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Introduction:

A young girl begins her road to prostitution
Black Rose - The Beginning


A woman sat on a large plush arm chair graciously receiving a glass of wine from a younger woman sitting with two others on the couch opposite. They were all whores though you would never tell at first glance, elegantly dressed and discreet in their makeup the only hint one might have was that they were all very pretty. The woman on the armchair was particularly beautiful though older than the other three.
“I wanted you here,” the woman said, “to celebrate a good year. You three are my best girls and one of you will inherit Black Rose when I retire,”
“Retire?” one of the others said, an Asian beauty not past her twenties “you can’t be thinking of that yet can you? You are so young,” it was true, the woman was still young in those terms, late thirties at the most and beautiful with maturity, she laughed away the compliment
“Perhaps Mia but it has been a long long time since I started all this, I began Black Rose from nothing when I was younger than any of you are now, younger than I like to recruit girls today.” This stirred the interest of the guests, emboldened by wine and the unusual familiarity of their illustrious brothel’s madam one of them dared to ask
“So how did it all begin?”
______________________________________________________________________

“Where is the little slut?” That’s me, the little slut. My name is Rose, Rose Black, but no one calls me that at home. At home I am the little slut, the bitch, the whore, occasionally just the girl. That is what Ian calls me at least; my mum doesn’t really call me much at all. I should tell you a bit about myself; I am fifteen years old, white, with long dark brown hair. I am about 5’5, slim and beautiful with a heart shaped face and firm young tits, pretty large for my age if not actually big.

“In the kitchen,” my darling mother’s voice echoed through the house directing her bullish boy friend right to me, thanks mum. Ian was a bastard and that was no surprise, he was the newest in a long line of bastards dragged into the house by my mother. She had married a man in her teens, had me and been surprised when he buggered off as soon as I was born. Since then there had been a long succession of arrogant worthless low lives each as bad as the next in their own way. Mostly they had ignored me, just their bitch’s brat, but puberty had put an end to that. Steve, the last ‘new dad’, had started fucking me shortly after I turned fourteen, mum didn’t seem to care, she didn’t care about very much at all these days. Ian had carried on where Steve left off.
“There you are!” The kitchen door slammed open and Ian walked in; he stank of god only knew what blend of random shit he spent all day moving around the warehouse he worked at. About forty or so Ian stood half a foot taller than me and was broad across the shoulders. He was not so bad to look at though his crumpled clothes bought a decade ago didn’t help; in another life I might even have found him attractive, but not in this one.

“Cooking my dinner like a good little bitch,” he said. It was true; I was stooped over the stove. My mother certainly never cooked and Ian had a tendency to get violent if he didn’t have a meal on the table after work. I said nothing, it was usually best to unless he actually asked a direct question.
“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer. The kitchen was far from large and most of the space was taken up by a small dining table so a little closer meant he was almost breathing down my neck
“Stew,” I said, keeping my answers short
“Smells good, but you know, I have had a long hard day at work,” he crooned, I knew where this was going so it was no surprise when his hands cupped my arse through my skirt
“I could use a little pick me up before dinner, understand slut?” his hand slipped up under the skirt and started squeezing.

“Yes,” I understood alright and despite myself I could feel my pussy start to moisten. You see the other thing about me is that although I might resent being called one by bastards like Ian, I really was a slut. I loved sex and hated myself for liking his hand beneath my skirt, hated him too, hated my life but what can you do?
“Good,” I could feel his leer, even though I wasn’t looking at him. In a sudden move he picked up my lithe body and bent me over the table. With one hand he flipped up my skirt so that my arse was bare and pulled down my panties with a jerk

“There’s my little cunt,” he crowed looking down at my pink slit. With his other hand he had freed his cock, six inches of meat which I despised and yet yearned to have thrust inside me. I did not have long to wait. He didn’t move slowly, he didn’t move gently or kindly; I didn’t expect him too. Placing his cock in my hole he pushed forwards burying his rod in my snatch making me gasp. Placing a hand on each cheek Ian proceeded to hammer my pussy, grunting and sighing but not saying a word. He didn’t have much skill, or if he did he didn’t make much use of it, but even so the relentless pounding sent shivers through my body. Having a cock in my pussy just felt right, like I wasn’t at home without one.
“Oh uggho yhea, you like that don’t you you dirty little whore?” it wasn’t really a question but to my shame I wasn’t even lying when I moaned back
“Yes ahhh! Yes I like your cock in my cunt!” he liked me to talk dirty and I found I liked it too.

He was still hammering against me, speeding up, faster and still faster until his grunts started becoming shorter and faster “Unnff, I’m going to cum!” he shouted. After a few strokes more he pulled out of my tight twat. Without needing to be told I flipped around kneeling on the floor in front of him. I was barely in place, my mouth open as he liked when he directed the first thick string of cum onto my face, right over one closed eye. A second string found my open mouth and a third missed my face instead splattering my t-shirt. Opening my eyes I shuffled a little closer and took his softening manhood in my mouth, cleaning off the last traces of cum with my nimble tongue while Ian’s hands wound through my thick hair. Finally he had had enough and pushed my head away.

“Don’t let that stew burn bitch,” he growled, pulling up his trousers. With that he left the room leaving me on my knees, covered in cum. That was when I decided, I had to get out of there.
2 comments

anonymous readerReport

2013-11-06 21:56:11
what happened next???

anonymous readerReport

2012-06-26 16:38:34
Very good story, well written bit short tho for my liking

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