Booster

This story is fantasy. No sexual activity occurs before age 18.

I lie back as my "client" pumped in and out of me, pondering the absurdity of it all. He'd chatted me up with his version of "What's a nice girl like you doing here?", asking if I hadn't ever dreamed of being a wife and having a home and family. He knew by now that I was in this house available anytime day or night. He thought I was too beautiful for this place.

The irony was that Jerome had just informed me that I was worn out, not bringing them in like I had for the last five years. "Booster, tomorrow your ass will be working a street corner, and you better be making your quota, or I'll sell your cunt to Derrick." That thought made me shiver. Derrick's clientele was into sadism and animal acts. Girls who Jerome had loaned to Derrick for just a day as punishment for not bring in the cash or for holding back on him, came back scarred, emotionally as well as physically. I don't think any of them ever went against Jerome again.

Had I ever dreamed of a home and family, of being a wife? Of just being monogamous? Had I ever even had the chance?

Because of various health issues, puberty was delayed until the end of my senior year in high school. My breast development was none existent until after graduation. If having the body of a 7th grader wasn't enough to retard my social development, my face was covered with an angry red acne earning me the high school nickname of "Pizza Face". Braces and heavy black eyeglasses rounded out my wonderful visage. I spent high school with a hoodie constantly pulled over my face. I lived in the shadows, chewing on the strings of my hoodie.

When puberty started, I was totally unprepared. I was in class wearing white jeans and experiencing stomach cramps. When I stood up after class, I heard first gasps, and then laughter as my bloody pants were pointed out to everyone. I ran out of class and didn't stop until I got home. I didn't return to school for a week. If I was ostracized before, now I was the class joke as well.

After puberty, life turned wonderful. After graduation, my breast developed in a way that made up for lost time. Mine were never huge, but they grew in as a perky, beautifully shaped pair. My acne disappeared, with only a few pits to remind me of that horror, and my braces were finally removed. Contact lenses relieved me of my glasses, and I felt like a butterfly arising from its chrysalis. I wasn't gorgeous by any means, but I was attractive, I had to admit.

I was still reticent to present myself to the world. My mother insisted on buying me clothes for college that showed me off to the world. Tops and dresses that showed my new curves off were her favorites. My cousin was my roommate at the dorm and acted as my mother's co-conspirator, dragging me out, making me leave my hoodie at home.

She dragged me to my first college party. She insisted that I must have the full college experience, and she'd be with me. Then, halfway through the night, she disappeared with her boyfriend, and I didn't see her again until the morning.

The football team captain saw me and took me under his wing. I was so flattered! The biggest man on campus was crushing on me. He kissed me, and I almost fainted. That was my first kiss. He tucked me under his arm possessively and gave me a drink. That was my first drink, at my first party, right after my first kiss! I was excited. What did I know about anything?

I woke up in the morning sore and in bed with some random guy. I began crying and sobbing. The guy woke up, and left the room, returning with the football captain. He told me to shut up or it would only get worse. They had video of me screwing everyone at the party, including some girls. If I didn't shut up, or if I told anyone, then my parents and the whole school would learn what a slut I was.

When my cousin showed up, I was still red eyed from crying, but I had managed to control myself. I didn't want anyone to see that video. She thought I had cried because she'd left me alone all night long, telling me "...to stop being a baby, afraid to be alone."

When I returned to the dorm, I began staying in my room and wearing my baggy hoodie instead of the feminine tops my mother had bought for me. My cousin got on my case, threatening to call my mother if I kept hiding out in my room. "Aunt Maggie told me to call her if you went back to that hoodie. You know, the boys wouldn't notice you dressed like that." I thought, "Yeah, that's kinda the idea." But she insisted and I didn't want my mother to start asking me why I won't wear the beautiful clothes she'd bought me.

I began to receive calls from football players, inviting me to frat parties and dances. My "No" to each invitation was received with threats to distribute that video. My mother and cousin were overjoyed that I was so "popular", even as a freshman! My mother showed up and took me dress shopping, insisting that I buy dresses that were form fitting and showed my figure off to "my advantage". Some advantage.

Every party had me in a room upstairs, and every dance with me in a van in the parking lot. I was the team whore.

By sophomore year, I was shared by the baseball and basketball teams. It was during sophomore year that they began pimping me out to professors for grades and to alumni for booster club donations. I was better than all the cake sales and car washes combined. That's when I got the nickname, "Booster".

I could never get enough energy to get on birth control. Not sure how I avoided getting pregnant freshman year, but sophomore year I caught twice, and the booster club arranged for abortions. After the second, I was told not to worry about pregnancy anymore. I didn't question that -- I didn't care. I had no control over anything, and just went along with it. It was years later I found out that my doctor, who was a football booster, had tied my tubes.

Junior year, I became my school's secret weapon. They'd take me to a rival team's hangout with instructions to seduce their best player (or players, if I could arrange that). I was to screw them all night long before the big games, so they were too fatigued to play. Turns out I was good at that.

Senior year, the State college players caught on, and when I went to a motel with their star, they were all waiting for me. They all had me, then drugged me.

In the morning I woke up in the motel room, sore and stiff, with a stinging feeling on my pubic mound. As I set up, I found a sheet of paper on my chest, with instructions on the care of my tattoo, to avoid infection. When I peeled back the bandage, I saw that they were kinder to me than I thought they'd be.

They didn't tattoo "whore" or "slut", or even the name of their college. Maybe they thought that the latter would incriminate them. No, my tattoo was a copy of the signs put on my university's equipment. Around the image of our mascot's snarling cougar's head were the words: "PROPERTY OF THE ATHLETIC DEPARTMENT".

There was no hiding it. I couldn't get out of gym class, and once I showered the few people that didn't know what a slut I was now knew and word got back to my cousin and my folks. Mom wasn't so proud of how "popular" I was anymore. I was now 22, so she had my dad toss me out of my home and their lives.

That year's basketball captain came to my rescue. He took me to Jerome. Found out later he sold me to my new pimp for $10,000. His own little scholarship fund.

For five years Jerome has had me in his whorehouse, available 24/7 (yes, even during my period some people wanted pussy, and others would settle for other holes). I was his number one moneymaker for the first three years, although I dropped to 4th the last year as I started showing the wear and tear. I guess now I'm in last place, moving down the line to a street corner, or Derrick's.

What's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this? Descending even further.