resist for long, she succumbed to his rape and spent the next two weeks in his bed, learning more about sex than most women learn in a lifetime.
She didn't love Wade, but she had come to like him for his kindness to her, such as flowers, a fur coat and jewelry. At the time it didn't seem to be too bad; she had become his mistress, and he did treat her well taking her with him wherever he went. She was nurturing her hatred for Jed, but it didn't possess her, not until she found out what Wade really wanted.
Paula tried not to think about it, but when she gently lowered herself into the tub, the pain forced her memory to work. The hot water on her ruptured anus seemed to burn throughout her entire body. "The bastards!" she said aloud, thinking of Jed and Wade as the pain seared through her abdomen and down into her tortured rectum. No one on earth could be worse than those two, she thought.
Everything with Wade had been fine until the night he brought a guest to the apartment and left the man alone with her. She didn't know his name, but when he kept making advances to her and she refused he got angry and told her that he had paid Wade a hundred dollars for her, and he was going to get his money's worth.
Well, he got his money's worth, she thought bitterly, and so had many other strange men since that night. The only difference was that now Paula got half of all she made. She was in constant demand, in so much demand that Wade had rented a special apartment for her to work in as well as one to live in. Paula would entertain usually three or four times a night at generally fifty to a hundred dollars a trick, depending on what they wanted.
But it was no kind of life for her. She wanted out so badly and had begged Wade again and again for release, but he only threatened her with prison and disgrace. If she didn't play his game, everyone in Davenport and Miami would know what Paula Moore did for a living.
She sat soaking in the tub, slowly washing her breasts and upper torso with a thickly lathered washrag. This is living? she thought. This is a living death, and I want out. But how? She couldn't do it alone, and most men she met would scorn her, and any man she would meet would probably want money, then leave her no better off than she was. There had to be some kind of man for her, someone who would care enough to take her out of this hell and into a real life.
There just had to be.