Exposing Amy Ch. 04

As usual, the previous chapters should be read before this to fully understand the story line and characters. All comments welcome as it helps to improve the writing.

For a few months after Amy gave birth to Colin Pearce’s child, we settled down to our lives again. The spark that our sex lives thrived on had to be content with only the memory of the filthy degradations of our previous actions and experiences. The fucking that we did was totally dependant on the gut-wrenching shame brought about by those actions, without which we were almost impotent.

Sexually, we were surviving wholly on our memories and on the humiliation we suffered through our depravity and our uncontrollable fetish.

If you remember we explained earlier, that the part of the brain that registered shame and embarrassment was very close to the part which controlled arousal. Hence is it of no surprise that one of these emotions would affect the other.

However, as we took what we could from this sordid lifestyle, it didn’t take long for the humiliation to wane (you cannot keep calling on the same resource or going back to the same well without eventually draining it.) We found that our sex life had regressed again and had become bland and uninspired.

Our sex life merely existed, it did not LIVE.

In reality, it had not been enough time since the birth of our second child, to try and get Amy pregnant again. We had decided on a little period of time, in order to let Amy’s body rest but forces greater than our common sense were about to prevail.

We decided that having a donor who knew that he had fathered Amy’s kid, was fraught with danger. In the context of blackmail, abusing his position, or maybe even wanting official recognition, access etc. we were putting ourselves (not to mention the child) in an invidious position.

Anonymous was to be the way but how?

The answer presented itself to us one night, quite unexpectedly and out of the blue but so overwhelmingly, that it was never even up for debate, it chose us, we did not choose it.

We were watching a film (the title of which is irrelevant) and the briefest explanation is that this film centred on a pregnant prostitute.

There was no discussion and no debate. No opinions were necessary and certainly no justification needed for the decision that had been made (for us.) The very idea of a ‘knocked-up whore’ seemed so degrading and humiliating, it was overpowering and omnipotent, we could not have resisted even if we tried.

Even though in our case, it would be Amy the prostitute getting pregnant by an unknown punter, we found that the opposite scenario of a woman who was pregnant but still had to whore herself (being taken by strangers while her child was inside her, merely inches from their cum shooting cocks) equally arousing and powerful an image and fantasy.

This and our filthy obsession made our decision.

Amy takes up the story

As a stay at home mother, I had begun to watch daytime TV and like other bored housewives, had got hooked on the Jerry Springer, Jeremy Kyle type show. It was while I watched one of these shows, that I realised how I wanted to be and who I wanted to be on the street.

Whilst I had been with Colin, the character that I played had developed ad hoc. As I thought about the vile and repugnant act we were planning for, this character, or my alter-ego as I could call it, began to surface again.

Those readers, who have followed our story so far, will be well aware that sexual activity – just being a slut, was the last thing on my mind. My alter ego had been created to allow me to become a woman that was worthless, stupid and vulnerable.

I knew exactly who I wanted to be in my night of shame and self degradation.

The proposed nights activities would be so debauched and so degrading, that I felt that I would need another person to take my place. Amy Barnes was going to hide behind her alter ego.

Due to having two children in quick succession and due to the constant breastfeeding of those two children, not only had my body become dowdy but my mind as well. I was always tired and that had begun to materialise in my appearance. At this moment in time, my condition and appearance could not have worked out better.

The last thing we wanted was for me to go out onto the street looking like a sexy, confident, experienced whore. That was the very last thing that this situation and the two sick and twisted perverts caught up in this insanity/sickness, either wanted or needed. The woman who walked out of this door, to reappear on the streets a little while later, was going to be the opposite of what I used to be. I was going to be the archetypal chav.

When Kylie, my alter ego left this house, I wanted her to smell of desperation, I wanted her to reek of benefits dependency and of the underclass. Dim-witted, mentally deficient and simple minded was the order of the day. I wanted Kylie to be that girl we all know, the girl that was nice as far poker oyna as it went but her very low I.Q. meaning she was easily manipulated, not by just clever people but even used and abused by the riff-raff. My alter-ego was to be so lacking in intellect and social graces, that she could be exploited even by the tenement scum and low-life no-hopers. Kylie would be that type of girl, available for all the boys to take advantage of and who allowed the abuse in order to be accepted and to be liked.

Shopping in charity shops, and second hand shops, even getting some items from a jumble sale that some kids were having, I came up with my outfit for the terrible thing I was about to do.

The eve of the dreadful day I was to whore myself out and hopefully get myself pregnant by some low-life anonymous punter, I prepared myself in a ‘dress rehearsal’ for Paul’s opinion.

I dressed in the drabbest outfit you could imagine. The clothes I wore were cheap and gaudy, not in a ‘sexy whore’ manner but just simply poor tenement trash. I wore stockings which looked terrible on me, not sexy black stockings and garter belt but plain beige hold-up’s with big lace tops, a look that both myself and Paul had always thought looked drab and unattractive. I looked pure council sink estate, as I complimented those with flat scuffed shoes that I had bought from a jumble sale. The old green skirt, tatty and worn and a size too big for me, the purple blouse which was two sizes too small for me, straining as my milk engorged breasts in their dirty plain cotton bra threatened to burst open, completed my ‘sexy new look’. The colour scheme I had deliberately chosen so my appearance stank of the underclass and did me no favours at all, it certainly did the trick.

Even my hair, which is most women’s pride and joy, had been deliberately ruined. I have bleached blonde hair, which has quite a lot of body and a sexy healthy look normally, had been downplayed. Fortunately due to my general drabness and being tired and unattractive, I had neglected my hair of late and luckily, as now proved, it had grown to the point where the roots showed dreadfully. I had also bought some straighteners and on the night in question I straightened the life out of my hair. This together with the fact that I hadn’t washed my hair for several days, just for this occasion, left me looking like an unclean tart, and in the sexual sense – a dirty tramp.

In my preparations I had tried to create the look that said,

“I am a chav, a low I.Q., intellectually challenged, council estate or tenement low life and this is how a girl like me would think I had to dress like to make myself attractive and sexy.”

The make up I wore completed the look in style. Heavy, cheap, overdone, gaudy colours and so poorly applied, that looked like it had been applied with a trowel.

When all this extreme sexual perversion started, we were a 34 year old couple. Paul quite tall 5′ 11″, reasonably good looking and quite athletic. I was 5′ 6″, bleach blonde hair, slim figure with natural 34c breasts and would quite reasonably be said to be very attractive.

That appearance is what I had totally changed. I was now the antithesis of my former self.

Paul Continues

As soon as I saw Amy, I knew what she was trying to achieve. You don’t share this level of perversion with another person without being on the same wavelength. I instinctively knew what she wanted to be, I knew who she wanted to be and when Amy opened her mouth the transition was complete. Amy had consciously listened to girls on the TV, she had put herself into positions where she could observe the street scrubbers in their environment and had copied the way they spoke. This was not a specific accent, or jive, or patios, or contemporary slang, it was just simply the manner and the terrible grammar that this un-educated trash used.

“Wot you lookin at mistuh? wanna picsher or sumfink?” Amy said through the chewing gum.

Amy looked exactly like a classless, no-taste, ill-educated slut would think that she needed to look like. Kylie lacked the most basic skills of social and personal awareness.

Although Amy was now 37 years old, she had somehow managed to lower her looks considerably with her trash outfit.

The fateful day arrived and that evening, I watched what no man should ever have to watch and endure. Amy readied herself in her street clothes and painted on the horrible make-up. Can any man imagine what it is to watch your wife readying herself, not just for another man but as yet unknown men – plural! Watching your own wife preparing the intimate parts of her body for what would be several strangers, who would not be rich men in exclusive hotels but the dross and low-life in the seediest area of the city.

My stomach heaved and threatened to explode, but my beautiful wife Amy was even more affected as the nerves and the reality began to hit home. The enormity of what she was about to undertake made her shake uncontrollably and as she prepared herself and canlı poker oyna then stood to look in the mirror at what she had become, Amy threw up.

Amy Resumes

When you think of what and who I am and the sexual situations I have been in, you have to realise this is not the sexual situation per se that draws me here. Sexual activity with strangers, a cock inside me, is not the thrill in itself. The indescribable turn-on and excitement, that overtakes us when the shame, humiliation and the degradation kicks in, the very fact that I hate and despise doing what I do, is what makes me do it in the first place.

I drove down the narrow alley that ran between two abandoned warehouse buildings and stopped at the agreed spot. It was dark and secluded as I exited the car, locked it and walked back down the alley to take up my spot at the entrance to the alley.

It did not take long before I was approached by a middle aged, fat, ugly, balding man.

“How much, bitch?”

My alter-ego was immediately called into action.

I knew exactly, through research, what prostitutes charged and I got into my character instantly by pretending that I was too stupid to know what to charge.

“Not shure mistah, wot u usually pay” I replied.

The guy might have been physically dull but he was still sharp enough mentally to recognise his chance straight away.

“I’ll give you a fiver,” he grinned, expecting me to argue.

I decided to agree for three reasons. One, this is not about earning money. Two, it would validate my pretence at low I.Q. if I ‘unwittingly’ agreed to be cheated and exploited. Three, to endure all this and to be paid such a pittance would make me feel even more worthless and pitiful, hence more shameful and thrilling.

As we walked down the alley he asked me my name and then commented on something that made me realise my first mistake.

“Got a wedding ring on I see,” he smirked (I think it made it better for him to think he was going to fuck another man’s wife.)

My wedding ring!

I had no choice but to ad lib, I acted the stupid, scared and pathetic amateur that in reality I was.

“ur mi fust eva punta, mi usband finks I am at mi friend’s ouse.” I stuttered.

This had come as an unexpected bonus, to be able to play the ‘my husband doesn’t know card’ worked into the charade perfectly.

As we reached the car my punter said,

“Ok get the kit off let’s see what I am paying good money for.”

I hesitated deliberately and acted nervous and scared, I wanted this asshole to truly believe that I didn’t want to be here and that his taking of me was borne out of desperation and a sign of my weakness and his power.

But it wasn’t an act.

I pulled open my blouse and exposed my tits in the cheap and torn cotton bra and pushed my skirt down until it fell to the floor. I drew in my breath, my heart pounded as it always did at the point of exposing myself to a stranger. I unhooked my bra and dropped it to the floor, my nipples instantly erect and crinkled in the cool night air.

“C’mon bitch, I ain’t got all fucking night.” He said, as I again hesitated with my fingers in the waistband of my drab cotton panties.

Forcing hands which didn’t want to comply, I pushed down my knickers and stood naked, except for drab beige hold ups and tatty jumble sale shoes.

I wanted to die.

“Fuck me you ain’t even worth a fiver you skanky whore,” he laughed.

It was at this point where the condition of my baby ravaged body, my saggy swollen tits with the larger and darker than normal areola, turned out to be a wonderful blessing. My saggy gut, not yet recovered from my latest pregnancy, together with how I was dressed, make-up, hair, and clothes, lent the look that completed my new character. It was the embarrassment of my body being in such a condition that really came to the fore.

It made this man, nothing more than a common ugly, fat, balding man himself, laugh at me.

That laugh sent an electric shock through my rapidly responding pussy. In all the degrading situations that I had been placed in so far, I had never been actually laughed at. The contempt and the ridicule that I was subjected to, was akin to someone putting a live wire inside my vagina. I had the most incredibly unexpected surge of humiliation and hence excitement, due to this scorn and abuse. I felt my pussy crying out for more.

As I stood naked before this obnoxious man, even my pussy hair looked crude and cheap. I had deliberately left my swollen mound in a poorly shaved and uneven mess.

Recognising me for the stupid, dumb slut that I was, he began to get confident of his superiority and began to talk aggressively and down to me.

“Get in the back seat and get your legs open,” the man ordered me.

The act of laying back and opening your legs is a terrible act for any woman who is reluctant to do what was demanded of her. I wanted this to be a turn on for my first ever punter, I wanted him to get internet casino off on having a plain, drab, desperate slattern at his mercy and I wanted to be the worst whore ever.

As he stood over me gazing intently between my legs at my exposed vagina, he pulled his almost erect cock from his trousers. He was large and uncircumcised and waving it in my face he said,

“Where’s the condom bitch? I ain’t got all night.”

The trickiest part of the whole charade had arrived.

“I ain’t got nun, I stammered. If ya don’t tell nubdy, I’ll let ya fuck me wifaht one, if ya giz me sum munny.”

The loathsome man was obviously unsure about putting his cock into a skanky whore without protection, so I played the most crucial and rehearsed part.

“Va doc ses I aint gotta use no cumdom, mi fanny is alagic to the spunkicide they put on em”, I lied easily.

Then came the one and only time that night, I would say this without it being a lie.

“I aint never bin no prossie afore, ur mi furst, there aint bin no jizz in me afore, cept mi usbands.”

He looked at me with such contempt and superiority as the situation dawned on him, he was about to get first use of a virgin pussy (in the prostitute sense.) This dumb low-life who had been faithful to this point, was going to allow him to be the first man other than her husband to fuck her and he was to be the first man ever that she opened her legs for as a whore.

The turn on for me at that moment in my life, was he wanted to be protected from a skanky whore and I was it.

At the very moment my life crossed over into that of a common prostitute, the very thing I didn’t need to do was watch, yet it was impossible to avert my eyes and I was compelled to watch this man take me. I looked down between my exposed breasts past my parted pubic bush. I saw my engorged clitoris, scarlet and throbbing with excitement and the lips of my vagina as they parted and spread like a butterfly, exposing my sodden inner pussy which literally ran with my wetness.

Vulnerable, exposed and available to him, I watched his engorged and meaty cock as it entered me. It defiled me, it debased me, yet who was I to complain? He had bought me, my pussy, that hot, wet, pink flesh between my obscenely spread legs belonged to him, to do with as he wished for the consideration of money.

I screwed my eyes closed and held my breath, as I felt this total stranger sliding his big swollen cock along the silky walls of my wet pussy. As he bottomed out inside me he then gave an extra shove into me, forcing and grinding on my rigid clitoris. The physical feeling I have to admit was incredibly pleasurable but the mental stimulus I felt surge through me in this deplorable position, almost made me orgasm instantly.

Slowly dragging the hard gnarled dick along my vaginal walls he pulled from me, only to pause a second or two, then grunt and force himself all the way back into me. The ugly old man continued to fuck me with sneering contempt. His thrusts became individual and aggressive like he was saying,

“Take that, whore,” with every thrust.

He didn’t fuck me smoothly but took his time, pausing outside me, gathering up momentum to bulldoze into me as hard and as forcefully as he could with single individual thrusts.

He pounded me for a little longer then started to gasp and grunt. This complete stranger was on the cusp of cumming.

It is difficult to describe in words how the actions of this man (and each time afterwards that fateful night) who thought me lowlife, affected me as I took his rutting cock.

I felt revulsion with myself, I was repugnant, I was filled with self-loathing and despised myself.

As all those feelings charged through both my mind and my pussy, the old man started to cum. Those feelings combined with the terrible knowledge, that as this stranger began to shoot his hot, sticky and hopefully potent cum deep inside my most private and intimate place, that he was possibly breeding me, impregnating me, making me pregnant with his baby.

I could take no more either physically or mentally – I started to cum with him.

As the distasteful, disgusting and repellent act was consummated the insides of my pussy came alive and seemed to catch fire. The throbbing, pulsating and quite shocking explosion, that burst from my abused pussy as I felt his semen flooding into me and washing over my cervix, was incredibly powerful, the intensity surprising and exhilarating me.

I was supposed to be a prostitute and I found myself talking to him like a lover. The thought of being knocked-up by a complete stranger at that very moment had me whispering,

“Oh God yes, oh please don’t stop, oh please keep fucking me with your big cock.”

I felt sure that I could climax again if only he would keep that cock sliding beautifully across my silky insides but his wilting dick made me realise that it was not to be and I came to my senses.

The man pulled from me and I am sure he did not notice me change position slightly. I raised my hips so that his filthy cum ran back inside me. I wanted as much to pass through my cervix as possible, before I was forced to move and the excess would run from me.