As Freda listened to the story of Foxy's cock, she had become excited and had moved over as close to Tuesday as she could lie on the bed. Finally, just as the dramatic description of the vomiting cock was unfolded, Freda was overcome with desire. It had been a long time since, she had fucked a man of her own choice and for her own pleasure, and in her mind, she was back with Tuesday in bed with Foxy.
Without conscious regard for her action, Freda flung a leg over Tuesday, and shoved her warm and willing pussy over Tuesday's hipbone. In a flash, the old days in the girls' camp came back to Tuesday, and she automatically responded. She rolled her ass to work the hardness of her bone into the hot meat of Freda's cunt.
Freda gurgled and gasped, then clasped both of Tuesday's titties. She rubbed her thumbs over the nipples, and Tuesday realized that she, herself, wanted to get with Freda. Telling her own story had turned her on, and even if her cunt was torn with bites and scratches, she knew that she had to
give herself to Freda, and that the two of them would come to orgasm in some manner.
Freda continued to rub over Tuesday's titties until they were hot and heavy again, and when Tuesday's passion flared, she leaped down between Freda's legs to begin sucking on her pussy. Freda parted her legs as wide as she could, and taking her hands away from Tuesday's tits, she placed them under her own buttocks to elevate her cunt from the bed.
Tuesday loved it! As Freda lifted herself, Tuesday could not only suck on the clit, but she could get down into the gorge as deep as she wished, and underneath it all, Tuesday could catch the faint scent of Freda's asshole.
Oh Jesus, it had been a long, long time since she had been into a female asshole. Freda had a wonderful body. Her skin was as smooth as a baby's ass, and it glowed with health and heat.
Tuesday lapped about Freda's cunt, and then, shoving her own hands under Freda's body, Tuesday lifted it higher, and exposed that elusive brown asshole. She could see it, but she couldn't get to it.
"Turn over! Turn over on your stomach… quick!"
Freda was too overcome to question. She rolled to her stomach, reaching as she did to gently caress Tuesday's worn and battered snatch.. When Freda was flat on her side, Tuesday pulled her legs apart and was pleased to see a beautiful asshole.
Of course, Tuesday was no prude. She would lick up an asshole hair, or no hair. But there was
just something about a asshole that made her insides chum! Tuesday buried her face in Freda's crack. Once in between those deliciously rounded cheeks, Tuesday sought out the asshole with her tongue.
Freda squealed, and humped so violently Tuesday almost lost her hold. But she did manage to hold on. Up… uuupp! The darting tongue slammed its way into Freda's bowels, and Tuesday let one hand creep under the prone body to sneak a finger into Freda's twat, and to place another on the clit.
Freda, meanwhile, had to work with extreme care on Tuesday's cunt because of the injuries. Tuesday's clit had been all but wrenched from its moorings, and the hole was tender and torn. But up inside, it was in good repair. And it was here that Freda made her stand to fight for Tuesday's orgasm. But once her finger slid up into Tuesday's cunt, all Freda had to do was wiggle the end joint, and soon Tuesday was on the verge of coming.
Old professionals can communicate with each other without words. Athletes, bankers, lawyers… they all know each other. Whores are no exception.
Freda and Tuesday knew exactly how the other felt, and as the time for climax came, they gave each other the maximum attention and achieved the maximum thrill.
Of course, both girls were spewing juice from their vaginas, and Freda had expelled a small blob of shit as a result of the intensive probe of her asshole, but there was no big mess to mop up or lie
in, as there might have been had a man shot his load into the girls.
"Oh Jesus, thanks a lot," Freda panted when it was over. "I really needed that!"
"I did too," Tuesday said. "It was the best I've had in a long, long time!"
Freda laughed. "Guess we ought to turn in and get some rest. You probably won't be entertaining any customers for a day or so, but I'll have to be back in there tomorrow with my cunt wide open. Fucking is hard work for me. I know I'm gonna sleep like a baby. Whew! You really know what to do to an asshole. I'm sorry I shit on the bed like I did."
"Oh, that's all right," Tuesday said easily.
Soon Freda fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. Her heavy breathing told Tuesday that Freda was out for the night, and would awaken in the morning refreshed and ready for another day under whatever man she might encounter. But Tuesday was not sleepy. She felt strangely keyed up, excited.
Tuesday thought back over it all, searching her memory for one single redeeming feature of her whole existence. Rick! He was the only one who had ever really cared. He was the only one who ever had really taken the time to understand. All the rest of them… they had all used her, despoiled her body, abused her mind, and left her when she was of no further use. How ugly life was!
Tuesday put her hands up behind her head. Was her pussy the cause of all her trouble? Had she fucked herself into a horrible series of
uncontrollable events which propelled her downward? She didn't know. All she did know for certain was that suddenly she was very tired. Physically tired. Mentally exhausted. Whew!
She didn't feel that she could spread her legs one more time for some drunken lout to creep between them with his rusty old cock, poking into her pussy. Why the hell should she continue? Well, getting down to the basics, why should she continue to live? God knows life had been nothing but one searing pain after another.
She felt somehow cheated. Somewhere, everywhere, there were women no more intelligent and certainly no better looking than she, and these women enjoyed the security and comfort of a real home with children and a husband. Where in God's name had she missed out? It was not by her own plan that she found herself tied to a relatively cheap whorehouse.
She examined her motives. Was she fucking and sucking and allowing herself to be tortured for money? Wasn't there an easier and a more satisfying way to earn money? There had to be. Yet, it was a habit. No! That was a lie. She did it, damn it was hard to act… she did it because she liked it. Somehow she liked the idea that her cunt, her tits and her mouth held power over men. But what good was the power? It really wasn't worth a pinch of monkey shit!
Tuesday dropped off into a troubled sleep. She dreamed that she was soaring through the clouds until she descended and found herself standing in a sunlit backyard.
The place was unfamiliar, and yet there was an air of homeyness about it. Tuesday felt at ease. About the borders of the yard were flowers, and she noted with some surprise that she was wearing a big apron with giant pockets overflowing with clothes pins.
Well, for God's sake, she was hanging out wash. That's funny, she thought. I never washed anything in my life. But there it was, a whole basketful of clothes, and there were… diapers? Sure as hell! Wonder whose kid it could be?
"Mommie!" called a small voice which was followed by an equally small boy around the corner of the house. "Mommie, come and help! Come and help!"
The kid had to be about two, no more. And what this "Mommie" shit? Jesus Christ! It must be my kid. Tuesday choked as she tried to swallow. A kid. My kid! Damn!
"Come and help!"
Help who? Daddy? Jesus, wonder what Daddy is like? Tuesday left her basketful of clothes and hurried around the corner of the house. The car in the drive was new, and there was a man pulling a child's swing outfit out of the trunk. When the man stood up it was… BICK!
"Hi, honey," he called. "Got the swings for Teeny." He kissed Tuesday on the cheek, and slipped an arm about her waist. "Let the stuff just lie there. I'll work on it after while. Heck. I haven't seen you since this morning."
Tuesday felt choked up. She nuzzled up close to him.
Then they were on the veranda. Their son was asleep.
Bick held his arms out to her. She sat down on his lap.
Then he kissed her. It was such a warm, gentle kiss that it made tears well up inside her. God, how sweet it was to have Rick to love. What a strong, wonderful man he was! Somehow, he made everything all right.
He kissed her again, and as he lowered his head to kiss and lick about her ears and neck, he allowed his hands to stray. One found its way up her dress where he thrust it into the hot hollow of her crotch, and the other he cupped about her left breast.
Tuesday was not wearing a bra, and his touch through the lightness of her dress was almost as stimulating as if he had been right with her, skin to skin. Her passion flamed.
"Oh, Bick!" she whispered against his ear. "I want you so much!"
"And I want you, too," he said thickly.
"Let's go inside. Let's go to our bed!"
"Yeah, I guess we should," he smiled. "Old married people shouldn't be having sex on the front porch!"
They went into the house, hand in hand. Married! God, when had it all happened? Tuesday didn't know how, nor could she recall when. But she was very certain that she was grateful, and happier than ever in her whole life. God had not forgotten. He had somehow brought her and Bick together, and it was good to be alive.
In the bedroom, they stripped off naked, and she was thrilled to see his cock was standing straight up when he got his clothes off He still got a hard-on thinking about the pussy he was about to get.
Slowly, she sank back against the softness of the pillows, letting her body sink luxuriously into the bed. He lay beside her, wrapping his right leg over her body. He smothered her mouth, her neck, and her titties with kisses. Flames leaped and burned within her cunt.
She wanted his meat inside her, and she tried to wiggle herself under him to bring his cock closer to the opening of her snatch. She could feel the throbbing of his dick, and it was wet and hot against her. Keeping his mouth locked on her titty and his knee between her legs, he rolled himself on top.
Then in a sudden and unexpected move, he jerked his mouth away from her nipple, and raised himself with his hands on either side of her body.
She looked down at his crotch and saw… Holy God!
The cock was gone. There was only a ragged, dripping stump of what had once been a dick, and the blood gushed from the open wound. Her eyes swept upward to see his face, and it was… Lance! My God!
Lance was on top of her. His dickless body dripping its blood on her stomach while her burning pussy called and cried for Rick's cock.
Tuesday screamed. Piercing the air with the shrill tones, she gasped for more breath and
screamed again. Then she felt her body being shaken violently.
"Wake up!" Freda commanded. "Hey, wake the hell up! You're having a nightmare."
When Tuesday opened her eyes, she saw Freda hovering over the bed, and she heard the order to wake up. It was confusing. She had certainly been in bed with Rick. She had felt his kisses, savored the heat of his cock lying next to her body. Her pussy was truly wet with the passion fluids. And there was the child! Oh, Jesus, and there was the cock stump hanging on Lance's bleeding body.
A dream! A terrible nightmare!
She reached out and clung to Freda. "Jesus, I had such a terrible dream," she sobbed. "I thought I was married and had a child, and… "She began to cry in earnest.
Freda laughed a little bitterly. "Married, huh? Well, that's about as bad a nightmare as anybody could have. Well, don't worry. It was only a dream and it's all over."
Tuesday began to get control of herself. "Yeah, you're right… it is all over isn't it? Damn, you know for a minute or two there, I was having such a wonderful time. Had my own home. Even had a baby. Ha! That's a laugh. Me, with a baby. I'd be a hell of a mother."
Freda had lighted a cigarette for herself, and she applied the match to another which she offered to Tuesday. "I don't know. You might be a hell of a lot better mother than some of these church-going, hymn-singing hypocrites who show up for preaching on Sunday after they've fucked every
man in the neighborhood in a drunken swap orgy on Saturday night. They're the lowest bitches on earth."
"I don't know," Tuesday said, puffing on the cigarette. "I doubt if they're lower than the trick-shot artist in a whore house;"
"Bullshit!" Freda said. "At least we're honest. Hell, what's dishonest about being a whore? We're just what we claim to be. Those motherfuckers are out singing 'Jesus Loves Me' and doing things in private that would turn your stomach. Listen, not only that, but you remember that every time a respectable housewife gives away a piece of pussy, she's taking the food right out of your mouth. You're okay, and so am I. Hell, go back to sleep, and don't be so hard on yourself."
"Yeah. I guess you re right," she said. "We are pretty good folks."
"We're honest," Freda insisted.
They both had a long, refreshing sleep, and when Tuesday awoke, Freda was already up and out of the room. She looked at the clock. My God! Three o'clock in the afternoon. Damn! The first customers would be coming in before long. Lots of good, solid, suburban middle-class husbands, pillars of strength in their communities, liked to stop off for a quickie on the way home. She had to get up and get ready. But her cunt was torn up! She couldn't take a five-year-old prick that day.
So what? A torn cunt does not mean a useless.
mouth. She could suck 'em when she couldn't fuck 'em.
She dragged herself out of bed. A quick shower. She felt better. A few little efforts at making herself presentable. She was ready. She hoped to suck. She would like to get a guy who wanted to have a fart blown in his face, or one who wanted to fish a turd out of the john, or maybe to sniff her soiled underthings. But she was ready to take anybody.
After all, she had a certain pride. She was a thorough-going, honest whore.
Downstairs, she heard the banging of the door, and the clatter of the glasses as the evening's socializing was beginning. As she combed her hair, she heard the steps creak as the first girls took their men up for the early-afternoon fuck. It wouldn't be long.
"Tuesday? Hey, Tuesday!" the madam's voice floated in from outside the door.
"Yeah. I'm here. Come on in!"
"Oh, I'm glad you're okay," the heavy-set proprietress said. "Freda was telling me you're feeling poorly from some bastard messing you up last night."
"Naw, I'm ready to go," she said, forcing a smile.
"Well, I've given you a little extra time, but we have the order set. We got the district judge coming in for a blow job. He's right in the middle of a big murder trial, and it's the only thing which will settle his nerves. I'm letting Sarah have him.
Then Charlie Franklin called. You know, he's
the state senator? He wants to fuck straight out. No class. No originality. I'm gonna let Freda get him off before she gets her main date, the chairman of the school board who'll be in as soon as his wife goes out. He thinks she's fucking a neighbor, but he doesn't give enough of a shit to try to find out. So, we'll handle those two.
"After we get them settled, we got the chairman of the ministerial association, Reverend Harlow Billingsly. He just wants somebody to sit on his face. Don't have to shit; not even fart. Just sit there. Annie doesn't like it, but she'll help out because you're kinda hurt. But if we get another kook who wants anything out of the ordinary
"…what then?"
…. you'll be coming up next, Tuesday."