tagBDSMVice Cream

Vice Cream

Vice Cream is a collection of seven short stories, with a common narrator, featuring nature's most perfect food. Not all of the flavours are BDSM but I hope you will sample each one. As the saying goes, "Life is short, eat dessert first". Enjoy...

Vice Cream
Dessert in Seven Parts

"Boring." The word drops out of Master's mouth and rolls around on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, coming to rest next to my ear.

A clink of a spoon against a ceramic bowl, I hear it but don't see it.

Boring. The word was mine, the reaction swift, the result – I tug at the cord of Master's housecoat around my wrist – inescapable. His location for me, head to one side of the island, directly below the overhanging counter top, was no accident. I'm half blind.

With legs and arms pulled taut, lifting my head is uncomfortable but, as I do, he kneels between my spread legs and I see the bowl, then the spoon heaped with a white mound.

Cold! A spoonful of ice cream is slipped into my open pussy. When my hips jolt upward, Master pins them down again using only his eyes focused on mine. His eyes say, Things can always get worse. Another spoonful and another and another, until the heat of my sex can't keep up with the frozen cream. The river of melted stickiness dripping out of me, running down to the crack of my ass and onto the floor, slows to a thin stream. Deep breaths help keep me still.

"Boring," he repeats, in a monotone.

Now it's the fridge door I hear, opening. Bags rustling. Containers bumping against each other. My world, tied down on the floor as I am, is the world of sound.

Master is between my knees again. He shows me a strawberry before shoving it inside me. Some peach slices are next. Blueberries stain his palm as he feeds them between my hungry folds. Cherries, mandarin orange slices, even a few grapes, he pushes each new fruit in a little further and a little harder.

Scrambling to define each new sensation, the walls of my pussy tighten and release. The ice cream, melting fast, begins to flow again. Master's hand is empty. He holds up three fingers, high enough for me to see, then stuffs them inside me and mashes the fruit and ice cream together.

My neck arches at the plunging. I groan and pull against my restraints. His fingers drive in and out. The pulpy mess splatters the insides of my thighs and pools beneath my ass cheeks. I'll come soon if he doesn't stop and I've not been given permission.

"Boring," I hear him mutter at the same instant his fingers stop pounding me.

With his clean hand, he picks up the spoon, slips it inside me, pulls out a helping of milky mush and smiles. I smile back, panting, thinking he's about to enjoy a snack. Stupid me. He carries the dripping spoon over my stomach, up to my chest and drizzles the concoction over my left nipple.

Gasping, my back arches as my always sensitive button sends electric shocks down my spine to the ice cream sundae between my legs.

He gives my right nipple – primed by expectation – the same treatment.

The third spoonful he carries to my mouth.

Eyes wide, lips sealed, I shake my head a fraction. The cold spoon rests against my lips and his eyes order them to open. They do.

Master tips the spoon and I swallow my dessert. When the spoon is clean, he pulls down a napkin from the kitchen table and fastens it snugly around my head, gagging me, making sure I cannot rid myself of the flavour.

He holds the empty spoon up high enough for me to see. The handle is made of plastic, thick and round. Bending the spoon into a crescent shape, he slides the handle into my pussy, jostles it around and pulls it out. I pout into my gag, yearning for more.

I get more.

The tip of the spoon handle presses against the delicate pucker of my ass. I bite down as he slides the handle inside me, working slowly, extending my discomfort. I know he's done when I feel the metal end biting the soft skin of my ass cheeks.

Master stands. I hear a drawer open, the dull rattle of cutlery. Kneeling down, he shows me a fork. My molars clamp down on the back of the napkin sawing at the corners of my mouth.

Same routine. This time, however, he leaves the handle of the fork in my pussy; the tines prod my swollen lips. Once again, he stands.

Another drawer opens. What now?

This time he returns with a roll of plastic wrap, pulling out an arm's length and tearing it off. The wrap he winds around my waist, between my legs, around my waist again, until he's fashioned a cellophane loincloth for me, just tight enough to hold the two pieces of cutlery in place.

Repositioning, he lowers his head until it is over top of mine. I can see him reading my eyes, gauging my discomfort. A smile melts across his face. He licks my top and bottom lips and moves south.

Master's mouth lands next on my nipple, licking and sucking up the mess he left. As he does, and the electrical shocks start in earnest, I start to tense and squirm, feeling the handles inside my ass and pussy fill me with pleasure while their cold counterparts dig into my flesh.

From one nipple to the next, my master works his hot tongue around, cleaning every drop from my body. I buck harder, willing the inanimate objects to fuck me, groaning at their cruelty. My ass slips on the slick liquids seeping out of me and the spoon end digs hard into my left cheek, moving the handle, causing my hips to thrust, driving the fork tines into my clit. I yell into my gag. More slipping, more poking, more sucking and licking, I drive myself to the edge of the cliff.

Master pulls away. He stands yet again and watches me as I writhe on the linoleum. My begging is stifled but I know he hears it. I need release. I need it. Why won't he give it to me?

"So, tell me, my precious whore," he says, looking down at me, tall as a skyscraper, "do you still think vanilla ice cream is boring?"

Mango Sorbet

A day off at last. Even better, a day off and a beach all to myself. It was worth the paddle against the current to get to this quiet motu, this tiny patch of sand and palm trees, surrounded by water more shades of blue than any paint store can invent.

That's what I was thinking when they came around the corner.

Tourists. No matter how friendly they may be, I'm tired of the small talk and the same five questions, and the "hot enough for you?"' and the "boy, the mosquitoes are eating me alive". I think I would have liked this island better when the natives were still eating each other.

They were a young couple. Giggling and running, as best they could with a cooler held between them, they barged around the corner and kicked sand in the face of my afternoon alone. About ten feet away from me, they stopped, dropped the cooler to the sand, nodded in my direction with twin smiles and resumed being giddy and stupid.

Why my motu? Why so close? Why couldn't they go where all the other tourists go?

Belly down, on my towel, I tried to read my novel as the love birds stretched out a blanket and rubbed sunblock on each other. Porn stars could have taken writhing-in-ecstasy lessons from those two.

From the snippets of babble and their lean, coltish bodies, I figured they must have been French. Good. At least I could speak English and feign ignorance if they tried to speak to me.

But they didn't speak to me; they were consumed with each other. Not that I cared.

From behind my sunglasses, I saw the man open the cooler and produce a small tub. The woman reached a hand towards the tub and he slapped it away. It was a playful slap and she adopted the kind of sexy pout only the French can pull off.

A trickle of sweat ran down my back, as the man removed the lid from the tub, dipped his fingers inside and offered up something orange to his playmate. She unpouted her lips and spread them wide; I could even see her tongue come out a little. He fed her his fingers and she sucked back the offering, closing her eyes as she did.

The second time, she moaned.

Shifting my legs, an extra rush of heat hit me and between my thighs I felt moisture that wasn't sweat. Looking down at my book, I realized I'd been stuck on the same sentence ever since the couple's arrival.

The woman leaned in and whispered to her playmate. I caught a faint nod. Once again, his fingers dipped into the tub, except this time the man didn't offer his fingers to his lover, he offered them to me.

Had my spying been so obvious? Embarrassment glued me to my towel but then the woman also looked at me. Her smile was as warm as the breeze.

I shook my head. No. I couldn't.

This only made my beach mate's smiles broaden. He tilted his head at an angle that suggested hurt feelings if I didn't partake. She beckoned me with her fingers.

'Just one taste', I thought.

The afternoon heat had melted my muscles, I found myself crawling across the sand, on all fours, as if I were the couple's lazy house cat, coming for a treat. By the time I reached the man's fingers, the orange was dripping off them. I felt bad for taking so long; I opened my mouth and let him feed me.

A tidal wave of mangoes engulfed my brain. Cool and sweet, every tropical memory I owned pulsed through me and I found my eyes closing as I suckled the juice off two slender, male fingers.

The second time, I moaned.

He didn't offer his fingers to me again. Instead, he fed himself, turned his dark eyes to the woman and she leaned in to kiss him. I was close enough to smell their sweat mingling with their coconut scented sunscreen and hear their tongues fighting over the sorbet.

I'd never felt so hungry.

When they pulled apart, a silken string of saliva stretched between their lips for a moment before breaking. Hypnotic.

A gust of wind rustled the palm leaves overhead as the man lowered his fingers into the tub again. I was greedy for those fingers but he gave the treat to the woman instead. Maybe I pouted.

She opened her plump lips just wide enough to show me the sorbet on her tongue. Her face was a flower; the orange on her tongue was her nectar, my tongue was that of a yellow wasp coming to pollinate. I leaned in to drink from her mouth.

Warm lips, cool tongue. I sucked slowly and she sucked back Sweat tickled its way down my stomach and I shivered, lost in a stranger's mouth. The man's fingers were untying the straps of my bikini top; the woman's fingers were painting my nipples with something cool and sticky. I moaned, again.

Mmmmm, mango sorbet.

This was definitely not my crowd. For the umpteenth time, I tugged down on the edges of the mini-skirt Master dressed me in. A man in a leather hood was led past me on a leash. Not my crowd, not our crowd for that matter. We'd never been part of any scene.

I tottered on spiked heels, clinging to Master's side, not physically but with every psychic rope I could wrap around him. He'd told me once already to mingle. Half an hour later, I was still following him, puppy-like, through the party.

No surprise when he turned to me, face a black cloud, and growled, "Go! I don't want to see you for an hour."

I wobbled my way out of the living room as fast as I could, dragging my wounded ego behind me. Where I was going to go? I had no idea.

The party was packed; my direction was determined more by the flow of traffic than by my inclinations. I told myself, These are just nice, normal people, bankers, housewives, everyday folks, just like me, but that didn't stop me from feeling like a penguin wandering through the Serengeti.

I was funneled into a long hallway and a tall woman, with day-glo pink, cropped hair offered me a welcoming smile. Relieved to see a friendly gesture, I smiled back. She stuck out her tongue, displaying a large metal piercing, and waggled it up and down. Maybe I only imagined her laughing at me, as I stumbled and ran past her, wide eyed and trembling, but I doubt it.

Pushing my way through the throng, I spotted a closed door, grabbed the handle and thanked someone's god that it was unlocked. The room I'd escaped into was dark and quiet – perfect.

Dark, yes, but there were lights on. Dark because, as my eyes adjusted and my pulse slowed enough to allow observation, the room was black. Black walls, black stone floor, black ceiling, one long, black table and, seated at the far end of the table, a woman. She wore a white dress, barely discernable against her pale skin, and had hair as light blonde as mine but longer, almost down to her waist. I was rude to stare but the scene was striking, mesmerizing.

"Come here, Pet," she said, in a voice I would describe as white, also.

I did as she asked. Her demeanor was firm but calm; she put me at ease.

My heels clicking on the stone floor made me too aware of my gait. I tried to walk gracefully, I wanted to impress the Snow Queen.

"You look lost," she said, no real concern in her voice but no threat, either.

"I am..." I'd never been out like this before, what was I supposed to call her?

"You may call me Miss Lily, if you like."

"Miss Lily," I liked how her name wiggled out of my mouth.

"Kneel," she said. It wasn't an order, only an instruction, and I was glad for the direction.

Once I was kneeling front of her, she reached out a long, ivory-painted fingernail and lifted up the metal, heart-shaped tag attached to my collar. Her silver eyes were the definition of neutral as she read the inscription.

What did it say? Master had added it to my collar only this evening.

Miss Lily finished reading and nodded, then smoothed a hand over my head. "So soft. Lovely". Her fingers drifted through my hair.

I lowered my gaze, ashamed at my nipples coming alive at her touch, following the laces of her boots down to the tips, and around to a set of heels so high and narrow my toes curled just looking at them.

"Are you hungry, pet?"

"Yes, Miss Lily," I answered.

Her chair didn't make a sound as she turned it out to face me, as if she and everything in the room were made of air. She placed a black bowl on the floor, just beyond my reach. There was no cutlery; I'd have to bend over to eat. My short skirt would show everything. Everything.

No panties, no bra, Master insisted on this when he dressed me for the party. I'm no prude but he knows I'm private, he knows how much I detest the very style of dress he'd chosen.

Shuffling, I tried to move into a position where my head would be facing my hostess but she tapped a fingernail on the table top.

"No, where you were."

Biting my bottom lip, I moved back and dipped my head down to the bowl. My ass was high in the air, facing the lady in white. Could she see the pink folds between my legs, swollen and glistening? I knew the answer and that only increased the temperature in my nethers.

The bowl was empty.

Was she playing a trick on me? I looked again, lowering myself even further. No, there was something there but it was as black as the bowl and impossible to identify. My tongue reached out to explore, it burned with cold. Now I knew.

This time I took a healthy lick but paused when I felt something hard resting on my tailbone.

"Don't you like it?" Miss Lily asked.

Yes and no.

"Yes, Miss Lily," I managed to answer, without breathing.

"Then go on."

My face lowered to the bowl, I licked. The cruel heel of her boot pressed against the opening of my pussy.

I wanted to stop.

I licked again and gasped when the heel dug its way inside me. She was going to fuck me like this and I was going to let her.

I wanted to stop and I didn't.

How could I resist black licorice ice cream?

Of the four flavours of ice cream displayed beneath the dusty glass of the Sip-n-Go mini mart, why did I choose bubblegum? I shrug, lick the blue mound on top of the cone and wander a little further into the desert.

High noon has eaten my shadow. Vegas seems a universe away. I'd only stopped for gas, a pee and a cold snack, so why am I out here, in the middle of Emptyville, with only hard pack, a few cactus and some rusted car parts for company?

Another tongueful of bubblegum; years start to roll backward. From the outside, no one would notice the change but I'm getting younger with each lick.

Thirty-five, twenty-six, twenty-two, nineteen, seventeen, fifteen. Fifteen. I'm fifteen now. Sweet bubble gum lips. Naïve and curious. I'm still a virgin. Not for long.

My tongue drags its way across the cool blue; my footsteps scare a jackrabbit hiding in the scrub. I stop and watch it bound away in terrified leaps. Poor bunny. Maybe I should be scared, too? After all, I'm just a young girl, alone.

No, not alone.

I wait for moment, a thin trickle of ice cream dribbles onto my hand. His footsteps are getting closer. Not very nice, following a poor, helpless bunny into the wild. When he'd smiled at me, in the Sip-n-Go, he'd had rattlesnake teeth and coyote eyes. Maybe I should be scared?

I resume my walk. Just up ahead, there's a wreck, mostly intact except for the missing tires and the sun burnt paint. Licking and ambling, I make my way to the abandoned car. Once there, I don't turn around. Fifteen year old girls are so clueless. I lean my elbows on the hood, bending over, swaying my hips to the music in my head – some band I'm, like, totally in love with.

Footsteps scratch their way closer and closer until I can smell him, sour from too many hours on the road, in the heat.

"I can't fuck you," I say, turning around, "I'm a virgin."

Coyote eyes narrow.

A stream of blue runs down my hand, my wrist, almost to my elbow, like blood from a wound. Lifting my hand high, I lick up my mess, ending at the cone. I watch the stranger swallow.

"But I can suck you off," I say.

He answers with a grunt, taking a few steps forward and turning so that his back is against the passenger door. I let him undo his own fly. Filthy pervert.

Small rocks chew at my knees, as I kneel in front of the man. He holds his hard cock out to me like a piece of candy he's using to lure me into his car. It's a big cock, a grown up man cock, the kind I've only seen in the dirty magazines my dad keeps hidden under the bed. Working up a little saliva, I coat the tip of his man candy with blue spit and use my free hand to rub it around.

Coyote growl.

At the smell of his crotch, all sweat and danger, I wrinkle my nose. I take a long lick at my cone, which is melting fast now, and then lower my lips to the stranger's cock. He shivers. One coat of bubble gum. Raising my head, I take another lick of cone and go back down on the stranger – now he tastes better.

My sucking is slow, not because I'm inexperienced but because I like the feel of the veins against my tongue and the walls of my mouth. He is big for me, though, so big that sometimes I choke.

The ice cream is running down my arm; I have to stop now and then to suck on my cone instead. When I do this, the strange man makes a noise, kind of an impatient moan. I like his noise, I like teasing him.

I'm starting to like the choking, too. A few times, I try pushing his dick as far into my mouth as I can, until my throat is full and I can't breathe. Then I have to stop. When I pull away, long, gooey, blue strings hang from my mouth. The gooiness isn't gross, though, it helps make his member slippery and each time I can get him down my throat a bit farther.

I feel the man's hand grab my pony tail. Tight. He wraps it around his hand like a cowboy with a set of reins. My hair is cinched so tight in his hand, it tugs on the corners of my eyes. He uses the reins to push my head further onto his cock.

I gag and feel the cone crunch in my hand.

He pulls my head away. I catch my breath. He pushes it back down. Another gag. Tears roll from my taut eyelids. Pull and push and gag and moan, he fucks my throat. Blue cream coats my left arm, another kind of cream is soaking through my pink, flowered panties.

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Tuesday, March 28, 2023


tagNonConsent/ReluctanceThe Lust Boat Ch. 16

The Lust Boat Ch. 16

Chapter 16. A slave tries to escape, and Lacey is forced to help punish her. *Don't read this if sexual brutality (albeit fictional) is not to your taste.*

The ship pitched and rolled in the grip of a storm. Lacey huddled in her cabin, flinching as each plume of spray battered the porthole. She was locked in for the night. The sound of the wind howling around the superstructure, and the ominous creaking of the ship itself had woken her.

"It's a big ship," she told herself. "It can handle a storm." But this was the first big storm they had encountered in her time on the Desiderata. This violent motion was nothing like the ordinary sway of the sea beneath the hull, which she had almost stopped noticing.

She peeked out the porthole, but there was nothing but blackness, punctuated by a few glitters of the ship's lights on the waves.

*Is the ship supposed to groan like this?* she wondered. *Or is something wrong?*

She tried the door handle. It was locked, like always. A bubble of panic rose from her belly to her throat. She remembered stories of the Titanic, how the third class passengers had been locked belowdecks with no chance to evacuate. *Would they leave us to die if something went wrong?* Given how she and the other slaves had been treated... well, she doubted Mistress Angie wanted to explain it to the Coast Guard.

Lacey pounded on the door and shouted, but she knew no one would hear her over the storm. It was useless. She sat curled with her back against the door, cradling her bruised hands against her belly. Her captors were as implacable and uncaring as the storm.

She cowered on the floor for a seemingly interminable interval, until the storm finally slackened and she collapsed bonelessly onto her bed.

The storm''s nipples been attached by chains to the bars. Eva's dark nipples, cruelly clamped, were pulled out painfully when the bars were in the resting position at the sides.

The exercise session was punctuated by grunts and whimpers as Eva and Lacey struggled with the perverted exercises. Lacey could see sweat beading on Eva's smooth brown skin, and wondered whether it was from pain or exertion. Or arousal. Lacey couldn't separate the sensations in her own body, either.

Eleanor's phone rang. "Yes?...Can't Michael fix it?...Alright, I think I know what's wrong. I'll be there in five."

Closing the phone, she glared at the two slaves. "One of our satellite uplinks isn't working. No internet streaming means you're not earning us any money, so you'd better hope I can get it up again. You lazy sluts keep working on your exercises. I expect to find you sweating like pigs when I come back, or you'll be sorry." She slammed the door behind her.

Cuffed to the exercise machines, Eva and Lacey were unable to take advantage of her absence to make themselves more comfortable. Eva broke the silence. "We have to get off this ship."

Lacey gave a bitter little laugh. "You think most of us wouldn't love to escape? But we're trapped."

"We've got to go," Eva argued, struggling to keep the padded bars in front of her to lessen the tension on her nipples. "If the ship had gone down in that storm, do you think they'd have let us on the lifeboats?"

Lacey couldn't argue with that; she'd been thinking the same dark thoughts. "It's easy to say we have to get away, but how?"

Eva couldn't hold the bars any longer. She gasped sharply as the chains pulled her nipples sideways. "I know where the lifeboats are, and I found a safety guide that explains how to lower them. The next time we're near land, we can get in them and head for the shore. Or get rescued by another boat. My room usually isn't locked at night; I'd come get you out, and anyone else who wants to go. There are two winches, so it's at least a two person job."

Lacey had abandoned any pretense of doing leg lifts, but she felt her ass clench around the plug. "That's crazy! We could be off the coast of anywhere. *If* you got picked up at all, your 'rescuers' might be Somali pirates. A bunch of naked women arrive in a lifeboat? There's a lot of places in the world where we could be jumping from the frying pan to the fire."

Eva wrestled with the bars, trying to relieve her tortured nipples. "Worse than this? Hah."

"Lowering a boat isn't quiet. A big ship like this could just run over a lifeboat if they noticed us," Lacey argued.

Eva didn't answer. She had managed to bring the bars together in front of her again, and she clasped her hands to keep them there.

"Ron tried to sneak into the radio room a few weeks ago," Lacey said. "Did you see him after they caught him?"

Eva bit her lip. "Yes," she said in a low voice.

"I don't know what they did to him, but he doesn't talk now. Won't look at anyone. Flinches at every noise. He's like an animal. There's no one there behind his eyes. I think they're only keeping him around as an example. I don't want to end up like that, Eva."

"That's all the more reason to run away," Eva insisted.

"No. I won't betray you, but I won't be a part of your plan." Lacey's voice sounded more decisive than she felt.

"You're making a mistake," Eva said. Then the grip of her sweaty hands slipped, and she screamed at the sudden, vicious tug on her nipples.

Reminded, Lacey did a couple of quick leg-lifts just in time to be properly breathless when Eleanor returned.

Two days later, Mistress Angie interrupted Lacey's lunch. "Get up, slut, and take off that robe. We're going to a meeting."

*A meeting?* Lacey couldn't imagine what that meant, but Mistress Angie's mouth was set grimly. Lacey wouldn't risk angering her with questions. She rose and followed her mistress, naked.

They arrived in a large room, the largest Lacey had seen so far on the ship. Arrayed in a rough circle were the staff, masters, and mistresses, about ten in all. Inside the circle were naked slaves, several women and a man. Angie pushed Lacey toward the center, then took her own place around the edge.

Quiet weeping drew Lacey's eyes. Eva knelt in front of Debbie, her mistress, who held her tightly by the hair.

Debbie cleared her throat. "Now that we're all here.... This ungrateful slut was caught planning to escape. She tried to corrupt another slave to help her in this plot."

Lacey's heart pounded *Oh, no! I knew I should have reported her. Now we're both screwed!*

But Debbie's eyes fell on one of the other female slaves. "Who very admirably informed her master. Rest assured, Jeanne will be well rewarded." Jeanne's fair skin colored, but Lacey couldn't tell if it was from pride or shame.

"We have decided that it would be fitting and amusing to allow all the slaves currently on the ship to administer the first phase of Eva's punishment," Debbie continued.

Lacey gasped, appalled.

"So we're going to turn her over to you for two hours. You can do whatever you want with her, as long as it doesn't leave lasting marks. Think of it as your chance to be dominant for a change. There are a wide variety of implements at your disposal."

Murmurring broke out among the stunned slaves. Tugging at Eva's black ponytail, Debbie hauled the slave to her feet. She pulled the hair up over a high bar and fastened it to a ring on the wall below the bar, forcing Eva's body to stretch up and back. The lines of Eva's body were taut, from below her uptilted chin, down her exposed throat, over her flat belly, and along her straining legs. Her breasts stood high on her outthrust chest.

"Perhaps Jeanne would like the honor of going first," Debbie said, handing the blond woman a crop. Hesitantly, Jeanne snapped it across Eva's belly. Eva flinched. Jeanne struck again, harder.

"Better. Well, what are the rest of you waiting for?"

Three of the other slaves chose various implements-- paddles, electrical "snappers," floggers. Jeanne had become emboldened to move her blows from Eva's belly to her breasts, and Eva cried out as a stroke found a nipple. The other slaves joined in, beating her with the paddle, shocking her, heedless of her pleas for mercy.

Only Lacey and one other female slave hung back. Mistress Angie came over to Lacey. "You can join in, or you can share her punishment," she said. Lacey shivered. Angie handed Lacey a cane. "I think she'd look good with some stripes."

Lacey's hand closed reluctantly around the cane. As if in a daze, she walked over to the group around Eva. They seemed almost frenzied, drunk with the unaccustomed power to inflict pain instead of suffer it. Jeanne in particular seemed to be enjoying herself. Her eyes shone as she attacked Eva's tender breasts with the crop.

The man with the flogger moved aside to give Lacey access. Lacey raised the cane and brought it down toward Eva's butt. Even though she tried to move gently, the whistle as it passed through the air seemed like the loudest noise in the room. Eva seemed too stunned to react to the first blow. But she shrieked at the second.

"Harder," Mistress Angie demanded. "Prove you mean it. I want to see some welts." Lacey obeyed, cringing with every stroke and trying to hit just hard enough to leave a pink wheal on the light brown skin. She moved slowly, spreading out her blows along Eva's butt and the backs of her thighs to try to avoid hitting the same place twice.

Mistress Angie caught Lacey's hand on an upswing. "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, my pet."

Lacey looked at Eva, who alternately screamed and begged hoarsely. *That could easily have been me.* She said nothing.

"I think you need some encouragement. Spread your legs." Angie fastened one of the remote-controlled butterfly vibes over Lacey's clit. A sick feeling started in the pit of Lacey's stomach.

"Go on, back to work," Angie gave her a little shove towards Eva.

This time, when Lacey raised the cane, Angie activated the vibrator. Her clit throbbed in pleasure. She brought the cane down harder than she''s voice cut across the room. "You'd better stop for now and try something else. We don't want her to pass out and miss any of the fun."

The slaves lowered the implements of torture, some with more reluctance than others. Lacey put the cane back on a rack eagerly, despite the throbbing in her clit that demanded satisfaction. The vibrator lay still.

Debbie released Eva's hair from the ring, and Eva collapsed to the floor and lay there sobbing. "You've still got plenty of time left," Debbie remarked. "It's quite an opportunity, being given free rein. I suggest you not waste it."

"We can really do anything we want to her?" asked the lone male slave.

"Yes, Henry," said a woman Lacey presumed was his mistress. "As long as it doesn't leave a scar. Physically, that is." She smiled nastily.

Henry smiled back. "I've never had a woman's ass before," he said, his cock swelling visibly at the thought. Lacey could well understand why no woman had permitted him to penetrate her anally; even in this mostly flaccid state, his penis was the thickest she'd ever seen. His mistress had probably selected him in part for his girth. But, while such size might be a pleasant stretch vaginally, most women would never enjoy it in their rectum.

"Free rein," Debbie repeated. "Her ass has been trained; you won't actually damage it, whatever it feels like to her." She chuckled. Eva whimpered.

Jeanne pulled Eva up to her knees. "Let's be nice and let her lube him up with her mouth first." She grabbed a ring gag from a rack.

Eva shook her head frantically, her mouth clamped shut. Jeanne held her nostils closed until Eva was forced to open her mouth, then shoved the ring in, buckling it behind her head.

Eva's mouth was stretched in an open "O," her lips taut around the circumference of the ring. It made her look like a blow-up sex doll. She moaned despairingly through the hole.

Jeanne held Eva by the shoulders as Henry put his hardening cock into Eva's mouth. Drool ran down Eva's chin. "Look," Debbie said, "my slut wants it so bad she's salivating."

"That's right, get my cock nice and hard so I can rape your ass," Henry said. He thrust farther into her mouth, nudging the back of her throat with the head of his penis. He withdrew, thrust again.

Jeanne slapped Eva on the back of the head, and Henry's thick cock slid all the way down her throat. He groaned loudly as her throat spasmed around him in protest. She gasped for breath when he finally pulled out. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the drool on her chin.

Henry pushed back in slowly, grabbing her by the hair and forcing his now rock-hard cock in all the way to the base.

"Swirl your tongue around and spread spit on that shaft," Jeanne advised. "That's all the lube you're going to get."

By the way Henry's eyes rolled up, Eva must have complied. He only pulled back when she turned red from lack of air. Her breath gusted through the gag.

"Mmmm, again," Henry sighed. His glistening cock disappeared into her mouth once more. The muscles in his legs were trembling with pleasure.

Suddenly, he pulled out and slapped Eva. Her head rocked to the side. "You little bitch. You're trying to make me come with your mouth to save your asshole. That's not going to work."

He strode over to the wall and grabbed a low, padded table, bringing it back to the center of the circle of onlookers.

"Take off the gag," Debbie said. "I want to see her face clearly when you take her ass."

Jeanne unstrapped the gag. Eva worked her jaw a few times, trying to uncramp it.

"How do we know a slut like this one won't enjoy having a fat cock up her ass?" one of other mistresses called out. "This is supposed to be a punishment after all."

"Good point." Jeanne surveyed the items available on the racks. "Here's a solution." She selected an item shaped roughly like a little pineapple, covered with studs that came to dull points. "We'll shove this up her snatch."

Lacey winced. The studs might look blunt, but she knew the pressure of a cock in Eva's ass would exert bruising force against such a cruel object in her cunt. And if she orgasmed... the contractions would be excruciating. Two other female slaves held Eva's legs apart while Jeanne forced the object into her cunt. Despite the circumstances and her obvious pain, Eva's cunt was lubricating. *They have twisted us to be turned on by abuse and rape,* Lacey thought.

"Bend her over the little table," Henry directed. Jeanne and another woman pulled Eva down across the padded surface, her knees on the floor. They held her arms to keep her in place.

"No," Mistress Angie spoke. "You, Lacey. You hold her down while he violates her ass. It will be a valuable lesson for you."

Lacey gulped unhappily. Her body felt heavy as she walked over to kneel in front of Eva. She grasped the hispanic woman's forearms. *I wish she wouldn't look at me.* Eva's gaze was direct, her dark eyes pleading and accusing.

Henry positioned himself behind Eva. Fully erect, his cock looked impossibly thick. "Please," Eva whispered. All Lacey could do was grasp her arms more firmly. She knew what it felt like to be fucked in the ass against her will, but she was helpless to stop this.

Eva's eyes widened as she felt the broad head of Henry's penis against her sphincter. "Oh, God."

He pushed steadily, stretching the ring of muscle until it bent to his will. Eva moaned; his cock must have felt like it was burning its way in. Suddenly, with an almost audible snap, the head of his penis breached her asshole. His groan of pleasure mingled with her sound of pain. Her hands clenched hard on Lacey's forearms.

Lacey couldn't tear her eyes from Eva's face. She could see every tiny movement of Henry's cock reflected in the woman's expressive features.

Henry paused, savoring the moment or allowing Eva time to adjust to his girth. Then he grabbed her hips and began sinking himself slowly deeper into her unwilling body. Lacey could tell by Eva's wince exactly when the indirect pressure of his cock began to squeeze the studded punishment toy that filled Eva's cunt.

Then Lacey's attention was abruptly diverted back to her own body. The butterfly vibe, which she had almost forgotten, began to buzz gently on her clitoris. "No," she whispered. She did not want to enjoy Eva's rape. But, as usual, Mistress Angie didn't care what her slave wanted. Lacey's clit swelled. The vibrations continued until Henry's pelvis hit Eva's ass.

Eva cried out as he made contact with the welts on her buttocks. "Oh, that's good," Henry said. "Tighter than anything I've ever felt. Clench down like that again." He slapped her tender ass to make her muscles tighten around his shaft. Eva gasped.

"If you don't want me to smack you again, clamp down and milk my cock with your ass," Henry said unsympathetically. Eva obeyed, and his face went slack with pleasure as she used her highly conditioned muscles on him. She whimpered; Lacey knew the punishment toy was bruising the inside of her cunt with each contraction.

"Ah, that's enough. Don't want to come too soon." Henry pulled out until only the head of his cock was still inside Eva's tight tunnel. He took his time driving himself back in, revelling in the sensation. Eva's fingers were digging into Lacey's arms, but Lacey hardly noticed because the vibrator had started again, coinciding with Henry's thrust.

Lacey bit her lip. Had Eva noticed the vibrator through her own distress? Did she know Lacey was being forced to enjoy Eva's violation?

The vibrator cut off. Henry's cock was jammed in all the way. "You know, I wonder if a woman's ass clenches the way her cunt does when she comes," he said, playing with the hair at the back of Eva's neck.

Eva shut her eyes. "Please, no."

"But a considerate lover should make sure his woman comes," Henry taunted. "This might be my one chance to have a woman's ass, and I want to do it right." He looked over at Jeanne. "Give me one of the plug-in vibes."

With his cock still buried in her ass, Henry reached under Eva to press the blunt end of the powerful vibe to her clit. Then he switched it on.

Every tendon and muscle in Eva's body stood out. She was struggling not to come, understood that to come was to suffer as her bruised cunt closed repeatedly on the studded toy.

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"We need a distraction, now!" Bens voice was a rough whisper, as he bend over to cover Adams face and most of his body. He was a bit broader than the TF29-agent and therefore a good coverage. They stand near a pub in the stews, observing a high member of the Dvali-family. After they overheard a conversation and also hacked into a security laptop, some of the bodyguard had noticed that something happened - something bad for themselves.

Now the two agents were hiding behind the next corner and Ben was right, they need a distraction right now! Sure, they could just walk off like nothing happened, but augmented customers were rare at the red-light district and both of them didn't look like 'normal' optis. Too heavy augmentations, too much attitude of military.
"Kiss me."
"What?" Ben's eyes dilated and his brow twitched as he shook his head in irritation.
"Adam, we -!"
"We can't walk off and they are coming, kiss me, now!" He grabbed the collar of his counterpart and pulled him closer to himself, so Ben couldn't fight back. Actually he did not want to, because Adam was hot and he also stored his eye protection augmentation. For a more intimate look, Ben thought, but these eyes... He couldn't resist and pressed his augmented hand against the wall beside Adams waist. His other - human - hand found place on the other man's cheek and a short smirk appeared on the agents lips, until they met Adams.

Soft and warm, this kiss was the first after a long time for both men. It was intense and also overwhelming, but none of them cut it off. Adams legs started to shake and he wrapped his arms around Bens neck to avoid breaking down. His hands grabbed the other man's shirt tightly and he pressed his body against the other ones, letting out a relieved sigh.

As the Dvali-members passed by, they had struggles to focus on something important. Next to two kissing strangers, two heavy augmented men, they just spit out after they had seen enough. "Get a room!", one of them shouted and they left Ben and Adam alone. That was the whole point of this thing, of their kiss, but none of them stopped or let go of the other one.

Their kiss started to get more intense, hungry and also slightly humid. Ben had bitten Adams lower lip, earning a soft and also aroused moan from the other agent. Their tongues met several times, until Adam had to part their lips for breath. Near to each other, Ben pressed his forehead against Adams and let his hands exploring the opposite body, crouching under his shirt and let him feel needy touches after a long time without.

"We", he started, but Adam placed an impatient kiss on his already light swollen lips.
"Should get a room", he whispered and pushed his body against Bens, rolling his hips a bit to show his arousing in a subtile way. This was enough to let Ben growl hungry and also aroused. He nodded, stole another kiss from Adams lips and then grabbed one of his hands with a quiet 'klonk' as their cybernetic prosthesis met. He turned on his heels and lead their way to one of the many motels around for actually this kind of thing. A few hours for themselves.

Adam though about how he met Ben a few days before. He had asked Alex to help with a missed TF29-agent and Janus had send him another juggernaut collective member. Ben Saxon. He didn't knew that Ben was a former tyrant and when he would found out, noone knows what would happen. Ben was very nervous at first as they met and had a few struggles. He felt guilty for what Adam had become, eve if he didn't attacked Sarif Industries back then. He wasn't the one who smashed Adam through glass and shot his head, but his former tyrant colleagues...

Now he was also nervous, he could do something for Adam to make him feel better. Sure, this wasn't to go to be a deep and loving relationship, but for a few moments, he could distract the other one from everything. Ben paid the room and earned an irritated look from the young men, but didn't pay much attention. He just pulled Adam closer to himself and pushed him slowly up the stairs, kissing him and already disrobing his shirt as far as possible to touch his remained skin.

Adam was more patient while Ben ordered the room, but also a bit nervous. He hadn't such a thing years and technically, he wasn't gay or even bisexual. Ben was just... He couldn't expound his arousing, but this man was everything he wanted right now! He let the kisses happen, also the disrobing and was about to toss his coat on the floor, but realised that they weren't at their ordered room yet.

They down the floor was long and studded with kisses, biting and light moaning. Adam nearly trapped over the doorstep while entering the room backwards and in time, he tossed his coat on the floor, following by his shirt immediately. Ben shut the door, not parting his view from Adam, unless he started to grab his pants.
"Wait," the juggernaut whispered, as he shovedAdams hands aside and kissed him again.
"I want to see", he mentioned, a smirk on his lips.
Adam hesitated, then nodded und Made a step backwards while Ben sat down on the bed, kicking off his boots like Adam did before and undressing himself. He actually could feel how his opponent scanned him - what a bad pun.

Adam swallowed quietly and started to feel more uncomfortable, but Ben showed a smile, these who can't be blamed to be absolutely arousing and ingratiating.
"Strip", he said with a voice that kicked right in and let Adam gasp.
"Ben, I...", he started, slowly opening his pants and pulling them down, trying to look a more sexy and less nervous.
"Never done it with a man? No worries, I'll be gentle." Also, he hadn't in mind to fuck Adam right away, he was mindful enough to know that Adam wasn't the type for this. So this was more intense and maybe an honor, but now he just wanted the other man to jump on his lap and his already hard cock.
"Come here", Ben purrs, patting his tights. Adam hesitated again, then slowly walked over and knelt above the other mans lap, flushed cheeks and equally hard. He was nervous, but also aroused enough to ignore the fact that it was his first time on top a man. He was sure that he's the one who get fucked, but he didn't mind. Ben was allowed to be his first.

Again they started to kiss and Bend grabbed their cocks with one of his big hands. Adam.moaned quietly and a bit shy, placing his hands on broad shoulders and leaning into the kiss and also the touch. It was slow and intense, hot and teasing and Adam felt a few years younger. He move his hips matching to Bens jerking and had struggles to hold the kiss through his own moaning, gasping and also quiet whining. His body had heaten up and he was sure that his core would explode during this - more than once.

After Bens fingers already felt a bit slippery from their pre-cum, he stopped and let Adam torn apart to catch his breath.
"Want me to end it like this?" He raised an brow in amusement, Adams face was pricious, deep red cheeks and swollen lips, mouth a bit open to breath proper.
"... No." The agent bite his lip and let his tongue slip out after, rolling his hips a bit to rub his twitching heat against Bens.
"Want me to blow you?"
Adam shook his head and bite his lower lip again, this time he managed to let it burst. Ben shook his head in return and laid his hand in the other ones neck, pulling him closer, licking off his blood.
"Want me to fuck you like this?" He smirked again, kissed Adam as he answered with another roll of his hips against Bens.
"Don't be to harsh to yourself Adam", he whispered, shoving two fingers into Adams mouth, kissing his cheek and ear.

He was nervous as hell, but this was also overwhelming arousing and he sucked on Bens Fingers like a lollipop - the best thing he could think about to do it properly. It was odd and also embarrassing, feeling his own salvia running down his chin. But Ben was moaning and slightly thrusting upwards, so it wasn't that bad, Adam thought. His hand find place around Bens wrist and when he pulled his fingers out, Adam had to gasp.

"Relax", Ben whispered into his ear as he pushed his wet fingers against Adams hole. At first it was unpleasant and he had struggles to relax as he was told. A intense kiss followed, distracting and relaxing at the same time. As Bens fingers slowly slide in, Adam could feel his body tighten up instantly and he let out an irritated moan, breaking their kiss.
"Relax", Ben repeated and pushed a bit deeper, slowly as before. It was odd, but arousing and Adam closed his eyes, leaned his head forward onto the other ones shoulder, wrapping his arms around his counterpart. It took a few moments, but when Ben started to thrust his fingers in, Adam starts to shiver immediately, moaning and whining to the unknown, but good, feeling. A smirk appeared on Bens lips as he added another finger, letting the man on his lap jolt and quiver, until it was enough teasing.

Adam tried to catch his breath a bit  until he had to move a bit. His hands on Bens shoulders, he looked at his face while the other one leaded his hips and pushed him down - slowly. Another gasp from Adam, followed by moaning and hissing, while he slide slowly on Bens cock, inch by inch until he could feel his full length inside his shaking body. He knew that he should move his hips, but he couldn't. It was overwhelming and also a bit painful, but not disgusting. His sex partner was very calm and soft, letting his hands stroke above his spine, up and down, until he could feel Adam relaxing.
"Let me move you", he growled aroused and a bit inpatient, but Adam wasn't upset. He nodded, wrapping his arms around Bens neck and kissing him again, distracting himself while the bigger one started to work his body up and down on his cock, thrusting slowly at first and letting Adam get used to it.

A few moments later, they changed posture. Adam laid on his back, Ben held one of his legs up and thrusted more powerful, faster and deeper into him, jerking him off while Adams hands were clinging on the edge of the bed. His moaning was loud and intense, he didn't even try to hide it. This god damn motel was just for things like this and noone knew him or Ben and noone would condemn them for fucking like they hadn't a long time... So it was, for Adam, maybe for Ben, too. He didn't pay attention to this thoughts yet, whining and quivering while Ben thrusted faster, harder, as he was close to the edge like Adam was.

His orgasmn was intense, overwhelming and pleasant. He could feel how he spurted his cum over his own abdomen and chest, how Ben thrusted deep into his body while filling him with his cum and it wasn't as awkward as he thought first. Ben let out a huge sigh, bending over to kiss Adam soft and sloppy, a tired but pleased smile on his lips.
"Could get used to it", he whispered with hoarse voice, kissing his partner again.
"Please", was Adams only response, a short smirk showing.


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Added: Oscar Crowson - Date: 05.12.2021 17:38 - Views: 25506 - Clicks: 6248

Legality of prostitution in the Americas varies by country. Most countries only legalized prostitution, with the act of exchanging money for sexual services legal. The level of enforcement varies by country. One country, the United States, is unique as legality of prostitution is not the responsibility of the federal government, but rather state, territorial, and federal district's responsibility.

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Prostitution is legal in Bermuda but related activities such as running a brothel are illegal under the Criminal Code. Prostitution was traditionally legal as there were no laws prohibiting the exchange of sex for money or other consideration. On 20 Decemberthe Supreme Court of Canada found the laws prohibiting brothelspublic communication for the purpose of prostitution, and living on the profits of prostitution to be unconstitutional.

The ruling gave the Canadian parliament 12 months to rewrite the prostitution laws with a stay of effect so that the current laws remain in force. Prostitution in Greenland is illegal. Although the country is subject to the law of Denmark in most areas of legislation, Denmark's decriminalization of prostitution in has not been applied in Greenland. It did, however, refer to claims that transactional sex had sometimes been used, for example, in return for temporary housing. Prostitution in Mexico is legal under Federal law.

Spanish escorts in toronto of the 31 states enacts its own prostitution laws and policies. Some Mexican cities have enacted "tolerance zones" "zonas de tolerancia" which allow regulated prostitution and function as red light districts. Prostitution laws in the United States are determined at the state level. The practice is illegal in all but one of its 50 states and is illegal in all U.

Nevada is the only U. Currently 7 out of Nevada's 16 counties have active brothels. Prostitution outside these brothels is illegal throughout the state; prostitution is illegal in the major metropolitan areas Las VegasRenoand Carson City. Prostitution is heavily regulated by the state of Nevada. See Prostitution in Nevada. Prostitution is legal in Belizebut the buying of sexual services is not. Prostitution is widespread and takes place on the streets and in brothels, bars, nightclubs and hotels.

Although denied by the government, [24] the country is a destination for sex tourism. Prostitution is not illegal but many of the activities surrounding it are illegal, [29] as the law forbids promoting or facilitating the prostitution of another, and therefore pimpingbrothelsor prostitution rings are illegal.

These online fraternities provide forums for sex tourists to compare experiences and act as a guide for future sex tourists. Prostitution itself is not prohibited by national law, [37] but may be prohibited by local municipal ordinances. The prostitution of children those under 18 is also illegal. Those municipalities that do not prohibit sex work often set up zones for sex workers away from schools and churches. Prostitution itself is legal but procuring is prohibited.

Prostitution is currently legal in Honduras. Although similar institutions such as brothel ownership and pimping are illegal, prostitution has remained largely unchecked by the government. Lack of enforcement of current laws has created a profitable business out of prostitution - one in which both adults and children are a part. There Spanish escorts in toronto many causes to the high rates of involvement amongst the women and teens in cities, but the main reason is the high poverty levels.

Participants see sex work as a viable option to escape poverty. Prostitution is legal, but promoting prostitution and procuring are prohibited. Prostitution is common in Managua. Prostitutes work on the streets, in nightclubs and bars, or in massage parlors. Prostitutes are known locally as "zorras". Prostitution is legal and regulated. The main area of prostitution in Panama City is El Cangrejo. Prostitution exchanging sex for money is legal under Federal law.

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Article 19 of the constitution states: "The private actions of people that do not offend in any way the public order and morality, nor damage a third person, are only reserved to God, and are exempt from the authority of the magistrates. In Boliviaprostitution is legal and regulated. The police are allowed to check whether the prostitutes are registered or not, and have attended a clinic during the 20 days.

Prostitution that is the exchange of sex for money as there are no laws forbidding adults from being professional sex workers, [64] but it is illegal to operate a brothel or to employ sex workers in any other way. Adult prostitution is legal, subject to regulation, but related activities such Spanish escorts in toronto keeping brothels and pimping are prohibited. Although illegal, brothels are set up in the more remote areas of Chile in ports, mining towns, logging areas or anywhere where there are men working away from home.

Prostitution is legal, regulated and limited to brothels in deated "tolerance zones". Domestically, organized crime networks, some related to illegal armed groups, are responsible for human trafficking for sexual slavery and the armed conflict has made a large of internal trafficking victims vulnerable. Prostitution is legal and regulated, as long as the prostitute is over the age of 18, [13] registered, and works from a d brothel.

Quito was the first city in Ecuador to regulate prostitution inrequiring prostitutes to be tested weekly for STIs and the recorded in the "Register of Venereal Disease". Testing and any necessary treatment was free to the prostitutes. Prostitution in the Falkland Islands is legal but related activities such as solicitation and keeping a brothel are prohibited by the Crimes Ordinance Although illegal, prostitution in French Guiana is common, especially in the gold mining areas of the interior.

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Prostitution is illegal but widespread. Prostitution is legal for persons over the age of 18, [93] but related activities such as brothel keeping are prohibited. Prostitution between adults is legal for women and men over 18 years of age if they register with municipal authorities and carry a health certificate.

The vast majority of prostitutes work in the informal sectorwhere they lack health protection. Prostitution is illegal [37] but widespread and the laws are rarely enforced.

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Prostitutes are known locally as "motyo". Although prostitution is illegal, the country issues temporary work permits to migrant prostitutes travelling through Suriname en route to another country. Prostitutes often rent rooms in hotels and attract clients in the hotel's bar or outside the hotel. Prostitution was legislated in through the sex work Spanish escorts in toronto Sex work in Venezuela is legal and regulated.

The country's Ministry of Health and Social Development requires sex workers to Spanish escorts in toronto identification cards and to have monthly health checkups. Prostitution is common, particularly in Caracas and in other domestic tourist destinations. Prostitution is legal in Anguillabut related activities such as brothel keeping, are illegal under sections - of the Criminal Code. These bars have bedrooms at the back that the prostitutes use. Many of the prostitutes are from Venezuela. Law enforcement turns a blind eye to these activities.

Prostitution in Antigua and Barbuda is legal [13] and common. They tend to more around the Caribbean, never staying in one territory for long. In the capital, St. John'sthere is a red-light district in Popeshead Street. It had operated for a of years and was a household name on the island. The nearby 'Jam Dung' was also raided. Prostitution in the Bahamas is legal but related activities such as brothel keeping and solicitation are prohibited. During the Republic of Pirates c. Sex trafficking is a problem on the island.

Prostitution in Barbados is legal but related activities such as brothel keeping and solicitation are prohibited. There is a red-light district in Nelson street, and street prostitution around The Garrison. Sex trafficking is a problem in the country. Prostitution is legal in the British Virgin Islandsbut related activities such as soliciting and procuring are illegal. Prostitution in the Cayman Islands is legal but related activities such as brothel keeping are prohibited by the Penal Code.

Prostitution in Cuba has always been a legal profession, though it has periodically been regulated or repressed. Prostitution in Dominica is legal [13] and common. Prostitution is legal, but a third party may not derive financial gain from prostitution brothels or similar establishments are illegal. It is estimated between 60, andwomen work as prostitutes in the country, [] many from neighbouring Haiti. Prostitution in Grenada is illegal but common. Despite the law, prostitution occurs in Guadeloupe. Prostitution is illegal, [] [] but the country used to be a premier destination in the s for sex tourism for adults.

A premium is placed on Dominican women due to their lighter skin and mixed race appearance. Prostitution in Jamaica is illegal but widely tolerated, [] [] especially in tourist areas. The island is a destination for sex tourism. The first laws on prostitution in Martinique were passed in the s. They were deed to keep prostitutes away from public areas but poorly enforced.

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The new laws targeted prostitution in the bars and restaurants of Fort-de-Francewhich the colonial authorities believed were a major factor of STIs. The aim of the authorities was to move all prostitution into brothels. The women were reluctant to work in the brothels, so prostitution remained in the bars and restaurants.

Prostitution in Montserrat is legal [] and common. Prostitution in Puerto Rico has always been seen as taboo and illegal. However, due to the declining economy, the Puerto Rican government considered legalizing prostitution in Prostitution in Saint Kitts and Nevis is illegal.

Prostitution is illegal but tolerated. The country is a destination for female sex tourism. Sex trafficking [] and child prostitution [] are problems in the country.

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The growth of tourism starting in the s caused an increase in prostitution in Saint Martin. Despite laws prohibiting soliciting, street prostitution still exists, especially in the Quartier-d'Orleans. Prostitution in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines is illegal but occurs. Prostitution in Trinidad and Tobago is illegal and related activities such as brothel keeping, soliciting and pimping are illegal.

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In TrinidadPort of Spain is the main place of sex work, [] [] including street prostitution on Roberts and Murray Streets. Some regularly commute between their home nation and Trinidad. Prostitution in less common in Tobagosome prostitutes from Trinidad move to Tobago for the tourist season.

Prostitution is common on the Turks and Caicos Islandsespecially in Providenciales.

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Strangely enough, prostitution is actually legal in many places in the U. S....but only under certain circumstances.

What are those circumstances? Simple--a camera of some sort has to be present. Sound weird? Think about it: how is pornography made? Well, somebody pays two (or more) people to have sex while some sort of visual record is made. Now, nothing prevents the director (or whoever's financing the thing) from acting in his own movie. Obviously the director can't meaningfully pay himself, so in effect he's only paying the woman for sex. Now, the production of pornography is legal in many places; thus, you're allowed to pay someone to have sex with you only if you take pictures or movies.

So in a sense, it's already legal. I don't know if anyone has pushed this issue, though ("Damnit, this whorehouse is legal! We have cameras in every room!")

The notion that prostitutes do what they do out of freedom of choice is better understood when one realizes the documented fact that over 80% of prostitutes admit to walking the streets in order to feed a drug habit. There are other problems as well with this notion:

"over 90% of prostitutes are survivors of incest or sexual abuse." - http://www.feminista.com/v1n5/depasquale.html

"The average age of entry into prostitution is 13 years or 14 years. These studies are outdated, since the age of entry into prostitution is decreasing"

'Prostitution: Fact Sheet on Human Rights Violations,' 1996, Melissa Farley, Ph.D., available from melifarley@aol.com).

"The Council for Prostitution Alternatives has reported that prostituted women were raped approximately once a week"

Susan Kay Hunter, 'Prostitution is Cruelty and Abuse to Women and Children,' Michigan Journal of Gender and Law, 1994 .

"A Canadian Report on Prostitution and Pornography found that women and girls in prostitution had a mortality rate 40 times higher than the national average"

Margaret A. Baldwin, "Split at the Root: Prostitution and Feminist Discourses of Law Reform," Yale Journal of Law and Feminism, 1993

and finally:

"Prostitution: what is it? It is the use of a woman''s what it is."

by Andrea Dworkin, "Prostitution and Male Supremacy in Life and Death," 1997, New York: Free Press

This is all true....

It's a warm night. Several cars come around. Every time a pair of headlights, long reflected shimmers in the wet street, approaches, my heart speeds up. The girls stand in a little grove, smoking, joking, tugging at their skirts. They poke fun at me, the kid- but not nearly as much as they would if Mandy weren't standing beside me with her hand resting purposefully on my shoulder. I'm Mandy's girl. No one fucks with Mandy's girl.

The first three johns pick out Camille, Kisha, and Buffy, in that order. The fourth guy asks for me but Mandy won't let me go with him. She whispers in my ear, her breath softened, but not yet slurred, with cheap wine, "That guy's a fucking scumbag. Crazy motherfucker. I'm gonna let you have a gentle first time, sugar pea."

Mandy likes to mother me. I like to be mothered. Living on the streets, girls like us form strange families. We crave love and echo the dysfunctions of the families we left behind. Sometimes late at night, if she's in a good mood and I can't sleep, she sings to me. Her voice was probably very good once, long ago, but now it's gravelly with cigarettes and years of sickness. Sings soft country songs, pats my hair, rubs my back. I trust Mandy, even though I should know better than to trust anybody by now. I trust her because I remember what it was like to have a mother, if only vaguely, and those were the nicest days of my life.

Oh, we could get deep into the whole messy background of Mandy and me and the life we're living, and how it got to this point that she's selling me and I'm letting her, but it's a long story and it goes back much deeper than anything I'm prepared to get into right now, back to the day I was born.

I'm waiting for a car. I'm trying not to let her see how scared I am. Or for that matter, that I'm a little aroused about it all. She'd hate me for that. I smoke one cigarette after another and shift my weight back and forth between my feet. Cindy with the ridiculous fake nails is telling us about this guy who she saw set himself on fire.

A car pulls up. Beige and not too old, squarish and respectable looking- I don't know cars, that's all I can tell you. He rolls his window down and Mandy saunters up, bending low and leaning against the window frame. They stay like that for a moment, chatting, Mandy laughing coyly, laying it on thick- he's a regular, and she knows how to treat good customers. Mandy has an uncanny sense for this work. I have a feeling that this is the only thing she's ever been good at in her life- it's written on her face, the spidercracks that run through it, the meticulousness of her garish makeup, the way her eyes twinkle when she's pimping, the way they go out like discarded cigarettes when we're alone. It's her life. Reading creepy men. Giving them what they want. Knowing that the men who come to us are all so desperate to feel special, to have a girl all to themselves for just a minute.

I watched Mandy at the car and I wonder if this is it. I somehow know it is. My head feels strangely light and clear.

Mandy steps back to the curb and grabs my arm, pulls me up beside her at the window. I look down at the man. He looks up at me. He's middle-aged, white, fat, wears glasses. Dark hair, looks bland, almost nice.

"How much?"

"Thirty a shot, straight sex only. And be a gentleman or you'll be sorry."

He counts out three crisp tens. I stare at the money until it disappears into Mandy's bra.

The car door opens. I climb in. The seats are gray and threadbare. It smells like airfreshener. I cannot fucking believe I'm doing this.

When we're situated in the back seat, in an alley down the block, he doesn't make a move. Nothing. Nada. Silence. Sits there and stares at me. I've never done this before, and to tell you the truth, I'm not sure how to do it. My stomach is full of butterflies, it's like the first day of school. I sit there, chewing on my lower lip, wondering what I'm supposed to do. I keep thinking I'm fucking this up. One more thing to fuck up iin my life. Should I kiss him? Should I say something? How does this work? I'm eager to get this started, get this over with. Fuck. What do I do? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He finally speaks. My savior. "How old are you, kid?"

"Eighteen." I try to keep a straight face.

He laughs. "Fuck you are. Tell me really."

"Fifteen." This is almost true. My birthday is next month. He looks me up and down, eyes my tiny ripples of breasts and hips, and I get the feeling he doesn't quite believe me. What does he think he's doing? Paying to fuck a twelve-year-old? How sick is this guy? I'm getting squeamish. What am I doing?

"Yeah, okay, what's your name?"

"Mary," I say, the first thing that comes to mind.

"Mary. Hi Mary." He doesn't quite say this to me, but to himself, softly. And then he gives me this look, like he almost pities me, and I think maybe he's really a nice guy. I want to think he's a nice guy, I want so badly to like doing this, so I can do this every night and make money and Mandy and I can be happy together.

"Okay Mary," he says, decisively, "let's do this." He lunges towards me, suddenly a hulking figure thrown up against the feeble light coming through the window, grabs me and pushes me down onto the car seat. Rough. It scares the hell out of me and I almost scream, biting my lip to keep from crying out. I can't look scared, I tell myself. I have to do this right. But still I've got this dreadful sense of how much smaller and weaker than him I am. Of what he could do to me if he wanted to. Whores get murdered. They get strangled, beaten, tortured, raped... and no one cares much when it happens. Whores are disposable.

As he unzips his pants I realize that I'm not going to like doing this. Ever. But that doesn't really matter, does it? It'll be just like it was with my father. I'll divide out the digits of pi or daydream about being a famous artist and it'll be fine. Just fine.

He hitches my skirt up around my waist and pulls my underwear to the side. Doesn't even take it off, just stretches it away from my cunt.

I'm just fine, I'm just fine. My heart is pounding. I tell myself I'm not going to cry and I don't. I'm fine.

He's heavy on top of me, his sweat dripping onto my face when he thrusts. Plop, plop, plop, plop, and then his body goes rigid and he's done. It's over so quickly. A snap. He kisses my cheek chastely and zips up.

I sit up. I can't believe it's over just like that. Just like that and I'm a whore. I smooth out my skirt, my tussled hair. My heart has not stopped beating. He pulls the car back around to our little patch of pavement. It's ready to break free of my chest. I look at his expressionless face, reflected a thin slash in the rearview mirror. I have this horrible sinking feeling, watching him and Mandy waiting up ahead on the curb, that no one really loves me. And no one ever really will. And I'm a whore now, isn't that just perfect? Unlovable, disposable, whore. "See you next time, Mary." I smile shyly at the man I just fucked and open the door.

When I step up onto the curb beside the other girls I stumble a little, dizzily. Mandy grabs my arm and pulls me up. The girls stop what they're doing, start to laugh and applaud me. They slap me on the ass, they crack jokes, they wink at me, and it's like I'm one of them now, I've passed my initiation. I'm grinning. I feel tough, I feel accepted. I almost throw up but I keep on grinning.

So what happens next? After that night it goes on and on. I keep whoring myself. I get as used to it as I'll ever be. Mandy keeps drinking and pimping me. A month later I break down. Just fall apart, have a full-blown psychotic episode, my very first. I spend several months in a mental hospital. I recuperate. I turn myself around.

I don't know how all the other prostitutes out there do it. It ate away at me. Tore me apart, and the longer I pretended it didn't the more it did. I had no self-esteem left and I was constantly reliving the nightmare of my father's abuse. Maybe there are confident, happy women out there who prostitute for a living and like it. I wasn't one of them. I doubt they're the type to be out walking the mean streets at night. Frankly, I don't know how they do it.

I never see Mandy again, or any of the other girls. They're still out there, I guess. Doing their thing. I could never go back.

A topic of non-stop argument and, apparent from other writeups here, considered to be pure evil with no positive aspects whatsoever.

Prostitution is the sale of sexual favours, usually (but not always) by a woman, usually (but not always) to a man.

This doesn't preclude the worker from living a happy, fun life. Typically in areas where prostitution is legal, those involved in the trade enjoy excellent pay, reasonable working conditions, excellent health, and occasionally a good lay.

Even in the United States, in the limited areas where prostitution is legal, little or no prostitution-related crime occurs, sexually transmitted diseases are non-existent (in Nevada, not a single case of HIV has ever been recorded), and customers usually leave with a big smile.

In legally licensed Nevada brothels, a prostitute lives on-premises, is provided a private room (one not used for servicing johns), off-hours entertainment (including internet access, satellite television, exercise equipment, etc.), and receives very good pay. She remains on-site to work for up to three weeks, then takes off however much time she wants or needs before returning to work. Whenever a worker returns to the brothel, she must be screened for HIV (and other STDs) and certified by a physician before returning to work. This is why most workers normally remain on-site for weeks, maximizing earnings and reducing the frequency of exams.

In such situations, prostitutes work as independent contractors, splitting basic fees with the house, keeping tips, and sometimes paying other costs out-of-pocket. These arrangements are commonly very lucrative for both contractor and brothel; a worker of average appearance may expect to gross $50,000 or more per year (this assumes two customers per day, paying $300 each, no tip, a three week working period of 15 days on and 6 days off, once per month, splitting fees down the middle with the house). Because the average prostitute works at least eight hours per day and could reasonably expect to have more than two customers per day, and because many look better than average (whatever that is), this estimate is extraordinarily low. Many prostitutes earn six-figure salaries. Those willing to participate in more lucrative activities, like group sex or servicing couples, base fees can skyrocket to $1,500 or higher, for a couple hours' work.

Anywhere prostitution is legal, safer sex is practiced either as required by law or by common sense. Even if a legal prostitute offers uncovered sex, it shouldn't be accepted unless you want to catch a disease or knock somebody up.

In environments where prostitution is illegal, more unfortunate situations can develop, as described at great length in other writeups here. These include indentured servitude, child prostitution, "crack whores", and so on.

Many people (both male and female) enter into prostitution because they feel they have no other options. Many others, however, enter into it because they believe they are attractive enough and skilled enough to earn ridiculous amounts of money under safe, controlled situations. Even in areas where prostitution is illegal, prostitutes of legal (i.e. age of consent) age enter into and remain in business by their own choice, and enjoy very pleasant levels of income. In such areas, the sex worker naturally keeps all the money instead of splitting it with a house or pimp.

Yes, some people are "trapped" in unpleasant situations that involve prostitution, but the rest are engaged in a profitable exchange of services for money. The world's oldest profession isn't the cause of all evil in the world.

Whores Are My Heroes: A plea for the decriminalization of prostitution.
This was originally a persuasive speech for a class
(Node your homework)

I consider myself to be a fairly open-minded and responsible woman when it comes to my sexuality, and I’ll even admit that I’m a bit of a pervert, in a good way. Needless to say, one of my favorite topics to research and talk about is sex. Many of you have expressed the belief that an individual should be allowed to live and let live, and be afforded basic human rights despite their sexual preferences. You may have also heard about my role in the sex industry as a phone sex operator -- which is actually a big challenge for even me to enjoy on a regular basis because of how much attention and energy I’m required to employ as an both an actress and a seductress. Of course, in my future career as a Sex Therapist and widely acclaimed public speaker, I’ll usually have the upper hand.

However, there is one category of sex workers that are not afforded the same legal freedoms and protections that I am, and they are the ones who need it the most and work the hardest – prostitutes. It is time to cut loose from the Victorian ideals that still have a hold on our sexuality. There are people at risk, and by keeping prostitution illegal we are also preventing these women and men from making legitimate contributions to society. As a small step forward in the battle for their basic human rights, I’d like to rally your support for the decriminalization of prostitution.

There are three main reasons prostitution needs to be decriminalized. First, you may have heard the claim that prostitution is the world’s oldest profession – why isn’t it treated as such? Earlier I used the terms “sex workers” and “sex industry.” People involved in this business sell services related to sexual fantasy and reality. The industry already legally includes phone sex operators, strippers, retail workers at your local vibrator store, and, if you think about it, aren’t porn stars in essence performing the same acts that occur in prostitution? They do have sex for money after all. If you ask the people involved, sex work is just that – work, a job, and even a career for some.

Adult film actress Nina Hartley says it best: “My bad days at work don’t have that much to do with the fact that I’m making a sex film. Some days I do have a sore back or my feet hurt or I’m just in a bad mood. It’s no big deal. Work is work: you have good days and bad days, but my worst day at work is still better than the best day selling shoes at Kinney’s.”

San Francisco sex worker Carol Queen describes prostitution like this: “It’s like the person going to the massage therapist; you’re paying to be touched without having to worry about intimacy, reciprocity, and long-term consequences…Same thing with seeing a psychotherapist; there you are paying someone to tell your secrets to.” Isn’t that more intimate than sex, I ask you?

The fact of the matter is that we have people among us everyday that will utilize their physical, instinctual, and emotional talents throughout their careers. Actors, Dancers, Models, Teachers, and even nurturing Registered Nurses, like Nina Hartley, and like a woman named Maryann, who worked as a prostitute while maintaining an A average in nursing school. However, every time she went to work Maryann lived with the risk of being jailed for 6 months to 8 years.

On that note, let’s discuss law enforcement. According to statistics cited by the Prostitutes Education Network, only 10% of overall arrests are customers, and a high proportion of prostitutes jailed are women of color, while customers infrequently get jailed. The process itself is a form of entrapment, where police officers pose as customers and attempt to obtain services, sometimes exposing their genitalia or fondling the prostitute. If they are unable to achieve a bust this way, they can arrest the worker for being a public nuisance or loitering instead. In addition, mere possession of a condom can be used as evidence in some states.

It’s no wonder that customers are hardly harassed – a report by the Kinsey Institute stated that 70% of adult men have utilized a prostitute’s services at least once, and these are men from all classes and races. Clearly there are double standards placing the sole blame on prostitutes, and we must remember that this is an act between two consenting adults. Last but not least, prostitutes are often victims of physical violence, emotional abuse, and rape – about 60% of which is by clients, 20% domestic partners, and another 20% is perpetrated by police officers.

I should note that according to statistics, some populations don’t show a higher incidence of abuse of prostitutes in comparison to violence against any women. The difference lies in that these women and men are fearful about seeking justice against their abusers -- more often than not the prostitutes would be the ones to end up in jail, not the violent criminals that attacked them. Are you going to sit there and tell me that a human being deserves to live in silence about a violent crime merely because they choose to make money providing sexual services?

So, what do we do about this? There are two plans already in existence from the law of the land: In 1949 the United Nations, representative of most nations in the world, decriminalized prostitution; an astonishing fifty countries ratified this resolution, and many countries complied. In the state of Nevada, prostitution is legal in several counties just outside of Las Vegas. Prostitutes and Brothels both register with the government. Prostitutes pay taxes. Street solicitation is illegal, which I support fully. Most importantly, workers are required to get tested for STD’s on a regular basis.

In addition, a task force was formed to study the effects of prostitution in San Francisco, a city comparable to NYC, my home, in its economic and cultural stature. This committee found that legalizing prostitution would serve to quell a majority of quality-of-life complaints made against the industry.

In no way do I ask your support for participation in this trade by people who are forced into it or are damaged by it. Prostitution is not for everyone, nor is teaching, for that matter. They’re both very emotionally demanding jobs. For those who DO want out, additional social services should be provided, and you’ll see momentarily where we’re going to get the funding for that.

Let’s take a look at some of the benefits to society of decriminalization. First, the costs of prostitution remaining a crime are high. The average cost per arrest is around $2000. A law journal article in 1987 cited New York City spending 23 million dollars combatting prostitution; with inflation that’s over $36 million dollars today. And to reiterate an important point made earlier in the case of Nevada, legal prostitutes pay taxes.

Now, people say I’m a bit of an optimist at times, perhaps even a bit of an idealist, but let’s also look at the situation in terms of the jobs that would be created. Well, “I’d rather work at McDonald’s than have to do that,” you might be thinking right now. For $100 an hour, I personally know many women that would be quite comfortable going the extra mile if prostitution were a viable option. Frankly, I know I would.

In fact according to the Prostitute’s Education Network, a 1986 study found that call girls and brothel workers gained self-esteem on the job -- Working a corporate job didn’t do that for me. The trouble comes when you have to keep your profession a secret, sometimes even from your best friend.

Next, I’d like to dispel a major myth about prostitution that will in fact, show you how prostitutes really are assets to any society. While some prostitutes have reclaimed the term “whore,” the U.S. Department of Health statistics show they’re not “dirty whores,” contrary to popular belief. I was surprised at the numbers myself! Prostitutes account for only 3-5% of the sexually transmitted diseases in this nation, whereas, teens, account for 30-35%! Why? Because prostitutes generally are responsible about their sexuality, use condoms properly, and learn what symptoms to look for that could indicate disease. In fact, studies of women in the Nevada brothels show a condom breakage rate that’s virtually nil. The actual failure rate for ordinary users can be up to 10-14%. Consequently, men that visit prostitutes could actually learn how to practice safer sex.

While you don’t have to raise a prostitute to the level of a hero, all I’m asking for you to do is judge the basic facts of this situation that I have presented to you, and join me in supporting the decriminalization of prostitution so that our voices can be united in demanding basic human rights for these workers. Also, I encourage you to solicit the opinion of friends and lovers on this topic. I firmly believe that open, honest, and shameless communication about sexuality, along with academic research, is vital to making an informed decision when judging moral issues relating to sex. Besides, talking about sex is a fun way to perk up a dull party. Prostitutes have been known to do that sometimes, too. :)

(As a final note, I encourage you to adopt the basic values of “honesty, equality, and responsibility” when it comes to both your own sexuality, and again, in judging what works for others. Thank You. )

  1. San Francisco Task Force on Prostitution Final Report 1996. November 20, 2003. http://bayswan.org/SFTFP.html
  2. Model Legislation for Decriminalization of Prostitution (South Australia). November 20, 2003. http://bayswan.org/decrim.html
  3. Chapkis, Wendy. Live Sex Acts: Women Performing Erotic Labor. New York, NY: Routledge, 1997.
  4. Maglin, Nan Bauer and Donna Perry, eds. “Bad Girls”/”Good Girls”: Women, Sex, and Power in the Nineties. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1996.
  5. Pearl, Julie. The Highest Paying Customers: Americas Cities and The Cost of Prostitution Control. Hastings Law Journal, April 1987: 769-800.
  6. Prostitution in The United States – The Statistics. November 20, 2003. http://www.bayswan.org/stats.html
  7. Reiss, Ira. Solving America’s Sexual Crises. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1997.

clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap;
(visualizing myself completing the speech successfully to accolades from my classmates)

Pros`ti*tu"tion (?), n. [L. prostitutio: cf. F. prostitution.]

The act or practice of prostituting or offering the body to an indiscriminate intercourse with men; common lewdness of a woman.

The act of setting one's self to sale, or of devoting to infamous purposes what is in one's power; as, the prostitution of abilities; the prostitution of the press.

"Mental prostitution."

© Webster 1913.

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  • Name: Jaylah
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