Rags to Riches for Dumb Bitches

1 day's rent- 1 credit deducted.

1 day's clothing- .5 credits deducted. Please select clothing.

The clothing allotment was standard feminine attire- high heels, optional hosiery, panties, bra or shirt, miniskirt, dress that could replace the skirt and top. She picked the standard job interview outfit for the modern woman. Black heels, black stockings, black miniskirt, black crop top that looked like a blazer from a hundred years earlier but cut to show the midriff. The only concession to color was the pink thong that would playfully flash any time she was doing anything but standing perfectly still with her legs pushed together.

.2 credits remaining.

She needed today to go well or she would be back stripping on the stage where she started two years ago.

"Get the fuck up, you little slut. I need to clean up your cum from last night."

Deep in the crevices of the building, a computer monitor flashed. "DEGRADATION OF ANOTHER FEMALE. .1 CREDITS AWARDED."

That was her maid Emily. In the public housing complex, the maids were in charge of keeping whores like Laura in line. Laura earned her credits every time she performed sex acts. Emily got hers every time she degraded another woman. Sometimes it was just an insult. Sometimes much worse. A bitch had to fill a quota.

Outside the building, she walked toward the exits in the chain link fence. She pulled aside her underwear and inserted the dildo hanging by the gate. A pleasant buzz greeted her. The gate slid open and she walked through.

The next woman behind her inserted the dildo. No buzz. A mechanical voice announced "Balance insufficient for exit. Report to collections." The woman looked at the freedom beyond the gate and then tearfully walked away.

Laura was reminded of her end goal. She'd started like all the others, stripping and dancing on stage. That wasn't a route to success though. You could only make .1 credits an hour from that. Barely enough to cover for rent after shaking your ass all day. You'd never get clothes or time outside the complex. You had to get guys to fuck you. Sex was much more valuable- .2 credits for blow jobs, .3 for pussy, .5 for ass.

Laura remembered being sent to collections. She had decided one time to take the night off from dancing. What were they going to do? That was the first time she had met Emily in her maid outfit. A blank, white room with fluorescent lights. Emily had strapped her down, strapped her tits and butt, and rubbed a burning ointment on her pussy. That was enough motivation to avoid vacation days.

Laura walked around the building. The back entrance, for the women's public housing, was chain link fence and grimy aesthetics. The front was the entrance to the brothel. Shiny, sleek. At first, there was a steady stream of men walking by and eye fucking her. She followed the directions she'd been given and walked as quickly as the heels and tight skirt would permit. The hallways slowly narrowed, doors got closer together, and eventually she entered a small, brightly lit office. It was empty except for a television screen and a dildo attached to a pistoning machine. It was identical to the office where she had met Emily.

When she was on stage, she could never see who was in the audience. She was pretty sure sometimes there wasn't an audience. But she would make sure to be the sexiest on stage anyway. Some of the others would just move their hips to music, but she stripped off her clothes, fingered her twat, groped and ground on the other girls no matter what their reaction was.

It got her fucked a lot. Eventually she had enough clients requesting her that she didn't have to spend any time on stage and could just fuck all day. She'd expected to be making more credits, but it turned out spending more time in the bedrooms meant more time with the maids and their bullshit punishments. So, therefore, the solution was to be a maid.

The first few interview questions were standard about how to handle a cock. She had no idea whether men were involved in the management of the public housing brothel at all, or if they just set up the computers. She performed just like on stage, never knowing who was watching. Eventually the basic questions ended and the screen started asking her about discipline.

How she would establish her authority. How she would punish women. How the punishments would fit the offense. She listed all the nastiest insults she knew and the best way to hurt the female body. Eventually the questions paused. The man on the screen blipped briefly. "Congratulations. We now proceed to practical testing. You will have access to a standard disciplinary kit." A panel slid open and revealed the toys that Emily had made her so familiar with.

"Two bitches have not met their quotas." A split screen showed on the left the woman she had seen at the gate...and on the right Emily. "To interview for maid level 1, touch the left half of the screen and punish that woman. To interview for the disciplinary specialist position, tough the right half of the screen and punish that woman."

It was no question. She touched the right half of the screen. Another panel slid open. Emily was tied and ball gagged.

"You know, bitch, it's funny. The day we met was your interview for the maid position, wasn't it? That's why I recognize this room. I wonder if it's the same one or if there's enough bitches needing punishment that there's a bunch of them. Well, I figure if what you did is good enough to get a job, I'll do the same but with a little extra." And she did give a little extra. When she met Emily there hadn't been a strap on dildo. She used it with vigor and joy.

Deep in the crevices of a building, a computer monitor flashed "WET PUSSY NOTED. SADISTIC LESBIAN TENDENCIES NOTED. CANDIDATE IDEAL MATCH FOR POSITION."

Up in the office, the television screen flashed back to life. "Congratulations, Laura. You've been given the disciplinary specialist position. Please fuck this bitch until you cum. She has not met her quota, and she will be sent to a collections prison until she does."

Laura finished as instructed. The door opened and she saw two lady cops. "The fuck are you looking at, slut? I saw that pathetic performance. You think you know how to use a strap-on? Face the corner before I show your pussy how it works."

Deep in the crevices of the building, a computer monitor flashed "DEGRADATION OF ANOTHER FEMALE. .1 credits granted."

And Laura had another job that she wanted to apply for.