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Subject: {ASSM} PARKER08: Squealer 3/3
Date: Thu, 13 Jul 2000 02:10:13 -0400
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PARKER8.TXT -- 3/3
SQUEALER
(Part 3/3)
By Parker
an210088@anon.penet.fi
WARNING: This story contains all sorts of non-consensual
intercourse, bondage, domination, humiliation and all that
kind of stuff. It is not politically correct! If you do not
want to read this sort of material, I suggest you stop now,
before it is too late. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Copyright 1994 by me (Parker). Feel free to reproduce and
disseminate (unaltered, of course) but be discrete.
=================================================================
Taylor Miles had something of a philosophy regarding the training of women
to be whores. A system. The basic tenet of that system was that you had to let
them know where they stood. What they were. In no uncertain terms. The minute
they started thinking - or remembering - that they were good for anything other
than fucking and sucking and lookin' good, they were useless. Worse than
useless: unprofitable.
So, Taylor had a system.
Of course, most of the girls who came his way were already pretty much
fucked up by the time he got them. Strung out on drugs or booze... As a general
rule, Taylor didn't much take with that; he wanted his girls clean and sober.
They lasted longer that way, and made him more money. The drugged out whore
just burned out too fast. Besides, why waste good drugs on a whore? Save the
good stuff for those who could pay for it.
Still, it helped at the beginning. Softened them up; sapped willpower.
This new girl was a bit different. Not quite so fucked up. That asshole
bartender had thought that she was a whore, but Taylor knew better. He knew
whores. This little white bitch hadn't shaken her tight little ass on a street
corner before or he didn't know merchandise when he saw it. Not that it
mattered. That was where his philosophy came in; his system. Fuck 'em hard and
fuck 'em often; let them know what they are: worthless for anything other than
fucking, sucking and looking good. This new girl... she'd take a little longer
- a little more effort than most of the girls who came his way, but she'd be
worth it.
And she'd come around in the end. They all did.
Taylor had his philosophy.
His system.
Sandy was pretty much sober by the time she next woke up. She groaned in
pain as her eyes fluttered open. The pounding in her head rang a brutal
counterpoint to the steady burning in her groin and nauseated churn of her
stomach.
"Here now." A voice. A female voice. "Drink this. Make you feel better."
Parched, Sandy opened her mouth and accepted a glass container, drinking
deeply...
She jerked her mouth away and sat up, sputtering violently. It was whisky.
Her stomach heaved at the smell and taste, but there was nothing there to bring
up. Trying to ignore the pain, she forced herself to open and focus her eyes.
She was lying on the floor of what appeared to be a dingy little
apartment. Crouching beside her, holding the bottle, was a black woman. The
woman would have been attractive but for a hard, worn look in her face and eyes
which the makeup could not quite hide. Sitting on a couch a few feet away sat a
black man wearing an expensive suit. Behind the couch were two large men, also
black; bodyguards by the look of it. Sandy crossed her arms in front of herself
and shivered, suddenly self-conscious. Her clothes had disappeared, and she was
now naked except for a dirty old tee-shirt someone had put on her while she
slept. It hung loose, a few sizes too large for her, but still barely covered
the upper part of her thighs.
"'Bout time." This came from the man on the couch. He was obviously the
leader. "Can't have my whores sleepin' all night. Should be on the street;
maken' me cash."
Sandy struggled through the dull throb of the hangover to understand what
he was talking about. Whore? There must be some mistake...
"C'mere," the man ordered.
Sandy started to climb to her feet, but the black woman gave her a push
just as she was getting up. Still partially intoxicated, she fell forward onto
her hands and knees in front of the couch. Almost in tears, the young medical
student looked up through a curtain of brown hair at the black man. Grinning,
he spread his legs.
"How about a little head," he suggested. "Whore."
"T-there's been a m-mistake," Sandy stuttered, horrified at the
suggestion. "I'm not a... a p-prostitute. I'm..."
She was cut off as the man suddenly leaned forward and grasped her face in
his hands. "Listen bitch," he hissed. "I don't give a fuck what you think or
what you were. Last night you were spread out on a pool table having the time
of your life fuckin' some brothers. From now on, you're what I say you are. And
I say you're a whore."
"Noo-oo," Sandy wailed, struggling in vain to free her face from the man's
painful grip. Angry, the man made a gesture. One of the thugs from beside the
couch came around behind her. She heard a woman's laughter coming from behind
her, but was unable to turn her head to see what was happening. She was still
unable to do so when she felt something cold and slippery being rubbed against
the entrance to her anal passage and then inside. It felt like some kind of
cream or something.
"Mmmm..." She tried to cry out her objections, but the man on the couch
had shifted his grip so that his hand now covered her mouth. "Mmmm..."
A few moments later, she felt naked flesh against her upper legs. Before
she fully realized what was going to happen, she was overwhelmed with pain as
the man behind her rammed his thick cock straight up her partially lubricated
asshole with one brutal shove. The pain was unbelievable; she felt as though
she was being split in two.
"AAaahhhhh...." She let out a long wail as the man on the couch removed
his hand from her mouth.
"How d'you like that whore?" he asked, laughing.
"Nnooooooo.... please... please..." All pride forgotten, she begged
piteously for release. "Ooohhhh... it hurts," she cried. The man behind her
shifted slightly, pulled back so that only the head of his cock remained inside
her anus, and then brutally shoved forward again.
Sandy squealed loudly at the sharp pain of this repeated intrusion. The
people in the room laughed. "That's good," the man on the couch grinned.
"That's good. Just like a pig. Do it again little pig-slut." Sandy shook her
head in abject refusal, still panting and groaning with pain. In response to
this refusal, the man on the couch made a gesture, and the thug repeated his
actions, pulling slowly back and then ramming his cock up her tight asshole.
Sandy, sweating with pain, tried to remain silent and endure the pain, the
humiliation, but it was too much. Shuddering, eyes wide with panic at the
intrusion, she moaned and cried with pain.
"Squeal," she was told, "and I'll get him to stop moving."
Anything.
Anything to stop the movement of the cock in her ass.
"Squeee... squeee..." She started quietly, but quickly picked up volume as
the man fucking her asshole slowly pulled back out. When he rammed his cock
back in, her squeals took on a loud, panicked sound. Damp with sweat, she
squirms and squealed for all she was worth. Everyone laughed as the white girl
squealed loudly on the floor in front of them. But Sandy didn't care. All she
knew was that the man raping her asshole had - finally - stopped moving,
leaving his cock fully sheathed in her twitching asshole.
"Squeee..."
"That's good," the man on the couch repeated, still laughing. "I like
that." He looked down at the girl. "Now, do you want him to pull out?"
Panting, Sandy could only nod. Oh yes... "Squeee..."
"Well," the man smirked. "All you have to do is ask him. Just ask him to
fuck you in the cunt instead." She had no choice. She had to get his cock out
of her ass. At any price. Still... could she say it? Her deliberations were
interrupted as the man began moving again, slowly pulling back and then shoving
forward.
"Nnooo..." she screeched. "P-please... f-fuck me in... in my c-cunt... not
there..." Ignoring her pleas, the man continued to ream out her asshole.
"Please..." Her begging became more frantic. "Fuck me in my cunt. Please..."
The man on the couch laughed. "Where do you want it little pig-slut?"
"In the cunt!" She was almost yelling now. "In my cunt. Fuck me in my
cunt."
The man gestured, and the movement stopped. "One more thing," he said,
still smirking at the tear-stained face in front of him. "From now on, whenever
you're getting fucked, you squeal. Got it?" Sandy stared up in incomprehension.
What?
"Uhm..."
"All of my girls," the man explained, "are trained to sound and act as if
they like the sex. Gasping and moaning. Sluts. You squeal. That's your name
here: 'Squealer'. Got it?"
Sandy started to protest this latest degradation, but the man behind
started moving again, so she just nodded her head. Anything to get him to stop.
Immediately, the rapist pulled his cock out of her painfully stretched
asshole. Sandy sagged with relief as the cock was removed. She felt as though
someone had pulled a tree from her backside. Her relief, however, was short
lived. Within seconds, the man had re-positioned his cock and then shoved it to
the hilt inside her pussy. Sandy jerked forward in shock. The pain was still
there, but nowhere near as bad as when he had been fucking her in the ass.
Involuntarily, she spread her legs a little farther apart in order to relieve a
bit of the pain of the intrusion as the man began to fuck her from behind.
"Forgettin' something?"
Sandy looked up. Oh god...
"Little pig-slut."
"Squeee... squeee..."
The room rang with laughter as the young white girl squealed loudly as she
was raped from behind. Her squeals sounded in time with the man's thrusts as
her brutally fucked her cunt. Finally he came, pumping his load into her
aching, abused pussy. Sandy gave one last squeal as he pulled out and then
collapsed onto the leader's lap, totally exhausted.
When would this nightmare end?
Not now, apparently. The other bodyguard went around behind her and
positioned himself, cock hard and free, ready to ream her out. She looked up in
terror as she felt the head of his cock come to rest on the entrance to her
asshole.
The leader grinned down on her. "Where do you want it whore?"
"I-in my cunt," Sandy whispered, flushing red with humiliation, but
willing to do or say anything to avoid being fucked in the ass again. "F-fuck
me in the cunt." He nodded and the man behind her immediately shoved his cock
into her pussy.
She didn't forget this time: "Squeee... squeee..."
Her training as a whore began almost immediately. The cum from the two
bodyguards was still cooling on her inner thighs when the man - Taylor Miles
she soon learned was his name - ordered the black woman to get the 'bitch'
dressed and teach her her new job. The black women dragged her unwilling
student into another room in the rundown apartment to begin work. The dressing
involved slipping into a miniskirt a couple sizes too small and tucking in the
grimy tee-shirt in which she had woken up. The girl - Melissa - also insisted
that her student wear four-inch pumps. No underwear, though. "Won't be needin'
it," Melissa joked. "Anythin' that gets between you and the cock is a waste of
time." Frightened, Sandy obediently got dressed. She couldn't, however, help
asking some questions.
"Taylor?" Melissa proved quite talkative. "He's the most important man
around these parts. He runs more girls than anyone." Sandy couldn't help but
shudder. Melissa seemed to take a weird kind of pride in working for the
biggest pimp on the block.
"But... doesn't he, like... make you..."
Melissa shrugged cynically. "Could be worse. There's plenty worse out
there. Taylor now, he takes care of you. Doesn't let you do no drugs or booze
or anythin' like that. He like to keep you clean and pretty. Makes him more
money and you last longer."
"L-last longer?" Sandy didn't understand.
"Taylor's got a system. He knows exactly how long a whore can work before
she start's losin her looks. After that, he don't care what you do. He even
lets some girls walk."
Sandy had to ask. "H-how long do... do prostitutes last?"
"With Taylor? A young girl like you has about ten years in her. At least."
Sandy burst into tears. Ten years! This couldn't be happening to her. It
just couldn't!
Melissa just laughed. She'd seen so many girls react like this before...
of course, most of them were pretty much down and out when Taylor got them;
most didn't have as much to lose as this white bitch, obviously well educated
and well brought up. Didn't matter though. When you came right down to it,
Melissa thought, any woman could be trained to be a good whore. Even a stuck up
white girl like the one who was presently crying her eyes out in front of her.
Anyone.
That was Taylor's system.
The training began in earnest.
The first stage, in accordance with Taylor's system, was to fuck and
otherwise abuse the subject so often and in so many different ways that the sex
became routine to her. Not important. So, for the first few days, Sandy was
fucked over and over again countless times. By bodyguards; by customers; by
kids off the street... by the end of those first days, Sandy - who had never
spoken to more than two or three blacks in her entire life - had become
intimately familiar with black cock. In her pussy, in her ass (which never
failed to make her cry and panic), in her mouth, in her hair, in her tits...
And, every time she was fucked, she was forced to squeal like a stuck pig.
It was her trademark, Taylor explained. Sure enough, the name 'Squealer' was
soon well known around the neighbourhood.
Hot bitch, it was said.
Liked black cock so much, she couldn't stop herself from squealing when
she got it.
After the first few days, the fucking became less frequent (down to a
dozen or so times a day), and Sandy was forced to learn other things about
being a whore. The right way to dress... the right way to talk... the right
attitude in general. Once again, it was all a part of Taylor's system. Not that
he wanted her to be the same as the other girls. Most whores were hard and
cynical, and that attitude would come with time.
But she had to be taught to think like a whore. The constant sex had
already taken her at least part way there. It had taught her the requisite lack
of respect for her own body; that it was just a piece for meat for men to fuck
whenever they wished. What she needed to learn now was that although her body
was worthless to herself, it wasn't worthless to her pimp. In fact, it was a
valuable asset, and one which she would be required to protect. For Taylor's
benefit, of course.
So, Melissa taught her something about life on the streets. How to behave;
how to talk to the other whores; how to spot a potentially dangerous customer.
Taylor had lost whores to psychos before, and it pissed him off.
Cost him money.
Finally, after about a week of training, Melissa told Sandy - or
'Squealer' as she was now called - that she was ready for her 'audition'. She
would finally fuck Taylor, and he would decide whether or not she was ready for
the street. Sandy didn't particularly want to succeed, but Melissa made very
clear to her the price of failure.
The time came, and Melissa brought Sandy to Taylor's bedroom. Sandy walked
slowly into the room, still unsteady on the four inch pumps. Taylor was sitting
on the edge of the bed. As instructed, she smiled at him, trying to look sexy.
He grinned over at her and snapped his fingers. Sandy, hating herself for her
submission, but having no choice, knew what to do.
Hurrying forward, she knelt down in front of him and her fingers - nails
shining a newly painted red - went straight to the front of his pants. Hands
trembling, she unzipped the fly and drew out her master's limp penis, which
immediately began to stir to life at the cool touch of her fingers. Sandy
fingered it for a few moments, coaxing it to hardness. Then she bowed her head,
and with only a brief hesitation, took it in her mouth. Using her lips and
tongue as she had been taught, Sandy quickly brought his big, black cock to a
state of massive erection, sucking and slurping as though her life depended on
it.
After a while, she stood up, straddled him as he lay back on the bed, and
lowered herself until she kneeled astride his thighs. The short skirt parted,
exposing her naked pussy. Then, with a moan a pure, simulated lust - just as
she had been taught - she lowered herself onto his erect penis, her pussy
sucking in its entire length. Grinning, Taylor just lay there as she began to
ride up and down in a steady rhythm, squealing in time with her own movements.
Not the loud, piggy squeals she had originally been forced to put on. She was
still required to do that sometimes - to the amusement of whoever was watching
or participating - but a quiet, realistic squeal as Melissa had trained her. As
though she was loving the sex.
It was still, however, a squeal.
He was pleased to note that she was using her pussy to squeeze his cock as
best she could. With a sigh of pleasure, he reached up and began to fondle one
of her tits. Obligingly, she leaned forward to give him easy access.
Gradually the rhythm picked up. Taylor reached up a second hand and began
mauling roughly at her breasts as they hung invitingly above him. Sandy gasped
in pain, but quickly turned it into a grunt. Slowly, she leaned forward and
brought her mouth down to his neck. Taylor slipped his hands around behind her,
grabbed her ass, and began controlling her movements, forcing her to pump
faster and faster until finally, groaning, he came.
When she felt the warm sperm boiling over into her pussy, Sandy threw back
her head and screamed with lust, simulating an orgasm. Just as she had been
taught. He finished coming, and she shuddered and then relaxed on top of him.
He let her lie there for a few moments and then pushed her off.
"Not bad," he commented. "Not bad at all." He reached over and gave her
breast an approving squeeze. Sandy winced in pain, but didn't pull away. "I
think you're just about ready." Taylor leaned back against the headrest. "Go
tell Melissa that I said you're ready," he ordered. "She'll take you with her
tonight."
Not daring to protest, Sandy clambered to her feet. She straightened her
clothing, brushed her sweat-soaked hair back from her face, and walked out of
the room to where she knew Melissa would be waiting.
As she walked, she felt the now familiar trickle of sperm down her
thigh...
*****
For her first night of work, they dressed her in a skin-tight body sheath
that barely covered the bottom curves of her ass. That, along with the usual
pumps, was all she wore for her first night on the street. Sandy burned with
humiliation when one of Taylor's men dropped them off on Ginger Street and
drove away. Here she was, standing in the red light district dressed like an
absolute whore. What if somebody saw her?
That, of course, was the idea. On Melissa's instructions, the trembling
girl was forced to parade her barely concealed body up and down the sidewalk,
swinging her barely covered hips just as she had been trained. Within moments,
a car pulled over.
"Hey babe," came a voice from behind a partially closed window. "How
much?"
Melissa walked forward. "It's your lucky day," the black girl said. "Two
for the price of one. You can have both of us for a hundred."
The man laughed. "Good," he agreed. "Hop in."
The two whores climbed into the car. "We've got a room over there." She
pointed at a seedy little hotel just off Ginger Street. The man nodded and
parked the car. The three of them entered the hotel and climbed the wooden
stairs to the second floor, where Melissa unlocked the door and let them into
the room.
Once in, the black girl walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
"Don't start without me," she called as the bathroom door closed.
Immediately, Sandy turned to the man. "Listen mister," she said, voice
shaking. "You gotta help me." After a week spent in the company of the
uneducated Melissa and the various gang members, Sandy was picking up the other
girl's speech patterns, making her sound more like a whore than a med student.
"I'm not a whore. They kidnapped me and... and r-raped me... please mister..."
The man grinned. Too late, Sandy realized her mistake as the bathroom door
opened and Melissa came out, a frown on her face. "You were right," the man
said. "She squealed."
"Squealer," Melissa growled, "You is one stupid bitch." She walked over
the gave the startled girl a hard slap across the face. Sandy began to cry.
"Taylor is goin' to be pissed," Melissa continued, "and when Taylor gets
pissed, someone gets hurt."
Sandy just kept crying.
*****
Someone got hurt.
Sandy spent the next three days in the apartment with the thin end of a
wooden baseball bat shoved up her ass. She was not allowed to walk upright, but
was instead forced to crawl around on her hands and feet, squealing like a pig
and begging someone to pull out the baseball bat. Promising to do anything...
No one did, of course. Instead, they just slapped her on the ass, calling on
her to squeal like the pig-slut she was. The squealing only stopped when her
lips were wrapped around a stiff, black cock, which happened often enough
during the three days.
By the end of it, she was broken. When Taylor finally pulled the bat from
her anus, she shuddered in pain and crawled over to him, kissing his feet and
begging him to fuck her, sell her, use her... whatever; just as long as he
didn't put the bat in her ass again.
Ever.
That night she was back on the street. For good. Melissa stayed with her
for the first week or so, but after that she was on her own. She no longer had
the will to fight. And so, every night of the week, she spent several hours on
the street, parading around, attracting business and then fucking it. She
proved very popular, and earned a great deal of money for her pimp. Her days
were spent sleeping and then hanging around Taylor's apartment 'entertaining'
his friends and customers. Taylor enjoyed recounting the tale of how he found
the beautiful, white med student in a bar and trained her to her new life as a
whore. The customers loved the story, and usually insisted on fucking her
afterwards.
She slowly settled into her new life, all thought of what had gone on
before - her home life, med school - slipping away. Just another whore...
EPILOGUE
This part of town was not what it used to be.
But Bert Cripmore had no problem with that. It took him almost a week to
find an excuse to be out without Martha, but he did it. The new girl proved
easy to find. Driving carefully, he pulled the car over to where she leaned
against the lamp in her miniskirt and tank top.
"How much?" he asked, voice rough with lust. Little bitch was gorgeous!
The girl leaned forward, jaws working rudely on a wad of gum. "Fifty for a
blowjob; hundred for a fuck." Bert nodded and the girl got into the front seat.
"Got a place over there," she said, pointing at a sleazy hotel.
Bert nodded and began to drive.
He looked sideways at the girl as he steered the car into the hotel
parking lot. Already, the sense of freshness which had made her stand out on
the strip almost a week ago was fading. She still looked young and beautiful
under the overdone makeup, but her eyes were narrower than he remembered them.
She was well on her way to becoming a hardened whore.
Fine with him, he decided.
Still...
"What's your name?" he couldn't help but ask.
The girl looked over, and, for a brief moment, Bert imagined that he saw
something else beneath the armour - a scared little girl, terrified and
trapped, looking out at him through wide, frightened eyes - but the moment
passed, and then only the whore remained.
"They call me Squealer," came the answer, a queer lopsided smile marring
her beautiful face.
"Why's that?"
The girl gave a sick grin. "You'll see," she told him, opening the car
door. "You'll see."
THE END
=================================================================
That's all for this story. All comments are appreciated.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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