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It was simple: get in, get out. But I always hated parties.

When she speaks, it is hesitantly, though her eye contact remains bold in the mirror. "What do you mean?"

I finish with the water and turn off the faucet. I return her look.

"If fucking makes you feel good, do it. People are prudes. Nearly everyone's repressed. Last weekend I spent the day in a halfway house basement getting fucked in all my holes by a dozen ex-cons."

Her mouth hangs open.

"I met these guys, they wanted to fuck me, I let them, they told their friends. So now I fuck their friends. I let them do whatever they want to me, and they fucking adore me for it."

She begins, "But..." and doesn't continue.

I say, "The trick is not to want anything but fucking. A hard cock does not equal a loving relationship." I throw my wad of paper towels in the trash. I turn to her. "Let 'em fuck you. Let 'em come all over you. Hell, let 'em piss on you if they want. Eat it up. Then get up and go home. I promise you, they'll call."

I walk over to where she's still standing, still staring at me in the mirror, even though I'm right beside her now. I flip open my phone and scroll to my pictures. I show her the one of Ray-Ray pissing in a great arc into my open mouth while Daddy and his friend from the Salvation Army shelter dp me. Boudro took the picture for me. I was just looking at it a moment ago while squatted on the toilet and sucking the butt plug in and out of my ass.

"Look at what I let them do to me. I don't love any of them. And they're crazy about me."

As we both stare at the image she whispers, "Do you want me to eat your pussy?"

I whisper back, "Do you want me to love you for it?"

She sighs, and in a normal voice says, "No, I guess not. I'd just do it 'cause we're both, like you said, big fat whores."

We are still looking at the picture of me as the fuckable negro toilet. I say, "I'm not really into chicks, but I hate to turn down anybody who offers to eat my pussy." She is holding her breath. I get the sense that she doesn't even really want to, but is accustomed to groveling and making herself worthless with easy offers like this. This is why I say yes. Normally all my energy is focused on my own degradation. It is a novel situation for me to be able to, and to want to, orchestrate the degradation of someone else. And how nice, that she will, like me, see the degradation as the sex act, more than the act itself.

She tears herself away from looking at my picture and pulls a strip of paper and a pen from her purse. She scribbles something on the scrap and tries to hand it to me. I don't even lift my hand. "What is that?"

Embarrassed (good!), she mumbles, "My number. So we can, uh, hook up."

I take her chin in my hand, gently. I am the mentor here. I make her look at me.

"If you are capable of being the slutty cunt I think you are, you can eat my pussy right here, right now." I smile, to soften it, because I feel her recoil. I want to push, to make her uncomfortable, but not so much that she flees. Not so much that I don't get my clit licked.

She is so uncomfortable! Pathetic fat girl turned wooden as I take her by the hand and pull her into the handicapped stall. Her fear is palpable. So is her excitement though.

I tell her to sit, and she's obedient enough, lowering herself clumsily onto the toilet. I was just in here, shoving the butt plug in and out of my ass.

I strip in a no-nonsense fashion. In less than thirty seconds my expensive silk suit hangs from the steel hook on the metal door. I am standing naked in front of her in my pumps and garter stockings. My pussy is, as always, bald and split. Some girls can keep all their bits tucked away, but my labia are fat and long. They push out my slit. This girl looks, then looks away.

I say, "Look at my cunt, whore." She is so uncomfortable! I say, "Have you ever even eaten anybody's pussy before?"

I can barely hear her when she answers, "I did it twice."

I say, "Did you like it?"

She says, "Not really." But then, wanting to please, "But I am bisexual."

But I'll bet she's not.

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