The Ballad of Emily Jeffers Ch. 09

One of the other videos Fred Wilson shot was Mrs. Eaton in public givin' blowjobs over on the other side of town, and three Black guys takin' turns with her on a pool table over in the church hall after pickin' her up on the side of the road dressed in nothin' but a thong. There was some story context in the brief script Jack cooked up and Mrs. Eaton ends up back on the sidewalk, hitchhikin', without the thong and big gobs of cum drippin' out of her.

We did another afternoon of her boys fuckin' her, breakin' it up into four different videos by changin' clothes and rooms and addin' in dialogue to make it clear Mrs. Eaton was their real mother. By that time she was used to fuckin' her sons, and completely uninhibited once the fuckin' started. It was only afterwards that she felt some guilt and remorse. But it seemed each time it was less and less.

In total, we had 10 forty-five minute videos of Mrs. Eaton, plus the video from the carnival. It took Mr. Wilson almost a month to get everythin' edited and put together, but as soon as they were for sale, they went fast, both in Johnsons Hollow and Haler City, forcin' Mr. Wilson to scramble to make more copies. Mrs. Eaton was now the subject of scorn and ridicule, but also lust everywhere I went, and times I took her out to show her off and expose her pussy and tits, she got felt up and played with by most men who'd by then either watched her videos or had already fucked her -- or both.

One thing was certain, any respect or credibility Mrs. Eaton had in Johnsons Hollow was long gone. She was just thought of as the town whore, just like Wilber Winston was thought of as the town drunk.

The day before her sons came and got her, she was cryin' and upset, and wantin' to run away. A guy name Norv Hinkle had paid extra to fuck her early that mornin', and handed over cash for the 45-minute ride on and in Mrs. Eaton's body.

"I'll get you out of here soon enough," I said, a few minutes after Mr. Hinkle finished in her and zipped up and left. "I been puttin' away money every week, but we'll need a bundle to get all three of us out of here and settled somewhere else."

I assured her  I'd do my best and get some of Bobby's friends to look out for her if things got too rough. That seemed to ease her mind a bit.

"Jason Stewart is one," I said. "And I had a talk with Matt Tanner and that Josh kid. They all promised they'd check on you and report back."

"They'll all be fuckin' me, Lawton," she said. "Those are all nice boys. I done taught them all in Sunday school. They'll all be usin' my pussy and thinkin' of me as less than a human person. Just somethin' to use for pleasure."

It may have eased her mind some, although I had to remind her she was just a whore and what people done to her was up to them and she had no say. She nodded her understandin' of her situation, absentmindedly fingerin' the whore tag she was wearin' now. She was naked and while she was opinin' of her plight, her pussy lips were hung open, glistenin' and all stretched out from the last big cock that had been in her. Mr. Hinkle's cum was finally makin' its way out of her deep pussy and poolin' on the kitchen chair where she was sittin', legs spread like whores do. Absentmindedly she was scoopin' it up with her fingers and suckin' off the jizz.

But that afternoon she wanted me to take her out and just let people fuck her 'cause that's all she was good for, sayin' she may as well make herself useful.

"Maybe we go to Haler City and customers at that there first book store can just take turns in my cunt," she said. "I ain't worth nothin' but my pussy. Every man says that and I guess I'll just do as Bobby and Benny tell me. I don't have any life now but layin' on my back and spreadin' my legs apart and lettin' people enter my body and plant seed in me as a breedin' cow. And you know what Lawton, I'm gettin' used to it and I don't even mind. I'll do it and I'll love it ninety-nine percent of the time. What hurts is my sons hatin' me so much they rape my cunt and then sell it to anybody's got a few bucks."

Again I reminded her that her only value was her cunt.

"You know you'll be doin' this for years to come," I said. "Your pussy is a cash cow for whoever owns it. Right now Mr. Harper owns it. Tomorrow your sons own it and Mr. Harper gets 10 percent of the profits everytime you fuck. Your cunt is a commodity just like sides of beef or pork bellies. It's got premium value right now. Ten years from now it will be worth almost nothin', so everyone's workin' hard to maximize their profits right now."

"I know, I should be more grateful and not feelin' sorry for myself," she said. "I got a place to stay and food to eat. I expect some day I'll be out on the street sellin' my pussy behind dumpsters. That's what happens to whores like me, I figure. Then when they ain't no use at all they're just got rid of like that April Jones girl. At least I ain't been put down like a dog."

She didn't know how right she was. She was bein' fast-tracked for a piss-stained mattress in a vacant, tumbledown warehouse or old factory in a Black slum in the big city. Mr. Harper already done prophesied that. It wasn't a matter of if it would happen, but when. I was tryin' to figure out a way of preventin' it for at least a few years.

She was despondent, and at about eleven in the morning we stopped in at the women's clothin' store Mrs. Tanner worked at and bought her a very sexy dress that was supposed to be over a bra and slip because the material was so thin. But Mrs. Tanner got her fitted into it and while technically she was covered, every private part was not only on display but somehow or other, amplified and more obvious.

Mrs. Tanner coudn't help but play with Mrs. Eaton's body for a few minutes, and that got both women hot and breathin' funny. But Mrs. Eaton sort of broke down and hugged her friend, tellin' her Bobby and Benny were comin' for her in the mornin', and they might not see each other again.

"They're gonna use me right up, Millie," she said. "Bobby done called me and told me some of the things they got planned. I ain't that strong, Millie. Bobby said they done bought me a dog dish and a cage."

I got her out of there and over to Haler City by shortly after noon, and we stopped in to a shoppin' mall, had lunch at a little restaurant, and shopped on a little street with boutiques and fancy stuff. Mrs. Eaton was the focus of attention everywhere she went, gettin' whistles, comments, and some even asked if they could feel her up. Everyone knew she was a whore.

By mid-afternoon she was so turned on she was tremblin' and touchin' herself and drippin' with every step. She'd been fuckin' on the sly for years, a couple or three times a week. She'd just spent a month bein' fucked almost constantly, and bein' trained to be a whore. She'd been, for all intents and purposes, raped by her sons, and made to suck probably two hundred cocks at gloryholes without ever seein' who the man was that owned the cock. She was fucked while she was passed out, and she was fucked by many men she knew and thought of as family friends, and many men she didn't know. And the clincher was she was now the go-to cunt for boys she once taught in Sunday school and baked cookies for when they came to visit. But the more a woman fucks, the more she wants to fuck. Hormones and endorphins and oxytocin were all workin' overtime in Mrs. Eaton's body.

And she had no control over her sexual urges and needs. After all the manipulation she'd been through over the years, I suspected whatever brain function that governed her ability to rein in her sexual appetite was completly gone, and perhaps replaced with something that bid her do the opposite.

And then I thought about her bein' hypnotized to help her quit smokin'. Maybe it did a lot more than help her kick the nicotine habit. Maybe they messed with her in a much different way. I'd read a book once in which the main character, a woman, had been deeply hypnotized over numerous sessions, deeper and deeper each time, changin' her completely when she heard a trigger word. Did it really take five sessions with a hypnotist to quit smokin'?

Walkin' down the street of a city almost naked, showin' her private parts and bein' the object of lust for every man who saw her, was a powerful aphrodisiac for Mrs. Eaton. Doc's estrogen supplements, plus her own natural need for cock, turned her into something more than a woman, more than even a whore. She was the dreams of all men come real. To cover up that voluptuous body, to hide it from the world, was almost sinful. That she had a brain and a mind and perhaps a soul, didn't matter to anybody. That she had emotions didn't matter. That part of her was no-account.

It was the livin' flesh that mattered. It was how her body looked and felt and moved and reacted and lubricated and clutched and grasped and milked that mattered. It was how a man could throw that body into orgasmic spasm that in turn measured the man. And every man's primal need to impregnate her was the very essence of why she was created. Everything else that happened to her along the way was incidental to that prime objective every man is programmed with. Mrs. Eaton didn't stand even a tiny chance.

I didn't know why we were in Haler City, really. But I did get an idea. When the time came, Mrs. Eaton would need clothes and she would need some necessities. So we went shoppin' for pants skirts, dresses, panties, toiletries, shoes, boots, and anything else we thought of. And a couple of suitcases we could fold everything into.

It cost me almost a thousand dollars, but I'd managed to skim a little from Mr. Harper, and strangely enough, I didn't feel any guilt.

"We'll hide these at my place," I said. "I'll keep addin' to it and we'll open a bank account here in Haler City under my name and I'll make it so you can be one of the names on the account can withdraw money."

She was almost in tears, me givin' her hope and carin' about her. I opened the account and we headed to that same restaurant for supper, where Tara wasn't on duty, but Mrs. Eaton was on display for an hour, makin' men horny and gettin' herself worked up even more.

Back home she had a very full evenin' of young cock, and was so horny and aroused from bein' exposed all afternoon in Haler City she came continuously. Two of the youngsters were Black with large, fat cocks and though their appointments were 45 minutes apart, they had arrived together. I told them they could both do her together for the hour and a half. They rode Mrs. Eaton steadily, one in her cunt or ass and the other lodged down her throat.

"Pastor Brown sure was right about this whore," one boy said as he pulled out from dumpin' his first of three loads in her pussy. "Hot, wet, loose, and made for use."

As his cock slid out of Mrs. Eaton's gapin' hole, his Black seed spilled out in big globs, coverin' her clit and then drippin' off onto the sheets as she was there on her hands and knees takin' it from both ends. The lad slid three fingers into her and pulled up with his considerable strength, almost liftin' Mrs. Eaton off the bed by her cunt and stretchin' her already open orifice even more.

"Bobby Eaton come out of this here pussy," he said to his friend. "Imagine all them hundreds of cocks used this here cunt. Nothin' but a cum dump now."

If there was anything Mary Eaton liked better than hard, young cock, it was hard, young, Black cock. If you could say that a person lived for somethin', it was youthful Black cock in Mary's case. She lusted after it.  There was plenty of that in Johnsons Hollow, and most of it eventually ended up inside her.

At the end, after seven 18-year-olds, I cleaned her up and took her downstairs. I showed her where I hid the suitcases, and put the new bank book with them, plus a stack of cash totaling three hundred and forty-eight dollars. I had a house key made off and showed her where to find it outside. As an afterthought I dug out the fifty-five dollars Mr. Hinkle had given me and added that to the pile of bills.

I fucked her time to time throughout the night, but slow and gentle, cumin' in her pussy a couple times, her gettin' down between my legs and suckin' up every drop of my jizz mixed in with her plentiful cunt juice. I still marvel at her capacity for drinkin' bodily fluids -- her own and everyone else's.

In the mornin', Benny showed up in his father's truck. It was ten in the mornin' and Mrs. Eaton was all ready, wearin' only that dress we bought the day before from Millie Tanner for her trip to Haler City, her well-used and still-swollen pussy on full display and her large breasts and big nipples pokin' out like they needed attention.

"Them boys hate me, Lawton," she said, standin' in the doorway gettin' ready to walk out. "Benny done told me I was in for it once he got me home. Said they was gonna have me workin' out of a whore house in Haler City time to time, and I'd be doin' somethin' called Ghetto Gangbangs. Oh Lawton, I sure hope you can save me. I ain't got a say, but you might."

Benny walked around the front of the truck carryin' somethin', and when he crossed the lawn and got closer, I saw it was a dog collar and leash. Mrs. Eaton walked out in her whore outfit and stopped in front of him and I guess he told her to get on her knees, because that's what she did. He but the collar on her and said somethin' else. She looked around in all directions, but her trainin' as a whore had her takin' the dress off and leavin' it on the grass as he led her, crawlin' on all fours, to the back of the truck where he put the tailgate down and ordered her to crawl in.

She lifted one knee up so it was on the tailgate, the motion spreadin' her cunt lips wide so her wet gash was open and all the world coud see it and knew what it was for and how it was gonna earn her sons a pile of money. The woman attached to it was no account to anyone as a person, but had value as long as she was producin' lubricatin' fluids and her body was warm and invitin' and in the right positions for men to penetrate her with their cocks and spew their potent seed inside in the unconscious, genetically programmed hopes they'd be the one to impregnate her.

She held on to the side of the box and pulled her other knee up so her prized pussy was clam-like between her legs, all puffed out from fuckin' and the lips long and thick from engorgement and multiple cocks pullin' them out as they drew back for another hard thrust into her.

The last I saw she was on hands and knees on what looked like a large round cushion, her big tits swingin' like udders from a cow, her nipples scant inches from the truck bed as her son tied the leash to the truck and slammed the tailgate shut.

END CHAPTER