|
Squealer - Part 3
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
SQUEALER
(Part 3/3)
By Parker
WARNING: This story contains all sorts of non-consensual
intercourse, bondage, domination, humiliation and all that
kind of stuff. It is not politically correct! If you do not
want to read this sort of material, I suggest you stop now,
before it is too late. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Copyright 1994 by me (Parker). Feel free to reproduce and
disseminate (unaltered, of course) but be discrete.
=================================================================
Taylor Miles had something of a philosophy regarding the
training of women to be whores. A system. The basic tenet of that
system was that you had to let them know where they stood. What
they were. In no uncertain terms. The minute they started
thinking - or remembering - that they were good for anything
other than fucking and sucking and lookin' good, they were
useless. Worse than useless: unprofitable.
So, Taylor had a system.
Of course, most of the girls who came his way were already
pretty much fucked up by the time he got them. Strung out on
drugs or booze... As a general rule, Taylor didn't much take with
that; he wanted his girls clean and sober. They lasted longer
that way, and made him more money. The drugged out whore just
burned out too fast. Besides, why waste good drugs on a whore?
Save the good stuff for those who could pay for it.
Still, it helped at the beginning. Softened them up; sapped
willpower.
This new girl was a bit different. Not quite so fucked up.
That asshole bartender had thought that she was a whore, but
Taylor knew better. He knew whores. This little white bitch
hadn't shaken her tight little ass on a street corner before or
he didn't know merchandise when he saw it. Not that it mattered.
That was where his philosophy came in; his system. Fuck 'em hard
and fuck 'em often; let them know what they are: worthless for
anything other than fucking, sucking and looking good. This new
girl... she'd take a little longer - a little more effort than
most of the girls who came his way, but she'd be worth it.
And she'd come around in the end. They all did.
Taylor had his philosophy.
His system.
Sandy was pretty much sober by the time she next woke up.
She groaned in pain as her eyes fluttered open. The pounding in
her head rang a brutal counterpoint to the steady burning in her
groin and nauseated churn of her stomach.
"Here now." A voice. A female voice. "Drink this. Make you
feel better." Parched, Sandy opened her mouth and accepted a
glass container, drinking deeply...
She jerked her mouth away and sat up, sputtering violently.
It was whisky. Her stomach heaved at the smell and taste, but
there was nothing there to bring up. Trying to ignore the pain,
she forced herself to open and focus her eyes.
She was lying on the floor of what appeared to be a dingy
little apartment. Crouching beside her, holding the bottle, was a
black woman. The woman would have been attractive but for a hard,
worn look in her face and eyes which the makeup could not quite
hide. Sitting on a couch a few feet away sat a black man wearing
an expensive suit. Behind the couch were two large men, also
black; bodyguards by the look of it. Sandy crossed her arms in
front of herself and shivered, suddenly self-conscious. Her
clothes had disappeared, and she was now naked except for a dirty
old tee-shirt someone had put on her while she slept. It hung
loose, a few sizes too large for her, but still barely covered
the upper part of her thighs.
"'Bout time." This came from the man on the couch. He was
obviously the leader. "Can't have my whores sleepin' all night.
Should be on the street; maken' me cash."
Sandy struggled through the dull throb of the hangover to
understand what he was talking about. Whore? There must be some
mistake...
"C'mere," the man ordered.
Sandy started to climb to her feet, but the black woman gave
her a push just as she was getting up. Still partially
intoxicated, she fell forward onto her hands and knees in front
of the couch. Almost in tears, the young medical student looked
up through a curtain of brown hair at the black man. Grinning, he
spread his legs.
"How about a little head," he suggested. "Whore."
"T-there's been a m-mistake," Sandy stuttered, horrified at
the suggestion. "I'm not a... a p-prostitute. I'm..."
She was cut off as the man suddenly leaned forward and
grasped her face in his hands. "Listen bitch," he hissed. "I
don't give a fuck what you think or what you were. Last night you
were spread out on a pool table having the time of your life
fuckin' some brothers. From now on, you're what I say you are.
And I say you're a whore."
"Noo-oo," Sandy wailed, struggling in vain to free her face
from the man's painful grip. Angry, the man made a gesture. One
of the thugs from beside the couch came around behind her. She
heard a woman's laughter coming from behind her, but was unable
to turn her head to see what was happening. She was still unable
to do so when she felt something cold and slippery being rubbed
against the entrance to her anal passage and then inside. It felt
like some kind of cream or something.
"Mmmm..." She tried to cry out her objections, but the man
on the couch had shifted his grip so that his hand now covered
her mouth. "Mmmm..."
A few moments later, she felt naked flesh against her upper
legs. Before she fully realized what was going to happen, she was
overwhelmed with pain as the man behind her rammed his thick cock
straight up her partially lubricated asshole with one brutal
shove. The pain was unbelievable; she felt as though she was
being split in two.
"AAaahhhhh...." She let out a long wail as the man on the
couch removed his hand from her mouth.
"How d'you like that whore?" he asked, laughing.
"Nnooooooo.... please... please..." All pride forgotten, she
begged piteously for release. "Ooohhhh... it hurts," she cried.
The man behind her shifted slightly, pulled back so that only the
head of his cock remained inside her anus, and then brutally
shoved forward again.
Sandy squealed loudly at the sharp pain of this repeated
intrusion. The people in the room laughed. "That's good," the man
on the couch grinned. "That's good. Just like a pig. Do it again
little pig-slut." Sandy shook her head in abject refusal, still
panting and groaning with pain. In response to this refusal, the
man on the couch made a gesture, and the thug repeated his
actions, pulling slowly back and then ramming his cock up her
tight asshole. Sandy, sweating with pain, tried to remain silent
and endure the pain, the humiliation, but it was too much.
Shuddering, eyes wide with panic at the intrusion, she moaned and
cried with pain.
"Squeal," she was told, "and I'll get him to stop moving."
Anything.
Anything to stop the movement of the cock in her ass.
"Squeee... squeee..." She started quietly, but quickly
picked up volume as the man fucking her asshole slowly pulled
back out. When he rammed his cock back in, her squeals took on a
loud, panicked sound. Damp with sweat, she squirms and squealed
for all she was worth. Everyone laughed as the white girl
squealed loudly on the floor in front of them. But Sandy didn't
care. All she knew was that the man raping her asshole had -
finally - stopped moving, leaving his cock fully sheathed in her
twitching asshole.
"Squeee..."
"That's good," the man on the couch repeated, still
laughing. "I like that." He looked down at the girl. "Now, do you
want him to pull out?"
Panting, Sandy could only nod. Oh yes... "Squeee..."
"Well," the man smirked. "All you have to do is ask him.
Just ask him to fuck you in the cunt instead." She had no choice.
She had to get his cock out of her ass. At any price. Still...
could she say it? Her deliberations were interrupted as the man
began moving again, slowly pulling back and then shoving forward.
"Nnooo..." she screeched. "P-please... f-fuck me in... in my
c-cunt... not there..." Ignoring her pleas, the man continued to
ream out her asshole. "Please..." Her begging became more
frantic. "Fuck me in my cunt. Please..."
The man on the couch laughed. "Where do you want it little
pig-slut?"
"In the cunt!" She was almost yelling now. "In my cunt. Fuck
me in my cunt."
The man gestured, and the movement stopped. "One more
thing," he said, still smirking at the tear-stained face in front
of him. "From now on, whenever you're getting fucked, you squeal.
Got it?" Sandy stared up in incomprehension.
What?
"Uhm..."
"All of my girls," the man explained, "are trained to sound
and act as if they like the sex. Gasping and moaning. Sluts. You
squeal. That's your name here: 'Squealer'. Got it?"
Sandy started to protest this latest degradation, but the
man behind started moving again, so she just nodded her head.
Anything to get him to stop.
Immediately, the rapist pulled his cock out of her painfully
stretched asshole. Sandy sagged with relief as the cock was
removed. She felt as though someone had pulled a tree from her
backside. Her relief, however, was short lived. Within seconds,
the man had re-positioned his cock and then shoved it to the hilt
inside her pussy. Sandy jerked forward in shock. The pain was
still there, but nowhere near as bad as when he had been fucking
her in the ass. Involuntarily, she spread her legs a little
farther apart in order to relieve a bit of the pain of the
intrusion as the man began to fuck her from behind.
"Forgettin' something?"
Sandy looked up. Oh god...
"Little pig-slut."
"Squeee... squeee..."
The room rang with laughter as the young white girl squealed
loudly as she was raped from behind. Her squeals sounded in time
with the man's thrusts as her brutally fucked her cunt. Finally
he came, pumping his load into her aching, abused pussy. Sandy
gave one last squeal as he pulled out and then collapsed onto the
leader's lap, totally exhausted.
When would this nightmare end?
Not now, apparently. The other bodyguard went around behind
her and positioned himself, cock hard and free, ready to ream her
out. She looked up in terror as she felt the head of his cock
come to rest on the entrance to her asshole.
The leader grinned down on her. "Where do you want it
whore?"
"I-in my cunt," Sandy whispered, flushing red with
humiliation, but willing to do or say anything to avoid being
fucked in the ass again. "F-fuck me in the cunt." He nodded and
the man behind her immediately shoved his cock into her pussy.
She didn't forget this time: "Squeee... squeee..."
Her training as a whore began almost immediately. The cum
from the two bodyguards was still cooling on her inner thighs
when the man - Taylor Miles she soon learned was his name -
ordered the black woman to get the 'bitch' dressed and teach her
her new job. The black women dragged her unwilling student into
another room in the rundown apartment to begin work. The dressing
involved slipping into a miniskirt a couple sizes too small and
tucking in the grimy tee-shirt in which she had woken up. The
girl - Melissa - also insisted that her student wear four-inch
pumps. No underwear, though. "Won't be needin' it," Melissa
joked. "Anythin' that gets between you and the cock is a waste of
time." Frightened, Sandy obediently got dressed. She couldn't,
however, help asking some questions.
"Taylor?" Melissa proved quite talkative. "He's the most
important man around these parts. He runs more girls than
anyone." Sandy couldn't help but shudder. Melissa seemed to take
a weird kind of pride in working for the biggest pimp on the
block.
"But... doesn't he, like... make you..."
Melissa shrugged cynically. "Could be worse. There's plenty
worse out there. Taylor now, he takes care of you. Doesn't let
you do no drugs or booze or anythin' like that. He like to keep
you clean and pretty. Makes him more money and you last longer."
"L-last longer?" Sandy didn't understand.
"Taylor's got a system. He knows exactly how long a whore
can work before she start's losin her looks. After that, he don't
care what you do. He even lets some girls walk."
Sandy had to ask. "H-how long do... do prostitutes last?"
"With Taylor? A young girl like you has about ten years in
her. At least."
Sandy burst into tears. Ten years! This couldn't be
happening to her. It just couldn't!
Melissa just laughed. She'd seen so many girls react like
this before... of course, most of them were pretty much down and
out when Taylor got them; most didn't have as much to lose as
this white bitch, obviously well educated and well brought up.
Didn't matter though. When you came right down to it, Melissa
thought, any woman could be trained to be a good whore. Even a
stuck up white girl like the one who was presently crying her
eyes out in front of her.
Anyone.
That was Taylor's system.
The training began in earnest.
The first stage, in accordance with Taylor's system, was to
fuck and otherwise abuse the subject so often and in so many
different ways that the sex became routine to her. Not important.
So, for the first few days, Sandy was fucked over and over again
countless times. By bodyguards; by customers; by kids off the
street... by the end of those first days, Sandy - who had never
spoken to more than two or three blacks in her entire life - had
become intimately familiar with black cock. In her pussy, in her
ass (which never failed to make her cry and panic), in her mouth,
in her hair, in her tits...
And, every time she was fucked, she was forced to squeal
like a stuck pig. It was her trademark, Taylor explained. Sure
enough, the name 'Squealer' was soon well known around the
neighbourhood.
Hot bitch, it was said.
Liked black cock so much, she couldn't stop herself from
squealing when she got it.
After the first few days, the fucking became less frequent
(down to a dozen or so times a day), and Sandy was forced to
learn other things about being a whore. The right way to dress...
the right way to talk... the right attitude in general. Once
again, it was all a part of Taylor's system. Not that he wanted
her to be the same as the other girls. Most whores were hard and
cynical, and that attitude would come with time.
But she had to be taught to think like a whore. The constant
sex had already taken her at least part way there. It had taught
her the requisite lack of respect for her own body; that it was
just a piece for meat for men to fuck whenever they wished. What
she needed to learn now was that although her body was worthless
to herself, it wasn't worthless to her pimp. In fact, it was a
valuable asset, and one which she would be required to protect.
For Taylor's benefit, of course.
So, Melissa taught her something about life on the streets.
How to behave; how to talk to the other whores; how to spot a
potentially dangerous customer. Taylor had lost whores to psychos
before, and it pissed him off.
Cost him money.
Finally, after about a week of training, Melissa told
Sandy - or 'Squealer' as she was now called - that she was ready
for her 'audition'. She would finally fuck Taylor, and he would
decide whether or not she was ready for the street. Sandy didn't
particularly want to succeed, but Melissa made very clear to her
the price of failure.
The time came, and Melissa brought Sandy to Taylor's
bedroom. Sandy walked slowly into the room, still unsteady on the
four inch pumps. Taylor was sitting on the edge of the bed. As
instructed, she smiled at him, trying to look sexy. He grinned
over at her and snapped his fingers. Sandy, hating herself for
her submission, but having no choice, knew what to do.
Hurrying forward, she knelt down in front of him and her
fingers - nails shining a newly painted red - went straight to
the front of his pants. Hands trembling, she unzipped the fly and
drew out her master's limp penis, which immediately began to stir
to life at the cool touch of her fingers. Sandy fingered it for a
few moments, coaxing it to hardness. Then she bowed her head, and
with only a brief hesitation, took it in her mouth. Using her
lips and tongue as she had been taught, Sandy quickly brought his
big, black cock to a state of massive erection, sucking and
slurping as though her life depended on it.
After a while, she stood up, straddled him as he lay back on
the bed, and lowered herself until she kneeled astride his
thighs. The short skirt parted, exposing her naked pussy. Then,
with a moan a pure, simulated lust - just as she had been
taught - she lowered herself onto his erect penis, her pussy
sucking in its entire length. Grinning, Taylor just lay there as
she began to ride up and down in a steady rhythm, squealing in
time with her own movements. Not the loud, piggy squeals she had
originally been forced to put on. She was still required to do
that sometimes - to the amusement of whoever was watching or
participating - but a quiet, realistic squeal as Melissa had
trained her. As though she was loving the sex.
It was still, however, a squeal.
He was pleased to note that she was using her pussy to
squeeze his cock as best she could. With a sigh of pleasure, he
reached up and began to fondle one of her tits. Obligingly, she
leaned forward to give him easy access.
Gradually the rhythm picked up. Taylor reached up a second
hand and began mauling roughly at her breasts as they hung
invitingly above him. Sandy gasped in pain, but quickly turned it
into a grunt. Slowly, she leaned forward and brought her mouth
down to his neck. Taylor slipped his hands around behind her,
grabbed her ass, and began controlling her movements, forcing her
to pump faster and faster until finally, groaning, he came.
When she felt the warm sperm boiling over into her pussy,
Sandy threw back her head and screamed with lust, simulating an
orgasm. Just as she had been taught. He finished coming, and she
shuddered and then relaxed on top of him. He let her lie there
for a few moments and then pushed her off.
"Not bad," he commented. "Not bad at all." He reached over
and gave her breast an approving squeeze. Sandy winced in pain,
but didn't pull away. "I think you're just about ready." Taylor
leaned back against the headrest. "Go tell Melissa that I said
you're ready," he ordered. "She'll take you with her tonight."
Not daring to protest, Sandy clambered to her feet. She
straightened her clothing, brushed her sweat-soaked hair back
from her face, and walked out of the room to where she knew
Melissa would be waiting.
As she walked, she felt the now familiar trickle of sperm
down her thigh...
*****
For her first night of work, they dressed her in a skin-
tight body sheath that barely covered the bottom curves of her
ass. That, along with the usual pumps, was all she wore for her
first night on the street. Sandy burned with humiliation when one
of Taylor's men dropped them off on Ginger Street and drove away.
Here she was, standing in the red light district dressed like an
absolute whore. What if somebody saw her?
That, of course, was the idea. On Melissa's instructions,
the trembling girl was forced to parade her barely concealed body
up and down the sidewalk, swinging her barely covered hips just
as she had been trained. Within moments, a car pulled over.
"Hey babe," came a voice from behind a partially closed
window. "How much?"
Melissa walked forward. "It's your lucky day," the black
girl said. "Two for the price of one. You can have both of us for
a hundred."
The man laughed. "Good," he agreed. "Hop in."
The two whores climbed into the car. "We've got a room over
there." She pointed at a seedy little hotel just off Ginger
Street. The man nodded and parked the car. The three of them
entered the hotel and climbed the wooden stairs to the second
floor, where Melissa unlocked the door and let them into the
room.
Once in, the black girl walked into the bathroom and closed
the door. "Don't start without me," she called as the bathroom
door closed.
Immediately, Sandy turned to the man. "Listen mister," she
said, voice shaking. "You gotta help me." After a week spent in
the company of the uneducated Melissa and the various gang
members, Sandy was picking up the other girl's speech patterns,
making her sound more like a whore than a med student. "I'm not a
whore. They kidnapped me and... and r-raped me... please
mister..."
The man grinned. Too late, Sandy realized her mistake as the
bathroom door opened and Melissa came out, a frown on her face.
"You were right," the man said. "She squealed."
"Squealer," Melissa growled, "You is one stupid bitch." She
walked over the gave the startled girl a hard slap across the
face. Sandy began to cry. "Taylor is goin' to be pissed," Melissa
continued, "and when Taylor gets pissed, someone gets hurt."
Sandy just kept crying.
*****
Someone got hurt.
Sandy spent the next three days in the apartment with the
thin end of a wooden baseball bat shoved up her ass. She was not
allowed to walk upright, but was instead forced to crawl around
on her hands and feet, squealing like a pig and begging someone
to pull out the baseball bat. Promising to do anything... No one
did, of course. Instead, they just slapped her on the ass,
calling on her to squeal like the pig-slut she was. The squealing
only stopped when her lips were wrapped around a stiff, black
cock, which happened often enough during the three days.
By the end of it, she was broken. When Taylor finally pulled
the bat from her anus, she shuddered in pain and crawled over to
him, kissing his feet and begging him to fuck her, sell her, use
her... whatever; just as long as he didn't put the bat in her ass
again.
Ever.
That night she was back on the street. For good. Melissa
stayed with her for the first week or so, but after that she was
on her own. She no longer had the will to fight. And so, every
night of the week, she spent several hours on the street,
parading around, attracting business and then fucking it. She
proved very popular, and earned a great deal of money for her
pimp. Her days were spent sleeping and then hanging around
Taylor's apartment 'entertaining' his friends and customers.
Taylor enjoyed recounting the tale of how he found the beautiful,
white med student in a bar and trained her to her new life as a
whore. The customers loved the story, and usually insisted on
fucking her afterwards.
She slowly settled into her new life, all thought of what
had gone on before - her home life, med school - slipping away.
Just another whore...
EPILOGUE
This part of town was not what it used to be.
But Bert Cripmore had no problem with that. It took him
almost a week to find an excuse to be out without Martha, but he
did it. The new girl proved easy to find. Driving carefully, he
pulled the car over to where she leaned against the lamp in her
miniskirt and tank top.
"How much?" he asked, voice rough with lust. Little bitch
was gorgeous!
The girl leaned forward, jaws working rudely on a wad of
gum. "Fifty for a blowjob; hundred for a fuck." Bert nodded and
the girl got into the front seat. "Got a place over there," she
said, pointing at a sleazy hotel.
Bert nodded and began to drive.
He looked sideways at the girl as he steered the car into
the hotel parking lot. Already, the sense of freshness which had
made her stand out on the strip almost a week ago was fading. She
still looked young and beautiful under the overdone makeup, but
her eyes were narrower than he remembered them. She was well on
her way to becoming a hardened whore.
Fine with him, he decided.
Still...
"What's your name?" he couldn't help but ask.
The girl looked over, and, for a brief moment, Bert imagined
that he saw something else beneath the armour - a scared little
girl, terrified and trapped, looking out at him through wide,
frightened eyes - but the moment passed, and then only the whore
remained.
"They call me Squealer," came the answer, a queer lopsided
smile marring her beautiful face.
"Why's that?"
The girl gave a sick grin. "You'll see," she told him,
opening the car door. "You'll see."
THE END
|
|
