Message-ID: <43414asstr$1058436602@assm.asstr.org>
From: nuj baf <nujbaf@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} New Story - Jesse's Greed (M+F, MF, FF, inter, wife)
Date: Thu, 17 Jul 2003 06:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

WARNING: This story is fiction, and should be treated
as such.  The
following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS
ONLY, and contains
descriptions of explicit sex.  If you are not an
adult, or reading sex
stories upset you, DO NOT read any further.  If it is
illegal in your
georgraphical location, DO NOT read it.

Jesse's Greed (M+F,MF,FF,inter,wife)


          Today I am a single mom staying in a dirty
one-bedroom apartment in an impoverished drug infested
neighborhood.  Everyday I worry about my seven years
old daughter growing up in this environment.  I am
also a recovering alcoholic.

           I am not a whore or at least I don't
consider myself one but to supplement my income, I
allowed a sleazy crude married taxi driver to come
over Thursdays during his night shift to take my body
for his sexual gratification.  He handed me $250 every
month, which went to cover most of my rent.

           "My wife is so fat and ugly, I can't look
at her anymore," Amit would say usually after my
clothes were removed and he would want me to prance
around naked.  Being from India just like Amit, I felt
particularly humiliated being in this predicament. 
The shame that an Indian woman from a good background
would feel was immeasurable.  It was funny that I still
felt this shame even after what I had been through.

             The way his paws were all over my breasts
and my slim body made me cringe inside.  Then when he
entered me, I lost my self-respect.  At the end I
become depressed knowing that my body did get aroused
and that I felt that wonderful feeling deep within my
legs.

             Rent was due by the third of the month
and there were no exceptions.  For the last eight
months I managed until yesterday.   Amit said he
wouldn't have my money till next week.  Hermina, my
only friend, who was always ready to loan me in
emergencies went to San Diego for the week and my
checking account balance was critically low.  So for
the third time in the last two years, I had to perform
a most deplorable act to get myself a reprieve of
three days.

           George, the disgusting Armenian landlord,
was gleaming through his yellow crooked teeth. 
"Geeta, you don't know how much I dream about this,"
he said.

          "Is it necessary for me to remove all my
clothes?" I asked knowing that it wouldn't change
anything.

            Nonetheless my clothes were shed so that
he could totally humiliate me as I sucked his cock.  I
was on my knees in my bedroom while his pants were
crumpled at his ankles as he sat on my bed.  So for
being late on my rent, I took his erection into my
mouth.  I was good with my mouth and knew well how to
use my fingers, so that it wasn't long before George
came.  I swallowed it all.  Lastly he would watch me
put back my clothes with a sad look not knowing when
his next opportunity would happen.

            It was only seven years ago that I first
came to Los Angeles from India with my husband and my
infant daughter.   We came with full of hope and
ambition to start a new life.  Jesse was in computers
and had a good job immediately and I studied to be a
lab technician.

           Within a few months upon our arrival, Jesse
discovered the all American scheme of being
successful.  "All I have to do is find a way to be on
top of a pyramid scheme," he said.

           "But you always have to start at the
bottom," I retorted.

            "Not necessarily," he replied.

            I was happy the way things were. 
Everything was going well and we were well ahead of
schedule to get into our first home.  But Jesse dreamt
of making easy money without working for it.

             "Do you remember Patrick?" my husband
asked me.

              "No," I replied.  I had my daughter on
my lap hungrily sucking on a bottle of milk.

             "Anyway, he is the guy who is the number
two man at Goldmax.  The guy gets a check of a hundred
thousand dollars every month for practically doing
nothing.  I have been pushing him for a month with my
proposition and he called me yesterday," Jesse said.

           "And what was your proposition?" I asked.

            "You see he has ten guys under him and
each of those ten guys have another ten guys under
them and so forth.  The thing goes down more than
fifty levels and a percentage of sales gets filtered
up all the way," Jesse said.  "Anyway, one of the ten
guys under Patrick died a few months ago and the guy
didn't have any family so the spot was left vacant." 
My husband walked back and forth as he continued
explaining.  "Patrick was offering a hundred fifty
thousand dollars for that spot but I proposed that I
would give him half of all my take forever instead of
giving the seed money."

            "Forever sounds dangerous," I said.

             "Considering that getting half the take,
he would cover his hundred fifty thousand in six
months, but yet he wouldn't accept my proposition,"
Jesse said.  "So I asked him what more would he like?"

            "What did he say?" I asked.

            "I'm not sure exactly but it has something
to do with you," my husband said.

             "With me?" I asked.

             "He told me that he had met you at Gary's
house for the Goldmax meeting," Jesse said.

             "That was a month ago," I said.

             "Yes.  He has invited you and me to his
house tonight at 7:30.  He wants to see if we can
finalize the arrangement."

             "I don't like the sound of this," I said.

             "Let's see at least.  We have the final
word anyway," my husband said.

              I was certain that my husband knew what
Patrick wanted but he never admitted it even up till
the day he died three years ago in a car accident.

              I kept pestering Jesse as we drove to
Patrick's palatial residence that evening in our dirty
red Nissan Stanza.  "What do I have to do with your
arrangement?" I asked but my husband's responses were
suspiciously vague.

             Being greeted by your host at the grand
French doors wearing silk pajamas made me feel
awkward.  I definitely was not familiar with such
casualness.

               "Welcome, Jesse and Geeta," proclaimed
Patrick as he showed us inside knowing our mouths
would drop as we saw the exquisite grandeur of his
living arrangement.  Jesse, being twenty-five, looked
like a kid next to the older more sophisticated
Patrick.

           I was surprised to see two other couples
seated in the room.  Introductions were made and we
shook hands with Danny, Laura, Michael and Pam.  Jesse
and I immediately noticed that both the wives were
dresses like sluts.  Pam had on a black spandex mini
dress that just stopped at the bottom of her ass.  She
didn't need any nylons as she had smooth milky white
thighs.  She wore knee length black vinyl boots with
very high heels.  Laura had on a tight brown top that
accentuated her breasts with an off-white velour
mini-skirt and black fishnet stockings.  Strangely, I
felt out of place wearing a conservative pinstripe
pantsuit.

              "I have asked Danny, Michael, Laura and
Pam to join us tonight," Patrick said.  He stood
facing us, the outline of his dangling member somewhat
visible beneath the soft fabric of his pajamas.  "They
are the recipients of unimaginable wealth by joining
me in a win-win proposition.  We are here to find out
if you are brave enough to accept wealth."

              We were seated in what seemed like a
sunken room with tasteful modern furniture and
paintings that I knew were the real thing.  The
comfortable seat made me feel at ease.

             At that time, the most beautiful woman
that I had ever laid my eyes on walked in.  She wore a
typical maid's uniform.  I noticed that my husband was
as entranced as I was.  She served us our drinks
oblivious of her enchanting beauty.  She was a
well-endowed young Hispanic girl with light amber
eyes.

               "You might find that funny, but most
people are cowards when it comes to making money,"
Patrick continued.  The outline of his dangling penis
was still a couple feet from my face.

               "We are here to take the challenge,"
Jesse said.  He sounded too excited.  I wished he
would contain himself more.

              "Exactly that is what we need," Patrick
said.  He now sat down facing all three couples.  "I
believe in sharing.  In sharing, we work for one goal
and we all win.  That is why I asked Jesse and Geeta
to come here tonight.  Jesse had given a very nice
proposition to me and it is based on the principal of
sharing.  Let us all go into the our pleasure room and
see how Pam and Laura will share."

             I immediately knew where this was going. 
"I think we have a problem here," I said.

               "And what problem is that?" Patrick
asked.

             "I'm sure we can work out any problem we
have," Jesse said.  I gave my husband an exasperated
look.

           "Well, I certainly hope so," Patrick said. 
He walked ahead while Pam and Laura, clearly excited,
followed right behind him.  I was the last person to
enter the pleasure room.

             The pleasure room looked like a studio. 
There were different contraptions all placed randomly
on top of a wooden stage.  There were stage lights, a
glass incased control room, and chairs for an
audience.  I knew what these contraptions were for and
I nudged my husband to leave this house right now.  
Jesse stubbornly ignored me.  I would have left myself
but I was afraid to leave my husband alone in such a
scenario.  Something wicked was about to happen.

            Danny and Michael, the husbands, sat down
on opposite ends of the stage.  There were leather
straps on the arms of the chairs as well as on the
bottom at the legs.  The wives respectively tied their
husbands to the chairs.  I could see that the husbands
could not get out.  They were trying to free
themselves for Jesse and my benefit.

             "Look at this check," Patrick said as he
handed me something.  I glanced at it.  It was written
to my husband's name for $48,528.07.  "That check can
be yours.  It is last two month's earnings."

               My husband snatched the check from me
and said, "Wow!"

             "All we need is your participation,
Geeta," Patrick said.  He glanced at the two wives
waiting for his instructions.

              "I will not do anything that involves
pain," I said.  I could see that Jesse was now on the
verge of jumping for joy.

              "I promise you that there is no pain
only pleasure.  Everything will be outlined in the
agreement," Patrick said.

               "Do I have to do whatever you say?" I
asked.

               "Yes," Patrick replied.

                "Will that include orgies and
gangbangs?" I asked.  Jesse listened attentively.

              "I certainly hope so," Patrick replied.

              "Jesse, are you sure for this kind of
money, you are willing to sell off your wife to this
man?  Are you ready to throw away a happy family life
and a good normal life for our daughter?" I asked.  I
could see that the two wives were impatiently waiting
to shed their clothes.  Patrick was intently waiting
for my husband's answer.

             "Geeta, it is not as terrible as you make
it sound," Jesse said.  His mind seemed warped with
greed.

               "So you do not mind that I become a
slut.  To be used by Patrick and probably all kinds of
different men.  I would probably be handed over to
several men as sexual favors.  If you can live with
that, I will accept the proposition," I said.  My
heart was pounding hoping that Jesse would do the
right thing.  I knew I had to put him in a corner.  I
had to get this preposterous idea out of his head.

             "I can accept it because I know it will
be for the better," Jesse responded.

             I did not show how devastated I was at
that time.  I stood stoically and said, "You have made
your decision.  Now take the money and run." 
Patrick's face lit up.

              In less than a minute, Jesse and I
glanced at the fifteen-page contract and signed away
our lives.  Jesse pocketed the check and asked
sheepishly as to where should he be seated.

              "You're going home," Patrick told him. 
"Geeta would be dropped home in the morning."

             My husband didn't argue but I could see
that he didn't expect to be left out.  I knew it would
make the night much easier for me without Jesse and I
felt relieved to see the Nissan Stanza leave the
driveway.

             I braced myself for a long night of
senseless fucking.  I was not looking forward to this.
 I had grown up in a very protected and conservative
family in India.  I went to an all-girls catholic
school where boys were forbidden to even enter.  Then
when I turned twenty, my parents arranged my marriage.
 Sex was a wife's duty.  I never enjoyed it and I
never learned to enjoy it.

               The moment was awkward.  I didn't know
what to do next.  I had not been naked in front of
anyone else besides my husband.  Patrick went inside
the pleasure room and I was waiting in a cozy dimly
lit room with a grand view of the city lights.

             "They've left," Patrick's voice startled
me from behind.

             "Who?" I asked.

             "The two couple, Danny, Michael, Laura
and Pam.   Laura and Pam were pretty disappointed
though.  They really enjoy the pleasure room," Patrick
said.

            "So what happens next," I asked Patrick as
I stood watching the city lights twinkling in the dark
moonless night.  The glass pane that stretched from
the floor to the ceiling was cold to the touch.

             "The most sensual part of a woman is her
neck," Patrick said.  I felt his lips gently kissing
my neck.  The kisses were tender and unhurried.  This
was a new experience to me.  Jesse never kissed me
like this.  There was no hurry in what Patrick was
doing.  He wasn't grabbing me all over.

             "Sit down.  I'm going to have Annabelle
give you a foot massage," Patrick said.

              I took a seat on the soft leather chair
and placed my feet on the matching ottoman.  I felt
calm in the semi-darkness and let my mind drift with
the soft mellow music streaming in from I don't know
where.  Someone was removing my shoe.  I looked to see
an outline of a woman's head.  I knew it was the
beauty that had served me the drink.

              "Would you stand up," she said in a
sweet unaccented voice.

             I got up on my feet.  She had her hands
on my waist and found the zipper on my pants.  Gently
she brought the zipper down and removed my pants.  I
sat down again in my conservative white cotton
panties.  Annabelle folded my pants carefully and put
it aside. 

            "This will be a little warm," Annabelle
warned as she placed layers upon layer of heated moist
towels over my bare feet up to my knees.

             I wondered where Patrick went.  And when
he would be back and what will happen.  I wondered how
it would feel to have Patrick in me.  Would his cock
be bigger than my husband's?  Would he be on top of me
and be looking at my face as he does it?

              "You have very nice skin," the angelic
beauty said.

              I could now see in the dark.  I looked
at her pretty features and said, "Thank you."

              Back home in India I knew a few girls
that slept around.  Besides disapproving their
behavior, I couldn't understand their indulgence in
such activities.  I consoled myself that I am going to
allow my body to be used by other men only for my
husband's sake.  What I will be doing is different.  I
am not doing it for my personal gratification.  I knew
I would not enjoy fornicating either.  It was a
shameful act that circumstances had made me do.

            "Try to relax," Annabelle said.  She began
removing the warm towels.  Her touch was soothing even
as she pressed her thumbs into my calf.  I guessed
that human touch in itself was a relaxing experience.

              "I don't enjoy sex, you know," I blurted
out.  Annabelle didn't respond.  She just was doing
magic with her fingers.  It felt so good.  I kept
glancing towards her fascinated by her beauty.  I had
never felt so wonderful and loved her touch.  Her
fingers were giving attention to each little toe.

              "Have you ever experienced sex?  Being
fucked is not having sex," Annabelle said.  She stood
up and I noticed that she was wearing a black satin
slip dress that stopped just to cover her genitals. 
Her light fair skin contrasted well with the dark
draping fabric.  She had flawless legs that were long
and shapely.

              "Most of the time it is painful.  I
can't imagine it to be enjoyable.  I can't understand
why some girls are just crazy about sex," I said.

             "Stand up.  Let me rub your shoulders,"
she said.  Annabelle was taller than me.  She removed
my top and told me to turn around.  Then she unhooked
my bra.  It felt awkward standing with just my panties
on.

              "This will make you feel good," she said
as her fingers poked into my shoulders.  It was an
instant release of tension.  I felt weak all over.

             "Do you have sex with Patrick," I asked. 


            "Yes," she replied.  Her hands slipped
inside my arms and grabbed both my breasts.  I was
surprised from my body's urges at that moment.  I had
never felt a sexual urge before in my life and I
surrendered to her fondling.

               "Annabelle, what are you doing to me,"
I moaned.  I was feeling a tingling between my legs I
never felt before.

              "Something you always needed," Patrick
said.  I tensed like a little girl caught doing
something bad.  I turned away from them hiding my
breasts.

              Annabelle came towards me.  She took off
her slip dress and she had nothing on underneath.  I
marveled at how comfortable she was with her body.  I
marveled at how soft and unblemished her skin was. 
She had the most perfect breasts, not too big and
sculptured magnificently.  Then she hugged me and we
stayed embraced for a while as Patrick took a seat and
watched on.

               Part of me knew that what was going to
take place tonight and for a good time in the future
was wrong.  I was a married woman with a very
conservative background.  Husbands that I knew would
go to the ends of the world to uphold the dignity of
their women.  It was my luck to have Jesse who sold
his wife for a bag of gold.

               The long journey of allowing my body to
be used by others began at this moment.  Annabelle
tugged down my panties exposing my tight young
buttocks and hairy bush for Patrick to see in the
thankfully dim light.  I wasn't used to be unclothed
in front of others and I looked downwards as Patrick
studied my olive skin.  Annabelle held my hand to a
spot under the light so that Patrick could get a
better look at me.  I cringed as his hand touched my
breast.  I still couldn't believe that another man was
touching me in this fashion.  Annabelle turned me
around so that his hands could feel my back.  He
squeezed my cheeks with both hands and I let out a
moan to my dismay.

            It was surreal.  The two of us walked
naked with Patrick following us.  We headed to the
bedroom.  Annabelle held my hand as we both got
ourselves positioned on the bed.

           "Now who wants me," Patrick said.

          Annabelle responded, "I am always yours and
willing."

         I had no idea what made me say this. "I'm
new, fresh and exciting."  I pressed my breasts
together and spread open my legs as wide as I could.

          "Now that is a hard decision.  I'll take
both of you," he said while crawling between the two
of us.

          At that moment I wondered if I could still
run away and tear up that contract.  Patrick embraced
me tightly and Annabelle removed his silk pajamas
freeing his pale white tool.  I felt it touching my
thighs.  My hands instinctively went down and grabbed
its majestic size.  It definitely was larger than my
husbands.  Maybe because I wasn't ready to have
Patrick's tongue plunge into my mouth, I sneaked down
to have my first look at another man's dick.  Like a
trophy, I held it carefully and admired its touch. 
Patrick was fully shaved there and his organ looked
handsome and elegant.  Without trepidation, I licked
its underside slowly at first and then with some
renewed feeling of purpose, I sucked on it vigorously.
 I must admit that I started to get excited despite of
my strong moral beliefs.

            "That feels good, Geeta," Patrick moaned.

             I was glad that my master was pleased. 
Now I was ready to meet his lip with mine, to have our
tongues dance with each other.  At this point, I
wanted nothing more than his strong member plunged
deep into me.  I crawled back up.

          Like a conqueror plundering his fallen
enemy, Patrick gazed into my eyes before our
passionate kiss.  Then he slipped his cock into me, a
victorious smile enveloping his face.  It was at that
point I considered myself a slut, especially since I
eagerly met each of his manly thrusts with my own. 
"Fuck me hard," I moaned.

          That first night with Patrick and Annabelle,
I was treated very special.  It made my foray to be a
man's toy much easier than I had expected.  Besides
tender moments with Annabelle, Patrick took me another
two times that night.  As promised, in the morning I
was dropped off to Jesse and my apartment.

          We moved from our tiny apartment into a
million dollar estate home.  Our friends were very
envious of Jesse.  Half the time I wasn't around
anyway.  I was entertaining Patrick or whomever he
wished me to entertain.  It was funny that Jesse was
oblivious to the fact that everyone we were acquainted
with despised us for our wealth.

          Jesse would throw lavish parties at our new
grand home for our Indian acquaintances.  I would wear
the most expensive and latest designed salwar kameez,
our ethnic garb.  Then Patrick's call would come.  He
would instruct me to wear a black leather outfit that
would barely cover my modesty and to be ready in
ten-minutes as a limo would pick me up.  I excused
myself from my guests, citing some emergency, changing
and rushing out in my new outfit covered by a long
overcoat.

         I would never know whom I would find inside
the limousine.  This time it was a large black man
from Kenya.  The driver took us to a bondage club as
the big man with bright white teeth had me sit on his
lap wearing just my skimpy outfit.  He slipped his
hand under the triangular leather patch that covered
my pussy with one finger buried inside my moist cunt
for the duration of the ride.

           "Ah, an Indian girl, how nice," Mr. Obowe
kept saying in his heavy accent.

           It was a very exclusive fetish club done in
an elegant manner.  With my outfit, I was the center
of attention.  Even a has-been celebrity took interest
in me as Mr. Obowe proudly strutted me around the
premises.  In one of the open rooms where others can
participate, the Kenyan had me tied in chains.  My
buttocks were now presented for anyone to slap or whip
at.  And so I felt on my naked buttocks, the slaps and
whippings from strangers.  All I did was ask for more.

             When I was released, the Kenyan took me
to a private room.  I was stripped of whatever scanty
clothes I had on.  My wrists were handcuffed behind my
back and I was placed on my knees.  His thick
glistening cock was pushed into my face.  A whiff of
its sickening odor seeped into my nostrils as I
eagerly open my mouth for its expected entrance.  As
the large tool stretched my smaller mouth, I
immediately gagged.  His tool tasted cheesy but I
accommodated its presence as best as I could.  My mind
was thinking about Jesse sitting comfortably in our
living room sipping on Merlot as the big African man
kept using my face for his pleasures.

          My hands were now tied by a rope and pulled
upwards.  My legs were spread and my ankles chained. 
I was blindfolded and a large ball-like object was
strapped into my mouth.  I don't know what was
happening but I could hear the shuffling of feet and
the door to the private room opening and closing. 
Something pinched my nipple and I immediately
contorted from the sharp pain.  I couldn't scream and
tears flowed down my cheek.  My bladder also emptied
itself as the warm liquid crawled down my naked
thighs.  Then my other nipple met the same fate.  This
time my body was more ready but the pain was still
excruciating.

           "Aren't you glad that I brought you here,"
Mr. Obowe said to me.

            Knowing that compliance is vital to my
state of affairs, I nodded in agreement.

            "How are you my darling?" my master's
voice streamed into my ears.

              I tried to show that I was fine.  Tears
ran down my cheeks in hearing Patrick's voice.

             Mr. Obowe said to Patrick, "She is
certainly a fine gift.  I will enjoy her most
definitely."  With that I felt the first smacking on
my thighs.  It seemed there were many who used the
whip on me that evening.  I could sense five or six
different people.  Some teased me by gently stroking
my breasts and pussy with the leather strips, before
slapping them over my body.  Others went straight to
the whipping.  The fetish was turning me on even
though I still tried not to admit that to myself.

           When I was finally released and everything
taken off my sore body, I collapsed on the floor. 
Twenty minutes later after infusion of liquids, I was
back on my feet though barely.

            Mr. Obowe was a very sexually charged man.
 He had arranged exchanges with other couples on the
premises.  Four men, total strangers, were ready to
use my body as their semen receptacle.  In exchange,
the Kenyan was to enjoy their respective
girlfriend/wives simultaneously.  I guess Mr. Obowe
was into quantity rather than quality.  The four women
unclothed that circled the large black man were much
older.  However their pale complexion contrasting with
his dark black skin made an interesting sight.

           To tell the truth, I was too exhausted to
give these men much attention.  I lay on one of the
numerous mattresses strewn on the floor.  "Guys, I'm
really tired tonight.  Just take my body but I really
can't do much else for you," I told the four white men
quite plainly.  Luckily they seemed sympathetic and
took turns plunging themselves into my younger tighter
exquisite body.   I felt like a jaded whore taking on
the cavalry.

          The men took their turns, lust in their
eyes.  I couldn't imagine the turn of events in my
life.  I am right now lying who knows where on a vinyl
like covered mattress, my body unclothed and my lower
appendages spread open for strangers to insert their
weenies into my little private hole.  These moments of
realization would hit me on every episode I had on my
journey as Patrick's sex slave.  Many times the shame
of it all would overwhelm me.

           Mr. Obowe seemed satisfied as we finally
made it to his hotel room in the early morning hours. 
I crashed on the comfortable bed and slept for hours. 
Mr. Obowe was soon up and he went for a round of golf
with Patrick.  I waited in the hotel till nightfall. 
I had my meals brought up, checked on my husband and
daughter, took a luxuriously long bath and watched TV.
 This night was comparatively much quieter.  I had
dinner with Mr. Obowe and Patrick in a topnotch
restaurant.  Patrick brought me a short black dress to
wear sans underwear.  I have been in situations like
this before.  I knew all the men were looking
wondering what an exotic beauty was doing with these
men.

           Back at the hotel, Mr. Obowe utilized my
body for the night.  Doing one person at a time was
considered easy work.  I had many such nights with
many different men that they seemed to become a blur. 
Episodes that were always vivid in my memory were
those that involved more than just a simple fuck with
a stranger.  Those elaborate situations that took
place were imbedded in my memory like a tape on a loop
playing the same scene over and over.

          Believe it or not, even a full year after
signing that contract I was still ashamed at exposing
myself to men.  I would become depressed at my
degradation.  Since alcohol in all forms was always
available, I started consuming more and more of it. 
Soon enough, a glass with a stiff drink seemed always
to be attached to my palms.

            One sunny Sunday afternoon, Patrick had an
extensive gathering for a delegation of Saudis at his
home.  There were about twenty-five men that came
visiting from the Kingdom.

           "Jesse, please spend some time with Nisha,"
I shouted to my husband as Patrick's limousine waited
in front of our home.  I wore a pale floral chiffon
dress that left my breasts and my black thong clearly
visible.

            I was led to Patrick's extensive ten-acre
backyard lot.   There I met Pam, Laura and six others
of Patrick's contractual sluts lounging underneath the
canopy.  I got my gin and tonic and relaxed next to my
fellow sexually willing wives.

            "Geeta, that dress looks nice on you,"
remarked Kimberly, a stunning blue-eyed blond that has
been in our circle for six months now.

            "Thank you," I said gulping down the
smooth chilled drink.  I quietly listened in on the
girls chatting about their worst and best experiences.

           Six sweaty shabbily dressed Hispanic men
were setting up a circular fence in the middle of the
yard.  The girls and myself noticed that they spent
half the time ogling the sight of us nine beauties
dressed very provocatively.  I was sure they could
have finished the work in half the time.  We tried our
best to ignore them and their incessant whistling and
cat calls.  Things became harder for the workers as a
dozen local escorts also joined us.  They sat away
from us wives and taunted the horny men by blowing
them kisses.

          After a light refreshing lunch courtesy of
Patrick, the always ravishing Annabella made an
appearance giving us each a large elastic band with a
round label each having a different number written on
them.  Mine was three.  "Place these on your thighs
about this high and your number should be clearly
visible," she said.

          Annabella gave the same instructions to the
high-class prostitutes.  Then all of us about
twenty-five women moved indoors for the final
preparation.  Our clothes were shed and our high heels
were fitted.  Everyone was helping one another on the
makeup and on the trimming of unwanted hair.  Some had
no hair on their pussies, some just a little strip and
a few like me had a nice little trimmed triangle of
hair.

          We waited until the middle-eastern men
arrived.  When we could hear the cacophony of sounds
streaming in from the backyard, I felt trepidation, as
one can never predict how the day will go.  A little
shame and shyness mixed in as well.  It was part of
the job I guess.

             When we were all ready, Laura said,
"Let's go, let's party."  Each of us with our number
tags strapped high up on our thighs, high heels and
nothing else filed out of the mansion and into the
backyard.  We were greeted enthusiastically by our
guests as we all made our way into the fenced in
corral.  The lustful glances of the hired male servers
unnerved me as we all danced inside the fence to the
upbeat music.   I knew many eyes were on me, the only
darker olive skinned female, keeping up with the dance
moves.  It felt unusual to dance with just your high
heels but after a little while I thought nothing more
about it and tried to enjoy myself taunting the men.

            The afternoon sun glared over our sun
block protected bodies.  Two call girls and Tiffany
all told me, "the men are looking at you."

            When we were finally released, I was
exhausted dancing non-stop for three hours.  There was
quite a stir among the Arab men arguing among
themselves deciding who got whom for the night.  We
sat naked on the lounge chairs glad to be off our feet
as men kept blabbering in Arabic as they gestured
animatedly in our direction.  One by one we were
getting chosen.  I was picked out pretty soon and got
clothed.  Once everyone had been paired up, we were
shuttled off in groups to the hotel.  I found out that
this entourage took a whole floor.  Our entrance into
the hotel lobby was dramatic.  The sight of about a
couple women dressed in apparent whore-like fashion
each one attaching herself to a middle-eastern man was
not something one would see everyday.

           Once I was alone with my man in the room, I
practically pounced on him.  I started kissing him
feeling his rod inside his pants.  I had learned that
being the aggressor was the best way a whore could
take control of the situation.  In this case it paid
off.  The guy really thought I wanted him.  I got his
pants down and hungrily sucked on his sizeable dick. 
I fondled his balls and soon he arched and shot globs
and globs of cum into my mouth.  I swallowed most of
it, spilling some.  Now the rest of the evening would
be a lot calmer or so I thought.

           "Hamid, I am going to take a shower," I
said.  As the hot water hit my body, my tired body
began to feel some relief.  Soon after I wrapped
myself in a terry robe, got inside the bed and
switched on the TV.  Hamid took a shower next and I
was just glad to have a little time to myself. 

             "I'm tired, too," Hamid said as he
toweled off his wet hair.  It was the best three words
I heard all day.  I glanced at his flaccid penis and
opened the covers of the bed to invite him in and to
snuggle next to me.  After two hours of TV, my hands
found his limp dick and I gave it a squeeze hoping for
a reaction.  I felt enough of a surge that I snuggled
myself to his hairy chest.  I cupped his sizeable
balls and tickled his bunghole as we continued
watching TV.

               It was past midnight and the rest of
the entourage and my fellow whores were still making a
ruckus down the hallway.  I sensed exchanges going on
and some group action.  I felt like a one-man woman
today and wanted to have intimate sex with Hamid.  His
manhood was alive now and I snuck down to tongue it a
little.  It wasn't long before he pulled me up, turned
me around and let his member spread open my labia for
the forceful insertion.  His dick filled me up well
and that always made me enjoy the sex.  I moved to his
rhythm and our bodies went at it.   He expertly played
with my nipples, his forefinger and thumb twisting
them incessantly.  I gasped as my insides started to
get that sensation.  I mumbled to him to fuck me
harder.  He went like a jackhammer and I twisted my
torso in the ultimate moment.   And like a good
script, moments later he filled his goo into my womb. 
We lay there for a while, silently listening to the
shrills and laughter continuing outside our door in
the long hallway.

              A loud knock.  "Hamid, Hamid," his
compatriots called for him.  Hamid reluctantly got up
from his deep after-sex sleep.  He put on a robe and
opened the door.   Four of his friends immediately
walked in and seemed to be chastising him for not
joining in the revelry.  The men were in their shorts
each with a naked whore to their side giggling.  I
tried to feign sleep but one of the men pulled off the
blanket exposing my naked body.  Before I could even
cover myself, one of the men jumped on me and expertly
got his thing into my sticky vagina.   There was no
fun in this and I had it happen quite a few times. 
Another gangbang for me.   So as always I just lied
there and let them take their turns.  Each of them
felt satisfaction in taking me.   The look in their
eyes as they know that I had become another notch in
their conquest of women haunted me.  This time an
exotic Indian women much like their Arab women.

              When I got home finally to my husband
and daughter, I was so exhausted that I slept for
twenty-four hours.  I took a long hot bath to
hopefully dim the memories of the last few days.  I
closed my eyes as I lay in the warm bath.  Lately
whenever I did that, the faces of the men that have
used my bodies come at me like a slideshow, their
expressions frozen at the time of climaxing.  Like a
whore I was losing my self-respect.  Alcohol was my
friend.  It kept me away from my feelings.

              Jesse who was nothing in stature
compared to Patrick, made himself pretty obnoxious
lately.  Clearly Patrick was getting tired of my
husband.  For two years now I have service men for
Patrick, dutifully sucked their cocks and opened my
legs for them.  I sensed more and more that I was
called on for the insignificant clients doing what I
called clean up jobs.  In the beginning I was flown in
jets and driven in limousines.  I met important
people.  Now I was an after thought, sent to cheap
motels to suck and fuck the underlings.  I looked worn
out with the alcohol and all.  Strangely after two
years of being a whore, I became more depressed and
humiliated offering my body to men.  I thought I would
get used to it.

             When Patrick clearly disclosed that he
really did not need my services any more, I didn't
feel any jubilation either.  Jesse knowing that as
long as my services were required, the money would
keep flowing in pestered Patrick to keep using me. 
Patrick was running out of options and ideas.  He sent
me for a while to be an all purpose maid and whore for
his customer's college bound son.  I was made to stay
naked all the time in his small apartment and to
entertain his friends.  It was no longer a win-win
situation for Patrick.

             In an unusual move, Patrick sent me out
to Jamaica.  He got me new clothes and fixed me up
somewhat.  I was with two other girls entertaining an
important client.  Half way through my stint, Patrick
called me.

               "I have some terrible news," he told
me.

             Patrick hardly ever called me, so I knew
this was not good news.  My heart sank down to my
stomach.  "What is it," I said.

            "It's Jesse.  He has been in a terrible
car accident.  Geeta, I'm very sorry but he is dead,"
Patrick said.  The events that occurred after that
were a total blur.  Like a zombie, I flew back to Long
Beach Airport.  A few family members out of pity met
me at the airport.  Friends, I didn't have.  Jesse had
a traditional funeral with our local priest.  People
knew what we did and the general consensus was that
whatever happened was deserved.  Patrick helped
financially as Jesse had over extended himself.  There
was hardly twenty thousand dollars left over for me
and soon after the cremation, my daughter and I were
left alone, homeless and family-less.

              I drank and drank.  Eventually I had the
courage to seek help and to recover from this disease.
 Making ends meet was by no chance easy for my
daughter and I.  I still offered my body to men in
order to survive.  I am hoping that one day I will not
have to that any longer.

The End.


For more of my stories, please visit
www.asstr.org/~nujbaf

Comments?  E-mail me at nujbaf@yahoo.com