Mad Dog - No More Heroes Ch. 01

1 - Prologue:

Adjusting her clothing, Freya Dankworth stepped out of the house onto the dimly lit street. She cautiously descended the steep steps from the front door; spike-heeled shoes don't provide the best footing on stone flags made slippery by drizzle.

Freya checked the street in both directions, making sure that nobody she knew was approaching. Unlikely at half-past-two in the morning.

Her minicab, a dark blue Toyota people carrier, was waiting for her parked a little way up the road. She was happy to see it.

Despite the short distance to the car it took Freya a full five minutes to walk on unsteady legs. She had to pause a couple of times and steady herself against the wrought iron railings that fronted the terraced houses.

She managed to hold off crying until she got into the back of the minicab. Inside she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

"New on the game are ya?" the driver asked as they pulled away from the kerbside. "Don't worry, everyone cries the first time."

Freya was a student. She was in the first year of a business management degree at the University of Westminster. Studying wasn't cheap. Studying in London was extortionate.

There was no way she could live solely on her student loan. And if she wanted a few of life's luxuries, like going out for drinks or designer clothes and meals in nice restaurants, she'd have to get off her arse and earn some extra cash.

Obviously working for minimum wage as a waitress wasn't going to do it. What she needed was something that was part-time but reasonably well-paid. Oh, and if possible cash in hand, there was no need to do anything so sordid as to get the taxman involved.

Sex was the answer. For Freya, sex always seemed to be the answer.

Freya had discovered her sexuality aged fifteen at the Tunes in the Dunes music festival in Perranporth, Cornwall. She lost her virginity and gained a reputation that summer. Now she'd exploit her sexuality to make ends meet.

Freya used the internet to choose an escort agency. She arranged to come in for an interview. It surprised her that the experience was considerably less sordid than she expected.

The Russian woman managing the agency had asked her about her sexual experience. Next she took Freya into another room in the office that served as a makeshift photographic studio.

Using an expensive-looking digital camera she encouraged the younger woman to strip naked and pose. Freya's anonymity, if not her modesty, was protected by a glittery mask.

Within days of her going on the agency's website Freya's first pay-and-play date was made. It was a brutal experience.

She was picked up by a cab from her home, a shared house in North London and dropped off outside a house in Kensington. Freya tapped nervously on the door and it was answered by a fat middle-aged man dressed only in a bathrobe.

The thought that she was about to have sex with him for money made her stomach heave. If she could've Freya would have turned and run. But she knew she'd gone too far to back out now.

He had an open bottle of wine - already half-empty - and an empty bottle of vodka. He offered her a glass of wine which she accepted out of need for Dutch courage. After that she undressed; performing a private striptease while he ogled her.

Next he had her lie on her back in the middle of the king size bed and caress herself, fingering her vagina until she faked an orgasm while he filmed her on his phone. Finally he had Freya roll over onto her stomach. She felt the mattress sag as he joined her on the bed.

The man was rank. He stank. It was a not-so-subtle blend of too much aftershave, alcohol and cigarettes. His stench was almost overpowering.

It was fortunate for Freya that he wanted to fuck her doggy-style with the lights out. The fat punter couldn't see her crying into the pillow.

He demanded anal. That was a no-no as far as Freya was concerned. He kept insisting that she was dry and squirting lube on her vagina. His aim, however, was consistently off. Somehow most of the lubricant ended up on her anus. He managed to push his fingers into her arsehole, he was far from gentle and his violation of her caused Freya to complain.

The fat man ignored her complaint. Why should he pay any attention to a whining whore? She'd tried to insist that he wore a condom, and that wasn't going to happen either. That was the whole point of fucking a whore, she'd do what he wanted. She'd do anything as long as she was paid.

He lined the head of his cock up with her sphincter and drove it home with a single vicious thrust. Freya cried out in pain as he did so.

"Shut the fuck up slag!" he snarled in response.

She struggled but that only seemed to urge him on. He hit her. Not gentle love taps but hard slaps into her buttocks. Next the fat punter reached under her, mauling her breasts and cruelly twisting and pinching her nipples.

Finally he snatched a pair of handcuffs that lay on the mattress. He cuffed her hands behind her back, leaving Freya lying sobbing on the bed. The fat man tore his belt from his trousers, flipped the girl onto her back and lashed her breasts.

When the punter finally relented his assault, he un-cuffed Freya, threw her clothes and a handful of twenty pound notes at her. He all but threw her out of the house, she'd served her purpose.