He slowly glanced over my body and for the first time I detected interest in his demeanour, but it quickly passed and his cool hazel eyes became serious.
“The Master is waiting for you in the sitting room. He will explain what you have to do to earn your £600.” He pointed toward an open door, through which I could see a brightly lit hallway stretching away to a large front door.
“What the fuck?” I said. “What sort of game are you playing?” I demanded.
“Go and find out. The Master will explain.” He put his hand on my back and gently pushed me toward the doorway. I found myself moving and then walking along a narrow blue and red oriental carpet runner.
The door was open, so with a final glance at the driver, who was urging me on, I entered the massive sitting room. I was immediately stunned by the expensive furnishings and warm atmosphere of the room. Dark green leather sofas and easy chairs were arranged in a semi-circle round a roaring log fire. The ambiance created just the opposite effect to the bare utility room and kitchen area.
A tall dark haired man in a short purple smoking jacket stood by the fire, smoking a cigarette. His legs were bare below the jacket, so I assumed he was also naked beneath it. He signalled for me to join him, with a flick of his hand.
“Come, join me girl,” he called, so I walked across the room and stopped an arm’s length away from him.
I detected a strong foreign accent, German I thought. He was in his fifties and tall for a stocky man. His short dark brown hair looked dyed, while his face was rotund and rosy. His prominent cheeks and intelligent brown eyes added to his overall jolly appearance and I assessed him as being a moderately attractive man.
“Hi,” I said tentatively. His expression changed.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Beth, my names Beth.” I saw him lift his hand in an arc and managed to move my head sideways slightly, before he struck me on the side of the face.
The blow was hard enough to knock me off balance on my heels and I ended up sprawled on one of the leather sofas with my legs akimbo. I knew he had a perfect view of my bulging thong, so lingered in that position.
“You will call me Sir, understand?” He moved toward me, but I laid still.
“I was expecting sex, not a beating.” I replied belligerently. “The price just went up, Sir!” I stated, with heavy emphasis on the ‘Sir’. He grinned sadistically down at me, moved a little closer and undid the silk cord round his waist.
“We’ll see how much you’re worth soon enough. Come on then whore, show me how skilful you are!” In a swift movement he pulled his jacket open and his huge, erect cock sprang out in front of my face. I quickly sat up and grabbed his veined shaft with both hands.
Bringing saliva into my mouth I pursed my lips and began rubbing them against his impressive knob. He tasted like all the other Johns I ever met – pretty disgusting, but I soldiered on and had soon banished the initial tang. He stood their silently, while I eased my throat onto his erection, until I’d reached maximum penetration. I cupped his balls and bobbed on him rapidly, only stopping when I felt him jerk his seed into the lowest extremities of my oesophagus.
He’d taken hold of my hair, while I’d been jerking him off and continued to grip it until I’d finished lolly popping him clean. The moment he let go, I sat back on the couch and wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my dress. He stared down at me with a look of distain.
“Not bad for a street hooker,” he commented, before retying his belt and walking over to a small occasional table where a selection of spirits stood. “You might like something to wet your whistle?” he asked, picking up a bottle of whisky.
“Yea sure,” I agreed. “A whisky would be great.”
He poured the amber liquid into two glasses and then returned to stand in front of me. I took the glass he offered and waited until he had sipped his own drink, before I took a mouthful and swilled it round my gums to get rid of the taste of his cock.
“Suspicious little tart aren’t you?” he said, while pacing back and forth.
He waited until I’d handed him back the empty glass, before taking a seat opposite from where I was sitting.
“So you want me to stay all night?” I asked, looking round the cosy room.
“Something like that, Beth,” he replied nonchalantly.
The effect of the malt whisky kicked in, as though an adrenalin rush had taken hold of me. A warm glow in my chest coupled with the heat of the fire began to make me sweat, while a wave of dizziness swept through my mind.
“Wh… What do… you want… me to do?” I asked uncertainly.
“I want you to take your clothes off, Beth,” he said in a faraway voice. “And then we’re going to punish you again and again…”
I remember his words clearly and being confused by his use of the word ‘we’, but my muddled mind couldn’t seem to work out what was happening to me. I only realized later that the cunt had somehow drugged me and that the effect of the substance turned me into a limp, unresisting mess. I was unable to coordinate my muscles with my thoughts, so when several other men appeared and quickly undressed me, I lay there like a floppy rag doll, unresisting and compliant.
The shocking thing is, that when the Police arrested me after stabbing the cab driver, I had absolutely no recollection of the events of what had happened to me that night. It was only while I was on remand that the memories came flooding back in any detail.
Of course, when I related them to the police, they thought I made the whole thing up. Whatever they drugged me with didn’t show up on the toxicology report, so in the end the jury thought I was telling a huge cock and bull story.