Whatever It Takes Pt. 06 - Wednesday

I knew that the biggest risk to me was that Patrick and his crew break me down, shame me completely, ruin me, and corrupt my soul. But it was difficult to forget last night -- or what was to come today. I kept rerunning in my mind the prior evening as if my memory was a videotape. I could only hope that eventually the night would be at least half forgotten and wholly forgiven. But the images ran through my mind -- riding on top of the big man from Iowa and the pain of my first 'butt-fuck' as the kid from the State Department rammed into me and reamed me out so I could then clean his dick and swallow my own shit. Then there was the determination of the old black guy that I swallow his cum after giving him a blow job. To watch the mental images of myself do these things and have them done to me was brutally real and maybe permanent. It was worse because there was no knife or gun, and no ropes tying me down. The threat of Animal cutting my face was ever present even though he was not in the room with the johns and me when I did whatever it took to survive and thrive in my new role as a whore.

Le garde meurt et ne se rend pas was the motto of Napoleon's Imperial Guard The best translation is 'The Guard dies, but never surrenders.' My Dad had been in Vietnam and told me that concept was "bullshit." He told me you run away to fight another day. Capitulation may be the only alternative to death, and you must do whatever it takes to survive. If you did not die, you lived. If you lived, you could preserve what was important to you --- including the opportunity for vengeance. At any rate, surrender was at least a postponement -- if not an avoidance -- of annihilation.

I was never an ardent feminist. By the time I hit high school and college in the 80's, the principle was well established that women and men were politically, socially, and economically equal. It was not politically correct to discriminate against women based on the assumption that women are supposed to be, look, and behave as if they are passive, weak, physically helpless, and sexually submissive to males. Among the educated and professional circles in which I lived and functioned, only an occasional Neanderthal of a male held on to that stereotype. Feminism for me meant that as a woman I had individual autonomy, rights, liberty, equality, independence, and diversity. All of that meant nothing to me now. The only value I had as a female person was how well I fucked. My role was one of submission and compliance, without dignity or power. To fuck -- and fuck well -- was to survive. That was all there was -- no more and no less.

I knew that I was beginning to regard my body and its uses with contempt. This was the same body that had borne my baby and that I spent so much time keeping 'in shape.' In order to preserve some remnant of pride, of sanity, I had to sever my body from my mind and my soul. No matter how hard it was, I had to achieve that separation to maintain my sanity. If I could isolate my body sufficiently, then I would not care so much what I did with it and what was done to it so long as I survived with my mind and soul intact.

From nowhere popped into my thoughts a memory of my husband and I visiting an art gallery in the East 90s in New York. They displayed an original water color by Edward Hopper called the "Lily Apartments," a view of a building from the 1880s, one of the urban landscapes associated with Hopper, an enigmatic painter who left little messages in his paintings. In this one, at the left margin was a sign that he had cropped so that the only message visible was "Y ME." The question haunted me now, and I knew it would for the next several days and maybe the rest of my life.

A bell went off, a signal to start the working day. It was also the start of the "freebie hour" when the whores serviced the staff free of charge -- Patrick's technique of keeping morale up. Jessie had alerted me, but I forgot all about it. I was now to be forcefully reminded.

At that moment, the door swung open without a knock. Patrick entered and strode over to the bed in a white sport jacket looking every bit the successful island businessman. He congratulated me on a productive first day -- "Elaine, you are a natural whore -- with the potential to become a first class courtesan. Now it is time to show off your talents to the staff -- great for employee spirit. But first I think I will sample the merchandise.

As I looked at him with blank neutrality on my face but visceral hatred in my mind, he reminded me that this was the time for staff freebies., and he liked to go first especially since I was likely to be gone after such a short stay. With that, he whipped off the top sheet, admired my naked body and reached out to fondle my breasts. He leaned over the bed and put one hand roughly on each breast and began to squeeze as if kneading dough. To remind me that he was in charge -- or just to inflict pain for the hell of it -- he positioned my nipples between his fingers and squeezed his fingers together. It hurt like hell. When I grabbed his hands with mine to force him to release me, he pinched harder and said, "I like to see that spirit in my personnel. Keeps the johns coming back for more." But then his face darkened, and he said, "Elaine, remove your hands. Do what you are told. No resistance and no hassles will get you out of here efficiently and on time." Then he pinched harder. Since I was still lactating, milk began to emerge. He ignored it and looked me in the eyes, daring me to resist. I blinked and put my hands at my side, leaving my body exposed for him to do with as he pleased.

"Elaine, tell me to do what I want. Say it. Tell me to do what I want to do."

In a defeated voice, I repeated his words. "Do what you want."

"That is not good enough. Say it like you mean it!"

With more passion this time, I almost hissed, "Do what you want." Isn't that what every man wanted to hear in the bed room: Do what you want. Bite me, sodomize me, lick my clit, drink wine out of my navel, take my hairbrush and paddle my ass. It doesn't matter. Do what you want. The door is closed, and we are here. But really only you Patrick are here. I am just a willing extension of your fantasies, and only you are here with my body. My mind is mine, and it is adrift somewhere.

He began the ordeal. "Open your mouth and suck my dick. Let's get in a quick fuck before you service the staff and then go to work on the tourists."

I stared up at him --- mean eyes, crazy eyes, set in an ebony face. Cruel and hideous. I was swept by revulsion at the necessity to surrender to this, and instantly I knew that my revulsion came not from a physical reaction, but from the knowledge that with surrender I was giving up what I cherished most about my self and my life. As a person, a living, feeling human being, I was no longer important. Nothing mattered but pleasing the stream of men that would use me over the next two or three days. I could have no wants of my own, no needs of my own, and no taboos.

I could survive the rape of my vagina, I thought. But I did not know if I could survive the rape of my spirit.

He had me on all fours on the bed with him standing beside it. I unzipped his fly and dug out his prick. It seemed to leap into my hand, a curving rod so thick I wondered how I was going to encircle it with my lips. My fingers curled reluctantly about his shaft, rubbing it long and slow, making my fingers slide back and forth over his increasingly rigid member. The tiny opening at the tip winked at me with a bead of pre-ejacualte in position.

He was uncircumcised resulting in a larger than average prick-head. I used my hand on his shaft to pull the skin back, exposing the tip, a bulging dome of purplish-red flesh, glistening with sweat.

"Massage my balls," he ordered.

'Whatever', I thought. I'm going to use my hand and make you blow wad, Ass Hole. I touched his balls with my left hand. They were big, heavy, and swollen. I began to squeeze them gently, rolling them around in my hand. I suppressed a thought to rip them off as I knew that my pain would be a multiple of his.

"Elaine, now put it in your mouth. Suck it like the whore you are."

It would have been easier if he had dug his hands into my hair, forcing me forward. Instead he waited for me to initiate the action -- to begin the process of my own oral rape. But, if I initiated it, was it really rape? This was a mind game only he could win.

Finally, I put the tip in my mouth and ran my tongue around it furiously, hoping that he would cum and end it quickly. He patted me on the head the way you would pat a dog, just enjoying the physical pleasure and, I suspect, my humiliation. I slipped just the head between my lips and caressed the now-purple tip with my tongue, teasing the slit as I did so. Then I let all of him slip inside my mouth, my lips pressing against his pants, before I started to climb back up the length of him, my mouth muscles like a vacuum trying to end this oral rape. I tried to swirl my tongue around the head, but his foreskin was in the way. I licked him up-and-down as he moved in-and-out. His veins bulged out so I ran my tongue along them. Borrowing a technique from last night's dream, I kept my lips tight with pressure on his dick as he bored in then reversed to pull out. When his prick pressed on the head of my throat, I tried to gag as little as possible.

Then the door opened, and when I looked over I saw three black men looking like they rolled in dirt. When I went to jerk my head back, William grabbed by cheeks and held my face in place, his prick in my mouth.

"Relax. They are good employees just waiting their turn with our visiting New York hooker. Elaine, with your blonde hair and big tits, you are quite an incentive package for my staff here. This employee benefit reduces the amount of bonus money that I have to pay out each year."

When I pulled back and began to protest, he grabbed my hair and jammed his dick all the way into my throat. His pubic hairs blocked my nose. Breathing became difficult.

"Remember Elaine, no hassles. Do the job! Be the slut you are. The boys like a show. Keep licking."

I had no choice. His prick was stiff in my mouth, the head buried at the entrance to my throat. I still hated oral sex, somehow it was even worse than intercourse. I felt more used, but I was getting used to the feeling. Patrick's penis tasted no worse than the others I have sucked in the last 24 hours. I kept my mouth moving on it, my lips gliding back and forth over his now fully erect, saliva-covered pecker. Patrick held my head with hand and began to use my hair to direct the oral rape. He would ram the head against the back of my throat. Involuntarily, I gagged each time the head of his cock brushed the back of my throat. I was afraid that I would gag, but did my best to avoid it until he pulled it back again so I could breathe. Tears streaked my cheeks as I tried to steady my shuddering guts. His balls smacked wetly against my chin.

"Elaine, now listen to me." I looked up at him, his prick still in my mouth. He handed me the container of KY. "Lubricate your ring finger and stick your finger in my ass. I want to feel your wedding ring."

I could not believe what I was hearing. He wanted me to stick my finger between his hairy ass cheeks? I ignored his and went back to giving him the blow job.

He brought one hand to my head, holding my mouth on his slithery cock. Then he lifted my left hand up and applied the KY from the finger nail to the knuckle of my ring finger. Patrick watched my gold band glint in the light of the morning sun through the window. He moved, spreading his legs so that I could reach between them. He guided my hand under his balls and between his legs. I felt his asshole, sticky with sweat.

"Elaine, stick it in, or I will have Jason come in here and cut your finger off and make you swallow the ring. Do it!"

I almost vomited on his cock as I slowly pushed my finger past his sphincter and into his shit canal. He groaned as I did it -- not from pain but from perverse pleasure. I sensed the ring pass the sphincter; my finger was buried into his back channel to the knuckle.

"That's it, Elaine. Now suck my cock and move your finger. This is way a good whore gives high class head. That is what you are now -- a first class prostitute."

I tried to ignore his words -- I did not want to play his mind games. I needed this to be over. I sucked fervently on his cock while my ring finger moved back and forth. In an even voice, he began a monologue.

"Elaine, after the collapse of the Russian economy, many men began to travel to Moscow for a reason no one expected -- the availability of prostitutes. It wasn't that the prostitutes of the time were particularly young or beautiful or skilled. It also wasn't that there were so many from which to choose.. It was because literally thousands of women who had been employed in jobs requiring high levels of education, training, and intelligence were suddenly forced to turn to prostitution to survive. Former 34 year old brain surgeons would compete with 19 year old former bus drivers to give blowjobs to men who came to Moscow for the treat of having disgraced and humiliated women on their knees begging to service them. It was an experience that was available at that time no where else in the world. It was worth a special trip to Moscow for men to have the experience of paying a woman with a Ph.d., an M.D., or a M.B.A. to let her blindfold her, tie her hands behind her back and cum in her mouth. Elaine, the same thing will happen to you here. My customers will want to use you not because you are beautiful or skilled, but because you are who you are and do not want to be here. Furthermore, they know you will do whatever it takes, no matter how humiliating, to survive. That's why you will suck me off, finger my ass hole, and take on 10 or 15 men today." His words burned in my brain, but I knew they were true.

Suddenly, Patrick's cell phone rang. He reached into his shirt pocket and flipped it open.

I stopped as he answered and waiting for him to hang up before I continued. He corrected me by reaching behind my head and pushing my mouth back down onto his cock as he discussed some deal over the phone. While he talked, I sucked and moved my finger all around his ass hole. It was just another way to demean me. He was treating me like his private slut. It was a quick call, and by the end I was bobbing my head up and down his prick trying to bring him off as soon as possible. Then he pulled his dick out of my mouth with an audible 'pop' as he broke the suction I had created. I gulped in air like I was suffocating. My finger remained where he wanted it, our only point of contract. His dick throbbed in front of me, and, for a moment, I thought he meant to cum on my face but no such luck. He took a few deep controlling breaths, and his cock seemed to stop throbbing but stayed hard.

"Not this way, Elaine. Grease yourself up so I can stick it in your cunt without damaging your working parts. Thanks for the finger job. You can take it out now and clean off my shit later."

Like a trained whore, I reached over to the night stand and pulled out the KY lubricant. All four men stared at me, getting turned on as I put the jelly on my hand and began to lubricate my cunt. I put it on outside, even on my now glistening pubic hair. Then I gently opened myself up with my left hand and used my right to put KY on the inside of my cunt. I also did my ass hole in case anyone used it as well. By now all the gardeners were naked with their pricks straight out. Patrick had dropped his trousers and was naked below the waist.

"Hmm, not being very enthusiastic are we Elaine? Well I will let that slide for now, as a reward for some of the best head that I have had in a while. Now stand with your back to me facing the bed. Put your knees against the bed, spread your legs, bend over, and put your face on the bed, palms of your hands flat on the bed." I did as I was told, staring into the mirror which let me see Patrick, the other three, and my body as it was used.

Patrick moved up behind me, and I felt his prick prod the entrance to my cunt. Given my saliva on his prick and the KY on my cunt, he slid in to the hilt with one thrust. He grunted as he rammed his dick in and out. I watched in the mirror at the muscles in his chest, the expressions on his face, the way his mouth smiled in pleasure. I felt disembodied, watching a tableaux that was remote, my attempt to separate my body from my mind and soul.

He must have sensed that. "Elaine, don't go drifting away on me. This involves you. You need to be committed like a pig is to a meal of bacon and eggs."

As if he was reading my mind, he resumed "Don't delude yourself about taking your body but not your soul. Sex is about fucking and that is it. No 'politically correct' shit about commingling sex and some romanticized sense of love. Sex is about regressing to our most animalistic state. Primitive caveman style, the way it should be without lots of hang-ups or feminist philosophy getting in the road. If you want to survive here you need to drool and scratch and bite and groan like the animal you are. Forget everything you ever learned about anything. Just be the best whore in the house." We stared into the mirror into each other's eyes. With him pounding into me, I could see that something burned in his eyes -- hatred, humor, lust, madness, I could not tell.

"My God, Michael was right. You are fucking tight," he gasped. Slowly he withdrew his big tool, almost all the way out of me. Then, smiling at me over my head in the mirror, he slid it all the way until the head thumped up against the back of my cunt and his balls slapped my ass.

He kept pushing in and out. The rhythm of his movements kept increasing. His testicles slapped against my anus at the end of each in-stroke. I kept staring into the mirror and into his eyes and listened to the slap-slap as our bodies came together time after time. I squeezed my cunt muscles as hard as I could I wanted him to cum in or on me or both -- but quickly.

The other three men in the room watched and occasionally let out a word of encouragement for their boss. I began to squeeze him with vaginal muscles I didn't know I had until this trip. While all this occurred, the three men stood there and watched. It turned them on, because they began to rub their dicks while awaiting their turn with the blonde bimbo from New York.. They seemed especially excited to watch, one of their own -- a black, native Jamaican, exercise absolute sexual control over me.

I tried to think of other things........dumb things..........I hate doing dishes.......Laundry.....I really hate doing laundry........my first grade teacher was Mrs. Causey........second grade was Miss Cichanowicz........the prime numbers are one, three, five, seven.......and on it went me trying for escape.....but still I could never forget for a moment where I was and what was happening to me -- I was being fucked in public in front of black men like some kind of white trash whore.

When I could tell that he was close to the end, he pulled his dick out and had me knell on the floor in front of him. "I want to finish in your mouth. Open wide and stick your tongue out as far as you can. Keep your mouth open no matter what happens."

I complied, still struggling with the need to submerge the real Elaine and just operate as Elaine the slut. He grabbed his dick at the base with his right hand and directed it on to my tongue and into my mouth. When I instinctively went to close my mouth to suck him, he told me to "leave your mouth open wide." He then grabbed my hair with his left hand and angled my face upwards, a position that made me clearly submissive. After a few seconds, he began to ejaculate; the first few strands landed on my tongue and lips. He then raised his aim higher and poured ribbons of cum on my eyes, nose, and cheeks.