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The fifty rupee whore part-7


The Begum did not visit me again that night. But eight more men did. Young and old, thin and fat, tall and short, with dicks of all sizes. Two of them banged me together, like Zahid and Mansoor had. I was fucked in the pussy, in the mouth and in the ass. I was slapped and spanked, bit and mauled. One man made me keep my “Inglisss” clothes on while he fucked me, and made me scream english expletives as he did it. Another said I should call myself Zarina. Finally when the sun rose, and my tenth dick for the night came inside me, my whole body was sore and aching. But beyond everything, the most dominant feeling was one of contentment and satisfaction.

I got up and went downstairs. Went to the changing room, where the Begum was talking to two women. I changed out of my “whore clothes” and into my pantsuit in front of them un-self-consciously, even as the three women kept staring at my naked body covered with bruises, hickeys and bite marks.

“Here are your earnings for the night.” The Begum came to me with a small wad of currency notes, “450 rupees for ten men. We keep ten percent as commission.”

“She fucked ten men on her first night? I wasn’t able to do ten in my first week!” one of the women whispered to the other.

I took the money. I didn’t need it, and I could have asked the Begum to keep it. But somehow I decided to keep it for now.

“I will be back tonight.” I said “And the night after that. I will leave Bombay after that.”

“Alright. See you tonight. I get the feeling your first customer tonight is going to be the same as your first customer last night, but this time he will bring his friends.” the Begum said as I walked out of the room and down the stairs.

As I walked outside and on the street, I must have been quite a sight. I did not have a black eye or any major bruises on my face, but the smaller marks made it amply obvious that I had been slapped around. Sure enough, I drew a fair share of stares.

I walked for about a kilometre and finally hailed a taxi. Got in, asked him to take me to my hotel. On the way, the taxi stopped at the Haji Ali signal where a little girl came to the taxi window selling some trinkets. I took one trinket and gave her 450 rupees I was still clutching in my hand. She looked at with with shock.

“Keep it.” I said.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!! You are a very nice woman!!” she shouted as the light turned green and the taxi pulled away.

As I heard the words, tears filled my eyes and I started crying uncontrollably. Bawling, is more like it.

“I am sorry Abhay, I am sorry” I kept repeating.

The taxi driver was looking at me in his rear view mirror, but not saying anything. After about five minutes I stopped crying, rubbed my face clean. The taxi pulled into my hotel and stopped in front of the entrance.

“That will be 70 rupees.” the driver said.

I put my hand in my purse to pay him…paused for a second, smiled to myself and said,

“Umm… I gave away all the money to that little girl. I have money in my room upstairs. Come up with me and I’ll give it to you.”

“That’s OK Madam. I’ll wait here. You can bring it down, or then send it with some bellboy.”

“No No, I insist. Park your taxi here and come up. And I’ll really give it to you.” and I winked at him.

The driver parked his taxi in an alley next to the hotel, and we went into the hotel together. The receptionist looked at us with a curious expression on her face as we stepped into the elevator together.

I put my hand on his shoulder, felt his taught body, and said,

“I know I owe you 70 rupees, but I am going to pay you only 20 in cash.”

The elevator door closed and it started moving.