A Hundred Bucks

DISCLAIMER: For mature audiences only. All characters involved are adults (18+). This story contains dub-con, rough sex and degradation. If this isn't your kind of smut, please stop reading now. If you're staying, enjoy! Don't forget to vote, favorite, and let me know what you think in the comments.

The car stopped. The guy who had rolled down the window was quite young. He didn't ask anything, he just looked at me with a smug little smile and waited for me to tell him the price.

"One hundred," I said in a tired voice.

He leaned toward me, nodding, and with a quick gesture, flung the door wide open.

"What are you waiting for? Aren't you coming up?" he asked a bit impatiently.

I observed him. He had a shadow of a beard, but a gentle face. The casual look was more polished than it seemed: the jeans were designer, the shirt revealed the Brooksfield logo, and on the wrist of the left hand shone a Rolex.

I got into the car. A lead-gray Dodge Charger, which, as soon as I closed the door, sped off down the road. While the boy was driving, he scrutinized me with a gaze that seemed almost like an examination. From my face, it traveled down my body to my legs, almost completely exposed by the miniskirt that had ridden up even further while I was sitting. Then he returned his focus to driving, without speaking.

Maybe he's shy, I thought. I then decided to try to break the ice by saying, "Hi, I'm Roxanne."

Roxanne was the name I had chosen for myself in this new life as a prostitute. And no, it wasn't a coincidence. I had always liked that Police song, and after all, it was perfect for that new job.

The only reaction to my words was a slight huff. I was about to ask him where he was going and suggest a couple of suitable places when he quickly entered the now deserted parking lot of a suburban supermarket and pulled up next to a large parked car.

An uncontrollable shiver ran down my spine. This wasn't part of the plan, or at least, it wasn't what I had anticipated in my plan. I looked around worriedly, but it was very dark outside and I could only make out some shadows. The driver turned toward me, his mouth twisted in a smirk but his expression almost bitter, as if he wanted to apologize for something. My door opened, and a big, bald man with a vertical scar under his left eye slipped into the cabin.

The newcomer extended his arm, placing a small aluminum foil package on the dashboard, which the guy immediately grabbed. Then he made a gesture of greeting accompanied by a half-sorry smile, while the other one almost lifted me out of the seat, making me get out.

I hadn't managed to say a word yet. The tension had knotted my stomach and my voice. I thought I was psychologically prepared for what awaited me, but I was wrong. One thing is knowing what a prostitute is getting into, another is facing it personally. The large man, then, didn't inspire the slightest bit of calm in me. He pushed me toward the big black SUV parked right next to us.

I tried to wriggle free, even though I sensed the futility of the attempt, and I shouted, "Let me go!"

I was astonished by the sound of my own voice, so high-pitched, altered by fear. All the confidence I thought I had had crumbled to dust.

"What do you want from me?" I pressed. "Who are you?"

"Shut up, bitch!" the man replied in a bored tone as he opened the large black door. He spoke with a strong Albanian accent. "Someone wants to see you, get in!"

He pushed me roughly into the back seat of the car. The interior was dark, but I could make out the silhouette of a person sitting next to me, before the door was slammed shut behind me, tearing a scream from my lips. I caught a glimpse of a hand approaching and pressed myself back against the door, as if to distance myself, but I knew it was useless.

The stranger's fingers moved upward and with a click turned on the interior light. Instinctively, I squinted my eyes, dazed by that sudden illumination, but after a few seconds, I could finally see who was next to me.

A robust man, with very short hair and beard, was wearing a white shirt tucked out of his black pants. A typical forty-something, in short, except for the dark, piercing, fierce eyes. That gaze inexplicably managed to terrify me, making me foolishly feel like a defenseless child.

His previously indecipherable expression morphed into a sinister smile. The seconds stretched painfully, detonating the tension within me, and the silence became suffocating, as if I were running out of air.

Finally, a cracked, high-pitched voice, which I almost didn't recognize as mine, came out from my lipstick-purplish lips. "Who are you? What do you want from me? I want to leave!"

My hands gripped the car door handle. I pulled, I pulled hard. Theclack! clack!of the metal echoed frantically in the cabin. The door, however, did not open, despite me continuing to try, looking out into the almost total darkness of the night beyond the window glass.

Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!

Panic had now taken hold of me. I kept pulling the handle like a madwoman, but the man's apparent indifference and his unchanging expression that I glimpsed reflected in the glass unsettled me even more. Finally, defeated and vanquished by the futility of the gesture, I stopped. The silence returned to the car.

I turned my gaze to the stranger, trying to regain control over my thoughts. Aware now of my total vulnerability, I tried this time to keep my voice and tone calmer.

"What do you want from me?" I repeated, trying to hold his gaze.

Without taking his eyes off mine, the man pulled a folded $100 bill from his shirt pocket. Holding it between two fingers, he brushed his nose with it, as if he were sniffing it, then with a quick motion, he threw it toward me. The money bounced off my chin and fell between my legs.

"You said a hundred bucks, right?" he asked in a low, grave voice. He also had a strong Albanian accent, like the scarred one.

Continuing to look me in the eyes, he began to unbutton his pants. Slowly, very slowly, he unbuttoned all the buttons and lowered his black boxers, revealing an already impressive arousal. Then he comfortably leaned back against the black leather seat and spread his arms. His cock, red and hard, peeked out between the folds of the white shirt, shaken by slight, rhythmic tremors, as if it were calling me.

I continued to look at him, still motionless, disoriented. His face had lost that half-smile and became serious, fierce I would dare say. His voice made my stomach tighten again when he said, "What are you waiting for? A written invitation? Move it, bitch!"

The tone with which he had called me 'whore' and the way he looked at me revealed that for him I was just this: a piece of meat to fuck, an object, a nothing. 100 dollars to throw away like trash. I truly felt like I had sunk to the lowest, most miserable point of my entire existence.

However, I didn't have time to reflect on this sad revelation, because his arm shot toward me, his hand firmly grabbed my hair, and he violently pulled me toward him. I couldn't hold back a scream and found myself bent over his pelvis, my face pressed against his cock. I felt his intense scent of an aroused man, mixed with a faint smell of cinnamon and orange, probably what he had used for his last shower.

His hand continued to grip my hair and pulled it painfully, forcing me to open my mouth and let him in. It wasn't a very big cock, but it was really hard. He slid into me, sinking beyond my lips and pressing on my tongue. I slowly began to suck and lick, thinking that the sooner I finished, the sooner I could leave. I tried to bring my hand closer to help myself with the task, but he immediately blocked the attempt, gripping my wrist tightly against the seat.

I could do nothing but continue with my tongue and mouth. After all, I had always thought I was very good at oral sex, so I slowly moved my tongue all around, teased him, tickled him, squeezed him repeatedly. His cock was now even harder as I wrapped it between my lips. I moved up and down, in a wide, long, and rhythmic motion. He was the ship in that moment and my mouth was his stormy sea, my tongue the waves that one after another crashed and pushed the hull up and up and up, foaming and making it tremble and vibrate. It wasn't me leading, but him fucking my mouth.

And he was resistant, damn if he was! Most of the men I had known would have definitely already enjoyed it; he seemed to savor every moment as if it were meant to last forever. His breaths were intense, long, with barely audible moans, his left hand always strong on my wrist, his right still wrapped in my hair, although it no longer gripped but softly followed the movements of my head.

His taste, his smell, his hardness were pleasant and engaging. Meanwhile, I felt my intimate lips getting wet and rubbing against the thong, and I found myself getting more and more aroused. I wanted to fuck him, damn it! I was still petrified with fear, but the terror was gradually giving way to excitement.

The man's breath was becoming increasingly frantic, and I could feel from the intense throbbing of his rigid cock that he was close to pleasure. My mouth was sore: I had no idea how much time had really passed since I had started sucking on it. I moved faster and faster, up and down, up and down, without stopping licking and teasing.

At a certain point, his hand tightened around my hair again, and I heard his voice, now more hoarse, excited, threatening, "If you dirty me, I'll kill you!"

I flinched, but his grip painfully brought me back to maintaining the rhythm. A few moments later, the man exploded inside me, and a warm, intense, almost sweet wave filled my mouth. I focused on drinking and swallowing all that seed, keeping my lips tight at the base to prevent even a drop from slipping out. Meanwhile, I slowed the pace without stopping sucking and licking. I know how much men enjoy this moment when the pleasure is almost unbearable while the sensitivity of the penis is at its highest. More and more slowly, I licked and sucked until I was sure not to let a single drop of his semen fall. However, his cock remained hard and throbbing between my lips, seemingly still ready for pleasure.

When I finally lifted my head slightly, I met the man's fierce gaze again. "Good job, Roxanne," he said quietly, while his hand showed no sign of loosening its grip on my hair. "You definitely suck better than you reason. Now strip and show me the rest of the goods."

His tone allowed no argument. His fingers spread open and his palm pushed my head toward the backrest of the seat. I took off my jacket, pulled the silver sequined stretch top over my head, and after unbuttoning it, removed the miniskirt from my legs. Now I was left with only the small black thong and the black fishnet stockings, in addition to the black stiletto heels.

I brought my gaze back to him. He had that faintest hint of a sarcastic smile again, but his eyes remained fierce. I barely raised an eyebrow and instantly understood that it wasn't enough for him. Quickly, I took off my shoes and left them on the mat at my feet, then I slowly pulled off my socks, one by one. I wanted to show him that I wasn't afraid, but in reality, my stomach was knotted again. Finally, I took off the lace thong. At that point, I was completely naked, next to him fully dressed. Only then did I notice that he had also buttoned his pants back up.

The leather of the seat clung to my bare bottom, giving me a strange and cold sensation. Without realizing it, I was clasping my hands together, twisting them, while he looked at me, silent. Then he knocked on the window to his right with his knuckles. Two sharp knocks. The front left door opened, the scarred man from before reached out a hand onto the dashboard, and I heard a mechanical click from the doors. Then he closed it, remaining outside.

"Get out," ordered the man in the car.

I reached out a hand toward the pile of clothes, but he quickly and firmly grabbed my wrist, lifting it. A slight shake of his head made me understand his intentions. At that point, he let go of my wrist and repeated, in a harsher voice, "Get out."

I brought my hand to the handle and pulled.Clack!The door opened. Outside, the darkness was still very thick, barely illuminated by the crescent moon that peeked through the clouds.

The icy and uneven asphalt pricked under my bare feet, and the cold air made me shiver. I wrapped my arms around myself and took a step forward, feeling smaller and more insignificant than I had ever thought possible, as if the icy air was not just hitting my skin, but completely erasing me. My name, my past, the person I thought I was, all seemed miles and miles away, leaving behind nothing but an empty, naked shell, trembling in the dark.

Then I heard the other door open as well, and the mysterious man got out, walking around to the back of the car.

"Walk," he ordered me with his usual deep and sharp voice. "Get in front of the car."

I obeyed, hoping not to hurt my feet on that shabby parking lot. I heard a car door again, and in front of me, the headlights of the car blazed unbearably, forcing me to look away to avoid being blinded. The intense lights erased every other vision around. Motionless, I heard the man's voice again, this time mocking along with a chuckle that was joined by two other voices nearby.

"Turn around, spin around and let yourself be admired. I paid for this, didn't I?"

I moved in circles, slowly, too confused and scared for any other reactions. It felt like I had been spinning and spinning until I was nauseous, but it had probably only been a few seconds.

"Now it's all yours, guys."

Those words sent an inevitable shiver through me. My instinct would have been to run, to flee into the darkness, but I didn't even have time to decide whether to actually do it. The hands of the scarred man grabbed me and pushed me against the hood, while the boss got back into the car, into the driver's seat, and closed the door. One hand gripped my neck, pressing my face against the still warm metal, The other hand forcefully spread my legs, inserting rough fingers inside me, between lips still partially excited by what had just happened.

"This whore likes violence!" I heard the scarred man say, laughing. "She's as wet as a bitch in heat!"

I wanted to scream, to say something, but my voice was stuck in my throat. From my mouth came only a faint moan of pain, while his fingers rummaged without the slightest delicacy in my pussy. I may have been wet, but those fingers were really cumbersome. And when they retracted, after a few seconds, I felt something even thicker pressing against my labia: the scarred man's cock was proportional to his body, in fact, it might even have been bigger than it should have been. But I couldn't object.

Then I felt him enter me brutally, big, hard, fierce. The brute began to possess me in an animalistic way, with powerful and repeated thrusts. I liked that violence: those rough lunges gave me pleasure, a pleasure that I have rarely experienced with other men. And it's not a matter of size. Maybe it was my brain that unconsciously focused on pleasure to avoid suffering. Or maybe it was my deepest part that was a total whore and loved being just an object, a sex toy in the hands of that gorilla.

Fortunately, the scarred man must have really wanted it because he quickly came inside me with a grunt and collapsed, painfully crushing my breasts against the metal with his weight. The brute ejaculated so much, I had never felt so full. A true cum bucket. I was so humiliated, but despite the intensity of the intercourse I hadn't come yet.

I looked in front of me. The windshield was dark and reflective, like the other windows, but I almost seemed to see the fierce eyes of the boss behind the glass, looking at me perversely. Why hadn't he fucked me? Did it excite him that it was his men doing it?

I didn't have much time to think about it. Suddenly, the weight on me disappeared. I thought with relief that it was finally all over, when two smaller but still strong hands caressed my buttocks.

I felt them wandering slowly, curiously, along my back and thighs. They slithered beneath me and squeezed my breasts, lifting my torso off the hood, teasing my nipples and occasionally pinching them painfully.

The new man was different. He took his time, playing with my naked body. His mouth brushed against my back. His teeth, his lips, his tongue took possession of my neck, kissing, biting, teasing behind my ear, where I was most sensitive. My nipples, against my will, became erect. I felt his hard and warm member behind me, pressed against the cleft of my buttocks and my back.

He continued to caress and hold me for a long time, stimulating one of my nipples with his right hand and my clitoris with his left. Finally, when my mind was already clouded and I was finally on the verge of having the much-anticipated orgasm, he pushed my back down and bent me forward. I felt the fingers sink into my buttocks and spread them apart, then the man spat, and his warm liquid slid between my cheeks. A moment later, I felt him pushing inside me. Fortunately, his cock was of normal size, nothing compared to the monster that had just torn my pussy apart.

Slowly but inexorably, the bastard penetrated deep into my ass, tearing a scream from me. Then he lifted my torso and began to sodomize me standing up, intensely, holding me by the hips. I could hear the frenzied panting of the fucker, his hungry grunts filling my ears. With my left hand, I held onto the car's body, while I slid my right hand between my legs to stimulate my clitoris and give myself pleasure. The man didn't stop me, he let me continue, and I was grateful to him.

In truth, I had always loved anal sex, a deep, forbidden, intense pleasure that was different from the usual but equally indispensable. The pain soon mixed with the pleasure, also thanks to masturbation. I don't know how long we went on, but I finally managed to reach a strong orgasm just a moment before he filled me with his seed. I felt him squeeze me a little more, then a gentle kiss behind my ear, and the sodomizer also moved away, leaving me dirty and destroyed, leaning against the hood.

At that point, I saw the boss get out of the car and approach me. He threw my bag, clothes, and shoes on the ground next to me, then, pulling me by the arms, made me stand up. He slipped something between my fingers. In the light of the headlights, now less intense than before, I saw that they were two $100 bills each and a business card.

"You are worth more than 100 dollars, Roxanne," he said with a tone of admiration and mockery. "Come with me and the figures will be decidedly different. Call me tomorrow at noon."

Dazed, I silently watched the three men get into the car. The headlights illuminated me for a few more moments as the engine started. All I could see at that point were the red taillights quickly fading away, leaving me naked, dirty, and in pain, standing on the cold asphalt.

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I looked at my watch: it was a little after eleven as I slowly climbed the stairs of the Detroit police precinct. Before reaching the top, I tossed the half-smoked cigarette I had been nervously smoking, then pushed the door and went inside.

Along the way, I could feel the intense, eager gazes of the uniformed boys even without looking at them. I could imagine their thoughts, their desires, the fantasies swimming in their minds at that moment, as I passed them, my heels clicking on the floor without giving them a glance. Of course, the skirt I was wearing was longer, knee-length, but I knew I had a remarkable backside and that the male gaze always ended up there.