I turned aside his attempts while continuing to wash his genitals. I knew I was drunk – the three shots in combination with the adrenalin surge fighting with Jessie made me feel disconnected. Our voices were strained and sounded unnatural to me. My words were slurred even to my own ear. "Blondie. Beautiful Lady. Your breasts are like those of a Modonna," he crooned in an attempt to engage me. "You are a nauughty booy," I said, slurring the words in a parody of seductiveness. He took my hand and placed it on his penis. "Does that belong to a boy?" He kissed me on the mouth, his tongue drilled in to me. I twisted away. This was getting out of hand; he was changing the rules. "You don't kiss whores," I said. He responded with "Let me kiss your other lips." He was insistent but not rough. He really did seem to like me I thought. I found myself on my back, resting with a pillow under my butt that he had placed there to raise my crotch to facilitate access. He bent my legs back and out so that my feet were forced even with my buttocks. As my legs spread, my *** lips opened for him. He gently licked the outside of my ***. He pushed his tongue passed my labia and began to work it up and down. I gasped as he suddenly stabbed his tongue deep into me. He began to thrust his tongue in and out of my *** like he was *** me. Somehow he seemed more decent and human than the others. I convinced myself that he liked the real me, not Elaine the whore but Elaine the person. I also concluded that he was bolder and he might help me if I pleased him. Maybe he would go to the police or help me escape. He might do that if, whore-like, I made him happy. I was loosing my grasp of reality but had no other hope. "Do you reaaally like me?" I heard myself asking, still speaking carelessly with words running together. "I love you," he said from between my legs. "Liar. But maybe you will help me?" "Anything, my love." He returned to tonguing me. I began to respond, convincing myself that it was the right thing to do...and he was starting to turn me on., "That feels so goooood," I moaned. "That's gooooood! So goooood!" I knew instinctively that that was what he wanted to hear. "Keep doing that to me!" He was eating my *** like it was candy. He started to move his tongue around inside me with every thrust. I knew his lips were getting wet from the sucking and licking. He didn't seem to mind. It was important to him for me to think that he cared, behavior which bordered on the bizarre. I felt his tongue inside me, circulating around, and I lifted my buttocks off the bed, faking a response. I began to shake and moan, all in the interest of theater. When he found my clitoris and his teeth scraped across it, I almost jumped off the bed. He gently put it between his lips and started to gently suck on it. I started to move on the bed. I was thrusting my crotch into his face, no longer faking. I had to interrupt so I broke away, slid up the bed, and reached into the drawer. I pulled out the KY and began to lubricate my *** which really was not necessary after his oral ministration but I needed the time to pull myself under control. "Is this whaaaat you waaaant? I teased. "Yes!" "It's yourrrrs. You paid for me." I lay down, lifted my knees, gripping them in my hands to open myself up to him. I had consented to this, more than the others. Did it matter? He would *** me anyway; he had paid the price. But if only he would help me, then it was all right. I intended to fake a lust similar to his own. I guided his penis inside me. There, go on and *** me I thought. It wasn't important, merely genital friction. I was desperately alone, and he was decent and really did seem to like me. Also, I believed he would help me. His youth made this act seem simple and innocent, even a kind of solace. And so I consented. I accepted his tongued kisses, I greeted his thrusts, and I surrendered. I acquiesced. I was writhing on the bed, moving with him naturally as if we had been lovers for years. There we were – damp flesh, white and brown, tangled damp hair, explosive breaths, a steady cadence, encouragement on his part, moaning on mine. I felt his *** slide along my slippery *** walls. I gasped as I felt him fill me. With painful effort I brought my legs off the bed, high in the air, hooked a leg over each of this shoulders and locked my ankles behind his neck, giving him full access and control. This sent him in to a frenzy of jack hammering. He had me by the ass, lifting me as he pumped his hips wildly. I felt like he was splitting me in two, and I tightened my grip around his neck before he knocked my brains loose. I battled to hold on to my senses, trying to recall and retrieve in my mind who I was and why I was doing this. But I was losing control. I began to sway and buck, clinging to him, riding the wild stallion up and down with him. I clawed his back and screeched obscenities that I had never used before. A glimpse as his face showed me the crazy smile on his face. I ripped at his flesh, scratching his back, wailing steadily as he impaled me against the headboard and pumped away like a madman. I counted the seconds, the minutes, expecting him to come, but he did not come. I renewed by exertions, but my thighs, buttocks, and legs felt dead. Still, I tried to drive him to climax, rolling my ass, clamping my thighs, beating my fists at him, screaming and screaming, but he kept right on *** me and would not come. His balls kept banging against the cheeks of my ass. My eyes were closed I felt him shift his position slightly. I thought this might be it; he would come. His position shift put his rampaging *** rubbing against my clitoris. That did it. I felt something inside me, sort of like an explosive force rising low and expanding. My vagina flooded, and I felt like I would shoot a geyser as mile high. Then I knew, knew for certain. I was losing control; I was on the verge of a mammoth orgasm. I wanted to cry because I did not want it to happen in intercourse with this self-centered young man, and worse, far worse, I would lose control if my body betrayed me and gave in to this feeling of eruption. My fingers grabbed the top of the headboard behind. I bit my lip and begged my battered senses to regain control and not let my vagina surrender to the sensations triggered by this man-child's ***. I tried not to respond anymore. I turned my head sideways on the pillow, fighting to take my mind off his lovemaking. It was impossible. It was too delicious, this going under. I was seconds away from total release, and he was still pounding in to me and had not come. I had to bring this to an end. Dropping my legs, I reached in front of me, to either side of his perpetual motion ***. I found his low-slung, swaying balls, those huge sacks going from side-to-side, and I began to massage them as perspiration covered my body, flowing salt in to my eyes and forcing me to close them. Whatever I did, it was the right thing. He began to bellow in Spanish, and his thrusts shortened, slowed, then sped up. He squealed once, twice, merging in to a long drawn-out shriek, as his movement ceased. He hung above me and in me as if petrified, yelling, shouting, as he came and came and came in his prolonged orgasm. I felt him shoot his *** into my body. Then, as if in slow motion, he collapsed like a punctured dirigible. An involuntary shudder of disgust passed through me as I felt the wetness of his *** oozing out of my *** and working down towards the crack of my ass. Fascinated by what happened, I watched him roll over on the bed. I enjoyed the triumph; I had averted my own climax and retained control. I let him kiss me one more time, his tongue, the tongue that had been in my ***, dueling with my tongue. I thought I could taste myself. We ended up side by side on the bed. He was saying all the right things about how good it was, sort of what you would say to a lover. I stared vacantly, stupidly, up at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath. He abruptly left the bed. I idly watched him take the KY off the night stand, fill the palm of his hand with a generous amount, and then stroke his *** to erection, covering it with KY in the process. A limited number of strokes, and he was ready to go again – the advantage of being young. Raul returned to the bed and roughly moved me over onto my belly. I did not resist. I was too slow-thinking to do anything but comply. Vaguely, I assumed that he intended to enter me vaginally from behind, the classic "doggy position." Suddenly, I felt his weight. He was squatting on me, my hips and legs squeezed between his knees, thighs, and feet. He said, "Now we are going to do it the other way." I made as if to rise, but he held me down with his left hand between my shoulder blades. He then opened me up with his right hand and rubbed some KY on my ***. I realized then what he had in mind, and I began to beat my hands on the bed and repeated "No" over and over again. And when he entered me, squatting on me, driving in, his ankles pressed against my hips, I began to wail softly, a desperate sound to my ears. It hurt. I was not ready physically or mentally – hadn't I thought he might help me. But not in the ass, the "grudge ***" hole used in this case by a self centered post-adolescent that wanted what he wanted when he wanted it. I shouted with real pain, "Take it out! Take it out!" But he ignored me. I turned my head to the mirror. I could read the pain in my face. My body was compressed beneath his. I felt defiled, hopelessly profaned. How could I have deluded myself that this boy was to be my savior? I shut my eyes. Raul reached under, grabbed my breasts, and roughly squeezed them. He cupped them in his palms; he pulled them to the sides of my ribcage and then thrust into me, pushing me against the sheets and flattening my breasts. His fingers found my nipples, pinching and twisting them which only added to the pain. He began long, purposeful strokes in and out of my anal opening. Sweat from his face and chest dripped on my back. Unlike our previous sex act, he took his time *** my ass, appearing to savor each stroke. Except for an involuntary muscle spasm or gasp, I did not respond. My fists were clenching the bed sheets tightly, my eyes shut. With each surge of his body on mine, his *** plowed deep into my bowels. When he drove in extra hard, I gasped, shrieked, and shook in pain. I took my right hand to my mouth and began biting on my thumb. Real tears flowed from my eyes. I would occasionally murmur, "Please take it out." Like him, I was sweating all over. Without respite, his *** dug into me with insolent and mighty lunges. I opened my eyes and saw in the mirror that he did not look at me; he was staring straight ahead at the wall, lost in his own reverie. I sensed that I was no more than an object to him. I realized that I had deceived myself and that this self centered boy would be of no assistance to me. In fact, he could hurt me, not out of maliciousness, but out of ignorance centered on his narcissistic concentration on self-love and erotic pleasure for himself. Without destroying the rhythm he had created, he released my breasts and grabbed my ass cheeks. I watched him in the mirror as he pulled my cheeks apart and watched his hard shaft disappear into my stretched ass hole. It must have made him feel good to see his own sex organ skewering me; I saw him smile. After another minute or so, I felt him shudder and push my ass cheeks together to lock his *** in to me. He erupted in a powerful orgasm, shooting his fluid deep in my bowels. When Luis withdrew his limp organ, he rolled over on the bed, trying to bring his ragged breathing under control. He sat up pleased with himself. He then leaned over and kissed my cheek as if we were lovers. I remained on my stomach, staring into the mirror by the bed, watching the whole thing from afar as if it had nothing to do with me. My buttocks were wet with his sweat from where he had been sitting on me. His *** was now leaking out of my *** and my ***; I felt it running down my upper thighs and pooling underneath me. My butt and breasts hurt, but the physical pain was second to the mental realization that I could count on no one to help me. I had fooled myself into submitting to this boy, agreeing to pleasure him so that he might help me, almost losing control in the process. It was a testimony to how far I had lost touch with reality. The liquor was the contributing factor, but I was guilty of infidelity born of a sense of hopelessness. "You hurt me," I said. He said, very softly, "You are nothing but a whore...a useful ***-bucket nothing more." It was his tone, rather than the words, that alarmed me. I turned over to look at him and saw that his eyes were very bright with pupils that were mere points of narrow light. It dawned on me that he was high, really high, on what I did not know. I was scared and needed to get him out of my room. Remarkably, he appeared to be still erect. "You look frightened," was what he said. "Don't be silly. You were awesome. I enjoyed it very much. Please visit me again." He smiled and began to dress. God alone knows what kind of signal I sent to his drug-addled brain. But it worked, and I knew that he would not hurt me again. When Luis finished dressing and left, I began the ritual of douche, shower, and gargle. I was beginning to lose hope that I would escape or be released. Luis had frightened me; I thought I could control the johns – but now I was not so sure. My butt and my self-confidence were hurt badly. I entertained the thought that only death would free me from this place and from my memories. I saw a safety razor in the bathroom. I wondered if I could cut my wrists with it, but realized how silly that was – the safety razor was named because it did not cut but only allowed for the shallow scrapping away of a beard or stubble from a *** wax job. But then I recalled that just this morning I had concentrated on the money-to-be-made from providing banking and investment support to the very criminal organization that put me on my back and on my knees servicing their clients. I realized that I had to move up into the criminal organization that owned and operated The Doll's House and kept me here against my will. My minimum objective is to serve out my sentence, earn the credits, and go quietly back to my life. But my maximum objective was to create an opportunity to take money from the very organization that used my body to make their money. My first step in all of this was to see and speak with Patrick as he appears to be the main man here and the linchpin that connected this whorehouse to the upper levels of the organizations above us. In preparation to going back to the Reception area, I rooted through the closed and found a white, polyester dress that would fit me. I put it on over my head and it draped down and around me. My braless breasts bounced around in two small wedged shaped pieces of cloth with a deep V between cut to my belly button. There was no back to it, slits of the side came up to the sides of my ass, and the dress only reached down to about a third of the way to my knee. Under it, I wore only a G-string. I thought this was appropriate whore-wear for the incoming afternoon and early evening crowd. By my calculation, I had accumulated credits of approximately $4,000 with another $6,000 yet to earn. I just had to keep on doing what I was doing but doing so faster and with higher credits per transaction Therefore, since Randy assigned credit values and clients to us working girls, I had to keep him happy...or maybe even happier...if I could. Also, in pursuit of a connection to whatever criminal enterprise runs this place, I had to work through and gain the trust of Patrick (Randy's boss) and do so quickly. As I headed for Reception, I thought that there was a lot I had to do and that pleasing clients on my back or on my knees may well be the easiest items on my to do list.