Chapter 2

She grunted hard, face down, soaked in sweat as her ass was reamed in the filthy motel bed. The sour-smelling man had his fist balled up in her hair, happily using it to jerk her head back and forth or to slam it into the worn-out mattress. A part of her wondered what had seen more use, had had more strangers fluids spilled upon it, her or it. She cried out in pain as the man pulled almost out, just the tip still in her ass. Then he shoved all of his weight on her as he ground her face against the bed. He started choking her with his free hand, a new favorite game of his. He squeezed tightly, her breathing cut down to erratic wheezing as he continued abusing her ass with painful short thrusts. She welcomed the black when it began to creep in, as he called her names and spat on her cheek. She felt relaxed for a brief moment and then nothing.

Her eyes fluttered open a minute later when hot piss started splashing on her face. Confused, she tried to turn away but her face was gripped tightly as a cock was shoved in her mouth. She tasted piss and something earthy, half drowning in the salty fluid before she realized what was going on, who she was with, and where she was at. She relaxed, swallowed the remaining piss in her mouth, and let the man finish. She then cleaned his cock of the rest of the filth that was on it. He always paid extra to make sure she hadn’t cleaned herself. So she could be reminded of what she was. She wiped her mouth in mild disgust as he sneered at her and walked over to his wallet.

In many ways, the man was more her father than her father had been, not that she would ever have given him the satisfaction to know that. The fat, foul man had singlehandedly changed her life and that was something he did know. He was the first man to rape her. Oh, he had been “kinder” than the schoolboys who had repeatedly raped her passed-out body, but he was the one who had shattered her will. Who had put up a mirror to her soul and had found it completely void and wanting. He picked up his wallet and returned with a half-drunk fifth of vodka. He handed her the bottle, looked down at her, and waited. She knew what he wanted and expected. He liked breaking her down, bit by bit. Her first user, her first abuser, her first client. So many firsts that originated from him and he knew it. She took the vodka, chugging it, taking a breath, then chugging more. He laughed at her, slapping her hard once she had managed to down all of it.

“I remember the way you looked at me, that first time. The way you wrinkled your nose at me. And now, you’re an alcoholic junkie whore. Ain’t that right, bitch?” he said. Her head swam from all the vodka she’d had tonight. He always made her drink too much. Bit by bit, he stole parts of her soul away from her. And worst of all, it was true. That’s all she was now. Her seventeenth birthday was just a week away and here she was, drunk, the taste of shit in her mouth, her guts cramping, with the man who had helped make her. She held her belly as she nodded.

“Yes Sir, I am,” she said. She knew to respond respectfully. He could lose his temper in a second. She watched as he smiled, gave her a peck on her cheek, then threw a wad of bills on the piss-soaked bed. He took a small black leather bag into the bathroom and opened it. It held some toiletries to clean himself up after their sessions. Niceties he wouldn’t let her have. She had to stink of sex and piss until he was done and gone. But he paid for more than just the sex with her. No, that was always the least degrading thing he did. He always abused and raped her worst after the sex was over. With his mind and words.

“You know, I knew the second I saw you, what you really were. It was the eyes. Even then, your eyes were fucking dead. Now, they are the prettiest thing about your scrawny, pathetic body,” he said as he started to brush his teeth. She rubbed her arms self-consciously as the room spun around her. She had to close her eyes to focus, her stomach rebelling against the volume of vodka he’d had her drink. She was slim now, slimmer than she’d ever been. At 5’5” and ninety pounds, her ribs showed when she stretched her body. Her B cups were now A’s, and no trace of hair remained on her body. Her pimp and dealer had made sure of that. Early on, she had worn younger clothes, her hair put in pigtails, and whored to men who would fuck a 16-year-old but wished they were even younger. No one paid extra for that anymore. She looked to be in her late twenties according to disappointed customers who had wanted someone “fresh”. Almost 17 and she was already considered a worn-out high-mileage whore.

Not that she didn’t have her regulars and a decent amount of them. Many liked her size and most liked her limits or lack thereof. She had learned early on things went easier, were better, if she just did what she was told. She got more drugs and fewer bruises that way. Not that she hated the pain, not always. There was a strange comfort in the pain afterward as it reminded her that she was still alive. She jerked up suddenly when she realized the older man was snapping his fingers at her.

“Pay fucking attention, you stupid cunt,” he said, spitting the toothpaste on her chest as he chuckled. “You already that out of it?” he asked as he got out his phone and started recording her. That’s how she knew the real abuse was about to start. He pulled out a mirror and tapped away, before offering her several lines of coke. She took one of the bills on the bed and rolled it up, snorting every line. She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, licking her teeth as he recorded her. “Say hi to daddy,” he said, almost pleasantly.