0 comments/ 4974 views/ 1 favorites Harlotsville Ch. 05 By: Embers_X (c) Embers "Attention, gents! May I have your attention, please!" With wide swoops of her arm, Eugenia raked a bottle back and forth across the balustrade. Even the pub's most crapulous denizens knew it was much too early for last call, and since it was rare that "Easy Eu" ever made announcements otherwise, everyone muted their chatter with piqued curiosity. "Good evening, all you handsome chaps! I have some news for you. Of course you all know me, Easy Eu, your favorite good-time gal. And some of you may even know that a particular item has been off my menu of late, much to the chagrin of the ardent buggers amongst you. Which, let's be frank, is pretty much the lot of you," she said, forcing a smile. A handful of gruff chuckles could be heard amongst the men, though the majority of them merely stared with vacant impatience. Although Eugenia had dolled herself up somewhat, with her hair pressed flat and a corset hiking her bust up to bawdy proportions, she knew that her fruits were by now mundanely familiar to these men; she'd have to capture their imaginations quickly. Keenly aware of their rapidly dissolving attention, she stepped out to a more conspicuous space by the doorway, bounced on her tip-toes, and raised her voice. "But we have a new girl here at the pub! And she will be offering a special service tonight." Now the men around her began to mumble with renewed interest, and she used the moment to point towards the velvet gate at the back of the establishment. "I would like to introduce her to you all," she said, pausing for effect. "...Her name is Backdoor Betty." As Betty lifted up the heavy cloth, she was assaulted with thundering applause. She looked about her in confusion and surprise, trying her best to balance herself in her high heels. She felt dozens of eyes upon her, ogling her figure with blatant prurience, and quickly thereafter a cloud of indecent comments roared at her from every angle. "Jesus in heaven, look at the ass on that tart!" yelled a portly man with severe rosacea, who roughly squeezed her bottom as she passed by him. Another man let out an odorous belch and smacked her other buttock, mumbling profanities she scarcely even recognized. She walked about the bar, allowing each man to get a good look at her while Eugenia spoke. "Backdoor Betty's specialty is taking it up the rear, of course. And what a fine rear it is, isn't it? What do you think, men?" The men all cheered in agreement as Betty awkwardly moved about, trying to remember the "sexy walk" Eugenia had taught her—arch the back, rotate the thighs with each step, keep hands on hips. Her short skirt left little to the imagination, and she knew that the lower half of her pale rear end was clearly visible to all who desired to look. "...In fact, she loves it up the stinker so much that she's declared her coochie off-limits. That's right, gentlemen, this one's a bonafide virgin, and don't get your hopes up—she's gonna keep her cherry as long as she works for us, so any o' you wanting some slit will have to get it from good ol' Easy Eu as always." This revelation seemed to only further amuse the drunken audience. A mature bearded man with a glass eye tapped Betty's rear with his cane and laughed. She winced, but remembered her instructions: smile it off. She struggled to curl her lips up, and kept moving. Another man leaned over and expressed his desire to "make her farts sound like flute music." Shivering, she nervously laughed and passed him by quickly. The bell around her neck jingled noisily as she moved, making her as conspicuous as possible. After a few more degrading rotations around the bar, Eugenia nodded to Betty, dismissing her. "That's right, gents, Backdoor Betty and her amazing elastic o-ring will be open for business starting at 11 pm tonight, so get lined up and have your wallet at hand. 15 bucks a pop, 20 to go bareback. When you've got a rump this splendid on the open market, it's worth the extra money, trust me. And don't forget, if any o' you are missing out on the classic options, you know where to find me. Drink up, fellas!" More vigorous cheering and jeering ensued. White with barely-concealed fear, Betty disappeared behind the velvet gate once more, and descended into the darkness of the Easy Hole. Her heart was racing. In the darkness, she removed the sequined mask from her face and wiped new tears from her eyes. It suddenly dawned on her that she'd missed church earlier in the morning—the first time she'd ever had. She thought of Annette and her parents back home, and how worried they must be in her sudden absence. How could she be so irresponsible? Why, now, didn't she go running back to them? She felt for her cross. It was still there around her neck, though for some reason she didn't expect it to be. She dropped to her knees, feeling the rustle of rats below the floorboard, and there she began to talk to herself. "Dear God, most merciful, please guide me! I am a lost soul! I have committed such great sins...you know them all, as you know everything. And yet as I speak now, I am still clouded in doubt and confusion. Oh, lord..." She paused, squeezing her eyelids shut tightly, and then she clasped her cold hands together. "I-I do not feel I have the strength to escape this morass on my own. And it quickens, dear Lord! I've indulged in s-such grossly foolish indiscretions, allowing this earthly vessel you've blessed me with to be defiled in the most perverse of ways, molded for the unnatural and the base. And now it seems it will be defaced even further...why, Lord? Why must this be my fate?" Sobbing, she slouched forward, feeling the unnaturally taut fabric of her getup strain against her flesh. She shook her linked hands and her voice became louder. "I fear I am powerless against this seduction. F-for I am weak...and I can no longer see Your light in this darkness. Please! Shine a path for me! Fulfill in my heart the promise of redeeming grace, I beg of you!" She heard the thump of a heavy footstep, then another. Looking up, she saw Eugenia's silhouette at the top of the stairs, descending slowly with puffs of smoke enshrouding her head. Betty stumbled to her feet just in time to meet the girl face-to face, though she could barely see her in the shadows. "Now's the fun part," Eugenia said sarcastically, patting Betty on the shoulder. She then looked at her oddly. "What're you doin' standing here in the darkness, anyway?" "Oh...nothing," Betty replied, wiping the last of her tears away. She could smell cigarette smoke gusting from the girl's nostrils. Eugenia shrugged, then pushed open the big wooden door leading to the Easy Hole. She turned on the light. Betty followed her with downcast eyes. Without even thinking, she unzipped the backside of her underwear, and then reached for the can of cooking grease resting next to the floor mattress. Taking another drag from her cigarette, Eugenia leaned against the wall, watching with icy, kohl-smeared eyes. Betty poured out a large amount of the grease into her palm, then slathered the crack of her rear end in it, digging two fingers through her sphincter with a new degree of ease that startled her. Why was her body so quick to adapt to whoredom? She could not say, but it still troubled her deeply. Did Eugenia always know something about her that she was just now discovering? With a small degree of more effort, she slipped a third finger in, causing a sloshing sound as she smeared the grease into her dark recess. She let out a long, breathy moan and bit the edges of her tongue. "Well I'll be. You're singin' a different tune altogether now than you were earlier this morning. Looks like you've already become a natural," Eugenia said, blowing a ring of smoke her way. "I knew that a few solid hours sittin' on that big stone cross'd crank your royal shithole open proper. You'll thank me for it later, trust me." "Ugghhh..." Betty let out, rotating her three fingers around her rapidly acclimating anus. A heady cream was now trailing steadily from her sex, reinforcing the stain in her underwear. Eugenia continued to blow bitter smoke in her face. "Now remember what I told you. High turnaround keeps the money rollin' in. So that means you'll want to make 'em squirt quickly. Especially if they're hung, for your own sake. When they're bumming you, you'll wanna milk their prick with your arse hole, like this," Eugenia said, gesturing with her hands. She curled her index finger over her thumb and flexed it tight, then released. Then flexed it again, and released. "Okay..." Betty said. "I-I'll try to remember." She finished smearing the fatty lubricant around her tender opening and pulled out her fingers one at a time. There was a momentary feeling of physical emptiness, and then she tightened her ring shut. "Another thing to remember is that most o' these guys have their minds in the gutter. Not a surprise, otherwise they wouldn't be comin' to the Easy Hole, would they? But some of them have been in and out of prison, or sailin' at sea for months on end, or coal mining all season. So they like a gal with a real dirty mouth, too. The nastier the better. If winkin' your bumhole isn't enough to get their jollies, you'll have to remember a few phrases to help you out." Eugenia threw her cigarette on the floor and stepped on it. She watched the subtle movements of Betty's trembling figure, sensing she had her full attention, and her voice became deeper. "Now repeat after me: 'pack my poop chute.' Say it." "Oh, Lord! That's disgusting, Eugenia!" Betty cried. "I thought you always said to never take the Lord's name in vain," Eugenia said, smirking. Betty flinched, nausea rising in her gut at the prospect of having to adopt these tasteless sentiments into her lexicon. She hesitated with her mouth ajar, finding it difficult to even begin mouthing the first word. Eugenia shoved her lightly. "Go on. Say it, Betty." "P-pack m-my...poop...chute?" Betty finally repeated in quivering clips. "Say it again, like you mean it," Eugenia prompted. Betty took in a deep breath, then her lips parted again. "Pack my...poop chute," she said with an incrementally louder and more confident voice, her eyes narrowing. "Getting better. Say it again, and this time make me want it," Eugenia said with a grin. "Go on." "Pack my poop chute," Betty repeated, blurting it out more quickly, but also more naturally. Eugenia laughed, then lit another cigarette. "Not bad, Backdoor Betty. Not bad at all. You'll live up to your name yet," Eugenia said with a chuckle. She leaned in, hanging her arm around Betty's shoulders, and exhaled another puff of smoke. "Now try saying this one..."
 To be continued... Harlotsville Ch. 06 (c) Embers The commotion at the top of the stairs was fast becoming thunderous, vibrating the walls that surrounded Betty. She could hear the thumps of heavy boots, and the guffaws and hoots of men who sounded nearly as agitated as they were happy. With a biting prescience, the expression "thrown to the wolves" dashed through her mind. The frameless mattress rumbled underneath Betty's legs. Her rear end hung halfway off its side as she balanced herself with her palms against the floor, bearing down on her grease can. She'd been sitting this way for nearly an hour, with the can now almost entirely buried in her rectum. Although the rim of her sphincter was already raw from a full day of preparation, she knew the worst was to come. She looked at her watch. 10:56 pm. Leaning to one side with the can still planted inside of her, she grabbed the gin that Eugenia had left for her, remembering her advice: "It's going to hurt in the morning either way, so you may as well be drunk." Although Betty had only drank alcohol a handful of times in her life, she did not hesitate to swig liberally from the sour bottle now. It was the closest thing to an anesthetic she could find. 10:59. She pulled herself up from her can, hearing it slide free from her distended port with an echoic "thunk," and put on her glittery eye mask. She then removed her dress, folding it and placing it neatly in the corner. Now topless, she held her pocket watch at a distance, looking at her dim reflection in its crystal. She barely recognized herself. Her hair had been mostly lopped off, replaced with a jagged shingle bob of Eugenia's design. Her dark purple lipstick looked garish in contrast to her pale skin, making her appear bloodless. And that devilish eye mask... Suddenly she heard three rapid knocks. This was only kind of knock she had been instructed to answer. She felt faint with fear, but she knew that there was no escape now. With shaking limbs, she pulled the long rope that lifted the oak latch from the door. Still holding the rope, she then positioned herself as she'd been instructed, with her elbows and knees on the mattress, her head down, and her bottom up high. "C-come in...big boy," she said with a timid voice, shutting her eyes tight. She heard the door swing open, and then the sound of dramatic panting. The door then slammed shut. She let go of the rope, and the latch fell back into place with a loud thwack. "Look at me," the man behind her began, sounding manic. "You look at me when I walk in the room, understand? Daddy's going to teach you...he's gonna teach you a lesson..." Betty turned her head to look back at the man, noticing first that he was rather obese, short, and sweaty. As he hastily began to disrobe, he also revealed himself to be extremely hirsute, with brownish hair sprouting so densely across his chest and arms that it almost resembled a second shirt. Betty felt sick to her stomach again, but she somehow managed to conjure a smile for her customer, which he responded to with visible enthusiasm. "That's right. You know you want it, you little tart. Daddy's got what you want..." Betty wished dearly that the man would stop saying "daddy," mainly because it reminded her if how far away in both body and spirit she was from her real father and his teachings. Even as she tried to justify that she was doing all of this for his sake, the tightness in her nipples and the new wave of wetness forming at her crotch told a different story altogether. The man pulled his trousers down, then his briefs, kicking them aside as he continued to mumble crude perversities. Betty had never seen a penis before in her life—she'd heard them analogized, described, and even illustrated in a text book, but seeing one up close shocked her. On a scale, the man's member was quite small, extending only a bit longer than one's middle finger, though it frightened her all the same. Especially because she knew where he intended to put it. "They call you Butthole Betty, do they?" the man asked, furiously pulling his stubby red penis with his fist. "Backdoor...Backdoor Betty," she corrected, wondering why she even bothered to. Her name didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was what the man's eyes were focused on. He stared at her big round backside with smoldering eyes. "Backdoor Betty," the man repeated, further pleased. "That's what daddy calls his girl. You're daddy's girl, aren't you?" Betty winced and clenched her teeth. "Yes," she said with tight-lipped reluctance. "That's right," the man said loudly. Without hesitation, the man mounted her, his clammy hands gripping her hips. She lowered her head again, hoping the man didn't want her to keep looking back at him. Thankfully, he now seemed thoroughly distracted by her ample rump. Feeling the alcohol kick in, she felt inspired to spread her cheeks apart for him, exhibiting her round pink anus. It gaped open about the size of a dollar coin, the interior deep and black. "Lordy!" the man exclaimed, momentarily entranced by her open portal. "I've never seen a tart open her asshole quite like that. No wonder they call you Backdoor Betty," he said gleefully, diving into her. She gasped as she felt the man effortlessly slip through her rear port. With a laugh he began prodding her anus with his squat prick, his flabby hips ramming into her vigorously. After an initial twinge of discomfort, an oddly pleasurable sensation began blossoming in her bottom. Soon she found that each successive jab brought tiny shards of shameful pleasure, surging up her rectum like electric shocks. "D-don't stop, please don't stop," she blurted tipsily. "You're daddy's favorite," the man grunted, grabbing her doughy thighs so tightly that they nearly bruised. "Tell daddy he's your favorite!" the man commanded, smacking her bottom as he continued to bore her anus. "Y-you're my...favorite, daddy! Pack your...daughter proper! G-give it to me straight up the wazoo!" she let out, slurring her words slightly. She gripped his penis with her ring tightly. The man immediately ejaculated inside of her with a roar, then fell to her side on the mattress, breathing heavily. His eyes were rolled back. A few moments later, the man had dressed himself back up. He did not speak, nor did he look at her. Huffing, he reached into his pocketbook and thew a wad of dollar bills at her, then lifted the latch with his hands and left the room. Betty could smell his rancid, alcohol-soaked sweat lingering on her body. She drunkenly gathered the money and tucked it away in a pouch under the mattress. She then took a few more hefty swigs of gin, and lay flat on her stomach. The room started to subtly spin. She could not think of anything but preparing for her next encounter now. There wasn't time to think of anything else. The next knock was only seconds away. And when it came, she pulled herself back up and positioned herself as before. Three knocks. She reached out, pulling the rope again to unlock the door. She looked back, her voice now adopting her role as full-heartedly as she could, and she mouthed the words: "Hi there, big boy..." The next few hours became a blur of flesh and fluid, moans and curses. By closing time, nearly every man in the pub had made use of Betty's martyred anus. Yet now in her drunkenness, she couldn't recall most any of them. A few men who had presented themselves early enough in the night managed to stand out—there was the lanky bald fellow who claimed to be a prize fighter; there was the hideous fogey with the bent penis who paid extra to have her twice in a row; there was the fast-talking Irish grease monkey who repeatedly offered in vain to buy her in full for a sum of one hundred dollars. Ultimately, she knew she would not remember any of them tomorrow. All she would feel was the aftermath of their collective visitation. The room continued to swirl around her as she lay dazed on the mattress, guzzling the dregs of her bottle in the hopes of staving off the residual hellfire building in her abused rectum. And then she heard the final knock of the evening. One, two, three. The knock had an unusual insistency and force to it that alarmed her, even in her dizzied state. With bleary eyes, she struggled up to her knees, crawling across the sex-stained mattress to the hanging rope in the corner. Weakly, she tugged it down. The man who walked in was accompanied by Eugenia. He was extremely tall and lean, roughly in his early 50′s, and had a complexion the shade of gunstock. He smoked a fragrant cigar and his wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his rugged brow. "We're already settled up, so she's all yours, sailor," Eugenia said to the man, rubbing his toned arm. She walked past Betty, reaching under the mattress and grabbing the pouch of money underneath it. Flipping through the dollar bills with a squint, Eugenia summoned her limited arithmetic skills to tally Betty's spoils. Finally sure of the sum, she grinned. "Well, well, Backdoor Betty. I'd say tonight was a great success. Includin' this fine chap who is going to have a last go at you, we've already made $465 off your sweet arse. You're just about halfway to freedom, I'd say. Give or take." Betty said nothing. She merely wheezed and straightened her eye mask. Eugenia laughed to herself, then walked back to the door. "Oh, and Betty, one note about this last john of yours. His name's Cleese, an' he's an...old friend o' mine, so give him a good ride. Think you'll find 'im a bit challenging, but at least he weren't yer first," she added. Betty found something strange about the way the man looked at her, but she was too stuporous to conclude anything meaningful, so she just nodded. Eugenia left the two of them, closing the door behind her. Cleese took his time. He untied his leather shoes with the casualness of someone preparing for a dip in the pool. He unhurriedly stripped the socks from his feet and unbuttoned his white dress shirt. He gently placed his hat upon the previously unused rack in the corner. Looking around the room, he took notice of the large quantity of cigarettes littered about the floor, and seemingly in response, he dashed his cigar, carefully placing the stub in the wastebasket. In silence, he dressed down until only his briefs remained. Betty's eyed widened as his crotch came plainly into view. Even through the white cotton cloth of the man's underwear, she could see that he was uncommonly endowed, and she now had real experience to measure it against. She decided to try and make this go as quickly as possible. She grabbed her can of cooking grease and reapplied her lube with three greasy fingers. Then, getting back down on her knees and elbows, she stuck her round bottom in the air and swayed it back and forth. "Come n' get it, baby," she said, reaching back to pull her cheeks apart. "Ugh," Cleese grunted, turning up his nose. "Whass'...what's th' matter?" Betty asked, looking back at him in confusion. "Looks like they did a real number on you," Cleese said with concentrated acridity. "That stinkin' asshole of yours looks like an open sewer." "Wh-what...?" "It's wide enough to drive a horse and buggy through, that's what. You sure you're good for another lay?" Betty was taken aback by the contempt in the man's voice, as well as embarrassed by his observation, but her lack of sobriety smoothed it over enough for her to stay focused. "I'm...I'm good, baby. I'll jazz you good, promise..." she said, weakly flexing her slack, sloppy anus. The man grumbled under his breath, then pulled down his underwear. Betty eyed the man's dusky, pensile member with legitimate worry. Pulled free from his briefs, it swung almost halfway down his leg, looking very much like a fully-grown aubergine in shape, length and girth. Making matters more troubling, it was not yet even erect. Betty remembered Eugenia's harrowing encounter with a "lout with a monstrous prick" and wondered if this were the man she spoke of. Could Eugenia be that sadistic as to subject Betty to the same fate as her? Or was this yet a different man of such punishing substance? Betty could not tell, and thinking about it any more deeply only made her headache worse. "That's right, baby. Cram my caboose with that jumbo cock," Betty said with ragged vocal chords. "I see. They put you to to talking a lot of whore jive, huh? How old are you, anyway?" "Uh...twenty-three on Tuesday," Betty mumbled earnestly. "I see. Well you're a real filthy girl for your age, ain't ya? A real tart," The man said, tugging at his massive penis. "Y-yes," she said, wiggling her plump bottom. "C-Cornhole me good, baby. I need that big prick straight up my backside." Hearing this, Cleese's penis swelled to nearly double the size in a matter of seconds, becoming so thick that his grip could no longer fully encircle its circumference. Betty remained spread open on the mattress, beholding the rapid tumescence of Cleese's root with sustained concern. "C'mon boy, pound my rumble seat...proper," Betty added, hoping that her unfamiliarity with the parlance of her new profession wasn't becoming too obvious. When he was fully erect—which created the effect of a man with a bludgeoning instrument rising between his legs—He came and stood above her. As he yanked his shaft, Betty could hear the rhythmic slapping of his foreskin as it rolled over his bulbous knob. "So, Backdoor Betty. You only take it up the keister, eh? Any reason for that?" the man said with slight suspicion. Although the eyeholes of her mask limited her plane of vision, Betty managed to turn her head to look back at him. When their eyes met, she again found something about the way he looked at her peculiar. "Eu didn't tell you? I'm a virgin," she admitted with a hiccup. "But juss 'cause you can't drop it in that slot doesn't mean we can't have a good time..." "Huh. Twenty two years old and still a 'virgin', eh? What's your real name?" The man asked interrogatively. His penis was now so stiff that the veins across its swarthy surface stood out in sharp, shiny relief. "Wha? Thass' my real name, silly," Betty replied with a nervous laugh. "Now come on, pack my...my poop chute!" "Ugh. Wretched wastrel," the man growled, pouncing on her. He grabbed her around the ribs and dove forward, pressing his fleshy root squarely into the dark, greasy ravine between her buttocks. At first, her body tensed, unable to accommodate this abrupt introduction. With a careless jab of Cleese's hips, however, the head of his penis caved her rubbery sphincter inward, and with yet another, bypassed it completely. Betty cried out in severe pain; even the hours of training did not prepare her for an object of this size. "Oh God, sweetie, please, slow down—" "Shut your pie hole and open your corn hole," he said, smacking her left rear cheek with savage force. The ear-piercing crack resonated throughout the small room, as did the second, and the third, as the man repeatedly spanked her. She began to shriek in torment as he bottom went beet red. She felt the greater half of his penis slide up painfully deep, stretching the walls of her inflamed canal. With another charge of his hips, Cleese buried the full extent of his large member inside of her, and he began to pummel the bend of her colon. Betty found this absolutely agonizing; it was truly unlike any sensation she had ever experienced, and it was a pain that simply could not be masked with alcohol. She began shrieking like a dying animal, tears streaming down from under her eye mask. The battery deep within her back-tunnel grew to a heated pace, pushing the limit of her bowels almost to breaking. He brutally sodomized the poor girl in this wanton manner for several long minutes, ceaselessly and with sadistic vigor. Soon her reddening rear bounced freely against his sweaty testicles. Loud, squishy flatulence then began to escape her slackening sphincter with each perforation. Uncontrollable expulsions of anal gas quickly rose to Cleese's nostrils, and he wretched. "My lord. Farting, now? What's next? Can you help it?" "Oh God, mm, 'm ss...sorry—" Betty blurted, feeling acid well up in her stomach. "Jesus, you're a wreck," Cleese spouted as he rocked her back and forth beneath him. "Eh, it doesn't matter. I'm going to finish now before you surprise me with anything else. Now snap your asshole, Backdoor Betty. I'm ready to blow." Betty tried her best to squeeze her hole, finding her ring of muscle unresponsive, and her attempts only created louder flatus. "I said, snap your asshole, girl!" Cleese ordered, thwacking her ivory bottom again with an open palm. She cried out, frustrated with her inability to accommodate his wishes and hasten this ordeal. She prayed to God under her breath, pleading dearly for this to be over. For some reason, the man suddenly slowed his movements and became very quiet. Halting completely, he began to grumble to himself. It appeared that he was distracted by something. She opened her mouth to dirty talk him some more, but she caught the man's face out the corner of her eye again. He was staring at the crucifix dangling amidst the beads around her neck. There was a smoldering look behind his eyes as he focused on it, and Betty felt a new kind of fear. "You whore..." he began, the hands on her thighs now trembling. "You dirty, filthy..." The man grabbed her gold necklace and tore it off. Shocked, she turned around to face him. "How dare you wear this," he said with flickering lips. "How dare you..." In that moment, something inside of the man switched. Before Betty could react, he struck her in the face with the back of his hand. The blow landed with restrained force, but it was enough to send her rolling off the mattress and to the cold floor. In a flash, he was on top of her again. He wrestled her flat, holding her at the wrists and bearing his weight down upon her, and then flipped her over on her stomach. She could not believe what was happening. "A godless tramp like you doesn't deserve to wear the cross," the man yelled. Betty struggled, flailing her legs screaming for help. She called Eugenia's name, over and over, but no one came. "No one will help you!" the man said with a maniacal grin. "No one..." He pinned her until she exhausted what little energy she had, and then he grabbed the cross, pressing it deep between her tensing cheeks. She bleated, twisting and writhing as she felt grubby fingers stuff the necklace up her twitching anus. "Now to shove this cross so deep up your ass that you'll always have Jesus in your heart," Cleese said with a quivering laugh that Betty would not soon forget. He plunged back into her, his penis splitting her thick rump in half as it slid through her distended ring. He then resumed his rapid-fire assault on her bowels with increased enthusiasm. The excessive alcohol in Betty's system was also having its way with her, and she suddenly felt another wave of acid build up in her gut. As it quickly rose upward, she realized that she was about to throw up. As the man continuously packed her rectum, she heaved, vomiting all over the floor. He pushed her head down into the putrid puddle, smearing her shiny dark hair in the hot yellow muck, then her face. He began mumbling what sounded like jumbled words of prayer, and finally he shook with that degree of intensity Betty knew meant he was about to orgasm. "Lord please forgive me...Lord please forgive me..." the man repeated over and over in a long monotone blurt. Finally he erupted in Betty's swollen rectal cavity, shooting a hefty load of hot semen up into her colonic depths. She twisted, scraping her forehead on the rough wooden floor, and her eye mask came askew. With another squirm, Betty managed to pull herself from under him, but this also sent her mask flying completely off of her face. She tried to stand, stumbling about the room in confusion, before falling back down a few feet away. Harlotsville Ch. 06 The slowly man stood. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes were. He ran his fingers over his bald head, glancing around the room as if someone who had abruptly come back into consciousness after a psychotic fit. He walked over to Betty, his face contorting in immediate recognition. "Holy..." he began, seeing for the first time the identity of the girl he had just savaged. "...A-Arbach..." he said under his breath. "Betty...oh, my Lord. No. No..." He began to shake. Betty stared back up at him with heavy eyelids, her vision blurred by tears. "I'm sorry..." she said with a minuscule voice. "No. No...this can't...you can't..." the man stopped, looked around the room in desperation, and then gathered his clothes quickly, throwing on his slacks, shirt and shoes, forgetting all else. He ran to the door, pausing a moment, and then he quickly bowed his head. "I'm so sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man," he stammered, blinking rapidly. Before Betty could even question this, the man lifted the beam blocking the door with his bare hands, and without a look back, he very quickly evacuated the Easy Hole. "W-what do you mean—" Betty called out, but she found that her consciousness was fading fast. The gin finally got the better of Betty's blood, and her eyelids fell.
__________________________________ Eugenia mopped the floor with a solemn expression on her face. She'd been in there for nearly an hour cleaning up. The stench of vomit, cigarettes, cooking grease and sodomy lingered in the air. With both hands, she lifted the mattress vertically, mercifully placing the more vividly-stained side against the wall. Betty lay face down on the floor a few feet away, stripped nude, her limbs spread out. She grumbled with the first signs of consciousness. Her eyes were red at the edges, her bottom lip was slightly swollen, and her hair was still caked in muck. A steady stream of brown grease oozed from her crack, collecting in a small pool beneath her. As her senses slowly returned, she first became aware of a new and disturbing sensation: her anus felt damaged. An insidious burn began to grip the inner rim of her sphincter, and then expanded, spiking in rapid waves. She groaned deeply, tasting the acidic spew lingering at the back of her throat. As her conscious suffering began to rapidly accelerate, she could not help but make more sounds—pathetic gurgles and whinnies, unenunciated fragments. Against her will, a long discharge of flatus exited her anus, resonating throughout the small room with horrific clarity. Eugenia seemed unbothered by these developments. She simply went about tidying the room, and when she was done, she picked up a large mug of water, then crouched next to Betty. "Think you'll be wantin' some of this for a while, love," she said in an unusually pensive manner, placing the mug next to her head. Betty could hardly move, and her head pounded. Her throat was raw to its pit, and her limbs shook. She slowly reached for the water and lifted herself one elbow until she was just barely able to take a sip. "My butt," Betty slurred between the rapid burbles of gas firing from her rectal depths. "My butt...my butt hurts..." "I know, love. It's gonna hurt for days, I reckon," Eugenia said with a long sigh, tossing two white pellets on the floor next to her. "Thankfully we won't need you again 'til next weekend...that is, if you want to come back...it's up to you...anyway, here's some aspirin. You'll want it." Unable to make sense of Eugenia's deflated tone, Betty simply grabbed the small tablet and swallowed it, then laid her head back down. "My butt...oh God Eugenia, it hurts!" she said with a new level of concern as the discomfort reached a crescendo, incinerating her unnaturally enlarged anus. "You'll live," Eugenia said, trying to sound her usual self. But something about her was different; even in her state, Betty could sense it. Betty saw the girl clutch a newspaper in her other hand anxiously, as if she wanted to do something with it, but she couldn't tell what. "Oh, uh. Betty. When you get the chance, I just think you should hear the news, about your—" Feeling an even worse ache build in the far reaches of her bowels, Betty beat the floor with her fists and grit her teeth. She twisted distractedly, feeling the late onset of a massive semen enema brewing inside of her, and her voice sounded truly desperate. "Oh God...please, help me to the bathroom." "What?" Eugenia asked. "It's an emergency, Eugenia! Help me up, please!" Betty pleaded. Startled, Eugenia pulled the tall naked girl to her feet, partially slinging her over her strong shoulders. Quickly ascending the flight of stairs, she made a sharp turn towards the private restroom and sat Betty's limp, long body on top of the toilet seat. Immediately, several ounces of filth-tainted semen noisily propelled out of Betty's obscenely gaping anus. She screeched in further anguish and gripped the sides of the porcelain. Eugenia seemed taken aback at the velocity of Betty's uncontrollable bowel movement, and of the pained expression that contorted her face, and she opened the door to escape the scene. "Take your time," Eugenia said quickly, holding her breath as she backed out and closed the door. A seemingly endless torrent of dirty semen continued to fire in lewd bursts out of Betty's wide, slippery sphincter. Thoughts raced through her mind as she noisily purged her viscera. Though she couldn't remember much about Cleese, she did remember what he said before he left her there in a pool of her own vomit: "I'm so sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man..."

 The word "was," in all of its potent finality, hovered above Betty as the last glops fell through from her burning ring. As the motion within her died down, she stared up at the ceiling, crying silently. Deep down, she knew nothing would ever be the same again from this day forward. She looked down between her legs at the lake of vile mud in the bowl. Floating amidst this waste, to her surprise, was her crucifix necklace. It was covered in her slimy feces. She had no recollection of how it got there, but a quick inference made her heart plummet to depths she didn't even know existed. And from these depths, a new numbness began to overtake her. The stately Betty Ann Arbach that the public knew and loved was gone now. Perhaps, in that fateful hour of neglect, her spirit had departed hand-in-hand with her father's. Now all that was left was "Backdoor Betty," the latest amusement ride in the back room of a cheap pub. That's all she may ever be, she realized, now that the word was bound to get out. Even Eugenia would have a better reputation than her once this all ran its course, she realized. Now she had no more tears left. She merely stared blankly down at her lost talisman, which had unceremoniously returned to her amidst her painful evacuation, and her eyes began to glaze over from the fetid odor wafting upwards. The gold cross bobbed there for a moment, then sank beneath the muck. When she could no longer bear the sight, she reached behind her, finding the metal lever, and she flushed it all down. THE END