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Message-ID: <48312asstr$1088197801@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: cashingbets@hotmail.com (Joe)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 25 Jun 2004 14:07:46 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Ain't Life Grand - A Raunchy Farce F/M D/s
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Date: Fri, 25 Jun 2004 17:10:01 -0400
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I never paid for a whore in my life. Ever. You understand?

I took one once it was true. Purely through the charity of an
acquaintance. A kindly shmoe. He took pity on the gutter-slut and paid
to have her service me. As a joke, I think.

I must say I was insulted at first and sent the wench tumbling down
the steps with a well-aimed kick. The bitch was persistent. She
wouldn't be paid unless I used her. I slapped her face. A reflex.
Common decency made my hand lash out at her --the source of my
revulsion.

An angelic vision prompted a change of heart. Or perhaps the brick she
leveled at my head made a certain impression on my mind. All I know
is--- I saw stars. A celestial sign for sure. I let her do her work.

The low-down back-alley crack-hoe and her bobbing toothless mug
produced a blowjob so pathetic that it barely qualified on a par with
self-abuse. But it kept my hands free to work the remote and shovel
munchies.

The homeless wretch parked her scabby ass under the crawl space of my
house until part of the flooring gave way. The yawning maw proved too
inviting to resist. She crawled up next to the dog and slept. I let
her. Devil his due: she earned her keep.

She somehow got rid of the piss smell that hung about the place. You
know, that urine odor that you get from too much cheap wine and weak
kidneys. Occupational hazard in my line of work--- getting loaded
being a full time job. Thank God I wasn't a crack head. I'd a killed
myself.

Anyway I suppose I set a good example for the whore because she put
down the crack pipe for good. That's when she started thinking she was
better'n me. Uppity cunt. Once a crack head always a crack head, I
say. If that worthless cum-bag didn't know any better'n that, well
then, it was my duty to knock some sense into her.

I fucked up though. I was good and drunk before I got riled up enough
to slap her ass around. She ended up beating my ass something fierce.
I was just about ready to kick her ass out on the street when I got
all woozy inside. Fearful.

She saw it. The fucking bitch tricked me. She threatened to leave and
never come back.

The thought of going on without her scared the shit out of me now. The
kind of sucker-punch gut-level hell-scare that crumples your innards.
Fuck's you up big-time.

Just as I doubled my fists to hit her I doubled over in terror.
Frightened out of my mind at being alone. She did a number on me. And
I did a number on myself. I was fucked.

I didn't love her. I barely cared for her in that sense
---sentimentally. In fact I kind of hated the bitch. She stole my
solitude. I was happy - satisfied--with my life before I met her. Now I
knew what it meant to have someone to share your life with. The
everyday things that happen. Shared experience. No matter how shitty
your day went (the TV goes out or whatever) there was someone there.
Someone who knew. Somebody you could kick the crap out of and take
your frustrations out on.

That's why I let her hang around.

Now it was her turn. I had to let her kick the crap out of me if I
wanted her to stay.

I let her. I wanted her around.

I let her take over the place and set up shop. A skid row whore house.
I was her houseboy.

I hated myself, sure. But I'd hated myself before that anyway. Before
I met her. Now I had a direct reason to hate myself. Something
concrete. Real. It was a kind of stress reliever.

She fixed up the place quite a bit with the money she earned. Hell
it's worth getting my ass shellacked once or twice a week. For cable
and a big screen TV? Hell yes I'll let her stomp the piss out of me
now and then. The new Ultra-Sports Package includes the Monster Truck
Pull Channel--- 24/7. This bitch is the best thing that ever happened
to me.

Don't tell anybody but... that stuff I said about crack heads? Being so
fucked up and all? Maybe I was wrong. I don't want to sound sappy but
there's times when I sit down inside myself and feel thankful almost.
Feels like a prayer almost just thinking about her.

After that last trick of the day's out the door and she settles down
and yanks the remote from my hand (I don't mind really) and I get her
a beer to sip while I run a bath for her, I think of how lucky I am.

Ain't life grand?


www.literature-erotica.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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