The Price of New Clothes
Sherri Mayhorn

Her face was a study of torture. Her body was past exertion, but she continued to work it feverishly. Everything she had watched her older brother and his girl friends do from her hiding place in his closet was being put to use tonight.
Her boyfriend would be jealous as Hell if he saw some of the moves she was putting on this fat motherfucker. But shit, all Derek ever want to do is screw and he ainÍt never upped no cash.
She was proud. After all, it was her first night on the strip and the first car to cruise by chose her outta all them experienced prostitutes. This shit was easy!
Now she was giving it her all, wriggling her thin hips and moaning, giving him his ten bucks worth. He was heavy as Hell and had a musty odor that nearly gagged her each time he thrust against her. But she didnÍt give a shit, she was working on getting some money to buy her some sharp clothes for school. AinÍt no way in the world she was gonna wear that tired shit her Mama got second hand in her senior year.
She had no idea how green she had looked standing out there with seasoned prostitutes. He knew that he could probably get more from her for ten dollars than what the others gave for fifty.
She was at first relieved, then alarmed when the weight was suddenly removed from her delicate frame. She initially thought her job was done and gave him her best sexy smile. Then she realized, as bile gathered in her throat, that not only did he intend to force his wet, nasty dick into her mouth, but as he roughly pulled her head to him that this was the source of the musty odor...


First published: February 1997
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