Shemale Whore and Arab Pimp

“Hi, 'Habbie,' ” I answered.

The “boss” is not your superior when you know all
of his secret perversions.

“I almost didn't recognize you with that boyish haircut,
my little whore” he retorted.

The respect thing works both ways.
A john is a john and a whore is a whore.

It all came flooding back. I was my old self again,
at least mentally.

“This changes things,” he said, “We have to find
a suitable position for you.”

“Under your desk on my knees?” I shot back
sarcastically.

He chuckled lasciviously. It gave me the creeps.
I finally really saw him for the sick perverted
fuck he was but I kept my “professional” demeanor.

“No, I was thinking on the couch, naked, with your
ass in the air.” He was a hundred percent serious.

I saw the free weed, more money and gifts
floating in the air and decided to pluck them
all from their orbits.

I was a whore again.

By the end of the day my nipples were sore from being
sucked, my ass and hermaphroditic pussy were sore
from being fucked, I smelled like his Middle Eastern
cologne scents and I felt truly defiled and ashamed.

I know understood the world better and
for the first time I really understood what
it was to sell myself yet I still smiled seductively.

I still knew how to manipulate men but now I
was an expert.
I lay on my back on a sl**ping mat behind his desk,
totally spent, in an attitude of total defeat and
surrender, not even bothering to close my legs.

Modestly is for people who have dignity.

I had no pretense to dignity.

Habbie came walking out of his little shower room
casually dressed in sweat pants and tee shirt,
speaking in Arabic on his cell phone.

I hated the sick hairy mtherfcker yet I lay there
gazing at him like a satisfied lover.

“You're back in business, my little whore” he
said very businesslike and domineering.

He sat in his chair and we talked business.