I peer up at the ceiling. What question to ask today? Maybe I will ask how to make guys orgasm faster. Or better, how to get someone to love me?

How much longer can he take? Last week, Mr. J took fifteen minutes. Today, twenty minutes have inched along. Bored, I stare at his off-white but patterned ceiling, covered with spiderwebs. A little red spider slinks along one strand towards a trapped fly. I imagine stealthily slipping over the strands, staking my struggling prey. However, I fear I better represent the fly, thrashing in a trap while something sinister crawls towards me, about to suck me dry. Mr. J’s burnt breath increases while his wild thrusts grow more frantic - two more minutes till finish.

Maybe I will ask, ‘Why do guys have wrinkly balls?’ Mr. J’s stay wrinkly even with an erect penis.

Mr. J’s sweat drips on my face. The caustic, rotten flavor hits my lips, so I wipe it away and return my attention to the ceiling. The fascinating little spider arrives at the fly and delicately wraps it for later. So delicate, so efficient. Mr. J gives one final thrust and collapses on me. His sweaty, fat belly covers most of me. Gradually, he rolls off me, and I can sit up.

He lights a foul cigarette, and toxic grey smoke fills the room. I hate this part because my hair will smell like smoke all morning. His sperm leaks down my leg as I stand, “You didn’t use a condom!”

It doesn’t matter since I can’t get double pregnant, but the bastard promised to use one or pay extra. “Yeah, I forgot,” the bastard’s not sorry.

I stomp out of his room, across the sparse apartment, and into the bathroom, slamming the door. He has a nice bathroom with a large, bright mirror. I wipe his cum and sweat off with a wet cloth and drop it in the middle of the floor. He can deal with his fluids.

I slip on a bra I don’t need. I wish I had a chest. Busty girls can charge more, although, I like not having back pain like my older sister. I slip on my favorite underwear, Star Wars Han Solo boy’s briefs, his ruggedly handsome face on top of my kitty. I like the idea of Han’s head at my crotch.

I tuck my crisp white shirt into my plaid, knee-length, regulation skirt and pull up the long white socks. I hate the catholic school clothes, far too cutesy. A school-crested hoodie hides my thin body. I love the softness. Thank God the school allows me to wear it. I slip on my black shoes, happy not to need to tie them.

Using the water-spotted mirror, I put on dark eyeliner, black eye shadow, and blood-red lipstick. I shake my head to get my short black hair in place. I love this hairstyle because I waste no time styling and getting ready.

I pull the hood over my head like a Sith Lord, the deep shadow covers my eyes, giving my grin a sinister appearance.

Mr. J waits in his little nook of a kitchen. “The envelope has the money,” he comments between sips of his great-smelling coffee. An off-white, grease fingerprinted, envelope lies on his messy table. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten today and want some coffee.

Grabbing the envelope, I leaf through the bills - not enough. Half the agreed amount, not counting the extra for no condom. “You’re short,” I accuse the bastard and hold up the money to prove my point.

“Yeah, I’m a bit broke right now. I’ll make it up next time,” his slouch deepens, and more potbelly covers his dirty white briefs.

“You said that last time,’’ I frown and slip the money into my Darth Maul backpack.

“Yeah,” the bastard mumbles.

I hate having to fuck the pathetic sack sitting on the stained chair, but the world turns on money. While the bastard cheats me, Mr. J doesn’t abuse me.

“And the time before that,” I state, giving him the evil eye. He sits straighter, meeting my stare in a challenge. I’ve pushed it too far.

“Listen. If you don’t like it, I can get a real woman, with real tits, who doesn’t just lay there,” his voice lowers... “Whatever,” I say to diffuse the situation. The bastard knows I need the money for the procedure at the abortion clinic.

“Listen, if you want more money, I’ve got a buddy that pays double. He wants you tonight,” Mr. J says while avoiding my gaze. He returns to slouching and sipping coffee. The bastard never offers me any.

“Text me the details,” I yell over my shoulder as I rush through his yellowish, paint-peeling, mud-stained, door. I run through his weed-covered front yard and onto the cracked sidewalk. He has the most run-down house on the street. Do the neighbors care that a teenage sex worker rushes from his home before school? I could make and give out business cards. Whatever, I don’t need more business, I need my current clients to pay me properly. Thankfully, Mr. J lives close to school, and I arrive on time.

The blue-haired lady stands with a scowl and permanently surprised eyes from a too-tight bun. “Work is a virtue. Sloth is a sin,” she calls out while offering crappy photocopied pieces of paper. A few of my classmates take one, but I avoid the nut. While I like this school more than the public school I attended last year, the school shouldn’t let her harass us every day.

Like a thief, I slip past two girls talking in front of Ms. B’s health class. The uninspired white room has stupid ‘God loves you’ posters covering the walls, still better than the ‘Don’t do drugs’ posters of public school.

“Hey, Ms.B,” I sing to our teacher. While uptight, Ms. B cares - the first teacher since elementary to care.

Ms.B acknowledges me with a nod of her head.

“Hey, Martha,” I greet the class know-it-all as I sit beside her. I sit at the front to get away with things. Teachers always give girls at the front extra chances and help while scrutinizing the students at the back, but this school doesn’t have any awful kids. Here, rebels kiss a boy and confess the sin immediately. They’d die to hear what I did this morning.

I have confessed all my sex work to the priest. He remains my best client, especially since he pays in full and wears protection.

“Hey,” Martha mumbles, staring past me at the classroom door. Her face lights up when cutie Sarah, the most innocent and sweetest person, walks in. Everyone knows Martha loves Sarah.

I hate cute.

“Pull out a piece of paper and write down your question,” Ms. B calls out to the class. The noise stops, and the girls begin to write.

A question surfaces - How do you determine a baby’s daddy before birth? I’d like to know so I can charge the guy for the abortion. In haste - I write the question and pause to hand it in after Teagan.

I stare at Ms.B and try to imagine her naked. We played the game at my old school when bored so we played a lot. I bet she has large nipples with oversized areola. She likely has a slight belly that adds to her curves instead of making her fat. But does she shave? She must, as unmarried women need to have an impressive vagina for dates. However, as a proper Christian, the church might not let her, something only harlots and Jezebels do. My big sister taught me to shave last year. She claims guys like it shaved. My clients give me positive comments, and one pays extra. Ms. B likely trims.

I stare at a stupid poster with the earth held by a set of white hands. While I like the black background, I hate the, ‘Holds the World in His Hands’, message. More kids might attend Christian school if they stopped shoving a white-only God down our throats.

The wait kills me, but finally, after imagining her pussy lip size, big and meaty, Ms.B speaks, “Okay, class. The answer to the first question. Yes, anal sex is still considered sex.”

How does Ms. B keep her patience with these stupid girls? Imagine not knowing. Hell, I love anal because I can charge more with no risk of pregnancy. Although, I guess right now, regular sex doesn’t pose a risk.

I zone out as Ms.B answers more stupid questions. I imagine going on a mission with Han Solo, “Mary, we need to break into the armory and save whiny Luke.”

“I have my blaster. Let’s go, you scruffy nerf herder,” I playfully say while holding up a wicked blaster.

“You lead the way. I’ll follow your cute little ass,” Han gestures for me to head into the imperial base. I wiggle my tight, beige, polyester-clad ass and give him a smile over my shoulder. We blast some incompetent stormtroopers while we run down the sterile, dark, shiny new hallway.

Ms. B’s answer to my question breaks my daydream,” I don’t know of any way to determine the father. Girls, sex out of wedlock is a sin. Worse, sex with multiple partners is dangerous, so always use protection. Pregnancy is not the only bad thing that can happen. Venereal disease is also a possibility.”

I always ask clients if they have VD, and everyone has said no.

It sucks I don’t know who implanted their baby in me, especially since the clinic charges so much to remove it.

“Next question: how do you get a person to like you?” Ms. B pauses and avoids Martha’s gaze, making it obvious Martha wrote the question. Martha further gives herself away by sitting up straighter and leaning slightly forward as if to hear better.

“You can’t make someone like you. However, to attract a good husband, you go to places where good men hang out, like church, the gym, or volunteer shelters. You need to smile and not be too forward because men like being in charge. Remember to wait for marriage before doing anything.”

Martha deflates beside me, not happy with the response. I don’t know why she doesn’t ask Sarah to munch on her carpet, hell, I’d do it at a discount. While a ‘know-it-all,’ I like her drip. I love how she sits, leans, and does her dark make-up. Men fuck me when I ask, but the negotiation about price takes longer. Han’s smooth negotiation style, backed by a blaster, gets me wet.

The image of Han causes my mind to spiral back to our adventure. We duck into a storage closet to avoid a patrol. In close quarters, Han cannot help himself and kisses me. Our tongues entangle, and in frantic motions, we pull off our clothes. In my daydream, my breasts have grown much larger, and Han’s strong hands grab and pinch my nipples, and in real life, my pussy twinges.

I lower myself down and engulf Han’s long erect penis. The warm, soft cherry head slips between my rosy lips and presses up on my wet tongue, nothing like my clients. Han grows closer to orgasm with my hand jacking and my mouth creating a strong suction.

Suddenly, the storage closet doors open, and Darth Maul stands in the doorway, his evil face grins while his red-rimmed eyes bore into me. The two never met in canon, but they have in my mind.

The sinister Sith Lord shrugs off his robe, exposing his barbed, erect black and red-striped, dick. In fear, I keep gulping Han’s dick. Han grabs and points his blaster, but Darth Maul waves his hand, and the blaster flies across the hallway. The closet door closes, and Darth Maul’s barbed penis pushes into my slimy, loose pussy. I wish Darth Maul or Han had put the baby inside me. The two split-roast me, each fuck me hard. I barely keep up. Slobber rolls down my chin while juices roll down my thighs.

Darth Maul growls something. Han chuckles and adds,” You said it, buddy. The best piece of ass in the galaxy.”

A bell disrupts my dream. I grab my bag and rush out of the classroom. I need to get to the washroom and jill off.

A mass of girls impedes my progress to the washroom, but I slip through and around them, like a ghost villain, avoiding the old lady and any of my classmates who want to talk. I follow two younger girls into the smoke-free washroom, vastly different from my last school.

Shit, girls fill all the stalls. I can’t arrive late for my next class, so I splash cold water on my face to shock my system and then pull up my hood.

As I rush to class, a text dings from a new number.

“Hotel Mirage, 7 pm, text room # later.”

Fuck, I don’t want to go, but I need the money. Thankfully, the owners keep the old hotel clean and safe to meet clients.

“👍,” I text back.

I already want to cancel. I want to curl up and binge the newest Star Wars series. However, I need substantial money to cover the clinic costs.

Remembering Mr J shorting me, I text, “Payment up front.”

“Half,” comes the reply.

I channel my inner Han Solo and reply, “All.”

“k.”

I stay awake for the rest of the day and avoid the old lady and her message of work. Everyone knows work sucks.

Black sweats, my comfy black Darth Sidious shirt, and my Imperial black hoodie comfort me as I curl up on the couch for another episode of the new Star Wars series. While only a short thirty-minute walk to the hotel, halfway through the second episode, I delay my departure to take an Uber. You need to spend money to make money, and with how much the guy will pay me, I can spend money on basic creature comforts. The episode ends on a cliffhanger. The countdown for the next begins as I force myself to get off the couch. While late, and while guys complain, they still fuck and pay.

Forgoing a touch-up to my makeup and a change of clothes, I rush to the waiting Prius. Why do all Ubers have such wussy cars?

I check my texts as we drive the short distance, “#303.”

I pull my hood over my head and curl up in the back seat. The car smells of citrus, with a mild cucumber undertone, and the driver doesn’t speak. I tip him extra because Mom, a waitress, returns in a great mood when someone tips extra. I hope I have made the driver’s day.

The driver lets me out in the small, dimly lit, driveway. The old, poorly maintained buildings surround the hotel. The sidewalk has cracks, weeds, garbage cans, and bundles of people. I slink the few steps to the entrance as a homeless person stumbles towards me like a zombie, moaning about money. I pause before the double doors that no longer close tight - I don’t want to do this.

Pumping up my courage with thoughts of Darth Vader cutting Luke’s hand off, I enter the small lobby and mimic a hooded boy. The handsome, university-aged, front desk clerk, behind the worn, grooved, brownish-grey front desk doesn’t pay me any attention. He briefly peeks up before returning to his phone. I smile at the idea of waving my hand, ‘This is not the sex worker you’re looking for.’

The stupid elevator doesn’t work, so I climb clean, foot-worn stairs to the third floor. The owners care for the fifty or sixty-year-old building, but you can’t clean away age and usage. The hallway smells vaguely more like cigarettes than lemons. No matter how much you clean, the cigarette smell always wins.

Halfway down the hall, room 303 has a sturdy, tarnished gold number plate with a slight crack along the middle. The owners have painted each door a different shade of brown.

A bulky, balding man quickly opens the door when I knock. He needs a shave, dental work, and a new sports jacket. The beer t-shirt advertises a brand I don’t know, while his belly betrays how much he must like it.

Another man smokes in the corner near the stark white, queen-sized bed that almost fills the simple room. The lump of bed sheets at his feet reminds me of the covered people outside. Will it move? Only one, of the two lights, illuminates the room, but the deep shadows do not hide the cracks in the pale brown and beige splotched walls.

“Hey, what’s with the other guy,” I ask as I slip inside.

“We’re paying so much for a reason,” the door guy says as he closes the door.

A click, like a cell door, and the room grows warm while a chill runs up my spine. A whiff of spoiled, caustic milk overpowers the toxic smoke. I don’t know these guys. Why did I come alone?

“Speaking of which, do you have my money?” I demand and hold out my hand. When in doubt, channel Han - bluff and act tough.

“Yeah, sure,” the guy chuckles and pulls out a wad of cash from his dirty jeans back pocket. I count it before it slips into my backpack.

“I’m Mark,” the other guy mumbles.

The guy strips off his white tank top, khaki shorts, and green underwear but leaves on his black dress socks. Thankfully for him, the room’s half-light hides most of his chubby body, while his big belly hides most of his small erect dick. Maybe he has a short fuse, and I can leave early. Mom doesn’t get home until eleven, and Dad later, at midnight. I glance at the time, 7:24, I would have time for the next couple of episodes before they force me to bed.

“Do you want something to drink?” the not-Mark door guy asks. I ignore him while I undress and carefully place my clothes beside the washroom door. I made the mistake of drinking once. A guy got me drunk and fucked both lower holes. He didn’t compensate my bleeding ripped ass with our agreed bonus hole fee.

I remove a bottle of lube from my backpack while hiding the money in a secret pocket. I rub extra lube on my little pussy. The slimy stuff makes my little cunt glisten and appear wet. So strange, how guys like a pussy to appear moist with desire while it needs to remain tight. Never again will I make the mistake of not using enough lube.

I walk to the bed. I used to walk in a sexy manner, but now I don’t bother as clients don’t care. They want a warm body with tits and pussy.

I lay down in the middle and stared at the ceiling. The starched, clean, stale sheets scratch and itch my back. The owners have even cleaned the yellowing ceiling stucco, so I find no little spiders in this place.

The bed creaks as the pudgy Mark crawls up between my legs. He tweaks each little breast, flipping his tongue on my right nipple as I spread my legs for penetration. Sure enough, my new, sensual lover foregoes any more foreplay and penetrates me. Guys suck at foreplay. I bet Han Solo knows how to treat a girl right.

He pushes into me. While smaller than average, he still stretches my tight, little kitty. He moves slowly, gradually increasing tempo, until he fucks fast and hard. The headboard bangs against the wall while I count the bumps of stucco on the ceiling in time with the beat.

The room door opens, bringing a welcome breeze. The other guy must have left.

I used to fake a moan, but most guys don’t care. Some even like it when I lay still, which suits me.

Oh good, he cums fast. He grunts and kisses my neck like the erotic lover he emulates. At least he orgasmed fast.

His cum leaks out as he maneuvers off me. Fucker didn’t use protection, and I forgot to ask about VD. Thank goodness I can’t get double pregnant.

I move to get up when another man pushes me down on the bed. Thinner and older than the door guy, a new guy. Where did he come from?

“Hey, I only agreed to two,” I complain as the guy rubs his slightly bigger penis in the other guy’s creampie.

“Didn’t say I’d be the other one,” the door guy says and chuckles.

“Whatever,” I mumble and return to studying the ceiling.

“How old are you?” the fucker grunts in my ear while his bushy beard scratches my cheek, and he smells like old sweat.

“Fourteen,” I lie. I appear small and young, and guys like to pretend. I have used a younger age, but most like me as barely a teenager.

“You’re nice and tight,” he moans in my other ear. Oh great, a talker.

“Thanks, I guess. I’m just young, right,” I whisper back. They all like the same thing.

“You remind me of my daughter,” he whispers.

“Ok, Daddy,” I coo back.

“Fuck, yes,” he grunts louder.

I begin to say something when someone forces a dick into my mouth. This dick’s fatter than the first guys. Fuck, I only agreed to two guys.

“Take daddy’s friend’s dick, Darling,” the fucker thrusts harder and faster.

I glance up at the ruggedly handsome guy who has his dick in my mouth. Maybe I can pretend Han fucks my face like my fantasy earlier today.

The two fuck in time, as cunt fucker says, “Oh, baby, you’re such a good daughter. Do you like having two dicks?”

The guy between my legs cums first, and then someone turns on thrash metal music. Tortured guitar and screaming vocals fill the room.

Will face fucker take pussy fuckers place? A different guy, a third, pushes into me. Glancing down reveals a grey-white hair, purple-faced, fucking senior citizen.

In a panic, I glance around the room, where naked old guys stand around the bed, holding their tiny dicks in old, creased, and age-spotted hands. The fucker set me up for a gangbang.

The mouth guy pulls out and cums all over my little tits. Slimy warm cum drips off my nipples as another guy inserts into my mouth, and the sour smell brings bile to my throat. Some of these guys might have VD. Has anyone asked them? Fuck, he tastes like a yeast infection.

Some guy beats off on the other side of my head. He mumbles something resembling his student and calls me Megan.

The guy between my legs has lifted them over his shoulders and fucks so hard that I almost bite the dick in my mouth. The jerky guy cums on my face and gets some in my eye. The stuff stings, causing me to yelp while I suppress a scream.

Mouth guy orgasms, and I choke on his cum. I spit it out on the bed as it dribbles down my chin. Someone shoves another dick at my mouth but choking, I push him away.

Pussy guy finishes, and I roll off the bed, crawling to the washroom. Someone grabs me from behind and shoves a cock deep inside me. Strong hands restrain my hips as a dick fucks me like a dog.

“Where’re you going?” the door guy asks.

“Washroom. Need to shit,” I call out.

“Just a second,” fucker guy wheezes. He picks up his pace, frantic to get off. I try to move forward, but he keeps pulling me back into him.

Someone pushes their dick in my mouth. The two fast fuck with opposing rhythms. The rug flays my knees while my nails hook into the short fibers.

At least the mouth guy’s dick doesn’t taste horrible. I go with the flow, allowing my body to move as a cork in the ocean waves. Someone reaches under me and pinches my tits.

“Oh fuck, little Clara must feel like this,” the guy behind shouts.

“Do you mean your neighbor’s kid?” a guy beside me asks.

“Yeah, little slut always parades around in her little swimsuit. I have so wanted to fuck her,” the guy behind me says to his friend.

“I get next,” his buddy says.

They fuck rough, and the guy behind me slaps my ass while the face fucker shoves his dick deep into my throat.

Feet appear beside me, someone ejaculates on my back, and the face guy pulls out to cum in my hair.

I crawl but only make it a couple of inches before the behind guy pulls out and cums over my ass.

I quickly crawl the rest of the way, nabbing my backpack as I enter the washroom. Thankfully, the door has a lock, and my backpack contains my phone.

Leaning back against the door, I pant, unable to control my breathing. Sulfur and rotten cheese assault me. What do I do?

I call Mom, but she doesn’t answer. Her work doesn’t allow phones.

I call Dad, but it rings and rings until his happy voice asks me to leave a message before the phone informs me, ‘This message box is full.’

The tortured, door-muffled music pounds, and I scan for a way out.

A drop of slimy cum slides down my cheek, so I grab a hotel towel and wipe it as I evaluate what to do next.

I call my favorite sibling, the one three years older than me - Danny. He picks up!