NOTE: This is the ninth part of the Ballad of Emily Jeffers, a seemingly naive and clueless woman for whom sex comes naturally, and sexual manipulation by others is her entire life. It’s a story, and as such all characters are fictitious. Even so, those fictitious characters are all 18 years old and older.
The next three days the two ripe, wet whores, Mary Eaton and Emily Jeffers, spent the afternoons at the glory holes in Haler City drippin’ pussy juice on the floor and ingesting sperm by the overflowing mouthfuls — with Fred Wilson taggin’ along on the Thursday — and they spent three evenin’s of fuckin’ as usual.
Mrs. Eaton was recovered mostly physically, but mentally she was strugglin’ with knowin’ she’d soon be fodder for her sons’ every sexual whim and an unknown number of cocks as they saw fit to sell her body every evenin’. Or every day and evenin’, as it turned out.
Bein’ a whore, she had no choice since her own husband had first given her over to Mr. Harper to pay the missing mortgage money, and then let Harper sell her to her own sons to play with as they wished in exchange for a percentage of profits made from them sellin’ her cunt. And when they played with their mother, they weren’t about to play trains, or hide-and-go-seek. No, the only thing they planned to hide were their mammoth, young cocks in their mother’s body and their potent baby seed as deep up inside as it would go. Nothin’ was off limits, her bein’ just property now.
I checked in with Mr. Harper most days, and he said the little business cards I’d handed out were findin’ their way back to the bank, but because of the church picnic and carnival the next week, they were all bein’ booked in to fuck the whores for the week after.
I had to take Mrs. Eaton and Ms. Jeffers down to the municipal building on one of the mornin’s that week so as I could register both women as whores and pay in the fifty dollars each to get them tags that could be worn round their necks to identify them as bein’ workin’ whores in the Town of Johnsons Hollow.
“Get them to do a couple extra cocks this week to pay for the cost of registerin’,” Mr. Harper suggested. “And iffin the officer has a need to take a ride on either one, well, we’ll just consider it a freebee and good for business. Mayhap he’ll look favorable upon them in the future should the need arise.”
The little office was really just the dog catcher office, him bein’ responsible for pickin’ up stray dogs and cats, plus, if need be, deal with any complaints about whores bein’ out and about without their owner handy.
“I picked up that April Jones whore half a dozen times for bein’ drunk and wonderin’ around half naked and people complainin’,” the bylaw enforcement officer said as he explained the regulations. “I got a room I can lock ’em in ’til I get around to callin’ their owner and arrangin’ for pickup. Why, little April spent a few nights in there afore I could get the paperwork ready and call Old Mister Harper. Had quite a few rides on her, that’s for sure. Back door, front door — didn’t matter. Miss Jones was loose, wet, and deep. Got a little cot in there and I can secure them whores to a little eye bolt set into the wall.”
The guy got a bit misty-eyed thinkin’ back about it, and I suspected he had a bit of a thing for April Jones, regardless of her bein’ a whore or not.
“April was the talk of the town at first, how she was so tiny but could take a giant cock balls deep,” he said. “She was broke in good by a bunch of Blacks on her 18th birthday, them stretchin’ out her virgin cunt and turnin’ her into a Black cock whore right off. She was quite a lot of fun when she wasn’t cryin’ and goin’ on about just wantin’ to go home to her mama.”
Billy Wills was the officer’s name, a standup guy in his mid-40s I’d guess. There’d been a couple other whores he’d had to deal with, mostly claimin’ they weren’t whores, that they weren’t just cunts to be used and was tryin’ to get out of Johnsons Hollow and back to their husbands and families where they come from.
“Claimed they was just passin’ through Johnsons Hollow when they got took against their will and turned into whores,” Mr. Wills said. “Them whore’s’ll say anythin’ comes to mind. But they was all good fucks, and I kept ’em around waitin’ for somebody to claim them. In the end, Mr. Harper took one in, tried her out good, and run her for a few years. The other I called over to Haler City and they come from one of them there whore houses and picked her up. She’s been over there a good five years now, doin’ eight or ten cocks a night, I’m told.”
He laughed at the memory.
“Said she was on her way to visit her sister one state over when her car broke down outside Johnsons Hollow,” he explained. “Then she was tryin’ to get hold of her husband and kids, but was soon fuckin’ to pay for the repairs to the car, and then just fuckin’. Doc Egerton had a look at her after I picked her up and got her doctored up so as her cunt was prime and she would get wet and horny just by touchin’ her.”
Turns out a few years later, after she was just a whore with hardly any mind left, and had been fucked by every man in a fifty mile radius, a man claimin’ to be her husband was askin’ around town after her.
“We never told him nothin’,” Mr. Wills said. “She was prime, ripe meat and half the town was ridin’ her. Mr. Harper was makin’ a ton of money off her cunt and nobody wanted to rock that boat. Mr. Harper eventually run her up to the city and dropped her off somewhere most folks wouldn’t venture to.”
Mr. Wills told me all the rules and regulations that governed what whores could and couldn’t do. Ms. Jeffers and Mrs. Eaton hung their heads and listened, realizin’ their previous freedoms were curtailed some. Well, quite a bit when all was said and done.
But most of the onus was put on the owner and the owner’s ‘agents’ to handle the whores and keep them in line, hand out any punishments as seen fit and necessary, not let them out on their own, and only charge within a range of prices so as to not rip off the unsuspecting public. Owners had to supply food and shelter, but there was nothin’ to say what kind of food or what kind of shelter.
“We had one guy kept his whore naked in a shed,” Mr. Wills recalled. “She slept on some burlap sacks and only come inside the house to wash up and service her johns. They brung slop out to her twice a day and she used a bucket to do her business. I picked her up and took her back every few weeks with her tryin’ to run off. She took sick though. Got too cold out there even after they brung a blanket out to her. I think they dropped her off somewhere in Haler City.”
Clothes were optional, as Mr. Wills’ story made obvious. Punishments were up to the owner and it seemed not much was off limits. Medical exams were mandatory, but birth control was optional.
It was starting to dawn on me that I could legally do almost anything I wanted to, or with, Ms. Jeffers and Mrs. Eaton and there’d be no repercussions. And when her boys owned her, so could they.
On the Saturday and Sunday afternoons, Michael Johnson showed up for his last two freebees with Mrs. Eaton and made the most of them by bringin’ himself and Mrs. Eaton off numerous times each day. The young man was well endowed, and despite him treatin’ Mrs. Eaton like a piece of meat, and callin’ her a whore and a cumdumpster as he pounded her time after time, she was havin’ orgasm after orgasm and cryin’ out and beggin’ him for more. She’d shown a love for young cock, and Michael Johnson sure showed a love for women 20 years older, with Mrs. Eaton leadin’ the way as she would for all the young men in Johnsons Hollow and surroundin’ areas.
The little metal tag around her neck mailed out by Mr. Wills read “Mary Eaton, Whore 117, Johnsons Hollow”. When customers saw it, it seemed to give them license to use her a bit harder and rougher — to the extent I had to caution a few guys.
“She ain’t nothin’ but a dumb whore,” Audie Wilson retorted when I told him to take it easy. “She got no feelin’s or emotions or such, Lawton. Pastor Brown done said she’s just a thing called an ‘automaton’ what gets used for a man’s pleasure. Why, he preached a whole sermon on it and told folks we could help out the church by makin’ good use of her and Ms. Jeffers. Makes no difference what you do to it. And all it wants is to cum — and it’ll do anythin’ to get off.”
He was referin’ to the whores as ‘it’, like they weren’t human. And I’d heard others do the same. I had no comeback ‘cept to tell him he couldn’t ruin them for other customers. He understood that.
And Millie Tanner seemed well on her way to becomin’ a whore. She was spendin’ a lot of time at home. Her husband John worked, but her son Matt had graduated high school and was livin’ at home lookin’ for work. So despite her workin’ at the clothin’ store most days, mother and son always managed to squeeze in a few hours of fuckin’, with Mrs. Tanner’s cunt loose and swollen and drippin’ most of the time.
“It turns out John’s what they call a cuckold, a man who loves his wife bein’ fucked and used by other men,” she said one night while I was fuckin’ her. “So Matt and I fuck and John comes home and sucks Matts cum out of me and then plants his own seed way up inside me. John can’t wait ’til I start bein’ whored out. He’s pushin’ real hard for it. We’re still tryin’ to work out details, but I still want to do it out of your place, maybe three nights a week.”
Millie and John Tanner rented out Ms. Jeffers one night after she’d done her regular roster of Black cocks. The two women went at each other while Mr. Tanner watched and stroked himself. Then he done Ms. Jeffers, pumpin’ his first big load into her pussy, making the score more even after that day I’d dumped my first load into his wife. But he’d have a lot of fuckin’ to do to ever catch up because by then I’d fucked his wife more than a dozen times.
The three went at each other all night accordin’ to Mrs. Tanner. Ms. Jeffers fell asleep out of exhaustion at some point, but they kept playin’ with her ’til they too fell asleep. I had to go over and fetch Ms. Jeffers when she hadn’t returned home by lunchtime and had a whole roster of cocks to tend to that evenin’.
While Matt Tanner was fuckin’ his mother regular, he also had a thing for Mrs. Eaton, so I let him use her now and then in the afternoons, primin’ her for her fulltime role as whore for the youth of The Hollow. As it turned out, both at Ms. Jeffers’ place and at her own home once her boys took control of her, Mrs. Eaton became a favorite pastime for the young men. Almost every one of them had known her as a mother and housewife and Sunday school teacher, but they were quite content in evenings at young Benny’s and Bobby’s place watchin’ movies and everyone takin’ turns with her — or quite often two of them goin’ at her at the same time.
Them new video games were just appearin’ on store shelves, and like as not the boys would invite their friends over to play videos with Mrs. Eaton sprawled out on a mattress or sofa and in constant use, the boys takin’ turns with the video controllers and with Bobby’s mom.
I could go into detail about the next week, but I’d be repeatin’ myself most of the time.
When the church picnic and carnival ramped up, it started with a church service and prayers, lots of food and drink, and some small carnival rides and tents with your typical amusement park stuff — games of chance, fortune teller, strongman. And a little off to the side was the tent where Ms. Jeffers and Mrs. Eaton were laid out naked and their legs spread and little stirrups made for their feet to go in lest they get tired. They had straps across their bellies to keep them in place, and their arms were strapped down so as they couldn’t interfere with the men’s pleasure. The tables were raised up a bit at the back so as both women would be on an incline and the numerous loads of cum would drain right out of them and into a basin on the ground.
The tables were well padded, exactly the right height so a man could walk up and slide his cock straight into them. Jack and I both tested the height and found it to be good. We had a few boards could be laid on the ground lest a guy was too short. Off to the side was a stand with paper towels and water for washin’ up, plus a trash can which we had to empty numerous times a day.
Of course Mr. Harper and Pastor Brown were the first customers, takin’ up the front spots in a long line that wound right out of the tent and into the fairgrounds. And Fred Wilson was there with his video cameras and lightin’ as he got an hour or so of video the first day.
And it was pretty simple. While it sounds like a never-endin’ gangbang, it was really just two whores pullin’ a really long train, with cum spurtin’ into them and then leakin’ out. A guy paid just outside the entrance, stood in a line, then when a whore became available he went through the little curtained doorway, and shoved his cock in the hole he paid for. The women moaned and writhed and bucked and orgasmed almost continuously for the first few hours, attendin’ to almost 30 cocks each, almost all usin’ their cunts. When the last guy in line was done, they took a half hour break and the church ladies cleaned them up some and they were took half naked through the carnival ground crowds to use the facilities.
Early on we had to bring in a big ghetto blaster so as the music would drown out the noise the women were makin’. The lines moved fast, and the fuckin’ was always furious with guys tryin’ to cum in under four minutes.
There were times the line was long, and there were stretches of up to an hour, usually around supper time, when nobody showed up. They fucked a total of 175 cocks in the eight hours they were ‘open’ the first day. Their bodies were coated in cum and sweat, their tits bounced and jiggled. Their asses had been plundered a number of times, and the basins the cum flowed into must have held quarts of ball juice each. Back at home I had the whores soakin’ in the bathtubs upstairs and at my place and eatin’ like they’d been in a marathon. Their holes were gaped open, but all swollen at the same time. After a good 10 hours of sleep they were shipped back to the carnival for more cock.
The second day was the same, and on the third day some of the Haler City men showed up, although the lineups were thinner that day. The newspaper publisher and Chad the ad rep had free turns, and Tara the waitress showed up to watch. I took her back to my place later and after bathin’ Ms. Jeffers and Mrs. Eaton, Tara and I played with them some and had them eat Tara’s beautiful pussy. I left a few loads in Tara and Mrs. Eaton slurped them out as usual.
Come Thursday Chief Wallace and his deputies had taken a few turns and while the lineups started slow, by Thursday evenin’ they were goin’ full tilt again, chalkin’ up 200 cocks for the day.
Bob Eaton dropped by two or three times each day and picked up the cash which was in small bills and was filling a briefcase each trip. He’d take it back to the bank and get it tallied up. Mr. Eaton always took time each day to deposit a load in his wife, him remarkin’ how loose she was and how his boys were lookin’ forward to gettin’ their hands on her and their cocks in her.
“I do admit she was a good mother, Lawton,” he allowed. “All them boys came over to play with Bobby and Benny, she waited on them, baked them cookies and cakes and brought them drinks. All them boys had a hard-on for Mary once they started noticin’ her considerable charms. Now it seems she’ll be servicin’ them in other, more carnal ways. My boys can’t stop talkin’ about it.”
Those first three days of the carnival the two whores made almost ten thousand dollars for Harper and Pastor Brown’s congregation.
Mrs. Eaton was bein’ fucked by people she had once considered friends, and they used her hard, scornin’ her and callin’ her down as the lowest whore. Many came back two and three times tryin’ to dump their loads in all of her holes.
Doc came along and examined them each day, loosin’ his load in each whore several times over the course of the week. Ms. Jeffers and Mrs. Eaton were just automatons by Thursday, eyes glazed and their bodies just reactin’. Neither one talked much, just lay there with legs spread and their big pussy lips hangin’ open and the cunts gaping holes with rivulets of cum flowin’ out of them.
I was almost relieved on Friday when a massive thunderstorm shut things down early and everything on Saturday was cancelled as well. Both whores got a well-deserved rest because they had no customers scheduled for either night.
What we did instead was hunker down in my apartment with no power and me makin’ meals on a camp stove. The women literally had no clothes except the sundresses. Everything else had been in the carnival tent when it blew down. I didn’t mind, and Mr. Harper’s rules still applied, I figured.
I won’t lie, I fucked both whores almost continuously for those 48 hours. And I’d finish cumin’ in one whore and the other would clean her out, slurpin’ my cum from the other’s hole and usually gettin’ in a sixty-nine position goin’ at eachother ’til I slid my cock in the one I hadn’t just fucked.
If they were supposed to be trained as whores, I’d say they were done trainin’. They performed every sexual act they were expected to perform without any hesitation and always eagerly. They got wet on demand, enabling any man to penetrate them without any resistance and usually in a single long thrust. Neither woman had to be told to keep their bum holes loose and lubricated by wearin’ butt plugs durin’ their off hours.
It all sort of happened naturally, that 48 hours during the storm. We were a very emotionally connected threesome, and I deplored now what was happenin’ to them, even though I was the one makin’ it happen. I was tryin’ to please Mr. Harper, my boss, and also tryin’ to figure out a way of makin’ better lives for Ms. Jeffers and Mrs. Eaton. But I was losin’ both battles, I figured. Both women were always going to be whores. It was their nature, as Doc would say. I couldn’t change that. But maybe I could give them just a bit more to their lives than sex.
Mrs. Eaton had one more week before her sons put her out as a public whore and their personal fuck slave. They already had classified ads out hintin’ at her services ‘cuming soon’ not ‘coming soon’. The wording was vague enough to avoid any threat from the law outside Johnsons Hollow, but everybody knew what it meant, and Mary Eaton’s name was in bold type. It included a phone number to an answering service that took calls from prospective customers and called them back with a message that contained instructions and a date and time. I presumed money changed hands at the top of the stairs into the apartment. I remember seein’ a box with a slot in it.
Bob Eaton told me the women’s club Mrs. Eaton was chairwoman of, the ‘women’s lib’ group, had voted her out as chairwoman and as a member of the club and struck her name from all their records.
“We didn’t know she was a whore,” said the group’s vice-chairwoman Lilly Orton. “We knew she slept around a lot, but free and liberated woman can do what they want with their bodies. Mary Eaton has quite a body and we knew that half the men in town had fucked her. Now I guess the other half is gettin’ their turn. Truth be told, half the women in town lust for her too. But we don’t need any whores in our club. We want a whore, we’ll hire one.”
Which they eventually did, her former colleagues usin’ her for entertainment several times and individually as well when they found out what she tasted like and how she could service a cunt.
We managed to get Mrs. Eaton filmed in a few more scenes — with Mrs. Tanner and Ms. Jeffers, somethin’ Mr. Harper particularly enjoyed, managin’ to slide his cock into all three women afterwords, finally comin’ in Mrs. Eaton who appeared to always be the cumdump whore of choice, or as Mr. Harper said, “I wouldn’t mind knockin’ up that slut. Some women are just meant for breedin’.”
One of the other videos Fred Wilson shot was Mrs. Eaton in public givin’ blowjobs over on the other side of town, and three Black guys takin’ turns with her on a pool table over in the church hall after pickin’ her up on the side of the road dressed in nothin’ but a thong. There was some story context in the brief script Jack cooked up and Mrs. Eaton ends up back on the sidewalk, hitchhikin’, without the thong and big gobs of cum drippin’ out of her.
We did another afternoon of her boys fuckin’ her, breakin’ it up into four different videos by changin’ clothes and rooms and addin’ in dialogue to make it clear Mrs. Eaton was their real mother. By that time she was used to fuckin’ her sons, and completely uninhibited once the fuckin’ started. It was only afterwards that she felt some guilt and remorse. But it seemed each time it was less and less.
In total, we had 10 forty-five minute videos of Mrs. Eaton, plus the video from the carnival. It took Mr. Wilson almost a month to get everythin’ edited and put together, but as soon as they were for sale, they went fast, both in Johnsons Hollow and Haler City, forcin’ Mr. Wilson to scramble to make more copies. Mrs. Eaton was now the subject of scorn and ridicule, but also lust everywhere I went, and times I took her out to show her off and expose her pussy and tits, she got felt up and played with by most men who’d by then either watched her videos or had already fucked her — or both.
One thing was certain, any respect or credibility Mrs. Eaton had in Johnsons Hollow was long gone. She was just thought of as the town whore, just like Wilber Winston was thought of as the town drunk.
The day before her sons came and got her, she was cryin’ and upset, and wantin’ to run away. A guy name Norv Hinkle had paid extra to fuck her early that mornin’, and handed over cash for the 45-minute ride on and in Mrs. Eaton’s body.
“I’ll get you out of here soon enough,” I said, a few minutes after Mr. Hinkle finished in her and zipped up and left. “I been puttin’ away money every week, but we’ll need a bundle to get all three of us out of here and settled somewhere else.”
I assured her I’d do my best and get some of Bobby’s friends to look out for her if things got too rough. That seemed to ease her mind a bit.
“Jason Stewart is one,” I said. “And I had a talk with Matt Tanner and that Josh kid. They all promised they’d check on you and report back.”
“They’ll all be fuckin’ me, Lawton,” she said. “Those are all nice boys. I done taught them all in Sunday school. They’ll all be usin’ my pussy and thinkin’ of me as less than a human person. Just somethin’ to use for pleasure.”
It may have eased her mind some, although I had to remind her she was just a whore and what people done to her was up to them and she had no say. She nodded her understandin’ of her situation, absentmindedly fingerin’ the whore tag she was wearin’ now. She was naked and while she was opinin’ of her plight, her pussy lips were hung open, glistenin’ and all stretched out from the last big cock that had been in her. Mr. Hinkle’s cum was finally makin’ its way out of her deep pussy and poolin’ on the kitchen chair where she was sittin’, legs spread like whores do. Absentmindedly she was scoopin’ it up with her fingers and suckin’ off the jizz.
But that afternoon she wanted me to take her out and just let people fuck her ’cause that’s all she was good for, sayin’ she may as well make herself useful.
“Maybe we go to Haler City and customers at that there first book store can just take turns in my cunt,” she said. “I ain’t worth nothin’ but my pussy. Every man says that and I guess I’ll just do as Bobby and Benny tell me. I don’t have any life now but layin’ on my back and spreadin’ my legs apart and lettin’ people enter my body and plant seed in me as a breedin’ cow. And you know what Lawton, I’m gettin’ used to it and I don’t even mind. I’ll do it and I’ll love it ninety-nine percent of the time. What hurts is my sons hatin’ me so much they rape my cunt and then sell it to anybody’s got a few bucks.”
Again I reminded her that her only value was her cunt.
“You know you’ll be doin’ this for years to come,” I said. “Your pussy is a cash cow for whoever owns it. Right now Mr. Harper owns it. Tomorrow your sons own it and Mr. Harper gets 10 percent of the profits everytime you fuck. Your cunt is a commodity just like sides of beef or pork bellies. It’s got premium value right now. Ten years from now it will be worth almost nothin’, so everyone’s workin’ hard to maximize their profits right now.”
“I know, I should be more grateful and not feelin’ sorry for myself,” she said. “I got a place to stay and food to eat. I expect some day I’ll be out on the street sellin’ my pussy behind dumpsters. That’s what happens to whores like me, I figure. Then when they ain’t no use at all they’re just got rid of like that April Jones girl. At least I ain’t been put down like a dog.”
She didn’t know how right she was. She was bein’ fast-tracked for a piss-stained mattress in a vacant, tumbledown warehouse or old factory in a Black slum in the big city. Mr. Harper already done prophesied that. It wasn’t a matter of if it would happen, but when. I was tryin’ to figure out a way of preventin’ it for at least a few years.
She was despondent, and at about eleven in the morning we stopped in at the women’s clothin’ store Mrs. Tanner worked at and bought her a very sexy dress that was supposed to be over a bra and slip because the material was so thin. But Mrs. Tanner got her fitted into it and while technically she was covered, every private part was not only on display but somehow or other, amplified and more obvious.
Mrs. Tanner coudn’t help but play with Mrs. Eaton’s body for a few minutes, and that got both women hot and breathin’ funny. But Mrs. Eaton sort of broke down and hugged her friend, tellin’ her Bobby and Benny were comin’ for her in the mornin’, and they might not see each other again.
“They’re gonna use me right up, Millie,” she said. “Bobby done called me and told me some of the things they got planned. I ain’t that strong, Millie. Bobby said they done bought me a dog dish and a cage.”
I got her out of there and over to Haler City by shortly after noon, and we stopped in to a shoppin’ mall, had lunch at a little restaurant, and shopped on a little street with boutiques and fancy stuff. Mrs. Eaton was the focus of attention everywhere she went, gettin’ whistles, comments, and some even asked if they could feel her up. Everyone knew she was a whore.
By mid-afternoon she was so turned on she was tremblin’ and touchin’ herself and drippin’ with every step. She’d been fuckin’ on the sly for years, a couple or three times a week. She’d just spent a month bein’ fucked almost constantly, and bein’ trained to be a whore. She’d been, for all intents and purposes, raped by her sons, and made to suck probably two hundred cocks at gloryholes without ever seein’ who the man was that owned the cock. She was fucked while she was passed out, and she was fucked by many men she knew and thought of as family friends, and many men she didn’t know. And the clincher was she was now the go-to cunt for boys she once taught in Sunday school and baked cookies for when they came to visit. But the more a woman fucks, the more she wants to fuck. Hormones and endorphins and oxytocin were all workin’ overtime in Mrs. Eaton’s body.
And she had no control over her sexual urges and needs. After all the manipulation she’d been through over the years, I suspected whatever brain function that governed her ability to rein in her sexual appetite was completly gone, and perhaps replaced with something that bid her do the opposite.
And then I thought about her bein’ hypnotized to help her quit smokin’. Maybe it did a lot more than help her kick the nicotine habit. Maybe they messed with her in a much different way. I’d read a book once in which the main character, a woman, had been deeply hypnotized over numerous sessions, deeper and deeper each time, changin’ her completely when she heard a trigger word. Did it really take five sessions with a hypnotist to quit smokin’?
Walkin’ down the street of a city almost naked, showin’ her private parts and bein’ the object of lust for every man who saw her, was a powerful aphrodisiac for Mrs. Eaton. Doc’s estrogen supplements, plus her own natural need for cock, turned her into something more than a woman, more than even a whore. She was the dreams of all men come real. To cover up that voluptuous body, to hide it from the world, was almost sinful. That she had a brain and a mind and perhaps a soul, didn’t matter to anybody. That she had emotions didn’t matter. That part of her was no-account.
It was the livin’ flesh that mattered. It was how her body looked and felt and moved and reacted and lubricated and clutched and grasped and milked that mattered. It was how a man could throw that body into orgasmic spasm that in turn measured the man. And every man’s primal need to impregnate her was the very essence of why she was created. Everything else that happened to her along the way was incidental to that prime objective every man is programmed with. Mrs. Eaton didn’t stand even a tiny chance.
I didn’t know why we were in Haler City, really. But I did get an idea. When the time came, Mrs. Eaton would need clothes and she would need some necessities. So we went shoppin’ for pants skirts, dresses, panties, toiletries, shoes, boots, and anything else we thought of. And a couple of suitcases we could fold everything into.
It cost me almost a thousand dollars, but I’d managed to skim a little from Mr. Harper, and strangely enough, I didn’t feel any guilt.
“We’ll hide these at my place,” I said. “I’ll keep addin’ to it and we’ll open a bank account here in Haler City under my name and I’ll make it so you can be one of the names on the account can withdraw money.”
She was almost in tears, me givin’ her hope and carin’ about her. I opened the account and we headed to that same restaurant for supper, where Tara wasn’t on duty, but Mrs. Eaton was on display for an hour, makin’ men horny and gettin’ herself worked up even more.
Back home she had a very full evenin’ of young cock, and was so horny and aroused from bein’ exposed all afternoon in Haler City she came continuously. Two of the youngsters were Black with large, fat cocks and though their appointments were 45 minutes apart, they had arrived together. I told them they could both do her together for the hour and a half. They rode Mrs. Eaton steadily, one in her cunt or ass and the other lodged down her throat.
“Pastor Brown sure was right about this whore,” one boy said as he pulled out from dumpin’ his first of three loads in her pussy. “Hot, wet, loose, and made for use.”
As his cock slid out of Mrs. Eaton’s gapin’ hole, his Black seed spilled out in big globs, coverin’ her clit and then drippin’ off onto the sheets as she was there on her hands and knees takin’ it from both ends. The lad slid three fingers into her and pulled up with his considerable strength, almost liftin’ Mrs. Eaton off the bed by her cunt and stretchin’ her already open orifice even more.
“Bobby Eaton come out of this here pussy,” he said to his friend. “Imagine all them hundreds of cocks used this here cunt. Nothin’ but a cum dump now.”
If there was anything Mary Eaton liked better than hard, young cock, it was hard, young, Black cock. If you could say that a person lived for somethin’, it was youthful Black cock in Mary’s case. She lusted after it. There was plenty of that in Johnsons Hollow, and most of it eventually ended up inside her.
At the end, after seven 18-year-olds, I cleaned her up and took her downstairs. I showed her where I hid the suitcases, and put the new bank book with them, plus a stack of cash totaling three hundred and forty-eight dollars. I had a house key made off and showed her where to find it outside. As an afterthought I dug out the fifty-five dollars Mr. Hinkle had given me and added that to the pile of bills.
I fucked her time to time throughout the night, but slow and gentle, cumin’ in her pussy a couple times, her gettin’ down between my legs and suckin’ up every drop of my jizz mixed in with her plentiful cunt juice. I still marvel at her capacity for drinkin’ bodily fluids — her own and everyone else’s.
In the mornin’, Benny showed up in his father’s truck. It was ten in the mornin’ and Mrs. Eaton was all ready, wearin’ only that dress we bought the day before from Millie Tanner for her trip to Haler City, her well-used and still-swollen pussy on full display and her large breasts and big nipples pokin’ out like they needed attention.
“Them boys hate me, Lawton,” she said, standin’ in the doorway gettin’ ready to walk out. “Benny done told me I was in for it once he got me home. Said they was gonna have me workin’ out of a whore house in Haler City time to time, and I’d be doin’ somethin’ called Ghetto Gangbangs. Oh Lawton, I sure hope you can save me. I ain’t got a say, but you might.”
Benny walked around the front of the truck carryin’ somethin’, and when he crossed the lawn and got closer, I saw it was a dog collar and leash. Mrs. Eaton walked out in her whore outfit and stopped in front of him and I guess he told her to get on her knees, because that’s what she did. He but the collar on her and said somethin’ else. She looked around in all directions, but her trainin’ as a whore had her takin’ the dress off and leavin’ it on the grass as he led her, crawlin’ on all fours, to the back of the truck where he put the tailgate down and ordered her to crawl in.
She lifted one knee up so it was on the tailgate, the motion spreadin’ her cunt lips wide so her wet gash was open and all the world coud see it and knew what it was for and how it was gonna earn her sons a pile of money. The woman attached to it was no account to anyone as a person, but had value as long as she was producin’ lubricatin’ fluids and her body was warm and invitin’ and in the right positions for men to penetrate her with their cocks and spew their potent seed inside in the unconscious, genetically programmed hopes they’d be the one to impregnate her.
She held on to the side of the box and pulled her other knee up so her prized pussy was clam-like between her legs, all puffed out from fuckin’ and the lips long and thick from engorgement and multiple cocks pullin’ them out as they drew back for another hard thrust into her.
The last I saw she was on hands and knees on what looked like a large round cushion, her big tits swingin’ like udders from a cow, her nipples scant inches from the truck bed as her son tied the leash to the truck and slammed the tailgate shut.
END CHAPTER