The Young Master (Rated R)

1.18

The problem was...they didn't...at least not right away. No, Dale decided he'd rather make me suffer, rather see me squirm while I waited for the other foot to drop. Actually that's probably just wishful thinking. The truth is, Dale didn't think enough of me by that point to go out of his way to torture me. He knew all to well how willing I was to torture myself for his amusement. And boy oh boy, did I have a grand old time of it. Three fucking days without a so much as an "lol" texted to me. Three days of white knuckle terror wondering how he'd top his last stunt and blue balls wishing he'd get it over with. By the time he finally texted, "Cum up to my room. Time to pay me." I couldn't stop myself from running, but what he had prepared for me stopped me dead in my tracks.

I wondered when Dale had picked up a pair of silicon breast forms, that is until he showed me my credit card bill. So much for my little discretionary income I had left, instead I had liquid assets. Their weight felt strangely exhilarating, like I was stepping into Lola's skin, only with the safety net of knowing I'd lose the extra gravity when this was over. I could barely stuff them into a DD bra and the leather halter he had me wear just barely covered them, creating the illusion of a pair of very real, very large breast, straining to spill out. When I slipped into the leather mini skirt that gave a peak of the bottom of my perky ass and stepped into a pair of fuck-me-fishnets, it was pretty obvious this was going to be a ten-dollar-whore/belligerent john fantasy. But of course, it was much worse than that...

...

"Si, papi, y then he filled my culo up while the other two took turns making mi boca into a fuck-hole. The one stretching my ass had a nice cock, but not as grande as yours, papi." I was only telling him what he wanted to hear: fantasy encounters of a ten-dollar running a half off sale telling her pimp every dripping detail about her workday. Thank goodness I took Spanish in high school so I could stay in character. And that's all it was, staying in character. It started as the most humiliating ordeal he'd put me through, making me come up with increasingly degrading fantasies and telling him how much I loved them. To make it worse, I had to hand him over a little more of my allowance each time, as if I actually had earned it sucking cocks down at the bus station. But once he hiked my skirt up and starting fingering my asshole, I discovered my character's motivation and things came easier....

In a way I liked being Lola better than I liked being me. She wasn't ashamed of who she was, quite the opposite. Calling her the dirtiest whore on the eastern seaboard wasn't an insult, it was an accomplishment. Like winning the Nobel Piece of Ass Prize...or at least, that's how I imagined her to be. Latinas are fiery passionate lovers after all, and the way she beamed when Dirk slapped her ass, you'd think she owned him. At any rate, the more stories I told, the more I found her voice, and the more I got into sucking Dale's cock while he counted my money. Even when he laughed at me and called me a "puta punk bitch" after he coated my face with his cum, all I could do was smile and lick my lips. Maybe it was the pride of coaxing the biggest load from him yet, maybe I was just in Lola Land, or maybe it was that the moment his seed hit my face it sent a chain reaction of giddy glee all the way down to my own squirting sissy stick. Whatever the reason, all I wanted to do was tell him an even filthier story so he'd get hard enough to fuck my ass...

Which is what brought us to the senior center gangbang and my last five dollars. At the time I considered it money well spent as every shuddering blow of his hips drove his cock deep inside me, sending ravishing ripples across my flesh and making my 'breasts' slap hard against my chest. As I came, I became Lola completely, and in that one perfect momento, I felt bonita, and I loved it. 

It was so perfect that I got almost half way back to my room before my cum glazed haze wore off and I started to relive the stories as me, and retch at the thought of the filth inside me. And Dale, considerate as ever, was kind enough to send me texts of some of the 'choice bits' that made him 'lol'. I tried to see further than a day or two in advance, tried to fathom enduring this for even a month longer, much less two years, but I didn't have the courage to continue. I just pushed it out of my mind and tried not to ask myself if things could get worse...but life has a funny way of answering the questions you don't dare to ask. Yeah life can be real fucking funny sometimes...