A Resurgent Whore #1
Chapter One - A Fallen Angel.
Welcome to chapter one of a new gritty noir series from ‘Sin Street’ created in partnership between Kate Granger and Sissitrix. Chapters published weekly on Friday’s.
Follow a woman’s desperate tale of humiliation starting in a pit of despair before her rebirth, revenge and resurgence. This story begins in a dark place because it must.
I barely heard him approach me through the din made by a train grinding past. A nearby sash window rattled, almost falling out of its frame. The old brick apartment building shook violently and a kaleidoscope of head thumping color confused me.
Why is my face so wet and sticky?
Please don’t beat me any more.
“If her cunt is too sloppy for you to get enough friction with your cock inside it, just roll the whore over, cram some lube inside her back passage if needed and use her asshole instead. It was plenty tight up there when I fucked her a few hours ago.”
“Her asshole is still bleeding from whoever last used her.”
“Check inside the hole. If it’s not too badly fucked, then use it. Never mind the blood caked on the outside.”
“I don’t know if I should, man. Erin’s in pretty bad shape, even for a whore.”
I’m a person… please help me, someone, anyone. Brian… don’t let them do this.
Judging by their tone, the guys were getting angry with each other, which spelled more bad news for me. They had already roughed me up badly, so I worried for my life because the other girls often mentioned this crowd being spiteful. I knew more violence was coming.
No girl had ever been treated so despicably as me tonight, and I mostly had my husband to blame for that.
“If you can’t fuck her anymore, call Chester and order up another whore. We’ll dump this one somewhere when we go to pick up a new girl.”
“Umm, I don’t know, guys. She looks like a hospital case.”
I feel sick. Get up and run girl.
“For the love of god, Steve, just make a choice but leave us the fuck alone to play cards, we’re almost all-in on this pot and Brian’s shitting a brick.”
I couldn’t move more than a twitch because I’d drunk too much booze. The coarse sisal ropes they bound me with, scratched and tore micro cuts into my skin.
My body trembled with fear and from the pain that a whole day of being their gang bang whore had inflicted. A constant chilly blast from a nearby quarter open window combined badly with my ungodly alcohol poison induced delirium that would peak soon, adding to a pathetic state.
Steve had rolled me over twice on the bed, carefully inspecting my body, desperate to find a hole he could fuck. I felt his solid cock bounce off my arms, legs and head as he twisted me around, prising my pussy slit and ass crack wide open.
He cared little, if at all, that my face was smeared with the vomit I’d retched an hour ago. My heart broke from knowing my husband was in the room and doing nothing to save me.
I felt terrified and was paralysed. It was as people described being awake during surgery. I felt excruciating pain but was incapable of communicating that to anyone.
I’m fucking useless!
Constant and violent movements as I rolled this way and that when my antagonist shook and moved me, forced bile from the pit of my retching stomach into a raw throat.
I choked on acid reflux until puke and blood clots mixed with my snot, then sprayed painfully in lumps and slime, coughed and snorted from my nose and mouth. What wasn’t ejected, slid back down my throat when I sobbed inwardly, prompting the next salvo of vomit.
While his fingers mercilessly plundered each throbbing orifice, my body screamed at me to escape the worst depravity and pain I’d ever suffered.
Wetness on my thighs warned me that I’d urinated again. It was at least the third time. A warm feeling spread across my midriff and thighs as an uncontrollable bladder burst, soaking the stinking duvet that was already soiled by my body fluids and their crusty semen.
“Erin just pissed herself again. I’m fucking sick of this with her. She stinks.”
“Swap her out and get another one, like I said. We’ll be a few more hours yet. Are you in Brian?”
“Yeah.”
Please, Brian… be a decent husband.
After Steve had fingered each hole, the guy sniffed his digits as though I were a side of rotten meat on which he was desperate to find a sliver of flesh that was less filthy than the rest that he might eat to survive.
He checked my anus, convinced it was his best chance for some sexual relief, using a forefinger and thumb to splay my well fucked, gaping hole wide open. I felt several micro cuts around my sphincter tear again, bleeding profusely no doubt, as he inspected me for usability.
“Hmm… maybe it’s still possible yet, but I can’t see too well. I’ll clean her asshole and see if that might work. If only she were awake, I could at least get a fucking hand-job.”
Oh, the fucking humiliation.
After Steve’s scrawny fingers prised my ass cheeks apart, I felt a wet tissue slide up and down my crack, painfully rubbing the puckered hole they had violently fucked at least six times. I felt ashamed having consented in writing to let them fuck me at Chester’s insistence. Every cock that demeaned me did so by my own permission, but I never agreed to their violence or disgraceful debasement.
My total humiliation was sealed every time someone offered an extra twenty dollars to empty their seed bareback inside my back passage. I took the money, handed it to Brian, then pointed my ass high while he threw the money into their poker pot.
“Nah, it’s no good, she’s fucking done… the whore is all used up. There’s too much shit, cum and blood mixed in around and inside her asshole. I ain’t fucking that mess, and with all you guys’ semen pouring out from her pussy, I think we’re about done with Erin.”
Steve tossed a soiled tissue at my head in obvious disgust, releasing both ass cheeks, slapping them hard to vent more resentment. I smelled the shit and decay of rotting blood, wanting my life to end purely from its shame.
“Get rid of her and make sure Chester knows not to send this one for our poker night for at least a month.”
“He won’t be able to.”
They laughed, but the voice and its message chilled me to the core. I suddenly felt an inherently evil presence nearby, horrifying me.
I tried desperately to lever myself off the bed, but after eight hours of drinking whiskey, sucking cock and being fucked many times over, I was in physical dire straits.
Earlier, while they played poker, I’d had some respite, but only until someone folded their hand and sought the company of their paid whore while his friends played on with my husband.
At one stage all three of my holes were being fucked at the same time while they ran a sweepstake on who could shoot their load inside me first.
They must know I needed emergency room attention after the last guy had fucked me because I vomited semen, booze and a cold, congealed kebab all over their moldy, makeshift whore fucking bed and ceramic tiled floor around it.
About an hour ago someone kicked me in the ribs, while another guy slapped my face repeatedly before shoving me roughly onto the bed into a warm pile of my puke. Now, as I slowly and painfully regained consciousness, tomato, lamb and other congealed vegetables were matted in my hair or dried onto both cheeks.
My throat felt raw after being forcibly fucked, splattered with burning semen and from repeated violent retching, gagging and choking on food and cock.
“Help me… please.”
“Fuck off whore.”
Someone threw a full beer can at me and I was sure it must have fractured a cheek bone because the pain felt excruciating. As I descended into a miserable dark abyss of my souls end, the final thoughts flickering through my mind like static on an old television screen were of a life completely wasted.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
I have a Harvard MBA, for fuck’s sake.
Why oh why? How the fuck did I get here?
Brian… please!
Two of them lifted and carried me downstairs, banging my head and arms around corners. Outside the apartment building, I was dropped on the sidewalk while they laughed and shared a cigarette.
I heard van doors open seconds before I was tossed onto a cold steel bed. Someone threw a sack over me and I smelled dog and dampness in its fibers.
When the vehicle slewed around bends or turned corners, I was tossed violently, unable to protect myself because the ropes binding me were far too tight. My head and knees banged repeatedly against metal wheel arches or the paneled van sides that I barely saw.
The driver slammed on his brakes, laughing when I slid the van length, smashing my head into its bulkhead. Rear doors opened someone forcibly rolled me with a booted foot three or four times until I dropped off the tailgate, cracking my head on another concrete sidewalk.
A warm oozing somewhere on the back of my head played a buzzing tune in my ears as I shivered when my jaw locked and teeth ground as I had a fit.
A man on his own dragged me across concrete gripping both ankles, lifting, then launching my limp body onto a heap of plastic bags and other debris.
I smelled rotten food and stale urine and was certain my head was trapped against a chain-link fence. Someone untied me, tossed the ropes aside, and then I was alone, naked and vulnerable with my life oozing away wastefully.
When the darkness came, I welcomed it as my only remaining friend, beckoning me into its comfortable blanket of everlasting sleep.
I heard a voice and felt a warm tongue licking my leg. A man shouted in utter horror and I flinched, terrified of what or who might degrade me next.
I couldn’t cry, scream or beg for mercy, so I surrendered to fate and ran back towards the darkness, my old friend.
“Quickly… bring a stretcher. She’s hurt badly.”
“Is she alive?”
“I don’t know. I fucking hope so.”
Someone gripped my wrist, hurting me where the ropes had ripped away my skin.
“She’s barely alive.”
“Oh, thank god. Poor woman.”
“What happened to her? Anything you can tell us will help for when we get her to hospital.”
“I was walking my dog. Someone must have dumped her here.”
I was lifted gently and placed on a soft bed with a clean sheet thrown loosely over me. Bright colored lights flashed past and I recognized the blurry outline of a face.
Brian. Is that you?
I was moving fast. Sirens wailed, hurting my brain, and I cried, choked and coughed.
“She’s being sick. Get a bowl to her mouth. Tell ER they’ll need to pump her stomach before giving anesthesia.”
“She’s got multiple fractures and loads of other injuries. I’d say her internal organs have been damaged as well.”
Brian… why the fuck did you let them do this to me?
I suddenly felt at peace. A clarity and exhilaration descended on me, wrapping my body in a comfortable, warm blanket. I knew how to escape the pain, humiliation and any further suffering easily.
“Fuck! Oh, fuck no!”
“What is it?”
“She’s going into cardiac arrest, pass me the paddles, set to 200 joules and get ready with one milligram of adrenaline.”
Brian, it was your gambling debt to pay off, not mine to work off. You cunt!
I saw my husband’s pathetic face stare coldly at me as if projecting from beyond the grave. He wasn’t sorry or anything else, just a couple of piss-hole eyes staring at me blankly from a bastard's face.
Bastard.
Others were with him, but their faces were obscured by the shadows. When they emerged into a dim yellow light, I saw my rapists. Six men, in an alleyway all wearing disgusting smiles except Brian.
The horsemen of the apocalypse were upon me with their acolytes, my husband and Chester flanking them.
Perhaps this is how it ends for me.
Next Chapter:
A Resurgent Whore #2
Welcome to chapter two of a new gritty noir series from ‘Sin Street’ created in partnership between Kate Granger and Sissitrix. Chapters published weekly on Friday’s. Follow a woman’s desperate tale of humiliation starting in a pit of despair before her rebirth, revenge and resurgence. This story begins in a dark place because it must.
Dive deeper into Sin Street on Sissitrix.com, where violence lurks in every alley and sex is a weapon. Brutal characters, tangled plots, and dark places in a corrupt neo-noir city that will drag you into its chaos. Written by Kate Granger, illustrated by Sissitrix.
Kate--First, I just subscribed to "Sin Street" this evening. I've seen you referencing it in your different E-Mail alerts, so I wanted to check it out. Congratulations to you and your collaborator, Sissitrix, for an incredibly terrifying, harrowing story! We're definitely not in the realm of Medium-style erotica fare here. This is brilliant, graphic, gloves-off writing. Mickey Spillane to the n-th degree. It's horrifying and enraging. Enraging on a visceral level. You did an incredible job of doing this from Erin's POV--they've tortured, terrorized, and degraded this woman indescribably--one of them her husband? And the drawings by Sissitrix add to the horror--very evocative. I felt her desolation--her abandonment--the poignant reference to a "Harvard MBA"--that her life was definitely not always like this, that it was turned around somewhere, I'm guessing by this bastard Brian, who was such a "catch" that he did this to her. Heartbreaking stuff, Kate--I wanted to do a John Wick on this sorry-assed, depraved bunch and get this girl out of there! But given that you both have launched this as a noir forum (one of my favorite genres, from the old-time hard-boiled stuff of Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, James M. Cain, et al, to the modern neo-noir stuff--and of course the different film versions--Tarantino and that lot), I've got the feeling that Erin will return, and do some John Wick-ing of her own, and settle accounts for good with her dirtbag, scumball, degenerate gambling bastard husband Brian! Highest marks to you both--keep at it--this is terrific, and terrifying stuff, but well-done, both in narrative and illustration--and unabashedly authentic--happens all over the world, in countless places, unreported.