The Walk of Shame

Lois strode through the alley, head held high as a whore that just got paid for ten minutes' work. She could feel the eyes of the john watch her backside as she went, and she tried not to think about the damp spot on her ass, or whether he could see it through the fabric of her pants. Probably not.

She kept walking.

They called it Suicide Slum because for many that lived there, that was the only way out. A one-way ticket which far too many had punched. Lois wondered for a moment what her own life would be like if this was her life.

Walking the streets, advertising the product. Showing tits and legs. No panties; she'd want to keep it accessible, ready to flash. Watching them approach, letting their eyes run over her, knowing that they want her—then the negotiation. Name a price. Acceptance. Then somewhere else...a hotel room, a car, maybe in an alley like that want. To suck dick. To take a long hard shaft up her pussy and ass. You could make some good money like that. She'd just made $120. A couple tricks a day would get her better money than the Daily Planet provided. And she could do it smart, maybe an escort service online, pick her clients. Top dollar for this pussy.

It could go the other way too, Lois knew. A lot of prostitutes ended up using something—speed, to stay awake and alert, help you get away if a trick turned rough, and that could turn into coke or meth if you weren't careful. Marijuana to relax you, keep your cool, make you open to what needed to be done. Ecstasy and poppers, to keep those holes relaxed, so they could just slide right in. **** cost money, took their toll. Hard living made it hard to keep your looks, pay your rent. Once you were out on the market a while, you got to be old pussy. Price would slip. Then you'd have to do more to make ends meet, feed the habit.

Group rates. Gangbangs. Rough play. Those all took their own toll.

Lois stopped on the edge of the Slum. She could feel something run down her leg, and her asshole was starting to burn a little. The bottle in her pussy was still there, omnipresent, a reminder of her long walk and what had brought it on, what she had done to get it. The reporter hesitated, as she looked across the street, only a couple blocks from her apartment. Like she was standing at the edge of a cliff, and the terrible gravity wanted her to fall...but which way, which way?

Because there was something about turning that trick that thrilled her. She felt dirty just thinking about some nameless prick bending her over in the alley, pressing the sweaty money into her hand. That's what she was worth, to him. It had been quicker and easier than Lois had ever imagined it could be. To fall from grace. And God help her, part of her wanted to do it again.