Saphia's Controlling Sole
I've read a lot of erotica over the years, and after a long time of taking, I wanted to give back to the art. At first, I just thought it was just good porn, but there are some cool ideas if you know where to find it, have fun.
Chapter 1
My life before
My name is Abby Johnson, and I was born in a rebel country, along the coast of upper east Texas to be precise. Overall, I'm pretty typical for a "white trash" country girl. Growing up was hard, 4 brothers, 4 sisters, probably more that I didn't know about, all different dads. Not sure who mine was; it didn't really matter since none of them were around much. We were poor, roach infested trailer, mom preferred to smoke rather than feed us. DCBS was useless despite complaints of bruising and malnutrition from my teachers, the age-old story.
I wasn't treated right by anyone, and nobody cared if I made it or not. So, I left home at 15 and got a job at a place where nobody asked for an ID. For the first time in my life, my meals became regular. Soon my gangly body started to bloom as proper nutrition and hormones did their magic. By the time I was 18 my breasts grew from A's to solid double D cups and my ass could finally fill a pair of jeans. Granted I was no Kim K but when you go from looking like a holocaust victim to pretty good looking, you can't help but feel proud of yourself.
Funny enough I heard that my bio mom finally reported me missing on my 18th birthday. It took her years to even notice I was gone. I know she never tried to find me, because when I first left I hoped she would've. I even occasionally went out in public, walking around the neighborhood hoping she was looking. I never actually never left the county, just towards the far end. Once I even saw her driving. I'd been thinking about it over a lot before that, but I knew then that I had to get out of town. Start fresh, be my own woman.
I wouldn't give her or anyone the satisfaction of knowing I was alive. It was cruel looking back but I don't think she deserves even an ounce of my kindness. I forgave her recently, so I could have peace about it, but I will never give her that same peace of mind. I still hope she's a better person now. When I moved, I knew next to nothing about anywhere else, but I was determined to make it alone in the big city. 200 miles from "home" and for the first six months I'd figured I'd done just fine. Sure, I skipped a few meals, lost some jobs, but pride came before the fall, nobody believed I could make it... not even me for a while.
After two days without eating I'd taken a few shady loans. Things had been a bit tight from the day I signed the contracts, but with some struggle and luck it was just barely manageable. I was proud to say I made it briefly. A month later I had a good job as a secretary at a law firm and the rent repayments, as well as my household bills, soon became doable.
On paper I was set, but realistically I was "less than equipped" to organize my finances. Rather than put money aside for the bills every payday; I'd live it up on the weekends. My hours of work would disappear into a sea of margaritas and tranquilizers. Which is a better mix than it sounds, almost as good as heroin but without the strong addictiveness. I justified it by telling myself that I was still young and deserved to have fun, being 19 and mostly self-sufficient. I realize now that I was pussy footing around rather than accepting my carelessness and doing something about my life.
Soon my rent began to slip and before long I was right back where I started. Letter after letter arrived in the mail declaring final notice and demanding payment. I managed to fend them all off by some miracle, delaying the inevitable by another few days each time. Still, even though I was on the brink of becoming homeless it didn't stop me from barhopping like I had a death sentence. It seemed like every weekend being a working girl on the street corner was looking more and more like my future career choice. Briefly it was, in fact I did it for years and I barely remember most of it. And it all started the day I met her.
I was sitting alone one early morning at a bar. Most of the crowd was gone, and by gone I mean desolate except for the dim sound of honkey tonk music playing on the old juke box. It was just me and some middle-aged bartender woman, who was covered with tattoos. I first knew her as Margrette from her faded nametag, but soon I would know her by a much more respectable title. Being a bit tipsy, I was surprised when I saw a neat whisky suddenly appear in front of my face. It was attached to a broad looking trucker type, with a salt pepper beard. Not too bad on the eyes but he was old enough to be my father and he was short. Like a husky Danny Devito.
"I'll pay for the next few drinks if you have it with my... special sauce." He grinned, like what he said was clever.
"What kinda sauce?" I slurred out. He took the same whisky shot off the bar and put it in front his pants, where I only now noticed that his cock was hanging out of his fly. Not very big but it was thick and covered in greasy pubes. He dipped his penis in the whisky and swirled it around before bringing it back to the bar. I saw the bartender woman staring at the scene before he told her to "mind her business." She ignored him and looked to me, seeing if I needed help. However, like the gutter trash I was, I downed the shot, hair and all without thinking. Whatever you do never touch a drop of alcohol or anything you can smoke. If you're not careful you could be the next pour soul desperate enough to taste some guys special sauce.
"What a nasty whore, ugh, don't make a mess and take it to the bathroom Greg." Margrette groaned, annoyed. A tug on my arm stood me straight. With a hangover from hell I felt myself complying with whatever direct "Greg" chose to take me. The bathroom was old, stagnate and barely looked fit to piss in... and I was about to be fucked right there. A smack to my ass jolted my eyes open, instinctively I opened my legs, little pink panties. Which he took no time in yanking down to my ancle. Revealing a bare wet pussy ready to pay for its momma's drinks.
I pushed my hands against the wall as I stumbled to steady myself. The sticky residue of an old dirty wall giving me some extra grip. I knew what was expected of me. Even as I heard Greg rear back and hock a wad of spit into his calloused hand, I kept still. That same hand covered my entire vagina in a thin layer of spit, as thick fingers pushed in and out to make sure I was lubed enough for him. Then I heard it, the same clink on clunk of his metal belt came next, and after, a fat cock head shoved it's way past my dignity into a warm wet your welcome for the drink.
Pushing his weight onto my back my face was shoved into the grimy wall. Right next to a swastika and above a number which said "call for a good time". It was filthy, degrading, and downright disgusting... but that's what made it good. I had thick hairy cock pounding into my 5 dollar pussy, his belly rested on the small of my back. His free hand occasionally smacking the hell out of my hooker ass. I felt myself involuntarily clenching at the sheer idea of being such a filthy whore. It only egged him on.
"There you go little girl, clench on it... yea baby that's a good girl!"
I felt him bucking in and out of me like a rabbit on speed. I almost managed to cum, but out of nowhere I found myself sitting on a sticky unwashed floor, while jets of white hot cum were shot and running down my face.
"Thanks hon, you were a good time!"
