The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Through Her Eyes

(mc mf ff fd gr)

Author’s Note: I’d like to thank Mudak and GHB for their editing help. Any remaining errors are my fault as I made the suggested changes. Any and all feedback is welcome and all will be answered.

Thank you for reading.

The police station buzzed around me; the practiced fingers of desk cops pounding away at keyboards, the arrguments of disagreeing factions, and the lame excuses of the soon-to-be-jailed. It was a Friday night, and it looked like the authorities had been busy arresting perps since daybreak.

Nearby, a pair of muscular frat boys sat handcuffed to different chairs. I couldn’t tell if they were fastened there to keep them from falling over in their alcoholice stupor, or if the shackles were there to keep them from tearing each other apart. One of them had dried blood caking his upper lip, while the other’s face was discolored from various bruises. Several times, whatever they were going on about got so heated that they lunged at each other, but the best they could do was bash their heads together a couple of times before the police separate them. Mindless brutes.

Another pair of adolescent males sat across from me, looking like they’d just been put through the rinse cycle. What was it with men and crime? A quick look around at the people being processed came up all male. As far as I could see, I was the only woman there and I wasn’t under arrest.

The two scared teen boys had been brought in on drug charges and were waiting for their parents to pick them up. I’d overheard as much when the duty officer had sat them down across from me five minutes ago. She then gave me a patronizing, “The detectives will be with you shortly.” Bitch. If they were going to be with me “shortly” they’d have already called me in and not wasted more of my precious time.

I sat in the entrance to the police station, glaring at the two cohorts. They hid from me behind their dirty long hair and studied the scuffed floor between us, as if it would tell them what excuse they should give their parents for getting busted for possession. Maybe this would scare them straight, but from the looks of their sloppy dress and brain-cell deficient aura, they were already human flotsam, lost garbage in society’s ocean with no chance to make a positive impact on anyone.

Was I the only one not being arrested? Oh the irony. For the first time in five years that I go home at what most people would consider a normal time, to get a little needed me-time, and I witness some scumbag guy breaking into my neighbor’s house. Would that actually qualify as irony or would it just be happenstance? Whichever it was, I wasn’t happy about it. Because it landed me here, sitting around waiting to ID the loser, yet another male.

Why did the police need me to come identify the man I’d caught breaking into my neighbor’s place tonight? Couldn’t it have waited till daytime? Scratch that. Daytime would mean I’d miss even more valuable work time, so night was definitely better. Better still, couldn’t they have just brought some mug shots to my office? That would have at least spared me the grief of being in such proximity to the town’s riffraff.

I was sure my surroundings couldn’t get any worse when a police officer in a bad brown suit brought the whore in. She strode in like she’d done nothing wrong, even thought her attire should have been excuse enough. The officer dropped her off at the desk clerk’s station and headed back to the chief’s office. She stood there smacking gum and twisting a tendril of her platinum hair with a red fingernail. Despite the lack of support from her loose fitting halter top, her artificially large breasts floated in front of her like they’d never learned the concept of gravity. I doubted the girl herself had either.

Her heels provided neither form nor function. They were too cheap to have any sort of style and were too comically high to be of any use, other than highlighting her legs. The skirt she wore was just as bad, if not worse. It looked like she’d crudely chopped up a decent denim skirt to show off the beginnings of the curve of her posterior. How could she have the nerve to wear something like that in public?

She leaned forward against the counter and part of her left nipple slipped out of her shirt. There were children here! Sure, they were delinquents, but they still didn’t need to look at something like her.

The whore―there was no doubt in my mind that she was one―turned and looked at me. Either she had heterochromia or one of her blue contacts had fallen out and she hadn’t bothered to take the other one out. Her one brown eye and one bright blue eye disturbed me.

And why the fuck was that stuck-up bitch looking at me like that for? Fucking cow.

I smacked my gum around some more and looked down. One of my nips was completely out. “Oops,” I giggled and pulled my top back over it. God damn pigs. I wasn’t even doing tricks yet and they brung me in. Just cause I got a little carried away on stage didn’t mean they fucking had to go and haul me in.

I glanced around at the other poor sobs that the bacon had taken in. Two hot and fuckable frat boys were going at it in the back. My pussy moistened. What I wouldn’t do to get my little cunt around one of their shafts. There was nothing like being fucked by a guy who’d just been in a fight. He’d be so full of adrenaline and junk. So rough. So hot.

In the entrance, aside from the bitch looking at me as if she couldn’t make up her mind whether or not she wanted to lick my vag or run away, two puppy dog hippie boys sat staring at the floor. I could smell the pot coming off them when I’d passed them. Poor babies. I’m not normally into hippies, but I’d give them a pity fuck. From the looks of them, they could be virgins. My damn cunny got wetter. I loved cherry popping.

That was one of my favorite tricks to pull. I loved it when guys set me up with their newbie friends. Those guys didn’t have dumb-ass ideas of “lovemaking”. I got to teach them how to fuck women like the whores we are.

God, I needed to get out of there. I was so fucking horny I thought I was going to burst. If I could leave soon, I could still have time to get a lay in before I had to get back on stage. I slammed my hand on the counter. “You assholes gonna let me go or what? I’m supposed to be back on stage in half an hour.”

Glancing around, my gaze settled back on the fucking prude who’d been lusting over my nip-slip. She sat so prim and proper in her knee length denim skirt and white blouse. Her legs were crossed at her ankles and the top foot waved her Gucci pump back and forth like she couldn’t wait to get out of here. If she was going to buy expensive shit like that, she should at least get a pair with a fucking heel on it. Bitch might as well have been wearing sneakers.

She had her arms folded under her tiny tits. Such a shame. As loaded as she looked, she could have afforded some huge jugs to be shoved in there. Her gaze shifted up to me and once again, her one blue eye and one brown eye creeped me the fuck out.

My heart raced. What had just happened? I’d been her. I’d been the whore. I couldn’t remember being me when I was her, but I remembered them both vividly now. Everything that I’d worked so hard for my entire life-my education, my career, my morality-all of it had been replaced by the desire and need for sex. Good and evil had been warped into fuckable and non-fuckable. The experience left me in a cold sweat. My skin tingled, not just from the terror of being her, but from the excitement as well.

The best things in life are things you work for, or so I had always believed. My life was filled with pleasure. The pleasure of knowing I was a good person. The pleasure of seeing my university diploma on the wall. The pleasure of a glass of wine with some friends. I was content with my life.

What a crock of shit. The best thing in life is being easy. That’s what I’d believed in. No, that’s what she believed in. That life had been filled with intense bursts of pleasure. Supernovas of wanton sex and rampant drug use. All the pleasure derived from ignoring society’s rules and embracing its ills. If I wasn’t happy, it sure did feel good. Fuck! Life was great.

No! She was infecting my mind. The whore was doing something to me. I had to leave. I had to get out of there. But I couldn’t; they’d brought me in on charges of prostitution... no they’d brought her in on charges of prostitution. I was here on my own free will. Wasn’t I? I couldn’t remember why I was there. I no longer cared.

I stood up and burst out of the precinct’s doors. My feet carried me as I fled from my nightmare: the whore with the witch eyes.

I should have run back to my apartment. I should have run to a friend’s house. I should have run somewhere with a place in mind, instead of just running. Running. I ran from her. I ran from everything she represented. I just ran and listened to the plodding of my shoes hitting the pavement.

Then I thought of her witch eyes.

My heels clacked to a slow as I came up to the strip joint. My ankles hurt from running in such high heels all the way from home. Sweat pasted my halter to my fake tits and my hair was fucked. Why the hell did I run to work when I should have taken a god damn cab? My dancing was really going to suck.

I checked the clock on my cell, 9:58. Only two minutes. Shit, I’d never be on time, not with all the make up and hair repair I had to do. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. That fuck-fest I’d had last night had gone on way too late. But fuck all if I could have stopped it. Hell, I thought those guys could have gone longer, fucking shame they couldn’t.

I yawned. Fuck if I could remember when I had gone to sleep, but I’d only woken up an hour ago, then like a ‘tard, I fucking ran to work; one of the other bitches could cover my first dance. I needed to get myself fixed up. More than that, I needed a cock in me somewhere. I really wish those guys had fucking gone longer.

The enterance to the club opened up into a small room. Directly in front of the main door was another door that led into the club. To the right was yet another door that had been chopped in half, making a window for the bouncer to check ids and whatnot.

Gregg was manning the door. Even though I loved his massive, muscular build, there’s one muscle I care most about, and his...well it ain’t so massive. Cock was cock though and I owed him for some coke that he’d given me awhile back.

“Nice to see you early for a change,” he drawled at me.

“Fuck you, Gregg. Well, I was going to fuck you ‘til you said that. Now I’ll only blow you.”

“Bitch, as late as you are, I was going to make you blow me anyway.”

I hated the asshole, but as horny as I was, beggars can suck cock and all that shit. He opened his door for me and I strolled back into the bouncer’s room, squatted, and pulled his pants down. Taking his small dick, I easily slid it down my throat and wanted to gag, but my body kept going uninterupted.

It had happened again! I’d become her. No, I was still her. Or was I? I could feel the weight of her breasts on my chest. Her large earrings jingled as I bobbed my surgically enhanced mouth up and down...Gregg? Gregg’s large penis. The whore’s long fingernails were attached to my hands. But I wasn’t her, I was me.

My mind was trapped in her body. What the hell was I doing? Adrenaline coursed through me. I tried to get a grasp on the situation. I tried to dislodge his member from my throat.

Before I could get it halfway out, he grabbed the back of my head and shoved my face back down on him. “The fuck’s the problem? Suck, bitch!”

He didn’t notice a difference. To him, I was the whore. Only my mind was itself again. I lost control over my body. Her body. I couldn’t stop. The whore’s instincts took over and all I could do was helplessly watch as she gave him one of the best blow-jobs he’d probably ever had.

I was the whore. Her reactions were becoming my reactions. She enjoyed the salty taste of his cock, so I, too, enjoyed it. I could feel the heat building up between our legs. She wanted the man to roughly pull her up, rip her top off and show the world her massive fake tits then smash them into the desk as he fucked her from behind. I wanted him to forcefully stand me up, expose my silicon filled breasts, and squish them into the table as he fucked me from behind.

We almost got our wish. The man pushed me down on all fours and positioned himself behind me. The only time the whore wore panties was to take them off on stage. That meant the only time I wore panties was to take them off on stage, and since I wasn’t, there was no resistance for him to slide his meat into my glistening slit.

I’d never felt such a sensation before. I was being fucked like a bitch for all the world to see. Anyone who came into the club couldn’t help but see us rut. I’d never felt this way in my life. The feable concepts I’d had of love and passion were crushed out of me with every thrust, replaced by a more basic and animalistic instinct: lust.

I screamed out as I orgasmed. The bustling police station quieted around me. I wiped my brow as I felt my embarrasment flush my checks. Had that all really been just a dream? It must have been just a dream. I heaved a sigh of relief, but wow! It had all felt so real....

As I rubbed my sweaty palms down the length of my denim skirt, my eyes darted around the station, trying to determine if anyone had noticed. The two potheads across from me were giving me a knowing look and I quickly adverted my eyes. The brawling frat boys were gone; so was the whore.

My heart still raced. To calm myself, more to ground myself in reality and out of dreamland, I reminded myself who I really was. I wasn’t the whore. I was a waitress who’d been picked up on her day off for buying weed from the kids across from me.

The bathroom was within sight, but I’d been told to sit and wait. The cops were pretty busy. After they’d gone through the guys I’d bought from, it was like the forgot about me. What irony. I was too embarrased to say anything. How do you tell a cop that you’d like him to hurry up and book you for buying pot? I caught the attention of the duty officer and motioned towards the bathroom. She acknowledged my request with a nod and motioned that it was okay for me to go.

Standing up, I walked past my fellow detainees. It sucked to feel like you’d been put on hold even though you were there in person, but I’d been making the best of my situation. I’d been coyly making eyes with the guys and I was hoping that get me a discount down the road.

I went into the ladies’ room. I didn’t really need to use the bathroom, I just needed to be alone to get my head on straight. Daydreaming about being the whore had given me the best orgasm I’d had in my entire life. Between the ones I’d had with boyfriends and the ones I gave myself regularly, I had a decent sample size to compare it to. Were her orgasms always so intense? Maybe if I made myself a little bit like the whore, not too much, just a little bit, maybe I could enjoy similar ones.

I didn’t want to be her. It wasn’t that my career as a waitress had made me that much more better off. Fair or not, women like her disgusted me. I hated their lifestyle, their attitude and their looseness. They gave all women a bad name. But there were things she had right. Maybe. Like those blue contacts.

Holding my hair up in a bunch behind my head, I looked at my reflection in the mirror, tilting my head from left to right. Yeah, blue eyes would strengthen my somewhat soft features. I wouldn’t give myself a cheap bleach job like the whore, but I didn’t need it. My natural light brown would go well with blue eyes.

My biggest problem was my skirt was too long. I remembered the alluring long legs of the whore and felt worthless. No, worthless wasn’t the right word, because my legs could rival hers, if not surpass them. The issue was that I didn’t show them. The hours I spent walking around waiting tables, combined with my aerobics routine had perfectly sculpted my legs. However, hidden under this long skirt, I might as well have given up, gone out and bought five cats and a tub of Rocky Road.

But this was my best skirt. I’d saved several months worth of tips at the restaurant just to get it, though now I wondered why. I had to do something about it. It had to be shortened or hemmed...or cut! I rummaged through my bag and pulled out my Swiss Army Knife. I knew there was no way in hell that I could cut my skirt in any halfway decent matter with it, but I was beyond caring.

I slipped out of the offending skirt and stood in the middle of the police station bathroom in my blouse, panties and one inch pumps. I probably should have gone into a stall, but I was obsessed and didn’t care if anyone saw. I jabbed my pocket knife into my formerly nice skirt. Setting my sights on just below the back pockets, I did my best to cut it evenly all the way around.

When finished, I held up my work to inspect it. The back was perfect. It would show the beginning of the curve of my ass and I hoped it would highlight its shape. The front, on the other hand, hadn’t gone so well. I made a mental note that if I wasn’t careful in how I sat, anyone who looked would have a perfectly clear view of my panties.

One of the toilets flushed and a stall door opened and closed. Police shoes don’t make clicking sounds like the ones I heard. The stilettos tapped their way up behind me and stopped. Standing in my panties, still holding my freshly chopped up skirt, I turned around to look at my nightmare.

Her one blue eye pierced into me while the brown one roamed my body. It occurred to me, if I’d been just a bit more shallow, I might have wound up like her. Well, shallower and more promiscuous.

She looked familiar. I had a feeling I’d seen her outside of the precinct before, although I couldn’t place where. Maybe I’d waited on her at the restaurant before. Wherever I’d seen her, I couldn’t take the intensity of her bi-colored stare. I shifted my focus lower down her body and stopped on the giant plastic orbs that jutted off her chest. From my daydream of being her, I knew that she proudly referred to as her “tits”. What was it like to have massive mounds like that?

Absorbed in thought and staring at the clevage the whore’s halter top provided me, the shaking of her breasts was all the warning I had as she lashed out and smacked me to the ground. I collapsed like a rag doll. I looked up at the asshole that hit me.

“Fucking hell, Gregg? The fuck was that for?” The words came out of my mouth for me. I didn’t even know where I was, let alone who decked me.

“You fucking passed out, bitch. Get yer shit and go fucking clean up. You’re on stage.”

I was her again. I was the whore and I’d picked up where I’d left off, post-climax with the doorman’s cum running out of my cunt. Only there was a problem. I’d never gone back to being me. I wasn’t supposed to be a fledgling waitress. I was a successful businesswoman.

In the reality I was supposed to go back to, I’d finished my four-year degree in three. In the reality I had gone back to, I’d failed out of college in three. The me I knew I was in my core, she’d quickly moved up the ranks to be the one giving out the orders. The me that was waiting for my return had quickly moved from table to table taking orders.

The outrage that I wanted to feel was drowned out by the raging hormones of the whore’s body. Trying to get angry over it was like trying to get angry over missing a rerun of a favorite show. The disappointment was there, but I’d seen it before and knew I wasn’t missing anything. I wasn’t the businesswoman anymore, I was a waitress.

Getting up off the floor, I could feel the weight of the stripper’s silicon implants pulling my center of gravity forward. I felt like a car whose hood ornament was larger than the rest of it. My curiosity had been cured. I couldn’t wait to be back in my body and its natural B cups.

With the outlandish size of my...her tits and comical height of the heels I was wearing, thrown in with the orgasm-induced unsteadiness in my legs, I was difficult for me to move. The beefy bouncer raised the back of his hand to me.

“Didn’t you fucking hear what I said?”

I don’t know why, but an incedent at the restaurant I waited at flashed into my mind. Months ago, I’d messed up an order and the customer demanded to see the manager. He said he wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than my dismissal. I begged and pleaded for him to forget about it. He relented when I agreed to pay for his meal.

I wasn’t physically afraid of him, like I was with the beast rearing down on me, but it was the power of intimidation he had over me. Just the threat of seeing the manager and I was paying for his lunch. Sure, my manager probably would have stood by me, but in the moment, I was weak and scared.

If I forced myself to be honest, even the “real” me, the workaholic, really was just afraid and intimidated by those above her and that’s why she convinced herself she did it for love of the work. Of course she... She? That was me! Of course I wanted to get to the top and be the one doing the intimidating. But try as I might, I would forever be passed over for promotions because I was too weak.

I readied myself for the blow. The psychological intimidation paled in comparison to what Gregg’s threat of violence made me feel. How could the whore stand it?

The blow never came. Before he could strike me, the whore lashed my leg out and kicked him in the balls hard enough to double him over. Then she elbowed the top of his head and he went crashing to the ground. Using my foot to roll him over, the whore stabbed my spiked heel into his groin and twisted.

“You ever fucking touch me or another girl again and I’ll rip your god-damn balls off and feed them to the no good slut that spat you out of her cunt. You worthless piece of shit.” With that, the whore twisted my foot and Gregg curled into a fetal ball.

Regaining control of my...her body, I turned and headed towards the dressing room that all the girls shared. I was high. I was fucking high. I’d never felt so elated before. The whore felt no intimidation. Neither the workaholic, nor myself would have been capable of that. It made me wish I really was the whore, in that one sense.

But I was the whore in all the senses. It was my tight ass that swayed with each step I took. It was my chest so swelled up with pride for what I had done to Gregg that it made my ginormous jugs seem to double in size, yet feel like they were filled with helium, pulling my back up straight and lifting my head up high. Nothing could bring me down.

I stepped into my dressing room in my strip club.

“She’s here, Momma,” a voice rang out as soon as I stepped through the door.

Momma. No matter how proud of myself I was, it wasn’t my club, it was hers. Emotions welled up inside of me. I’d never met the woman before, but the whore provided the feelings for me. I was apprehensive; I was late and Momma would be angry. I was elated; I would get to see Momma before going on stage. I was afraid, not for myself, but for Gregg. My lip was swollen from where he’d hit me the first time. Momma took care of her girls and she wouldn’t take kindly to him hitting one of her favorites.

One of her favorites. After standing up for myself, I didn’t think I could feel any better. The thought of being one of Momma’s favorites drowned that feeling out. In a lifetime devoid of interpersonal relationships that lasted longer than the time it took her to fuck the person, the whore had a fanatical devotion to the woman she called Momma. She would do anything for her. I would do anything for her.

I turned my head towards the stripper who’d called out to Momma. She was one of the “naturals”. The plump boobs on her chest were home grown. Even her lips and ass were the same as the ones she’d grown up with. The only thing artificial on her was her makeup, heavily applied to hide her poor complexion. Momma had them around because she’d told me some men preferred the look. I didn’t understand. Who would want that?

Out of their bra, her funbags were more like saddlebags, drooping on her chest. She had no ass to speak of and her thin lips looked as inviting as getting a blowjob from a weedwhacker.

Someone like me, though, I was crafted for sex. There wasn’t an inch on my body that didn’t shout, “Fuck me! Use me! I am sex!” Not me! The whore. I was just a passenger in her head. I had to stop letting her infect my mind as well.

I headed to Momma’s dressing area. It was elevated above the rest of the room so she could see everything. There’d been no need for the brown-noser to tell on me. Momma knew I was there the second I stepped through the door. She probably knew I was there before I had even stepped into the building.

Momma didn’t look at me as I stepped next to her. She continued to fix her makeup as she spoke. “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, Momma.”

“You weren’t harassed by the cops were you? How many times do I have to tell you to be careful? Looking the way you do, they’re going to assume you are selling your body. Which would be spot on since you are a whore. My perfect whore.”

I almost came right there. To the whore, to me, the title was like a badge of honor, but coming from Momma, the word made me feel like I was actually being fucked. More and more the whore’s mind was becoming mine. “No, I didn’t have no troubles with the cops.”

She finally turned and looked at me. Her brilliant blue eyes, the ones I imitated with my contacts, narrowed in anger. Heat poured off her in waves. “Who touched you?”

“Momma...”

Her gentle touch cut me off as she reached out and stroked my puffy lip where Gregg had hit me. I didn’t need to say a word, she knew from just touching me.

A calm settled over her. She picked up the red phone sitting on her desk and spoke into it. “Tony, bring that fat slob, Gregg, back here.”

Fat slob? Gregg was anything but. The contempt I had for the muscle-headed freak who had tried to beat me wouldn’t let me forget that. I’d taken care of him, though. I didn’t need Momma stepping in for me.

Tony was everything Gregg tried so hard to be and failed at miserably. If I was the female version of walking sex, he was the male. Perfect in every way, Tony had women begging and paying for him to fuck them. But he didn’t. He was Momma’s. As much as I wished I could try out that fabulous looking cock of his, I couldn’t. It went in only one pussy: Momma’s.

Finally, Tony showed up dragging a fat, balding old man. Sweat stuck thin strands of hair racing over the top of his bald patch to his head. Everything about him was short fat and stubby, his body, his fingers, his legs, and as I knew from experience, even his cock.

This wasn’t the man who’d hit me. Where was the ridiculously built bouncer? I thought back to my first experience as the whore. I remembered distinctly fucking this fat little man as soon as I arrived like I always did. He was one of my best customers. I reached in my pocket and felt the grand he’d given me.

How could I have thought Gregg was a built bouncer? He was a fat perv that liked to fuck me before I got up on stage. The fucker got off on the idea of his jizz swishing around inside of me while I danced for other men. Since I was late tonight, he hadn’t had time to “taste for confirmation.” I didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t have time to let him lick his skuzz as it drooled out of me like usual and he’d gotten all pissy. So he hit me.

The glare Momma gave him cowered the frightened man even more. “Tony, throw this fat little shit out back. He’s done here.”

Dammit, that’s why I didn’t want Momma to know. Her over protectiveness was going to cost me a lot of cash. “Momma! He’s one of my best johns!”

Momma held up her hand to stop Tony. He had Gregg by the collar of his shirt. The blubber on his neck pinched in and flopped over the tightly drawn fabric. Beads of sweat proliferated his upper lip. He gaped like a fish once or twice.

“Fine. One month ban. When you come back, you can fuck any girl but her, but you’ll still pay her like she is. That means you’ll pay both, but only get the one. Understand?”

Gregg wobbled his head in understanding as much as he could in Tony’s death grip. That was as much of a response as he could muster before Tony dragged him out.

Momma was unbelievable. When she spoke, it wasn’t fear or intimidation that she projected, but more of stating fact. Her command to Gregg wasn’t one of “or else” but more of just stating how things would be and everyone knew that they’d be that way.

She brushed my face with her hand and said, “My poor dear, come kiss Momma and make your boo-boos all better.”

With her hand still on my face, she directed my gaze down to her bare, spread legs. I didn’t need any more prompting and I squatted down and dove in. I kissed and licked around her outer lips before making my way up to her clit. My tongue was buried deep inside her when she pulled me further forward by my hair.

“Don’t hold back. Play with yourself.”

Following her orders, I dropped my hands down from her thighs and plunged one into my steamy slit. Soon, I was screaming out in ecstasy.

It took me a second to take in where I was. I was back in the po-po’s bathroom. My chopped up skirt was laying in the middle of the floor while I squatted against the far wall. My right hand was well into my cunt while my left supported me on the wall. My tongue lashed about like it was really lapping up some stripper/ brothel boss.

Two fucking times now that I’d cum like a fat kid left alone in an ice cream truck just by daydreaming about being that whore. Two times since the dicks had brought me in for carrying around a little coke. Like it’d fucking stick. My daddy would make sure that shit was gone from my record before I was out of the fucking building.

Though not if someone came in and found me doing my best impression of that damn whore. Daddy would overlook my little fun with drugs and help a girl out, but he was still pretty prudish. He’d never understood my desire to have my titties buffed out into nice D’s, but he paid for the job anyway. I couldn’t exactly tell him the real reason was that it was easier to score good shit when the guys selling wanted to score me. And sometimes they did, trading fucks for fun worked out well for me.

But what was I doing acting like some homecumming queen? Must have been the flirting with those two hippie looking guys in the entrance. They hadn’t been able to stop staring at my panties ever since they sat down, and I made sure they didn’t have to try too hard to see them. I wondered what they’d think when I went back out sans-panties and with my snatch drooling like a dam had burst. Gawd, if only I’d gotten my clit pierced.

As I stood up, I slipped my panties off and tossed them into the garbage. After a slight pause, I undid the remaining few buttons on my white blouse and slipped my bra off and tossed it out with its matching bottoms.

My previous style left ample cleavage available for anyone who’d cared to look, but with that whore strutting around, I had to change something or every one would just stare at her. Drastic times call for drastic shit and all. I tied my blouse in a knot under my boobs and checked myself in the mirror. Something wasn’t quite complete.

I turned on the water and splashed a bit on my chest, like it’d gotten wet from me washing my face. I got enough water on my shirt that my nipples became visible through the fabric. It wasn’t too much so that I looked like I was in another wet T-shirt contest, but it let whoever looked see what was under it without too much trouble. I was ready to go out there and reclaim my male attention.

Out in the hall, only the bitch desk girl and stoners were left. The two frat boys that’d been fighting over me had been taken off somewhere. Jealousy was a fucking worthless emotion. I would have put out for both of them, but they had to go all fighty and start punching each other. But it was fucking hot. That might have been why I was so steamy. Sexy guys fighting over you can be quite the turn on.

Sexy assholes more like it. Their fight had gotten the bacon there, which had gotten me busted for my coke. I was more upset that I’d be losing some good shit more than I was about being picked up again. So instead of doing some blow while fucking two hot guys, I had to wait for a lecture from the head hog and my dad while the boys got to sit in jail.

The whore was gone off somewhere, too. I was a bit let down she wasn’t out there for the fight I’d thought we’d have. I could hold my own against a fucking tramp like that any day.

The guys on the fun side of the law beamed when they saw how my attire had changed. The losers hadn’t seen nothing yet. Their dumbass grins couldn’t get any wider as they stared at my nips through the damp fabric clinging to them.

I tossed my dyed blond hair over my shoulder and sat down. I spread my legs and pretended to straighten my skirt to get their attention down there. When I was sure they were looking I did my best Sharon Stone; I picked up my left leg and slowly crossed it over my right. Their eyes went huge and one of them mouthed “whoa”.

They were mine. And as easy as that I had a new outlet to use for a free score from time to time. I planned on keeping them believing they were inches away of getting some from me, but unless they were packing some serious meat, I’d only be theirs in their fantasies.

I was about to slowly switch top legs when the desk cunt came over and tapped my shoulder. “Your dad called. The sheriff will see you now.”

The two hippies saddened when they overheard the news of my departure. I hadn’t gotten their digits yet. So much for free shit. The best made plans of dicks and pussies and whatnot. I left something for them to remember me by as I dropped my bag on the floor. Bending over at the hips in my four-inch heels pushed my skirt up and over my ass so the boys behind me could clearly see ass cheek-pussy-ass cheek.

The pig paper-pusher showed me to the sheriff’s door. I’d been there enough I knew exactly where it was. It was like I was back in high school and being sent to the principal’s office every day almost (both were meaningless).

When I got to the sheriff’s office, the door opened up and the whore stepped out while straightening her top. The bitch gave me a look like she knew what I was about to do. She was wrong, though. I wasn’t like her, I wouldn’t fuck just anybody. A girl’s gotta have standards and the sheriff was like old. And I didn’t need to fuck him. My dad paid his campaign so much money that the asshole should be fucking Daddy.

“Good luck topping me, skank,” she said and strode out of the joint like there’d never been a prostituting charge. Crazy bitch and her off colored eyes, she should fucking find that other contact and put it back in.

I turned to step through the door and rammed my face hard between Momma’s legs. The hit knocked me from my squatting position back on to my ass. My big tits shook on my chest.

Momma was laughing at me. “Only you could perform oral sex so admirably and then do something so ridiculous.”

“Does that mean you liked it?”

Momma picked up some of her makeup and started to fix the mess my face was while she spoke. “Honey, it means I loved it. Even Tony’s cock has a hard time rivaling your tongue.”

She talked over my head a lot of the time. I tried not to show how hard it was for me to get what she said, but she knew I didn’t know. I had a feeling she liked me even more for that for some reason.

I looked up at her. “Good, so long as you’re happy, Momma.”

“Don’t play coy with me. You know you enjoyed it, too. I felt you cum.”

She was right. I actually didn’t care if Momma was happy or not. All I cared was that I came. Even money and drugs came second.

“It’s almost time for you to get out on stage,” Momma said. “But I want to reward you.”

“Reward me? What for?”

“The other girls can’t hold a candle to how much money you bring me in and none of them do with with half your enthusiasm. On top of that, you tongue fuck me like your mother was a vacuum cleaner.”

My mother wasn’t a vacuum cleaner. She would have been just as pissed as Daddy was about how I turned out. It was weird how Momma would say something like that when all night I’d been daydreaming about the night I became a whore.

“I’ll grant you any one wish you want. Bigger tits, any other cosmetic enhancement, anything you want.”

I didn’t have to think I knew what I wanted. Tony’s cock in my cunt. I opened my mouth to say so, but Momma stopped me.

“Shh, don’t waste it yet. As delicious as you think Tony’s dick is, there might be something more you want. Wait on it for awhile.”

“No, Momma, I know what I want.”

“Well, I guess I’m giving you a string on that wish. You can’t have it right now. You have to wait. Now get out on stage, shake your fake tits and ass enough to make your father proud.”

I stood up and smiled at Momma. Not matter how hard I shook myself, Daddy would never be proud of me for it. I didn’t care about that though. I didn’t care about that since that night. He and I hadn’t even spoken since then.

He dreamed he’d groom me to take over his company. Something in me believed that I’d once even been some crusty old upper management workaholic. Well, I was a workaholic but when fucking is your work, that word’s got a whole new meaning. When I was a little girl, I’d shared his dream. I used to go to his office and pretend to be that crusty cunt, but I had a strange feeling that it was more than that.

The way I turned out to be, Daddy would have been better off dreaming I’d become some waitress or some shit. That would have been more likely, though even that was shot the first time I finger myself. After the first time I came, I didn’t want nothing more than to cum all the fucking time.

I guess Daddy would have been happy just having me as his trust-fund flunky, so long as I pretended to live by his rules. I did my best to, until that whore came along and inspired me.

Stepping out on stage, I realized I hadn’t changed my clothes. The only thing I had to strip off was my shirt and skirt. There wouldn’t be much of a tease, but fuck it, those yummy dicks were there to see all of me.

It probably helped that there was less for me to take off. Try as I might, I couldn’t keep my mind on the dance. It kept wandering back to the night I went from druggy trust-fund baby to full fledged whore.

Some annoying part in my mind said I wasn’t supposed to be either. It said I was supposed to be a “respectable businesswoman”. As if I would ever wanna do something like that.

After the whore threw down that challenge to me, I went into overdrive. I had to fuck that old pig better than she did. All plans of quietly ignoring the shit spewing out of his mouth vanished from my mind. I was obsessed with getting his cock into me.

The saddest thing was that it wasn’t hard to do. My shirt was still clinging to my small D cup boobies and he kept licking his lips while blabbing at me. I didn’t toy with him like I had the boys in the hall. I just spread my bare crotch wide. The geezer stuttered and repeated the same shit over. Just like the pot-heads, I knew he was mine. Unlike them, though I wanted him.

“You wanna suck on my titties?” I asked him. I untied my shirt and dropped it on the floor. “Or do you just want to pound my pussy?” My skirt joined my shirt on the floor. I stood in the head pig’s office wearing only my four inch heels.

I remembered how he fucked me so hard, it felt like it was happening while I was dancing on stage. My dance couldn’t be called a dance anymore. I was down on all fours moaning like the chief really was behind me, fucking me.

Pulling off his cock, I sat on his desk, drooling juices onto whatever files had been there. On stage, I rolled over. The instant his shaft slid into me in my memories, my fingers found their way into my slit on stage. I knew I shouldn’t finger-fuck myself on the main stage. That’s what the private rooms were for, I just couldn’t control myself.

I was laying face down on the chief’s desk, my pussy right on the edge with the man himself holding my legs as far apart as he could while he stroked in and out, when my old man walked in to get me.

My face had been turned towards the door so I got a good look at the surprise on his face when he saw us. “What the fuck are you doing?” he roared.

“Fuuuucking,” I moaned.

The shock turned to anger. “You’re no daughter of mine! You’re cut off.”

“The.fuck.do.I.care? I’ll.fuck.for.fucking.fuck.money.fuuuuuuuck!”

“You whore!”

That was it. Having my daddy call me a whore while his best friend fucked me concreted my goal in life. I wanted to be that whore. My realization gave me the best fucking orgasm I’d ever had.

Back on stage, I climaxed almost as hard. Everyone in the place had their eyes locked on me. The serving girls stopped to watch. The bartender stopped taking orders, not that there were any to take; the girls weren’t moving and the guys around the bar were all staring at my show. Even the other girls who were giving lap dances stopped to watch me perform my memory live on stage.

My orgasm sent the chief over the top and he launched his load into me. His spunk leaked out of my cunny and splattered on the floor. Daddy could see it all. The audience could see it all.

I flipped over and spread my pussy lips at him and them. “How about it, Pops? I’ll give you a family discount.”

My song ended and I grabbed my clothes and the few bills that had been tossed on stage before everyone had stopped to watch. In a belated effort to get my attention, men showered the stage with money. I collected it all. My night was getting better and better.

Daddy didn’t say a word to me. He didn’t answer my question. He just closed the door. That was the last time I saw him. I would have fucked him though.

I slipped off the desk and put my clothes back on. My first john, the chief of police, had gotten dressed as well.

“Listen, bub. Here’s the deal. I’m going to be the best fucking whore the world’s ever seen, but you pigs are going to pick me up for whoring and shit. Let’s say that when that happens, I fuck your brains out for free and you just let me go. How’s that sound?”

The chief just nodded his approval. I didn’t need daddy. I made my own get-out-of-jail-free card. One that I’d used so many fucking times since.

I used my shirt as a makeshift bag to carry all my cash back into the dressing room. I dumped it all on my dresser and sat down. One of my contacts had fallen out during my routine. The makeup Momma had done for me was also fucked.

First thing first, I fixed my face. After a dance like that, I was gonna have a lot of calls for the champagne room. I’d just finished up and started looking for a fresh pair of contacts when one of the girls I partied with most of our off nights came in from the floor.

“Nice dancing, slut. Why don’t you just take a dildo out there with you next time,” she laughed.

“Hell, let’s make it a strap-on and I’ll fuck you with it.” I reached out and put my hand on her mound. I wiggled two fingers around her panties and slid them inside her pussy. We’d fucked and had been paid to fuck lots of times, but I’d never felt her so wet. “And from the feel of things, you wish I’d do that right now.”

“Oh, god, as much as I’d fucking die for you to fuck me, there’s a prick out there that’s busting a nut to see you right now. Hell, he tried to burst in here but Tony stopped him.”

“Damn, looks like I’ll get myself a new regular.”

“Lucky bitch!”

We both laughed. Forgetting about my contacts, I grabbed a new halter and cut-off jean skirt out of my wardrobe and threw them on. Walking past the looks of the other dancers, I headed out to the main floor to meet my new fan.

He was standing by Tony with his hands behind his back. His shit brown suit was too clean for someone wanting to fuck me in one of the back rooms. He had a fresh buzz cut and an aura that said he considered even being in a strip club beneath him. Fucking bitch. She could have warned me. That strap on was going to go up her ass next time we fucked.

I’d already turned around for him to slap the cuffs on me when he started blabbing. “Miss, you’re under arrest for lewd public acts.”

“Blah blah blah. Whatever, pig, fucking just get me downtown so I can get back in time for my next act.”

He went on with my rights and shit. It was kind of cute. He hadn’t been around long enough to get jaded yet. Maybe in a year or two the dick’s dick would be a regular in my cunt.

The pig’s sty was busy when he drug me through the entrance. I caught the sweet scent of weed coming off someone in the hallway. The fresh meat dropped me off in front of the desk cunt.

She looked up. Recognizing me, she buzzed my pet pig. I smacked on some gum and played with my hair. I leaned forward and then turned back to look for the pot I’d smelled. My eyes made contact with some crusty looking bitch.

Her expensive looking clothes and prim face reminded me of my fucking mother. Daddy wanted me to turn out to be a shit like that. I wondered what she would think if she turned into a whore like me. “I wish I could see that,” I muttered.