Extrasensory deprivation

Author's Note: This story has been posted to Literotica. Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.

Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.

**..**

This is a dark tale.

This is a dark, sordid tale.

This is a dark, sordid and very bleak tale.

**.**

Amilynne Rachel Turner walked up the metal steps of the Budget Stay Motel's external staircase. With each step, she could feel the hem of her short skirt caressing the bottom of her ass cheeks. She could feel the weight of her waist-length blonde hair bouncing in the thick ponytail. She could feel her hard nipples drag back and forth, back and forth as the steps mace her unfettered breasts gently sway from side to side.

Every so often, one of the steps would groan or creak underneath her feet. There was very little sound other than her steps; there was no traffic on this isolated avenue. Even during business hours, there was very little traffic; most of the businesses had boarded up and moved away.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she searched for Room 203. She knew this was a dangerous game she was playing. Each time she ventured out, met a new customer she knew it could be the last time she played this game.

She took one last look around the neighborhood at the run-down urban blight. This area of the city had never enjoyed any real prosperity and each year brought it closer and closer to its complete demise. Walking from where the ride-share had let her out to the steps of the outside staircase of the motel, Amilynne had been approached four times by panhandlers demanding money. But as she told them, she wouldn't be here if she had any money.

In the dying sun, the desolation stretched all around. There was little traffic, cars or pedestrians to break up the harsh lines and faded colors. Standing on the concrete walkway, she could smell rotted garbage and other smells.

"Rust. Does rust have an odor?" Amilynne asked herself.

Turning, the attractive nineteen year old blonde gave two knocks, then one knock and two knocks. That had been her last text message to 'George.' She would knock twice, then once, then twice again. Their first text message exchange had verified that neither Amilynne nor George were affiliated in any way, shape or form with any law enforcement agency.

"I, uh, I, hi," the forty two year old man stammered as he opened the motel room door.

"Hi, Sugar," Amilynne snapped her gum, revealing all of her pearly white teeth.

She almost giggled as the middle-aged salesman blinked. She knew she was pretty; her first and only boyfriend had said she was beautiful. She had a lightly tanned square face, deep brown eyes, a snub nose and pouting pink lips. Standing at five feet, five inches and having 32C breasts with light brown areolae the size of half-dollar coins, a 28 inch waist and 31 inch hips and perfect heart shaped ass above sculpted thighs, she had graced a few magazine pictorials; the most recent being Parasols Magazine.

Before George could invite Amilynne in, she snapped a quick cell phone picture of him and sent it to Coleen, her roommate. Then, without waiting to be invited in, Amilynne pushed past the still stammering man.

The room was just like hundreds of other motel rooms. A queen sized bed, headboard affixed to the wall, cheap polyester bedspread and three misshapen foam rubber pillows. One pressboard nightstand, holding a garish metal lamp with stained lampshade, weak LED bulb barely giving off enough light to see the cheap digital alarm clock-radio. Near the heavy curtains was a small table and two chairs. Over the table was another light fixture, also with an LED bulb that gave off little light. The bed faced a low dresser and on that dresser was a 24 inches monitor that was bolted to the top of the dresser. To the right of the television was a faded mirror.

The motel room had the same odor of many motel rooms. A slightly decaying aroma underlying the chemical odor of the cleaners the housekeeping staff used. The cheap floral scent of the detergent they used to clean the sheets and polyester bedspreads.

Amilynne smirked; the television was showing a pornographic movie. For a moment, she could not tell the genre George had decided to watch. It could have been 'Anal' as the cute blonde was being roughly sodomized by a thick cock. Or it could have been 'Blonde' even though the girl's eyebrows were suspiciously dark. Or it could have been 'Shaved' because her snatch was nice and smooth.

"License," Amilynne demanded as George closed the door of the room.

"Huh?" George asked.

"License. License. Your driver's license," Amilynne demanded, putting her hand into her purse for her.38 snub nose.

"Oh, oh yeah," George said, reaching for his back pocket.

According to the Ohio driver's license, George was the man's real name. George Whitaker. Amilynne snapped the photograph and sent it to Coleen. When she handed the license back to George, she casually blew a bubble with the bright pink bubble gum. Giving the still nervous man a sassy smile, Amilynne spat the gum into a tissue and dropped the gum and tissue into the wastebasket at the end of the low dresser. This did two things; it got rid of the flavorless gum and it left her DNA in the room. George didn't look dangerous, but Amilynne knew that looks could be deceiving.

"Got the money, Sugar?" Amilynne asked, stepping up and lightly running her fingertips over his surprisingly hard left pectoral.

"I uh, two, two fifty, right?" George asked, producing a few bills folded over.

"Mm hmm," she cooed, brushing his lips with hers before taking the money from his right hand.

She quickly verified the amount then dropped the bills into her purse. She zipped the purse then put the purse onto the table. She then slipped her feet from her canvas sneakers, put one knee onto the stiff foam mattress and reached down for George's belt.

"Here, let me," George insisted, pulling his loose pullover shirt up and off.

His chest had some hair on it. His arms were muscular, his shoulders were broad and his arms were tanned. His chest and flat belly were pasty white, showing that George rarely went shirtless in public.

His hair was beginning to gray but was still dark brown. His eyes were also chocolate brown, separated by a nose that had been broken at one time or another. His oval face was not handsome but was rather plain, other than the broken nose.

Tossing his shirt into the miniscule closet, George then kicked his suede loafers toward the small closet.

Amilynne smirked; his shirt had been a navy blue in color; his shoes and belt were tan and his slacks were khaki. Yet, his socks were black Gold toe brand. On the television, an Asian woman was being sodomized by a heavily freckled red head wearing an incredibly large strap-on cock.

"See you like anal," Amilynne commented, nodding toward the television.

"I uh, it, that, that's what was on when I turned the TV on," George lied as he slid his khakis down his pale hairy legs

"It's cool," Amilynne said, smirking once more at the sight of the knee high black socks. "I like anal too."

"I uh, oh yeah?" Georg said, sliding his plain white cotton briefs down.

Amilynne stared for a long moment at George's fat cock and heavy balls. He was circumcised with a fat plum shaped head, thick shaft with a tick vein and dark patch of hair.

"Oh Sugar, that, we're going have so much fun," Amilynne cooed.

She unbuttoned then pulled her blouse off, dropping the garment onto one of the wobbly chairs. She let him feast his eyes on her teardrop shaped breasts and hard nipples for a long moment, then unzipped her pleated skirt. The ridiculously short garment joined her blouse on the chair and she stood, letting him get a long look at her lightly tanned body and freshly waxed crotch. Turning, she let him see her smooth back and perfectly formed buttocks as she crawled onto the bed. She then patted the mattress, inviting him to join her.

He clumsily lay onto the mattress. He began babbling something; apparently George was still nervous about the whole thing. Amilynne had noticed the very thick wedding band on his hand when he'd opened the door; perhaps this was his first time cheating on his wife.

Amilynne silenced his pointless blathering with a soft kiss to his lips, then a firm finger over his mouth. She gripped his throbbing cock in her small hand and gave the smooth shaft a few firm strokes. Judging from the look in his eyes, it would not take much to coax the first load o semen from him.

With another feather light kiss to his lips, Amilynne bent and took the plum shaped head into her mouth. She could taste his excitement already oozing from the tip of his manhood as she flicked her tongue all around his cock, bathing it with her saliva.

Again, he started talk; apparently this was something his wife refused to do for him. Amilynne let him prattle on and on as she focused her attention on sucking cock.

Humming the Star Spangled Banner while he was thrust into her mouth to the hilt did shut him up. With a strangled scream, George pumped several ropes of semen into Amilynne's gullet. None too gently, he pushed her head away from his cock.

"Sorry. Sorry. Too, always so sensitive after I come," he apologized.

"That's okay. Some guys are like that," Amilynne agreed.

Laying back on a misshapen, clumpy pillow, Amilynne watched the mindless pornography on the television. A brunette was using a strap-on cock to sodomize a handsome man while he sodomized a petite Asian. Amilynne wondered where the remote control for the television was; she didn't see it anywhere in the motel room.

Reaching down, she gripped George's cock and lightly stroked it. Soon, it began to rise and Amilynne smiled at the man. She could smell his sweat now. He had smelled of cheap bargain brand soap earlier; his cock had tasted of soap tinged with just a little sweat. She appreciated the fact that he was not marinating in cheap after-shave.

She took him into her mouth once more, working him to full erection. Then, she swiveled around, straddling his hips.

"Oooh!" they both groaned as his cock slid slowly into her tight wet folds. She watched his eyes as he glanced down to see his cock sliding into her hairless mound. While he watched her fucking herself on his cock, George's hands reached up to play with her tits.

"God damn, o God damn, that, oh, that's nice," he praised as she used her PC muscles to squeeze him in her depths.

She could tell he was close; over the past few minutes, his breathing had become more and more ragged. She reached down and began rubbing her clitoris while continuing her bouncing gait. He panted and groaned and hunched up to meet her down strokes.

"Oooh!" she sighed as she achieved a mild orgasm.

"Argh!" he cried out as his sperm flooded into her depths.

"Yes, oh yes, yes, that's it, that's it," Amilynne encouraged, still rubbing herself.

When he was fully flaccid, Amilynne dismounted. Again, she lay on the bed to his right, idly watching a heavily freckled red head with impossibly large breasts being made airtight on the television. She could feel his semen trickling from her splayed lips, slowly dribbling along the insides of her thighs.

"Never had three at the same time," Amilynne admitted, watching the very fluid choreography of the four actors.

"Makes two of us," George admitted, watching the action on the television.

As his cock slowly revived, Amilynne could feel her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. This, this was the truly dangerous part. Meeting a stranger in a decrepit motel room, charging a strange man for sex was risky enough.

She'd survived a handful of these encounters and had only once needed to pull her handgun from her purse. The bastard had decided he wanted his money back, even after she'd blown him twice.

"Can I trust you?" she whispered into his ear.

"I uh, yeah, I, I guess. I mean, what, what you want?" George stammered, her odd question catching him off-guard.

"I want you to choke me," she whispered.

"You what?" he asked, sitting up slightly to gape at her.

"While you're fucking my ass," Amilynne said, crawling off of the bed.

"Hey, I, I'm not into that kinky shit," he protested as she grabbed his belt from his discarded trousers.

"Aw, come on Sugar," Amilynne pouted as she looped his belt around her throat.

"You, you're serious?" George squawked as she unzipped her purse and produced a tube of lubricant.

"Just until I give you the signal," Amilynne purred, coating his stiff cock with the thick gel.

That afternoon, after she'd given herself two enemas, Amilynne had thrust the tube into her rectum and squeezed a dollop of the lubricant into herself. She'd learned after the first time, most men did not realize that the anus des not produce any lubrication.

With George still squawking his protests, Amilynne got onto the bed on hands and knees facing the television. Slowly, George got onto his knees, stiff cock bobbling as he knee-walked to her.

"Okay, Sugar, when I give you the signal," Amilynne said, showing him the signal of thumb, index and middle fingers extended, "You need to stop. Got it?"

"Okay, uh, how, how I do this?" George nervously said, greasy head of his cock grazing along her left buttock.

"Just grab the belt and start pulling," Amilynne counseled. "Just start pulling; don't be a pussy about it."

"How, how's a pretty girl like you get into this kind of shit?" George asked as he tried to stuff his cock into her resisting hole.

"Long story," Amilynne said, reaching back and guiding his cock into her anus. "Oh! Oh God, I, I love an up..."

<.<.<.<

Amy Lynne Heissman met Robert 'Bobby' Turner when he was filling out the loan application for a brand new BMW E class convertible coupe. She made him laugh when she made gagging sounds at the metallic green color he'd chosen. The handsome man invited the pretty blonde on a ride and she told him she got off at four.

The back seat was somewhat cramped but they did christen the plush leather seat. After dinner at a nearby seafood restaurant, they christened the couch in the living room of his condominium. Once upstairs, they again fucked, this time using a bed.

Four months later, Amy Lynne told Bobby she was knocked up. Bobby stepped up and married the girl; he was elated to make their frequent fucking a permanent situation.

Amilynne Rachel Turner was adored by both parents, Bobby's mother and father, and by Rachel Heissman, Amy Lynne's mother. Bobby had asked once, only once where Amy Lynne's father might be.

"Prison if there is a God. Dead and in Hell if there is a Satan," Rachel had said.

During her pregnancy, Amy Lynne had been a good wife. She was not a good cook, was not big on house cleaning, but she loved sucking cock and fucking. She also knew to keep a refrigerator filled with beer.

Amy Lynne as a parent was a disaster. Often, Bobby would work all day, come home, and have to work all night as Amy Lynne ran off to 'clear my head.'

On Amilynne's first day of kindergarten, Amy Lynne called Bobby's place of work and left a message with the dispatcher that this was adios, sayonara, toodeloo, good bye and good riddance. Bobby found out that Amy Lynne had emptied the bank accounts, checking account, and had not paid the bills for the past two months.

"Don't worry, Daddy," Amilynne had said, patting her father's arm. "I'll take care of you."

"How? How you going take care of me, stupid little bitch?" Bobby had lashed out in anger.

Amilynne tried. She tried to learn how to cook. She tried to learn how to vacuum, how to clean, how to run the dishwasher. She became responsible for her own breakfast, keeping her clothing clean. In the third grade, it was a teacher that told Bobby that Amilynne needed new shoes; the old ones no longer fit the child's feet.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me, huh?" Bobby snarled bitterly, incensed that he now looked like a neglectful father in front of one of Amilynne's teachers.

"Shoes cost money," Amilynne whispered.

"News flash, ignorant bitch," Bobby had spat, wincing at the forty nine dollar charge for the school shoes. "Everything costs money."

The beautiful, withdrawn, timid child was ripe pickings for Mr. Birchman. All it took was for the handsome and charismatic Science teacher to show a little attention to the growing, developing girl a little fatherly attention. A few words of encouragement and praise, an innocent touch, a fatherly hug.

For Amilynne's eighteenth birthday, Bobby's sister Darlene gave the girl an Ancestry kit. They filled out all the information and soon found out that Bobby was not Amilynne's father. Rachel claimed to have no knowledge of where her willful daughter was, so they could not contact Amy Lynne to find out more information about Amilynne's actual father.

"Minute your ass graduates high school? You are out of here, God damned cunt," Bobby had snarled at his house guest. "Hear me? O. U. T, out of here."

"But Daddy..." Amilynne whimpered.

"Don't you 'Daddy' me, stupid bitch," Bobby spat. "Mr. Turner. Hear me? From now on? My name is Mr. Turner."

"But, but, where will I go?" Amilynne begged.

"Ain't my fucking problem. Jesus, just go be a whore like your momma, huh?" Bobby said.

Amilynne did not have time for high school romance. She did not have time to cut through the posturing and preening of her peers; did not have time to bargain with them for money. The one scrawny reject she had approached had sneered, grabbed his pathetic little package and declared that girls paid him.

Old men, men in their thirties and forties and fifties were only too willing to pay twenty five dollars, fifty dollars to have a fresh faced eighteen year old blonde suck their cocks or drape herself across the back seat of the family car for a quick hot and dirty fuck. These men were easy to find, staggering out of titty bars, rubbing their crotches with need.

The first time she had anal, the first time she had a crisp new Benjamin in her hand, Amilynne felt something deep inside of her. After discovering that Mr. Birchman did not genuinely care about her, that she was just another in the long line of young girls he'd seduced, used, then discarded, Amilynne felt no connection with fellatio. Vaginal penetration was slightly more pleasant but was usually over long before Amilynne derived any true satisfaction from the clumsy, cramped coupling.

That first stab of white hot pain, that sensation of being torn open, of being violently violated, Amilynne had cried out. As she felt her muscles straining, trying to prevent this perversion, this most unnatural activity, a slow burning began deep within her guts.

The man had no concern for Amilynne's comfort, no thought for her enjoyment. He simply forced himself into her bowels, then fucked her with hard thrusts. She climaxed twice from the brutal sodomy, then sobbed in disappointment when the man bellowed in climax.

Her fascination with asphyxiation began when a slightly younger man asked her to strangle him while riding his pole. Staggering out of a gentlemen's club, he'd been delighted when a beautiful blonde teenager approached him, offering an exchange. He did not have a car; he was staying at the local Budget Stay Motel.

In the room, he paid first, then watched as Amilynne stripped out of her clothes and lay on the bed. He worked his belt from his trousers and looped the leather belt around his neck.

"Wait, I, you, you want me to WHAT?" Amilynne stammered, shocked.

To this point in her career as a whore, the weirdest thing anyone had ever asked her to do was to let him watch her urinate. A can of somewhat warm beer did the trick and the freak jerked off while she noisily pissed into the toilet bowl. His semen had splattered onto her breasts and belly as she dabbed her light brown curls dry.

"Would've been better you shaved that kootch," the man had panted, still milking his dribbling cock.

Amilynne did start waxing her pussy and anus; the customer is always right. She also started dressing in schoolgirl outfits; the thrift shops had an abundance of those clothes at the end of each school year.

Straddling his hips, she gripped the end of the belt. Rocking slowly, she increased the tension in the belt. His face became pink as he struggled to breathe. He called her a weak cunt, a fucking weak girl and she increased her tugging.

His face was purple before he gave the signal but Amilynne smiled cruelly and continued strangling him until he lost consciousness.

His heart was still hammering in his chest so she let him lie for a moment while she went and used the toilet to clean his spunk from her pussy.

"God damn! Oh, oh God damn, that, that was the fucking best," he enthused a moment later. "Aw shit, shit, where are you? Fucking cunt better not have ripped me off. Aw Jesus, I swear..."

"I'm right here, fucker," she said, stepping out of his bathroom.

The next time she met with a regular customer of hers, Amilynne charged him a hundred for anal sex and asked him to choke her. The deprivation of oxygen to her brain triggered something she'd not had since the day before her high school graduation. The overload of emotions and feelings brought back to the surface that innate desire to live, that need to survive.

Mr. Turner, her former father had sneered the morning after her graduation and waited. He sat at his kitchen table and sipped his mug of coffee, hand shaking horribly from alcohol withdrawal while Amilynne calmly made herself breakfast with the milk she'd bought, the Reese's Puffs breakfast cereal she'd bought.

"Well, Mr. Turner, I'll see you later," Amilynne announced, stuffing her bowl and spoon into the dishwasher. "I'd give you my new address but I know you don't want it. You don't care, right?"

Stepping out of the house she'd lived in since two days after her birth, Amilynne felt an odd emptiness descend on her. Lugging her clothes to Coleen's car, she put the garbage bags into the trunk and drove to the apartment she and Coleen now shared.

Slowly, over time, that innate need for survival was replaced by abject apathy. Coleen cried, sobbing heart-broken tears and asked Amilynne why her love wasn't enough to satisfy Amilynne's needs and desires. Amilynne looked at the beautiful brunette and wondered why the girl's tears were not affecting her. After all, she did enjoy their touches, their kisses. She did enjoy Coleen's fragrance and taste and even achieved orgasm from Coleen's tongue and fingers.

>.>.>.>

Now, in a cheap motel room, kneeling on a rumpled bed, Amilynne looked into the mirror on the low dresser. Making eye contact with George, she again demonstrated the signal to stop; thumb, index and middle finger extended.

"And don't be a fucking pussy about it, hear?" Amilynne ordered, gritting her teeth as his fat knob invaded her rectum. "God, love anal, I swear. A fat cock..."

Twice she had to bark out 'Harder!' at the customer. The second time was the magic number, the belt tightened considerably. His thrusts into her bowels also became more urgent. Amilynne felt a powerful orgasm welling up in her guts as her fevered brain screamed for oxygen.

Blackness crept into her vision, from the corners outward. Amilynne wondered, was this the day? Was this the day she did not give the signal? Was this the day she would welcome Death's icy fingers around her throat?

Was this the day the customer would ignore her signal? Was this the day he would be too caught up in his own pleasure to see her when she frantically gave the signal? Would this harmless looking middle-aged man be a sociopath that would hold the belt too long, trying to fulfill his own need for ultimate power over another human life?

Her left hand went between her legs, frantically rubbing her pussy even as her lungs struggled for air. Her juices, migled with his juices ran down the inside of her thighs as she brought herself closer and closer to orgasm. Her throat and mouth gasped, trying to suck in precious air even as she could feel the orgasm welling up in her depths.

The darkness was warm, inviting. Amilynne slipped into that comfortable void. And just before she tumbled headlong into eternity, her damned hand betrayed her. Her cursed hand raised up off of the bed and held out the three fingers.

"Fuck. Just. Fuck," Amilynne thought as she came to.

"Hey Sugar," Amilynne pasted a smile on her face as George watched her, almost frantic look on his face.

"Hey," he croaked out.

"It all right I use your shower real quick?" she asked, wiggling off of the bed.

"I uh, yeah, yeah sure," he said, licking his lips nervously.

"Unless you want another..." Amilynne asked, slightly opening her pussy lips for his pleasure.

"I uh, hey, I, I've never done it, you know, in the shower," George suggested.

"Well come on," Amilynne smiled, strolling her sassy little strut to the bathroom.

Bracing her hands against the wall, Amilynne talked a nasty streak as George again sodomized her. Then, cleaning his cock, she sucked him to a final ejaculation while the shower's anemic spray sprinkled down on them.

"See you around, Sugar," Amilynne smiled after checking that her money was still in her purse.

"I uh, yeah, yeah, see you," George weakly said.

Stepping outside, Amilynne fished her gym shorts from her large purse and slipped them on. She walked down the stairs, got her bearings and headed for Connelly Street. There, she could catch Bus 14 to the station.

The only sound that greeted her when she entered the apartment was the very noisy refrigerator. The landlord saw no reason to repair or replace the appliance; it was working.

She could smell their dinner; Coleen was a good cook, a health-conscious cook. A vegetarian medley in a spicy peanut sauce served over brown rice had been a good, filling meal. Amilynne could still smell the peanut butter and soy sauce.

Quietly, Amilynne entered their dark bedroom. Cautiously she felt her way to her closet and put her sneakers into the closet. Her clothing was dropped to the floor; she would pick them up and put them into their laundry hamper in the morning.

Coleen was not in bed. Feeling, Amilynne saw that Coleen's two pillows and her Raggedy Ann doll were not on the bed. Her fingers came in contact with a piece of paper.

Amilynne did not need to turn the light on; she knew what it was. It was a note from Coleen, telling her good-bye.

"I'm sorry, Coleen," Amilynne murmured.

The words surprised her. The fact that tears slowly trickled down her face shocked her. Amilynne wondered, could, could this be love? Could she be awakening? Could she feel?

"Coleen, I'm sorry," Amilynne murmured again, resting her hand on the piece of paper. "I, Coleen, I love you."

The End

**..**

***Author's Note: I write these stories for my pleasure; I post them here for your enjoyment.

I thank you sincerely for reading my stories.

Likewise, I also thank those that take the time to leave comments, good and bad. I also thank those that take the time to rate my words, those that take the time to 'Favorite' my works.

As I said before the tale even began, this is a dark, sordid, and bleak story.

There are no characters from any other JimBob44 story making an appearance in this tale.

Have a swell day. And some of you, have a swollen day.