"A great piece of ass," said one of the US officers.
"Yeah, I saw her when she came to offer her services," replied his companion. "Great body, legs up to her backside, big tits, really sexy moody face."
"Yeah, classy. Women like her are dropping their knickers all over Italy. Hungry, got a kid, no money, no food. Opening their legs is the only alternative."
"Hear her old man was a colonel. Killed in North Africa. Father died in a bombing raid. College professor. We're getting some high grade pussy, my friend."
"She's setting up shop in her house on the edge of town. Will take six officers a day - two hours each - 15 bucks or food and cigarettes. $50 for an overnight."
They were talking about Monica Vallacci who was becoming a prostitute out of desperation. The Allies had overrun Sicily following their invasion in 1943, pushing out the Germans.
Their arrival in the town of Montezama had resulted in Monica making the decision to sell herself. She realized the Americans had the money and food in quantities none of the local men could provide. And she didn't want to enter a brothel. At 29, she was in her prime and the most beautiful woman in town.
After her husband's death, there had been no shortage of men wanting to get into her knickers.
With a young son, she needed a man to protect her. First there'd been an affair with a young captain before he'd been sent to the war, then an elderly married businessman had pursued her.
That had ended messily with her being brought before a court accused of acting in an immoral way that could corrupt public morals and make her unfit to care for the child. A very Italian charge. She'd been acquitted with the aid of a clever lawyer but it had painted her into a corner as a loose woman. The lawyer who'd defended her - a fat bastard - made very clear his payment would be her body.
She'd already screwed the equally obnoxious businessman in return for money and gifts, and she allowed the lawyer into her bed as well, enduring his crude love making. Of course, the stories went around town like wildfire and she was labeled as a whore by the local women who were jealous about the lust she engendered and the effect on their men. The lawyer's forceful spinster sister made him split with Monica, who was left to struggle to support her son and put food on the table. She was the subject of conversation in the bars and attracted hungry eyes as she walked through the streets in close fitting dresses that showed off her curves.
She had rejected advances from German officers when they occupied the area, despite the tempting offers of food and money to move into the main hotel which they'd converted into a brothel, but her savings were now exhausted and whoring became the only alternative. Local pimps were aware of her circumstances and began circling, knowing the money to be made from such high class skirt. She'd received a couple of aggressive approaches as she had no protector. Monica feared being forced into working for one of them.
Her son, Mario, was only four and unaware of the attention his widowed mother was attracting.
He would have to go her aunt's house in Palermo. it was heart breaking to be separated from him but he couldn't stay in the town when she began whoring. Monica decided to service the American officers, but didn't want a pimp controlling her. She decided to go to the US headquarters in the square and make her offer. She'd been branded as a whore in the town so she might as well be one. The night before she prepared by shaving her pussy, her under arms and removing the slight fuzz from her legs. She then cut her lovely long, black hairt, looking into the mirror with sad eyes, before dying it red and perming it.
The next day she got ready while her son still slept. She was doing this for him, she told herself as she pulled on her wired bra which shoved up her firm 36 inch breasts which had always embarrassed her as a young woman but always drew the eyes of horny men. She didn't really need the black girdle which she wore because her flat belly and waist did not have an ounce of fat. The dark stockings outlined her wonderful, strong curvy legs as she attached them to the suspenders.
Monica selected a tight black skirt that came just above her knees and showed off her undulating buttocks as she walked, a white blouse that strained against her magnificent bust and a matching jacket. Slipping into her six inch heels, she viewed herself in the mirror, twirling around to inspect herself. Then she applied heavier than usual make up, bright red on the lips, pink rouge for the cheeks and a liberal amount of masscara around her eyes. She'd made herself look like a very expensive slut. Monica sighed as she heard her son awakening.
Mario hadn't seen his mother like this and noticed the change but he was too young to really think about it. Monica was nervous as she gave him breakfast. Her stomach churned but there was no turning back. She had to take him with her as there was no one to look after him as an elderly woman living nearby who normally did so had gone away suddenly. Taking Mario by the hand she walked into town, her high heels clicking on the road, her buttocks moving against the tight skirt. She was soon spotted.
"Hey, look at that," said one man. "What's she done to herself?"
"Really showing it off, eh." "Looks a real whore now."
There had been speculation she was going to go professional for some time. Now they saw the reality.
Monica was aware of the eyes following her and heard a number of whistles. The women watching were scathing.
"Pah, what does she look like?" said one.
"Like the slut she is." replied another. "She should not have the child with her dressed like that. It's not right."
"Where's she going?"
"Not the red light house. I bet it's the yankees. She's going to their office to register."
Every prostitute who worked in the town providing sex for the army had to get a card and be regularly checked by its medical unit every week to curb the spread of VD. Without a card, a woman could be arrested. An office had been set up for this purpose but Monica didn't want to enter one of the brothels operating for the soldiers. She wanted to work on her at her own house and would have to come to an agreement with the army to do so. Mario was aware of the whistles and the men leering at his mpther
"Why they whistle at us, ma ma?" he asked.
"Never mind, Mario. Don't pay any attention," his mother replied.
The walk was not pleasant for Monica. Finally they reached the door of the headquarters blocked by two large military policemen.
"I want to see officer," said Monica.
"Why?" asked one, running his eyes hungarily over her body.
"It's important." she replied.
The two men grinned at each other.
"Have to give you a frisking first," said one.
"A frisking?' she asked.
"Yeah, a body search."
Monica looked as the leering guards.
Both were undressing her with their eyes. She stepped inside the door.
"Hey, Tompkins," shouted one of them to a desk soldier. "Take the kid for a while. We gotta to give his ma a security check in the room."
Mario cried out as the soldier came to take his hand. Monica bent down to try and reassure him, while the guards waited impatiently with their trousers already bulging. Reluctantly he went with the soldier.
Monica was shown into a bare room with tables and a chair. One of the guards wasted no time, pushing her against the wall, his sweating face up against Monica's. His hands went to feel her buttocks, then round to fondle her crotch through the skirt and girdle.
"She definitely needs a strip search, eh Ben.
"Yeah, Charlie. Could be an enemy agent. A Mati Hari."
They laughed. Charlie was squeezing her breasts.
