Austin Williams - Widespread whore

Freda Thurlowe was not medically trained. In fact, it was a considerable challenge to her to handle a fingernail filed too close at the corner. But there she was, balancing a bottle of Merthiolate in her left hand and dabbing at Tuesday Noir's bleeding crotch.

"Jesus Christ! The son of a bitch damn near chewed you up and spit you right out on the floor!" she exploded. "What kind of a mangy mother-fucker would bite chunks out of a girl?"

"Shit, I don't know," Tuesday said wearily. "He was one of those smooth-talking cats when we haggled over the money, but once he got his pants off and caught sight of me bare, then he just went right out of his tree."

Freda dabbed on some more of the medicine and was gratified to see Tuesday wince. "If it burns, that's good," she said. "My grandmother always said the burning was a sign the germ was dying-"

"You and your grandmother," Tuesday sniffed. "I bet she never had any of that stuff stuck up her

cunt. Goddamn! It's just like liquid fire."

"Maybe we shouldn't be putting it on there," Freda said doubtfully.

"Oh, goddamn! We've got to put it on," Tuesday said through her teeth. "That miserable cock-sucker probably has some creeping Chinese disease on his mouth. 'Bout my luck to have my snatch drop out just when we're getting ready for the football crowds. Hell, I bet I won't be able to fuck for a week,"

"Oh, it won't be that long," Freda assured her. "And even if it is, hell, blow-jobs are selling for more than just plain old fucking. Get down on those dicks, and you'll be banking plenty even if your snatch is a little gnawed up."

"Man, I can suck a cock with anybody," Tuesday said, "but these bastards who never wash 'em. So help me Jesus, I tried to eat a dick last week that had so much cheese caked on the head I goddamn near gagged. The guy was holding a wad of money or I would have told him to shove it. After I ate all the slit off his dick, he was a cheap mother. Laid a ten on me. I told him he ought to get up off at least fifty."

Freda replaced the top of the bottle. "Well, it'll be as good as new in no time. And listen, make those scummy assholes wash their cocks off. They know the damn things're dirty, and they know they stink."

"Naw, nobody ever thinks his cock's dirty and smelly. Like us. You ever think your cunt smells?"

"Hell, I know it does!" Freda said. "Jesus, after a Saturday night when I've screwed a battalion of-

men, I can smell the damn thing a block away."

"How many bites I got down there?" asked Tuesday.

"Well, he got you real good right in the twat. Looks like he tried to bite the left lip off. That's a real bad place. Then you got a bunch of scratches over the inside of your legs running all back to your asshole. You got a couple of nips out of your stomach, too. But the main thing is that big chunk right out of the middle of your cunt."

"I wish I could have pissed in his face or, even better, blown him out with a big fart!"

Freda laughed. "You're okay. You'll be going strong tomorrow."

"Yeah, I guess," Tuesday said. "Thanks for the paint job."

"Think nothin' of it," Freda said. "You're a tough ole gal. How'd you ever turn hooker anyhow? Not that it's any of my business"

"Oh, shit. I'm not touchy about what's happened to me," Tuesday said. "It's been a great big sack of skunk-shit as long as I can remember. Hell, I never had nothing worth a damn, and I guess I was always trying to shove some pussy off in exchange for a friend or a chance to be somebody."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, like I can remember when I was eighteen. That summer they sent me to a miserable camp. Shit, it was worse than a prison. All these split-tailed assholes who were so fucking cute. And you know me hellI'm trying to be friendly with everybody,

hoping to God somebody'd be decent. Oh, I can remember it like right now. It was as hot as the hubs of hell, and we were all sleeping naked"

The rich snots went to the mountains, the folks kinda in the middle went to camps, and the poor whites and Negroes went to "Day Camps". Older guys were crowding the market as counselors. They worked the camps, taking their girl pussies where they could sneak them.

Tuesday's mother refused to consider any camp where there were men on the staff.

"Absolutely not!" she said, slapping the palm of her hand down on the kitchen table for emphasis. "Tuesday is not going out there with some sex-crazed woodmen. Lord knows I've worked all these years to keep her a virgin, and I'm not sending her where there're men or even guys."

The old man was a sore-codded old failure whose last hard-on had been the occasion for a three-day celebration, but it had been so long ago that nobody, not even the old man himself, could be exactly certain when. Since he was not fucking the old woman at all, she spent her time thinking

about who else was and might be fucking Generally, it was a harmless pastime, but it was no help to Tuesday who wanted to go to a private camp at Yodel Hole, Virginia.

"NO!" her mother thundered. "You'll go to the camp where they have Christian ladies of refinement and some breeding to look after you. At least you can't be raped in an all-girl camp."

Pity the poor woman's total ignorance. Tuesday arrived on a Sunday afternoon, and was "processed" and assigned to a cabin. There were four other girls in the crude shelter, and Tuesday didn't like the way the mattress smelled.

Then she met Miss Emilia Douche (pronounced, she was cautioned), "doo-shay", with the accent on the last syllable). Miss Douche was a real, sure enough Frenchie, who had been to school, according to report, in Paris itself. She was butchy, and walked with a masculine swing to her shoulders. Her close-cropped hair framed a strong-featured face, and in her shorts, she displayed an excellent set of well-tanned legs. Tuesday noted that Miss Douche did not hold much in the mammary or tit department, but this

was a minor point. The girl smiled, and offered Tuesday her hand.

"Come on, honey," she invited. "You're new, so let me show you around."

There followed a tour of the camp, and Tuesday was simply overwhelmed to find in the next couple of days that Miss Douche was her almost constant companion. On the evening of the third day, the counselor offered an unexpected prize.

"Why don't you come up and sleep with me, Tuesday?" she asked. "I have a great big bed all to myself, and I'd just love to have you. We could have.., fun!" The last was offered with a deliciously suggestive inflection which led Tuesday's stomach to contact with pleasurable pangs of anticipation. She could just picture the two of them with a flashlight under the covers after lights out, eating cookies which had been stolen from the kitchen.

Tuesday accepted Miss Douche's invitation, and was tingling all over with anticipation as she moved her things into the counselor's comfortable quarters.

"Here, dear, put your clothes in the closet, and let's get in bed! I've been wanting to get to bed with you for the longest time."

"Oh, yes," Tuesday answered breathlessly. "Me, too!"

"You have?" Miss Douche asked, amazed. "You think we can have fun in bed?"

"Sure we can," Tuesday said. "You show me how."

Emilia Douche was thirty years old, and except for a deficiency in the boobie department. I was a magnificent piece of human construction. She could have attracted big, juicing, swinging cocks from a radius of several hundred miles. She could have been eaten and buggered by some of the more attractive men in two states. And had these attractions not turned her on, she could have chosen a lezzie partner from uncounted thousands of adult women who liked their vice versa. She had an oozing snatch for Tuesday from the moment the teen went through her "processing".