Chapter 2: Whored To Senator Sterling

A battlefield raged in Elizabeth Collins’s mind. The combatants were Dr. Elizabeth Collins, the respected Dean, Professor, mother. The other person was the whore from last night. One could not exist without the other. The Dr. Collins persona could not exist if the whore did not. Dominic would make sure of that. Refusal meant exposure, and the life of Dr. Collins would be incinerated.

But the whore could not exist without the foundation of respectability in the Dr. Collins persona. That was the premium. Customers were willing to pay anything to use the whore because they were not purchasing a physical body. They were buying the right to desecrate an icon, to use, abuse, and degrade Dr. Collins herself.

Elzabeth remembered the last thing that Dominic had done before she left last night. He had given her a name for the whore persona. It was Vesper. She had to admit he still retained the intellectual brilliance that he had as a Ph.D. candidate.

Even though she knew the origin of the meaning of the name, he had told her anyway. He told her it was derived from the Latin vesper meaning evening and vespera meaning evening star. It was the perfect name, as she was now a night shift working girl.

Elizabeth wondered if it had another meaning to Dominic. One that came from the James Bond book and movie called Casino Royale. There James Bond and the character Vesper had become lovers with a backdrop of danger and intrigue.

Her fingers traced the edge of a photo on the refrigerator. It was from last summer. Anthony was grinning with his arm around a beaming Donna. Their faces were full of life. Elizabeth knew she had to protect them. A throb in her ass from her customer last night was a reminder of the price.

She thought, “Look at them. So innocent. So proud of their mother, the Dean of Ethics. If they only knew their mother spent last night with a stranger’s cum dripping out of her asshole.”

She had to dissect the situation and understand it. She forced herself to analyze what was happening with the same detached logic she used on Kant. She needed to separate her emotions from the shocking reality of the situation. She turned Dominic and Bill into a case study.

Subject: Dominic Santoro. He is the architect.

He’s a sociopath who understands the mechanics of supply and demand. Dominic Santoro is not a pimp. He’s a venture capitalist investing in the service industry of selling flesh. His product is not sex.

He’s commodifying the power of corruption. He identified my market value as my reputation, not my body. He’s selling CEOs, politicians, and judges the chance to fuck their own critics, to own and corrupt a piece of the moral framework they publicly claim to uphold. The product is the reputation of Dr. Collins and her credentials. That reputation as a champion of morals and ethics is the value that these sick bastards were buying. He’s selling the opportunity to degrade, own, and manipulate that product for their own selfish sense of worth. He’s not destroying my principles. He’s monetizing them. He’s turned my integrity into his most valuable asset.

She took a sip of coffee. The analysis was cold. It was logical. It created distance. She was a philosopher studying a case of extreme human exploitation. The subject was Elizabeth Collins. The object was her body. The observer was her mind. If she could keep them separate, then she could survive.

Vesper, the whore persona, popped up. “You forgot the taste, Professor. The taste of his ass on your tongue just before he came in your throat. You didn’t wash it out for hours. You drove home with the taste of Bill Barkley’s asshole in your mouth. Don’t analyze that. Remember it.”

Dr. Collins flinched. The memory was a vile memory. She pushed it down, forcing her mind back to its thesis. She moved on to Bill.

Subject: William Barkley

Motivation: Sexual release was momentary and cheap. The procurement of a lasting psychological high, the “orgasm of control.” That was what he was after. He purchased the right to violate a symbol of moral authority. The physical acts themselves, such as the spanking, the verbal abuse, and the sodomy, were simply the method of delivery of the drug. The degradation of Dr. Elizabeth Collins was the catalyst. The fact that he could force a climax from her body was the ultimate proof of his power.”

Vesper whispered, “It feels like my thighs are still sticky. I can still feel his cum leaking out of my asshole in the car. I had to sit on a towel, Professor. Remember?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. She knew she had to address the anomaly. The data point that refused to fit her neat theories. The climax. Specifically, the massive, shattering orgasm she had experienced during the anal penetration.

Elizabeth continued her analysis. “It’s the paradox of the Climax of Control. Giving up control causes a biological release that the brain thinks is a reward, which confirms the submissive state. Bill hurt my body by stretching the sphincter and forcing his way in. The pain should have been a signal to do something to relieve it. The brain, on the other hand, thought that the submission was pleasure. It’s a fascinating malfunction of the reward system.”

Vesper corrected Elizaeth. “It wasn’t a malfunction. It was the best feeling of my life. When he shoved his thick cock in my virgin ass, when he started fucking me raw, that was when I knew I was a slut for pain and pleasure. I felt his cum shooting deep inside my ass filling me up and marking me. I wanted to beg him to keep going and to use me harder.”

Elizabeth felt a chill go down her body.

Vesper continued. “That’s right, Professor. Remember the feel of his hands on your tits? Remember how he stretched your asshole until you thought you’d split in two? You came with him raping your ass. You didn’t just have an orgasm. That was the best cum of your life. You actually came from being used like a cheap slut. Admit it. You loved it.”

Elizabeth gripped the edge of the granite countertop with her knuckles turning white. No. That wasn’t her. That was a physical response. A betrayal of the body. Elizabeth fought in back.

Elizabeth countered in her mind. “Incorrect. The premise is flawed. The event was not rape in a legal or ethical sense. It was a transactional service performed under extreme duress. I sold my ass to him. He paid to fuck it. The orgasm was an involuntary physiological reaction to targeted stimulation of the pudendal nerve cluster. It was compounded by a psychological state of total capitulation. It’s data. It’s not enjoyment.”

Elizabeth stood up and walked to the sink, staring at her reflection. She saw the exhaustion, the dark circles, and the woman who had sold her body and been physically and mentally fucked.

Vesper chuckled in her mind. “Keep telling yourself that, Professor. In three days you’ll be wearing the same type of uniform. You’ll be dressed like a gutter slut. And when the next man pays to use you, you’ll beg for his cock. And you’ll cum. And you’ll analyze that, too, won’t you? Right after you swallow his load.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes. The battlefield was raging. The war had just begun.

A realization hit Dr. Collins. She looked at the two voices not as enemies, but as two distinct halves that needed to coexist.

She was Dr. Elizabeth Collins, a woman of intellect who had been forced into the role of a whore to save her family. The whore persona was a parasite. It was a survival mechanism that could not exist without the host.

Vesper admitted, “I’m nothing without the Dean. If I’m just a slut, I’m nobody. I need you, Dr. Collins. I need your face. I need your voice. Men don’t just want to fuck a hole. They want to fuck the intellectual who thinks she’s better than them. They want to degrade the Dean. That’s what turns them on. I’m just the body they use.”

Dr. Collins felt the walls of her mind closing in. She thought not herself, “You need me, Vesper. I lose my mind if I let you take over completely. But if I suppress you, I lose my ability to survive the threats against Anthony and Donna.”{br}

Vesper agreed. “We’re symbiotic. We need each other. You provide the prestige. I provide the willingness to do the dirty work.”

Dr. Collins looked out the window at the darkening garden. She felt the weight of the compromise she needed to make with the whore. She was not just a Dean pretending to be a whore. She was a Dean who needed to be a whore.

That understanding made her shiver. That was the ultimate irony and hypocrisy that Dominic wanted her to feel. Her lecture later that day was on that very topic. The Unbreakable Pillar: Why Moral Compromise Corrodes the Soul. She had to preach the virtues she had just abandoned.

Elizabeth was back at the podium about to give a lecture. The irony of what she was about to do felt like physical weight dragging her down.

She began her lecture with the same polished delivery from years of practice.

“Good morning. Today, we discuss the foundation upon which all ethical structures are built. That is the principle of non-compromise.”

She clicked to the first slide. Morals & Ethics: Why It Is Important to Never Compromise.

“Let’s first define our terms. Compromise in a negotiation is a noble tool. But ethical compromise is not negotiation. It’s the surrender of a core principle for external gain. For power, for money, for safety. It is a poison pill. We need look no further than the proposed InnovateEd deal. The gain is ten million dollars. The surrender is our academic freedom and integrity. The price is too high. The poison would kill us from the inside.”

She paused, hoping that point got across to the students.

“The core of a principled life is what I call the Unified Self. This is the state where your public actions, your private actions, and your internal monologue are all in perfect alignment.”

She felt like everyone could see her hypocrisy.

“A compromised life is one that fragments the mind and soul. It’s is a life of masks. It’s wearing the face of a moral leader in public while hiding a contradictory, shameful reality in private. Lying to the world is one thing, but living a lie so completely that you begin to forget the truth signifies the death of the self.

She thought of the woman in the red dress, the woman begging for a cock in her ass. Was Vesper becoming the truth? Or was Dr. Elizabeth Collins the real one? She couldn’t tell anymore.

The professor continued. “This brings us back to Kant. The Categorical Imperative is not merely a guide for our actions. It’s the ultimate test for the integrity of your very identity. It asks you to universalize the maxim of your life.”

“We all have the ability to contribute, driving our community to the high ground of ethical and moral greatness. It starts with each of us doing the right things when nobody is watching.”

She looked at a young woman in the front row, a student who admired her. The girl’s expression was one of rapt attention. Elizabeth felt a surge of nausea.

Elizabeth thought to herself, “If only she knew the maxim of my life right now: I’ll debase myself in the most degrading ways imaginable to protect my children.”

She continued. “What happens If each of us choose the path of selfishness and only what benefits us individually? It that become the universal norm the society would collapse into a pit of hedonistic despair.”

Elizabeth raised her voice. “And so we come to the conclusion,. It’s a plea for authenticity. It’s a call for the courage to face the consequences of a principled life. It is hard. It’s painful. It will cost you. But the alternative is the slow rot of the soul. It’s the fragmentation of the self. It’s a death while you are still breathing.”

There was no sound for a moment in the lecture hall. Then there was the applause. From the students. They were looking at their mentor and their guide. They saw living testament to the very ideals she preached.

Elizabeth nodded graciously. The students had no idea they were not applauding a philosopher. They were applauding a performance. They were cheering the actress who had just used her academic expertise to deliver a message. That message really was Do As I say, Not As I Do.

Elizabeth decided she needed to see her kids. She needed to be the mom.

She walked over to the student union. Donna was taking an extension class at the University and usually was getting lunch there at this time of the day.

Elizabeth found Donna sitting at a corner table by the windows.

Donna looked up as Elizabeth approached with her face lighting up. She stood up, wrapping her arms around her mother’s neck in a tight hug. “Mom!”

“Hey, sweetie,” Elizabeth said, her voice soft. She pulled back, smoothing Donna’s hair.

Donna sat down grabbing her water bottle. “How was the lecture? You looked amazing on stage. Everyone was talking about it.”

Elizabeth felt a familiar flush of pride mixed with shame. “Thank you, darling. It was a good class. I’m glad you came to see me.”

Donna smiled, taking a sip of water. “I just wanted to show some support. You know, for ‘Dean Mom’.”

Elizabeth sat down, wincing slightly as the chair dug into one of the bruises on her thighs. “It means a lot to me, Donna. Really.”

Leaning in and smiling, Donna said, So, do you think I should wear the blue dress to the spring formal? I mean, the red one is really flashy, but ... I don’t know. I feel like the boys might take me more seriously if I look a bit more ... mature.”

Elizabeth listened to her daughter watching her face and mannerisms.

Thinking to herself, She’s so innocent. She thinks I understand the world because I’m a woman in power. She doesn’t know I’m a woman who sells her body to survive.”

Elizabeth reached across the table and covered Donna’s hand with her own. “The blue dress is beautiful, Donna. It suits you. But you know what looks best on you? Confidence. Be yourself. If the boys don’t like you for who you are, they aren’t worth your time.”

Donna laughed, shaking her head. “God, you sound just like a motivational speaker. Be yourself. I should have known.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I’m your mother, Donna. It’s my job.”

Donna smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to be a wallflower. I’m going to dance. I’m going to have fun.”

Elizabeth watched her daughter with the pride swelling in her chest. This was the reason. This was the price. She was destroying herself so Donna could have the freedom to be a wallflower or a dancer, to be whoever she wanted without the burden of secrets.