Content Warning: This story uses sex work as a way of degrading a fictional woman for the purpose of kink. In reality sex work is valid work, and those who perform it have no less human dignity for doing so. This story is a work of kinky fiction that leverages social stigma for erotragic effect. There's also emotional abuse, cheating, and heteronormativity here.
Hazel sat beside the door and listened to her husbands footsteps, his car starting, rolling out onto the road, and accelerating away. She waited in stillness for 10 minutes before walking out the door herself. Same as every morning.
The motel was the kind of shithole that still advertises they've got cable TV. It took over an hour to get there. She'd asked if she could take her car, but Master said the walking kept her fit. The chainsmoking old woman didn't try to chat anymore. She just took the $20 and gave Hazel her room key. Hazel sat on the creaky bed and waited. Same as every morning.
An hour later a man walked in. A kid. Some greasy highschooler with an aspirational mustache. She stood, hands folded, eyes looking at the floor. It's what Master told her was the proper thing to do when a man entered the room.
"Uh...are you the, um" the kid stuttered. Hazel curtsied.
"I'm anything you want me to be, Sir."
He fumbled through his business. Asked her to undress, covered her with experimental caressing and pinches before escalating to uninspired dirty talk. He asked her to lie down, and wiggled on top of her for a minute before releasing in her, then hurrying out the door. It was the most sexless sex she could remember having for a long while, but personal pleasure isn't what she was here for. Hazel's role was to satisfy, not be satisfied. That is what Master had taught her. A man had used her to cum, what more could she ask for?
Next was the construction worker. He had her lie on her back with her head hanging over the edge of the bed, and pounded into her mouth like it was any other hole. Over the sound of his balls slapping against her nose she heard him repeatedly call her a "stupid white trash hooker." She couldn't stop herself from crying about that. It hit too close to how she felt about herself. She held it in until he left, though. Smiled and told him it was the best throat fuck she'd had in weeks. Her insecurities didn't matter. That's what Master had taught her.
The college bro brought his friends to watch. When he boasted that he was about to "fuck this bitch's ass raw," they hooted and hollered and cheered him on. It wasn't the biggest dick Hazel had ever had in her butt. Not even close, but she gave them her best performance. She cried out in pain, tried to scoot away, clutched at sheets. She begged him to slow down, to be gentle with her. She knew it would only egg him on. She was all cried out from earlier, and had to bite the inside of her cheek pretty hard to bring tears to her eyes. She managed to give them a good cry. After he came they all high fived one another and left. She made sure her sobs were loud enough for them to hear as they walked away. She felt good about that one. She'd helped him feel like a man, the way Master always told her to.
Finally there was the fat guy. Slacks and tie type, real worked up about something. All he wanted to do was slap her face, which he did for about 40 minutes. Crying for him was easier. It hurt, but it was a good pain. He needed this. She gave him what he needed. That's what Master said her body was for: to give men what they needed.
It was afternoon. She cleaned herself up for the walk home so she could be there when the schoolbus dropped off her children. The walk home was always harder. It was sore work. 'A woman's burden' Master called it. There were still twenty minutes before her children got home. She turned on her computer.
"Did I do a good job today, Master?"
"As good as can be expected. I can't charge much for an old worn out slut like you."
"I'm sorry, Master."
"It's alright pet. You're trying. At least you're doing more with your life than when we started."
"Yes Master, thank you. Have I...earned a touch, sir? May I cum?"
"You're $800 short of that missy girl. Go be a good cunt and take care of your crotch goblins. They should be home soon, right?"
"Yes Master."
"Make yourself useful. I have more work for you tomorrow."
Hazel closed the computer. Her fingers played at the button of her jeans before she pulled them away. She squeezed her thighs together and bit her lip hard. Obedience. Obedience. Obedience.
She'd never met the man on the other side of the screen. Didn't know any name for him but "Master." He'd told her that's how it should be. His name was for people, not for whores. She guiltily rubbed her thighs together and wished for the thousandth time that she could just unplug the computer and be satisfied with her husband. That was no good. No man would ever be able to take charge of her the way the man behind the screen could. No man knew the depths of her like her Master.
Hazel heard noise from the doorway, and went to make some peanut butter sandwiches.
Thanks to Hazel for requesting this story.
