Miranda becomes a street whore
Part 4

Miranda lay helpless on her back on the floor between the brown leather couch and the Coffee table, unable to free her wrists from the layers of tape binding them to her thighs, cold, thirsty, sore, covered in cum and sweat and tears with fluff and sweet papers stuck to her skin and the now filthy and sticky corset and black hold up stockings that were her only clothing. She tried in vain to spit the cum from her mouth and then in desperation tried to swallow it, "I need a drink." she shouted as she heard Ron's car drive away.

She heard Queenie returning from the kitchen, she placed a glass on the coffee table beside her freshly laundered DD bra and sat on the couch and suggested ,"Drink this." as she brought the glass of clear liquid to Miranda's lips.

The smooth cool liquid refreshed Miranda, erasing the taste of fresh slightly salty cum, but the aftertaste was unmistakable, as was the burning sensation down her throat.

"Aaagggg thats Vodka" Miranda cried.

"Yes dear, best to be a bit pissed I always say," Queenie suggested, "Had enough?"

"For gods sake give me some water!" Miranda pleaded but Queenie just laughed, and stared at Miranda, trying to reconcile the filthy broken train wreck of a girl she saw lying helpless with the Council worker who came with threats earlier.

"Still going to take me kids off of me?" Queenie asked.

Miranda stared back. "It's my job."

"Was" Queenie corrected venomously, "You're a fucking little whore now."

Queenie had the germ of an idea, she put the glass of Vodka back on the coffee table and idly punched a button on the black plastic remote which turned the TV on before turning to return to the hallway. The familiar sound of the news reader reporting world events made Miranda's situation seem even more surreal as Queenie slowly climbed the stairs and went into her bedroom, and began to search among the boxes and suitcases and cupboards until she found what she wanted, a red jacket she once wore, before she had her implants, a stained black leather miniskirt which she thought Miranda might squeeze into and some scuffed and worn black sling back shoes with four inch stiletto heels.

Miranda heard Queenie moving around upstairs and somehow she levered herself off the floor, pushed the coffee table aside and rolled first onto her side and then onto her knees and then by degrees rolled first to a sitting position on the couch and then she she stood up uncertainly and unsteadily and made her way carefully towards the kitchen. She searched for something to drink. She tried to open the refrigerator but with her wrists secured to her thighs it was impossible, she tried to turn a tap with her mouth but it was immovable, there was nothing to drink on the shelves but when she saw there was a dogs bowl by the sink unit nearly full of dirty water she quickly knelt down and started to drink from it. cool sweet water, it slid like nectar down her parched yet slimy throat.
Queenie decided to take a shower, she undressed, throwing her clothes in a heap on the bed and walked toward the bathroom, her breasts swaying with the motion of her hips, but then she decided she didn't have time, and instead dressed in a tight white shirt, a couple of sizes too small in fact, and a suspender belt with stockings, with a short black skirt and windcheater coat, she chose trainers for footwear in case she needed to make a run for it and collected the clothes she had found for Miranda and made her way downstairs.

Miranda was still trying to lick the last drops of water from the bowl and didn't hear Queenie approach. "That's the dog's bowl you filthy bitch" Queenie chided her as she returned clutching the old red jacket, skirt and high heel shoes.

Queenie took the jacket and draped it around Mirandas shoulders before doing up the three black buttons which fastened it down the front trapping her arms to her sides again, "Can't get into it since I had me tits done," she explained, "This skirts fucked, you might as well have it, I can't get the cum stains out " she continued as she made Miranda stand and step into the tight little leather miniskirt which she pulled up and then zipped up with some difficulty, and then finally she made Miranda sit on the table while she forced the high heeled shoes onto poor Miranda's feet.

The shoes were at least two sizes too small, they cramped Miranda's feet, "Can you walk dear" Queenie asked, as she helped Miranda down from the table. The shoes cramped Miranda's feet so severely that she could barely walk but Queenie had forced them on and tightened the buckles until they bit deeply into Miranda's delicate nylon clad ankle but there was no doubt that they looked ridiculously sexy.

Miranda sadly said "No" as she tottered around unsteadily, as Queenie guided her back to the Lounge where she opened the curtains to reveal an evening of darkness and rain.

"We better put you to work young lady." Queenie suggested."You'll need these." she told Miranda as she took a hand full of condoms from the fruit bowl on the sideboard and tucked them unto the pockets of the jacket.

Queenie checked that she had Miranda's car keys as she gently guided her towards the front door, Miranda had been plotting how to escape from number three to the sanctuary of her car all afternoon but now as Queenie opened the front door and pointed to the car saying "I'll drive," she felt real terror. She froze but Queenie pushed her firmly onwards, to where the cold and damp assailed her, her heels scrunched on the broken tarmac, and as she approached the car she saw her pale reflection in the car window cast by the orange glow of the streetlights. She looked like a train wreck, like the dead junkies in the warning adverts.

She felt cold and afraid and above all dirty, her neck and breasts still smeared with slime, which had pooled and congealed under the corset, her crotch smeared with her own juices and liquid lube which had run down and soaked into her stockings She was only too aware that her breasts and pussy were naked under the jacket and skirt, her nipples grew stiff with cold, and then to her horror she felt herself getting damp again.

A lone man walking a dog watched as she climbed in to the front passenger seat of her car she knew he must have seen right up her short skirt, she knew he had seen her naked shaven pubes, her glistening slit, and she sat legs together as she felt the slippery wetness leaking from her, moistening the area round her anus as it dribbled down before soaking into the car seat.

Her hair hung awkwardly, sticky with cum, filthy with dust from Queenie's floor, she sat humiliated as Queenie sat behind the wheel.

"I haven't driven for years," Queenie said as she serched for the slot for the ignition key before starting the engine and crashing onto first gear with a grinding crunch.

"Clutch," screamed Miranda, but Queenie gunned the engine and they set off with a series of hops and jerks before selecting second gear which she stayed in for the next mile.

They parked behind Superdrug at the area centre, Queenie guided Miranda from the car and down the quiet street then down a back alley between the serried ranks of mid Victorian red brick terraced houses.

"Out you get." Queenie ordered, as she opened the door wide and pulled Miranda out of the seat."

"I can't people will see," Miranda whined.

"Don't make a fuss," Queenie warned, "Or you'll get arrested for soliciting, just think doing community service, no job, no reputation, you'll be doing this every night, instead of just the nights I tell you."

Queenie locked the car and pointed to a narrow alleyway leading down between the back gardens of two rows of red brick Victorian terraced houses, leading between the crumbling red brick garden walls, its cobblestones now covered by a thin layer of crumbling tarmac, she guided Miranda away from the comfort zone of the car, across the road and into the alleyway, street lights cast their glow from iron posts many at drunken angles now, posts which started as gas lamp posts perhaps a century earlier. Built for access to gardens, barely wide enough for a single car, single and double gates led variously to gardens and sheds and workshops, some gardens tiny oasis in the turmoil of city life, others rat infested tips which served equally as wildlife havens, some fortified with barbed wire, others open of merely protected notionally by a broken gate.

Miranda tottered awkwardly on her undersized shoes and high heels as Queenie led her among the puddles through the gentle rain towards the distant lights and sounds of the main road, past crumbling brick walls, with slogans, graffiti, broken bottles and discarded condoms and syringes.

"Good spot this," Queenie said pointing to a broken garden gate, "secluded like." they passed a section of wall rebuilt in modern breeze block and then emerged from the alleyway first into a similar alleyway running at right angles and after a few more yards into a rundown shopping street, Miranda recognised the "Royal George" pub opposite, and the second hand bicycle shop next door as being right in the centre of the red light area.

"Queenie, you slumming it again?" a voice from the shadows, a dark girl emerged from the shadows wearing jeans and sweater, "You'll get arrested dressed like that." she continued.

"Hi Bernice," Queenie acknowledged, "I've got to teach this bitch a lesson, thinks she's better than us."

Bernice emerged from the darkness of the doorway of the clothes shop, to stand under the lamplight, "fine, get arrested then," she peered at Miranda, "I know that bitch."

"Social services." Queenie replied.

Bernice lashed out slapping Miranda across both cheeks, "Bitch, I bet you're fucking enjoying this," she swore before she drove her hand up under Miranda's short skirt, seeking out her sex. "Bloody hell Queenie her cunt's leaking like a sewer." Bernice announced as her fingers probed then emerged glistening into the night air.

Queenie saw a man approaching, "Ask if he want's business." Queenie ordered.

"No!" Miranda cried.

"You looking mate?" Queenie shouted, but the man scuttled away.

"How much are you charging please?" a voice asked from the shadows. A slightly accented voice, Asian, Pakistani perhaps

"She charges Twenty for straight." Queenie replied.

"That sounds fair, is there somewhere we can go?" he asked.

"Down the alley." Queenie replied.

"No," Miranda squealed, "you can't."

"First night,"Queenie responded, "she owes big time see, you still on?" The man emerged into the lamplight his face still in shadow but his jet black hair glistening in the street light's orange glow

"What about you?" he asked Queenie, "Are you working madam?"

"Just pimping tonight mate." she replied, "time of the month."

"Are you on?" Queenie asked. The man nodded and as Miranda looked on wide eyed Queenie put an arm round her and led down the alleyway through the broken gate and into an overgrown garden.

The wet grass was inches long on the overgrown pathway and just inside the wall was the outside lavatory with its door hanging from only one hinge. Spiders webs hung like lace curtains, the iron lavatory cistern inside encrusted with rust, the lavatory pan shone white through the dirt, while the rain dripped constantly through the cracked ceiling tiles.

Queenie guided Miranda inside, before unzipping her skirt and jacket and pulling her skirt up under her breasts to expose her sex.

"Money, ask the gentleman for the money." Queenie suggested.

"No, please." Miranda wailed but Queenie silenced her with a slap and suddenly Miranda found herself saying. "Twenty pounds, ah please."

Queenie made Miranda stand with one foot on the lavatory pan and one on the floor to allow easy access for her customer, Miranda looked at him fearfully, knowing her sex was on full view. She shuddered involuntarily as his fingers probed her wet softness, as his wedding ring grazed across her clit as he accidentally aroused her, he felt her dampness, the warm willing wetness of a bitch on heat and he rushed to undo his cheap pants and release his member.

He was dark, Asian probably, and his breath smelled of curry, and he was circumcised, that was all Miranda knew when she sold herself that first time, and his penis was short and fat, and as soon as Queenie rolled a condom on him he just rammed his manhood brutally at her defenceless softness. She yielded easily almost willingly and she braced herself mentally for the relief which must surely come. His thrusts lifted her bodily, pushing her hair up into the spiders webs and crushing her soft lower lips with his pelvis as he thrusted like an enraged beast but then oh so suddenly he was sighing and slowing, softening within her as he shot his load into the condom, it seemed to Miranda it was over almost before it started, and her inner tensions increased coiling like an over wound spring until she burst into wracks of sobbing tears.

Miranda sobbed and cried, the tears of humiliation and frustration mingled again to drip from her chin to slowly slide their glistening path down her cleavage.

"She's good, so tight," the man chuckled heartlessly as he pulled up his trousers and tucked the crisp twenty pound note into to Miranda's corset, then still struggling to tuck his shirt into hos waistband he turned and walked away, through the broken gate and into the night.

Queenie pulled Miranda from the ruined outside lavatory, she pulled Miranda's skirt back down to cover her pubes but left the jacket open, bathing Miranda's breasts in the pale glow of the street lights , the gentle breeze exposing first one then the other small dark nipple as she walked.

"How was your first John." Queenie asked, "That was a good one, in and out quick and move on."

"It was horrible." Miranda sobbed.

"Don't be a baby!" Queenie counselled.

Footsteps approached as they emerged past the broken gate, a man approached, drunk, twenties, white, dressed in denim with white shirt, clean shaven.

"Ask him." Queenie demanded.

"Are you?" Miranda managed to stutter,

The rain fell softly on the broken tarmac between the redbrick garden walls, collecting in glistening pools where the drains were blocked, rain drops fell gently from above to glisten in Miranda's now cobweb enshrouded hair.

"Fuck off I ain't that desperate." he replied.

"Tenner for a blow job." Queenie offered, "the kid that is."

He turned, "You're on."

"No" Miranda protested but Queenie pushed her down, she had to kneel, or else fall flat on her face, so she allowed her face to be pushed forward, towards the shiny zipper on the clean denims where the man was frantically trying to extract his slumbering penis.

It emerged like a fat worm, a lazy fat worm wanting merely to, Miranda kissed it flicked it with her tongue, clamped her lips around it and as she almost gagged with the smell and taste of urine tried to suck it but it remained resolutely flaccid.

He pushed her away and she staggered before crashing into the wall shoulder first, "Fucking useless bitch" he screamed.

"You owe me a tenner!" Miranda screamed after him.

"You're learning girl." Queenie praised her, "try this chap." Queenie suggested as a tall young man turned the corner from the main street and approached them

"Are you looking?" Miranda asked tentatively.

"Something a bit more upmarket, no offence." he replied.

"She's got lovely little tits," Queenie told him, "I have to keep her bondaged because she gets violent."

"No, alright." the young man replied, "I'm not interested," he paused "How much?"

"Fifty." said Miranda, "Surely I'm worth fifty."

"No, you're all right."

"Twenty five." Miranda countered.

"Straight,?" he asked Miranda nodded, "You got somewhere?" he asked. she nodded, and she turned and led him through the gateway to the garden and through the overgrown wet grass to the derelict outside lavatory.

"You got rubbers?" he asked.

"In my pocket," she countered and as he reached out and touched her jacket pocket so the material slid over her nipple arousing her once more.

Miranda watched as he rolled the black condom over his long pink appendage. He lifted her skirt as again she stood with a foot on the lavatory pan,

"Undo my hands so I can hold you." Miranda whispered, "Please," but instead she felt the advancing gossamer touch of the condom, easing into her soft wetness into which she unwillingly welcomed him, involuntarily adjusting her position to allow him easier access and greater penetration eagerly anticipating her release from pent up emotions, she threw her head back as his pelvis ground hers, stifling a cry of pleasure then all too soon she felt the warmth of the swelling condom and his thrusting diminished and ceased.

"My wrists, please." Miranda pleaded.

"Here's, thirty, I ain't got a fiver, you can owe me." he said as he reached two notes from his wallet and tucked them into her jacket pocket, then he kissed her cheek lightly, pulled up his zipper and walked away into the night.

Queenie was waiting down by the main road, Miranda looked towards the street where her car was parked but realised that she didn't have the key so reluctantly she rejoined Queenie.

"Money." Queenie said quietly,

"Pocket, he gave me thirty." Miranda replied quietly and succinctly.

Miranda shivered in the night air, she watched girls picking up men in cars, the barely visible looks and agreement between parties and then the quick dash to the corner for the girl to climb into the back door when the car stopped at the lights on its next loop of the one way system.

Miranda began to wish someone would take her away in a car, at least it would be warm, her crotch throbbed with abuse and with unrelieved tensions, she would have masturbated right there in the street if her hands had been free, but there was nothing to do but hope the next punter would have enough staying power to relieve her tensions and meet her needs.

Queenie sensed victory, she saw the longing look in Miranda's eye as a tall young man emerged from the pub alone, his tee shirt and jeans seemingly inadequate protection against the cold of evening yet he shrugged off any suggestion of discomfort. "Try him," Queenie said, "He looks fit."

"Just a minute, nip across the road." Queenie suggested as she took her little penknife and cut through the tapes on Miranda's wrists and thighs pulling aside the loops of tape to free her arms, "Go on."

Miranda sprinted across the road, she met the young man as he drew level with Queenie. "Whoah" he said in a mid Atlantic accent.

"Are you looking, for sex I mean," Miranda asked hopefully.

"Sure, but with a boy darling, sorry."

Miranda stared in disbelief, she looked back at Queenie, but Queenie was talking to three black guys in a black BMW. Miranda saw Queenie pull her top aside to reveal a giant breast before she climbed into the BMW and it purred off down the street.

"Doing business love." an Asian man asked, a man in long loose pants and a Turban seeking sex.

"No, sorry, I work for the Council," Miranda reminded him and herself, and suddenly she was alone, she walked across the road, the man followed her.

"You a racist or something only you did business earlier?" he asked.

"What do you want then." she asked resignedly.

"Just a fuck basically." he replied.

"Then its sixty quid." she said firmly.

"I could fuck something half decent for sixty quid," the asian man informed her nastily, "no thanks."

Miranda turned, and started to run, she felt sickened, her feet hurt her jacket slipped from her shoulders exposing her breasts so she stopped and slipped her arms through before running again, she stopped to get her breath, there was a spare key under the wheel arch of her car but no immobiliser fob, she could get in her car but not drive it. She didn't know her clothes were there behind the back seat, and so she ran, her feet blistering in the over tight shoes she just ran as fast as her rasping breath and screaming muscles would allow.

Down pavements laid by Victorians, down streets of redbrick uniformity, past corner shops and houses, then sensing her vulnerability to police interest, and impossible questions she switched to back alleys, and then to the network of new cycle tracks, built with the mid nineties housing estates but now overgrown she ran until she could run no more, her chest hurt her lungs were bursting and she collapsed onto the wet grass, she felt the constriction of her corset and ripped the zipper down, suddenly she could fill her lungs at last, she threw the garment aside. and staggered to her feet to run once more.

Her feet clattered loudly, she imagined the curious twitching their curtains as she clopped past, she tried walking on the grass verges but the heels sank in so finally she threw off the shoes and ran on the grass barefoot.

Thorns, jagged glass, rough concrete, thorns, all tore at her soft feet but her goal was coming closer now, her little box on the hillside, number thirty three. The familiar tree lined road seemed strangely unfamiliar as she walked instead of drove up towards her home, she had no idea of the time, but people seemed to be drifting home, bedroom lights coming on behind thick curtains, downstairs rooms darkened, she prayed she would not meet any neighbours out walking their dogs.

There were no grass verges to walk for the last few hundred yards, the ashphalt path or ashphalt roadway her only option, but despite the pain she sprinted the last few hundred yards to her house, a small two bedroom semi detached starter home, barely six months old, the paint-work still pristine, the driveway unblemished. She paused beside the door, lifted the stoneware frog, twisted its head off and retrieved her spare key from the cavity inside then opened the door to her world once again.

She slammed and double locked the front door, bolted it and fitted the chain, she stared at pile of junk-mail on the doormat until the beeping of the alarm reminded her to punch in the code, she paused briefly but when she saw her reflection in the mirror she rushed up the stairs, she turned the bath taps full on and cold water gushed from both instantly. she turned them off again and tried the shower, cold water poured from the shower head despite selecting the hot setting, she realised the water heater was turned off and she flopped down to sit on the floral print lavatory seat cover, dabbing her eyes with a bath towel as she cried inconsolably.

Miranda sobbed into her towel for several minutes before making her way downstairs to turn the central heating and the Immersion heater on, then she returned and sat and looked at herself in the mirror tiles along the wall above the bath.

She barely recognised herself, her hair was filthy, covered with cobwebs but swept into two pig tails it suddenly made her look nineteen again and but it was the shocking pink eye shadow and scarlet lipstick she felt made her look like a sort of a pantomine whore, if such things existed.

She waited for the water to become warm and then worked most of a bottle of shampoo into her hair and then held her head under the shower for an age desperately combing and teasing and battling to get her chestnut locks into a semblance of cleanliness.

Miranda moved to her bedroom, the master bedroom but barely big enough for her double bed and dressing table, she picked up her hair-dryer from the bedside table and started to dry her hair, luxuriating in the blast of warm air. She became used to the her appearance, the scarlet lipstick, the short skirt and tight top, but a smoldering resentment burned within her, a resentment that a man could have refused her offer to have sex, for fifty pounds.

Only yesterday she would have refused five thousand pounds, would never have considered such a proposition yet today she had offered herself for fifty and been refused, she had not even been tied up, it must have been her dirty hair she consoled herself, dressed like this with clean hair she could have any man she decided, any man, and that is what she realised
she needed, a man.

A man to share her double bed, or at least to christen it, to mark its virgin sheets, no one but the builders and her mother and sister had even set foot in the room, and they had laughed at her insistence on a full size bed. She stared at herself, raising her skirt to see her shaved pussy, she liked it she decided, was it six men she had sex with today, six men who still left her unsatisfied.

She reached for her secret box, the one her mother must not know about, the one where she kept her toys, she, lifted out the false bottom and extracted her favourite, she flicked the switch and the motor buzzed slowly and died, she ripped the battery cover off in frustration and realised she did not have any spares.

The long thick flexible pink toy remained unused unloved, her one attempt to use it a painful failure, maybe half a metre long and three or maybe four inches in diameter in sparkly pink flexible plastic and probably intended for use by pairs of lesbians, a joke gift which had not seemed funny when she received it long ago yet surely tonight it could be an answer. Slowly tentatively Miranda took one bulbous end and placed it against her sex, she stopped briefly to smear some jelly over the end and then watched her reflection as the monster slid up between her thighs, up under the leather of her miniskirt, and as she pushed she watched and felt it slithering inside her.
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