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Another night, another 5 grand. No matter how many times she told herself it was the last night, it never was. Money is an intoxicating drug, and she was addicted to adding numbers to her bank account. Not all her clients were sexual. Some just men who needed a date for the night or an ear to bend. Tonight though, she knew him well enough to up her life insurance before the date. He wasn’t the kind of man you married, though he was. His personality was brutal, he used the women he paid to suffer for a life well lived.

Checking the clock one last time, she knew to never be late. Each second she took from his time was another second that she would pray for death. If there was one part of him that she would never forget, it was his hands. Tattooed, rough, and demanding. Even though she was a small, framed female, he held no remorse when inflicting his form of love on her body.

Exhaling, she watched in the mirror the way the red silk hung on her body. A second skin, the trained eye would know every inch of her body even though she was clothed. No panties, no bra, but a pair of nude stockings with a wide lace band at the thigh. He requested that she wear them, and she followed directions well.

“He’s waiting.”

“I know. I’m not late. In fact, I am 5 minutes early”

As she walked into the foyer of the home, the place sent shivers up and down her spine. She had been there in the past, but always knew when he chose to meet her in private first, he was in a mood. Usually, he fed her dinner, but not tonight. Since it was Friday, she assumed his week went bad and his wife was out of town. Not that she knew the side of him that the girls did, but he would never allow her in the house if she was there. He had too much to lose if he was caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

“Tick tock, tick tock. Get your fucking ass in here, Kitten,” he said.

He is Daddy, well, that’s the name she called him when she was on her knees. No other name was needed. At 6 ft 4 inches, 240 pounds and not an ounce of fat on his frame. The one striking thing about his appearance is that his body holds a masterpiece of artwork.

“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry I kept you waiting for me,” she whispered.

The only sound in the room was his breathing, and it wasn’t the usual even pace. Tonight, there was anger building inside of the man. A clench to the jaw made a popping sound, one that rattled her bones until they ached.

“Clothing off. All of it. There is a bath waiting for you. I like my whores clean,” he snapped.

“Daddy, I already,” she stopped, her eyes dropping to the floor, “Yes, Daddy.”

 Her clothing now folded on a small table in the corner, she knew from looking at the water what he had done. She wanted to ask if she could add cold water but didn’t. That would only anger him even more. Wincing as she stepped into the large bubbling bath, her skin instantly turning a bright shade of red. He hadn’t used an ounce of cold water. Tears threatened to fall, but she held them back in fear of what he might do.

“Show Daddy,” he said as he took a seat near the tub.

Leaning over the edge of the tub, she turned her head to make sure he was watching. As a smirk creased her lips, she reached back with one hand, drawing a fine line up and down the crack of her ass. Damp from the water, she stopped at the entrance, tapping once on the sealed opening. She cried out, her breathing stopped as though she were a mouse in a trap. A single finger pushed inside, sending waves of pain through her entire body. Pain would not detour her. She knew the price she would pay to put on this show. As the tight rim cut the circulation from her finger, she pushed deeper in to prove she was worthy of his time.

 The male sat perplexed. Did he join her and replace her finger with his cock, or watch the show and force her to cum by herself? A sadistic grin creased his lips the moment she begged for his help.

 “Please Daddy,” she cried. Her voice is a raspy cry of release.

His laugh louder than usual, but then again, the show she was putting on seemed to amuse more than excite the man. A socialite with the morals of a saint. Well, when the camera rolled, she was as pure as snow. When the lights dimmed, the whore played games with her sick little mind.

 “What do you want, Kitten?” he asked, his tone toying with the female.

 Fingers moving in and out of her tightest opening, mumbles now replaced her words. Every emotion known to God raped her mind as she lost control of all self-respect.

 “Please fuck me like the whore that I am,” she begged.

 Smug, he took the final withdrawal from his cigarette. His body now upright, he stood at the edge of the tub, ashing the cancer stick on her ass. “I have no need for whores. Finish that mess and leave before I have you removed,” he said, his words dripping sarcasm.

 Cries of pleasure echoed through the small room. Her screams of relief music to his ears. The more he denied her, the more she would realize that every woman is a whore given the right situation.