Work Text:
“I want a job! I want to work!”
Strange words to hear out of the mouth of a child. Ogino Chihiro—make that Sen—was only ten years old when her parents “transformed into pigs.” Dress up the truth, fabricate and mythologise the reality, steal the facts from the fairy tale: they abandoned her to the brothel. Hard times made for some hard choices, and now here she was in the floating world—not the world of the spirits. She had come to the pleasure house at just the perfect age for an old woman to exploit. Here she was, begging to be put to work. That was the only way to remain here, in the warm place, in the clean place, rather than out on the chaos of the streets.
“What's that? I don't believe you, girl! Get out!”
“No, please! I do, truly I do, I want to work, I will work hard for you, I promise!”
The nice older boy at the bridge had told her how to behave, and Kamaji—the janitor—had been obliging enough to show her the way to the main madame's office.
“I don't know. Pretty slim little chicken like you. What can you do here, hmm? Are you sure you can handle the workload, a little girl like you?”
“I can cook—”
“Not well, I'd wager.”
“I can clean!”
“Any idiot can clean.”
“I'll—I'll do whatever you want me to do.”
“Will you suck a stranger's cock?”
Chihiro reddened. She knew what sex was, like any girl her age with a budding curiosity and a coterie of little friends. She'd seen her father's penis once or twice, and her uncle's too. The tiny kimono she'd been given to wear suddenly seemed very present against her skin, a whisper of friction across that which felt so sensitive, so aware of itself. The crassness of the question disgusted her, but in a strange way excited her too. She had to swallow past that nervousness, if she wanted to remain here, fed and cared for.
“I'll try it.”
“You'll do more than try!” The old woman, Yubaba, croaked in laughter. “At your age, you'll make a wonderful little whore. I learned when I was nine—can you imagine I was ever that young? Open your mouth, use your tongue, be lively about it, smile when he's done. Each man will tell you what he likes, what he wants. Your job—which you begged for, I'll remind you—is to obey! If he doesn't say anything, keep doing what you're doing.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And?”
“Yes—and thank you!”
“Ryu-san here will be gentle with you. Show me that you meant what you said just now. Here, you sign your contract in cum. Earn it.”
Before she had time to question it, before she had time to voice more of her (invalid) consent, one of the woman's three bodyguards took Sen by the hand. He led her into a small, shadowy chamber off to the side, and ran his hand through her soft, brown ponytail. He caressed her chin, tilted it up until she was looking up at him, trembling at the rush of conflicted feelings. Yubaba hadn't lied about him being gentle, and there was something ruggedly paternal and handsome about him, this intensity to his look that spoke words like “foreknowledge” and “desire,” perversion and confidence all rolled up in a stare.
“Off,” he said, simply, easing down her kimono until it bared her flat chest. Sen pushed it open the rest of the way, then found herself standing in little white panties and tan sandals—nothing else. The fear was transforming into something else, a spark that grew in pulses, widening out into a strange comfort. The path was clear, the path trodden by so many other girls in this place, in so many places. She barely knew this man but his authority and sense of discretion calmed her. So this was how it happened—the first cock she'd ever suck.
It sprang up from between his robes, a malleable sword of flesh, pointing at her, more treat than threat. The smell of it—dank yet clean, mysterious but familiar, hot and rich—struck her first. Her eyes went wide as he let off the pressure, let her come to it. Not even sixteen, not even twelve, she was all of ten years old and like the lash of a whip had been orphaned, sold off, placed into the moment of auditioning for her job as a child prostitute. Lucky for her, the ordeal agreed with her. She leaned forward to kiss the tip, and her lips came away slightly sticky.
“What is that?”
“A good sign. Open up now, keep going. That'll help you take it down.”
Answers that led to more questions, yet he hadn't lied. The more she leaned forward and bobbed her head and absorbed that fluid—like medicine—the hotter and fuller grew the tingling flame. The act of eating, the simulation of it, only made her hungrier to try more. When she opened wide and swirled her tongue and sank down further on his dick, Sen heard him groan—and it sounded like approval. It sounded like praise. She looked up, and he seemed to like that too. His hips fell into rhythm with her suck-and-slide motion, and at one point she spontaneously spat on the crown, guided by an instinct she hadn't known she possessed. The act was nothing to fear after all, and the butterflies in her stomach expanded like paper planes, unfolding, revealing messages of comfort and encouragement.
“That's it. Nngh—good girl. You're a natural. Keep it up.”
She looked up at him again, letting him see into her eyes, reading more than compliance—reading the thrill of it, the delight of curiosity getting drenched in confirmation. She and her friends had been right to wonder, had been right to nurse a secret desire right beside the fascination. Maybe not as sweet as a popsicle yet more nourishing, making her feel a strangely delicious sense of wellbeing and want, a twinge of pleasure that held promise of something greater if she merely leaned in, swallowed more down.
What worked was persistence, and passion. Nothing timid, nothing passive, Sen started to deliver a bobbing, choking, shameless blowjob, a child of ten learning on the fly. As little as her mouth was, it proved capacious and talented, a tight and silky tunnel right down into the anxious cavity of her throat. When she made obscene noises, involuntarily, the man seemed to enjoy it even more. At times he gripped her ponytail and directed her playful suckjob effort, only to let go and allow her to give it more freeform. Excess drool kept dripping to her chest, and he chased it with his fingers, reaching down to smear it across her immature nipples. A first real rush obtained in Sen's core, this creamy awakening, this piggish delight in everything messy, everything raw, a man's nakedness revealed to her, a man's thing, his primary difference from a woman, stuck right in her mouth. She swiped her tongue over his crown again and again, only for the bodyguard—trying her out—to withdraw his cock and guide his family jewels over her mouth, over her face, directing her to lick them, too.
On her knees now, Sen devotedly stuck her tongue out and tasted them. No one had warned her just what kind of work awaited a ten-year-old girl in this place, that the bath-house was a pleasure-house too, that the most discerning and affluent clients would want a piece of her springtime. All she knew in this moment of orientation was that it was not painful, just a pleasant stress, the greed of her little mouth let loose, the hot sympathy of her petals, the tiny flower between her thighs, brought faster to its bloom. Every ounce of precum he fed to her had the effect of waking up her chemistry, driving the mindless heat that made her want more and more. She began holding the suction-lock more insistently, an urgent and rhythmic slide of her wet lips around his dick, willfully going deep when his hips drove forward or his hand gripped her ponytail like a handle. Other times he seemed to be pacing himself and she matched that energy too, gliding her tongue over his tip—tracing the ridge and dipping into the glorious opening as it fed her more sweet fulfillment, more of the strange liquid her child body had already seemingly begun to crave.
“Here you go. Begging for this right here. You wanted to sign the contract—we're not forcing you, right? Stay right there. Keep that up if you want my cum in your mouth, little girl.”
Mute and happy, Sen merely nodded her head, looking up at him and keeping his dick in her mouth. Her chubby cheeks were now drawn in with the pull of it, as though sucking the straw in a thick milkshake. She'd learned to fix her hand around the base of his cock, to squeeze and slide and pull, right in time with her oscillating lips. He groaned again and threw his head back, a new move that told her the promised pay-off was arriving, the “cum” she'd heard about but never seen.
When it pulsed into her mouth, she felt a sudden rush of pride and self-satisfaction, along with a measure of exuberant glee, driven by the sheer novelty. It tasted weird, an off-brand flavour of milk, hot and rich and precious. A magic trick spilling right onto her tongue, a liquid secret, a portion of his power—and she loved it. No calling it an “acquired taste” when the fact of the matter was that the brothel's newest little whore savoured it right away, even holding it in her mouth instead of swallowing or spitting it out. She stayed right there as he grunted and blasted the back of her mouth, coating her palate and taste buds, only a small fraction of the load bubbling out to streak her chin.
“Unngh, goddamn. Yeah, sweet thing. Going to be real popular here. You like that? Not that bad, right?”
Sen gave him a cheerful nod, smiling with her eyes. He directed the overflow back into her mouth, guiding it up to her lips—all swollen from the prolonged suction—with the tip of his cock.
“Eat it then. Swallow, then open your mouth.” This was guidance, mystical kindness. He wanted her to be pleasing to the men who came to the pleasure-house. Little Sen gulped down the cum, then opened her mouth to show off the completion of her task. The blessing for a good girl, the medicine she hadn't known she'd needed, that's all it had been. He gave her an approving grin, then helped her back onto her feet, fixed her outfit. She returned to Yubaba's office, her little cheeks suffused with a red glow. No longer a blush, but rather the flush of pride and excitement. It hadn't been that bad—it hadn't been scary. It had been kind of fun!
“Verdict?” Yubaba inquired simply of the bodyguard.
“A good girl. Pass for work.”
“Glorious!”
*
After that, she met Lin. The woman had something otherworldly about her, a deep well of experience, although she looked all of thirty-five years old. Lin set her up with a new uniform, and her allotment of bedding, which was in shared quarters that proved a stark contrast to the opulence of Yubaba's penthouse. All around them that night lay other women and girls, regarding Sen with an odd mixture of curiosity, pity and contempt, if not a little envy thrown in.
“That one's too big for you!” Lin swapped out the first kimono for a second, smaller one. “You're such a little thing. I'm surprised you made it through.”
“What's going to happen to me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? You're going to work hard! They're going to test you, but if you don't want to be transformed into a pig, you have to do your best. Can you do that for me?”
Sen gave a perfunctory nod, then started to tear up. She wanted to escape—of course, Lin wanted to escape as well—and she wanted to see her parents again, the way they had been before. The twinge of nostalgia pierced her heart like a poison dart.
“What's wrong with you? It's nothing to cry about, lovely girl. You're in the right place. You're doing the right thing. Be brave, and—”
“I want to see my mom and dad again! I want them back to normal!”
“Shh. We'll see, we'll see. If you're a hard little worker tomorrow, and please Yubaba, I'm sure it's possible. But you have to do as you're told, do you understand?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good. And what's your name?”
“Sen.”
“Very good. I'm assigned to help you with your first client tomorrow morning, so it'll be fun for both of us. There's no need to cry, dear. But I suppose if you're going to do it, it's better to cry now.”
Hearing that, Sen found that the tears were drying up. She sniffled and hugged her pillow. After curling up on her mat and watching the light fade, she was asleep within minutes. Images of dragons and running water flashed through her mind before sleep came on in full.
*
When she awoke, everything felt transformed. She had grown in strength, if not size. Even without a breakfast, she felt this deep spring of energy rise up, this boundless motivation to do her best. If she was going to be down on the lowest rung of an unfair system, there was little to do but climb. Witnessing this cute, childish enthusiasm for the day ahead, Lin grinned and guided Sen to the room to which she'd been assigned.
There, waiting for her, was a man wearing a mask. He preferred having no name, no face, but his body language suggested that he loved seeing a ten-year-old girl wearing a slip of a kimono, crawling toward him—with an older whore in attendance to instruct her.
“That's it, Sen. Pull it out. You know what to do with that now, don't you?”
“Mmhmm!” Sen put her face down in the task, cheerfully blowing the stranger—whose cock tasted even better than the bodyguard's, like this client was fresh from the bath. The new angle took some getting used to, but within moments Sen was bobbing eagerly and accepting the full, swollen measure of dick in her talented little mouth. What came next was a novelty, however. The next step up in her education.
Lin was kissing her, under the kimono. She was licking the most intimate parts of her body, and manipulating them with her hands. The sensation felt strange but not unpleasant, this knowing attention, spreading and slowly rubbing, or probing with her fingers.
“Nnh! What are you—”
“Shh. I'm getting you ready. All warmed up. You're going to have sex today. This nice man's cock is going inside you. That's what he paid for.”
“It is? Hnnh! I don't know—”
“You're a good worker, aren't you? Trust Mama Lin. It'll all be alright. I'll make sure of that.”
Some strange form of worker solidarity—Lin watched as the masked man nodded in her direction. He gripped the base of his cock and fed it to Sen around her cute confusion, her fading little protestations. When he dragged it over her face, Sen stuck her tongue out and then opened up to suck it again, letting off sweet sighs and telltale moans as Lin returned down to eat her adolescent ass like a peach. The woman feasted there and repurposed the saliva, guiding more and more of it up into Sen's cunny with her fingers, then left that cavity a tingling wet mess while she prepared her preteen asshole too. All of it made Sen a bit distracted and delirious, but she had no bandwidth for shorting the man his blowjob. She pulled and slurped and choked on his cock, working it into her throat as if to further distract herself from what Lin was doing to both of her openings.
At one point Lin was curling a finger up into Sen's pussy, and tapping on her little rosette with another, stimulating both at once. Where at first the attention had made Sen pull away, now she was arching her back and staying low, staying back, legs well apart, giving the woman full access to those underage openings, precious and lucrative and tight. The warm-up had Sen huffing pheromones, every breath dosing her further with the clean hot scent of a man, a well-paying customer who'd won the auction of Sen's virginity held the night before.
“Good girl. There you go! They didn't lie—you are good at that. Here, now. Lie back on Mama. Spread, that's it. Don't tense up. Just relax. Let him work it in, help him, just like that.”
Lin caressed her but it was Sen who was opening her arms to the stranger, opening her legs as instructed, naked except for the spill of the kimono underneath her. She felt comforted by the warmth of Lin beneath her, the cushion of her breasts, the softness of her touch and constancy of her encouragement. Even in the cold light of morning the room held a threefold warmth, this unspeaking stranger with the slight smile on his mask, the passion embodied by his upright cock, pushing at her tender little lips, tip sliding across and between her folds. The protest of her child pussy felt more like sparks of excitement, a fading of the fear, a sense in her body of instinct taking over—all coached by the more knowing woman underneath her, holding her. Sen was the one to reach out and help him in, unabashed now, looking up to the cipher that was his face and projecting Daddy there, projecting future-love, a vague husband when in fact he was merely her first fuck. As one face followed the next, her comfort and excitement grew, in tandem with the push and pull, the breaking resistance, her narrow pink slot accepting more of his cock. Finally he found purchase and the expansion made her gasp, this locked-in feeling of heat and connection and slow-burning indulgence.
“Oooh! Oww, Lin, it—it went in!”
“Yeah? He's filling your little pussy, huh? Just breathe. Isn't he so nice, to fuck you like that, when you're only ten years old? Getting a jumpstart on love—you're lucky!”
She said such wicked things around kisses and caresses, an unexpected love-bomb with lesbian flavour, made in the image of mother-daughter. Lin was old enough to have a girl of Sen's age and it evidently excited the groaning stranger, given that he pushed a little harder, flexing and spitting, working the crown of his cock deeper into Sen's deflowered sex. Every push made the sting fade more, infusing her with a wilder sense of relief and even the slow advance of pleasure, of a very different sort than the kind she'd gotten through sucking cock. This kind was rich and active, the consolation of surrender. She nestled against Lin and stayed spread, a picture of preteen reception while the slippery friction turned her juvenile pussy an even hotter shade of pink. The beginning of the ache, the root of addiction, that's what happened that morning, this relentless insertion that made her breath go shallow and fast, made her arch her back. The roller coaster momentum of it was beyond her control. She merely had to lay there and take it, sandwiched between her trainer, her substitute mother, and her customer, this masked father figure, expressing himself through grunts and nods, the grip of his hands on her ankles.
That's what he was doing, she finally realised. This was sex in its most basic and complete form—he was using her little vagina as a means for getting off, for making himself cum, the way she'd had to deploy her mouth the previous night. Only she had to expend no real effort beyond breathing and “letting go,” giving over control to instinct, feeling it rebound on her with still keener pleasure as her thighs trembled, as her heart raced. It had gone from stinging discomfort to swirling and strange pleasure, amplified by contrast with the initial pain. Her body at all of ten years old was adjusting, and her brain was tripping on the bliss as it compounded.
Lin was doing something to her from behind, something with her hand between Sen's legs. Her fingers moved in some oblong swirl, toying with the crest of her divided folds until—fuck. Sen felt the kind of electric current form, two-fold, the pleasure of being penetrated joined to the heretofore unknown ecstasy of having her clit manipulated, targeted so closely. Her hips jumped, and Lin went on kissing her hair, her neck, her ear from behind, whispering illicit things as Sen was carried through her first fuck.
“Feels good, doesn't it? See, you can cum too. A different way. Over and over. Better and hotter and stronger than a man cum. Mommy and Daddy are going to make you cum. Let it out, breathe deep. Let him fuck you. Let me touch right—there! There you go! Feel it. Baby slut. Good little whore. Cum on his cock.”
Sen had no answer to it all, driven out of her conscious mind by the combination, the crush of having her little socket filled, the prolonged jolt and syrup-flow, the way Lin worked her clit while No-Face was pumping her pussy like that. It overwhelmed her senses to the point of all anxiety being erased, or converted into a kind of sky-walking release. She squealed in the peak of it, her toes curling, her voice powering moans and cries instead of words. She'd moved beyond the words. Panting, shaking, Sen came for the very first time, gripping Lin's kimono and looking up at the sweating client, the hugeness of his body looming over her, the contrast of its intersection with her own. Big and hairy—a friendly monster—against her delicate, little, smooth princess body. It fostered a link in her mind, sealed the genesis of her sexuality.
Some work felt good. You could get paid for pleasure. She'd work off her debt, she'd free her parents, she'd escape—all through the chain reaction of cumming her brains out, and giving clients that same orgasmic relief. Past the rush of her first climax, Sen spread wider and cocked her hips further back in reception, letting the man pump hard, to the point where she no longer felt the pain at all. Only the rush, only the relief, the weird satisfaction of waking up her instinct and receiving just what it needed. Every thrust, she was squeezing down on him, making an addictively tight cunny go all black-magic, a juicy constriction which soon served to drain his balls.
“Unngh! Fuck, yeah, little girl!” He finally spoke, between his demon grunts. His pace altered and she could tell, from the same body language she'd witnessed the previous night, that he was unloading inside her. This way she didn't get to taste it, at least not at first, but instead absorbed it in a tactile way, a creamy surge to salve the abrasion—like something curing the very same wounds it had caused. She bled a little but that blood in the air triggered wolf-cub determination and pride, with Lin right there to reassure her every step of the way.
“So nice. Look how much there is. All over your little pussy. Here, you wanna taste some?”
Lin gathered up some of the vaguely pink froth and fed it to her “daughter” whore—fed cum to a child keenly licking it off her fingers.
*
“Reflect on your blessings in the glow of the wolf moon.”
What was she expected to say to that, what blessings—that she hadn't needed all that long to recover? That she was forgetting her parents' names, had forgotten her own, and that falling into subjugation had its silver linings? What was this carnal part of her, that enjoyed her new status? In the convention of such tales, the degradation is supposed to be wholly negative, and yet—perhaps a space exists for a story in which a child prostitute can actually, dare we say it, have fun? The fantasy was not so dark after all. The clients were not unkind. Attraction kindled between her and them, a fast-track to adolescent desires, the lure it is not so bad to follow. Sen, at ten years old, realised that she had been placed on a path in line with her own most secret wishes, rising to the surface. She had not been beaten, had not been stamped down into a role that did not fit her. Lin helped her to accept it, to enjoy it, to thrive in the grime.
Let them stay pigs. She could be a little piglet too. The best of them, the smiling one, the main attraction, at least for the next few years. She wasn't that innocent girl anymore, whoever that was. She was Sen and this was her journey, rising high on a dirty river. By her second week at the bath-house, at the brothel, she was established as a cum-happy little star. All those who would help her—they helped her in the sexual way, imparting their knowledge to her. Sen found herself elated in the wake of that first time with Lin and the stranger, to the point of offering herself up to the janitor after hours. He got to be the first one, forty years her senior, to put it in her ass. The slow drill, the grunting praise, the grandfatherly pace of his cock entering her back door, the denial of direct pleasure leading to a surplus of the harder, higher, hotter kind, that made her squeal. She went from bent over to bouncing on it, no care in the world should other workers see her getting it, legs apart, a man's hands on her body while her own supported the endeavour. It felt better when she didn't get to touch, to indulge herself with clit-work, letting the bliss build up like a dammed river, the force of water overcoming her with its steady, irresistible and inevitable power.
“Yes! Fuck me in the ass!”
“Good little whore. Ten, you said?”
“Yes, I'm ten. I'm ten years old.”
“And you take it in the ass so nice. Look at you.”
Pride in her child labor, that's what this was, an exorcism of her innocence, a joy in exploitation, letting it all go. She went from ponytail to pigtails in a mockery of her own lucrative childhood, the young girl—not even in her teens—who knew how to make a man cum, and enjoyed it. She crept under the table at mealtimes, on her own initiative, to blow Aniyaku, to blow Chichiyaku, frog-faced employees who nonetheless connected with her from the waist-down. The suburban girl took to the brothel with such evident glee and finesse that she got special privileges and a series of revealing kimonos, able to tease and exhibit her body as much as she pleased, soaking up attention and turning it into feverish need. The more gold she piled up for adventurism, the better she felt, a youthful little fountain of wealth.
Had her parents even been forced to make that choice? They'd driven an Audi! They'd wanted this fate for her, they knew what awaited her, maybe seen glimpses of the impending nymphomania when she was all of six years old and humping furniture. Maybe having a slut for a daughter was a blessing in their eyes, and they were getting updates on her progress here, spinning her loli sex drive into a revenue stream. All three of the madame's bodyguards got to sample her tight little holes and what a joy it was to swap daddies, or to call them all Uncle indiscriminately, the brothers of her real mother: Yubaba. When they took pictures it made everything feel even more special, worthy of recalling in the highest fidelity, the illegal playback that served like aphrodisiac for even the most jaded souls.
No need to picture it when the record was right there: a flat-chested preteen, a Japanese girl with chubby cheeks so easy to redden, with a buoyant round perfect ass, bent over and smiling, reaching back and spreading. This was the glory of her springtime, the beckoning call of her glistening pink, the assurance that she'd wandered down this amusement-park path and knew what it all meant, took vast pleasure in the descent. Not drowning but mermaid swimming, learning how easy it was to breathe down here when men flocked to her, schools of fish, a river of money. She was no victim but instead a fast learner under so sterling an entrepreneur, glad of the system that felt so corrupt at first glance. Spirits in a material world, humans who'd forgotten their names but not the hottest pleasure, available to them in the fleeting years of girls like her, generations of them like echelons, a non-violent army, girls from eight to fourteen trusted with the secret, granted the venue to use their innate power to stack up as much money as they could.
Lin encouraged it all—Lin loved to see it. She was there to guide Sen in dressing ever more whorishly, with just the right notes of innocence to contrast with the stockings, the heeled sandals, the barely-there mini skirts, shorter than school uniforms—but not by much. The brothel simply felt like advanced placement, some lessons ahead of time in how the world worked, and with each passing day Sen felt more grateful for the parties, for the rough pleasure to be gained, a little sake-drunk to lower the trampled gates of her inhibitions and allow groups of strangers to pound her underage ass, to stuff her child pussy, to warm up and clean off through the natural talent of her busy, ball-draining mouth.
Fiction dresses up the truth or swings for the fences of satire but this is where the hard facts took over. The story the world knows may have hidden the reality behind a veil of beauty and sweetness and love—but the love of pleasure itself deserves some celebration too. Sen was only ten but became the chief hedonist of the orgies, a welcome plaything for the rich, cavorting in a shower of gold. That was her, somehow smiling in the midst of a spit-roast, her little high-pitched moans a soundtrack to the revelation—or confirmation—that yes, ten-year-old schoolgirls (permanently truant now) could enjoy themselves, could cum themselves senseless having cock up the ass and thumping into their throats. She wanted her hair used for a handle or two, wanted her holes filled and baited men with money into filling them, again and again, the one-offs becoming regulars, the regulars becoming admirers, throwing subtle references to her into their arts, into their craft.
Sen, one character all that she needed. No last name, no full name, at home in her new identity and forsaking the old. This was not the curse but the truest blessing, three golden years to remember fondly, to fuel her masturbation for decades to come, the ever-present pixels spreading the legend far and wide on encrypted hard drives. Inspiring the story everyone knows, the critique of how-it-is, yet what remains to be told is just how much fun she had in that den of so-called iniquity. Every orgasm was a consolation and she had thousands. Those tender years became a hot wreckage, a chain of experiences by day and by night, joy reflected back at her by Lin's smile or Yubaba's grin, the telltale sounds that men made—customers and co-workers alike.
One may wonder, in closing, what about that nice boy, the one who'd helped her at the bridge? His name was Haku, and wouldn't you know it—he enjoyed her too. With all the fierceness of a teenage boy, once he discovered that she'd become a child whore, he put Sen to work: crushing the squeals out of her, pulling her hair and jamming deep, using toys on whichever hole he wasn't filling at a given time. He gave her such resilient, demanding love that she often cried in the after-joy, a girl shivering in relief, impressed that he remembered her name but elected to use the new one. This was not a rescue but a reinforcement of the new faith, the self-rule of a girl who still turned over half her earnings. He liked to let her ride it, giving her this everlasting hard-on to sit on and swirl, to grind and push her greedy cunny against, to impale herself in the way that gave her the most bliss-inducing shocks, the fullest experience of life and the making of love.
In dreams, she escaped with him. He could take her anywhere and she'd ride that train, and the fun would never stop. In his eyes she saw the marriage of love and lust, the fireworks fueled by her childhood fantasies, the way he'd welcome every advancing year—treat her like child bride and pet, little goddess and slut. When he slipped into place, it must have been magic, mined from the real. He didn't call her “little whore” or “little slut” like she'd come to expect but animal names, “kitten,” and food names, “cupcake,” and her name, the journey, said with both adoration and command. Crawl here, Sen. Kneel there, Sen. Kiss me, fuck me, cum for me, body and mind and heart united. His was a dragon's love and hers was the luck of a first step, some golden hour prolonged into a saga, joined at the waist.
The reins were right there for him, attached to her head, soft and brown, the hair he could hold and pull as he drove in again and again, every thrust like punctuation. Like exclamation. He loved the strident, carnal side of her and encouraged it like no one else, not even Lin. His satisfaction became her goal, high above her own delight in this new floating world. His happy ending was the fairy tale into which she'd written herself, and part of her remains in that place of joy and honor, forever.