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Trash

By: Hyperdebut



Warning: This story involves a lot of fetishes that some people may not enjoy. Discretion advised.

All characters in this story are over the age of 18 and consenting.

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Jenny woke up. She was tied up so that she was on her knees. All she could do in that position was open and close her mouth. She could not move in any other way. Jenny had long, brown, wavy hair, a big fat belly and big B-cup breasts. She was completely naked. Next to her was an armchair, she was in her partner's living room as was her duty. Her partner was Allie, a 25 year old woman with long blonde hair and a tight, skinny body. She had a boyfriend who lived with her but Jenny rarely saw him. She was there to serve her long-time partner, Allie. Around 6 months ago she had met Allie and they instantly became friends. After a few months they entered an arrangement that they both very much enjoyed.

Allie was wearing a large bathrobe when she entered the living room. She saw Jenny was awake. She walked over to Jenny and got onto her knees so they were face to face. Allie grabbed Jenny's nipples and began to squeeze and twist them. Jenny began to moan and squeal. Allie laughed as Jenny's cries intensified. Jenny's sore frown made Allie wet. Allie laughed as she squeezed harder and tugged. Jenny squealed loudly. Allie let go and gently slapped Jenny on the side of the face before standing up. Jenny stared into Allie's eyes. Allie unfolded her bathrobe to reveal her pussy. She had a brown strip of curly pubic hair going from the bottom of her stomach to the top of her slit. Jenny licked her lips at the sight. Allie saw this and laughed.

"Pathetic," Allie said, leaving the room.

A little later Allie returned completely naked. She sat in the armchair next to Jenny and watched TV. As she watched TV she began to play with herself, rubbing her little clit. She made no noise, almost uninterested. She raised her hand and stuck out her smooth, perfectly manicured index finger. She lifted her finger to her nose, sliding it into her tiny nostril. Her nostril expanded and bulged as she stuffed her finger in. She wriggled her finger around, picking her nose. For a beautiful, popular girl she sure was disgusting. She removed her finger, her nostril now going back to it's tiny shape. Allie looked at her finger to see a large, wet booger on the end. She dangled her hand over the edge of the armchair.

"Trash can," she said, sternly.

Jenny opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. She was well trained. Allie wiped the booger on to Jenny's waiting tongue. Allie wiped a few times to fully get rid of the disgusting, sticky booger off her finger. Allie lifted her hand back up and continued playing with herself, her eyes not once moving from the TV. Jenny closed her mouth and swallowed Allie's booger. Jenny cringed at how disgusting it was. Allie poked her long, manicured finger into her tiny nostril once again. She picked out a dry, crispy booger and once again wiped it on Jenny's tongue. Jenny swallowed the booger and once again made a face of disgust.

Allie turned off the TV and sighed with boredom.

"Honey," she yelled.

"Yeah?" Her boyfriend yelled from another room.

"TV's awful," she yelled "come make some entertainment for me."

After a few moments Allie's boyfriend entered the room. He was tall and had short, brown hair. He was completely naked, showing off his big, 7 inch dick. Allie stood up and went over to Jenny. Her boyfriend helped her to lift Jenny and position her in front of the armchair, facing to the left of it. Allie attached clothespegs to Jenny's nipples, pussylips and one on her clit. Jenny screamed, her eyes beginning to water. Allie took her seat and spread her legs. Her boyfriend went over to Jenny.

"Open your mouth, trashcan," Allie commanded Jenny.

Jenny opened her mouth. Allie started to slowly rub her clit. Allie's boyfriend stuffed his erect penis into Jenny's throat, forcing it down. Jenny gagged, her eyes watering. Allie laughed as Jenny squealed and moaned. Allie rubbed her clit faster and faster, grabbing onto her breast while doing so. She moaned. Allie's boyfriend continued to stuff his massive dick into Jenny's fat throat. Jenny gagged more and more. Before long Allie was squealing as she rubbed faster and faster, her juices spraying. Allie fell back as she finished her orgasm. Her boyfriend was close too. He continued to pound Jenny's throat before he quickly pulled back and sprayed his hot, salty load into Jenny's mouth. Jenny instictively swallowed, cringing on the taste. Allie's boyfriend moved Jenny and positioned her facing the armchair. Allie slid forward and ground her drenched pussy into Jenny's face, making Jenny clean her. When Jenny had finished Allie slid back in her chair and slapped Jenny across the face.

"Pathetic," Allie snarled in Jenny's face.

Allie grabbed the clothespeg on Jenny's left nipple. She looked her in the eyes. Allie tugged the clothespeg off. Jenny screamed. Allie grabbed the peg on Jenny's right nipple, also pulling it off making Jenny scream louder. Allie bent down and unclipped the clothespegs on Jenny's pussylips. Jenny squealed. Allie sat back in her chair. Jenny looked into Allie's eyes. Allie laughed at Jenny's shivvering face. Allie kicked the clothespeg attached to Jenny's clit. Jenny screamed. Allie kicked it harder making Jenny scream louder. Then one final, even harder kick sent the clothespeg flying. Jenny screamed out, her eyes watering profusely. Allie leant over Jenny and spat in her face as Jenny sobbed. Allie slid back in her seat and lifted her feet. She placed her feet onto Jenny's face. Jenny could smell the sweaty, cheesy feet in her face. Jenny knew what she had to do. She began to lick and suck on the feet. Allie placed her toes into Jenny's open mouth. Allie pushed her foot to the back of Jenny's mouth making her gag on the pedicured, painted nails. Jenny's eyes watered. Allie removed her foot and slapped Jenny round the face with her soggy foot.

Allie's boyfriend and Allie lifted Jenny and moved her back to the side of the armchair. Allie returned to her seat and her boyfriend walked over to the seat. Allie slid to the edge of the seat. Her boyfriend licked his hand and stroked her pussylips. She became aroused, her slit becoming loose and wet. Her boyfriend slipped his penis into her vagina making her moan. Jenny watched. He began to pound his girlfriend's well-used pussy. She moaned and screamed as he went harder and faster. Sweat built up on Allie's body as she took his rough pounding. After a few moments he began to cum. He sprayed his hot load into his girlfriend's red, pounded pussy. He pulled out and shook the remaining drops onto his girlfriend's vulva. Allie stood up, squeezing her legs together to hold all of the cum in. She sat, pussy first, on Jenny's face. Jenny locked lips with Allie's beautiful, loose pussy. Jenny sucked all of the cum out and licked the droplets from Allie's body. Allie stood up and looked at Jenny just in time to see her swallow down the disgusting, salty load. Allie laughed at Jenny.

Jenny's once neat makeup was now smeared across her face. Allie walked behind Jenny holding a large pink dildo. Allie shoved the dildo in Jenny's tight, unused asshole. She rammed it in and out making Jenny squeal, moan and cry out. Allie went in dry. Jenny moaned and screamed. Allie continued to stuff the dildo in Jenny's ass, loosening it. Allie began to slap and smack Jenny's tied tits while she rammed the dildo in and out. Jenny screamed as she began to have an orgasm. Allie continued to toy with Jenny's ass making it loose and used. Jenny screamed out as Allie started to rub Jenny's clit. Jenny moaned and screamed before her pussy exploded, spraying hot juices everwhere. Jenny sighed out as Allie finally removed the thick dildo. Jenny's ass was loose and open. Allie began to untie Jenny.

"One more booger please," Jenny begged.

Allie stuffed her finger into her tiny nostril and plucked a large juicy booger. She let Jenny suck it from her finger. Jenny swallowed it and smiled. Allie then untied Jenny and they exchanged a passionate kiss. They both stood up and hugged.

"Same time next weekend?" Jenny asked.

"Sure," Allie replied "I look forward to it."

Jenny got dressed and returned to her home.

Trash Man



ONCE AGAIN EDITED FOR ME BY THE INCOMPARABLE "WIRES" WITHOUT WHOSE HELP THIS WOULD BE A FAR, FAR POORER STORY. I TWEAKED IT A LITTLE AFTER HE RETURNED THE DOCUMENT TO ME SO, AS ALWAYS, ANY ERRORS ARE WHOLELY MINE.

Kyle Williams had a dream. It was a simple dream as many are, but like many dreams it required something of an effort to make it come true. Oh, sure, Kyle and many like him spent many hours dreaming of the end result and saying things like "If I was", or "it would be great if" or "when I win the Powerball I'll" but for the most part that was as far as the dreamers went to achieve their dream. Oh, sure, many people in the world went part way down the path that led them to achieving at least a portion of their dream. Kyle was a different type of dreamer though. He spent many hours on his dream and, truthfully, didn't spend much time planning how to achieve it. He just went out and did whatever he had to do to make ends meet. This is common, of course. More people than we want to admit just muddle through life and get by. Kyle set out to be the same. Somehow, something happened, though.

-----+++++-----

Kyle shot upright in his bed when he heard the loud banging. Over the dong, dong, dong of the wooden spoon hitting the bottom of the aluminum dishpan held in his mother's hands he heard her screeching voice. She yelled as his bedroom door slammed open and bounced off the doorstop. "Kyle, get your lazy ass outta that bed right now. If you don't get dressed and downstairs in five minutes you'll have to leave without your breakfast. Your Daddy's already outside checking the truck. Now come on."

Kyle groaned and fell back onto his mussed bed. He was weak. He was shaking and had trouble standing he was so dizzy. Some of his problem may have been all the beer he drank the night before but most of it was the violent wakeup call he just endured. You would think an eighteen-year-old man, as he liked to think of himself, could expect some consideration from his family on the day after his high school graduation and the party that came after. Kyle looked at the clock and grimaced. He had gotten a whole two and a half hours of sleep. No wonder he still felt unsteady on his feet. He was probably still legally drunk and he was definitely still exhausted.

Kyle remembered staggering into the house the night before giggling and shushing his friends as they tried to help him inside. He especially remembered Gloria's help. She had her blouse unbuttoned almost to her navel and her gloriously unencumbered breasts and pebble hard nipples were open to his view in the porch light his parent's left on for him. She was walking alongside him with her arm wrapped around his waist while his friend Bruce steadied them both from time to time as he more or less guided them onto the porch and opened the door.

Kyle wasn't sure how he hooked up with Gloria. Oh, sure, he knew her. After all, she was one of the 47 graduating seniors in his class and was at the party on the riverbank. What he didn't know is how she came to be with him and Bruce when they headed home. He remembered all three of them were in the cab of Bruce's truck, Gloria in the middle. He remembered seeing her get back into the truck and sit beside the passenger door when they left him inside his living room. Hell, he even remembered flashes of the events at the party. He couldn't remember Gloria being with Bruce and her sitting by the door when they left seemed to indicate she wasn't with Bruce. He even thought he remembered watching her button her top before she got into the truck with Bruce.

Kyle staggered slowly down the stairs and into the too bright kitchen. His mother had his fried eggs, potatoes, sausage patties and toast on a plate at his spot at the table. He sat down and started to eat when his father came into the house and yelled, "Damn it Kyle we don't have time for you to lay around and lollygag. Get yore ass up and let's go. We have a long day ahead of us."

Kyle looked up at his father and started to take another bite. His father yelled again, "I said ya don't have time for that. If ya wanted ta eat ya shoulda got up when we called ya the first time. Now come on."

Kyle frowned. He had absolutely no memory of being awakened that morning before his mother came into his room beating on the dishpan. He glared at his father then put his two eggs and sausage on a piece of toast. He slopped ketchup on top and covered it with his other piece of toast then wrapped the sandwich in a paper towel. Kyle followed his father out the kitchen door and got into their old rattletrap F350 dually. Kyle's father climbed into the driver's seat, slipped the 17-year-old truck into gear and rattled down their dirt driveway. Kyle tried to eat his breakfast while he bounced in the seat. He sure wished he could have eaten the potatoes also. He really liked fried potatoes with his eggs and sausage. The old truck was rocking and bouncing because of the deep potholes in the red clay soil driveway.

Kyle barely got his sandwich eaten before his father pulled up at the first stop. Kyle got out of the truck and began pitching the garbage bags found along the street into the back of the old truck. He hated this job but it was what his family did to make ends meet. Everyone did some kind of work and added their meager pay to the family coffers. His mother and two sisters worked in the diner and Dairy King at town. His younger brother mowed lawns for some of the people in town using the same push mower Kyle used when he did the same thing. Now Kyle had to help his father run the privately operated trash service in their small town and the surrounding communities.

After a backbreaking 11-hour day Kyle and his father returned to their home. Kyle had no idea how many bags of trash he loaded into the truck and threw out of it when they were full and went to the county landfill. He was hot, tired, filthy, hungry and thirsty. He also hated what he did but he couldn't see any choice except to continue. There was no money for college even if he wanted to further his education. Of course with his grades no college would look twice at him either. He had a 2.1 out of a possible 4.0 grade point average when he graduated. Trash was in his future, or if he was exceptionally lucky and managed to escape his father's clutches he could work as a blue-collar factory worker. It didn't matter how many dreams he had of being rich and wearing nice clothes and driving fancy new vehicles. The reality was he was poor, poorly educated, and headed for a life of manual labor.

The summer progressed and Kyle lifted a never-ending volume of trash bags and larger items. Six days a week Kyle labored. One day in the fall Kyle's father's truck broke down. They could not run the route and Kyle had the day off. He went to town and hit the local Dairy King where his friends hung out. Bruce was there bragging about his new job working nights at the local La Z Boy chair plant. When Kyle asked about it Bruce said it was long hours but good money. He worked four ten-hour shifts and even got some overtime. After he got better and could work faster he could even make more money than he was currently because of piecework rates.

Kyle didn't even think about what he was doing. He turned and got onto his small older 150cc motorcycle. He rode to the Lazy Boy plant and applied for a job. To his surprise when he turned his application in he was asked to wait. A man in a suit came out of an office and asked him to come in and "visit".

While they were talking, the man wrote notes in the margins of his application. After a few moments the man leaned back in his chair and said, "Ok, I think we'll give you a try. We need a couple more men on nights. When can you start?"

Kyle was almost speechless. He stammered and finally said, "I guess I could start Monday. I help my Daddy on his trash route right now and I oughtta give him a couple of days to replace me."

"OK. Come in about 2:30 Monday afternoon and see Miss Jensen in my outer office. She'll get you through all the paperwork and introduce you to your foreman. He'll get you started. Here's our policy manual. You need to read it and become familiar with the rules. You will be on three months probation. If you work out you'll be permanent after that time. Any questions?"

Kyle shook his head no and said, "No, Sir. I'll be here Monday. Thank you Sir."

Kyle's father was furious when he told him and his mother he would be working at the plant beginning Monday. Kyle knew most of his father's anger came because he would have to do more, if not all, of the work on the route when Kyle went to work at the plant. His father had done all the work before Kyle got out of school except on school holidays and weekends when he made Kyle help. He suspected his younger brother would now have the pleasure of helping his father after school and weekends. Kyle didn't care. In his mind he would now be well on his way to a life of riches and luxury. He would start work at almost $7.00 per hour. Imagine, he would make almost $260.00 per week without overtime. He could make even more if he worked faster because the plant worked on piecework. The base pay could be almost doubled if he worked fast and put out a quality product. Why he could even buy a used truck and have wheels!

Life did look brighter and Kyle did have a small amount of spending money but for some reason he didn't feel rich. Of course, the $100 a week his father demanded for room and board took much of his take home pay. Who would have thought taxes and insurance would take over $100 a week out of his pay. In fact, it took $118 a week out of his base pay. That only left him $52 a week for spending money plus whatever overtime he made. Most weeks he barely made rate but he was getting faster so still had hopes of doing better. Kyle was pissed. He was making what, to him, was good money and still didn't have any more to spend than when he helped his father on the trash route.

Like many lower paid blue-collar workers Kyle spent every penny he made. Sometimes he didn't even have enough left over to buy clothes. He had to force himself to cut back on his beer and running around to buy shoes or clothes to wear to work. He saved every penny he could and finally managed to get enough ahead to make a down payment on a used F150 at a "buy here, pay here" lot. That took another $25.00 per week for almost forever. He had the truck on a four-year note and if he missed a payment the truck had an electronic cut off switch the company could activate to keep it from starting until he was paid up and paid the reactivation fee. Where the hell was the good life, Kyle wondered.

One evening Kyle and his team ran out of parts. The supervisor gave them the choice of either clocking out and going home early (without pay and incentives) or staying and doing casual work for their base pay. Everyone but Kyle left, but he needed the money badly enough he stayed. Kyle was put to work carrying trash out of the factory and putting it into the proper receptacles. All the bins were full so Kyle went back into the plant and found the foreman.

Kyle said, "Jack, the bins are full and there aren't any empty ones in the storage area so I can't take any more scrap out. What do you want me to do instead?"

Jack, the foreman, stomped outside and looked at the bins and began cussing. He said, "God Damn it. We pay those assholes good money to pick this shit up and get rid of it. This is the third time this month they have let the containers overflow. This shit's gotta stop. I'm gonna raise enough hell this time they lose their contract. Hell, even the area for used pallets is almost full. Carry out what pallets you can and stack them then come find me again."

"Jack, how much do we pay them to take this stuff off?"

"Huh? Oh. They get $2.00 per pallet and $10 for each barrel of metal scraps. The wood scrap is paid by the truckload but it goes to another company. I think they sell it to a charcoal kiln if it's hardwood. I don't know what they do with the soft wood scraps."

"Damn. What do they have to do with the metal and pallets when they haul it off?"

"Hell, we don't give a fuck. Take it to the dump I guess. Shit, it's theirs after they pick it up."

"Would they hire me to do it? I could take the trash off every day after my shift and I could guarantee it would always be clean and neat back here. I wouldn't let the bins all fill like they are now. I can really use the extra money, too."

"Hell, I don't know. Do you have a way to get rid of this shit? If you do, I'll ask and see if they will let an employee do it. You'd have to sign a contract, I do know that."

"Yeah, I have a pretty good truck and I can get rid of the junk. Dad runs a trash service so I could use his license to dump things at the land fill if I needed to."

Kyle didn't hear from Jack or the company about the metal scraps and pallets so decided they didn't want him to take care of them. He was disappointed but didn't do or say anything. About three weeks after his talk with Jack he got a message to see the Plant Manager before his shift started the next day.

When Kyle reported to the office he was worried. He couldn't think of anything he did wrong but was slightly confident that wasn't why he was called to the office. Normally if you were being disciplined it was either your foreman or the Personnel Manager that did that.

After the pleasantries were out of the way the Plant Manager offered Kyle a seat then said, "Kyle, I understand you are willing to get rid of our scrap for the same pay that the current company is receiving. I also understand you will agree to haul off the scrap daily at the end of your shift. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Sir, I can do that. No problem. I have a pretty good truck and can get it out of here no problem."

"You realize those barrels of scrap metal are heavier than shit and we won't load them for you. There are also thirty or forty pallets some days that need to be disposed of. I don't believe a pickup truck would haul all that in one trip. You would have to make several trips to meet your obligations. Also, I don't know if you realize there is more to the deal than just getting rid of the pallets and scrap metal. Our contractor also supplies any pallets we need to ship items on. Of course, we purchase them from him. Right now we pay $10 per pallet and require a minimum of fifty per week. You would be expected to supply however many we needed even if that number exceeded fifty, however."

"Wow. I didn't know that. How long would I have to get the pallets for you? I don't even know where I could buy them or what they would cost."

"Well, I can't help you there Kyle. We would give you two or three days notice so you have time to deliver the new pallets, though. We will specify the size and type pallet when we give you the order. I do know the company we have now rebuilds the pallets we send them and returns many of them. If a board is broken they replace it, they make sure all boards are fastened tightly and then use the pallet. As long as the pallet is in good shape we don't care if it is brand new. Many times the pallets you take away don't even need any repair so all you have to do is store them until we need them back."

"Yes, Sir. I want the contract if you're offering. I would need to have an attorney look it over, though, before I sign it."

"Fine. I wouldn't have expected anything else." The Plant Manager leaned toward Kyle and handed him a contract, then continued. "Here's the standard contract. Review it and get back to us by next week, please, Kyle."

As Kyle drove home his head was spinning. Damn, he could make as much on the scrap and pallets as he made now working on the floor. Shit, 50 pallets a week at ten dollars was $500. He would be rich. He didn't think about the expenses he would incur in the business.

The next morning he called the attorney his father used for the trash business and made an appointment to have the contract looked over. To his surprise he managed to get an appointment three days later. During his talk with the attorney he had his eyes opened somewhat. The attorney explained some performance penalties if Kyle didn't meet the requirements of the contract. He also mentioned that Kyle would need, at the very least, some tools and material to repair or build pallets if he took the contract. He suggested Kyle build several new pallets for an inventory in case the plant needed delivery of pallets before he had enough used ones in stock to meet their needs.

Kyle left the attorney's office a chastened man. His gravy train turned into crap again. Where the hell was he going to find a place to build and store pallets? Where was he going to find the money to just buy the tools and lumber needed to build and repair pallets? Damn, he wanted this new job but how could he afford to take it? If he didn't supply the pallets when required he had to pay for the company to obtain them somewhere else, pay for shipping and then he would lose his contract on top of that.

Like many young people Kyle didn't over think his decision. He wanted the money he saw and downplayed the possible problems with taking the contract. He signed the forms and turned them in to the company. His contract began in less than two weeks at the beginning of the next month. One week before he was to take over he received a letter from the company ordering 50 pallets on Monday of his first week in business.

Kyle panicked. He rushed to the trash area on his lunch break to see how many pallets were there. He stood in shock when he saw only three broken pallets where there was normally dozens piled. He walked to the scrap metal area and saw the bins almost empty. 

As he was leaving he saw his friend Gloria driving a fork truck out the door carrying three empty pallets. She smiled when she saw him and stopped her fork truck. She said, "Hey, Kyle. I didn't know you worked here. When did you start? I've been here since the first week of June."

"Uh, hi, Gloria. I started in late September. Say, you got any more pallets back there somewhere? I got the contract to haul them off and bring in good ones when they need them. I'm supposed to bring fifty in Monday and this is all there is here. I don't know what I'm gonna do, now. How the hell can I bring in fifty pallets when I am only going to take five or ten home?"

"Oh, man. No, Kyle. I don't know where there are any more empty pallets. I don't bring them all here, only those from my area, but I know we don't keep many in the back. I saw the old guys loading everything earlier today. They were laughing about cleaning us out and making the new contractor build or buy new pallets. I guess that's you, huh?"

"Yeah, and I don't have the money to buy them or build them even if I had the tools and knew how to build them. Shit, what the hell am I gonna do? They'll rape me if I don't supply what they need."

"Wow, Kyle. I don't know what to say. I'll look around and see if I can find any more pallets but even if I do it won't be anywhere near fifty. Catch ya later."

Kyle walked back to his work area feeling sick. He didn't even make rate the rest of the night because he was worrying about the pallets. At quitting time Kyle talked to the night manager about the pallets and scrap metal disappearing. The manager looked at him with a smirk and said, "Yeah, I saw the old crew picking them up at shift change. What's your beef?"

"Well I have the contract to supply the pallets and take off the used ones and scrap metal. I'm supposed to deliver 50 pallets next Monday and there aren't any in the storage area for me to pick up and refurbish. I heard the old company came and got them earlier today."

"Yeah, so? They still have to contract to pick up the pallets and scrap metal until the first of the month. I heard you got the contract beginning next month but they have the right to pick up the pallets and scrap metal until then. Their contract is still in effect until midnight the last day of this month. Legally you don't have a right to the pallets or scrap metal right now."




Trash Man



Kyle looked at the manager and muttered, "FUCK" then he turned and walked away. He was fucked and knew it. How the hell was he going to get pallets if there weren't any there to pick up?

The next day was Friday and he normally had it off. About 9:30 he received a phone call from Gloria. She said, "Hey, Kyle, I just had a great idea. My folks live south of town, ya know, and there's a lot of new construction going on out there. I see a lot of pallets in the dumpsters the crews use for scrap when they build new houses. I bet we could find some of the pallets you need out there. Wantta try? I'll help ya if you do."

"Hell, yeah. I never wouldda thought about that and I used to work on a trash route. We just never did new construction, but we did find a pallet or two on the route occasionally. Where do you live? I'll come right over if you don't mind."

Kyle met Gloria at her parent's house and they began scouring the area for pallets. They only found 17 pallets in the dumpsters but that was a start. Kyle was beginning to feel better about things but was still worried about his chances of failing now that he was in the hot seat.

Gloria helped him unload the pallets at his home. They sorted the good ones out and set those that needed repair to the side. While they were eating lunch Kyle looked at her and said, "Hey, what about the dump? Maybe we could find some pallets there, too. I think I can get in since I used to run the truck with Dad. It's worth a try anyway." 

Kyle and Gloria hopped into his truck and went to the dump. They talked long and hard but finally managed to get into the area. They found eleven pallets they thought they could repair and seven more they took to use for parts. After the repairs were completed Kyle had 29 of the fifty pallets he needed. He made a run out to the plant to see if the weekend crew had emptied any pallets and found six more. Now he had 35. Shit, how could he buy lumber and build fifteen pallets in two days? Hell, he didn't even have the tools he would need.

Well, nothing for it but to get with it. Kyle raided his savings and found enough money to buy some green oak, no 3 quality, lumber from a local saw mill. He loaded it onto his family's trailer and took it back to their home. He carefully tore one good pallet apart to use for a pattern and drew out the design he needed to cut. He spent the whole day Saturday cutting lumber for his pallets. On Sunday all he did was build pallets. It was after 9:30 p.m. before he finished. He had 53 completed pallets and didn't have enough money to make his next truck payment that was due Wednesday. He didn't know how long it would be before he got his check for the pallets. Hell, he would have to make two or three trips to deliver them and pick up the scrap on Monday.

Kyle made his delivery and picked up the scrap as promised. He was pissed off when he found out he would be paid within thirty days for the pallets and removal. He pleaded with the assholes in the office but got no satisfaction. They really didn't care if he needed the money. Policy was "net thirty" on deliveries and that was when they would pay Kyle. End of story.

Kyle managed to borrow enough money from his mother to make his truck payment and buy gas but that was all. Things were tight, real tight. After that fiasco Kyle made it a habit to tour construction sites and pick up any pallets he found and any lumber he thought he could use from the dumpsters. Hell, he even found some good nails and screws as well as metal he could recycle. Those dumpsters were a gold mine and he wasn't too proud to mine them. After all, they went straight to the land fill so he wasn't really stealing.

As the winter progressed Kyle began to get his new business under control. He built up an inventory of good pallets and only had to purchase lumber occasionally. He continued to raid dumpsters for pallets, wood, and metal. To his surprise he made several dollars just taking scrap metal to the recycling yard. One time the plant rebuilt some air lines and he found almost a whole 55-gallon barrel of brass fittings to recycle. He received almost $1,000 for scrap metal that week. 

We all know the old adage 'last hired, first fired' in a lay off. Shit happens. The economy slowed down. Not as many chairs got sold. Guess what? Yep, Kyle, Gloria and Bruce were laid off. Gloria and Bruce were hurting. Kyle felt the pinch but at least his pallet and scrap job was still there for him. He just didn't have as much scrap or as many pallets to deliver and pick up. His income dropped by a little over fifty percent. Since he wasn't working he got the pleasure of helping his father on the trash route once again. Yippee.

Kyle dropped in to the Dairy King to hang out one day and found Gloria there nursing a coke. He sat at her booth and they began talking. As he was complaining about the layoff Gloria cut in and said, "I don't know why you're complaining. At least you still have enough income to pay your bills. I had to move back home and now I have to put up with my parent's rules again and ask for money to buy a damn coke. My unemployment just barely pays my car payment and insurance now.

"I don't suppose you need any help do you? I sure could use a job here."

"No, sorry. I can take care of everything I need to do in a couple hours a day right now. I have to do that late in the evening or at night though, because the old man made me start helping on the trash route again. Hell, I have pallets coming out my ears so I sure don't need to pick up or build any more. Sure wish I could sell more now."

"Well, why can"t you? Have you checked with some of the other businesses around to see if they need pallets? Darn Kyle, finding them like you do in the dumpsters you could probably sell them for less than ten dollars if you had to. How much do you have in them if you have to build them from scratch? Crap, start a pallet business and I'll help you."

"Hell, I don't know. I've never figured it out. Gimme a minute here."

Kyle grabbed a napkin and did some figuring. He looked up at Gloria and said, "If I build a pallet from all new material I would have almost $20 in it using all grade three lumber. Crap, the only way to make out here is to just rebuild and repair."

"Well, why don't you go to other plants and see if they need someone to do what you do for La Z Boy? Keep hitting the dump and dumpsters to build a stockpile of pallets. Build a few if you need to and build up a business recycling metal and pallets."

Gloria and Kyle were still talking when his phone rang. It was his mother and she was hysterical. She said, "Kyle, your Daddy's in the hospital. They found his truck along the road and he was lying in the ditch beside it. I'm on the way over right now. Pick up the other kids and meet me there."

Kyle jumped to his feet and said, "I gotta go, Gloria. That was mom. Dad's in the hospital. I gotta find the kids and then get over there."

By the time Kyle found his siblings and made it to the hospital he was too late. He found his mother crying in the emergency waiting area. She stood and wrapped him in a tight hug then said, "Kyle, your Daddy's gone. The doctor said he was probably dead before he hit the ground. He had a big heart attack. Oh, Kyle, I don't know what we're going to do now. How am I going to feed everyone? We were just barely getting by with all of us working and now we won't have your father's income."

Kyle hugged his mother and held his other arm out for the now sniffling sisters. His younger brother was already wrapped in his mother's other arm. He said, "Well, at least I know how to run the route. I'm not working now so I can run the trash route and we'll be able to keep that money coming in anyway. Come on. Let's go home, now. We'll see what else needs to be done later."

Kyle got his mother and siblings back home then found out where the trash truck was. He got Gloria to take him there in his pick up and he finished the route for the day. He made plans to run the routes daily as his father had. They set the funeral for Sunday so it didn't interfere with his work. Crap, Kyle had no idea how tough running the route alone was until he had to do it. He always thought his father was just lazy and making him do his work when he had to help. Now he wished badly that he had a helper. It was a stone cold bitch getting in and out of the truck at every stop on the route. It took several hours longer to run the routes with just one person, also.

All at once he remembered Gloria. He hated the thought of paying some of their money out for help but he just couldn't do the whole damn route by himself and have any time to take care of his pallet and scrap business, too. He stopped his truck right then at a wide spot in the road and called Gloria. "Hey, Gloria. Running this trash route alone is a stone cold bitch. Now I know why Dad wanted us kids to help when we weren't in school. Would you be interested in helping me on the route? I can't pay what you made at the plant. Minimum wage is all we can afford but you will make overtime if we go over 8 hours a day. We usually have to work 9 or ten hours to finish the longer routes."

"Heck yeah. When do you want me to start?"

"Hell I wish you were here now. You can start as soon as you want to."

"Well, how about now? Its not like I have anything to do. I can be ready in ten or fifteen minutes if you want me to start today. Are you close enough to come by and pick me up? I don't have any way to get to where you are right now."

"Yeah, I can come by your place but it'll take me about 20 to 30 minutes. Wear heavier boots; steel toed ones if you have them and old clothes. You'll get damn dirty."

"Great. See ya in a few."

Kyle and Gloria completed the route that day and he dropped her back at her house. Before she got out of the truck he said, "Well, do you think you want to help again or is it too much for you?"

"No, its different than I thought it might be but I want to keep working if you think I can do the job."

"Ok. I start pretty early in the mornings. I'll come by and pick you up about 5:30 tomorrow. We have one of the shorter routes tomorrow in the ritzy part of town."

Kyle and Gloria finished working the routes that week without much difficulty. They were slightly slower than Kyle and his father could have done the task but they were still learning how to work together and how to do the routes most efficiently.

When things settled down after his father's funeral Kyle figured out he was stuck running the trash business. One good thing that came from his father's death (if you could call it good) was the family disposable income actually went up. His mother and younger siblings qualified for Social Security survivor's benefits and for their income bracket that money was tax-free. His mother could receive benefits until the youngest child reached age 16. Admittedly that was only two years, but it did help. The three youngest children would receive benefits until they turned age 18 or completed high school if they were still in high school when they turned age 18. Of course the benefits stopped immediately if the beneficiary married. There was also an earnings limit but none of the three of them made enough to matter. At least they wouldn't starve or lose their home. That was something.

Kyle continued running the trash route and his business. He finally had a chance to do some things he wanted to try that his father wouldn't let him do. He cleaned up the garage and large machinery barn. He organized tools and set out some of the wood working machines he purchased for pallets. He had a frame built to hold pallets while he nailed them together and was finally able to bring it inside where he set up sort of an assembly line. 

He also had an area of the building set aside for furniture repair. He was amazed how much furniture he found on his trash route that only needed minor repairs to be as good as new. Hell, some of it already looked like new. Probably some rich bitch just got tired of it so she threw it away. He usually found the 'good stuff' the days he ran the routes in the higher income section of town. 

Sometimes he found a chair or couch that only needed cleaning or reupholstering to be perfect. Other times he found one that had a broken leg or other piece of wood. All he had to do was disassemble the piece, replace the broken wood and voila! He had a nice piece of useable furniture once again. Some of the discarded furniture was very expensive name brand stuff. These pieces resold very well after he repaired and cleaned them up.

Since he and Gloria had worked in a furniture factory they knew a lot about building furniture. That transferred to repairing furniture as well. Gloria worked primarily in upholstery for about six months and was quite good at that. They purchased a used upholstery sewing machine to make recovering furniture easier.

After a piece was refurbished they advertised it for sale and always made much more than they spent repairing it. He gave Gloria half the profit on the furniture they sold. One day they were unloading another expensive name brand couch in the building when Gloria said, "Kyle, we're making as much money now as when we were working at the plant. Why don't we start going to garage sales, pick up good things, spruce them up, and resell them? We can repair broken furniture and refinish items if they need it." 

"I don't have a problem with that, Gloria, but where would we keep them until we got them sold? I don't have a good place here. We're really out of space now. Its hell trying to keep the furniture clean until it sells since we have to keep it out here in the work area."

"Yeah, there is that. HEY! How about if I talk to my grandfather? He owns an old three story building on the courthouse square in town he might let us use. It's been empty now for several years. The ground floor was a variety store for years and years. Maybe we can clean up the old store and use it for a showroom. You're close enough to the business district here it wouldn't be a problem to take the repaired furniture there to put in the showroom. Heck, I bet we could even move the furniture repair work and tools to the warehouse part of the store and do that work there, then we wouldn't even have to move the furniture after it was repaired. I've given up ever being called back to the plant, and, frankly, I really don't want to go back. I like helping you on the route and here in the shop a lot more than I did working at the plant."

"I don't care, Gloria. Hell, I've been looking at our income and I'm amazed with how much we make from junk people throw out. Let's give it a try. How will we find someone to keep the store open, though? If we use the store we need to be open several hours a day instead of just advertising and making an appointment to meet someone to show them the furniture. I can get Tommy to help on the route Saturdays, or better yet Friday and Saturday, if there is a sale we want to go to. You can go to the sale and buy the items then use my truck to haul them home or wait for me to help you. I think we can make this work if we can figure out how to keep the store open." Without thinking Kyle pulled Gloria to him and gave her a tight hug in his excitement. Her nipples hardened enough for them to be noticeable through her thin top. She stepped back and looked at Kyle quizzically but didn't say anything. Kyle stared at her then turned away in embarrassment.

That evening Gloria asked her grandfather about using the store building. He agreed she could use it but she would have to pay all the licensing fees, insurance and utilities. Since she was his granddaughter he gave her a break on the rent. He agreed to take 10% of the gross sales for rental not to exceed $1,500 per month.

Startup fees almost scuttled the new endeavor. It was bad enough getting utilities turned on but then they got the insurance quotes. They were outrageous! Finally Kyle thought to ask his insurance agent if the store could be combined with his trash business for insurance purposes. They finally modified his policy and managed to get the necessary insurance much cheaper so they went ahead and opened the business. By the end of the fall when cool weather slowed down yard sales the two partners had the new 'show room' full of nice restored used furniture. They did their best to only stock higher quality items and their reputation was getting around. People started coming to them hunting specific items. One woman even hired them to refinish her expensive dining room set. They made over $1500 profit on that little job and only did it in their spare time. They even purchased some nicer non-furniture items at rummage sales and sold them in their store also. The partners began manufacturing solid wood furniture in their spare time to sell in their store. That was an almost instant hit. Money started rolling in.

They picked up two more factories to haul metal scrap and pallets away and back to upon demand. They were busy enough Kyle actually had to hire another full time man to help on the trash route. They carefully sorted out metal trash and, of course the occasional piece of furniture for sale then took the rest of the actual garbage to the dump as normal. From time to time they found items at the dump they picked up and brought back to their business for resale.

The week before Thanksgiving Kyle combined some of his pick up routes so they could have Thursday and Friday off. They worked longer hours the first three days of the week but it was worth it. As they worked he talked to Gloria about the meal. He said, "I think Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. The family gets together and we eat all day long. We have our favorite desserts and the traditional Thanksgiving foods for lunch. It always tastes wonderful and is just a perfect holiday. The weather is usually nice enough we can enjoy being outside and there's no hustle and bustle or commercial crap like there is for Christmas.

"How about you? Does your family have a big gathering too?"

"No. It's almost just another day for us. It's just Mom, Dad and me. Mom usually fries chicken or something but we don't have a turkey or anything really special. Dad spends all day in front of the television. It's really a depressing day all in all."

"Man that sucks. Did you ever do the whole big meal thing?"

"Yeah, when I was little and my grandparents could come over and grandma and my uncle were still alive we had a big meal but now we don't. Gramps can't get out very easy so doesn't come over to our place. We usually go to his little apartment and mom cooks there. He doesn't have room in his kitchen to hardly turn around even if we wanted to do the turkey and all the fixin's. We just have a regular meal and go home after an hour or two. I sure miss the Thanksgiving meal, too. I even sneaked out last year and went to a restaurant by myself for Turkey and all the trimmings but it sucked. The food wasn't very good and there was no one to eat with. Guess I'll just stay home this year."

"Why don't you come over to our house and have lunch with us? You can spend the day and we can hang out. I'd really like to have you. I get tired of hearing the kids and mom bickering all day and I don't like the shows and games on TV that much."

"I couldn't. That's family time and I hate to intrude on your family."

"Oh, come on. You'll have fun and we always make way too much food. Besides, it doesn't sound like you do anything family like, anyway.

Gloria felt her pulse speed up. She looked over at Kyle. He looked so anxious she just had to say yes. She smiled and said, "Ok, fine. I'll come eat Thanksgiving turkey with you. What do you want me to bring?"

Kyle broke out in a big grin and said, "You don't have to bring anything. We always have way too much. I just want you to come enjoy it with me, uh us."




Trash Man



When Gloria arrived on Thanksgiving morning she brought her specialty even though Kyle said she didn't have to bring anything. She knew he loved coconut cream pie and everyone told her she made the best. She gave Kyle's mother a small flower arrangement and handed Kyle the pie. His eyes lit up and he grinned. He set the pie down and pulled Gloria into a hug. He kissed her cheek when he broke the hug and said, "Thank you, Gloria. How did you know I like coconut cream pie? I told you not to bring anything."

"Well, DUH. You go on and on about it every time you find a piece in the cafe or your mom makes one. I'd have to be deaf not to know that. Besides, I'm going to eat your food so it's only polite to bring something to the meal."

Kyle sat at the head of the table during the meal and Gloria sat to his left. After the meal they were all sitting around talking, Kyle going on and on about how much help she was to him on the route and about some of the great ideas she had about the business. She was shocked when he reached out and took her hand to hold it for a moment.

Kyle's mother saw him take Gloria's hand and looked over at Gloria's face. She smiled slightly and nodded her head. It seemed like the day ended much too fast. Before Gloria knew it the shadows were lengthening and it began getting dark. Finally, she sighed and said, "I really have to go. I've had so much fun today, but I've been here way too long. Thank you so much for including me in your day. You don't know what it means to me."

Mrs. Williams smiled and said, "Oh, I might be able to guess. We've loved having you Gloria. You'll have to come back real soon."

Kyle walked Gloria out to her car and to her surprise he gave her a gentle kiss on the lips before she got into it. He stepped back and said, "Thank you for coming, Gloria. I really enjoyed having you here. See ya Saturday."

As the fall progressed and days got shorter Kyle and Gloria became more attuned to each other. They seemed to work together better and better, perfectly complementing each other. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, they didn't argue like many others who work closely together. Gloria did become somewhat exasperated with Kyle from time to time, however. It seemed whenever he saw a heavy appearing object they were supposed to pick up he would jump from the driver's seat of the old truck and rush to help her with it whether she felt she needed the assistance or not. On one level it pleased her that Kyle cared so much for her but on another it irritated her. It was almost as if he thought she couldn't do the job she was hired to do.

The second week of December Kyle seemed anxious, preoccupied on Monday and Tuesday. Gloria asked him several times what the problem was but he just blushed and said, rather sharply, "Nothing."

Finally, while they were eating their lunch Wednesday Kyle looked at Gloria and took a deep breath. He said, "Gloriawouldyougototheshowwithme?"

Gloria frowned and said, "What?" She continued to run what he said through her head trying to understand the run on sentence. She looked at Kyle and saw he was blushing. He looked terrified. All at once she got it. Her face broke out in a huge smile. Her heart sang and she said, "Yes. I would really like to go to the show with you Kyle." She looked at Kyle and saw him relax. She asked, "Kyle, is that what's been bothering you all week? Why didn't you just ask me? You ought to know I would love to go to the show with you."

"I just wasn't sure and I was scared I would piss you off. I didnÕt want to upset you or make you mad or anything, but I really like you and want to spend some time with you."

Gloria laughed. She said, "Oh, come on, Kyle. We spend nine or ten hours a day with each other. Don't you call that spending time with me?"

"Well, not really. I mean, we're working then and it's just not the same. I want to do things with you and have some fun."

Gloria took pity on Kyle and hugged him. She said, "Ok, I think I know what you mean and I'd like that too. What show do you want to see?"

"I don't care. Anything you want. You pick. Maybe we can get a burger or something too if you'd like."

Kyle and Gloria pushed hard Saturday to get done early. They rushed home so they could clean up and go out on their first official date. When Kyle came rushing into the house almost an hour earlier than usual his mother was worried. She followed him to his room and said, "Kyle is something wrong? You are home early tonight and came busting through the house like your tail was on fire."

"No mom. I'm just in a hurry. I have a date tonight and have to get cleaned up and back out as quick as I can."

Kyle's mother relaxed and smiled. She said, "Oh. Well you worried me the way you came busting in. Who are you going out with? Is it anyone I know?"

Kyle looked a little sheepish and said, "Gloria. We're going to get a burger or something, maybe pizza, then hit the late show."

"Ok. Well be careful honey and have fun."

That evening Kyle and Gloria hit the Dairy King for a burger before the show. Several of their friends were there and tried to talk them into going down the river where they had a bonfire and keg of beer. Kyle looked at Gloria to see what she though but he couldn't tell. Finally he asked if she wanted to go to the river instead of see a show. He thought he detected a little disappointment in her expression and decided she felt like he did. He really wanted to spend some time alone with her to get to know her better. Kyle turned to his friend and said, "Naw we got plans. Maybe next time."

Kyle knew he made the right decision when he looked at Gloria again. She was smiling and glowing with happiness. He just sat and looked at her while he finished his drink. Finally Gloria said exasperatedly, "What?"

"Nothing. You just look so pretty I have trouble keeping my eyes off you."

Gloria smiled and hugged him then impulsively gave him a quick kiss.

Naturally their friends saw the kiss and made a big deal of it. The building was reverberating with the catcalls and whistles as they made a big deal of the display of affection.

Kyle couldn't even tell you what the movie they saw was about. He knew it was something girls and women like but honestly didn't even remember the name of it when he was asked. He slept in on Sunday morning, not getting up until nearly noon.

When Kyle came stumbling into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee his mother looked up from preparing the Sunday lunch meal and said, "How did the date go Kyle? It was awfully late when you got home. You weren't drinking again were you?"

"It went fine mom. A bunch of the guys had a bonfire out at the river but we didn't go. No I wasn't drinking. We just fooled around and talked until late."

"You really like Gloria don't you son? Are you going to invite her over for Christmas? If you do, be sure you invite her parents also and let me know so I have time to get everything we'll need to feed the larger group."

"Yeah, I thought I would. I hadn't thought about her parents though. I'll tell her to bring them if she comes." 

Finally Christmas arrived. Kyle and Gloria made arrangements to run part of their routes early in the week and part later so they had a four-day break over the holiday. That meant working longer hours on the consolidated routes but they decided the time off was worth it.

Kyle was happy because this year he had enough money to purchase nice presents for his whole family. It was going to be a more subdued Christmas than before because it was the first one after his father died almost 11 months ago but he was still excited as were the rest of the members of his family.

Kyle once again invited Gloria to his house for the meal as he and his mother discussed. He did ask her to bring her parents and made a point of inviting them personally one evening when he picked Gloria up for their date. He got her mother and father each a small gift and went all out for Gloria. He got her a $300 gift card at Macy's.

The first full year Kyle operated his father's business his profits were over $15,000 more than he made working at the plant when he added in the pallet and furniture income. They were not quite as much as his father and he made together but he thought he could get there. Hell, he was paying two full time employees and still making the profits. He thought that was exceptional.

In January Kyle received a phone call from his largest competitor. He was an older man and got right to the point. He said, "Kyle I want to retire. The way I see it I have three choices. I either have to just close my business or hire someone to run the route for me or I have to sell out. Now if I just close down I leave all my customers without trash service for a while then you or someone else will pick them up. I end up with nothing and have my truck to sell. If I hire someone to run the route he will either screw off and cost me customers until I go broke or will tear up my equipment. Oh, I know I might luck out and find someone that'll do ok but the odds of that are slim. That leaves me the option of selling out. That's what I wantta do, boy. I want you to buy my business and take over the routes for me. I'll make ya a good price and I guarantee my truck's in good shape. Whatta ya say, boy?"

Kyle sat there in shock. He knew old man Stephens was getting old. Hell to look at him you'd think he was Methuselah himself but being asked to buy his business floored him. Heck, if he did that he would have many of the problems old man Stephens talked about. He would have to hire someone to run the route and they might do just what Stephens worried they would do to his trucks.

"What's tha matter, boy? Cat got yer tongue?"

"Uh, no, sir. You just surprised me. Why did you ask me to buy you out? I'm not even sure I could afford it if I wanted to. I bet there's a lot of people that would like to buy your routes."

"Don't know boy. Might be. I been watchin' you though since yore pappy died. Ya took right a hold and been doin' right fine. Ya do your job and take care of people. Ya got that girl of my cousins workin' fer ya and I like that. Her pappy never was such a much but I think that girl's ok. She can run one truck fer ya I'm sure and ya can do the other. You'd still have ta hire help but then you would each have a newbie and could watch over em and make sure everythin' went ok. I'd make ya a good deal son."

"I don't know. How much we talkin about here, Sir?"

"Well, I figure $125,000 and ya get it all. The truck, route and all my tools and equipment to go with it."

"I don't have that kind of money. I can't afford it at all. Sorry."

"Now hold on there boy. I didn't say I needed it all in cash here. You give me $10,000 down and I'll carry the note on the rest for ten years at 5%. Ya pay me monthly. It would only be about $1220 a month, boy, and it would make me and tha wife an easier retirement. I don't think a youngster just startin' out could do that and still feed his family. You could do it fine and still pay your wages. I take in about $9000 a month from the routes. You'll even have a little left after wages and expenses so you'll be doing better and helpin' me out too."

"I don't know. I need to think about it and talk it over with the family."

Kyle thought about the phone call all the rest of the day and even during the night because it kept him awake. The next morning he told his mother what he was thinking about and she was worried. "What if something happens, Kyle? I don't want more debt hanging over our heads here. If you got sick or something there's no way I could take care of things."

Kyle was quiet and thoughtful on the route that day and once again Gloria picked up on it. She finally asked in exasperation, "Kyle, what's the matter this time? You can't be worrying about asking me out again. We're over that hurdle now. What's bothering you, now?"

Kyle looked over at Gloria and said, "You know that phone call I got yesterday? The one I walked away to have?" 

Gloria nodded her head yes and Kyle continued, "Well, that was from your Daddy's cousin, Mr. Stephens. He wants to sell me his routes and equipment. He thinks you could run one truck and I could run one. He will carry the note and let me pay most of it out over ten years. If what he says is true I think I can pay you and two more helpers as well as the note and operating expenses and still clear over $1000 more a month than we do now. What do you say? Would you like to run your own truck for me?"

Gloria sat back in shock. She looked scared and said, "I don't know if I can do that, Kyle. It's a great opportunity for you but I just dunno if I can run a truck by myself."

"What's the problem, Gloria? You drive this truck sometimes and don't have a problem. I don't know if his truck is a stick like this one or automatic, but either way you can do it. Besides, you wouldn't be doing it by yourself. We would keep his helper on to help you."

"Well, yeah, I guess I could drive ok, but what about being the boss? You know a lot of the guys that do that kind of work are pretty much drunks and assholes."

"I know, but if they gave you much trouble you could just fire them and we'll find someone else. I won't put up with any crap and you don't have to either. Mom isn't too excited this, but I think I would like to try it if you would agree to help me out here. It'll mean a nice raise for you and we can maybe find even more things to fix and sell."

Kyle and Gloria talked about the deal all that day and the next two before they decided to give it a try. Kyle called Stephens back and began negotiating with him for the routes. The end result was he paid $120,000 for the business and $10,000 down. Stephens carried the note, but it had a sweetener in it for Kyle. The interest was only $4.5% and if both Mr. and Mrs. Stephens died before the note was paid off Kyle did not have to pay the remaining balance.

Kyle made out on the deal because Stephen's routes were more compact, mostly in town and with a lot of well to do households in two of them. He also had a five-year-old truck in almost perfect shape and his helper agreed to stay on. The helper was a little upset he would be working for Gloria, but a fifty-cent an hour raise seemed to calm him right down.

By Memorial Day that year Kyle was feeling the bone deep exhaustion that comes to those who work six-day weeks, fifty to sixty hours a week for long periods. He badly needed to relax and unwind. He was becoming sharp with his family, employees and, even worse his customers. He needed a vacation badly and knew if he needed one, so did his employees. Perhaps, except for Gloria and the man who came with the business he bought from Mr. Stephens he needed one the worst. Like many lower quality blue-collar jobs, his jobs didn't stay filled with the same person for long. His employees tended to come, work a while, and then quit or he fired them for performance reasons. He, Gloria, and the other man had now been working for over a year doing 6-day weeks.

Kyle decided that he was going to take a week long vacation and he was also going to see that every employee who had been working at least a year got one also. He instituted a policy that after working for the company one year you got a one-week paid vacation.

Kyle walked into the trash service office the week before Memorial Day and said to his assembled employees, "I am sick of these long days and weeks. I have decided to make a policy where everyone who has worked for us at least a year gets a one week vacation with pay on the anniversary of their hiring. No more than two people can be gone at one time because we still have to cover our routes. Now, I intend to take off the week of Memorial Day. The rest of you can see me or Gloria to schedule your vacations also as soon as you have been working for us a year or longer."

Everyone cheered when Kyle made his announcement. He then said, "Ok. Lets roll if the pre operational checks are completed. Gloria, would you wait a minute please? I have something to ask you."

When everyone left to begin his or her routes Gloria walked up to Kyle. He first gave her a kiss, and then said, "I want to go camping back along the river where I don't have to see anyone or listen to any noise except for what Mother Nature provides. Would you like to take your vacation the same time I do and come with me? We can fish, swim and just generally lay around for a week."

Gloria smiled and said, "Yes I would like to come with you but can we really both afford to be gone at the same time right now?"

"I don't see why not. There may be some longer days for the other guys but they all know their jobs so it should be ok. We can check back in every couple of days to be sure there's no problem but I don't expect one. I would sure like for you to come with me."

Gloria's eyes glistened as she smiled widely. She said, "Ok, I"ll do it. The thought of a whole wee away from here and on the river bank sounds like heaven to me."

Gloria and Kyle agreed to leave at ten the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. They knew they would have a lot of traffic and several other people on the river the weekend but during the next week they thought it would be less crowded. Besides, the place Kyle intended to camp could only be reached by canoe and was only large enough for one camp. It was not a popular spot for the canoeists to stop because it was so small and was slightly difficult to beach a canoe on. There was a small spring running into the river beside the gravel bar and the current tended to make landing there difficult.

Sure enough, when they got to their destination, it was clear of campers. They landed their canoe and spent the next hour setting up camp. After they had their lean to tarp tent pitched and everything arranged to their satisfaction Kyle waded into the stream and floated on his back letting the tension drain from his body. Gloria rapidly followed him.

That evening after a delicious supper they pulled a beer from the cooler and leaned back to watch the sunset. Gloria settled into the crook of Kyle's arm and leaned her head back against his chest. She looked up at him and said, "Oh, Kyle, this is just perfect. Now that all the floaters are past it is so peaceful I could just lay here with you forever. I'm so glad you thought of this."

Kyle hugged her quickly then bent to give her a kiss. The kiss quickly became very intense. He heard her moan as she twisted slightly to press her breasts against his rock hard chest. In the dim light beside the remaining orange coals of their campfire Kyle and Gloria enjoyed their first love making session. They had done oral and heavy petting before but this was the first time they Ôwent all the way.

After Kyle rolled off Gloria onto his back she snuggled up against him and lay her head on his shoulder. She threw one leg and arm across his body and said, "Oh, Kyle, that was perfect. I love you, you know. Now I know what everyone was trying to tell me. Sex is much better with someone you love."

Kyle turned his head slightly and gently kissed Gloria on the top of her head and said, "Yeah, I know what you mean. I love you too, and this was fantastic."

The two new lovers lay there in the gathering darkness and listened to the sounds of the running river and wildlife. They slowly drifted off to sleep. Sometime in the night Kyle woke chilled and after he took a piss at the edge of camp he covered them with a light blanket. 

The next morning the sun rising over the river woke him. He quietly got up and built up the fire to make their coffee. He was sitting beside the river leaning on a tree drinking his second cup when Gloria came wandering down slowly sipping on her first cup of coffee. She sat beside him and leaned on his shoulder while they drank their coffee quietly and watched the world wake for another day.




Trash Man



They spent the entire week in the same place, fishing, swimming and lazing around. On Tuesday they did canoe downstream to pick up more supplies and check on the business. There were no problems so, with their ice chest restocked, more beer in the canoe, they returned to their gravel bar camp for the rest of their week together.

By July of that year the economy was picking up and the plant began calling back workers. Kyle and Gloria refused the recall but they benefited from it anyway because they now had more pallets to sell. Kyle ended up hiring two new employees before the end of the summer just to keep up with the business from pallets and metal recycling. Kyle promoted Gloria's helper to driver and put one of the new hires on the truck with him. Gloria moved to the furniture business full time. Tommy was promoted to full time in the pallet business and metal recycling from the factories and trash routes. Gloria had the other new hire helping her in the furniture store. That young woman had worked in the plant at one time also so was well trained in furniture building and upholstery.

That fall at the Labor Day picnic Kyle held for his family and his employees and their families Kyle walked up to Gloria. He took her hand and said, "Take a walk with me for a minute, Gloria?"

She smiled and leaned into him as they walked. When they got to the end of the property Kyle found a place for them to sit. He reached into his pocket and licked his lips. He said, "Gloria, I know we've not had many dates but I think we know each other pretty well. You know I love you. Will you marry me?"

Gloria gasped and looked up at Kyle with enlarged eyes. She saw the ring he held in his fingers. She licked her lips and whispered, "Yes," as she held her trembling hand out for him to place the ring on her finger.

Gloria took Kyle's hand after he placed the ring on her finger and pulled herself up. She wrapped him in her arms and they had a deep kiss. She moaned and ground her pelvis into him before they broke apart.

She took Kyle's hand and pulled him rapidly toward the festivities once more. As soon as they got back to the crowd Gloria headed to her mother first. After showing off her ring and getting a hug they made the rounds of the other women showing off the ring and receiving congratulations all around.

Later that summer Gloria's grandfather passed away. In his will he left Gloria the store building and her parents everything else he owned. Over the next few months in their spare time Gloria and Kyle converted the second floor into office space. The third floor was converted into apartments. She rented the offices almost exclusively to attorneys and surprisingly a couple of the younger attorneys just getting started rented two of the four apartments upstairs. She and Kyle were making more profit from each floor on the building rent than on the furniture store. It didn't take them long to decide to close the store and convert the ground floor into offices also.

Kyle took a large gamble and purchased a commercial garbage truck for that part of his business. It was so much more efficient he managed to combine two days routes into one and still finish in just about the same amount of time each day. He and Gloria stopped running on the trucks except when one of their full time employees was off for some reason. A year later he purchased a second truck and retired all his smaller ones.

Within six years at age 27 Kyle had achieved his dream, mostly by accident. He now owned two refuse trucks that operated his trash routes, a thriving pallet business and another thriving rental business. He and Gloria no longer ran the routes except in emergencies or to check on their employees. They worked in the office and occasionally in the shop building pallets. They lived in a four-bedroom house in the best development in town and were looking forward to the birth of their third and last child. Kyle's brother and his two sister's husbands worked for them and were partial owners of the trash part of the business as well.

Dreams do sometimes come true even if by accident.



Trash Talk



Ranting raciest, with posturing and idling, 'filth's only savor but themselves'. 

Two most noted TV and radio talk show hosts, Lush Limpdic & Shrill Oliely, a convicted drug attic and a hair follicle & eye tuck junkie. Gag Polter and Bat Roberts, the lists, continues with many more intentionally spewing misinformation, purporting, and spouting lies daily to attempt to influence, denigrate the morals of the chronically misinformed or stupid. This culture and climate of illicit destructive self-demagoguery of demented values and the construct of narcissistic embellishment of twisted ideas have always been present. 

Shining the spotlight on those whom would use the megaphones sector, not to communicate, but to convey to you, their vile agendas. To divide, separate, pit one group against another and undermine & defy all moral human congeniality and decent positive act in furtherance objectives. 

The definition of Evil, evil >adjective 1 deeply immoral and malevolent. 2 embodying or associated with the devil. 3 extremely unpleasant: an evil smell. >noun 1 extreme wickedness and depravity, especially when regarded as a supernatural force. 2 something harmful or undesirable.

Fact is, for tens of decades, trash talk TV and Radio, as well as some newspaper prints have never been about solutions except for themselves. They have never been accountable, When you have a public microphone forum; your FCC responsibility, should be about reporting & helping the general public interests, If you cannot positively promote & convey competent basic, News then take away the microphone. 

These self-proclaimed oracles think, they are intellectually Savoy based ideals of a well known sadistic individual who claimed that all civilization should be based on cruelty.

The following individuals spew hatred, resentment and lies to intentionally keep society backwards. They think the public is so stupid, they need to think for them. Collectively they represent the very worst this country & world has to offer.

Truth-aphobes 

Lush Limpdic, spewing racism, deception, and inciting "operation chaos" and 

"I want this country to fail" promoting civil insurrection. This fat faced, short crouched, of an individual that is reminiscence of the "Humpty-Dumpty" syndrome, thinks his ideas of the "New World order is a Nazi idea of world conquest".

Shrill Oliely; hate mongering, spouting faceted predictable connotations on TV, Cable & Radio stations "whose looking out for you", he's only looks out for those who pays him.

He is a closet self-righteous, crook, of an individual, with closet Old World beliefs. 

Bat Roberts, ranting and attempting to influence through religion " In Jesus Name" & asking for cash donations, can no more see god if he came down here slapped him in the face. Hiding behind religion while conveying views of the racists, grand old politics from the south.

Gag Polter, the potty mouth blond, fecal translucence of feminine homogeneous

Interjections. Craves the public limelight by attempting to four arm, obvious biased, opinions that are not even relative to her own, charades as one way but is translucence through another.

To heck with you and Hooray for me, mentality,

It is not enough for us to succeed, but for you must fail concepts.

Listen to their messages; listen to their non-solutions and contempt.

When you listen to these kinds of inflammatory & destructive commentaries, your natural, god given intuitive abilities are being coaxed and bombarded, designed and geared toward breaking down your intellectual defenses. The ideas being, if you thought more like them then they can direct you in the direction they want.

Think of being influenced by a commercial on food or beer, cars, or what ever, for the first couple seconds, it may not affect you so much, but day after day, week after week, year after year, the conditioning takes place and conditions.

Example, if you were placed on a street that only allowed you to make right turns, then after a while, your brain morphs in to believing that there are no other turns. 

Year after years, the connived, unmitigated intentional, unbridled, public manipulation, has gotten us, to this point. They get paid to be the problems, never the solution!

With the emergence of this digital TV revolution has allowed more opportunity for this country to get more news information from a broader worlds perspective.

They are dictating & telling and influencing how you should think, how you should feel and how you should act. They are in your heads and your lives and they haven't the right. 

Relying on dysfunctional people reporting news breeds dysfunctional public opinions.

In some areas of this country, if they even showed their little pink behinds around, they would be rude, tattooed and served up with an apple in their mouths. 

On a documentary channel in Denver the week of 03/21/2009, romanticized and sympathized with the justification of the misunderstanding of (John Westly Booth), romanticize, why he murdered President, Abraham Lincoln who was in fact a Republican. They attempted to convey that his rational was some how misunderstood. If they think nothing, of murdering their own people, how do you think they feel about, you. 

Scientist proves that constant years of intentional misinformation programming, breeds constant, contamination of mental effective independent thinking & judgments. Wisdom and goodness has always seemed vile to the vile. Controlling enough people gives some a career.

One of the most pure forms of reporting true news, is a simple video camera, no amount of moderation, no amount of commentary; no amount of opinions can ever deviate from the truth. Use your own mind, see and here the real truth, for yourself.

The real truth can never be dictated, only by true visual & non-bias competent interpretation. 

Sincerely 

Everett Borders Ph.D. 



Trash Talkers



Nothin' quite like a cute lil' shit-talker, in my opinion. You may know the type; they flirt aggressive, by talking trash... type who's favorite little saying is "you couldn't handle all this!" I swear, it's like their catch-phrase. They tend to talk up the pussy - how it's out of this world, how they'll put it on you and have you questioning your life decisions, y'know... the typical smoke-blowing tactic. They don't 'spit game', they don't 'tease'... just a cute level of condescending arrogance on their faces and a line about how properly they can, and will, break you off. 

See, girls like that are my favorites. Cuz' when you break 'em off somethin' serious, they do not quite know how to handle it. 

Don't get me wrong, I don't doubt their skills or expertise in some instances; I've read, I've listened, I've spoken. I know all the horror stories - some of these girls have had crucial disappointments. These are the type who spent days or even weeks trying to get one guy into bed, building up the fantasy in their minds, only to receive a 3-pump chump when they finally get his clothes off. They've used some of the basest moves in their repertoire on men who swore they could handle it all, only to be left wiping off their faces and disgusted as the big talkin' bastard fell asleep after cumming just once. It's shameful, really. 

So when they encounter someone, they talk shit to see how they react. Then if that doesn't scare them away, they figure they're in for more of the usual: clumsy slovenly foreplay, if any; a bit of fumbling about on the mattress with no real sense of skill, through which she'll feel obligated to be a good sport because she gave up her evening for this; then off to the bathroom with a toy to get the job done properly. 

A younger me might have talked shit right back, honestly. But now, I simply smirk and nod and roll my eyes with an occasional "uh huh" thrown in for flavor. To put it in the most crass and simple terms available, that shit don't faze me. No matter what I may not particularly like about myself I know one thing with absolute certainty; I am damn good at what I do. And when a girl talks too much shit, well... I cut the brake cables. I make it a mission to pull out every trick in the bag, just for the reaction. 

And it is worth the effort every single time. 

I love confidence - we all do. But there's something equally appealing about a level of downright arrogance. It gives me a target, an unstated goal, a mission. And I'm on it from the word 'go'. Nothing fucks with all that puffed-up ego she may have like making her cum without even undoing my fly. That's why I make eye-contact while tonguing down pussy whenever feasible - I want, I need to see that face when she realizes I wasn't dismissing her boasting because I didn't care but because I had a plan then and there to fuck her head all the way up. 

That face cocky girls make when you start to make them cum and make 'em cum quickly is priceless - this mix of confusion and pleasure that's downright delicious. It makes them taste even better, and just spurs me forward as they whisper and moan "wait, wait... shiiiiiiiiiit..." 

I usually switch to my fingers at that point so I can talk while pushing them further. That's the point where I start barking back. "S'matter, huh?" I'll ask "You cummin' already? You bout to cum? What happened to all that shit you were talkin' before?" Then I go back to the clit with my tongue before they can answer. Some girls like to try and hold in at that point, try to restrain themselves from orgasm to see if they can last me out. 

I like to make them cum the hardest. 

I never stop with one, either. It's always at least 2, maybe 3 orgasms in store for her before I even take my pants off. I do this for a few reasons: one, I love watching the female orgasm and want to cause as many as possible; and two, because I have a point to hammer in at this moment and I'm not stopping until I'm sure she's gotten the message. 

If you've never stuck your cock in a woman while she's still riding the orgasm you gave her with your lips, tongue and fingers, you're missing out on quite the experience. Personally I love to do just that; if you time it right you can practically hear her cockiness breaking down a bit as she realizes she's still in the midst of an orgasm and you're just getting started on the other hand. Some remnant of ego defense will tell her that if she doesn't find a way to flip the tables soon, the game's as good as over and they've lost but if you have adequate stroke ability, patience, grip, and know how to pick your angles of entry... it diffuses the very idea of a counterattack before it truly forms. 

One personal favorite for-instance was when I was with this woman who was in the midst of cumming her pretty little brains out, and told me as much quite loudly as I contentedly pounded away at her. I grabbed a handful of hair, yanked her head up so she could look right in my eyes, and said "go ahead and cum then, cuz I ain't stopping." She slammed her hands on the mattress like she was trying to tap out, she thrashed, she growled, and just kept fucking cumming while I kept hammering away. I can't lie - it's an ego boost like all hell to make a strong, confident woman bust so hard she can't really do anything about it. It's my biggest fuckin' turn-on if I'm being honest. 

Something interesting tends to happen when you do something like this, and she's completely lost her shit quite quickly and with minimal effort - you piss her off. Mess a cocky woman's head up with enough orgasms and she actually gets a little mad. The second she regains some semblance of composure, she's going out of her way to try and make you cum just as hard or as much as you made her cum. When the orgasm of her partner shifts from something that's par for the course to something that might just be out of reach, it's like a switch it turned on inside their head. This is one of my favorite parts... the aggression, the passion, the ravenous hunger, the borderline violence (the girl in that personal favorite snippet almost gave me a concussion once... but that's a while different story). It's so delicious to watch her going from so damn sure you couldn't make her cum to practically desperate to make you cum. I love girls who hop on top and ride the dick like their honor is indeed at stake... it gives me a bit more leeway with my shit-talking. 

I love that part because now I get to really drag a confession out of her. I make her admit how badly she wants me to cum, how desperately she needs it. I live for the moment you can take a fine-ass shit-talkin' woman and tell her she has to earn your cum. I've even held back from my own orgasm as long as possible and made her bust a few more times just to reinforce that lesson. 

"Nah, baby," I say with a slight smirk on my face. "You don't just get this nut... you gon' have to earn this. You want it? You fuckin' want it? Tell me." 

I like her orgasm count to be somewhere around 5 or six by the time I finally bust one. Nice numbers, really get the point across. Then I let her rest a bit, maybe bring some Gatorade, and we can just relax. Sometimes they're legitimately pissed at you for making them cum like that... which makes me laugh a bit inside because I know it just means they'll try harder the next time. 

Usually around this point I'll say something like "I normally don't stop at just one time like this. But we can call it a night... y'know, if you're too tired." 

That tends to have the desired reaction - namely, her going on the full offensive to try and redeem herself from earlier. And I'm already plotting how to make her cum again. 

Gotta love shit-talking girls...



Trash Talking



In anticipation of our on line meeting I needed to give myself something to do until then so I decided to write you a naughty story. This is a story of how I would envision you and I meeting in a public setting. This is also a story of my ideal sexual encounter with a woman. Hopefully it will make you want to finger yourself or get out your vibrator if you have one and fuck yourself with it.

Ok here goes.........I was vacationing in Great Britain and doing some sight seeing last year during the spring time. It was quite lovely that time of year and all the flowers were in full bloom. I was traveling alone as I will do from time to time. Of course in the states we drive on the right side of the road and here in the UK they drive on the left side. I have been to countries where they drive this way so I was accustomed to it however it sometimes takes me a while to get used to it. Usually I will get a little practice driving in the country side before I do any big city driving. It was on that first day of country side driving that I met this hot looking woman who was doing a little driving of her own. Still a bit apprehensive with my driving, I kept my speed to a safe comfortable pace. The hotty came up behind me pretty quick and let me know of her impatience with a nudging toot of her horn so I motioned with my hand for her to pass. When she pulled up beside me to see who it was that had dared hold her up with such impractically slow driving, our eyes locked. I could see the look of annoyance on her face so I decided to throw her off balance by making a ridiculously funny face. My plan worked as her stern face softened into a smile and then outright laughter. In an attempt to match my spontaneity she teasingly stuck her tongue out at me like a spoiled rotten little girl and then she stepped on the gas and I was soon eating her country road dust.

Wow, I thought to myself. This has all the makings of an adult pornographic film, If only I could catch her and get her to pull over. My car was a piece of shit rental though and she was driving a fast sports car. No chance I would ever catch her in my dump of a car. Oh well, I thought to myself. Wasn't meant to be. The next thing I know, as I reach the top of a small hill, I see her pulled off to the side of the road sitting on the hood of her car with her legs open just enough to get my full attention. My reaction time was immediate and I pulled over as well. I got out of my car and walked over to her.

She was wearing a small tight halter top that accentuated her big bountiful tits with hard erect nips. Her tits were practically spilling out of her top and as much as I tried not to stare at her big beautiful tits, they commanded my attention. A long awkward pause took place until she finally broke the ice with a wicked little laugh followed by a sarcastic remark when she asked in her deliciously sexy British accent, "Do you like them?"

Unable to speak and spell bound, I forced my neck muscles to nod my head in a manner that clearly showed I was dumbfounded by her tits. Again she gave me a taunting she devil laugh and said, "Do you speak, mister slow driver? Do you have a name?"

Her words required an answer but my brain was in slow motion mode, struggling to process the information and develop a suitable answer. After another long uncomfortable pause I stuttered my name,

"T T Tony. My name is Tony."

Immediately detecting my accent she said, "Ahhh, American boy huh."

This seemed to delight her as her discovery of my country lit up her face. Her wicked smile and mischievous eyes spoke louder than words. Again she spoke, "Do you always drive that slow Tony?"

"Well, no, not usually. I just arrived here a few days ago and I was trying to get used to driving on the left side of the road. I apologize if I made you late for something."

"As a matter of fact I was already late and you had to go and make that funny face to disarm my hatred for you. I figured that any man that could change my mood from miffed to joy with just one look, was worth stopping for. However, now I think I'm mad at you again because now not only am I late, but I probably have missed my event altogether."

"Again you have my humble apology miss"??????

"Wendy. My name is Wendy. So Tony, your apology seems sincere enough but that doesn't change the fact that I missed my very important event. How in the world do you plan to make it up to me"?

Damn, I thought, could this moment be any more tailor made for an adult porno flick? Scrambling to think of a witty answer, I clumsily said, "Uh, how about dinner?"

Her eyebrows bent in disappointment at my answer as she said, "I was thinking more along the lines of a good hard fuck right about now. What do you say Tony? Do you want to fuck me? Huh Tony? I think it's the least you can do."

I was totally taken off guard by her forwardness but if the Q. was do you want to fuck me, then the answer was yes yes yes. But my mind was not thinking correctly and instead I answered with, "Where?"

She swiftly replied, "Right here, right now."

My god. Was I dreaming or what? My mind now clearly thinking, I decisively said, "What ever makes you happy Wendy."

"I'll tell you what will make me happy Tony is your stiff cock fucking me hard. You can start by licking my holes first now get the fuck over here and start tonguing my ass and cunt you fucking bastard."

Wow. This girl was turning out to be quite the nasty bitch. Man I was so turned on by her filthy mouth that my dick almost ripped right out of my trousers. Ok, I thought to myself, If she wants to be a nasty bitch then I would play her game and reciprocate with a little attitude of my own. I believe she was under the impression that she was in control of the situation but I was going to show her that she was not in complete control. Catching her off guard I barked,

"Ok bitch. You want me to tongue your fucking holes!!? You got it."

Confidently I walked over to her and bored my eyes into hers with my most dangerous look that I could give. The look worked I think because she appeared to be a little less incharge than before. I stopped infront of her and our faces were close enough to feel the breath from each other. We locked eyes and a staring contest soon began. A test of wills. Who was in control. The battle lines were being drawn for a war of who's the boss and clearly neither one of us were thinking of surrendering. I decided to make the first move by lifting up her denim mini skirt and pulling her thong undies to her ankles with authority. She was still sitting on the hood of her car so I barked,

"Lift your fucking legs in the air you fucking nasty cunt."

Not wanting to lose any ground she retorted, "Like this mother fucker? Is this what you want? My legs in the air so you can tongue fuck my holes? Go ahead you fucking bastard, lick my cunt and ass hole with that nasty American tongue of yours you piece of shit."

Just then she grabbed a fistful of my hair and forced my face down between her legs. The powerful intoxicating aroma of her womanlyhood was making my mouth water. I dove in with reckless abandon, attacking her cunt with tongue and teeth. I heard a hiss of pleasure seep through her clenched teeth as I began to nibble on her pink clit. She was trying to mask her enjoyment with words of disgust and displeasure shouting,

"Come on you fucking bastard. You can do better than that. I want you to spit on my ass hole and sink your tongue deep inside my nasty ass. Yeah that's it. Push your tongue deep inside you piece of shit mother fucker."

With my hair still in her hand she drove her point home with a forceful shove of my face into her ass.

"Yeah that's it mother fucker. Tongue fuck my ass nice and hard. Do it. Fuck my ass with your tongue. Come on you filthy bastard, fuck it. Fuck my ass. That's right mother fucker. How does that ass hole taste you son of a whore? Hmm? You like licking my ass with your tongue? You do don't you, you filthy piece of shit. That's right, clean my ass with your tongue you maggot. You owe it to me for making me miss my appointment you fucking ass hole."

Ok, I was finished listening to this bitch go on about how I made her miss her stupid fucking appointment. So I stood up, got in her face and said,

"Listen you little bitch, I didn't make you miss anything. You stopped for me remember. I believe it was something about a change of mood. So don't tell me I made you do anything. It was your choice to stop. And speaking of that, why did you really stop? Was it for this?"

Just then I grabbed her wrist and forced her hand to my crotch.

"Is this what you wanted you fucking tramp? My big hard cock? Well, don't just sit there. Take out my cock and start sucking it you filthy foul mouthed whore."

She did not like that at all. She challenged back by calling my bluff with, "Yeah? Is that what you want? You want me to whip out your cock and suck it? All right mother fucker. I'll suck your fucking cock. I'm gonna suck the hell out of it you fucking bastard."

Mumbling curses under her breath she forcefully started unbuckling my belt and unzipping my trousers. The mere sight of her mouth on my dick was almost too much for me. If I came too quickly then the game of chess would be over and I would lose. I had to look away and concentrate on the war at hand. I was not about to let this bitch have the satisfaction of making me cum within seconds of her mouth on my cock. No, I would have to think of something else. So I put my efforts into degrading her with choice carefully selected words so foul that even satan himself would have to cover his ears. I began with, "That's it you fucking cunt. Suck that dick. Suck it. Suck my fucking cock you nasty used fucking slut. You are nothing but a sperm receptacle. A place to dump my hot load of cum deep inside all your well used holes. Isn't that right you fucking bitch? Your nothing but three holes for me to fuck. Three holes for me to do with what ever I choose to do. And those big fucking tits will have to be fucked too. In fact, I'm gonna fuck every crevice I can find on your body and you will just have to take it like a good little wench won't you? Won't you, you good for nothing little skank? All right bitch. Stand the fuck up. I'm through fucking around with you. Put your hands on that car and stick your ass out you fucking cunt. I'm gonna fuck the hell out of you till your begging for me to stop. When I get through with you, you won't be able to walk for days."

Meeting my challenge she piped up with, "Are you trying to be funny. I'll have you know that I've walked away from every fuck I've ever had so don't flatter yourself honey."

The note of sarcasm in her voice was said with malice and stubbornness. She was not about to give into this test of wills. She was matching me insult for insult and as we fucked we traded unpleasantries so horrific that we could have melted candles with just the words coming out of our mouths. She shouted,

"Come on you mother fucking bastard, fuck the shit out of me. Fuck that nasty fucking cunt of mine."

I answered back with, "Oh yeah you fucking nasty filthy gutter slut. You want me to fuck your cunt nice and fucking hard. Ok you fucking bitch, you asked for it."

I started ramming my cock so hard into her I could hear our hip bones connecting together. It was a good thing we were out doors because when I started pounding her cunt as hard as I could she let out a scream that could probably have been heard for miles. The kind of scream that could make your ears bleed if you were indoors.

"FUCK ME YOU MOTHER FUCKING BAAAAAAASTAAAAARD!!! FUCK MY CUNT YOU PIECE OF SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT"!!!!!

The concentration on my part not to blow her head off with my load of cum as she screamed bloody murder was an act of god. I could have moved mountains with my mind I was concentrating so hard. Just then she commanded,

"Ok you son of a whore, I want you to fuck my ass now."

"Oh yeah bitch? Is that what you want you fucking piece of trash? Well, why don't you fuck it yourself you lazy cunt. Do I have to do all the work? Huh you fucking bitch?"

"Ok dick head. You want me to fuck your cock with my ass hole? That's fine by me. Get on that car and lie on your fucking back. Yeah stick that fucking cock in the air mother fucker. I'm gonna sit right on it. Oohh yeah that's it. Can you feel my tight ass slowly sliding down on your stiff pole. Huh mother fucker? Does that feel good? My ass pushing down on your nice hard cock. I bet that feels so fucking good. Would you like me to go a little faster? Hmmm? You want me to fuck your cock nice and hard? Ok you piece of shit. I'll fuck your cock with my ass. I'm gonna fuck the hell out of you, you sick son of a bitch. I'm gonna fuck you till your cock falls off."

She then started riding my shaft with her feet on the hood of the car and her ass pumping my dick like a piston. She was going as fast as she could and I was at my wits end. To seal the deal she decided to do something that no woman has ever done to me. As she was pulling up on my cock she would tighten up her ass hole on the up stroke. Her rhythm was in perfect time with her squeezing. Then she stopped and kept just the tip of my sensitive cock head in her ass then squeezed and relaxed squeezed and relaxed tightened and released her ass hole right on my dick head. This was it. She had found my weakness. I could no longer hold out anymore. I gasped,

"Ok baby. You win. I'm gonna cum. If you don't stop squeezing my dick head with your ass hole then I'm going to blow your ass off like a shot gun."

She cried, "Do it baby. Explode your cock right inside my ass. I want you to do it. I want your cum deep inside my ass. I want you to tell me the exact moment that you are going to cum by counting down, ok baby?"

"That's it sugar. I'm about to do it. Here it comes. Are you ready? Here it comes. 3, 2,1 NOW"!!! 

Just then she tightened up her ass and drove all her weight down on my cock. The feeling of her clinched ass hole driving down on my cock just as I came was euphoric. The mixture of pleasure and pain brought tears to my eyes, I saw stars, and then I passed out only to wake up with my head cradled in her lap and she was stroking my hair softly and tenderly while shading my face from the sun. Softly she whispered,

"Are you ok now? You passed out on me."

With all the love and affection I could gather I replied, "Yes Wendy, I am fine. I just want to enjoy this moment for a while."

With unspoken acknowledgment she just continued stroking my hair and a light breeze cooled my skin. The end. Please let me know how you like the story.



Trashed



I like wearing form-fitting clothing when I'm in my Back Bay condo. It makes me feel sexy and powerful and so after awakening I put on an opaque body suit from Wolford. It cradles each and every curve of my body. Some nameless jerkoff loser bought it for me last month. 

I spend most of the morning reclining in bed, reading the new Jami Attenberg novel, whilst surfing The Madewell website, because even though they aren't very expensive I love their shit. I also purchase a new pair of Gucci pumps for an absurd price. 

Just before it's time to get ready, I log onto my various pay sites and check on my revenue. I break into a victorious smile. I made over $1,400 yesterday. All but $500 of this was from on-line trolls who buy me stuff because I'm beautiful. I clear over $150k annually from this annuity type of business. It's like taking candy from a baby, but not as fun or satisfying as the living, breathing ATM that I have an appointment with today.

I linger over a hot shower, and then select a dark gray pinstriped suit from my walk-in closet, along with black pantyhose and matching gray Steve Madden heels. No way would I use my expensive heels when I'm busting junk. 

The skirt is cut barely above my knees, and makes me look more like a businesswoman than what I actually am. My goal is to appear ladylike to the core, and to offer my client only a tiny hint of the beauty that he will never get to experience. I also take the time to put my hair back in a ponytail. It is in this way that I remain completely dignified, as is my birthright as a dominant Female. 

I could take the highway to my appointment, but I'm enamored with my new Lexus and so I take a more leisurely jaunt down Storrow Drive. I'm listening to a new audio book --Naomi Wolff's Vagina: A New Biography. The book confirms what I have subconsciously felt about my own Vagina and my mind drifts, as it so often does, to the beautiful, incomparable space between my legs, which rests comfortably on soft leather, nestled in white satin. I swear it knows when it has a job to do and I can't help but glance down and smile in anticipation of what is to come. It is my co-conspirator in all this and I can feel it urging me to inflict maximum damage and to show no remorse. 

My meditation is temporarily distracted by the jingle of my iPhone. It's my mom thanking her for the money I sent her. We have come a long way from the year Dad left and we nearly killed each other. I'll never forget how mad she was when I told her I wasn't going to college until I explained to her that I had no interest in learning useless bullshit for four years so I could work for some corporate stoolie who would pretend to be nice to me and stare at my ass when I'm not looking. And so, whilst other people wasted time and money for four years, I read two books a week. I'll gladly match intellects with any Ivy League chick. One of my closest girlfriends went to Harvard and she does the same thing I do only it cost me far less to achieve this same success. We're both happy, so it's all good. 

By the time I arrive at my client's shitty condominium complex, I'm five minutes late. I sit in my car, keeping him waiting, whilst applying makeup (Diorshow mascara, Chanel everything else). I am always impeccably groomed for these sessions by design. It's essential to illustrate the contrast between genders. I study my face in the rearview mirror. You could never tell I was doing shots with the girls late last night at Storyville. LOL, that pop music they play is so shitty, but it is fun to dance to. I nod my head in self-approval. It's go-time. 

Stu is a moderately successful (read: not that successful) 40-year-old banker who pays me to come to his mediocre condo and sexually abuse him. Each time I have visited him, I have added a few little innovations and also reduced the time I've had to spend putting him in his place. What once took an hour now only takes 35 minutes. But don't let the time confuse you. I'm very thorough. 

Some may wonder how I can treat a human being (it's debatable) with such contempt. When I first began training Stu, he confessed to me that he and his loser friends love to talk trash about "pocket rocket blondes" like me, and that he felt ashamed about the things he said. I made him confess the details of his disrespect, which boiled down to him objectifying young women. "We all talk about your, uh, cunt, and what we would like to do with it," he stammered, as I resisted the impulse to laugh and kept a straight face. 

"And what do you do when you think about my Cunt, Stuart?"

"I uh, masturbate."

"You masturbate."

"Yes, Ma'am." 

My response to this pathetic disclosure was to stare him down whilst he blushed and avoided eye contact until I ordered him to look at me and listen "very fucking carefully." Then, I informed him that he was no longer permitted to use the word, "Cunt," or any synonym of that word in my presence, I told him that he deserved to feel ashamed and I promised him that I'd make quite sure he paid for his transgressions. To help him understand the reality of his situation I pinched his ear and got up in his face so he could smell my perfume. In my sweetest voice, I laid it all out for him: "Let me be as clear as possible. I can be very, very vindictive. You know this from having viewed my website and so it seems pretty clear you need a young Woman like me to take control of your finances and your life. Am I right?" When he meekly agreed, I laughed and added, "You're going to regret ever having met me, you fucking jerkoff loser." 

Reprogramming Stu was easy after that. I have met with him several times now and he has paid me thousands of dollars. In return, I have taught him some extremely harsh and memorable lessons. Like so many males, he was raised under the false premise that he belongs to the superior gender. He makes these groans of incredulity when I sexually abuse him. His eyes adopt this far-off look of sheer disbelief that he has been so violated by a Female. I always make sure to take a photograph when I'm finished with him. These pictures never fail to generate a good laugh between me and my gal pals. 

Today, when I enter his unlocked condo, Stu is lying buck naked on his back in his living room. Per my instructions, he is wiggling his hips and grunting like a pig. With one hand he finger-fucks his ass and I'm sure you can guess what he's doing with the other hand. 

I have trained him to be prepared to ejaculate as soon as I walk in. I've explained to him that I don't like standing around watching his compulsive wank routine when my time could be better spent kicking the shit out of him, so after expressing my disgust I remove a travel-pack of Kleenex from my purse and drop it on his stomach. "Get it over with, you hand-humping jerk zombie!" 

To make sure he understands the time constraints I'm imposing, I take a seat on his couch and thumb open up the timer app on my iPhone. "You have two minutes. Don't keep me waiting." 

This is more than enough time for Stu. Within 30-seconds, he is making those disgusting froglike grunts that these all losers like to make and he's squirting into the tissue that I provided for his convenience. I'm always amazed at how much spunk these perverts can produce and I find it enjoyable to watch him lose control. His body goes rigid and his eyes bulge out of his head. On cue, thick jets of spunk squirt out of his errant little penis. 

I lean out over him to get the best possible view of the spectacle, making sure to keep my hips tucked back so I don't get any of his gunk sprayed on me. "Get it all in the tissue, you perverted fucking pig. Good. Now I want you to look me in the eyes and guzzle that shit up just like the obedient little cum slurping retard that you are!"

After ejaculating, males tend to temporarily lose interest in their own perverted fantasies and so it does give me some feeling of accomplishment to force them to do something they'd rather not do. My authority over him is further cemented during moments like this and I make sure that the experience is as unappetizing as possible for him with my highly detailed set of eating instructions, which include making him chew on his goo whilst smacking his lips. Stu is no longer having fun, which enhances my own enjoyment. Bits have tissue have intermingled with his load and he's beginning to gag. "Don't you dare stop! Gobble down every chunk." I can't help but laugh he wordlessly obeys me. This is all too easy and fun. And it's about to get even better. 

I smooth over my skirt and clear my throat. "Stand up and spread your legs." 

Stu is much bigger than me and I'm sure he is stronger, but he's so dazzled by me that ultimately I do own him through and through. What takes place is quite natural for the situation. My supremacy over Stu goes beyond the threshold of role play into something more real. 

I think more girls would do this if only they knew what great sport it is aiming ones foot like a heat-seeking missile at such a wonderful target. The entertainment value cannot be understated. The feeling of my foot making perfect contact with the scrotum, combined with the deep baritone noise at impact and the visual of the tethered nut sack yielding like silly putty to applied blunt force – it makes my nipples tingle. 

From the first kick, I have him sprawling and reaching for his bag. It amuses me how these douches always reach for their bags after they get kicked. It's this weird self-consolation ritual. Think of how stupid and how owned these losers are to endure this kind of treatment. 

"Holding them won't make them feel better, you stupid fucking loser. Get up. You should know better than to keep me waiting." 

Sure enough, my sweet little voice settles inside his warped brain and he has no choice but to present his increasingly bruised junk for punishment again and again. I put my hips and ass into each kick and concentrate to the point of meditation as I focus on generating that deep splatting sound I'm looking for.

Now it's taking him forever to recover. I just stand there, tapping my high heel on his hardwood floor. "I don't have all day," I say as he struggles with the pain. "Ass up!" 

But he's not listening anymore. My last two kicks were particularly brutal and I think it's time to wrap things up. I kneel beside him and take his chin in my hand and slap him in the cheek, hard enough make him flinch. "I'm not finished yet. We still have the grand finale."

He stands, wincing all the time and still bent over at an inverted angle. I pinch and twist one of his nipples and order him to stand straighter, so I can inspect his bag. Despite his obvious pain, he complies immediately.

"Hold still." I lean down to inspect his junk. His scrotum is a mixture of deep red with some purple mixed in, almost like a summer tomato if not for all the disgusting little hairs. One of his balls is bigger than the other. I resist the strong urge to finish him off right then and there. "We have reached the grand finale," I say. "I assume you followed my instructions?"

"Yes, Miss Nicola." 

I release his nipple. "Well show me then, dipshit."

He stumbles across the room to a small open closet. I follow and I smile when I see the step stool and the inside of the closet. This is my greatest humiliation invention and I can't help but feel a stirring between my thighs as I anticipate these next few minutes. "I see you followed my instructions perfectly." 

Stu still can't stand up straight. He is still wincing and reaching for his groin. The pained expression on his face only strengthens my resolve.

"Are you expecting sympathy from me? I told you the first time you were stupid enough to contact me that I could be extremely vindictive. Now assume the position, you stupid fucking loser."

I know he'll obey me so I don't bother watching him take his prescribed position. Instead, I walk over to the table next to the front door where Stu has left me an envelope with $500 in it and a McDonald's Supersize Coke. 

After placing the envelope in my bag (cha-ching!), I permit myself a small sip of a Coke. It disgusts me that people drink this garbage. It's 42 fucking ounces! They have since discontinued it, but Stu has a souvenir cup. I found it during a prior session and ridiculed Stu for having it. Then I came up with an idea of how I could add to his humiliation and make his defeat even more comprehensive and epic. 

Per my prearranged instructions (I call it "homework"), Stu has positioned himself on a step stool on the edge of his closet. Inside his closet is a rectangular cardboard trash bin with a big plastic liner. When I came up with this idea I instructed Stu to make sure it was suitably filled with leftovers and throwaways from all the shitty fast food he eats. Sure enough the idiot spent all this money filling the bin with fast food, along with what looks to be macaroni and cheese, along with mashed squash and god knows what else. It smells foul too. As instructed, my lackey stands spread-legged on his tip toes on the step stool. His legs are beautifully spread and his hands are holding the end of the step stool so that his spread ass cheeks face me and what's left of his scrotum dangles like a piece of over ripe fruit. He leans forward facing the trash, which he will soon be the biggest part of. His swollen scrotum makes the most tantalizing target. Don't get me wrong, I'm disgusted by it, which is precisely why I like to wreck it. Stu's ass is quivering in anticipation of what is to come. 

"Please trash me, Miss Nicola," he says, his voice quivering. 

"Oh I'm going to. I want you to smile though. C'mon let me see a big smile on your face because after all, this is what you wanted!"

Stu's head is upside down and it's turning increasingly red, as he issues me a terrified smile. I wonder what kind of thoughts are going through his head, and then I decide that I don't care. 

I give myself several paces and lick my lips. I plant my foot and put my hips and ass into this kick. No mercy. 

The sound of my foot slamming into its intended target is symphonic, but it is quickly replaced by the grotesque sound of Stu screaming like he just got shot in the knee cap. I do thrill at the feel of a properly-delivered destruction, and the way his scrotum feels as it splatters between my shoe and his pelvis. This one is especially punishing, as I keep my body well balanced and the bridge of my foot make perfect contact. WHOMP! Stu is launched ass over teakettle into the garbage. I knew all those ballet lessons my father forced me to take when I was a girl would pay off some day. What a lovely and appropriate send off!

What happens next causes me to burst out laughing. Stu flops in his vile trash creation and makes intimate contact with old, spoiling food. The best part is that he seemingly couldn't care less, so focused is he on the pain I've delivered. He's trying to get into a fetal position but he can't because of all the trash and because he's an uncoordinated dipshit who fails at everything. His smile is gone and he's groaning and predictably holding on to what's left of his maleness. For now, I allow him to self-grope. I want him to understand just how badly he's been violated, so I leave him to his own devices, such as they are, whilst I make use of a nearby mirror to pretty myself up.

I take several minutes to do my make-up. Meanwhile, Stu is making the most agonized groaning noises. He sounds like my kitty when I drive her to the vet. In this case, the sounds are music to my ears, but I feel like exerting my authority over him: "Shut up. Save it for when I'm not here." 

Sure enough, he clams right up. I smile with pride at my ability to control his world in his own apartment. I linger over my eyelashes, smiling at how beautiful I am. 

Once I'm done applying lipstick, I gather my purse from the couch. "I believe my work is just about done. There's just one more thing." I take the huge cup of carbonated high fructose corn syrup and walk back to Stu. The loser's eyes have that far-off look that conveys a sense of resigned defeat coupled with disbelief at how much pain he is in. He writhes back and forth in his new environment, providing an involuntary exhibition of my ubiquitous Feminine power. 

I have been in this position before at the end of a highly successful session and I never feel even the tiniest hint of remorse. Why would I? I have given this loser what he wants and needs. The fact that he is now realizing what a bitch reality is, pun intended, is of no consequence to me, other than the intense gratification it provides me. This is about my satisfaction, period, and delivering this sort of comeuppance makes me very satisfied.

I'm a perfectionist and so my only focus is on making sure I leave him in a state of maximum degradation. There's one thing about his position that I don't like, so I put the edge of authority back in my voice: "Take your hands off your damaged junk, so I can see what I've done to you." 

When I study the spectacle that Stu's genitals have become, I can't help but issue another smile. His scrotum is more swollen than I have ever seen it. His penis, red from collateral damage, looks especially tiny juxtaposed with his fucked up ball bag. These thoughts I keep to myself. But I do put down the Coke and take out my iPhone so I can take a photograph of this and show my girlfriends. I suppose I could interrogate him, but it's a waste of time and I don't feel like hearing his boring responses. I snap a shot of the entire spectacle and also lean over him and take a close up shot of his vandalized junk. I turn the iPhone around so he can see what he has become.

"Take a good close look at what I did to you. I can't wait to show this to the Girls! I think I'll feature you on my website too." 

Time for the coup de gras. I pick up the Coke and proceed to pour about half of it on his ruined junk and the other half on his face. I make sure to pour slowly and deliberately, dragging out his humiliation. When I'm finished glazing him I l look directly down upon him. His face is still contorted in pain and his jaw is clamped shut. He is gritting his teeth in this perpetual wince. I search out his eyes until he has no choice but to stare up at his vanquisher. "That's it. Let it all sink in. I want you to spend a good long time there thinking about what a pocket rocket blonde did to you. Okay then, I think I'll be leaving now." I patted my pocketbook. "I'll be taking your money with me. See ya!" 

I walk to my car with extra pep in my step. Already Stu is but a pleasant afterthought. As I take my seat behind the wheel, my mind drifts, as it so often does, to my Vagina. It sits, snugly and proudly between my thighs, private and dignified. What a contrast to the genitals of the loser I just polished off. For a moment, I try to think of what it must be like to be Stu, wallowing in defeat, unable to understand how he allowed himself to get so worked over by me. The thought makes me glance down and smile. I can't help but smooth my skirt with my fingers and adjust my butt. I need to see Natasha as soon as possible so that she can take care of my itch and I can take care of hers. 

Just before I pull into traffic, I glance at my face in the rearview mirror. I can't stop smiling. Yet despite that, I make it a point to act calm, cool and collected. I am a modern feminine warrior who has vanquished her prey. You want women's lib? I am Women's fucking lib personified.

THE END



Trashed



The idea is that you get home from work, take off your shoes, grab a beer from the fridge, turn on the TV, sit down, and relax for half an hour.

What you do not want is to come home from work, walk in the door and find all your furniture has been tossed about. Neither do you want to hear swearing and clattering and banging coming from further in the apartment, apparently in the kitchen. 

Now for some people this might be considered normal. They have a wife who is subject to extreme PMS, or a girlfriend who is just subject to extremes, but this doesn't apply to me. Or not right now, anyway. I don't have a wife and am currently between girlfriends, the last having departed amicably, but with tears, as she forced herself to leave me for a better paying job interstate. 

If I had a burglar, then she seemed to be a significantly inept burglar. I say she because the voice I could hear calling down curses and damnation upon someone, presumably me, was female. Not knowing who I might have offended I naturally went to investigate.

I reached the kitchen and a young lady (I use the word lady, advisably) was there, talking to herself (I assume cursing counts as talking) and trashing the kitchen. 

The kitchen and the young lady were quite a contrast. She was neat, sweet and petite. A redhead (why wasn't I surprised) clad in a very nice lacy blouse and a very becoming short skirt which left surprisingly long legs on display. Very shapely legs they were, too. And the lacy frills on her blouse did not conceal the fact that she had a lot to conceal. 

The kitchen, on the other hand, was a mess. Food was scattered everywhere. Dry foods were just scattered around. Liquids had been poured in the resultant mess. Fortunately, from what I could see, my beer was as yet unbroached, the cans just lying scattered around in the mess. Neither had she yet got around to hurling china and glassware around, currently being engaged in dumping pots and pans and other utensils into the growing mess. 

Not liking to interrupt someone who was so hard at work I just leaned against the doorway, waiting to be noticed. It didn't take all that long. She must have sensed that someone was watching her and she looked up.

"Who the hell are you," she snarled at me, "and what are you doing here?"

Not quite the reception I'd been expecting.

"I'm James Denton," I said affably. "You can call me Jim. Not Jimmy. I find that rather belittling. More to the point, who are you? I won't ask what you're doing here as the answer is rather obvious."

"Well, Jimmy, I'm Natasha. You can tell Charlie, when he gets home, that I dropped in to see him. I think he'll get the message."

"The message being that you're displeased. Ah, by Charlie, I take it you're referring to Charles Denton?"

"Well I'm sure not referring to Charlie Sheen," she snapped.

"I see. The problem I have here is that I don't know a Charles Denton. Or a Charlie Denton, either. As a matter of fact, I can't think of any of my friends who go by the name of Charles. As the owner and occupier of this apartment I find I'm very interested if some person unknown had been using my apartment to entertain his lover."

"He is not my lover and he never will be," came the very fast reply, the things that mattered to her foremost in her mind. Then the rest of the message sank in.

"Your apartment? And you don't know Charlie?"

I inclined my head in acknowledgement. 

"So, when did he bring you here, for whatever reason it might have been?"

"Ah, he didn't," she said, sounding worried, as she damn well ought to be. "We were driving past and he pointed out this building and said that was where he lived. I saw the name Denton on the board and came up."

"Which begs the question of how you got into the apartment."

"Um, the doorman let me in. I smiled at him a lot and explained it was going to be a very special surprise for you and to not let you know I was here."

We have a doorman to keep out intruders. Not to escort them into out apartments. I would have a few words to say to a certain doorman.

"So you're mad at someone named Charles, whose last name may, or may not, be Denton, and who may, or may not, live in this building? Have I got that right?"

She nodded.

"And as a result of this my apartment has been trashed. What did he do? All this angst and you say he's not your lover?"

"We've been going steady and he's been doing his damndest to get me into bed. Then I found he's two timing me. His girl-friend came around to warn me off, as though I was some kind of vamp. He's been chasing me, not the other way round, and then he puts me in that sort of position."

"Calm down," I said. She was looking at a fruit-bowl with malicious intent and I liked that bowl.

"Why didn't you just ring him and leave a message?" I asked, curious.

"Not personal enough," she said, glaring at me.

"But a lot easier to deliver," I pointed out.

I turned and surveyed the wreckage and then looked at her. She looked around the kitchen, looking quite pleased with herself. Then I saw the full understanding dawning on her.

"Um, this is your place, not Charlie's."

I nodded.

"Ah, I'm, um, sorry about this. I suppose you'll want me to clean up."

"You would suppose right. Unfortunately for you, I'm very upset over this. So I'm going to insist on a little retribution. After you clean up I'm going to put you across my knee and paddle your pretty little backside. Just as a reminder to you to not lose your temper. If you had kept a little self-control you'd have found out that this was the wrong apartment. You need to learn a little self-discipline. A spanking will encourage you to learn it."

"The hell you are," she said, fire in her eyes. "You can have me arrested. No way are you spanking me."

"There you go, reacting instead of thinking. Do you realise the charges you face? Fraud, from when you told the doorman you were a friend of mine, illegal entry, vandalism, home invasion, theft. You'll be surprised at what a long list of crimes you've committed. We're not talking slap on the wrist. We're talking time behind bars, lawyer costs, compensation cost, notoriety, you may even get some TV time, probably in one of the funny spots. You know, frustrated lover attacks wrong man."

"You're joking. You said theft. I didn't steal anything."

"Depends on how you look at it. You took my milk and tipped it on the floor, depriving me of the use of it. That is considered theft. Trust me, a spanking is getting off lightly. So are we agreed to the first condition?"

She glared at me, furious, but gave a quick nod.

"Also, if you've actually broken any of my things I will probably ravish you. The food stuffs won't count. I mean actual personal property. As it will be ravishment you don't have to agree to this condition. Just so that you're aware of it."

"I haven't broken anything," she protested indignantly. "I'm not a vandal. I just made a mess."

"I noticed," I said dryly. "If you haven't broken anything then you don't need to worry about that condition, do you?"

More nasty looks but she didn't comment.

"Finally, I want you to take off your panties while you clean."

"Are you mad? Why?"

"So that you'll have an ongoing reminder of the coming spanking."

"I won't do it," she stated flatly.

"You will," I stated just as flatly. "If you're worried about me standing behind you perving while you work, don't. I'll be in the front room with a beer, watching TV."

I paused for a moment. 

"Maybe," I continued before she could say anything, "I should insist that you clean up naked. It would protect your clothes. They might get a little soiled cleaning that mess up."

"Alright. I'll do it," she groaned. Bending over she picked up a beer from the mess, wiped it down with a cloth, and handed it to me. "Here. Just go away while I get to work."

I took the beer, smiled, thanked her, and waited. 

She glared at me for a minute then sighed. Reaching up her skirt she took down her panties, making sure that she wasn't flashing anything while she did so, and dropped them on the kitchen bench.

"Thank you," I said. "Please let me know if you find that you have broken anything, won't you."

I went to the front room. It didn't take me long to right the furniture. I don't have a bunch of knick-knacks decorating the place so with the furniture tidied up I could sit and relax. Fortunately the TV was mounted on the wall. It could have been disastrous if she'd tipped that onto the floor. 

Half an hour later Natasha sort of sidled into the front room, looking guilty. She was holding a broken picture frame in her hand. I recognised it. It was, or used to be, the picture of my sister that I'd had sitting on top of the fridge. 

"I, um, forgot about this. I was so angry seeing another of Charlie's girlfriends that I picked it up and smashed it on the floor."

I gave her a displeased look.

"She's my sister. Fortunately, I can print out a fresh copy of the photo. Come here."

Still looking guilty she came over to stand before me. I calmly reached out and lifted the front of her dress, contemplating what was now on display. 

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded in an outraged whisper, not quite daring to knock my hands away.

I tapped lightly against her mons. "I'm trying to decide if I should give you a couple of spanks now. I can finish the proper spanking later, but right now, possibly a little something to give you a reminder that you've been a bad girl."

Natasha looked horrified which made me even surer that it was a good idea. I dropped the front of her skirt, an action she certainly approved of, but then placed my hand on her back, coaxing her forward.

"Just relax. Think of it this way, two smacks now mean two less later."

The look on her face seemed to indicate that she didn't want to look at it like that. She didn't want to look at it at all. Despite this she found herself bending forward over my lap. She gave an outraged gasp when I flicked her skirt up but this was to be shortly followed by and even more outraged gasp.

My hand came down quickly with a couple of firm spanks. I'd overlooked how petite she was, especially compared to a man my size. As a result of this my hand reached around a little too far, the spanks landing firmly on her mound. It was a good thing I had my hand slightly cupped or it might have hurt instead of just stinging.

She was pushing away from me almost before the second spank landed, rising to her feet with a look on her face that was almost farcical.

"You, you bastard," she gasped out. "You said you'd smack my bottom."

"I just did," I pointed out innocently.

"That wasn't my bottom and you know it," she yelled.

"It wasn't? Oh, I'm so sorry. I'll be more careful next time."

She glared at me and swung away, getting back to the cleaning, her face flushed.

It wasn't all that long before she finished. All she really had to do was mop the floor clean of all the stuff she'd dumped on it. Messy, but not too hard. And, of course, pick up the scattered pots and pans and such she'd scattered around and clean them. With no cooked on gunk they only really needed a rinse.

She came in to tell me she was finished, trying to look defiant but only succeeding in looking nervous. Did I want to inspect what she'd done?

"No," I said, standing up and stretching. "If you say you've finished then I'm prepared to take your word for it."

I turned her towards the couch, indicating I wanted her to bend over the end of it. She twisted back to face me.

"You're not really going to spank me, are you?" she asked, giving me a pleading look.

For answer I lifted the front of her skirt again. She was still without her panties. I brushed my knuckles against her nakedness.

"It appears to me that you expect me to," I said gently, once more turning her towards the couch.

Reluctantly she leaned over it.

"I thought you said you were going to put me over your knee, anyway," she grumbled.

"All in good time," I murmured, moving up behind her.

My hand flashed down and closed firmly over her mound. I spread my fingers, her lips moving with them, opening the way for me. My erection pressed against her and my hand withdrew, allowing her lips to close over me.

Oddly enough she was a damn site wetter than I expected. Apparently working without panties and anticipating what I might do had got her somewhat aroused. The earlier slaps to her pussy wouldn't have hurt, either.

"Stop! What are you doing?" she wailed.

"Remember the condition if you broke something, like a picture frame?" I prompted her.

"But I didn't agree to that condition," she gasped.

"You didn't have to. You knew about it. I said at the time you didn't need to agree but that it was a condition, and you stayed to clean up."

I pressed a little harder, my erection advancing smoothly. It was plain she wasn't a virgin. There was no barrier to my cock taking her and I pressed steadily forward. 

Natasha said a number of rude things to me while I slowly took possession of her but she didn't try to stop me entering. As a matter of fact, after my initial entry she was pressing back towards me. Not hard, but definitely pushing to meet me. 

Fully sheathed within her silken scabbard I paused and waited.

"Just let me know when you're ready to go," I told her.

She just stayed exactly as she was, not moving, breathing hard. I have to admit my own breathing was a little on the heavy side. I waited, silently cursing her stubbornness. I wanted to take her right then, plundering her honeyed passage while she screamed for more. And I had to wait.

I was about to say the hell with it and just take her when she finally yielded.

"Oh, fuck you to death," she snarled. "Just do it, damn you."

I relaxed and pushed lightly against her, pulled back and drove in firmly. She gave a soft groan and pushed back hard to meet me. I took it slowly at first, testing her responsiveness, enjoying the feel of her wrapped around me and pushing to take me deeper. I could feel her trying to hurry me along and was quite happy to oblige.

It wasn't long before I was taking her at a fine pace, one that I felt I could maintain for hours. (I can dream, can't I?) Natasha stayed with me, responding smoothly, making appreciative sounds as her pleasure built. 

We moved smoothly against each other, my pleasure and arousal increasing in leaps and bounds. From the noise that Natasha was making she had no complaints. I could hear the excitement in her voice. I kept on, trying my damndest to stretch things, knowing I was doomed to failure but having fun trying.

I could feel my need increasing rapidly and the end run was calling me. Now or never and I had no choice but to go with the now. I started driving in harder, faster, no longer in control but just along for the ride, and what a ride it was. Then I was ejaculating, listening to Natasha gasp and feeling her climaxing right along with me, which was a good sign for any future relationship.

I eased myself down onto the couch, bringing her with me, lying her across my lap, rubbing her back while she purred. 

"OK, now?" I asked, pleased when she nodded lazily.

"Then we can get on, can't we," I said, bringing my hand down firmly on her backside.

She shrieked, sounding most upset. Sounding even more so when my hand came down with another smart spank.

"Cut it out. What do you think you're doing?"

"Spanking you, remember? We agreed that you'd earned one. I wouldn't want you to think I'd forgotten a promise."

I spanked and she squirmed and abused me. How could I do this to her? As easily as she'd trashed my kitchen, I told her, which, for some reason, didn't seem to impress her.

I gave her bottom quite a firm paddling before swinging her back onto her feet. She stood there, looking murder at me, rubbing her pretty tush.

"If you've quite finished tormenting me, do you mind if I leave now?" she asked.

"Ah, as a matter of fact I do." 

"Why?"

"There's the matter of the broken picture frame and the promised ravishment," I pointed out.

"You've already done that," she flamed at me.

"What, that little episode earlier?" I asked, trying my best to sound shocked. "You can't count that. It was just a warm up. What I'm going to do now is take off your clothes so I can see you properly and really admire that figure of yours. Then, seeing you're probably feeling a little sweaty from all the work you were doing earlier, I thought I'd take you and give you a nice warm shower, washing you carefully before patting you dry with one of my big fluffy towels. After that I'm going to lay you on my bed and touch you from your head to your heels, following it up by tasting everywhere I touched you.

You will then be tickled and teased until you won't know which way is up, and when you're finally a mass of nerves, lying on the bed, quivering, then, and only then, will I commence a slow ravishment of your person.

On a practical note, we're both going to be hungry. What say I order in some Chinese? It will probably arrive by the time we're out of the shower and we can eat before moving into the bedroom."

She muttered something about being trapped in a madhouse, but it was said softly enough that I could ignore it. Seeing she didn't seem willing to commit one way or the other I reached over and started on the buttons on her blouse. That got her attention.

"Wait," she said quickly. "You're being impossible. I hate Chinese. Make it pizza, margherita for mine."



Trashy Bimbo Whore



I've seen you here many times before. I've seen you walking up and down this street night after night. I know what you are doing. Everybody knows what you are doing. You can't hide it, everything about you screams "Whore!"

Your tiny short skirt, stretched over your arse, barely covering your pussy. A tramp stamp peeking out from under the waistband. Your tight, shiny boob tube top over your firm, fake tits. Heels so high you can barely walk in them and have to take tiny, little, tentative steps. You have a toe ring on one foot and an anklet on the other. Cheap, fake jewellery. Dark hair, obviously dyed. You are covered in fake tan, giving your skin an almost orange glow. And your make-up, wow, I've never seen it caked on so thick. Dark lip liner and light pink lipstick. Bright eye-shadow below your painted on eyebrows. Fake eyelashes. What a fucking tart.

Despite all this, underneath the bimbo exterior, I can tell you are pretty. Or at least you were once. Beautiful even. But now you are just a trashy prostitute, walking up and down the street, trying to sell your mouth, cunt and arse. You're probably addicted to crack, or meth, or whatever the fuck street whores are taking these days. I don't give a shit.

I've been thinking about you since the first time I saw you. I've wanted to approach you every time I past by, but I always bottled it at the last moment. Not tonight though. Tonight I'm going to have you. I have a small wad of notes in my jacket pocket. About five hundred quid, but I doubt I'll need all of it. A cheap little slut like you won't cost so much for an hour or two. Once I'm done with you, you'll be walking the streets again and I'll be back home with my wife.

I pull up at the curb. As you are walk towards me, I stare at you to make it absolutely obvious what I want. I haven't just stopped to ask for directions, I'm a customer.

You throw your cigarette on the ground. It was nearly finished anyway. You trot over to my car and lean into the window. I can smell the tobacco smoke on you and you are clearly wearing too much perfume. I don't care, it turns me on. 

"Hi," you say. "Are you looking for business?"

"How much?" I ask.

"It depends what you want. Two fifty for an hour." 

I just look at you. It's getting cold outside. I know I can get you for much cheaper than two hundred and fifty quid an hour. Nobody gives you that much. Not these days anyway.

"Ok, one fifty," you say. "Nothing up the arse."

"One fifty for two hours and I fuck you up the arse."

You snort at me and stand up straight. You mumble something to yourself then open the door and get in.

I look at you for a second or two. Even though you're covered in fake tan, I can see that your skin is going red and blotchy and you have goose bumps from the cold. You are a bit pissed off with me, you didn't want to sell yourself this cheap, but at least you'll be inside for a while. But you don't understand what I've got in store for you. This is going to be the hardest hundred and fifty quid you've ever made. 

Now that you are close to me in the closed car, the musky smell of stale sweat joins the aromas of smoke and perfume. I guess that you haven't showered in a couple of days and that top hasn't been washed for weeks possibly. You probably think that perfume masks the smell. Some men would be put off by it. For me it just adds to the experience. I wanted a dirty whore and I got one. I wonder what your cunt is going to smell like?

I drive round the corned to a cheap hotel. Before we get out of the car you turn to me and say, "Money first". I tell you money in the room. I'm not worried that you'll run away with it. You're not running anywhere in those shoes. I just want you to know that I'm in control. I say what happens and when. 

I've already checked in, so we don't need to go to reception. I've been planning this for days. However that doesn't stop the receptionists staring, or the people at the bar. It goes quiet as you totter across the floor towards the lift. They know exactly what we're up to. A blind man could see what was going on. You don't mind the attention though. You love it when people stare at you. Why else would you have tarted yourself up like this? People who don't want to be noticed don't look like you. Not a single pair of eyes leaves you as we wait an absurd amount of time for the lift.

The doors open and a man steps out. He is visibly stunned by your appearance. He pauses for a moment and looks you up and down. He's not sure if he should say something. We step round him into the lift. 

Once the doors close you notice that my cock is stiff and making a bulge in my trousers. It might not be huge, but it is big. You reach over and give it a cheeky squeeze. You are a prostitute, you aren't supposed to love cock so much. You're meant to put up with it for the money. Especially when you're being paid so little. But the slut in you can't help it. You are a natural whore and you know it. You'd be sucking the same amount of cock if you didn't need the money. The only difference is you'd choose the cocks instead of taking any passer by willing to pay.

When the doors open I grab your wrist and lead you down the corridor to the room. The lighting is dim and the décor is dark. I wouldn't usually stay in a hotel like this, but a cheap whore like you doesn't deserve anything better. Besides at a decent place they might say something about bringing such an obvious working girl back with me. They're used to it at this place, there's no need to be discreet. 

It's a simple room with a small bathroom. Clean enough. Certainly cleaner than you. There's a double bed, a chair and a television on the wall. Without saying a word you head straight for the mini bar, unscrew the cap on a miniature bottle of Smirnoff and down it it one. 

"Help yourself," I say. 

You ignore me and sit down on the chair with your knees together. I take out all the money from my pocket so you can see that I could easily give you the two fifty you had asked for. I count out five twenty pound notes and five tenners. I hand you £150 exactly. I shove the rest back in my pocket. Strangely, in the dim hotel light, with that sad, dejected look on your face, your natural beauty shines out from behind all that fake tan, make-up and hair dye. I almost feel bad. I nearly feel sorry for you. Maybe deep down I really do. But it's not enough to stop me from doing what I'm going to do.

I go into the bathroom to piss. I shake it off, but don't bother to wash my cock or my hands. I leave my trousers open. When I come back into the room you've lit a cigarette. You flick the ash onto the carpet and rub it in with your shoe. I walk over to you with my semi-hard, pissy cock. I grab you by the hair and pull your head towards it. In one fluid motion you take the whole thing into your mouth. A true professional. I keep hold of your hair and hold you in place. You suck and swallow as my dick grows bigger and harder in your throat. You gag and choke. Thick spit bubbles out from your mouth and around my shaft, but you can take it. Most couldn't, but it's what you do. You are a cock hungry slut.

When I feel that I'm fully erect I pull your head back and allow you to breath. You gasp and cough. Your spit drips down your chin and onto your chest. You still have the cigarette gripped between two fingers. I take it from you and drag on it myself. Then I bring it close to your face as I exhale the smoke. You are still panting from being choked. You look at the glowing red hot tip. You look scared, but don't scream or tell me not to. You are resigned to it. I bring it close to your eye...then I throw it away. I'm not interested in scaring your face. You'll do plenty of that in the future with unnecessary surgeries when you finally find a rich man to take you away from this life. That man isn't me. I'm here to use you. Not like all the rest, but ten times worse.

I know I've got you now. I know you're mine. I know that I can use you however I want and you'll let me. At least I know you can't stop me. I let go of your hair and lean back on the foot of the bed. You shuffle over on your knees and kneel between my legs. You take my shoes and trousers off without being told. You know what I want. Perhaps you think that if you get me off quickly I won't be able to perform again and you'll get off easy. Perhaps you just really love cock.

I lie back and let you get to work. I usually trim my pubic hair, but I haven't in a while, it's starting to get a bit too long. I left it like that for you on purpose. The hair collects a person's aroma and I want you to smell me, really taste me. I can smell you clearly enough. You don't seem to mind it though. You gaze at my glistening prick with an almost hungry look in your eyes.

You kiss the dark pink almost purple head. You expertly curl your tongue over and around it. You've done this more times than you can count. You kiss and lick your way down my thick, veiny shaft to my balls. The spit smears the make-up on your face. Your heavy mascara is starting to run down your cheeks. You look a fucking mess and it turns me on more.

You kiss my balls. You caress them with your tongue, coating them with your sticky saliva. You gently suck on my them. Most girls can't do this properly, it ends up being uncomfortable, but you've got it down. You know how to handle a man's balls. 

I tell you to suck me. You lick your lips and put my shiny, bulbous cock head in your mouth and push it deep inside. Not all the way, but deep enough for now. You work at a steady pace, bobbing your head up and down, taking me nice and deep each time. You don't go too quickly. You aren't trying to get me off straight away. You don't even use your hands to help you. You are holding tightly onto my thighs. I'd swear you're enjoying it.

I let you do your own thing for a while. Sucking and slurping, dribbling over my balls, spit dripping off your chin. I can feel my orgasm getting closer and closer with every movement of your head. I'm close to coming. I grab your hair again and yank your head down onto my cock. It's deep in your throat. You chin is on my balls and your nose is buried in my pubic hair. I surprised you. You panic a little. Your eyes fill up with tears and you choke.

You gag as I pump your head up and down. I'm holding your hair, it hurts, but that's not your main problem. You're more worried about my dick slamming into the back of your throat and gagging you. Snot is bubbling up in your nose. You can't breath. You're going to be sick. So much is happening at once. You start to panic, but you can't get away. You push at my legs but I'm too strong and I've got a tight grip.

Suddenly, at last, I pull you down on me one final time and thrust my hips upwards. I clench my teeth and grunt loudly as my cock explodes with a massive load of hot spunk. I hold you down as I empty my balls into you. I don't know what you are feeling now. I don't care. You may as well not exist to me now. This moment is all about me. I hold you there for a few seconds more, then I loosen my grip.

You straighten up, gasping for air. You struggle to your feet. You are still wearing those ridiculous shoes. You stumble to the bathroom, your head is spinning. So is mine. From the tops of my thighs to my naval I am covered in a mixture of cum, spit, and snot. It's on the bed and there is a small puddle of it on the floor.

I take my shirt off and follow you into the bathroom. You are kneeling over the toilet bowl retching and spitting. I wipe myself down with a towel. Once you finish, you sit on the toilet and stare up at me with a vacant stare. You don't bother to complain. You don't say anything at all. Who knows what you are thinking now? Who knows if you are even capable of thought? I have a feeling that you've done that before. I'm not the first man to have fucked your face like that. 

Your make-up is all over your face. The mascara has run all the way down to your jaw. The lipstick is almost completely rubbed off. You look disgusting, but at the same time oddly beautiful. More beautiful than the first time I saw you. I give you the towel. There are plenty of clean ones one the rail, but you use it anyway. 

Back in the room I take out a beer from the mini-bar. I give you one of those small bottles of white wine. I sit down on the chair. You crawl onto the bed. You drink the wine straight out of the bottle. I'm naked, but you are still wearing your shoes, skirt and top. Both garments have large wet patches. I look at you as I sip my beer. You play with your hair and look around the room. There's not much to look at.

You ask for another cigarette. 

"You're not allowed to smoke in here," I tell you.

"Oh, Fuck off!" is your response. 

I chuckle. I take one out of the packet that was in my jacket and light it. I throw the rest of the packet and the lighter over to you. As we smoke we both flick ash an the floor. The room is warm and the acrid smoke makes the atmosphere thick and heavy.

When you finish your wine and cigarette you look at me and say, "So what do you want to do now?"

"Get undressed, but keep the shoes on."

You slip your skirt down your legs and over your heels. Then pull the top off. You're just wearing a tiny black thong now.

"The panties too," I tell you. You comply without a word and adopt a sexy pose on the bed. I can see your narrow strip of pubic hair.

I drop my dog end into the empty beer can.

"Now fuck yourself with the wine bottle."

You don't look shocked. I think you were expecting it.

You pick up the discarded bottle and lie back on the bed. You rub your pussy to try and get yourself wet. After a few seconds you spit into your hand and rub it into your cunt. You filthy, little bitch. You were made for porn. Normal people don't behave like this.

You slowly slide the bottle inside yourself. The neck goes in easily, getting past the shoulder is a bit tougher. Not too tough for you though, we both know you could probably take a full size wine bottle. Your load gasp as the body enters you is just for show. Your pussy squelches as you push the makeshift dildo in and pull it out of your now dripping wet cunt. I watch transfixed. I would've paid £250 just to watch this. My flaccid prick starts to twitch again.

I'm soon fully erect. I'm ready to fuck. But not just yet. I don't want to just shove my dick in you. I want to draw this out. I want to make it last. I want to do everything I've fantasised about since the day I first saw you walking the streets. I stand up and walk over to the bed, never taking my eyes off the bottle as it goes in and out of your hole.

Standing at the foot of the bed I have a close up view. From here I can smell your pussy. It's nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. You probably rinse it out after each customer. I scan every inch of you with my eyes. Up your legs to the bottle filled pussy. Up your torso to your round, fake tits. I look at your face. Your eyes are closed and you're biting your lip. My eyes go back down your body to your feet. I take the shoes off one at a time and drop them next to the bed.

I pick up your left foot. You continue to fuck yourself. Your toes are painted pink, but a little chipped. I put your foot up to my face and breath in the pungent aroma. It's intoxicating. My cock gets even stiffer. I kiss the ball of your foot. There is a patch of hard skin there from wearing high heels for years. I kiss the toes, then I suck them. First just the big toe, adding the other four one by one. You don't stop fucking yourself.

I take your foot out of my mouth and get up on the bed. I take your hand off the bottle. You open your eyes and look at me. I push it in and out of you a few times, then I pull it all the way out. It's covered in your sticky white discharge. I look at it for a couple of seconds. Then I lick it. I think that shocked you a bit. Your eyes widened and I heard you gasp. 

I dive down between your legs and clamp my mouth around your cunt. Yes, I'm eating your pussy. I'm licking out a whore. I'm licking where countless men have put there cocks. I drive my tongue deep inside and lick long and hard. I suck on and bite the labia and your clit. You don't have a really beefy pussy, but it's big enough. The smell is much stronger here. Normally it would make me gag, but not tonight. Tonight it just gets me harder. 

I push your thighs up and apart. I bury my face right into you. I even shove my tongue up your arsehole. You can't contain you're pleasure. You don't even try to hide it. You come, screaming theatrically. I don't stop. I keep eating your whore cunt. You have to push my head away saying,

"That's enough, that's enough. Please stop!"

I come up for air. You lie there breathing heavily. I stare at you. My cock is raging. I'm ready to fuck you now. I climb on top of you and poke you with my engorged prick. You quickly grab it.

"No. You can't fuck me without a johnny!"

"Fuck off," is my response.

You give in. You know this is going to happen whether you agree to it or not. I thrust my hips forward and you guide me in, into your soft, wet cunt. There is nothing quite like the first thrust into a woman. That warm feeling as it envelops me. It almost seems like your cunt is drawing my cock into you.

We are face to face. Missionary position. You are strangely tight considering you just had a bottle inside you, not to mention all dick you've had in your life. You raise your legs up so I can get deeper. I haven't had my face so close to yours before. I can smell the cigarette smoke clinging to your hair. Your heavy, sickly perfume. The alcohol on your breath. I can even smell your make up, even though much of it has been rubbed off. And of course the rank stench of your stale sweat. I can still clearly taste your grool in my mouth. I'm a little dizzy from the sensory overload. Any normal person would feel sick. But I'm not a normal person tonight. Normal people don't do what I'm doing, what we're doing.

I look into your eyes. Still vacant. No glimmer of intelligence. I kiss you. Deep and hard with my tongue. For a second or two you are taken aback. You didn't think I was going to do this. However you reciprocate and kiss me back, sliding your tongue past mine and into my mouth. I am rock hard in your pussy, but not thrusting. You have have your legs wrapped round me. We hold each others heads as we keep kissing, on and on. Time passes. I don't know how much. It could be seconds, it could be minutes. I can't tell. I'm totally in my own head. I'm high on whore.

Eventually we break. I grab both your arms and hold them above your head. You gasp. I slam myself deep into you. It hurts. It hurts us both, but I don't care. I do it again. Pull my hips up and slam down again. Slowly up. Slam down. Pause. Slowly up. Slam down. I fuck your hard and slow. Harder than I've ever fucked anyone before. Even harder than you've been fucked before. Each slam knocks the air out of you. You try to pull me into you with your legs. Anything to stop me from smashing into you. But I'm too powerful. I pull your leg from around me and hook it with my arm. I'm strong enough to hold both your arms down with one hand. It's painful for us both. This isn't sex it's something else. It's punishment. I'm punishing us both. You cry out in pain with every agonising thrust. I just grunt like some kind of rutting animal.

Eventually I stop. I can't keep up that level of intensity any longer. I relax my grip on your arms. They are bruised. I let go of your leg. Your body is limp underneath mine. I didn't come. My prick is still turgid inside of you. I lie on top of you. You don't have the strength to push me off. My hips hurt. My muscles ache. I'm breathing heavily.

There is still one last thing I've planned to do with you. You agreed to it by getting in my car. I raise myself up. My strength is coming back to me now. I withdraw from your cunt and flip you over. You aren't heavy so can I do it easily will one hand. You know what's coming next.




Trashy Bimbo Whore



You protest. "No, please, don't. You're too big."

It's just token resistance. You don't really expect me not to do what we both know I'm going to. I spread your firm, little arse cheeks. You grab a pillow, grip it hard and bury your face in it. I spit on your arsehole. I didn't bother to bring lube and you haven't even suggested it. You try to relax. Most girls would tense up, but you know from experience that it only makes it worse on you. I press my cock against your puckered hole. No fingers to start you off. I'm going straight in, I know you can take it. You bite the pillow.

I ram my hot, raging hard dick into you arse. All the way in. You can feel my scrotum on your pussy. You try to move forward, you try to get away, but there's nowhere for you to go. It's agony for you. The pain in your arsehole is unbearable. You scream into the pillow. It wasn't the size that hurt you. It was the speed. Your anus was suddenly stretched with such force.

I rest there on top of you, with my cock all the way inside you. All the way up your arse. I'm waiting for you to settle down, to stop struggling.

Finally you relax a bit. You begin gently sobbing to yourself. It's not that bad. I'm sure you've had worse. I grab your hair and pull your head up out of the pillow. I pound you, hard! Hard in your tight back door. Not like I fucked your pussy. I don't think I could fuck you that hard again, even if I wanted to. But this time it's much faster. Frantic even. I want to come. I want to come in your arsehole. I want to fill you up with my spunk. You sob and cry as I wildly thrust in and out.

At last, with one final, powerful thrust forward and a sharp tug of your hair, I spasm and shoot my second load into you. 

I'm totally spent. I let go of your hair and rest on top of you. My cock goes soft inside you. Minutes pass. You stop crying. I roll off you. My limp member slides out easily. I lie down next to you on the bed, not thinking, just breathing.

I watch you wince as you get to your knees. You look at my cock. I'm covered in cunt juices, spit, semen and a little blood. Then you manage to do one last thing to surprise me. You bend down and lick my cock. I can't help but laugh. You smile dumbly and lie down next to me. We don't touch. We don't say anything. We just lie there.

At last I sit up and get off the bed. I walk to the bathroom , take another piss, then wipe myself down with another towel. I wash my hands, but don't shower. I want this funk on me for as long as possible. I'll have to shower when I get home though. My wife will be asleep, so as long as I'm careful not to wake her, she'll never smell it.

When I come back into the room you are in the mini-bar again. You take out another bottle. Gin this time. You take a swig. I give you the towel and say,

"Clean yourself up and get dressed. We have to go."

"What? Can't I grab a shower first? I'm a mess...my make-up. I'm not ready!"

"Sorry. Not my problem. We need to go."

"For fuck's sake," you say out loud to nobody in particular.

You finish the gin, wipe yourself down with the soiled towel as best you can and get dressed without further protest. I get dressed too.

Before we leave I look around the room. The carpet has holes in it where we dropped the dog ends , as well as the ash smeared into it. The bed is dishevelled with wet patches, a combination of seminal fluid, virginal discharge and blood. The pillow cases are stained with your make-up and damp with tears. The grooly wine bottle lies on the floor with the two disgusting towels. Not to mention the strong smell of cigarette smoke. I suddenly have a pang of conscience. I feel sorry for whoever is going to have to clean this up. I leave a twenty pound note by the telephone. It's not enough, but the hotel is going to charge me for the clean up so fuck it.

We get in the lift and go down stairs. I notice that the wet patch on your top has dried and left a crusty white residue. You do look a fucking state. For the first time this evening I feel bad for you. Not for what I did to you in the room, but for making you go out looking the way you do now. 

There aren't as many people as there were before. Just the two receptionists and a couple of people at the bar. Before they stared at you, now they gawp openly. Disgust and shock are obvious on their faces. I don't bother to check out. We just walk straight to the main entrance and out to my car. You are having a slightly more difficult time balancing on those heels now. Your legs are weak and your nether regions still very sore after our exertions upstairs. I have to admit my legs are a little wobbly too and my aching muscles make it painful to walk. 

I'm satisfied though. I did what I had planned to do. I used and abused you. I did what I had been fantasising about since the moment I first laid eyes on you weeks ago. I bought you. I had you. I owned you in a way few men will ever own a woman. I fucked you in a way that not even you will forget. No matter how many times you were screwed in the past, or how many times you'll be banged in the future, you'll always remember this one.

We get into my car. I don't bother to offer you a lift anywhere. I just drive you back to the spot where I picked you up. You are probably going somewhere to score now. Whatever your drug of choice, you deserve it after what I put you through. Before you get out of the car I give you another twenty quid. The same tip I left for the hotel cleaner. As you open the door and climb out you say,

"Thank you."