As usual, the previous chapters should be read before this to fully understand the story line and characters. All comments welcome as it helps to improve the writing.
For a few months after Amy gave birth to Colin Pearce's child, we settled down to our lives again. The spark that our sex lives thrived on had to be content with only the memory of the filthy degradations of our previous actions and experiences. The fucking that we did was totally dependant on the gut-wrenching shame brought about by those actions, without which we were almost impotent.
Sexually, we were surviving wholly on our memories and on the humiliation we suffered through our depravity and our uncontrollable fetish.
If you remember we explained earlier, that the part of the brain that registered shame and embarrassment was very close to the part which controlled arousal. Hence is it of no surprise that one of these emotions would affect the other.
However, as we took what we could from this sordid lifestyle, it didn't take long for the humiliation to wane (you cannot keep calling on the same resource or going back to the same well without eventually draining it.) We found that our sex life had regressed again and had become bland and uninspired.
Our sex life merely existed, it did not LIVE.
In reality, it had not been enough time since the birth of our second child, to try and get Amy pregnant again. We had decided on a little period of time, in order to let Amy's body rest but forces greater than our common sense were about to prevail.
We decided that having a donor who knew that he had fathered Amy's kid, was fraught with danger. In the context of blackmail, abusing his position, or maybe even wanting official recognition, access etc. we were putting ourselves (not to mention the child) in an invidious position.
Anonymous was to be the way but how?
The answer presented itself to us one night, quite unexpectedly and out of the blue but so overwhelmingly, that it was never even up for debate, it chose us, we did not choose it.
We were watching a film (the title of which is irrelevant) and the briefest explanation is that this film centred on a pregnant prostitute.
There was no discussion and no debate. No opinions were necessary and certainly no justification needed for the decision that had been made (for us.) The very idea of a 'knocked-up whore' seemed so degrading and humiliating, it was overpowering and omnipotent, we could not have resisted even if we tried.
Even though in our case, it would be Amy the prostitute getting pregnant by an unknown punter, we found that the opposite scenario of a woman who was pregnant but still had to whore herself (being taken by strangers while her child was inside her, merely inches from their cum shooting cocks) equally arousing and powerful an image and fantasy.
This and our filthy obsession made our decision.
Amy takes up the story
As a stay at home mother, I had begun to watch daytime TV and like other bored housewives, had got hooked on the Jerry Springer, Jeremy Kyle type show. It was while I watched one of these shows, that I realised how I wanted to be and who I wanted to be on the street.
Whilst I had been with Colin, the character that I played had developed ad hoc. As I thought about the vile and repugnant act we were planning for, this character, or my alter-ego as I could call it, began to surface again.
Those readers, who have followed our story so far, will be well aware that sexual activity - just being a slut, was the last thing on my mind. My alter ego had been created to allow me to become a woman that was worthless, stupid and vulnerable.
I knew exactly who I wanted to be in my night of shame and self degradation.
The proposed nights activities would be so debauched and so degrading, that I felt that I would need another person to take my place. Amy Barnes was going to hide behind her alter ego.
Due to having two children in quick succession and due to the constant breastfeeding of those two children, not only had my body become dowdy but my mind as well. I was always tired and that had begun to materialise in my appearance. At this moment in time, my condition and appearance could not have worked out better.
The last thing we wanted was for me to go out onto the street looking like a sexy, confident, experienced whore. That was the very last thing that this situation and the two sick and twisted perverts caught up in this insanity/sickness, either wanted or needed. The woman who walked out of this door, to reappear on the streets a little while later, was going to be the opposite of what I used to be. I was going to be the archetypal chav.
When Kylie, my alter ego left this house, I wanted her to smell of desperation, I wanted her to reek of benefits dependency and of the underclass. Dim-witted, mentally deficient and simple minded was the order of the day. I wanted Kylie to be that girl we all know, the girl that was nice as far as it went but her very low I.Q. meaning she was easily manipulated, not by just clever people but even used and abused by the riff-raff. My alter-ego was to be so lacking in intellect and social graces, that she could be exploited even by the tenement scum and low-life no-hopers. Kylie would be that type of girl, available for all the boys to take advantage of and who allowed the abuse in order to be accepted and to be liked.
Shopping in charity shops, and second hand shops, even getting some items from a jumble sale that some kids were having, I came up with my outfit for the terrible thing I was about to do.
The eve of the dreadful day I was to whore myself out and hopefully get myself pregnant by some low-life anonymous punter, I prepared myself in a 'dress rehearsal' for Paul's opinion.
I dressed in the drabbest outfit you could imagine. The clothes I wore were cheap and gaudy, not in a 'sexy whore' manner but just simply poor tenement trash. I wore stockings which looked terrible on me, not sexy black stockings and garter belt but plain beige hold-up's with big lace tops, a look that both myself and Paul had always thought looked drab and unattractive. I looked pure council sink estate, as I complimented those with flat scuffed shoes that I had bought from a jumble sale. The old green skirt, tatty and worn and a size too big for me, the purple blouse which was two sizes too small for me, straining as my milk engorged breasts in their dirty plain cotton bra threatened to burst open, completed my 'sexy new look'. The colour scheme I had deliberately chosen so my appearance stank of the underclass and did me no favours at all, it certainly did the trick.
Even my hair, which is most women's pride and joy, had been deliberately ruined. I have bleached blonde hair, which has quite a lot of body and a sexy healthy look normally, had been downplayed. Fortunately due to my general drabness and being tired and unattractive, I had neglected my hair of late and luckily, as now proved, it had grown to the point where the roots showed dreadfully. I had also bought some straighteners and on the night in question I straightened the life out of my hair. This together with the fact that I hadn't washed my hair for several days, just for this occasion, left me looking like an unclean tart, and in the sexual sense - a dirty tramp.
In my preparations I had tried to create the look that said,
"I am a chav, a low I.Q., intellectually challenged, council estate or tenement low life and this is how a girl like me would think I had to dress like to make myself attractive and sexy."
The make up I wore completed the look in style. Heavy, cheap, overdone, gaudy colours and so poorly applied, that looked like it had been applied with a trowel.
When all this extreme sexual perversion started, we were a 34 year old couple. Paul quite tall 5' 11", reasonably good looking and quite athletic. I was 5' 6", bleach blonde hair, slim figure with natural 34c breasts and would quite reasonably be said to be very attractive.
That appearance is what I had totally changed. I was now the antithesis of my former self.
