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The fifty rupee whore part-5


“I am actually…well…. this is a little embarrassing… I want to try this business for a couple of nights.” I said. Begum looked at me with piercing eyes, and said,

“I am sorry, we don’t deal in gigolos. But I can make some calls to a friend and…”

“No, no. You misunderstood me.” I looked around, then moved on the couch until I was very close to her and said in a low voice, “I want to be a prostitute here.”

Begum gave a start, just as she was taking another puff, and that made her cough violently. As her coughing fit subsided after a minute or so, she said to me in a loud voice,

“WHAT??? YOU??? A PROSTITUTE HERE????”

“Yes, Begum.” I replied as she stared at me with her mouth open. Finally she closed her mouth and then said,

“OK, I get it. You are some rich woman with money trouble and you think you can earn thousands of rupees a night in this business. Well, looking at you” she paused and checked me out for a few seconds, “Yes, looking at you, I would say you can. By my guess, you could make at least ten thousand a night if not more. You are very pretty. Very pretty. And a great body too.”

“Thank you, Begum.” I said politely.

“But my dear, you have come to the wrong place. We don’t deal in that high class market. Those are rich Madams in Colaba. If you want, I can make some calls and get you in touch with them.”

“I know what my worth is in the high class market, Begum.” I said, not believing how easily I had started talking business like a prostitute. “I am not in this for money. I don’t need money. I don’t want to do anything in the high class market. I just want to be here for a couple of nights. Then I will leave Bombay.”

The Begum clammed up again, trying to compute this bizarre and unprecedented situation.

“Let me get this straight. You are clearly an educated woman, and probably a career woman. You say you don’t need any money. But you want to work for me here for a couple of nights….as a prostitute? Why? Just for the sex?”

I did not say anything. When the Begum spoke next, it was in a very gentle and caring voice,

“Are you sure you know what you are saying? What you are willingly getting into?”

“Yes, Begum, I do.” I replied meekly.

“Okay well… I don’t know what you motivations are, but you have come here of your own free will. I won’t look a gift horse in the face. You are very beautiful. I don’t get the super rich clients like those high class Madams do, but I am sure I can get some of my well-off Johns to pay as much as a thousand for one time with you…”

“No, that is not what I want.” I interrupted her.

“Excuse me?” she said puzzled.

“I am not here for your well-off clients. I want to be one of the women people pay the lowest amount…which is what fifty rupees?” I asked, and she nodded. “I want to service the fifty rupee clients.”

“Are you insane?” the Begum said, “You clearly have no idea how this business works. We have our ugliest, oldest and fattest whores working for fifty rupees. The kind of men who go for them are poor and uncouth barbarians, often old goats. they can be very rough and abusive.”

“I don’t care. That is what I want. Consider me as one of the fifty rupee whores. And don’t try to trick me by sending in men from whom you have taken more money just by telling them about me. I will be able to spot those men. I want the fifty rupee guys only.”

The Begum looked at me with a shocked expression on her face, as if trying to figure out what was making me say and do all this. Finally she put out her cigarette in an ash tray and said,

“I think you are the most insane woman I have ever met. But fine, we’ll have it your way. Tonight, you are a fifty rupee slut. I won’t try to upsell you to any of my richer clients. I’ll send the fifty rupee riffraff to you. But trust me, one swift buggering from a burly Pathan, and you’ll either beg me to send you the richer clients, or then run off with your hands on your asshole.”

I know she said what she said to scare me or warn me, but somehow the matter-of-fact way in which she described the scenario actually turned me on a bit. She asked me to accompany her and I followed her up a rickety flight of wooden stairs. She asked me if I wanted to wear the clothes I was wearing or change into something. I thought about how expensive the pantsuit was and opted for changing. She took me to a room with a cupboard full of clothes. I picked out a black knee-length wrap-around skirt and a white t-shirt that was actually one size too small for me.

“Remember to take your bra off too. None of the women here wear a bra while working. Your customers will never have seen one or unbuttoned one. One of them might just tear it off.”

I changed right there in front of her. The Begum looked at my almost-naked body as I changed and said.

“Oh Allah… those buttocks… those breasts…. those legs… that milky complexion… you could earn enough to live like a queen if you wanted. I still don’t understand why you want to exclusively service the fifty rupee guys.”

I didn’t say anything. What could I say? It had taken me ages to come to terms with my own fetish with these “fifty rupee guys” as she called them. There was no way I could explain it to her. Freud himself would probably have a tough time explaining what I was doing. I folded my clothes, put them on a chair, and stood up, my breasts jutting out of my tight t-shirt. The Begum led me up another flight of stairs and took me to a small room. All it had was a folding chair, a small table and a bed. There was a small sink in the corner that the Begum told me I could use to wash up. Hanging next to the sink on a nail was a small handtowel.

“Let me ask you this one last time. Are you sure you want to go through with this” Begum asked me. I paused, and genuinely did think it over. After about thirty seconds, I said,

“Yes, I want to do it.”

“Okay, then. What name should I tell your clients for you?”

“Constance….Connie for short…” I said.

“Connie… OK…weird name.” said the Madam, clearly a woman unfamiliar with D.H.Lawrence.

She left, closing the door behind her. I walked around the room a bit, and then sat down on the bed waiting for my first client. Mostly excited and titillated, but somewhere inside, also disappointed at myself for willingly becoming a prostitute at a brothel, even if for a couple of nights.

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Back to Birju, I was wondering if he would last as long inside me as Zahid was able to. I got the answer in the negative very soon as he started groaning, thrusting harder, and filled me with his jizz. Maybe it was the excitement and pleasant shock of fucking someone as young and beautiful and I daresay, unattainable as me.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh” he said, as he collapsed on top of me, without supporting himself on his elbows or anything, and I felt like my ribs would crack under the pressure. I pushed him off me and lay there….feeling the cum drip out of my pussy. Birju stared at me with bloodshot eyes as I put my fingers into my pussy and took out a gob of cum. I looked at it for a few seconds and then swallowed.