The Fifty Rupee Whore

The second episode happened in the red light area in Delhi. I had interviewed the madams, the bosses and some of the pimps, and they were all perfectly polite and respectful towards me. Had answered all my questions, shared some more information, and had gotten some of the prostitutes to talk to me. Most of the prostitutes I interviewed said pretty much the same thing. They got into this business because they had no choice or they were too poor, so on and so forth.

The one interview that stuck in my head and got me thinking was with a woman named Padma. She actually seemed to enjoy what she was doing. She was not really from an extremely poor family or small village. She had grown up in a middle class family and gotten married to a guy her parents found for her. But her husband could not satisfy her, so she started cheating on him. Got caught, and her husband left her. She then stayed with one of her lovers without marrying him, but grew tired of him too. Finally, one of the guys she was sleeping with turned out to be a pimp. He got her into this business and she loved it.

"Let me be honest with you." she said towards the end, "Sometimes I do feel guilty and cheap that I am selling myself for sex. But it also turns me on. I especially love having sex with the poorest clients - the fifty rupees men as we call them. They are so rough, dominating, wild... almost like animals. In comparison, the educated and richer guys seem tame. I don't know why, but as a man is more and more educated, he seems to satisfy me less and less in bed. You probably won't understand.... but there's a perverse and intense pleasure in being a fifty rupee whore for those wild, uneducated penniless men."

Somehow that struck a cord with me. And I realized why I had been so unsatisfied even after having sex with those other men in recent times. They were good in bed, but they were too gentle, too nice, too..... normal. Apparently, I did not want that. I wanted men like the ones Padma mentioned. Men like Zahid and Mansoor whom someone like me normally would not even look at, much less talk to. Maybe it was the taboo of the situation. Maybe it was the masochistic instinct of giving myself up to ugly, uncouth and uneducated men. Whatever it was, that was what I wanted.

A week later, as I got off the plane in Bombay for the interviews there, I had given this a lot of thought. Weighed the pros and cons of my desires. The cons were fairly obvious, and the same ones that had kept me away from Zahid and Mansoor after that one night. the fear of getting blackmailed, and of my reputation getting besmirched and my marriage and career being destroyed. But as I thought about my Bombay visit, Susan's proposal combined with what Padma had said, and a solution presented itself in a flash of brilliance.

There was no better place to have sex with the kind of guys I wanted, than in the sort of brothel Padma worked in. Obviously, I could not go there, because everyone knew me now. Word would get out. But no one knew me too well in Bombay. If I went to one of the many brothels in Bombay, and instead of interviewing people went...well...undercover, so to say... I could kill two birds with one stone.

I first finished all my interviews with the high class prostitution ring people. That took two days. I had 4 more days before my return flight to Delhi. It was with an intense desire to go through with my plan, and spine-chilling fear and doubts over what I was doing, that I went to a red-light area in South Bombay at that night.

My presence there drew many stares. The scene was similar to the red light area in Delhi. Narrow street, with a lot of men milling around. Old ramshackle buildings with windows. Prostitutes sitting or standing by the windows trying to either attract the attention of the men, or then negotiating. And some pimps standing around, with some men around them trying to strike deals. I walked around a bit and got a lot of stares. In my formal pantsuit, I did not look like I belonged there. I seemed like some hotshot female investment banker who had walked out of her Nariman Point office, taken a few wrong turns on the street, and was lost.

Most of the pimps were surrounded by many men. One pimp was talking to only one man. I saw the man give him back a stack of pictures, and two hundred rupee notes. The man walked into the building, and the pimp stood there, whistling. I walked towards him. As he saw me approach, he stopped whistling and got a serious look on his face,

"Yes Miss, how can I help you Miss? Reporter, Miss?"

He had assumed I was a reporter. The only women who looked and dressed like me and came here must have been reporters covering some story or seeking "human condition" stories.

"I need to speak with the chief person here." I said.

"Oh, you want to talk to the Begum?" he said. "Newspaper story? Interview?"

"Begum is it? Can I meet her please?"

Five minutes later, I was sitting on a cheap imitation velvet couch in a clean, but garishly decorated room, waiting for the Begum, i.e. the Madam of the brothel. Finally she walked in, and I stood up to greet her. The Begum was an overweight lady dressed in a heavily embroidered red sari, the type that new brides wear. She was also wearing some really heavy make-up, and was smoking a cigarette. As I stood up, she motioned me to sit down, and took the seat on an armchair next to the couch.

"Yes, which newspaper are you from?" she asked.

"I am not from a newspaper." I said. I started to say something more but the words didn't quite come out.

"Not from a newspaper? Then what are you doing here?" she said, her chest heaving as she took another puff.

"I am actually...well.... this is a little embarrassing... I want to try this business for a couple of nights." I said. Begum looked at me with piercing eyes, and said,

"I am sorry, we don't deal in gigolos. But I can make some calls to a friend and..."

"No, no. You misunderstood me." I looked around, then moved on the couch until I was very close to her and said in a low voice, "I want to be a prostitute here."

Begum gave a start, just as she was taking another puff, and that made her cough violently. As her coughing fit subsided after a minute or so, she said to me in a loud voice,

"WHAT??? YOU??? A PROSTITUTE HERE????"

"Yes, Begum." I replied as she stared at me with her mouth open. Finally she closed her mouth and then said,

"OK, I get it. You are some rich woman with money trouble and you think you can earn thousands of rupees a night in this business. Well, looking at you" she paused and checked me out for a few seconds, "Yes, looking at you, I would say you can. By my guess, you could make at least ten thousand a night if not more. You are very pretty. Very pretty. And a great body too."

"Thank you, Begum." I said politely.

"But my dear, you have come to the wrong place. We don't deal in that high class market. Those are rich Madams in Colaba. If you want, I can make some calls and get you in touch with them."

"I know what my worth is in the high class market, Begum." I said, not believing how easily I had started talking business like a prostitute. "I am not in this for money. I don't need money. I don't want to do anything in the high class market. I just want to be here for a couple of nights. Then I will leave Bombay."

The Begum clammed up again, trying to compute this bizarre and unprecedented situation.

"Let me get this straight. You are clearly an educated woman, and probably a career woman. You say you don't need any money. But you want to work for me here for a couple of nights....as a prostitute? Why? Just for the sex?"

I did not say anything. When the Begum spoke next, it was in a very gentle and caring voice,

"Are you sure you know what you are saying? What you are willingly getting into?"

"Yes, Begum, I do." I replied meekly.

"Okay well... I don't know what you motivations are, but you have come here of your own free will. I won't look a gift horse in the face. You are very beautiful. I don't get the super rich clients like those high class Madams do, but I am sure I can get some of my well-off Johns to pay as much as a thousand for one time with you..."

"No, that is not what I want." I interrupted her.

"Excuse me?" she said puzzled.

"I am not here for your well-off clients. I want to be one of the women people pay the lowest amount...which is what fifty rupees?" I asked, and she nodded. "I want to service the fifty rupee clients."

"Are you insane?" the Begum said, "You clearly have no idea how this business works. We have our ugliest, oldest and fattest whores working for fifty rupees. The kind of men who go for them are poor and uncouth barbarians, often old goats. they can be very rough and abusive."

"I don't care. That is what I want. Consider me as one of the fifty rupee whores. And don't try to trick me by sending in men from whom you have taken more money just by telling them about me. I will be able to spot those men. I want the fifty rupee guys only."

The Begum looked at me with a shocked expression on her face, as if trying to figure out what was making me say and do all this. Finally she put out her cigarette in an ash tray and said,

"I think you are the most insane woman I have ever met. But fine, we'll have it your way. Tonight, you are a fifty rupee slut. I won't try to upsell you to any of my richer clients. I'll send the fifty rupee riffraff to you. But trust me, one swift buggering from a burly Pathan, and you'll either beg me to send you the richer clients, or then run off with your hands on your asshole."

I know she said what she said to scare me or warn me, but somehow the matter-of-fact way in which she described the scenario actually turned me on a bit. She asked me to accompany her and I followed her up a rickety flight of wooden stairs. She asked me if I wanted to wear the clothes I was wearing or change into something. I thought about how expensive the pantsuit was and opted for changing. She took me to a room with a cupboard full of clothes. I picked out a black knee-length wrap-around skirt and a white t-shirt that was actually one size too small for me.

"Remember to take your bra off too. None of the women here wear a bra while working. Your customers will never have seen one or unbuttoned one. One of them might just tear it off."

I changed right there in front of her. The Begum looked at my almost-naked body as I changed and said.

"Oh Allah... those buttocks... those breasts.... those legs... that milky complexion... you could earn enough to live like a queen if you wanted. I still don't understand why you want to exclusively service the fifty rupee guys."

I didn't say anything. What could I say? It had taken me ages to come to terms with my own fetish with these "fifty rupee guys" as she called them. There was no way I could explain it to her. Freud himself would probably have a tough time explaining what I was doing. I folded my clothes, put them on a chair, and stood up, my breasts jutting out of my tight t-shirt. The Begum led me up another flight of stairs and took me to a small room. All it had was a folding chair, a small table and a bed. There was a small sink in the corner that the Begum told me I could use to wash up. Hanging next to the sink on a nail was a small handtowel.

"Let me ask you this one last time. Are you sure you want to go through with this" Begum asked me. I paused, and genuinely did think it over. After about thirty seconds, I said,

"Yes, I want to do it."

"Okay, then. What name should I tell your clients for you?"

"Constance....Connie for short..." I said.

"Connie... OK...weird name." said the Madam, clearly a woman unfamiliar with D.H.Lawrence.

She left, closing the door behind her. I walked around the room a bit, and then sat down on the bed waiting for my first client. Mostly excited and titillated, but somewhere inside, also disappointed at myself for willingly becoming a prostitute at a brothel, even if for a couple of nights.

--------------------------------------------------

Back to Birju, I was wondering if he would last as long inside me as Zahid was able to. I got the answer in the negative very soon as he started groaning, thrusting harder, and filled me with his jizz. Maybe it was the excitement and pleasant shock of fucking someone as young and beautiful and I daresay, unattainable as me.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh" he said, as he collapsed on top of me, without supporting himself on his elbows or anything, and I felt like my ribs would crack under the pressure. I pushed him off me and lay there....feeling the cum drip out of my pussy. Birju stared at me with bloodshot eyes as I put my fingers into my pussy and took out a gob of cum. I looked at it for a few seconds and then swallowed.

"Wow, you really are unbelievable."

I smiled at him and sat up. The depraved pleasure I got from fucking a sleazy man like this had been awesome, but he had cum too soon for my liking. I needed to do something about it. So I got on my hands and knees next to him and took his limp dick in my mouth. He started at me with a wide grin as I started sucking on it.

"Amazing.... you really are great at this."

I took his dick out, and put his balls in my mouth one at a time and sucked on them as he moaned in pleasure. Within a few minutes, I had gotten him hard again. Once he was fully erect, I turned around, still on my hands and feet, and thrust my ass towards him. With one hand I pulled a butt cheek and said to him

"Birju... fuck me in the gaand... fuck me in my ass."

Birju did not need a second invitation. In a flash, he was on his knees and pushing his dick into my sphincter. He was not very big, so it did not hurt at all when he entered. As he started fucking my ass, I reached a hand back and started playing with my clit. This time, Birju lasted a fair bit longer. He kept ramming my ass for about five minutes after which he said he wanted to fuck my pussy again.

I stayed on my hands and knees as he took his dick out of my asshole and plunged it into my soppy pussy. He then pulled my hair and held me like that, my head facing up as he increased his tempo and kept fucking me as if he were riding a horse. Five more minutes and he started cumming inside me again.

After the fuck, I sucked his cock clean. He then spent about 15 minutes attacking my body with his pinches, bites and licks. Finally, after biting my nipples really hard one last time, he got up, and started getting dressed.

"I guess my half an hour is up. Don't want to Begum charging me double. By the way, I want to say something." he said.

"What do you want to say, Birju?" I replied.

"I don't know how or why a memsaab like you is a fifty rupee whore in this brothel. And I don't care. But one thing is for sure. I have fucked many whores before.... but all of them were just women having sex for money. You my dear," he said as he came close to me, caught hold of my hair, and pulled my head up until it was close to his face. "You are the first real whore I have fucked. A true fifty rupee whore."

And then he slapped me hard on my face. On one cheek and then another. I sat there stunned as tears welled up in my eyes.

"No need to cry, fifty rupee whore." he said and then spat in my face. His spit hit me on my stinging right cheek. He then started laughing as he pushed my head away and dragged my hips closer to him. And then he started spanking me. Hard. Really hard, even as he kept laughing. These were not playful spanks. These were administered with force and were meant to hurt. Finally, after about 20 blows to each of my ass cheeks, he stopped. Spat on my butt, and started walking out.

I had never been manhandled like this ever in my life. I lay there, weeping, my face hidden in my arms. Birju opened the door and as he walked out, I heard him say,

"Nice one Begum. Really good bitch, this one. Next time I come, I want only her. And next time, I am coming with a friend."

"As you say, Birju." the Begum replied.

She then walked into the room. I looked up and saw her alternately staring at my face and my butt, both of which were clearly red.

"So, had enough? Is your idle middle class fantasy fulfilled? I am sure you want to get out of here now."

I stopped crying, got up, went to the sink and started washing my face.

"This was Birju. The girls say he likes slapping them around and spitting at them in the end. And you know something? He is still one of the preferred customers. One of the less barbaric ones. If you think Birju was bad, wait till you see some of the others."

I took the handtowel and wiped my face clean. I also wiped off the sweat on my ass and the cum dribbling down my thigh. I finally went and sat on the bed. Even I was shocked at the words that came out of my mouth next,

"I am ready for the next guy."

The Begum didn't say anything. Just stared at me incredulously for a few moments. Then shook her head, turned around and walked out of the door.

Ten minutes later, I was wearing the t-shirt and skirt again. I threw the thong in a corner and sat down on the bed. The door creaked open, and in walked a man about six and a half feet tall, with a thick beard and light eyes. From the loose pyjama and kameez he was wearing, and his looks, he seemed like a Pathan. I remember the Begum mentioning Pathans while warning me, and wondered if she had sent for him just to break me. Because unlike Birju, he was not at all surprised to see me there. Plus what he said to me next seemed a bit rehearsed and forced.

"OK, you look new here." he said as he started removing his kameez. "So I am going to tell you how I do it. I only do it in the ass. I don't care about your cunt, get it, you cunt? I only do buggery."

And bugger me he did, for a good half hour. His dick was big and wide, and I felt at several points that he would tear my anus apart and make me bleed. Fortunately it did not happen. He also kept slapping and spanking me hard throughout the fucking. After about half an hour of ramming my ass in various positions and slapping me around, he deposited his load in me. I was lying on the bed, my ass pointing up in the air, delirious in pain as well as pleasure. Without a word, the Pathan put his clothes on and left.

The Begum did not visit me again that night. But eight more men did. Young and old, thin and fat, tall and short, with dicks of all sizes. Two of them banged me together, like Zahid and Mansoor had. I was fucked in the pussy, in the mouth and in the ass. I was slapped and spanked, bit and mauled. One man made me keep my "Inglisss" clothes on while he fucked me, and made me scream english expletives as he did it. Another said I should call myself Zarina. Finally when the sun rose, and my tenth dick for the night came inside me, my whole body was sore and aching. But beyond everything, the most dominant feeling was one of contentment and satisfaction.

I got up and went downstairs. Went to the changing room, where the Begum was talking to two women. I changed out of my "whore clothes" and into my pantsuit in front of them un-self-consciously, even as the three women kept staring at my naked body covered with bruises, hickeys and bite marks.

"Here are your earnings for the night." The Begum came to me with a small wad of currency notes, "450 rupees for ten men. We keep ten percent as commission."

"She fucked ten men on her first night? I wasn't able to do ten in my first week!" one of the women whispered to the other.

I took the money. I didn't need it, and I could have asked the Begum to keep it. But somehow I decided to keep it for now.

"I will be back tonight." I said "And the night after that. I will leave Bombay after that."

"Alright. See you tonight. I get the feeling your first customer tonight is going to be the same as your first customer last night, but this time he will bring his friends." the Begum said as I walked out of the room and down the stairs.