Chapter 72

"What do you think you're doing?!" Came, at last, an infuriated cry.

A gentleman in his late fifties and equally furious-looking wife stopped your unsuitable pageant dead in its tracks. He waggled his finger threateningly in front of Esmerelda's nose and gesticulated manically with every word that spat out from beneath his twitching moustache.

"Who are these… women… and why are they dressed like that?!"

The pause around 'women' had been directed more toward Terry, whose backstreet hormone treatments had not yet managed to shift the tomboy-ish outlook of his slender form. Which made you all the more self-conscious about the dichotomy between your silicone-inflated chest and overfilled thong-front. This did not seem like a couple who had caught up with modern views on gender and sexuality.

The Mayor's daughter, however, was undaunted. For a girl in her late teens, she was not at all bowed by ideas like the authority and wisdom of age.

"Why, they're whores." She answered; calmly, helpfully. Like she was explaining something very obvious to a child. "So how else do you expect them to dress?"

The bluntness of the teen's reply, combined with the unflinching surety of her stare, clearly caught the couple by surprise.

"But you can't just drag them around like that, where people can see them! It's… indecent! Unsanitary!"

Even as the stranger continued uttering his complaint… you could see he was losing the battle. Esmerelda simply didn't recognise his point of view as valid in the slightest. Why shouldn't she be allowed to walk her half-naked human sextoys through town? The Mayor's daughter felt no guilt or fear whatsoever, and thus offered nothing for this inferior specimen to take hold of.

She chuckled, as an idea came to rest in her twisted young mind. "We're offering out free samples, to advertise our new brothel! One of them could give you a blowjob in that alley over there… if you wanted?"

Now the man was really taken aback. None of this had gone at all as he'd expected, when he'd stormed up full of indignation. He looked back at his wife in desperation, the shrew-like woman having simply played back up dancer to this whole charade so far.

Surprisingly, she just shrugged and muttered: "Well you're not going to be getting one off me any time soon…"

So it was, that you ended up with knees to concrete once again… Wiping your own saliva up and down the length of yet another old man's genitalia. The owner of such flesh looked down upon you with what best could be described as a mix of fascination and disgust. As if he thought he could still disapprove of this whole idea, while personally benefiting from it. Human beings really were rather strange, you mused, swallowing down a full length of one in the dirty surroundings just a little off the main thoroughfare. In the way they so proudly denied the things they actually wanted in life, just out of spite for others.

There was a pressure on the back of your head, as the man's wife pushed you down further onto her partner's cock. Gleefully **** you upon it, then roughly pulling you free again. Oh, she didn't want to see people like you walking the streets at all… but if you were going to be pleasuring her man in a public alleyway, she wanted you to do it properly. There was the dichotomy, after all: They loved the opportunity to hate you in person. Treat you like the dirty, little slut you were. They just didn't want anyone else to know how much they'd enjoy it.

It didn't take long for the old man to pop; guided by his Mrs to send streams of thick, gooping semen across your face. Somehow, you got the feeling such a release was rare treat for him… considering the simple amount of the stuff that seemed to just keep pouring out. A fact that might go some way to explaining the pair's general demeanour too, you felt. All you could do was close your eyes and just let the warm spurts shower over you. Basking a little, in the mildly horrendous experience of being ejaculated over by someone who held your entire existence in utter disdain.

Once it was done, the middle-aged couple scurried off without a single glance back. Trying to avoid the condescending grin plastered all over Esmerelda's face perhaps… though you were sure they could still feel it upon their backs nonetheless. Terry helped you to your feet, and to scoop at least a little of the warm goop from your eyelids. No-one offered you a tissue however. By now it rather went without saying: your paying customer and step-sister would delight in watching you waddle along with a stranger's spunk dripping from your cheeks. So back out into the sun you were led, trying to blink your vision clear, but catch none of the aghast faces you passed.