Joan now spent most of her day in the basement, being fucked on the mattress by clerks who had done favors for Mr. Faust. Joan was now the company cum-bucket, swallowing load after load of it. She couldn't keep track of whose cock she sucked and whose she hadn't. Everyone snickered as she passed, whispering lewd comments and getting guarded gropes of her ass when they could. She loved every minute of it. Still, that shame and humiliation that was briefly gone had come back with a vengeance. It was felt more intensely than ever by her. That sweet, mindless bliss that she could remember like a wonderful dream was gone. She could remember the bliss, but could never get it back no matter how much she re-read those Stormwraith books. Joan had been denied her merciful ignorance and was now permanently trapped inside the previous nightmare that she was desperate to get out of. Joan wanted to return to her bliss.
This was never mentioned to Mr. Faust, whom Joan was a little afraid of. One evening after work, instead of taking the trolley home like normal, she decided to visit Mr. Puddle at his bookshop, the man who set her on this whorish path in the first place.
When she came in, Mr. Puddle was behind the counter as usual. There was no one else in the shop. Mr. Puddle was reading a book about railways. He glanced up and saw Joan coming in. He was a little confused, but grinned lecherously at her all the same. "I wasn't expecting you for a while. Does Mr. Faust need anything?"
"No," Joan answered as she approached the counter. "Are there more books? Different ones like the ones you gave me?"
"Three is all there are," he said to her disappointment. "Why?"
"The bliss is gone," Joan told him, "and I so desperately need it back. There is nothing else then?"
"Nothing that I know of," Mr. Puddle said. "Come into the back."
Joan followed Mr. Puddle into the back room. He closed the door while Joan stood by a little table with books stacked on top. She expected him to start looking through his collection to find something for her but he didn't. Instead, Mr. Puddle's hands went right for Joan's big breasts and started to roughly squeeze at then. Joan flushed and gasped. "Mr. Puddle," she said, "how is this supposed to help me?"
"No one cares about you, slut. You're a piece of pussy. Property and nothing more."
He shoved the books off the little table and put Joan on it. On her back, her legs were forced open and her skirt thrown up. Mr. Puddle quickly had his cock out and told her, "you need to be fucked hard, don't you? Sluts like you should be fucked day and night because it's all that your good for."
"But Mr. Puddle, my bliss!"
"This is all you're getting from me, bitch. I suggest you be grateful for it."
He plunged himself deep into her and Joan squealed. He fucked her on that rickety, little table as hard as he could. Joan's green eyes fluttered while her pussy was pounded by Mr. Puddle's savage thrusts. She came quickly for her first time. She felt his hands on her big breasts, squeezing them through the fabric of her tight purple dress. As he slammed her, he said, "this is all you're worth, slut. Why should anyone give a damn about your bliss, you dumb whore?"
Joan knew that Mr. Puddle was right. She was just a whore for them to use. It was what they turned her into. Those books even instructed her to be grateful for what they did to her, but thanks to Laura's interference, Joan was now unable to be. She should be a grateful whore. In fact, Joan wanted to be. However, something in her mind was holding that back, and implanted defiance.
Mr. Puddle pulled out and came all over her dress. He tossed her off the table like he did with the books and said, "go home, bitch. Don't come back until you are told to."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
She left the bookshop with her tight dress covered in cum, wondering how she was going to get home in this. As she came out the dark and narrow street she ran straight into Mr. Pryce under the streetlight. "Oh," she gasped with her face red. "Excuse me, Mr. Pryce." She tried to hurry by him but he caught her by the arm and turned her around to face him.
"What's the matter, girl? What's wrong with your dress? It seems to be covered in something..."
Joan was shaking with humiliation. Here she was, standing in a public street in front of a man she admired, with her dress covered in cum. She was on the verge of a complete breakdown into panic. Joan couldn't speak, she could only stand there while his eyes studied every detail in moral judgment.
"My word," he shouted. "This looks like..." Mr. Pryce couldn't even finish the sentence he was so disgusted. Joan could feel that shame and disgust crawling over her skin. He looked at her severely and said, "I think you better explain yourself, girl."
Joan stammered, unable to form a coherent thought let alone sentence. Mr. Pryce encouraged her to get it out in the gravest of voices. "I was at Mr. Puddle's bookshop," she said. Her mind raced. She tried to think. Dear God! They would send her to the institution! She blurted out, "he attacked me! Mr. Puddle did this to me when I refused to follow him into his back room for a book he wanted to sell me. A most perverted book!" She broke out into tears and fell to her knees sobbing. "He pinned me on the counter and did such awful things to me. Oh, Mr. Pryce! It was all my fault!"
Mr. Pryce comforted her, keeping his voice soft and soothing. "Of course it wasn't, my dear. That scoundrel. He'll hang for this. Police! Police! A woman in need! Police!"
~ o ~
Laura sat in her parlor and read the newspaper. "Bookshop Owner Arrested for Salacious Crimes," It read. She picked up her teacup and took a gentle sip as she read about the sordid affair that were missing the more lewd and impolite details that people wanted. She smiled at the news, her interference was already wreaking havoc.
~ o ~
Joan sat in the corner of her apartment quietly with her hands folded in her lap. She had never been so frightened in her life. Faust was pacing back and forth in the center of the apartment, deep in thought. There was a knock and Mr. Faust breathed out, "finally." He went to the door and then opened it. There was a man in the hallway that Joan didn't recognize. He had a rough face with a hard, square jaw and a thick nose that had been broken several times. His small, dark eyes were hidden under a buttoned, gray cap. He wore a dark brown jacket and dirty pants. He came in and looked over at Joan for a minute before turning to Faust.
Mr. Faust closed the door. "Glad you could make it, Claude."
