Photographer Wanted

I posted some photos of this girl -- a slut you may say -- on her hands and knees on my table. Her nipple is sticking out and her hair is pulled back. The camera takes photos from the front and then the sides and then the back: her rear is a full caboose on the loose, a wild mongoose drinking gray goose, a wild deuce, a cheap excuse for severe abuse, an angry zeus or (spanish accent) jesus, a bit obtuse, makes me want to squirt my lime juice, reproduce, when I see her pruned oriental spruce. Anyway. There she is sitting at -- not at, what am I saying? -- on this table. And she's not exactly sitting, she more posing doggie-style like one of the models -- a slut you may say -- in the magazines with plastic around them. The kind they sell in the hotels and bus station convenience stores. She also knows she's cheap: an average face with some minor skin troubles, pretty to some, okay to most, ugly to some. I posted these photos on the net and sent them to her by email. They got her wet and she called me from work begging to have me in the bathroom. I posted photos of that too, of her squatting uncomfortably in front of some dirty urinal with my johnson (literally, since I really am Johnson) in her mouth greasing her gears. The capper, maybe, was the video I shot in the subway bathroom. I had her bent over the bowl and was pumping her hard while you could hear a series of dirty farts explode from the next stall. I pulled out and blasted jizz onto her ass. These encounters became more profuse. Next time to seduce and give her white, creamy mousse was at an abandoned building. There was a spiral stairway in shadow and there I jammed it in her searching for gastric juice. 

That was the one that her fiance found anonymously online. He watched it once without even noticing it was the girl he had bought the ring for. He sat with his credit card next to the mouse pad and jerked it as a big cock devoured a ripe asshole -- it was like reattaching a stem to a black plum. He was more excited than he had been in years. Why can't my girlfriend act like this slut, he thought to himself with a mixture of longing for stemming a whore and pride at knowing he had himself found a good girl who wouldn't do this on a public stairwell of an abandoned building. Then he noticed two dimples on her ass -- just like his girl (a slut you may say) has. Although his parents were in the next room he turned up the volume and unmistakably found her voice egging on the stem to open her plum. She was like a an open, willing suffix and this guy was adding The Word to her. She was er and he was adulter (or maybe that was reversed). He was be and she was tray. She was ing and he was cheat. You get the idea, I think. The fiance was watching me putting my monster in her gem, revving the rpm of his femme, holding onto her hem to loose the baby juice. And as he watched her bent over, saying over and over that she was an ugly whore and a pig, he couldn't contain himself and shot himself on himself and then started to weep salty tears into his hands webbed already with salty semen. With those dirty hands he clicked and found her, nipples sticking out, on my table. He pasted this photo into the email he wrote her saying he couldn't date such a worthless whore (which incidentally is what she was repeating about herself when he watched me fuck her on the stairway). She called me crying. The whore asked, "how could you put them on the Internet."

"You're an ugly, useless whore. You're lucky you ever had my cock. You should immediately marry anyone who would take you." I hung up feeling  the pleasure of utter humiliation of a worthless whore.

I was back on the computer admiring the photos of her and other girls I had done this to when I heard a knock. I pulled up a pair of jeans, still unbuttoned and opened up the doory to find her standing there naked and crying. "I will be your ugly pig forever," she said and dropped down as soon as she stepped inside the house. She deepthroated my cock for me. I mean all the way down, with her tongue out and licking my balls. It was good. And it was raw. "You still should marry him, I said." Tears streamed from her eyes as I stretched her throat out. Then she showed me her wedding band and rubbed it against my balls.