This story is a work of fiction and may disclose various sexual and social subjects such as female/female sex, male/female sex, sexual reluctance, group sex, and non-protected Sex, degradation, drugs, alcohol, exhibition, nonconsent, pregnancy, and subrogation. The characters in this story are all of the age of consent, which means they are adults by law. The author neither condones nor condemns any or all acts portrayed herein.
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The following morning, I woke up and looked at Jamica, who was sleeping soundly. Her oversized sleep shirt had crept up during the night to expose one naked breast. It was nicely shaped with dark nipples. She wore underwear, but the swell of her hips was well pronounced.
I got out of bed, removed my night clothes, and walked to the bathroom to shower. After my shower, I walked naked into the bedroom to dress. Jamica was now awake, and her eyes followed my every step.
"You are beautiful," "I hope you don't take me as being too forward," she said.
"No, not at all. "We people should be more openly appreciative of each other and show our admiration," I replied.
She said, "I can't believe how great you look for having had a child."
I looked at her, smiled, and said, "It's not easy; it takes a lot of hard work and caring about one's self." I took this moment to start planting the seed of thought.
You can have an abortion, and no one will know. You can have the baby, and again, no one would have to know. If you choose, you can keep your child or put your child up for adoption. There are many choices.
Jamaica looked down at the bed as I sat next to her. I was still naked. She looked me in the eye and said, "I feel helpless. I cannot afford a baby; I cannot afford an abortion; my college ride is free; my parents would have never been able to afford to pay for it, and I want to finish school."
I looked into her cinnamon-colored eyes and said, "What if I tell you I can help?"
"How?" she asked.
I then said, "You have the baby. You finish school. If you want to keep the baby, fine. If not, that's okay too."
"But how," she asked.
Listen, you are an adult; you are pregnant as the result of a reckless night getting gang-banned.
I run an escort service. You can work for me, and I will pay all of your expenses, including health, housing, food, and any other necessities.
She looked at me and said, "I'm not a whore."
"No, you are not." "My girls are not whores. They are paid to provide clients with a companion for the evening. We never promise sex, and all clients are screened and sign a legal document noting that sex is not in the contract. Your services are strictly platonic in nature. If a client tries to give or offer you cash, you do not take it. If you do, you are a whore.
Furthermore, you will lose our protection and your way of life.
"But what if they want sex?" she asked.
If you want to enjoy sex with them, fine. But if they tell you they paid for sex, you leave, and we will take care of the problem. But let me be honest and blunt. There are many men and women who will pay to have sex with a pregnant woman. All of our clients can afford the luxury of our services.
They have been vetted and are free of any sexually transmitted diseases. Also, I will not put up with any of my girls having a drug habit. If a client pulls out any drugs, you leave, and we will deal with them.
"I don't know, it sounds sick and perverted," Jamaica said.
"There's nothing sicker than being gang-banned and having multiple men rut in your mouth and cunt spill their seed in you like a cum bucket," I said, bracing myself for an outpouring of tears.
She was now completely broken, curled up in a fetal position, crying her eyes out, babbling that she wasn't a whore and what she was going to do, along with how her parents would be disappointed. I left her crying for a good ten minutes until the babbling and crying became soft sobs.
I reached over to embrace her, and she wrapped her arms around me, shaking. I kissed her forehead in a motherly fashion as I rubbed her back. I pulled her closer, feeling her breasts as they pressed into my side. I kissed her again. I kept rubbing her back, holding her, and strategically kissing her forehead at timed intervals.
I was working. She was becoming subdued and warming up to my kisses. The next time I kissed her, it was on her cheek. She did not pull away, so I continued to rub her back while kissing her on the cheek. She turned her head, looking into my eyes, hurt and scared. She needed the comfort of an understanding person.
I lightly kissed her lips; she accepted my kiss with no response. I continued rubbing her back and lightly kissing her. She was warming up, kissing my lips as I kissed hers.
I took it slowly as she melted into my arms, accepting the comfort I was providing her. I continued kissing her, slipping my tongue past her pale blush and puffy, full lips. She responded by sucking my tongue into her mouth while I brought my hand down to the hem of her sleep shirt and pulled it up.