Austin Williams - Widespread whore

"Okay," she agreed, "But I won't be able to fuck anything for at least a week, maybe more. Man, my whole cunt is a disaster area."

Manny patted her cheek. "Now you're talking," he said. "Just leave everything to me. Take a week to get over Hiroto, and I'll get busy and line up something. Hell, you're gonna be rich."

Tuesday slept a lot, and bathed her snatch and asshole in healing salt water and alum. The latter

was to shrink the tissues and make her cunt and asshole tight again.

Within five days, she was pissing without pain, and at the end of the seventh day, she finger-fucked herself to bring herself off to a roaring, ear-bugging orgasm that made her wonder why the hell men were necessary in the first place.

Then, on the eight day, she began to wonder if there was ever going to be any more action. She had not seen or heard from Manny. But just before nightfall on the eighth day, he put in his appearance, grinning broadly and obviously in high humor.

"I've struck it for you," he proclaimed. "Goddamn, you're gonna make more money tomorrow than the average whore does in a year!"

Tuesday frowned. "Don't call me a whore," she said. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, I found out about this exclusive club over in the Bradbury Heights section. All of 'em married men, and very discreet. It's so damn secret, the members don't hardly know each other."

'That's a double negative," she said.

"What?"

"Never mind. What about the club?"

"These guys got money up the gazoo, and they get together every once in a while because they have been drawn to each other. You know, they're all fucked up. They're asshole bastards that want to be whipped, and some fart-sniffers and shit-eaters. Oh, hell, I guess they got somebody who wants a little of everything. But it's more of a hunt club. They don't do much for each other.

Take a guy who wants to smell a really rank fart. He can't do a damn thing for a guy who wants to lick assholes. In fact, I talked to the guy who is just nuts on licking assholes, and he thinks the fart-sniffer is queer and they don't even speak. But they all stay in the club, because they figure if they can help each other search for partners, then they all got a better chance.

"There's one little thing about this deal. Lots of these guys want a man. One they were telling me about is a confirmed cocksucker. He won't do anything but cop a prick, and he won't pay a nickel for it if there isn't some shit kinda hanging on the back of the balls."

Tuesday was intrigued. "How in the hell would any shit be on balls?"

"Oh, you're not that dumb," Manny said. "If a guy has the runny shits, it's no trouble at all for some of it to drip out of his asshole and run down on his balls. Then, he doesn't wear himself out wiping his ass, he's got those delicious, shit-stained balls, just right for lopping."

"Huh? If I had balls, I wouldn't go around with shit on them."

"Not for a thousand? Well, I would!"

"You mean you're…"

"You're tuning in," he said. "Here's what I've done. I let the guy who licks assholes… he's a trustee for the YMCA and works with the Home for Unwed Mothers.., line the deal up. I told him to get five of 'em. I don't give a damn what they want, the two of us will give it. The price for an all-night soak is.. get this.., ten thousand."

Tuesday gasped.

"Now wait! I get five and you get five. And you're getting the best of the deal, because I'm the one who lined up the whole thing, and I'm getting nothing for my promotional work. But think of it! Five apiece for one night!"

Tuesday made a quick calculation about how much she had in the bank. "Okay, it sounds fine," she admitted. "I think I can handle this. What kind of sickies are gonna be there?"

Manny consulted a notebook. "Well, we have a shit-eating cocksucker, and then we got a real curiosity. We got this minister who likes to chew foreskins while somebody works up his asshole. I got the foreskin for him, but we'll have to work out the bit for his rear end."

"How about a broom handle?" Tuesday suggested. "We could sand it down real good, and put a rubber on it."

"Why put a rubber on a broom handle? It can't come, and besides, he won't get pregnant anyhow. Hell, if there are any splinters in it, he'll go ape, and we'll charge him extra. Okay, then, we got the broom handle taken care of. Now, you may be a little uncertain about this next one. He's got a real problem. He likes to chew the Kotex off a cunt. He says nothing will send him unless he can taste that good old blood."

"Well, we're shit out of luck. I'm not having my period."

Manny smiled, and tapped his head with his finger. "I'm way ahead of you. I've arranged to buy a bucket of blood from a slaughterhouse. He

won't know it's from a cow. I'll just soak the Kotex napkin in it, and then add a few drops of rotten fish oil. Shit! He'll think, he's eating the foulest cunt in the world."

N Tuesday had to admit Manny was creative.

"Then we got an ex-football player who was as queer as hell in college, but has gone down since. He just can't make it sucking a cock anymore. He has to eat on a sweaty jock strap, sucking the juice out of it while some fellow jerks him off. Hell, I can do that while the other guy is lopping my balls. Then, finally, we got what they call a titty walker."

"Jesus Christ! What's a 'titty walker'?"

"This guy is hung up on tits, but not like most people. He doesn't give a flying shit about playing with them. He wants to walk on them. You know, sort of a fucked-up version of running barefoot through acres of titties. He comes as he gets his toes with nipples poking up between them.

"Yeah, but hell! He'll kill me if he stands up on my tits. They aren't that big, but I'd damn well hate to lose either one of 'em."

"Hell, I'm ahead of you again," Manny boasted. "I got this guy to agree to do his titty walking lying down. All it will amount to is that he will be feeling your boobs with his feet. Shit, there won't be any pain in that at all. Now you gotta admit, I have done a helluva promotional job, and this is only the beginning. Hell, they got a whole load of way-out mother fuckers, and we'll clean them out. Shit, we'll fill up the bank with money!"

"I always thought you had plenty of money,"

Tuesday said.

"Hell, a rich man's never got enough."

Tuesday felt a certain anticipation. If five weirdo sexopaths could ante up ten grand for a single night, God Almighty, there must be millions out there just waiting to be hauled in. "You soak up the blood and rotten fish juice," she said. "I puke easily."

"Yeah," Manny said dryly. "I know."

That very night was the occasion of the massive sickie orgy… fuck… suck…fart… sniff…and eat!

Manny was as nervous as a cat before the first guests arrived. He had never offered himself for sale, and certainly not to a cod-lopping man. What's more, while he was able to douse the Kotex in cow blood and fish oil without any hesitation, when it came to smearing slit over his own balls, that was something else again.

Tuesday smiled silently to herself as she saw him gag as he prepared his balls. It was not his shit. In fact, it wasn't even human. It was some dog crap that he had scooped up out of the front yard.

After he painted his balls, Manny had to leave off his pants to allow the gop to dry, and while he waited, he kept himself busy and useful applying a sheet of number-two sandpaper to a broom handle which he had cut to a length of about two feet.

Tuesday liked the way Manny's balls flopped, even if-they were covered in shit. His cock was also attractive to her. She felt a slight tug of nostalgia as she looked at his prick. In less complicated days, she would have taken his cock into the warm folds

of her pussy and the two of them could have finished each other off and dreamed happily afterward. Now, though, there was the ever pressing quest for money which robbed life of its mystical and romantic properties.