A Lady Pays Her Penalties

by Ashley Zacharias

  “He’ll be looking at her in a whole different light from now on.”

  The two hookers laughed in delight.

  * * *

  When they entered the dirty little room, Alex handed The Whore a hundred dollars and said, “You don’t have to do what they say, you know.”

  “I know my job. We have an agreement and I’m going to give you exactly what you’re paying for.” She bent over the back of the chair, spread her legs, and flipped her micro skirt up to her waist. She was wearing no panties. She reached back and pulled her cheeks apart. “Put that rubber on and then come over here and drill me good.”

  Seeing her puckered little naked asshole and hearing her begging him to fuck it was enough to get him hard one more time.

  A lubricated condom does not have enough lubrication on it to make anal penetration easy. He didn’t tear The Whore but she couldn’t completely stifle her scream as he slid home.

  The hookers were right. Her asshole was so tight and hot, his dick felt like it had found heaven. It took him a long time to reach orgasm, but he didn’t mind.

  For The Whore, it felt like forever. And she minded every thrust. Every single thrust.

  After he was finished, The Whore asked him to drive her back to her car.

  He was happy to do that small favor for her. He noticed that she was walked ever so gingerly, taking small steps with her legs held apart, as they left the room.

  In Jack’s lobby, they passed the Latina who happened to be bringing her next john in. The young woman smiled with satisfaction when she saw The Whore dancing the slow fucked-in-the-ass-shuffle across the lobby.

  The Whore-for-a-Day Game was fun for everyone.

  Almost everyone.

  * * *

  Alex was alone in his own bed when he fell sleep. He didn’t know where The Whore had gone after he dropped her off by her car. She had two hotel rooms at her disposal. But he wasn’t alone when he was awakened at seven by a naked Whore who was massaging his cock. “What?” he asked.

  “Please, mister. I need a hundred dollars,” the Whore whined. “I need to pay off my dealer and buy some more crack. Just a hundred bucks. I’ll do anything for it. Anything. Suck you. Take you in my ass. You can fuck my pussy any way you want. Anything. Please. Just give me a hundred bucks and I’ll let you do anything. Anything at all. You want to spank me first? Go ahead. My ass is yours. What do you say?”

  Wow. He had a desperate crack whore in his bed. The Whore had hit rock bottom. She had already earned five hundred dollars but she was so desperate to earn one more hundred that she was willing to do anything.

  While he was thinking about what he might want to do, The Whore was bent over his crotch, sucking him like there was no tomorrow. But he had no erection for her. She had got him off five times in eighteen hours yesterday and he had nothing left to give.

  He put his hands behind his head and said, “Go ahead. Do whatever you want but I don’t think it’s going to work. We had a big day yesterday. But I don’t mind if you want to keep trying.”

  And try she did. She pulled and sucked and pressed her tits and ass against him for a full hour. She didn’t stop until the digital clock said “8:00”.

  He pulled her head away from his crotch and stroked her head softly. “I’m sure it’s going to be enough. You worked so hard. You were wonderful. I never would have thought of all the things you did. You were amazing. Truly amazing. I’ll never forget all the things that you did for me. Never.”

  She stood up, woodenly and said, “Thanks, John, but we’ll have to see what Leroy says. I’ll meet him in the living room in five minutes.”

  Five minutes later, Alex went down to the living room and found The Whore, still naked, sitting and staring at the locked chest on the coffee table. Her arms were folded across her breasts and her legs were pressed together. Five one-hundred-dollar bills were clutched in her hand. She looked afraid.

  When he sat down, she offered him the money. “I earned five hundred dollars. Is that enough?”

  “Let’s find out.” He unlocked his padlock with his key and pulled it from the hasp.

  Her hand was trembling when she unlocked the other lock and pulled it from the other hasp.

  “You open it,” she said. Her fingers were trembling too much to open it herself.

  He opened the chest and, without ado, lifted the cup from over the die.

  The Whore wailed piteously.

  The die said six. Five hundred dollars was not enough to satisfy her quota.

  The Whore curled into a foetal position on the end of the couch and began moaning in terror.

  “How do you think I’m going to punish you? What makes you think I will?” Alex snapped in annoyance.

  The whore said something.

  “What?”

  She forced herself to enunciate clearly. “The envelope in the bottom of the chest.”

  Alex looked into the chest again. The die with the six on the upper face was lying on a letter-sized manila envelope. He had not noticed it before. There was writing on it. “How to Punish a Lazy Whore”.

  “You’re not lazy,” Alex said.

  “Read it,” she said.

  The letter read:

  Dear Leroy:

  If you’re reading this, then The Whore lost the game. Now you, her pimp, has to punish her. Please do not argue about it and please do not shirk your duty. It doesn’t matter how good The Whore made you feel, how hard she tried, or what bad luck happened to befall her. If you do not administer a proper punishment, then the game is a farce. Punish The Whore properly and we may play the Whore-for-a-Day Game again some day. Shirk your duty and I guarantee that we will not.

  As The Whore, I probably did some things that I might have preferred not to do, now you may have to do some things as Leroy that you might prefer not to do. Them’s the breaks. Of course, you may enjoy causing me pain and misery. That, too, is okay because I know that you are not like that in the rest of our marriage.

  First, you should establish your authority as The Whore’s pimp. Whores are afraid of wire coat hangers because pimps use them as steel whips, called “pimp sticks”. You will find wire hangers in every closet in this house. Unbend them and then use them a single flails, fold them over one or more times to make double or multiple flails, or twist two together to make a heavy flail. You can also use them as bindings, bending them around my wrists and ankles. You may fasten me to furniture this way. Spend some time experimenting with different uses of your pimp sticks. It will be a learning experience for both of us. Make sure that your lazy whore admits her shortcomings and will sincerely want to do much better for you next time.

  Pimps do not go far to find the tools of their trade. Belts and electrical cords also serve as easily available whips. You will find a few electrical cords hanging in the bedroom closet next to the wire hangers.

  When you grow tired of beating me, you can rape me. Rape is not love. Be hard; be brutal. If you do not feel like soiling yourself, use something else. There are cucumbers in the fridge. For a special treat, rape me with a real hot cock. Peel a jalapeño pepper and fuck me with it. It may be small, but it’s going to make me scream like you’ve never heard a woman scream before. You should probably gag me with duct tape first or the neighbors will be calling the police. You’ll find a few rolls of duct tape in the bedroom closet next to the electrical cords.

  Finally, you can show me that you don’t need me as badly as I need you. Throw me in the trunk of the car and drive me out of town. Leave me beside the road and make me walk back home to you, wearing whatever you choose. Barefoot, probably. No underwear, of course. Naked? Not unless you want to bail me out from the police station, but that’s your choice, not mine.

  The rules of the Whore-for-a-Day Game specified that I was to be punished from eight until noon, but that’s not carved in stone. If it takes you longer than that to make sure that I’ve learned my lesson, then so be it.

  I’m ready to be punished. Make me suff
er and I will admire your strength.

  Your Lazy Whore

  When Alex looked up from the letter, he saw The Whore still curled into a ball at the end of the couch, naked, clutching herself, whimpering. She knew what the letter said – she had written it – and she expected her punishment to be bad. He dared not deny her the punishment that she demanded because he hoped that they would play the game again some day.

  He would make it bad.

  He scooped the five hundred dollars from the table. She had failed to make her quota, so she did not get to keep the money. A whore who failed didn’t deserve any shopping trips for nice gifts.

  Then he reached over and patted her shoulder tenderly. She cringed at his touch. “It’s going to be all right,” he said softly. “You’re going to survive this.”

  She whimpered at the paucity of his promise.

  He walked to the foyer and opened the front closet. As promised, there were a dozen wire hangers on the rod, no coats on them. He took all of them in his hand and walked back to The Whore.

  When she saw them, she wailed piteously.

  She watched with wide eyes as he unbent one of them and straightened it as best as he could. They were quality hangers made from a heavy gauge wire. Holding it in his hand, he realized that it was an unstable whip that would be difficult to control with any precision. He dared not begin flailing at her here for fear that the hanger would twist in his hand and put out an eye.

  He grabbed the hangers in his right hand and twisted his left hand in her hair. “Come on,” he growled and pulled her into the kitchen. “Get up there.” He dragged her head onto the kitchen table. She scrambled to make her body follow. Her whimpering never stopped.

  As soon as she was on the table, he wrapped one end of the straightened hanger around her right wrist. The stiff wire did not bend easily and bruised her flesh as he forced it around her limb. He stretched her arm to the corner of the table, bent the other end of the hanger over the edge and wrapped it around the table leg. She jerked her arm weakly, but the heavy wire held tight. If she pulled her arm too hard, it would bruise her wrist severely.

  He unbent a second hanger, grabbed her other wrist and stretched her face down across the table, and then used the hanger to secure her wrist to the other table leg.

  Next, he secured her ankles to the two table legs at the other end so that she was held spread-eagled, facedown across the table: open, vulnerable, and helpless.

  She continued to mewl, softly and rhythmically, like a frightened, abandoned kitten.

  He unbent a fifth hanger, folded one end twice to make a handle, and, without preamble, raised it and brought it down hard on The Whore’s ass. She jerked against her bonds and wailed. He thrashed her ass a few more times, laying hard stripes on her in a random pattern. The pimp stick was hard to control.

  The Whore was shrieking and writhing against her bonds with every stroke. He doubted that she was shrieking loudly enough for the neighbors to hear. And if they did? Her shrieks had a sexual timbre. If the neighbors heard them, they would think that Leslie was enjoying an intense session of Sunday morning loving from her devoted husband.

  In a perverse way, she was.

  To try to get better control, he folded the wire in half and tucked the free end into the improvised handle. Now it was about a foot and a half of doubled wire that was much easier to manage. He began working his way down the back of her left thigh, leaving a close lattice of bright red welts.

  She began begging for mercy. Pleading with him to stop and promising him that she had learned her lesson. She would never be lazy again. Never. She would be a good earner for him every night.

  The one thing that she did not say was that the game was over. If she had said that she didn’t want to play any more, he would happily have stopped and released her immediately. But as long as she stayed in her role, he was determined to stay in his.

  He moved to her right thigh and whaled into her with vigor.

  She wailed with equal vigor.

  When he was finished, the double pimp stick was bent into a sharp curve where it had been deformed by the repeated forcible contact with her flesh.

  Her legs were quivering and twitching involuntarily from the abuse that they had suffered.

  He laid the wire whip on the table in front of her tear-stained face so that she could contemplate the instrument of her torture while he was out of the room.

  A couple of minutes later, he returned from the bedroom carrying an electrical cords and a roll of duct tape.

  The beating would continue with a new flavor.

  She howled in distress and struggled desperately against her implacable bonds.

  He tore a strip of duct tape from the roll and said, quietly, “Shut your mouth, whore.”

  She shut her mouth and he smoothed the tape over her lips and cheeks. She whimpered through her nose.

  He raised a three-foot length of fourteen gauge insulated lamp cord and lashed her viciously across the shoulder blades. She arched her back, pulling her breasts clear of the table and screamed through her nose.

  He struck her again and again with the lamp cord. It was far more flexible than the coat hanger and the end wrapped around to snap against her ribs. She howled despite the gag. He walked the blows from her shoulders down to the small of her back in small steps. When he was finished, he circled the table and repeated the punishment from the other side, ensuring that both sides of her ribs were well tenderized by the vicious flicks of the electrical cord.

  When he was finished, he saw that she was having difficulty breathing. Her nose was clogging with mucus from her crying and she could not breath through the duct tape. He pulled it free and she gasped through her mouth for sweet air.

  He couldn’t leave her gagged for long when she was being tortured. And he certainly couldn’t leave the room when she was gagged, even for a couple of minutes.

  He pulled a kitchen chair close to her head and sat down. She watched him. After a minute, she sniffled, “I’m so sorry that I disappointed you. I tried to make the quota. I really did. You have to believe me.”

  He tenderly stroked her hair and spoke gently. “I know you did. I know how hard you tried. But you disappointed me just the same. You know that. And you know that I can’t spoil you by permitting failure. You’re better than that. I’m going to show you how good you are. If you know how much you can take then it’ll be easy for you to do better next time.”

  He retrieved a cucumber from the refrigerator and laid it on the table next to the pimp stick so that she could see it. It was no skinny little English cucumber; this was a big, fat, dark-green field cucumber. “How much of this do you think is going to fit into your ass?”

  She began to cry again.

  “I think that you can take more of this than you realize. That’s what I think. What do you think?”

  She sobbed without answering.

  He brought a bottle of olive oil from the cupboard and a soup bowl. “I’m going to show you how nice it feels to have the biggest, fattest cock you’ve ever seen sliding all the way up your shitter. When it’s in there, you’re going to think about how much better it would feel to have man after man using your little hole instead of this lucky vegetable.”

  She continued to sob while he poured olive oil over the cucumber. Then he parted her cheeks and poured a generous amount of oil into her ass crack, soaking her anus.

  Without further delay, he began working the cucumber into her asshole. He didn’t just shove it in, he didn’t want to tear her, so he pushed and pulled, giving her time to accommodate it, stretching her sphincter muscles a little at a time, and pouring more oil on her as necessary.

  When he got past the small tip and began stretching her sphincter in earnest, she began screaming in earnest. His own anus twitched in sympathy with her. The cucumber was bigger than any erect cock that he had ever seen and he didn’t know how much she could take without injury. He decided to stop and began easing the cucumber out agai
n. When The Whore felt the pressure in her asshole attenuate, she moaned softly, “No. More.”

  He heard the pause between her words but wasn’t certain that she meant to say what he had heard. “What are you saying?”

  “More. Do it. Do it all. I can take it all,” she said.

  She screamed when he started pushing it into her again, but she was true to her word. She managed to accommodate two thirds of the damned vegetable. He dared not push it in any further for fear of losing it inside her. It would be too hard to explain what he had done if he had to take her to the emergency ward.

  “Take a picture,” she sobbed.

  “What?”

  “I want to see. Take a picture.”

  He got the digital camera and took a picture. In fact, he took a bunch of pictures. Her face was not visible in any of them, but the end of the dark green cucumber protruding from her well-striped ass was a keeper.

  While she looked at the display on the camera, he said, softly, “Time to bring a little heat to your pussy, don’t you think?”

  “No,” she cried. She began to beg. “I took the cucumber. It hurt like hell but I took it. I deserved it. But that’s enough. Please. I learned my lesson. Please don’t hurt me any more. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. Please don’t do this. It’s too much.”

  He found a bag of jalapeño peppers in the crisper and selected the biggest one. It was not huge like the cucumber but it was large for a jalapeño. She must have searched through the whole vegetable bin for it.

  He used a peeler to slice the tough skin from it in strips. He held it close to her face while he peeled it so that she could smell the pungent capsicum oil and anticipate it burning the delicate mucus membranes in her cunt like a red-hot branding iron. But, unlike a red-hot branding iron, it would not destroy the sensitive nerves. The pain would go on and on.