Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy, and is in no way intended to condone or excuse nonconsensual sex or sex trafficking. In real life the protagonist of my story should be in jail.
Think twice before you read this. It's crude, mean, nasty, misogynistic and very rapey. If that sounds like it would offend you then it probably will. But a handful of you might like it.
Don't say I didn't warn you...
I love my work.
Not many people can say that, but then not many people work for Big Bob, the gang... sorry, business man, who runs one of the largest prostitution rings in London. It may not be strictly legal, but I reckon Bob runs a fine company that provides a valuable service to thousands of satisfied customers. Bob gives the opportunity to so many average looking to downright ugly men to get fucked and sucked by some of the finest looking women in the city, and all for a very reasonable price.
Plus, so long as you don't cross him, he's a pretty good employer. The money's not bad, but what I appreciate most about the work is the fact that I greet each new girl personally. I pick them up at the airport. Girls from all over the world, South East Asia, Central America, East Europe, all lured to the Big Smoke in the promise of making some quick cash. And most of them do. I don't lie to them. Sucking cock after cock is hardly glamorous work, but it is profitable, and I like to think that in most of their cases it proves to be a sound career move, at least for a year or two.
And when I say 'greet' them, I do of course mean I'm getting to know them in all the ways you should know a whore. Bob wants to know that all his girls are up to standard, and as a discerning connoisseur of whores, I make sure they're able to give the finest service before advertising them to the larger public. I show them to their room, deck them out in some sexy new underwear and then spend a good half hour with each one to make sure they know how to give a good suck and fuck.
Most of the girls work right here in the first floor of an apartment complex in East London. Rooms 102 to 109 are currently occupied from girls from as wide ranging places as Mexico, Vietnam and Poland, and for the most part they've had satisfied customers.
For the most part.
Every now and then we get a whore who does the bare minimum of what's required of her, who just doesn't put in the work to leave a man with a smile on his face or is even rude to customers.
One complaint and they get a warning. Two complaints and it's still a warning. But three complaints and it's time for a meeting with me. This is when they get sent to my room; room 101. Normally it's the site of all the more tedious aspects of running a prostitution ring; finances, immigration, that sort of thing. But every now and then it's the base for 'whore's reeducation training'.
This is absolutely my favorite part of the job. When I first 'greet' the whores, I tend to go easy on them. Just a sweet, gentle shag. But when a girls referred to me after three customer complaints, it's time to take a firmer hand. These are whores who need an attitude adjustment fucked into them, so I no longer play nice.
In short, the first time I meet you, I fuck you. The second time, I fuck you up.
It's early evening when I get the knock on my door. I rise eagerly to answer, my cock stiffening at the thought of just what the next hour has in store. Just as I hoped, standing at the door and looking anxiously down at her feet, is Ana. This whore arrived from Romania to work with us less than a month before, and already I've received three complaints from well paying customers. 'Not enthusiastic enough'. 'Didn't smile'. 'Didn't even suck cock'.
"Ana," I greet her, the predatory smile creeping across my face, "how nice to see you!"
"Yes," she says, her eyes still on the floor.
"Come in, come in!"
She reluctantly does so, standing next to my bed and looking like she doesn't know what to do with herself. I look her up and down. Ana comes up to my shoulder, cute looking, with long jet black hair that falls down past her shoulders. She wasn't a bad shag from what I recall, if perhaps lacking a little in the enthusiasm department. But today her fine form is hidden beneath the dullest of t-shirts and track suit bottoms. Presentation is key in this business, and already she's letting the side down.
The centerpiece of my room is a double bed furnished with plush purple covers and duvet. On the far wall is a large mirror. I look at her again in the reflection, savoring her discomfort. Then I close the door, twisting the key in the lock and promptly pocketing it. From here on in Ana is enrolled in the whore reeducation program, and she won't be leaving until I'm happy with her performance.
I sit down and pat the bed next to me. "Don't be shy, Ana, come and join me."
She reluctantly does so, sitting nervously on the bed an arm's length away from me.
"Now Ana, why do you think I've asked you to join me today?"
She stares at the carpet. "The men..." She trails off.
"Yes?"
"The men, they not happy."
I move up towards her on the bed, placing an arm around her shoulder. "That's right. They are not happy. And do you know what your job is, Ana?"
She doesn't answer. I move closer, placing my hand down and fondling her soft full breast. "Your job is to make the men happy, and the first thing to do to make those men happy. Dress nicely, dress sexy. Don't you want to be sexy for the customers?" I point to her baggy t-shirt. "What's this? This isn't dressing sexy. This has got to go."
I pull her arms upwards and proceed to pull the t-shirt up over her head. Her arms are limp, not resisting but not helping me out either. I throw the t-shirt over to the other side of the bed. The bra she's wearing is plain and white. Functional but hardly sexy. That too will have to go. I reach to her back to unclip it, pulling the bra quickly away and sending it across the room after her t-shirt.
Ana's arms are now crossed over her chest. She has a nice shape, perhaps just slightly towards the tubby side, but overall she has a good body with two large tits that her crossed arms fail to completely hide from my view. I take hold of her arms, placing them down by her sides, and marvel at her smooth full breasts. I see many women with a fine pair of knockers in my work, but these are large even compared to what I'm used to.
"See," I say encouragingly, "no need to be shy, I bet you're feeling sexier already."
Naturally, she has no response, but I rub my hands from her shoulders, down over her breasts and to her waist before addressing her again. "And now, the bottom half."
She looks up at me, worried.
"Come on," I say, "I'm not going to fuck you through your panties, stand up."
Ana does so, and I quickly pull down those tracksuit trousers to reveal a fine pair of long pale legs. I untangle the trousers from her ankles and fling them across the room. She's dressed now in just a pair of plain white knickers. Like her bra, she's chosen functional rather than sexy.
