Whatever It Takes Pt. 04

Jason took me over to the manager, Randy. He was a big man, not as wide as Jason, but taller. His white shirt contrasted with his ebony skin. He conveyed authority and left no doubt that he was in charge. His instructions were brief and to the point. "We both know why you are here and what you have to do. I control your job flow. Keep the johns happy, and I will be happy. If I am happy, you will get out of here on time and relatively intact, only slightly the worse for wear. Screw up, cause problems, make a scene, refuse to do the job and then Jason will curve you up like a turkey. Now go mix with the girls and get ready to work. Given your lack of experience, we will start with straight sex, go to a blow job, and then a butt fuck. Did Jessie explain the color-coded tickets?" After I nodded yes, he dismissed me with "Get to work and good luck."

I said nothing but walked over to a corner table and sat down. I felt sick to my stomach. Jessie came over to the table with a smile that looked malicious.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "What did you think of Jason?"

"I want to get out of here," I replied.

Jessie's smile increased; yes, it was malicious. "Come on and I'll introduce you to the girls."

"No thank you. I do not want to meet 'the girls'" was all I said.

"You think you are better than we are, don't you?"

"I am better than you are," I said spitefully.

"Yeah, see if you still feel better at three this morning" She walked away angrily.

Don't cry, I thought to myself. Do not give the bastards - Jessie, Randy, Jason, 'the girls' - the pleasure of seeing how scared I really was. Tears would not be functional. If anything, they could signal weakness which could trigger a feeding frenzy of abuse in this environment. Randy and Jason talked by the bar. Every once in a while they would smile and glance in my direction; Randy even winked.

Shortly afterwards, men began to arrive - all shapes and sizes, some tourists, some locals, some looked like visiting pilots or sailors. I kept my eyes riveted to the table, rarely looking up or glancing around. I sensed men would approach, but my lack of response put them off. Maybe I might just get off easy tonight and not have to service any of them - although that was clearly counterproductive in terms of earning credits and getting out of here. I played this game for maybe two hours. Time passed slowly; I kept staring at the wet marks on the table.

Finally, an American tourist sat down. He seemed nervous but went straight to the point.

"Hi, my name is Steve, I just paid to fuck you." Then he waved a green coupon in front of my face.

"No way!" was my rejoinder, a response that he did not expect. He looked over at Randy in confusion. Steve then stood up and grabbed my arm. I pulled it away from him. He became in order puzzled, exasperated, and finally angry. He stalked over to Randy and began to harangue him. Randy gave Steve a drink and called Jessie over to the bar. He spoke to her, and then Randy and she headed over to me. Steve remained at the bar, the grin on his face reflecting his satisfaction with the problem that he had caused me.

"Are you crazy?" Jessie said.

"Jessie, I am 30 years old, a wife and mother. I have been married for eight years and been faithful. I can not do it. I am going to walk out the door and leave."

"You are crazy. You will get cut and maybe even end up crab food in the ocean. You have a home. If you want to see it, your baby, and your husband, you will do whatever it takes to work your way out of here. Remember to you this is an alternate dimension. Do what it takes to survive and return to you own dimension. Think of all this as no more than a walk on the wild side, something to talk about with other suburban matrons ten or fifteen years from now.

Randy had said nothing so far. Now he looked at me and said, "You are a dumb cunt. You have no choice. Quit causing us all problems and get on with it or so help me God I will make you pay and pay."

Then he turned to Jessie and admonished her. "This is your responsibility. You were her mentor." Then he glared at her and nodded with his head towards Jason who had remained at the bar. Jessie turned white, and her hands began to shake. Now I was scared because Jessie was honestly scared silly for herself. Her fear communicated palatably to me across the space between us.

"Don't lose it all. Your pussy don't know the difference between one cock and the next. Are you going to get cut up or killed just to protect your pussy which wouldn't know the difference anyway?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jason leave the reception area and pass through a red swinging door into the kitchen. He returned with a heavy set twenty something white woman who wore a white apron and had her hair done up under a hairnet which signaled to me that she worked in the kitchen. She was an attractive young woman.

Randy then said, "Your fancy blue U.S. passport does not mean shit here in Kingston. Let me show you what can happen when one of our whores complains and does not want to follow the rules." He nodded again to Jason who nodded in turn to the slashing victim who slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She wore no bra. She pushed out her bare right breast. Where the areola and nipple should have been there was nothing but old scars and jagged flesh. I heard Jessie gasp and begin to breathe heavily through her mouth even though I sensed she had seen this sight before. Suddenly I felt very sick to my stomach, scared to death, and very dizzy.

Randy again spoke. "We go this idea from a Stephen King novel. You take a manual can opener, attach it to the breast of a problem, and then just turn the handle and yank. The problem is no longer a problem. Jason will show you how it is done. We need one of two examples of how we solve a problem every year."

I looked over at Jason. In his hand was a black handled, well cleaned modern hand can opener. It looked like a really great kitchen appliance...but with a sharp blade and a rolling cutter designed for metal cans not human flesh.

Jason then in a rumbling cadence then said, "If you do not go upstairs now and fuck that tourist, your tits will look the same!" I looked into Jason's eyes and saw nothing but blackness. I was seized with terror and despair. Last night I was safe in my hotel; now I was being threatened by a probable murderer and for sure a sadist with a can opener for a weapon. How could it have happened so quickly? The blood ran out of my head, and I could not breathe much less think. In the midst of my distress one thing was very, very clear - whomever and how ever many men I had to fuck, I would do so gladly to survive.

Jason grabbed my hair with his left hand and moved the kitchen tool/torture instrument so close to my eye that I could not focus on it. He bent over and spoke in to my ear. His breath was warm and rancid, and I could smell his sweat. His voice was so low that I could hardly hear him over the noise in the room. "Do as I say or I'll slice off your nipples, first one then the other. With or without nipples you will fuck him."

I melted with terror. "Oh, God, please, please do not hurt me" I pleaded. They had won. I could not bluff my way out of this.

Hearing my own voice speak in such an alien and whining tone of groveling surrender should have brought me to my senses, but I was too afraid. I tried to pull myself together and think. I could hardly believe that this was happening...but it was. I trembled with fear.

Jason jerked painfully on my hair, pulling up, and I shot to my feet. "Get upstairs now and fuck him like he has never been fucked before. I will be right outside the door. Do your job!" Then he held the can opener up again so close to my eyes that all I could see was the blade and the light playing off it. I believed his threat.

"Please!" I said. Even as I spoke, I hated myself for begging in this humiliating way, but I was too terrified to stop. What could be worse than being powerless and tortured? "I'll do anything!" I was so scared I spoke to Jessie rather than him. "Jessie, tell him to please not hurt me. I will do it. Do not cut me...please," I said with near hysteria in my voice. I was so scared that I could barely breathe. I kept staring at that poor girl and her mutilated breast.

Jessie then said, "Think of the whole thing as rape if that makes you feel better. Jason has a razor at your throat. It's kind of a gang rape situation, Elaine. You can not fight them. Go along with them. Try to relax and submit. Work it out later with your conscience and your priest."

I got up, went to the bar, apologized to Steve, and then let him put his arm around me and lead me to the stairs. As I started up, I knew the whores and the tricks were watching us. Probably Jessie was delighted that I would be a little less pure and a little more soiled in 15 minutes or so. I dared not turn around, but I sensed that Jason was moving behind us to make good on his threat to wait outside the door to ensure that I did "my job."

My mind raced all the way up the stairs and down the hall. Resist or succumb? Which was the better choice in my fight for survival? I could not fight Jason; I knew that and so did they. I must succumb. I could emerge unscathed, except in my psyche. It was the quick and easy way to survive. A million women have made that choice before me. The answer was simple and not simple. Letting strangers enter me, abuse me, cheapen me. Not once in my marriage to Paul had I ever been unfaithful to him or even fantasized sex with another man. Making calculated 'love' to strangers was not part of my nature. I was filled with revulsion at the thought of men, like the one behind me rubbing my butt, inside me. I had to the violation of my body to mere physical exertion. Sexual intercourse without love violated neither body nor spirit. The important thing was that the act of sex was my way out of here. I resolved to survive.

Then I reached the door to the room. It was easy to intellectually determine what I had to do. Now I had to do it.

Trick #1 - Tuesday evening 21:15-21:40 (credit earned: $100; to go $9,900)

When I entered the room, I looked in to the mirror. My face was as white as my dress. This was not quite rape; he did not know. But he was aware it was undesired by all the activity down stairs. I knew I had to get through this, die within myself for the duration, like a rabbit when the jaws of the fox close on its neck. So that everything done to me might be done, as it were, far away.

Once in the room, I began to undress. It felt queer, numb, and remote to get naked in front of a stranger. Steve sat on the edge of the bed and took off his sneakers, shirt, trousers, and bikini briefs. His penis was long, thin, and uncircumcised. He watched me disrobe with a smile on his face. It was like a strip tease on my part. I stepped out of my sandals, unbuttoned the neck-to-ankle buttons on my shirtdress, dropped it to the floor, and stepped out of it. Next I turned away from him to undo my bra then turned back and dropped it. My 36DDs brought a gasp of admiration from him. I rolled my panties down my legs and was naked. It took two minutes and was really very simple.

I felt dreadfully vulnerable, naked in front of a stranger and with Jason in the hall. I stared at Steve, aghast as this forced intimacy. Even though he had not touched me yet, I shuddered in disgust. And I felt ashamed, as if I should have done something to prevent this. That somehow I had failed to identify and do the right thing. I felt as if this whole situation was my fault, my fault, my fault!

Following Jessie's instructions I filled the small basin in the room with water. I felt nothing. I returned with the basin, a towel, and the disinfectant soap. I examined his penis for sores or discharges, just as Jessie instructed. I tried to remember yellow-white discharges from blisters, but in the end just looked for anything out of the ordinary so that I did not have to do this.

Steve became erect when I handled his prick. It looked a lot like my husband's - long but lean and purple-red at the tip as it became more rigid. I took the KY jelly and moistened myself-lots of jelly since I wanted this fast and easy. He refused a condom-I looked "clean," he said.

I got onto the bed, lay back with my knees spread wide. He crawled on top of me-smelling nice at least. I was heaving with fear, like a trapped doe caught in a hunter's sights. I closed my yes tightly, begging in my mind for some miracle of rescue, some savior - anything to stop this - but no, there was no answering, no saving, nothing but helplessness on my part.

Eyes closed I felt him between my legs, trying to enter my flesh. I opened my eyes and saw him holding his rigid penis, moving it toward my vaginal lips. I closed my eyes again and felt his finger penetrate me, in and out, back and forth, and then another finger and still another. Then I remembered what Jessie had instructed me.

"Get the fingers out of me," I said with more confidence than I had.

He yanked them out with a soft pop. He gave me no trouble. He knew the rules and probably only wanted to see if I would enforce them.

I opened my eyes again, there was a runner of white spittle coursing down his chin from the center of his plump lower lip. As he hovered over me, the runner of drool fell off his chin. It dangled for a moment, elongating, and then fell on my midriff, just above my navel. This seemed to me to be so degrading - to be drooled over by a stranger and then have saliva drip on me. Finally, I had one last terrifying glimpse of him - and suddenly he shoved forward and was in me, thrusting deeper and deeper, filling me, burning and hurting at least mentally as the KY softened the physical abuse. Exploding with horror and outrage that this could be happening to me, I bucked up and shook and twisted my body, trying to vomit his out of me, regurgitate him, trying to escape. I suppressed the urge to scream - in the small part of my mind that remained sane I instinctively knew that a scream would bring Jason and that he would hurt me far more intensely and permanently than the man on top of me ever could. I did not scratch him or use my fists for the same reason. My resistance was confined to madly attempting to maneuver my body to get his dick out of me. My eyes were blind with tears, as I fought to un-couple us.

He was oblivious of me, not bothered at all by my resistance. H moved gently at first and then faster and faster, pumping like a madman, in and out, long driving thrusts, in and out in-and-out - twisting to shake him loose was impossible, my buttocks were nailed to the bed by his movements. I raised my legs to beat and hammer my heels against his ribs and back, but half-consciously I realized that I was exciting him even more. I knew I could scratch and use my fists against him, but fear of Jason held me back. But I couldn't stop my legs and hips trying to expel him.

He rode me harder and harder, no change of pace, no goodness, no finesse, only his dick smashing my insides like a pile driver, deep in me like a fist pounding at my cervix. My resistance was weakening, my legs and feet failing to unbalance him, failing to interrupt him, only continuing to incite him to more relentless, rougher punishment.

I felt impaled. It was like a piston implanted into my flesh, a piston going up and down at fifty miles an hour, a piston gone berserk, distending my flesh, splitting me in half. My legs could not fight any longer. I was choked with humiliation and pain and blinded by tears of indignation and hate. Me, to me, how could this be happening to me? I was a victim after all the years of education and training and working in a man's world. Now I was to be smashed and shattered and destroyed by a mindless, heartless, primitive male animal. I felt I could die.

He began to talk at me, mindless ravings. He was fucking me, not making love, so it was the language of fucking that he spoke. "I'm going to give you all my cum," he said with what he imagined was a low and husky voice. "You're going to do whatever I say. You know why? Because I am in charge, and you are a whore. You love it. You go crazy when you take cock in your mouth, sucking the cum of all those pricks, taking cock up the ass, in your cunt, in your mouth. You want it all." There was no point in telling him anything different. I was a whore, his whore, and that was all that counted to him.

Bob began to suck on my nipples and drool over my breasts, all the time pumping into me. Since I was lactating, he got a mouthful of milk that surprised and pleased him. He began to suck in earnest on one breast and then the other. When he looked up at me, he had my milk on his upper lip, just like an actor in a magazine ad for milk. I again felt like throwing up.

He would withdraw his cock partially and slam it back into me again. I felt his balls on my ass when he slammed forward. It was mental but I felt like my body was being torn apart each time he slammed his cock into me. With each stroke, I felt my cunt being abused even with the KY lubricating me.

My mental image was of bodies clashing, an exchange of bodily juices, nothing more. I had a sense of revulsion and of horror. I felt claustrophobic, very hot, my skin was sticky as was his. There was also the noise of their fucking, lewdly loud and slippery. I had ceased to resist and was laying there passively accepting his thrusts. It dawned on me that my passivity only slowed the process so I began to thrust my hips up at him - not as before to expel him but now as an act of sex - of complicity in my rape. My actions moved him towards climax.

He was getting pretty winded and sweaty. He kept bucking and then the spasms. He pounded into me one last time and used his hands on my ass to lock us together as he came. I felt him go rigid above me and heard him grunt and groan from down in his guts. With his alcohol breath in my face and his rotten cum fouling the private places in my body, he was finally finished and dropped the full weight of his body on me, heaving and sucking for air.

His cum began to leak out between my ass cheeks. He withdrew quickly so that his last spurts came out onto my pubic hair and upper thighs. Looming above me, he looked into my eyes and said, "You are the best! What a ride! Was it good for you too?" he asked. My silence and the look on my face must have given him an answer he did not want. He pushed his weight off me. He was finished. "Slam, bang, thank you, maam," one nice old rape under his belt. But...then he did not know it was rape - he bought a whore's time - my time -and she - that is, me -gave him value for money - purely business, nothing personal. As he headed for the door, his last comment was "thanks for the ride. You must like it rough" was his apparent explanation for my kicking at him, trying to disgorge him from my body.

I quickly, showered, and douched. As I showered, I could not help but think that I had just been raped. However, without the presence of a knife or gun, no overt threat of force was made by the rapist. In fact, I cooperated and even simulated active participation not passive acquiescence. The whole experience was just so ordinary. As the water streamed over me, I closed my eyes but I could still see myself on the bed with the stranger. I even heard the noises again - the thumping of the bed, our labored breathing, sounds nearly as graphic as the images in my mind. Fucking. That was the right word, the only word -fucking.

I wanted to lie down on the bed and go to sleep, but there was a knock at the door. Time was money; I had another $9,900 to go. Maybe the economics of a brothel would make a good case study at Wharton B-School, I bitterly thought to myself.