From High Society to Whore

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It was something she needed to do.
2.7k words
4.03
182.6k
48

Part 1 of the 4 part series

Updated 10/26/2022
Created 02/28/2008
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She strolled once again down the wide thoroughfare heading for town, once again her captors evaded, her friend, her rock, once again providing an escape from her Husband, and his family and their outdated Victorian ideas, the table legs discretely covered whilst he shags anything in a skirt, including a Kilt these days, without censure, while she must perforce remains pure, a virtual virgin despite the sons she bore in the days when she and he shared a bed, her soft soled trainers padded near silently contrasting her trademark stilettos worn for newspapers and TV.

In the early days she had he shoes carefully styled to look like high heels but with little rise to keep her down to his vertically challenged level whilst he used built up shoes but when he started openly shagging the bitch with a face like Red Rum she gave up, he was a short arsed little runt while she was a long legged beauty, she had told him, deal with it.

She had been expected at Pig features latest musical, Dogs or something, certainly the cast were dogs and the star someone he had been shagging for ages, Pig features that is not her husband, he would have some very important meeting then he would get the sleeper train stopped at Peterborough and shag horse features to the rhythm of the rail joints till they got to Kings Cross.

It was on a sleeping Car train in the early and exciting days when they had made love as it swayed through the curves and at the time of climax he had shouted the wrong name fortissimo, she still remembered the humiliation, he did not even try to apologise; Bastard.

She came up by the station towards the Hospital where she sometimes grabbed a coffee with the staff and the all night cafe where she met the ordinary people, the druggies and hoes, and cabbies people who lived on less than he spent on shoes in a year, the place she kept her feet on the ground, ear to the ground, fitted in.

Her clothing was unremarkable but to the working girls the quality stood out a mile, this was not Chinese fakes sold as knock off, this was Versace or Armani with the labels cut out, two hundred pound trainers doctored to look like Tesco's own brand, it fooled the muggers but the girls dreamed of designer gear, dreamed of marrying Mister right, some bloke what was loaded and would only want a shag every blue moon,

And so their worlds coexisted, everyone knew who she was and supposed there was security just round the corner and they would be dead before they could even start to steal her hand bag and she believed she was, for a few hours, one of them. She had become part of the scenery, she bought a coffee, her short back skirt, black and white top and red quilted jacket attracted attention but despite the beret and glasses, or perhaps because of it she remained resolutely her, iconic.

The occasional drunk would try to make conversation but a quick word from a local would send him fleeing before he could enquire the price of a short time or worse, and she would listen to the locals telling her what they thought she wanted to hear, and into this, her secure world, she would escape when the stifling atmosphere at home became too much..

She had come to know, or so she thought, a group of working girls, with typical Cockney bravado, despite the fact none came from even fifty miles of Bow Bells they made light of their lot, complaining of poor benefit payments which meant they could not stay home and afford expensive clothes and drugs, claiming the payments did not cover food and heat, covering up that some had children, in bed alone, locked in their apartments, while they worked the streets. She spoke to them she supposed as equals but one fateful day all this changed,

Three of them sat round a table Rose Clarissa and she, they spoke of their customers, all sun bronzed six foot plus Australians, freshly showered and perfumed, from the way she heard it and wistfully said "It all seems very Romantic."

"Romantic my arse," said Rose forgetting herself,

"You want to fucking try it,"

"Lying there, being shagged by some stinking overweight travelling salesman,"

"Watching the tops of buses pass by, hearing the street noise, waiting for him to finish,"

"Lying or sitting waiting for the next hoping the maid has not let a total nutter in,"

"Then the message to hurry there are three waiting, they pass in the doorway, you don't have time to get a wash or even take a piss, no fag or leisurely shower no fucking romance,"

She paused,

"If you want to be one of us you do my shift one night, over the bookies, not the street obviously just an hour, not six, and then you will know about the romance, till then don't pretend, you ain't qualified."

Rose rose from he table and left.

"You ain't fucking qualified"

Rose repeated to herself as she, tears trickling down her cheeks.

She shrank her world collapsing, her retreat gone.

Suddenly there was no respect for her, yet from when she had first been associated with Him there had been respect, love, hatred, jealousy perhaps but respect.

But now suddenly one woman's honesty had stripped that away, she saw she was an outsider, in an alien environment and wished she could reclaim the lost fraternity, rewind the last few minutes, but she knew the damage was done, perhaps it was only she who realised but she knew it was over.

She used the phone and shortly a large discrete grey saloon driven by a large discrete grey chauffeur appeared.

She finished her coffee and strode out into the night, the bravado and panache of a film star returned but it was all a front, inside she was crying.

The saloon returned her to the rear of the house and she returned to her apartment, the chauffeur plugged in an electrical lead to pre heat the engine, meaning it was required again soon and would otherwise cool down or need to be kept running to the annoyance of those trying to sleep, and to Him with his environmentalist credentials, no matter that it only did eight miles per gallon at best.

She worried about what Rose said all week, shopping in Cannes, she was thinking about a dingy London street, watching La Boheme with his friends her mind wandered to a street girl selling herself to pay the rent, doing things no wife would do.

She would have gladly done this and more for him in the early days, when he claimed to love her and she had truly loved him, but, from Gossip overheard the horse faced one habitually ran through the full catalogue of those things no wife would demean herself by doing, and she guessed they were probably doing it right now.

She thought of her fine friends from the Polo Club, serving Officers, "Servicing Officers," snatched moments behind a tree between Chukkas, in the horsebox, the time she thought he had caught them as they cowered in a horsebox only to have to watch, well hear horse features service him, as they both chose the same spot for philandering.

By accident or design her officer friends had been drafted away, he had contacts in all the right places, and now the officers were so young, and their girlfriends were a different generation, she an old married lady, did they fancy her or fancy screwing His lady, it bothered her.

She strolled once again down the wide thoroughfare heading for town, once again her captors evaded, her friend, her rock, once again providing an escape from her Husband, and his family and their outdated Victorian ideas, her soft soled trainers padded near silently contrasting her trademark stilettos worn for newspapers and TV.

She knew what she needed to do to call their bluff, if she showed she was up for it, game for a laugh, they would accept her surely, and if they took her upon the offer everyone knew her and she would just have a chat to the punter, and he would get her autograph and go away happy, yes that was how it would be.

The girls were there Rose, Clarissa, Jane, Ileana, sitting at a table, she bought her coffee, they remained seated, no movement to give up a seat for her, she sensed the coldness.

"Come to take me up on the offer then," laughed Rose.

"Yes" she said quietly.

"I told you she would," sad Clarissa

"I said she was one of us, she would same as we have to"

"Look, it was a wind up" said Rose

"No said Clarissa, I cleared it with Mrs James, and our friend can do an hour or so in place of us if we want, long as we hang around.

"I start at ten," said Rose "Shall we?"

She nodded, they arrived at quarter to, it was quiet, trade built up as the pubs started to shut, one girl was working, two young men waited,

"Hi" said Rose," this is my friend Angie, Clarissa had a word with you."

Mrs James looked her over carefully.

"Yes, all right,"

Her heart sank

"But no nonsense and get a shower, you stink of cheap scent."

They ascended the stairs to room number Two, originally the front bedroom of a town house now made into a Betting Shop with brothel above, Rose handed her a towel and bath robe.

"put your things in the locker and hang the key round your neck, then come and have a shower, there is a hand basin and a Loo here see for between customers,"

She shuddered but as Rose left she started to undress placing her expensive skirt and top, her bag and trainers in the tall locker with the coat hangers, then she crossed the corridor barefoot dressed in only the bathrobe.

The girl's waiting room was a former bedroom with shower cubicle in one corner she dropped her bathrobe and stepped in, the water pleasantly warm and stepped out to see a second woman,

"Angie meet Megan"

"Hi" she dried herself then as Rose helped her into the robe again they returned to room Two.

"A few minutes yet; Condoms, Lube," Rose pulled the drawers on the bedside table.

"Costumes, Basque, suspenders and stockings"

Rose threw her a red Basque, unwashed, none too clean smelling of men and the previous wearer, for the first time in her entire life she put a dirty garment worn by someone else on then the stockings.

"God you look like a right, slut"

She saw herself in the mirror breasts uplifted and of course her privates displayed, she felt a slut too, dirty, scared perhaps yet exhilarated, excited

The Buzzer, a Red light, "Press he button when you are ready and they will send the punter up and tell you what he has paid for over the intercom,"

Rose turned

"Let me get out then go for it girl, you can do it."

She pressed the button,

"Hi Angie, Straight, regular, Ok,"

"Yes"

With this one word she accepted her degradation, accepting money for sex; she became a prostitute, a whore. She sat on the bed.

A man entered ordinary, nondescript, anything but the sun bronzed Adonis of legend.

"Where is Rose," he grunted

"Oh I am filling in, won't I do" she asked

"Bloody well have to,"

He started to strip

She took a deep breath squirted a copious amount of lube inside her and grabbed a selection of condoms.

He approached her, his beer belly, his manhood at half mast, socks, not even a pair and knelt on the bed, she held his prick in her left hand and rolled a bright red condom down its length, he reached out and pawed her breasts, "nice tits" he stated she slid towards him.

She opened her legs and guided him in, she was tight but he forced his way in to ball deep by the third thrust, he was surprisingly gentle.

"You're tight."

"You're my first tonight, that's why, come on move that thing,"

"No I want my moneys worth, do you know you look like, you know the posh bint off the telly",

"Yes lots of people tell me that, but I can't get her voice to be a proper look alike" she explained.

He grunted furiously and came, She directed him to the WC where he flushed the condom away and started dressing,

The intercom buzzed, "How you doing,"

"He is just dressing."

He came across and fished a twenty from his wallet,

"For you" he said, and smiled.

He turned and left.

She pushed the button and a second guy appeared, young, nervous, he came as she rolled the condom on fortunately into the rubber.

She held him, "its Ok try again."

She licked his shaft, tasting the salty cum and as it stiffened rolled the rubber over it

"Quick" she giggled "get it in before it spurts again"

He pounded into her and came after about six thrusts.

"My you needed it bad, good job I'm not your girlfriend or I would have to bring myself off now"

He blushed washed up dressed and left,

The Intercom buzzed again "Straight, have you got a nurse uniform?

She checked the drawer,

"Yes" she replied.

"That's what he wants; I'll charge an extra twenty."

She threw the kinky nurse outfit on and rushed to the loo, he walked in, forties, fit, a businessman.

"Wow" he said

"Get undressed and lie on the bed, then I will examine you" she said,

He stripped and climbed on the bed and she inspected his balls very closely, rolling on a condom as she did so. "It needs warming up I have just the thing"

And she squatted down impaling herself on his rock hard erection. She bounced up and down a few times and he grunted and shot his load.

"Christ you're good, Angie is it, I'll ask for you next time."

Rose entered as he left, "Are you still Ok." she asked.

"Yes a couple more," she replied.

The buzzer sounded again, "Straight."

He entered, "Do you do kinky stuff,"

"Like what"

"Anal"

"Have you paid?"

"Yes"

"For Anal?"

"No"

"I have not done Anal today so I am tight, and I got no warning, so its fifty extra Ok;" he found the money as she found the lube and smeared it round and up her arse, she rolled an extra strong condom on and bent over the end of the bed like Lieutenant, oh what was his name, liked.

The shock of initial penetration took her breath away.

Pain.

Pleasure.

The bastard was massaging her tits banging her into the mattress with real passion then it was all over, he was dressing and she was sore, she splashed some water round, she was sweating, the hot lights, the passion.

The buzzer sounded again,

A military gentleman in his sixties, he too kept his socks on, then the lads. in their twenties, trying to keep it up as long as possible, she lost count,

The buzzer sounded again, "Home time Angie." She walked to the shower stripping the Basque and stockings off showered and wandered naked to her room; she was drying herself when the maid came in,

"Look just ring if you need a job they were very pleased."

She sat doing a wee talking to an old fat woman about becoming a full time prostitute,

"Thanks, yes thanks," she replied

She dressed, Rose had left long before, word had got round and at the Café a seat was found for her with Rose and Clarissa and coffee thrust into her hand. She did not need to speak. She reached up her skirt and drew seventy in notes from her knickers,

"Tips"

She stood to leave, a Cabbie stepped forward, "run you home love."

"How much"

"The usual"

"Thanks"

He took her,

In the cab,

Lifting her skirt and pushing her panties aside he took her on the back seat, his arse bobbing up and down between her thighs as her friends looked on.

To be continued.

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Marklynda2Marklynda210 months ago

From a loveless marriage being treated like a whore to a loveless side job as a whore, interesting. A great start to what promises to be a well thought out and written story. I look forward to reading the next chapter. As this is my first foray into your writing and the first story you posted here I have added you to my favorites list. I appreciate your and your Muse's imagination (memories?) and abilities to bring it to your story. Thank you for sharing your vision and talents.

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