It's considered a privilege to be one of Daddy Musa's girls and we feel that security in our bodies, a sense of peace and loyalty we carry with us in all life's moments. There are 15 of us, give or take a few every couple of months. But most of us have been selling our pussy for Musa for at least a couple years. Mostly because he makes it so clear who owns our body and time, he does.
We live in separate houses on the grounds but all work in one main house, the "Fuck Farm", as it is known on the streets, in the business world and even among the stars. The name only alluding to the way we are herded and manipulated like worthless animals. The "Farm" is actually a mansion. The grand illuminated white pillars framed by lush palms. Wealthy businessmen, drug dealers, and foreign elite tossing Maserati keys to valets. Entranced as they enter the large entry hall where the girls mingle.
Whatever your type or fetish, there is bitch for you, ready to milk your balls with pleasure. And when I say with pleasure, it's true, because Musa gives a special incentive to make the girls extra eager to get your cum out of you and inside of them. What Daddy Musa does is reward our hard work. At 8am every morning, after the hundred or so men leave, tired and drained after fucking all night, he rewards four categories. But, let's start at the beginning.
Each night at 8pm the girls come in, dressed to the nines to join the "party." Or like the men call it "the mall," where they shop for a whore like you would clothes, worthless items to be bought and sold. As they mingle, men that pay the entry fee come in to choose who they want to fuck, fist, piss on, shove items inside and so on. Free to inspect the goods as they please.
For example, last night, as I sipped from my Champaign glass, my long brown curls flowing down my exposed back, classy in my red satin dress, a slit up the thigh to show my thick honey brown thighs, 34DD breasts creating ample cleavage at the low neck line. Three men approached me, cold looks of desire in their drunk hazy eyes. The one in front lifting me without speaking onto the table.
"We are visiting from Jordan," His face suddenly inches from mine as his fingers parted my supple lips then thrust into my mouth. I sucked the rough calloused fingers dutifully, the faint taste of another woman's cunt on them.
"We heard this Fuck Farm has the best whores in the States but I need to know what I'm getting." I could smell the whiskey on his breath as he spoke.
"Open" he commanded as he pulled my mouth wide, then spit into it hard. I looked at him lustfully, the dominance waking my pussy as he pushed me back, propping my legs on the table and pushing my dress up around my hips, then slowly but firmly sliding his rough hands up my thighs before pushing them apart. His friends hissed in approval as their eyes fell on my cunt, now exposed to the packed room.
They chuckled to each other, speaking another language, discussing my body as if I wasn't there. He spit on his fingers then I felt them at my opening. Three dull fingers shoved inside me to the knuckles with ease.
"You're lucky I Iike my whore's loose you fucking big cunt bitch. How many men have fucked you there you fucking slut" He shook his fingers hard inside me. I felt my juices flow down, my pussy now slick and starting to drip onto the marble table.
"Oh, she fucking likes it, being used like a slut, you're in luck because we're going to destroy you." His face was so close I didn't see his friends kneel in front of my sloppy hole, but I felt as their fingers joined his. Two, maybe three from each. Three strangers' thick fingers shoving hard into my tender pink folds, then stretching me, pulling hard in different directions creating a huge gape that let me feel the air enter my pink opened pussy. I gasped at the pain but my wetness came down again as I glanced in the mirror on the wall. My cunt was at least 3 inches open, a glistening hollow tunnel revealing my cervix to the room full of people, 4 fingers from each man ripping me apart. I became aware of the eyes on me in the room, men stroking their bulges as they stared up my huge pussy.
"She will do" he said as he pushed me harder against the table, creating the leverage to shove his closed fist into me in one hard blow. I felt my pussy reem open and his hard knuckles punch my cervix. As the "check out" man approached, he slowly withdrew, my cunt lips holding onto his hand, stretching outward as he slowly slid out of me. His huge closed fist dripping with my juices. I hung opened, my ruined sloppy hole dripping onto the table.
Devon, the "check out" man, nodded for me to go to the picture booth as he settled the money with the three men. I heard the men talking about how it will feel as if I'm not even there, "we'll be swimming in that whore" they laughed, "good thing she's got a tight ass."
The photo booth is for your "before picture." This is where they capture what your face and your ass while on all fours looked like before 12 hours of getting fucked, used like a doll, covered in cum and stretched out. My pussy's still a smooth, closed mound and my ass a tight little pucker, makeup flawless. At 8am Musa likes to hold these pictures next to our smeared, cum covered, vacant eyed faces after sunrise. A reminder of the destruction we endure for him. The winner gets a passionate, sloppy kiss from our Daddy, the kind that makes you want to cum then and there. His tongue invading your sore mouth. An $1000 roll of cash shoved into your sore, open pussy hole.
That's what the second category is. Your ruined pussy hole. See Daddy feels like if we have been working hard then our pussy and ass should show it. He says "an asshole ain't supposed to be tights after 50 muthafuckas gone and rammed their dick in and out all night, stuck dildo's and bats and fists in you, and neither shoulda pussy. I wanna see your holes drooping, hanging open, leaking cum, aching."
