A work of fiction.
Chapter 7 - A Year Down The Line
I'm just heading out the door, on my own. It's nearly 7pm and I'm dressed in my hooking gear, fully and meticulously made up, pendants and chains and rings adorn my neck, hands and fingers...and you can certainly smell that perfume from a mile away. I light up my cigarette, the leather of my miniskirt creaks, in time, with my walking pace....my heels clatter on the pavement.
I get to my spot. My patch.
The other bitches are just getting established in their places out on the streets of this fairly warm late summer evening.
We exchange glances...smiles....hands are raised in acknowledgement.
A lot has happened in the last year. Some of the bitches have seen how my owner, Martika, works and have now been added to her stable. Her 'Band Of Bitches' you could say. She has 5 other tarts. Of course, I am the only girl that she owns.
Thankfully.
She's not working tonight, so I am there to do my own business and to collect the money from the bitches after the night and report back. That's what I always do. Who's done what, y'know? Who's pulling her own weight....and who's not.
She's still ruthless, of course. I still get beatings....which I deserve....however 'established' I am, if I don't follow her exact ideology and rules then that's it. She says the more I am subservient the more she pushes me to be exact.
She's not working tonight as....well, she's the fuckin' boss, right? She doesn't have to. I don't have to ask her. She does what the fuck she wants, boo. She isn't accountable to any fucker....let alone this piece of shit. But, she's on her period, so she's at home with the kids.
She hates being on her period. I get that too. I hate it 'cos Martika is verbally abusive to me, calling me a 'waste of space..' and '..a piece of shit..' 'cos I can't work. I feel like I let her down, but there's nothing I can do about that.
Martika hates it because she always says that prostitution is her life. She says that she's a sex addict. Her mum, Samantha, I know she says that she is a sex addict and that it rules her life. That prostitution is her outlet. But i don't know if sex addiction is hereditary or not.
Anyways, it's not my thing to ask...to question...I'd get a slap around the face for even mentioning that shit! I just accept and do what the fuck she tells me to.
And I do. I'm an established prostitute. A ho. A whore. A 'kept woman'. A prossie. A streetwalker. A hooker. I'm 'on the game'...but it is no 'game'; this is life. This is my life.
This is the life I gladly accept.
I fuck around 12 punters a night, whenever I am working. Sucking them off...In my arse....up my cunt....whatever. Whatever brings in the coin, boo. Whatever brings in the coin.
I'm off and running, of course. There's not many black bitches like me about in Derby's Red Light Area. Few Asian girls, lots of white chicks, some European...but there's, like, just another bitch that I know of that works the streets. Maybe we're few and far between. Maybe the black bitches just work the brothels. No fuckin' idea.
But it just means that I stand out from the crowd - today in the red leather mini, a black top, fishnets, red heels and jacket - and get punters that want to fuck black girls.
There's a bit of racism going on, in a reverse way. Not 'go back to your country' kind of shit, thank goodness, but more the 'different to white girls' stuff. I don't see that shit as harmful. It's inquisitives. It also makes me some coin for my owner.
First fuck of the night is always very important, Martika says. I think so too, anyways. I'm stoned from the H that Martika got me to inject before coming out, but I'm still horny.
First guy is a black dude that slows down his pristine clean Mercedes by my feet.
'Hey pretty thing. You working?' he asks.
'Sure Boo. I'm a-working. You interested?' I chew on the gum, dropping him a lopsided grin, before taking a drag of my cigarette...blowing the excess smoke over my head.
I reel of my prices - £20 for a BJ, £40 for a fuck and £60 for anal - and my boy here settles for something in my vagina.
I like that.
I take one last drag of my cigarette before stubbing it out as I collect the money. Again, around the front of the car and then inside, driving to the car park. Once again, someone is already there. I think it's Emma.
Whatever.
We get down to business. I blow on his rubber, get in the back and he mounts me...talking about breeding me...talking about how many before him. I lie - hookers lie about this all the time to punters - and tell him that he's my 3rd tonight. I feel him getting harder inside me. See? There's good reason to lie.
My man varies his pace...slow...moderate...fast....shallow...a lot of deep....which is fine...and is getting me off, to a degree...but what really gets me off is when they cum quickly, drop me off at my spot so I can pick up someone else. That's what it's all about. 15 minutes, max. They're in...shooting their load....and then out.
But this guy? He's, like, 30 minutes...for fuck sake!
He cums at last! We make ourselves respectable and we get back to my spot. I blow him a kiss and get out, hoping that I'll get another quick one or Martika'll kill me.
Thankfully, quite soon I get a guy wanting a Blow Job, on foot, so I take him down the alleyway....right at the back...and blow him, hard and fast....he soon empties himself in my mouth. Right...zipper up...let's go. I've got more cock to take.
The night is brisk.....there's lot of talent out tonight...some very young...which does mean a lot of punters also around. I earn well. I keep Martika up to date with what's happening to me as well as the other bitches...I have some time to chill...to chat....do a few lines of coke....a few cigarettes with the other bitches. It's good.
I get two punters, in succession, wanting to get up my arse. It hurts a bit, holding on to the seat whilst they plough into me, but for the second one at least my hole has been stretched to accommodate cock. Lots of grunts and groans from both of them.
By just after midnight I've made £660 myself. The other bitches are still around, waiting for me. I make a note on my phone of who made what and give them the 30% cut. That's what Martika gives them, whatever they earn. Do I feel jealous that I only get...what? 6.33 %? No, of course not. I get what I am given. I live with my owner, she feeds me, after all. She supplies the cigarettes, the heroin and cocaine....and gives me somewhere to live.
I am grateful.
I take the money, which is well over £1k, back to give to Martika. It's only a short walk, but this bitch is a little wary. It's a lot of money.
I get my key in the door, cigarette in my mouth, between my lips. Take off my jacket as my owner greets me with a pint glass of Vodka...we exchange vodka for the huge wad of money.
'That's good....' proceeding to flick through it '..thanks bitch..'
I put down my drink briefly so that I can hang up my jacket...collect it...then start sipping.
I needed that.
We sit, opposite each other, as we chat about the night. I finish off my cigarette.
Mark's just gone to bed. The kids are sound asleep. Martika is aiming to retire herself to bed shortly.
She says goodnight and takes herself to bed.
I light up another cigarette and finish my drink. I always have to finish my drink. If not, she'll find out somehow. Then I'll get another beating. So...drink up, bitch.
I finish up, rinse out my glass and then head upstairs. Whilst I'm using the toilet I can hear Mark and Martika rutting away....
'..must be anal tonight..', I think to myself. 'She's flyin' the red flag..'
Whatever. I take my clothes off, put them on the nearby chair and get into my welcome bed. I fall asleep quickly. The perks of drinking a pint of vodka.
I get the early morning kick min the back and 'Wake up, fucker!' from Martika and get myself out of bed. I'm used to this alarm clock by now.
I pull on my robe, use the toilet and head down for my customary breakfast - cigarettes, pint of vodka, toast and cocaine - as Martika is sorting out the kids and Mark for his going to work. She's a whirling dervish, as usual...in her workout clothes, still sweaty from her workout and taking a couple of lines of her 'incentive', as she calls it.. cocaine.
Mark sorted and out, giving me a customary hug...same with Jas and Miya...and a lingering kiss to Martika...before heading off to work...
...then the kids sorted. Martika throws on a coat and heads out the door, taking them both the short distance to their respective schools and nursery's. Then back. I hear the key go in the door.
I make a coffee for us both and Martika gets herself in the shower. Some 25 minutes later, she's back downstairs and we chat away.
I get a message on my phone. It's the hospital. Specifically, it's the 'Clap Clinic'. I phone them up, in front of Martika. Giving them my details, they ask me to come in for my prescription as I have been found to have gonorrhoea.
I'm shaking. Gonorrhoea? How? Then it hits me. I had unprotected sex with a couple of punters a few weeks back as I had run out of rubbers. How, I don't know, as I always carry more than enough. But here we are.
I tell them that I will pick up the prescription shortly and hang up the phone.
I turn and admit all this to Martika.
She is seething...and trying to calm herself down.
'Bitch, get yourself sorted. We have to pick up this prescription and get you fuckin' fixed up. You fuckin' idiot! You fuckin' waste of space.'
I'm frightened, gut I head up to shower and change...like I've done so many times before...like I will do again and again after this day. This is just a blip. My mistake. I won't be out earning tonight but I will be back fuckin' punters again after my treatment...and I'll be 'on point' and not fuck around. I'll never go with them without rubbers again. I've learned boo...
I've learned.
