The Prostitute

Sex Story Submitted By Krista Ford

Her name was Sestina. Because she was named after poetry, she tended to look for poetry in everything in her life. The rhythm of a man's breath could be measured when she was having sex with him, almost in feet. "Aahmm, Aahmm," they were long drawn out iambic feet to her, heartbeats that she'd search to find in every man that laid in her bed. She felt that if a man could allow himself to make such noises, then she could feel a sense of the only man she truly wanted to feel. A man she never felt before, but would give up the very name her mother gave her, the only thing she truly loved about herself, just to feel him against her body, her core rubbing up against his core, because she knew they'd fit together nicely.

"SSSSHHHH, don't say anything, just lie down, let me take you." She'd always whisper when they were in her room. They'd follow behind her soft footsteps, sometimes putting their feet right in the same places where she had walked as if by stepping in her footsteps, they could melt into her further than they already had. "My name is Sestina. Do you know what that means?" She'd whisper as she looked into their eyes, speaking softly, only inches away from their mouths. She'd unbutton their shirts, unzip their pants, then reach inside and feel how big they had grown for her. "MMMM, you are a big one." She'd never lie. She'd find whatever truth there was in each person that entered her room because she felt that finding truth meant finding him, feeling him, the only man Sestina wanted to feel. The others were merely filling his space. She had reached indifference with other men so that she could find the freedom to feel the man she was farthest away from touching.

She'd lie naked on the bed, place her face in the cup of their necks while letting them cum in her hands, feeling the warm silk of it run between her fingers; she always loved the feel of cum. How warm it was, how it always grew sticky. She'd let it dry like kids let glue dry on their fingers then wonder as she felt the clear sheath of it hugging her skin if she'd ever get to feel his. Would she? Or would these men that paid her, before walking in her footsteps, be the closest thing to having him near her? Because she was shy. Couldn't even bring herself to talk to him, couldn't smile into his eyes for fear of breaking right there in the street, for fear of being seen as nothing but a prostitute, something, someone, that was already broken by the very nature of her work.

How could Sestina climb up the stairs and be seen just like a normal woman? A woman that longed to be held by only one man, by the painter who rose from the ground by rope ladders, reaching the tops of the gables that overlooked the canals, where furniture, beds, and pianos, where things too wide to fit up ladder-thin stairs, were hoisted through windows. He painted those gables. He brushed with white fine strokes over intricate strips of wood clinging to brick centuries old. His hands touched those worn pieces of wood, kept them from rotting. He sanded them down before painting them. He painted over emblems that once signified who lived in the buildings. He painted violins, lions with open roar-less mouths, and swords; he painted swords. And he also painted flowers. The most beautiful flowers she had ever seen, and yet she still couldn't raise herself from the steps below the street that led to her room to tell him how pretty she thought they were. She stayed below like the servants before her had done, where she felt she belonged.

When it came time for him to paint her building, she peeked out from behind her curtain and watched him pull himself up the front side of it every day for a week. He painted heart emblems with ribbons connecting them together. She told herself that it was his and her heart he was painting. Sestina kept her curtain shut for that week, never opening it in the day, coming out only when he was gone.

When it got too dark for him to paint, she'd peer through the crack in her curtain and watch him collect his brushes, sandpaper, spatulas, drop cloth, knives. She could see that his back was sore from hunching over, hour after hour, wetting his brushes. She had a knack for being able to see where the body needed massaging. She'd study how people sat in chairs with twisted spines, how they'd walk with stiffened necks cocked slightly to the left or right. How they'd favor a knee in order to keep from bending the other one as much. And if the world weren't so uptight about their bodies, keeping it off-limits except to those they knew or paid, she'd give free massages, press the hardness out of the necks, shoulders, and backs of strangers that she saw in the most pain. She'd twist their spines like a pearl necklace, loosening the knots collecting under their scapulas, kneading the bumps out of lower backs because she wanted to soften the world. She could even tell where a person would have pain in the future through their body language, through their repeated gestures and stances, so watching the man she longed to touch made her want to press the tightness out of his lower back, the tightness out of her world.

He'd walk past all the prostitutes shimmying behind windows in their teddy's, corsets, and thongs, never stopping long enough to contemplate ongoing in. He was too tired. He'd walk with a skyward stare, studying the emblems, the gables, and wood, and even though she knew that he was unaware of her presence, she still loved the painter. She'd follow him with her eyes like a male pigeon circling around the scent of another, hearing its mating coo, taking in the scent that stretches its way out to find the nearest beak, letting the other know they're ready.

Each morning she'd step outside, long enough to find out where he was working. She needed to know where he was so that when another man was on top of her, she could close her eyes and try and feel him pushing in and out of her. Their hands would squeeze her breasts, and they'd become his hands. Their breath would quicken over the top of hers, and she'd join them in their panting, "hhh-uhh, hhh-uhh," until she convinced herself that it was him she was breathing with. When her painter ran out of buildings to refresh on her street, she took to walking.

She walked every morning searching for him, looking for a man standing high in the air with brushes in his hands as if he were an angel waving a wand of dust over her head. She searched every day, and each day that she couldn't find him, she had to force herself back down the stairs to work. And the day finally came when Sestina no longer whispered to men, no longer heard rhythms in their breath; she no longer wanted to massage the world. Instead, she began motioning with quick, staccato-like gestures for them to follow her to her bed, tightening every muscle, growing frigid.

The door to Libby's room was inside of a horseshoe-shaped hallway with other doors lined up all along the horseshoe. While standing behind the glass doors, the girls could watch one another, waiting to be picked. They'd watch each other fluff up their hair with their fingers, apply more lipstick even when they didn't need it, pull their boobs closer together in their bras, creating more cleavage, while switching their weight from one hip to another. The men paraded through the narrow aisle starting at one end of the loop, leaving out of the other end if nothing behind the glass excited them if nothing made it hard for them to breathe if they didn't want to smell the woman behind the glass, feel her skin or freeze their eyes upon her. They'd leave the girls standing there, waiting to be picked.

The horseshoe girls would leave together after work in their sweatsuits and tennis shoes because they never dressed sexy when they were off work. They'd put on their comfies, burp out loud, laugh out loud, fart, and wear ponytails and no make-up. They'd meet two hours before work every night in Marlena's room for a pre-work party. All of them bringing something to snack on, usually chips and dips and crackers and cheese, sometimes meat slices and always a few bottles of wine and hot tea. They'd all bring a few outfits and swap them back 'n' forth before deciding on who was wearing what for the night while playing striptease as they popped bras off and swirled them in the air before flinging them to whoever hollered out, "I wanna wear that one."

Their conversations always led back to the men they had fucked. Karen and Olga shared the story about the man who couldn't decide between the two of them. "Can I have you both?" he asked, (of course he could, anything's possible for the right price in Amsterdam). He was hard before his pants were down. He had them both give him a blow job at the same time, watching them part their lips before putting their own share of his penis into their mouths, licking it softly like cats. Their tongues kept touching one another's as they slid their mouths up and down on each side of it, taking turns inserting it all the way into their mouths, letting it touch where their tonsils would have been if they still had any. When Olga was sucking, Karen was fingered by him. Her pulsing opening liked the feel of his long fingers penetrating her. He started with one finger then added another until he had three fingers deep inside of her, feeling her slippery walls growing wetter, the deeper and more forceful he went until he had all of his fingers inside, finger fucking her till he was ready for her to suck on his dick again. Then he pressed on her head with her own cum still on his hands, telling her in a physical way that he wanted her to put him back in her mouth.

Karen and Olga laughed the most during the story when they described how their faces looked after he squirted on them. When he got close to spewing, he removed the rubber and jacked off onto both of their faces since they didn't swallow anymore anyone they didn't know. Karen got most of the jism in her eye and laughed at how Olga helped her wipe it off while a string of it stretched over her cheek with some of it hooking onto the corner of her mouth. The rest of the girls' stories weren't as happy as that one, and they tended not to talk about the violent ones. About the time Karen got a bloody eye, how the man left broken coke bottle bits inside of her vagina, or the one about Marlena ending up with her wrists and ankles bruised from being tied so tightly that she couldn't wear anything with elastic around her ankles or wrists for a week. They didn't talk about the ones that brought the police to their rooms with cops taking down information about the men, what they looked like, how tall they were, what nationality they guessed them to be, and on and on. They focused on the more uplifting stories, maybe because they needed to lie to themselves in order to stay.

Their favorite stories to hear were Olga's. She used to travel in a van with three guys that drove around the entire state of Florida, picking up women on the beach, at laundry mats, and off the street. They were making a porn movie called "Fuckin' ‘n' Truckin' in the Sunshine State." They'd usually end up with young girls fresh out of high school that had already left home that spent most of their time on the beach, that needed extra money, girls that were looking to be superstars overnight wanna be models, and also just plain ole naive girls not knowing what exactly they were getting into until the numbers were too high to refuse.

One time they picked up a girl named Maria, who was walking down the street on a normal hot sticky day in Miami. She wore a tight pink mini strapless sundress and brown leather pump sandals. She had a voluptuous ass that shook with deliberate soft sways when she walked, and the guy riding in the passenger seat noticed it right away. "Look at that ass, how much ya think it'll take ta get ‘er in here?" They turned on the camera, pulled over, idled the van next to a very unsuspecting girl walking home from the grocery with a bag full of chips, bananas, and soda. They lied to Maria and told her they were making a documentary on human nature for cable and that they only wanted to ask her a few questions and that if she got in the van, just for a few questions, they'd give her thirty dollars. It was hot, and Maria wanted air conditioning, but she was afraid of what might happen. She shook her long black hair that was so long when she went to the bathroom; she had to drape it over her shoulder so it wouldn't fall in her piss. She asked why she should trust them, then Olga told her that she would see to it that they behaved themselves like gentlemen.

She trusted Olga, took the thirty dollars out of the camera man's hand, who was standing hunched over while in the sliding doorway of the van. Another guy took her groceries from her, extended his hand, then helped her up. She took a seat next to him on a bench in the back of the van. The cameraman was the only one that did the talking and instructing. He started out with benign questions like, "What's your nationality? She told him Colombian. "What do you do for a living?" She told him she was a receptionist. "Where do you live?" "About a half a mile down the road." "Are you married?" She said no. Then the questions got more personal. "Do you like sex?" "Of course I like sex," she said. "You have a nice ass. Do you like to get it in the ass?" They all laughed, but then she asked, "What kind of documentary are you doing anyway?" "I said on human nature; sex is part of human nature, isn't it?" She smiled and asked when the movie would be on T.V. "As soon as we get enough pretty women like yourself to fill the film up." Then he asked if she would pull her top down cause she had beautiful breasts and should show the world how beautiful they are. She shook her head no; then he told her he'd give her a hundred dollars to pull her top down. She asked to see the money; first, he asked the guy in the passenger seat to give him the hundred, he took it then gave it to Maria.

"You have beautiful tits, Maria." The young man sitting next to her said after she peeled the tube top down over her double D's with white tiny triangle tan lines on them. Then she held them in her hands, smiling as the camera kept filming. "Good, now will you pull your panties down for another hundred?" the cameraman asked. She said no then he asked her how much money she made and if she wanted to earn more in thirty minutes than she ever would in a week then she reached her hand out for the hundred and she was up two hundred and thirty dollars and it had only been ten minutes.

Eric, the guy on the bench next to her, reached over to play with her nipples, and she started to pull away, but he said her breasts were beautiful, so she let him continue rolling her nipples between his fingers. She liked the attention. Maria then asked for someone else to get naked with her. Olga kept driving the van around the neighborhood while the guy in the passenger seat was growing hard, watching the beautiful Colombian girl get naked, so Eric took off his tank top, which seemed to satisfy Maria's sense of vulnerability.

The cameraman asked her to rub Eric's dick because he said they needed some excitement for the documentary and that sexual contact was definitely human nature. She laid her hand over his jean covered penis and said, "He's hard." Then she began to caress his swelling, scratching it softly with her manicured fingernails. The cameraman kept the film rolling on her while asking her questions, "Do you like sucking cock, Maria?" She answered, "Yes", her hand moved down to finger herself. "Are you a three S's Maria?" "What's a three S's?" She asked. "A semen sucking slut. Are you a semen sucking slut Maria?" She nodded yes while fingering her clit, "Yes," she answered. Eric pulled his pants off and sat back down next to her with his underwear still on. "You want to suck Eric's cock?" She looked at Eric and rubbed him through the top of his underwear, before pulling it out and licking the tip of it. "You like cock, Maria? What do you like best, Maria, to suck or fuck it? You a semen sucker or a cock fucker Maria?" The cameraman asked. "I like to suck," she answered. "Then get down your knees and suck my friend's cock. You made him hard with your big tits and dirty talk.

"She got down on her knees as the van rattled a little from making a sharp turn. She wobbled, then regained her balance, then shoved the entire length of Eric's dick to the back of her throat. "Are you a whore, Maria? Do you like being a whore, Maria? Don't answer me; just shake your head and keep his cock in your mouth." She shook her head, yes. "She wanted the fucking cock sucking. Look at how she sucks cock; she could suck a golf ball through a garden hose," he said while filming her sucking, while filming Eric's head slowly falling backward as his eyes rolled backward with it, lost in the feeling of Maria's mouth going up and down on him.

The cameraman told Maria to say, "I'm a semen sucking slut that loves cock," while it was still in her mouth. She said it with a warbled voice. He made her do it again and again until she had it deep enough in her mouth so that he couldn't understand a word she was saying. She started laughing, but the cameraman told her that he'd dump her off somewhere in a parking lot without any clothes if she didn't do as he told her. He also told her what she was doing was good for her, that she needed to complete what she started if she wanted to see herself on T.V. if she wanted the world to see how good a semen sucker she was. She kept sucking even though her knees were growing sore from the metal floor of the van. It kept circling around in the same part of town where they had picked her up.

He told her to hum "America the Beautiful", but she took the dick out and said she didn't know it. He laughed then told her to put Eric's cock back in her mouth and to not take it back out unless he told her to or else she'd find herself naked in Wal-Mart's parking lot. She obeyed, "Good girl, you're doing good. You don't know America the Beautiful then hum, Ole McDonald," he said. She hummed it while sucking Eric's dick, and everyone in the van laughed till they heard the cameraman ask her more questions. "You ever had cum shot in your eyes, Maria? You a whore Maria, that likes to have cum sprayed all over your face? You a slut Maria, look at the camera Maria, keep his dick in there and look at the camera." She looked up with her eyes open wide as Eric's cock was close to spewing. "Look at you, you have cock deep in your throat and let me remind you, Maria, you're sucking a guy literally right off the street, you're a semen swallowing slut, Maria. Do you know that? You're so pretty with a cock in your mouth, look at you." She smiled up at the camera. "Grab his balls, Maria, make him cum on your face, show the world what a good slut you are. Go on, Maria." She squeezed his balls with her right hand while bracing herself against the bench with her other hand, stabilizing herself against the movement of the van. "Hold his balls with both hands, Maria. His cock will keep you from falling. Go on, make him squirt on your face, you're a good little whore, go on, make him cum with both hands."

He smacked her ass; she kept sucking. "Keep his dick hard, Maria." He turned his camera to the guy in the passenger seat and said, "Let's grind the bitch." The guy stood up, walked back to the bench, unzipped, then shoved his dick in her pussy. Her mouth was full; her pussy was full. The cameraman kept asking questions, calling her a slut while she sucked, moaned, and agreed to everything he told her to do. "Look up at the camera Maria," he told her. She looked up at the camera then he told her to beg for Albert to fuck her without taking Eric's cock out of her mouth. "Fuck my pussy till I'm poochy," he told her to say. Maria said it with a stuffed mouth. "Say it again, Maria," the cameraman demanded. She said it while the guy from the passenger seat fucked her from behind, banging against her ass with his hips, pushing deep and hard into her, filling her full. "You're a semen sucker, a good little whore Maria," the cameraman said while filming her mouth and pussy being plugged by two men she had just met. Olga kept driving around in the same neighborhood, knowing they'd be dropping her off any minute, smelling of cum and no closer to her home than when they had found her.

The three guys and Olga started in Jacksonville and fucked their way to Key West. They ended up filming twelve different girls, and all of them got as trashed out as Maria, some even worse. The prettier they were, the worse they got it. Olga drove most of the time, but sometimes she was the designated fluff girl that would suck whoever started going limp. She'd get them hard again so they could finish their turn, and sometimes the cameraman would get ahead from her the same time he was filming. Whenever a guy had shot their wad with Olga, she would blot their sensitive cocks with a towel and dry them off. She was a good fluff girl, a good whore. Olga took the money she had made as to the fluff girl, little to none, but enough to fly to Amsterdam and rent a room and join the prostitutes union where she joined the other horseshoe girls, her new family after she had left her van fucking one in the states.