As always – I write for money – this has no tags so I expect really only the people following the story to read.
Email me at [email protected] if interested in having me write smut for you.
To answer a comment person – The story flips from perspectives because… gasps… the client -wanted- it that way. I am very much a slave to what someone else wants me to write.

As for all my fans out there. Thanks so much for your awesomeness compliments in my email and my inbox. You all are just so fantastic.

To all my haters. Don’t read if you don’t like 🙁

AS ALWAYS! vote positive or negative. up to you

and a final lil note. Sorry, the ending really was done in haste so please don’t be like “wtf” cuz I know the ending was rushed but I had already went 10 pages over what my client wanted and the story needed to get done eventually.


BB p4
Becky had been allowed to sleep in her own bed that night but she didn’t sleep at all. Not one wink, and the times that she did, I was sure she had nightmares about me. I knew it, I saw it in her eyes the morning after. She wouldn’t confess it to me but I could tell. Those welding, puffy wide black deep Mexican eyes were begging to tell and spill all her souls secrets to me. You see, I had obtained her phone number from her the night before, a clause that allowed her permission to exit our grateful and horrific care for a good nights rest. Becky spoke to no one, even her roommate whom had been concerned for her, but apparently not concerned enough. In the girls dorm, she had been outcasted, girls whispered and pointed at her when she awoke that morning but what she had been able to do with her new found freedom was to find escape. She ordered a flight out of this little hellhole of hers, she didn’t care if her pictures were posted up, she was a star champion and could easily get some kind of money to keep her away from the college. Her parents might even contribute to her runaway fund as it were to just leave everything behind. She wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with the plan of disappearing all together. After all, with such terrible and involved photos, many of which showed her smiling with her carefree innocent smirk… oh god, she had been such a huge and big sexual icon and she didn’t want that, didn’t want people to think she enjoyed what was being done to her, she was being dominated and it was a horrible fate and surely all her fans would think that that is the way they should go about it… be a whore. Smiling as naked degrading pictures were taken of them. How many of her fans would with ease go into the smut peddling business directly because of her, after all, her smile was her approval of those actions being conducted on her brutalized body.
Today, I informed her, she’d be a prostitute. It was hardly a surprise that many of the guys in both dormitories had heard how sluttish she was dressed last night at her shocking victory times. I had gathered a few of them, passing around a sheet with a price list and directions that if they were interested in purchasing Becky, the champion swimming for a little time and abuse her themselves, they could if they went to Mr. B and Alex’s room.
It was odd, she didn’t say anything against what was going to happen to her. Did I squash her spirits and soul already? Hopefully not, she was the pride and joy of Mexico because even over the great pond, Mexicans had heard her story of climbing to the Olympics – she was perhaps one of very few Mexicans even remotely qualified enough to go into swimming, let alone swimming for the Olympics – if she’d crack then, that would mean all the fun would be over with completely. I wanted a slave, definitely, but I wanted to endlessly torture her. I didn’t want her to just roll over and take it as it were.
Each transaction was conducted in my dorm room, Alex was working the account, basically gathering up all money taken in and distributing it fairly between all the four others, the lions share naturally going to Mr. B. She was dressed up in her school uniform as boy after boy funneled into the room asking about the seriousness of the price sheet but low and behold before them was Becky, standing, silent, her eyes downcast and a breast exposed and being fondled by Mr. B. pulling a nipple. Mr. B sternly informed Becky she had customers. She glanced at them once, and then distanced herself. Several of the boys could only pay to torture her feet but they were shy about it, some even taking a liking to licking and sucking her toes, others liked to scratch and tickle her but others still enjoyed the sensation of slapping at the bottoms of her feet but soon enough those very same kids returned later in the day with more money, eager to explore the limits of the cheapest priced opinion, more than just punishing her feet. This time they were prepared. You see, I never once let Becky leave my sight, after all, they had to pay to go any further and I wouldn’t allow others to violate her, after all, she was still a virgin. With a new set of tools, the boys inquired if they could use various objects ranging from pencils to pens until finally Alex began to gather up their own used objects and offered it to paying customers. Meaning, now instead of boys using their hands and minds, now they had candles, whips, pencils, pens, even a knife, but they didn’t use it to draw too much blood, just little slits here and there under her feet. But more so the knife was a constant reminder that her life was no longer hers.
Still through all that time, however, Becky remained graceful and mute. Even when a boy paid to see what lay under her panties, she, without orders, took off her panties, revealing to them her cunt, even going so far as to spread her pussy lips. Something was up, I could feel it, after so long today, the entire day, she not once complained or resisted, perhaps because she was trying not to showcase the horror she felt when they abused her body.
The next day came and yet again, Becky remained silent as she was abusively treated. She struggled at times, and I could see when she winced, see her quaking quivering lips beg to do nothing more then beg, plead and wail. But she didn’t. She took her punishment in quite agonizingly painful dignity.
Each hour I would remind her that she had done this to herself, to make sure she never thought that she didn’t want this, that this was all her fault. After all, self loathing was the greatest punishment at all, that is how the Russian people felt about the entire thing and so too did the Germans to a certain extent.
The next day I told her that if she earned so much money from suggestive sales, basically tempting boys to spend more money on her, I would permit her a day of rest. She did fantastic too, she licked her lips on the occasion, added character to her bodily manners when originally she would just stand and lay motionless as her toes were coated with hot wax, or when a pencil was driven into her foot, digging deeply enough to draw blood. But now she seemed to be much more in the game as I said such. She earned so much money, lifting up her skirt to reveal her soaking, slightly healed pussy lips that plucked out of her panties, out of the folds of those white concealing materials while flipping back her hair, giving her pouty big black eyes a wink and a flutter, snatching each and every guys wallet clear from their hands. Their money or even daddies, didn’t matter. Alex set it up so we could eventually accept credit cards and meal tickets also.
Struggling, as the day went on, she seemed about to crack. She didn’t give off that impression though but tears escaped her eyes every now and then.
Before this endeavor, she was ordered to not say a word, after all, that would be hugely unprofessional and if there is one thing that I do, that’s professionalism. Anything less is a disappointment met with severe punishment. Becky knew I wasn’t joking about this either so she silenced herself. She spent several hours silent, on the occasion, however, she looked like she was about to crack, to break down, to look just like she looked several days prior when she was originally being manhandled, but apparently she had to prove to herself her strength, and in doing so, prove to me she was something much more then just a common little swimming whore.
She looked up from being bent over the couch, a boy behind her lashing her naked feet, the whip had small tiny barbs, just small enough to dig and cut into flesh but not tear it away. This boy had been here time and time again, his boldness increasing so much that he was ruthless and knew exactly what he wanted to do to her. He too wanted to see her buckle and break down in sobs. Becky looked over to the chair that I sat at, my eyes on the television, volume turned low so I could make out if she was crying. Becky looking at me, I noticed, so I looked back and in doing so I heard the most wonderful words I ever heard.
“Mr. B. May I have a gag?” She struggled to speak but as she opened her mouth, the boy sensed that soon she would crumble and so lashed against her feet again. After so many days of this treatment, it was almost impossible for her to walk back to her dorm room. In fact, several nights opting, her choice, to sleep on the floor of the bathroom, the only place I would allow her to sleep in my dorm so that she would be spared the arduous and demanding walk to her own place. She knew in the morning she would be back so…
I pretended not to hear her as her voice pipped up as she was lashed punishingly by the guy behind her.