A crackhead finds a prize

Charlotte stood alone in the park at night in her tiny tartan skirt, transparent white blouse, and handcuffs. Shadows kept dancing in her eyes, and she was becoming terrified. Nothing was real. Was she really alone in the park at night? Girls got here. Why was she stupid enough to put herself in this position? She was defenseless, , wearing no panties. Stupid, stupid, stupid. At least the shadows were quiet. It was just her and the lightpost...

A scrawny, pale guy came out of the shadows. He was limping and oddly bluish. Without saying a word, he grabbed Charlotte's handcuffs and pulled her behind him. She stumbled in her heels.

"What?" she was at a loss. "Where are you taking me?"

He pulled her through bushes to the other side. There was a path, and a couple black guys in big tshirts.

"What. The. Fuck, Mike?" one of them swore.

"How much crack can I get for her?" the scrawny guy asked, fidgeting.

"No money, no crack, Mike."

"Hot girl's worth money. Gimme crack."

"Is she your ho?"

The crackhead nodded.

"I don't believe you, Mike. I think she's my ho, and I think you owe me money."

The dealer pulled Charlotte closer by her bare arm and kissed her sloppily.

"Yep, definitely my ho."

The scrawny white crackhead protested, but to no avail.

"No money, no crack, Mike. Get lost before I break your legs, ok?"

Charlotte felt weird, but she was actually getting turned on getting treated like an object to barter and sell. Maybe the dealer was going to pimp her out, make her sell her pussy and then take all of her earnings and slap her up. Maybe the other black guy was an enforcer, and he was going to fuck her too.