The Fifty Rupee Whore

Note - This story happens after the story 'When it rains, it pours'.

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I was sitting on the bed in the small room, literally twiddling my thumbs and waiting. I was dressed in a black knee length wrap-around skirt and a snug white t-shirt that accentuated my boobs. There was no bra underneath, so my nipples were poking through the fabric. A rusty ceiling fan was rotating at full speed, making a low whirring noise. The room was still a bit stuffy. I got off the bed, and walked to the only window in the room, which was closed. Struggled with the tight bolt a little, finally slid it open, and opened the window. With my face against the window bars, I looked out into the night. There was some sparse traffic on the narrow street below me, not too much. As much traffic as you would expect close to midnight in the seedy parts of South Bombay. I kept staring outside, shifting my gaze from the passing vehicles to the run-down buildings on the other side of the road. Occasionally, a mild pleasant breeze would blow, mitigating the heat in the surroundings.

I was standing like that for about five minutes when I heard the door open. A bald middle aged man dressed in a visibly old and slightly tattered shirt and a dirt-stained white pyjama (just like the bottoms of sleeping pyjamas, worn mostly by poorer men in India) stepped inside. I turned around and looked into his eyes, and he started back, his hands still on the door.

"Oh... I am sorry." the man said in an uncertain voice in Hindi. "I think they sent me to the wrong room." and started to back out of the room.

"No, wait, wait!" I replied in Hindi, leaning against the wall. "I think you are in the right room. Come inside."

He just stood there, uncertain of what to say or do. Finally he managed to string some thoughts together and said,

"No, you see. I only paid 50 rupees to the Begum. I think you would charge way more. Actually.." he looked embarrassed "..I am not even sure you are a...."

"A what?" I asked, with a wry smile on my face.

"Well no offense.....a whore." he said, his face ashen with shame.

I took a few steps and was across the small room and next to him. With my finger, I beckoned him to step inside. Then I closed the door behind him. He just stood there, trying to comprehend the situation. I smiled at him again, walked towards the bed, sat on it, and pulled my feet up and folded them under my thighs.

"Well, I am not yet a whore. I do work for the Begum. But this is my first time doing this." I said.

"You work for the Begum? Really?" he said, looking around suspiciously.

"Yes, I do. is it difficult to believe?" I asked.

"This is not a joke? Not a police trap or something? Not some sort of a prank by the MTV people?" he continued, still looking around.

"No, will you just relax? I am nervous as it is, what with this being my first time. You don't need to add to the nerves in this room." I tried to assure him.

He stopped looking around and looked at me. Then, for the first time, he really and truly looked at me. His eyes wandered down to my breasts and lingered on the nipples poking through the shirt. Involuntarily, his tongue jutted out and ran over his lips a few times. His gaze then shifted down to the sideway curve of my hips highlighted by the wrap-around skirt. He ended his inspection by staring for nearly five seconds at my milky white, waked and smooth shins and calves. Inspection complete, he looked up at my face again, and said,

"Wow. You...well... you don't really look like a whore, much less a fifty rupee one. Even if you were to be a whore, I would expect you to be working with on of those Madams in Colaba and Worli, charging thousands of rupees a night. Don't you know that?"

"Yes, I know. In fact, I was offered twenty thousand rupees a night by one of those Madams if I worked for her." I replied.

"Twenty thousand rupees a night? Oh my God!! So what are you doing here? Did the Begum's goons kidnap you?" he asked, as he walked closer to the bed and sat down on it, still a respectable two feet away.

"No, I am here of my own will." I said staring down at my hands.

"But... why?? If you know what you are worth, why are you selling yourself short working for the Begum for just 50 rupees when you could be making".... he paused, seemingly to calculate.. but probably could not and said, "when you could be making like many times more?"

"What's your name?" I asked him.

"Birju." he replied.

"Listen Birju. Are you more interested in eating the fruit or counting the number of trees the fruit came from?" I said, employing an idiom that loses quite a bit in translation, so the non-Hindi speakers among you might find it amusing. "How is it any of your business why I am working for the Begum? You paid her fifty rupees for a fuck, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And you were sent to this room for the fuck, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Right then. Let's get on with it." I said. Moved my hands to the seam of my t-shirt and with one swift motion, took it off and threw it on the floor. My 34C breasts, constrained so far in the tight t-shirt, broke free and bounced a couple of times. Birju stared at them wide-eyed and hungry. And finally lunged forward, knocking me on my back on the bed. His rough callused hands assaulted my tits, pressing them so hard, it hurt a little. He then lowered his head and put his face between my boobs, and then started biting them all over, slobbering them with his saliva.

I looked downwards and found myself staring at his dark bald head, with a few remaining gray hairs. I put my right hand on it and started running it through the few hair gently. I placed the left hand on his shoulder as he continued his interaction with my tits. He was lying on top of me, supported by his knees. His crotch was pressed against my thigh, and I could feel the erection growing by the second. Finally, he was fully hard and straining against his pyjama. I moved my thighs sideways to rub his dick. He felt and looked up in my eyes, with a hungry smile on his face, his hands still grabbing my breasts like two huge mangoes. He squeezed my tits really hard one more time, smiled as I winced with pain, and got up.

"I don't know how I got this lucky, but I am glad I did. I am going to love banging you and making you scream, my dear." he said as he undid the knot of his pyjama and pulled it off. He also removed the tattered loose striped underpants he was wearing, and his dick sprang up. It was not too big. Maybe 5 inches, if a little less. Not much in terms of girth either. But seeing this old dirty man's hard cock fed my fetish and made me wet instantly.

He jumped on to the bed again and on top of me and his hands went to the waistband of my skirt. That's when I said to him,

"Shirt."

"What?" he asked, surprised.

"Take your shirt off. I want you completely naked. I need to feel my big tits rub against your bare hairy chest, Birju." I said in a throaty breathless voice.

"Ooooooohhh!" my straightforwardness was clearly a turn on for Birju. He unbuttoned his shirt in a jiffy and threw it by the side. Now, completely naked, he proceeded to try and get me in a similar state. I doubted if he had any experience with wrap around skirts, and not wanting it torn off in the rush, I unhooked it while he was taking his shirt off. His fingers dug into the waistband, and as he pulled, the skirt unraveled. He pulled it out from under my ass and threw it on the floor.

I was now on the bed under him, tits wet with his saliva, completely naked apart from the thong panties I had on. I often wear thongs with pant suits or tight skirts to avoid panty-lines. He stared at the thong as if he had seen it for the first time. Ran his fingers on the thong over my pussy and under to the bottom of my ass crack. He then pushed me sideways to roll me over. I did, and my thong-clad butt came into his view, and his reaction was similar to when he had seen my tits. He leaned forward, started grabbing and pinching both of my ass cheeks. he pulled the thong down in one swift motion leaving it bunched around my ankles. I kicked it off and it fell to the ground. Birju then dug his fingers into my ass crack, parted both cheeks and ran his tongue up and down it, slobbering over my asshole, and making his spit drip down to my cunt.

Finally satisfied, he rolled me over again, and got on top, facing me, with my tits rubbing against his hairy chest. I parted my legs and he pushed forward from the hips, his dick first hitting my mound and then the inside of my thigh, searching for the opening. At the third attempt, he found the target and pushed hard. His 5-incher was buried inside me in just one stroke, as I gasped instinctively.

"Like it, do you?" he said hoarsely.

"Yes, I do, Birju. I love it. Fuck me. Fuck me hard!" I said as I wrapped my hands around his neck. The significance of his dick entering me finally sunk in. After weeks of dilly-dallying, self-doubt and prevarication, I had done it. Here I was being fucked by a smelly old man from the lower classes, like the 50-rupee whore that I was. I was exhilarated, not just by the sex, but also by the depravity of it all. Birju kept ramming me harder as I squealed in pleasure and he said between strokes,

"What....is.....your.....name?"

As I rode the waves of pleasure surging through my body, I completely forgot the fake name I had decided to give my "clients" in the brothel, and bulrted out my real name -

"Muktaaaa!"

"Mukta... you are a hot item Mukta.... you are my dream come true!" Birju said as he kept banging me.I wondered to myself if this guy, from a similar economic background as Zahid, would last as long inside me as Zahid had.

..................

The build up to this night started two months back. Well, technically, it started almost a year back. It started on that rainy night (refer to the story When it Rains, It Pours) that I lost control and fucked Zahid and Mansoor, the two auto mechanics in the countryside. I had promised them I would go back again, but I never did. I was scared of the consequences. What if they decided to blackmail me for money? What if they wanted me to be a permanent part of their lives? What if people came to know about this? I had too much at stake in terms of a reasonably happy marriage and a great career. There's no way I could go back to them, no matter how much my well meaning and sweet husband was unable to satisfy me.

However, the episode did bring back the slut in me. Before I fell in love with my husband and married him, I had had a very active sex life. I dated much more than the average Indian young woman does, and even had some one-night stands. By the time I was in my mid-20s, and met my eventual husband, I had slept with close to two dozen men. I had one-night stands, became an expert at oral sex, did it anally, and even had a couple of threesomes and foursomes. But I had also had a couple of heartbreaks and bad break-ups along the way, and encountered my share of complete jerks.

So when I met Abhay, I fell for his gentle loving and caring nature. How he respected me as a person and did not think of me as a sperm dumpster or a maid. He respected who I was, respected my ambitions and the demands for my career. In bed, he was decent initially. He tried hard, but did not have the natural talent or the size to be anything more than just an average lover. But his other pluses more than made up for it. I decided that I had already had my share of wild sex, enough to last me a lifetime. So it was time to grow up and move to a more mature and what I then thought, a more satisfying phase of life. I fell in love, got married, and we had been happily married for over two years when the rainy night incident happened.

That incident brought to light one undeniable fact - as great as my married life with Abhay was, it was sorely lacking in the sexual realm. I had been in denial, pretending that everything was fine, but that one wild night exposed me to myself in more ways than one. I convinced myself, quite perversely I know, that the only way to be be happy with Abhay for my whole life, and keep him happy, was to satisfy my sexual needs with other men. Many times, I considered telling Abhay this, but from whatever I knew of him, he just did not seem like a guy who would be happy with an open marriage. He would be nice about my cheating on him, not lose his temper, but would firmly suggest a divorce.

So I would have to cheat on him. But it could not be with men like Zahid and Mansoor. It was all too risky, with the possibilities of blackmail and scandal. It would have to be done discreetly, and in the typical Indian middle class way. With colleagues or others from economic class and background similar to mine.

The first lover I took after making the decision was a man named Sandeep who worked with me. For months now, he had made it fairly obvious that he was interested a fling even though I was married. He looked fairly cute and was charming enough. So one day when he asked me if I wanted to go to his place for a drink, I agreed. Told my husband I would work late, and had sex with Sandeep in his apartment.

The sex was OK.... better than with my husband. Sandeep was fairly well-endowed and knew some good tricks and moves. He was also enthusiastic and adept with his tongue. But somehow, it didn't quite do it for me. He just didn't seem worth cheating on my husband with. I had sex with him a few more times, but then ended it, making the excuse that I didn't want to keep cheating my husband. Sandeep took it very well. I am sure he had no long term plans for me either and having added me to his tally of conquests, moved on to wooing other pretty women in the office.

I then slept with a young intern from the office named Vipin. Now this guy was big....he was huge... close to ten inches. The first couple of times I had sex with him, I was on cloud nine. But after a few days, the novelty of his size wore off too, and once more, I was feeling very dissatisfied. I broke up with him too, and he did not take it well. Said he was in love with me, wanted to spend his life with me, and even cried. It took a couple of days, but that break-up was done.

I could not figure out why these men were not able to satisfy me. What was I looking for? When I met Murtaza, a hotshot advertising executive, at a work-related conference in Jaipur, and he started flirting with me, I asked myself - was it the Muslim thing I was so desperate for? Mansoor had made some very offensive remarks about how I was a Hindu slut craving Muslim cocks which is why I had given myself up so easily to him and Zahid. Maybe Mansoor was right. So when Murtaza asked me to his room, I went along.

The sex was good. I enjoyed sucking on a circumcised cock again. He was very energetic in bed and got hard again very soon. I spent the 3 nights of the conference with him. But by the third night, that feeling dissatisfaction and emptiness had returned. His big, thick and bulbous Muslim wasn't able to fill the void either. I had no idea what I was exactly looking for.

And then the prostitution research project was assigned to me. A British sociologist was writing a book for which he needed some research and information related to prostitution in India. He needed someone to interview pimps, madams, and prostitutes using some questionnaires and formats he had sent. Our firm, which among other things media and literature related, is also into research consultancy, was hired for it. Since I was among people known for taking up off-the-beaten-path projects like rural projects, slum projects and tribal projects, I was in consideration.

The boss decided that a man would not be able to get prostitutes to open up and be very frank, so he decided it must be a woman. That left me, an older lady, and a young fresh-out-of-college girl. But the older lady opted out saying she would not feel comfortable, and although the young girl was all for it, her parents whined her out of it. So it fell on me. I asked my husband if he was OK with it, and as usual, he was very sweet, supportive and understanding about the whole thing. Said he trusted my judgment.

I finally took the assignment from my boss. My brief was to talk to people in two different types of prostitution businesses that existed in India. One, the high class prostitution rings, whose clients were rich industrialists, government officials, politicians, actors, CEO types, and other moneyed sorts. These were usually run by madams and pimps who were well-connected at the top. The women who worked for them came from the middle or upper middle class, were college educated, spoke english, and very often were spoilt housewives trying to make an extra buck because their husbands had cut their allowances. The amount charged by those women for a night ran into thousands of rupees, enough to pay an entire poor family's grocery bills for the year.

The other was the regular low-end prostitution. Many women were either forced or sold into the business and kept into it using threats and muscle. They were usually from poor families, and/or small villages, and could barely read or write. Their clients were people like cab drivers, waiters, construction workers.... in other words, economically lower classes. These prostitution rings ran out of well-known red-light areas in ramshackle buildings in low-end parts of cities, which were very sleazy and where no one from the middle or upper middle class would be caught dead. Very ghetto.

And my job was to interview a lot of people from both these segments of the prostitution industry in Delhi and in Bombay. I won't bore you with all the details of all the interviews. Suffice it to say that the interviews opened my eyes, destroyed many of my own myths and misconceptions, and made me empathize with the prostitutes as well as their handlers in ways I had never thought possible. But more relevant to the story are two episodes which played the biggest role in leading up to what you read about in the beginning.

The first episode happened when I was interviewing Susan, one of the top Madams in Delhi. We met in her suite in a five star hotel in South Delhi. I was surprised at how professional and executive-like she was. And how business-like her manner was. I almost fell of my chair when she very nonchalantly said, "According to our latest estimates, we have a 42 percent market share of the high-end-escort industry in Delhi, and our projections indicate it to touch 48 percent by the end of the year." It was as if she was on CNBC!

The interview went quite well. I got a lot of useful stuff. Finally when I got the answers to all my questions, I switched the dictaphone off, and started gathering my things.

"So Mukta... how is your financial condition? Any money problems?" I heard Susan say to me. I turned around and looked at her and said,

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, are things OK moneywise? This recession is hitting everyone hard."

"Yes, things are great moneywise." I replied, unsure of where this conversation was going.

"Well, I just asked because..... and don't get offended. You are a very attractive woman. If you joined my little business, I am sure you could easily get 20,000 rupees a night after my commission." Susan said.

"What???" I asked in a raised voice.

"Don't get upset. It's just an offer. It's up to you to reject it if you don't need the money. But a lot of women like you are on my payroll. Educated pretty upper middle class women who are having problems making car payments or mortgage payments. They work a few nights every month and everything is taken care of." Susan smiled.

"Umm...no...that's fine. I don't really need the money. Thanks for the interview, I should get going now."

Susan started laughing and kept laughing as I hurried out of her door. I was very outraged by her suggestion. Firstly, we really did not need the money. And secondly, I thought to myself, I may be a slut and sleep around, but I would never stoop so low as to actually have sex for money. How disgusting! And that's how it ended.