The Vagrant

WARNING! In this story a sadistic sexual sociopath graphically describes the pleasure he takes in physically, psychologically and emotionally abusing and humiliating a homeless, alcoholic woman. There is no violence or rape in the story but the line between consent and non-consent is blurred and the sex is rough and degrading for the woman. If this summation disturbs you, do not read this story.

The Vagrant

Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night

William Blake

One searingly hot, mid-August afternoon I'd escaped the non-air conditioned hell of my apartment to nurse a can of cold beer on my balcony. The view was less than spectacular. My rear-facing unit overlooked the building's parking lot and a dumpster-choked laneway running behind old, dilapidated apartment blocks like mine. But while the scenery below left much to be desired, the balcony was partially shaded by a faded awning and caught a light cross breeze that in combination with my icy beer gave me some relief from the infernal heat.

I'd just opened a second can when I spotted a woman walking down the center of the laneway towards my building. Of medium height and on the stocky side, she had a pack sack slung over one shoulder and wore baggy jeans, runners and--despite the heat--a shapeless black hoodie. It was obvious from her scruffy appearance and the way she slouched slowly along as though she had no particular destination in mind and all the time in the world to get there that she was one of the growing swarm of homeless people infesting my down-at-the-heels neighbourhood.

When she was directly behind my apartment, she stopped and sat down on a low wall that separated the building's parking lot from the laneway. Rummaging through her pack sack, she pulled out a battered cigarette pack and shook a bent, half-smoked butt into her hand. She straightened it, lit up and inhaled deeply as she gazed morosely off into the distance.

The woman was clearly on the skids but she stirred no pity in me. These bums all have hard luck stories that place the blame for their misfortunes on an unfair and callous world. The truth is that they're usually the victims of their own laziness, bad habits and poor decisions and doggedly refuse to take any action that might better their squalid lives. If they don't look after themselves or care about the quality of their dismal existences, why should I? No, I felt not a trace of sympathy or compassion for the vagrant. All she aroused in me was growing lust as I imagined the lecherous recreation she could provide on that hot afternoon.

I am not one of those men who is carnally obsessed with young, shiny-faced bimbos sporting perfect, gym-built, designer-clothing-clad bodies and bubbling over with chirpy self-confidence stemming from a keen awareness of their high value in the sexual marketplace; the sort of preening gold-diggers who expect to be taken out to a four-star restaurant on a first date where they toss their silky hair extensions and prattle on endlessly about their dreams of becoming famous models or influencers or life coaches as the spineless dupe paying the bill sits there nodding and smiling vacantly, pretending to listen while he wonders when and if he's going to get his hands on his date's perky, silicone tits and meticulously waxed, deodorized cunt. In reality, his chances of fucking one of these toxic narcissists are close to zero unless he's a high-end fashion designer or potential sugar daddy or oil-rich Arab sheik. And if by some miracle she does decide to throw a little nookie his way after he's laid out enough cash, she calls the shots in bed and the sex is vanilla, antiseptic and bland.

The women I crave are seldom eye-catching or self-assured. In fact, they often possess bodies that are sliding into ruin after years of self-neglect and harsh living, and whatever small amount of self-respect they've managed to retain is in tatters. Their precarious, hand-to-mouth existences and chronic neediness often lead them into desperate circumstances that make them vulnerable to manipulation and sexual exploitation. These hapless down and outers aren't professional whores who sell their decaying bodies on a regular basis but when they're particularly hard up, most will agree--with a little prodding--to allow a potential benefactor to do almost anything to them in exchange for a few dollars or a rock of crack or meth or a bottle of cheap wine or even a little food to fill their empty bellies. On one occasion, a weed-high, teen run-away with a severe case of the munchies let me fuck her up the ass in return for ten dollars and a box of extra spicy KFC. After consuming her meal and another blunt, the pot-blitzed slut sucked my cock with greasy lips before getting on all fours and whimpering loudly as I deposited a load of man sauce deep in her tight, teenage tail pipe.

I'm always direct with these slags and never feel any shame or embarrassment when I explain exactly what I want from them, however kinky my asks might be. They're in no position to be judgmental and their opinion means nothing to me anyway. They've chosen to live their lives in a perpetual state of degradation so I feel no guilt over degrading them further. In fact, I take great pleasure in it. That they seldom do only increases my enjoyment.

Growing homelessness and addiction have drastically upped the numbers of these itinerant cast-offs in my city but finding them when they're needed can still be a hit and miss proposition. There have been times when I've spent long hours hunting this prey only to come up empty-handed. Now, almost miraculously, this hoodied scrunt had been delivered to my doorstep like a present from some benevolent and perverse god and I wasn't about to pass up this unexpected gift. With barely a thought, I was out the door and on my way down to the parking lot to finagle the munter into some filthy afternoon delight.

She sat hunched over with her back to the building and wasn't aware of my presence until I was a few feet from her. "Hello there," I said in a friendly tone. "How's your day going?"

Alarmed, she rose quickly to her feet and picked up her back pack.

"Uh, good, mister," she answered in a low, raspy voice with a Southern drawl. "Don't mind me. I was just leavin'."

"Oh, no need to run off," I said. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I saw you from my balcony and just thought you might appreciate a decent cigarette."

I held out my pack to the surprised woman. Thanking me, she fumbled out a cigarette and put it between her lips.

"Do you live around here?" I said, offering her a light.

She replied that she was staying with a friend nearby but would soon be moving into an apartment of her own and starting a new job. The story was obviously laughable fiction but I didn't bother challenging its veracity.

As we continued to smoke and make small talk, I looked her over. She appeared to be in her mid-forties--perhaps five years younger than I was--but street life prematurely ages these women so I couldn't be sure. A messy pony tail high on the back of her head pulled black hair with prominent gray streaks away from a face with sun-browned skin that sharply contrasted teeth too dazzlingly white and even to be anything but false.

Her glory days were long past but her full-lipped mouth, high cheek bones and deep-set green eyes indicated she might well have been an unusually good-looking woman at one time. Now, the flesh of her face sagged and constant anxiety had etched deep worry lines into her brow and the corners of her mouth and eyes. Gin blossoms--tiny red and blue capillaries that have burst just below the skin due to excessive drinking--flowered here and there on her face and there were dark pouches under her bleary eyes. All these signs indicated that she was a drunk and judging from the slight tremor in the hand that held her cigarette, she badly needed a drink, a predicament I knew I could turn to my advantage.

When she'd finished her cigarette, she asked me a question I'd been anticipating. "Uh, mister?" she said nervously. "You wouldn't happen to have a couple of bucks you could spare, would ya? I, uh, gotta catch a bus to a job interview and I forgot my wallet at my friend's place."

It was the opening I'd been waiting for.

"Sure, I can spare you a few dollars. But I have a better idea. How about this? Come up to my apartment and have a beer or two. Then, when you're nice and relaxed, you'll get naked, lay back and I'll eat your pussy while I jerk off. After I shoot my wad in--oh, ten minutes or so--I'll give you fifteen dollars and you can be on your way. Sound good? "

She looked stunned by my blunt proposition. "What the...?" she rasped. "You're not serious, right?"

"Serious as a heart attack," I replied.

She frowned and shook her head in shock and disbelief. "Jeez, mister. You got me all wrong. I ain't no hooker!"

"I didn't think you were," I said. "What I do think is that you're a woman who needs money and I'm a man who likes to eat pussy and is willing to spend a little cash to do it. It's a win-win situation for both of us."

I could see that she was considering my proposal but still wasn't convinced.

"Well... how do I know you won't try to do other stuff to me?" she said. "Like rape me or drug me or somethin'. I mean, gettin' paid to get my pussy ate might be okay but I'm not up for nothin' else."

I replied that force wasn't my style and I meant it. I take pride in my ability to elicit at least grudging consent from the women I target without resorting to physically overpowering them or covertly administering a substance to render them unconscious. Where's the fun and sense of achievement in that?

"Look," I told her, "all I want to do to do is eat your cunt, which you might even enjoy because I'm good at it. When I'm finished, you'll leave with a nice buzz on and fifteen dollars in your pocket for less than a half-hour of your time. Everybody's happy. What's not to like?"

She looked at me through slitted, suspicious eyes. "That's all? You won't try nothin' else?"

I assured her that I wouldn't but didn't mention that I fully intended to persuade her to renegotiate our deal when the time came. I had much more in mind than simply licking the grimy vagrant's vagina.

She pondered the offer, weighing the risks against the promise of much-needed money and free booze. Finally, she looked at me and asked, "You got any wine at your place, mister? I ain't too big on beer."

Inside my apartment, I told her to make herself comfortable and went into the kitchen to retrieve a half-full gallon jug of cheap fortified wine that I kept on hand for occasions such as this. I took a beer from the refrigerator for myself, grabbed a water glass for her wine, and returned to the living room. As I set the jug, beer and glass down on the coffee table in front of the couch, I saw that the wilting heat in my apartment had prompted the vagrant to remove her hoodie. Underneath she was wearing a tight wife-beater tee-shirt that outlined a pair of big, plump tits. This, I thought to myself, was getting better and better.

I joined her on the couch, screwed the cap off the jug and half filled her tumbler with wine. She thanked me, quickly raised the glass to her lips and drank off a couple of inches of the sour bilge. For the first time since I'd encountered her, a smile crossed her puffy face. Seconds later she took another deep pull and then another. As the level of wine in the glass diminished, the more relaxed and chatty she became. She praised my shabby, under-furnished apartment and said she hoped she would live in one as good someday soon. Talk about setting the bar low, I thought, but then any dump with a roof and a chair where one could sit drinking all day undisturbed would seem a palace to this vagrant.

Emboldened by the wine, she felt confident enough to ask me a personal question. "You know, mister, you sound real educated, I mean like the way you talk and all," she said. "You musta been to college, right?"

She was not wrong. I wasn't quite twenty-eight-years old when I earned a PhD in English Literature from an Ivy League university and was a full-fledged professor on tenure track at that same institution a decade later. One of the perks of my position was the opportunity to inveigle female students into providing me with sexual favors in return for higher grades. I enjoyed many such relationships with ambitious but scholastically challenged sluts for several years and always exercised the utmost discretion in these quid pro quo arrangements. But then one of the little harlots decided a few years after she'd graduated that I had exploited her and lodged a complaint with the University administrative board about our lascivious relationship. I denied the charge vehemently but word of the alleged incident got out and circulated among the student body. A number of vengeful little bitches with whom I'd enjoyed the same sort of tawdry, mutually beneficial arrangement came forward to attack me like hyenas drawn to a bloody carcass. Not only was I was forced to resign, I was blacklisted in the academic world and my scholastic career was finished.

With few employment options available outside academia for someone with my rarified credentials, I took a job as the manager of the run-down apartment complex in which I now lived. While the salary was considerably less than I had previously earned, the job was not without its benefits. I had less stress in my life, more time to pursue my degenerate interests and now resided in the perfect location to do it. I found that many a struggling female tenant was willing to make up a rent shortfall or speed up a repair to her apartment with her cunt, mouth or asshole (or all three in some cases). I also realized that my neighborhood was rife with poachable wildlife like the ragged tramp sitting beside me and I took advantage of my situation whenever opportunity presented itself.

Of course, I revealed none of this to my alcoholic guest and simply gave her a tight smile and nodded in response to her question. She was far from the sharpest knife in the drawer but she had the sense to know when it was time to mind her own business and didn't pursue a more detailed response when I didn't offer one.

As we talked and drank, I caught whiffs of a heady bouquet comprising sweat, cigarette smoke, liquor past and present and unclean clothing and flesh emanating from her body. This did not put me off. In fact, part of my attraction to these hobos is their rank body odor, particularly the pungent, raunchy scent of their unwashed crotches. I grew curious about the smell and taste of the grubby tramp's nether regions and suddenly became impatient to get my face between her legs to satisfy my curiousity.

"Okay, my dear," I said. "Finish off that glass and let's get the show on the road."

She looked at me blankly as if the two tumblers of wine she'd consumed had made her forget why she was there.

"Time to get your pussy eaten and earn some money," I reminded her.

"Oh, yeah, right," she stammered. "Okay, mister. What... uh... how should I...?"

I told her to get on her feet and--woozy from the booze she'd put away--she swayed a little as she complied

I put my hand on the small of her back and guided her towards the kitchen area. Positioning her with her ass almost touching the edge of the sturdy dining table, I told her to strip down to her shoes, socks and panties.

She nodded and with no hesitation pulled her wife-beater over her head before reaching back to unfasten her bra and let her big tits tumble free. They were slightly stretch-marked and sagged down to her flabby, rounded belly but were reasonably full and firm for her age. Her rosettes were silver dollar-sized and the same tan hue as her leathery nipples. On one of her big udders someone had inscribed a crude tattoo in now faded blue ink that read:

G L O R E A

"What's this?" I asked, indicating the marking.

"That's my name. Only the loser who done it spelled it wrong. It's supposed to be G-L-O-R-I-A. Gloria with an I. But he fucked it up."

I laughed and reached out to cup her big, inked jug in my hand.

"Well, Gloria with an I, you have a most impressive set of tits," I said as I squeezed and hefted her meaty dug, rolling the soft flesh in my hand and thumbing her hardening nipple.

The compliment brought a shy but pleased smile to her face. Even derelicts take some pride in their feminine attributes. Or what's left of them.

"Thanks, mister," she said. "They ain't what they used to be but they still ain't too bad, I guess."

I gave her nipple a hard pinch before releasing it and stepping back.

"Now pull off your jeans over your shoes."

I don't have the same fondness for foot odor that I do for the smell of an unwashed crotch so I wanted her shoes and socks to remain on her feet.

When she stepped out of her jeans, I saw she was wearing a pair of tight, dingy-white panties, slightly darkened at the crotch that emphasized her bulging pubic mound. She began to remove them but I stopped her. Stripping off a skank's underwear is for me a pleasure akin to unwrapping a Christmas present to see what alluring goodies are contained inside.

"Get up on the table and lay back," I told her.

The wooden table creaked as she clumsily hefted herself up and onto it. She leaned back slowly until she was lying flat with her arms against her sides and her shoes dangling a foot above the floor. I snagged the elastic waist band of her panties with my index fingers and tugged them down over her chubby thighs and calves. Pulling them free of her feet, I dropped them on the floor among the rest of her rags.

I placed a chair in front of her and after removing my pants and underwear I sat down as though I were about to partake in a delicious meal. I instructed her to lift her legs and pull her knees back towards her chest and when she did, I put my hands between her thighs and parted them. Immediately, my nostrils were filled with a strong, rich funk wafting up from her crotch.

"Jesus H. Christ, woman!" I exclaimed, when the smell hit my nose. "Your cunt is ungodly ripe!"

Thinking I was disgusted rather than pleased by her pussy odor, she clamped her thighs together and stammered an embarrassed apology.

"Sorry, mister. I been sleepin' out in my clothes the last couple of nights and I didn't have no shower or bath or nothin' for awhile. I'll go wash my pussy in your bathroom now if you want."

"No, you won't," I said. "You'll stay right where you are and open those legs again."

She did as she was told and once again the malodorous miasma from her unwashed vulva filled the air around us, a stench that both repelled and stimulated me.

I gazed down at her crotch, now exposed in all its lurid glory. Her plump mound was covered in stiff curls of black hair that thickened between her legs and framed her protruding, brownish-pink cunt lips This oval-shaped pelt was damp with sweat after marinating in her panties over the course of that hot day and who knew how many days before.

As I surveilled her crotch, I reached out and spread her pussy flaps with my thumb and forefinger to reveal the scarlet, glistening gash between them. It looked mouth-wateringly delicious and I wanted to sample it. Bending my head, I placed my open mouth against her vulva and pushed my tongue into the smelly folds of her public flesh. The flavor of the slag's cunt was sharp and ripe like a strong blue cheese mingled with acidic notes of vinegar. I savoured the tangy taste and tongued and mouthed her gash from top to bottom while I stroked myself slowly.

At the upper end of her trench, my tongue connected with her clit. Initially flaccid, it grew firmer each time my tongue brushed against it until it had swollen to the size of the tip of a man's thumb. I pushed my face hard into her crotch, wrapped my lips around her taut fuck button and began to suck and jab it with my tongue.

I was gratified when she let out a low moan and spread her legs wider but not because I cared about her pleasure. Rather, I knew that when the time came, her enjoyment of the act would make it easier to goad her into pushing past the limitations of the deal we'd struck in the parking lot.

I continued to suck her clit and lave it with my tongue as I placed my index finger at the entrance to her cunt hole and pushed it in slowly. Her slick canal offered little resistance to my invading finger but she was not as loose as many of the slags I'd picked up, sluts whose twats completely lack any tensile elasticity at all after years of regular stretching by sundry cocks and popping out unplanned babies. A few months earlier, a fifty-one-year-old, black crack head who boasted to me that she had birthed nine children by seven fathers since the age of fourteen agreed to let me watch her shove a wine bottle up her pussy for a rock of crack. She didn't bat an eye as it slipped easily up into her cavernous hole and when she'd accomplished her task, she calmly smoked her payment with a few inches of the bottle's base protruding from her gaping snatch.

But Gloria's cunt muscles clenched my finger with unexpected strength as it penetrated her. When I was up to my last knuckle I twisted it inside her. Her cunt muscles relaxed further and I worked in a second finger as she groaned in delight.

I lifted my head from her crotch and saw that her weathered face was contorted with pleasure. "You like that, do you, Gloria?" I asked.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I do, mister," she answered. "You sure do know your way around a pussy, I gotta say."

I kept my fingers jammed deeply inside of her and wriggled them against the spongy walls of her cunt canal. She shuddered and inhaled sharply when my digits found her G-spot. I kept working it as I stood up from the chair.

"What do you think, Gloria? Is your cunt ready for something a little bigger than my fingers?"

As I posed the question, I gripped my cock at its base.

"Huh?" she said. "What do you mean, mister?"

Before answering, I slid my fingers out of her and nestled the head of my cock between her slippery cunt lips. "I mean, do you want to get your pussy fucked good and proper?" I said.

"Well... uh, you said you was just wanted to eat me out. You didn't say nothin' about fuckin' me."

I teased her wet gash with my cock head, rubbing it against her swollen clit and lightly prodding her cunt hole with its tip.

"It's up to you, Gloria," I said. "I'll stop right now if you want. Or I can slide my cock into your twat and fuck the living daylights out of you. All up to you."

I loved the look of confusion on the hobo's face as she struggled with the choice: doggedly sticking with our initial agreement in order to hang on to some vestige of self-respect or giving in to her animal desire and letting me fuck her smelly orifice for a mere fifteen dollars.

"Come on," I said impatiently, as I increased the pressure of my cock against her cunt hole. "Make up your mind. Do you want me to fuck you or not?"

Finally she nodded her head half-heartedly. "Yeah, okay, mister, you can--UHHH!"

Before she finished her sentence, with a single thrust I'd slammed my prod into her hole right up to the hilt, enjoying the sensation of her hot, slippery cunt walls engulfing my cock as much as seeing the pained look on her face.

"OWWW!" she exclaimed. "Uh, could ya go a little easier on my pussy, mister? You got a real big dick there and I ain't been fucked in a while."

I paid no attention. Pulling my cock slowly back, I slammed it into her. Then I pulled back and rammed her again and again. The impact of each thrust deepened the pained expression on her face and made her udders jiggle on either side of her chest. I reached down and filled my hands with her tit meat, digging my finger tips into the soft flesh and pinching and tugging her hardened nipples. She grimaced but didn't complain as I manhandled her jugs.

I continued to smash my cock into her sodden pussy and each time I did, she let out a deep, guttural grunt.

"You sound just like a pig when you're being fucked, Gloria," I said. "Is that what you are? A smelly fuck pig?"

Opening her eyes and looking up me blearily, she seemed about to answer but I drove my meat into her again and she grunted even more loudly.

"Well, I guess that answers my question," I said glibly.

I accelerated the speed of my thrusts, gaining momentum and pounding her harder and faster. My exertions in the terrible heat caused rivulets of sweat to roll down my face onto her belly and tits where it mixed with her own perspiration and soon we were both slippery and wet with the salty fluid. The tightness of her cunt sleeve slackened under my battering and more easily accommodated my cock so she was feeling no pain at this point. On the contrary, she appeared to be on the verge of cumming. This was not what I had in mind: making a tramp climax is at the bottom of my list of priorities in these situations. It was time to wrap things up. I slammed my tool into her a few more times as hard as I could and then pulled my tool out of her now gaping, inflamed twat.

'Spread your legs wide and pull your cunt lips apart, piggy!" I ordered as I wrapped my fingers around my slime-covered cock.

She looked surprised and disappointed when I withdrew my cock from her pussy but reached between her legs and parted her wet flaps with her finger tips as I'd directed her. I held my cock a few inches from her cunt, aiming it like a weapon at her crotch. It took only a few strokes to make my spunk shoot out in a series of spurts that covered her cunt in thick man cream. It clung to her soggy, matted pubic hair and oozed down over her bright red gash and the distended pussy flaps that protruded from it. When I'd shot my entire load, I pushed my softening cock against the mess and smeared my spunk all over her furred meat of her twat until it was soaked with sperm, sweat, saliva and cunt juice. Recovering my breath, I stood admiring my perverse, artistic handiwork for a moment before reaching down and grabbing her panties from the floor to wipe our juices from my cock.

As I cleaned myself, Gloria--still panting a little--spoke timidly. "You done, mister? If you are, can I use your bathroom? I gotta piss real bad."

"Well, unless you intend to relieve yourself on my kitchen table, I suppose you'd better," I said indicating the direction of the bathroom with a wave of my hand.

She lifted herself from the table and lumbered off unsteadily. The vagrant's urgency was such that she didn't take the time to close the bathroom door and I could hear her piss gushing into the toilet bowl. Her stream was remarkably loud and prolonged, not surprising considering the amount of wine that she'd drunk.

As the sound of her relentless urinary flood continued, I stripped off my sweat-soaked shirt and removed my shoes and socks. After grabbing a fresh beer from the fridge, I tossed a throw cloth over the sofa to protect it from my still sweaty body and sat down. I opened the can and raised it to my lips.

Sipping at my beer, I became aware of the piquant odor of her cunt on my fingers. I raised my hand to my nose, breathed in the stench and, inserting my finger between my lips, tasted again the cheesy, acidic flavor of the pussy I'd just eaten and fucked. Although I'd just cum, the noisome smell and taste on my fingers acted on my senses like a powerful aphrodisiac and my cock flexed and stiffened. The stinking, wine-befuddled vagrant might have assumed she'd carried out all her required services and was free to collect her money and leave but I was not through with her. In fact, I was just getting started.

PART TWO

Gloria plodded back into the room looking clownish in her runners and socks, her ponderous jugs swaying freely as she bent to retrieve her clothes from the floor. Apparently she thought the final curtain had fallen on our performance and wanted to make her exit. But this was just the intermission: the best part of the show was yet to come.

"You're not going to run off so soon, are you, Gloria?" I said. "Please, stay and have another drink for the road. I insist."

She looked pleasantly surprised, probably expecting that I'd be in rush to get rid of her after she'd fulfilled the terms of our deal.

"Uh, sure, mister," she said. Thanks. Don't mind if I do." She dropped her rags back on the floor and, still naked save for her shoes and socks, sat beside me on the sofa.

I filled her tumbler almost to the brim and handed it her. She immediately raised it to her lips and swallowed a generous mouthful of the wine.

'So, what do you think, Gloria with an "I'?" I asked. "Not such a bad way to earn fifteen dollars, no? Maybe you even enjoyed it a little?"

A shy smile crossed her face. "Um, yeah, I guess I did. You sure know how to eat pussy, mister."

"You're too kind. And did you like being fucked too?"

"Well... if I'm bein' honest, not too much at first. No offense, but you got a big cock and you went at it pretty hard. I ain't been fucked in awhile so it kinda hurt. I was gettin' into it at the end though."

I asked her when she'd been fucked last. She pondered the question and replied, "'bout a month ago, I think. Yeah, a month at least."

"Who was the lucky fellow?" I asked.

"My boy friend, Nick. Well, he was my boyfriend."

"You've split up?"

Her face darkened. "Yeah. We was together for almost a year and things was goin' pretty good but then he got real pissed off at me and booted me outa the motel we was stayin' at."

"Why was that?"

My question seemed to disturb her and she lifted the glass to her mouth before answering.

"He found out I gave another dude a blow job. I don't even remember doin' it 'cause I was drinkin' a lot that day but... there was this bitch there named Beth that got the hots for Nick. She wanted to get him pissed off at me so she could have him to herself so she told him she seen me suck the dude off."

"And he was jealous?" I said, wondering to myself how any self-respecting man could feel jealousy over this reeking piece of human wreckage.

"I guess, but more'n that he was pissed off that the guy I sucked off was a nig--a black dude. Nick's real prejudiced against them people. He was always sayin' to me 'if you ever go black don't bother comin' back'. When he found out I sucked off a nig--a black dude, he laid a beating on me. Said I was disgusting and we was done. He give me some of my clothes and my pack and throwed me out. An' it was my fuckin' welfare chit that paid for the room!"

"You've been on the street since then?"

"Yeah, mostly," she sighed. "Sometimes I stay at Union Gospel Shelter for women. But I, uh, drink sometimes and they don't let you in if you been drinkin' so I been sleepin' out mostly down by the park the coupla weeks or so."

"That sounds tough, Gloria. Very tough."

"Yeah, well, it ain't the first time I been on the street by myself but it still really sucks."

Suddenly her rheumy eyes filled with tears. She bowed her head and her shoulders heaved as she wept silently.

As I pointed out earlier, these losers always have some tale of woe that they believe absolves themselves of any responsibility for their predicament and I wasn't buying this one. She'd disobeyed her man's clearly spelled out rules of conduct and rightfully got what was coming to her so I had no compassion to waste on her. But her sob story gave me an idea of how I could use her dilemma to my advantage.

"I'm so sorry, Gloria," I said, laying a comforting hand on her naked shoulder and rubbing it gently. "It's truly an unfair situation for a nice woman like you to find herself in."

She nodded and sniffled.

"Look, Gloria. I like you and I'd like to help you if I can. How about this? Would you like to stay here until you've got things sorted out? You're welcome to, if so. I know it isn't much but it's safer and more comfortable than the streets or a shelter."

She raised her head and looked at me with wide eyes. "You serious, mister? You'd let me stay here "til I get my shit together?"

"Sure I would. It would be a pleasure to help you get back on your feet."

I had to restrain myself from laughing out loud at the far-fetched notion that she could ever get back on her feet or that I would help her do so even if it were possible. But the gullible lush swallowed my offer hook, line and sinker and her florid face lit up with a huge smile.

"Wow, mister! That's awesome! No one never done nothin' like for me before. I don't know how to thank you!"

"Oh, I think we can come up with some ideas for ways you can show me your appreciation," I said.

'Sure, mister," she enthused. "I ain't the greatest cook in the world but I can clean and do laundry and stuff like that. I useta be a chamber maid once."

Probably until you drank yourself out of the job or got caught sucking a guest's cock for booze money, I thought cynically.

"That's fine but actually I had something else in mind besides your housekeeping and cooking skills, Gloria," I said. "I'm more interested in how skilled you are with those lovely lips of yours."

I touched my finger to her mouth and nodded down towards my crotch where my cock was almost at full hardness.

The smile dimmed on her face as the meaning of my words sank into her small, alcohol-soaked brain. "Uh, you mean you want me to give you a blow job for lettin' me stay here?" she asked as though the concept were utterly mystifying to her.

"For starters, Gloria," I said. "After all, you'd be getting a pretty good deal: a roof over your head, soft bed, meals, wine. You do want to show your gratitude for that, don't you?"

She took another mouthful of wine. "Yeah, I guess..." she said haltingly. "It's just... well...."

"It's just that you don't want to feel like a whore?"

"Yeah. I guess that's it."

She'd just let me use her rancid cunt as a cum dump for fifteen dollars and here she was still imagining that she wasn't a whore. Women have such an amazing capacity for self-deception, no matter what their station in life.

"Look, Gloria, I know you're not a whore. But you have something you can give me in return for something I'm giving you. It's simply a way to show your appreciation for the favor I'm doing you. That's all--a practical negotiation between two mature, sophisticated adults."

She thought this over and nodded. "Okay, yeah, I guess that's fair n' all," she said hesitantly. "Beats sleeping in those fucking bushes anyways. So when... uh...?"

"No time like the present," I said. "Have another sip of wine and get down on your knees in front of me."

She knocked back another mouthful and after kneeling on the floor between my legs, bent her head over my lap to take my cock into her mouth.

But I had something else in mind and I touched my fingers to her forehead to halt her.

"Not so fast, Gloria. There's something I want you to do first."

She looked up at me, puzzled.

"Take out your dentures and put them on the coffee table."

An anxious look came over her face. "Aw, mister, I hate for people to see me without my plates. I really look like shit without them. It's so embarrassin'."

Vanity, thy name is woman, even if the woman is a washed-up derelict willing to suck dick for a few nights shelter.

"I'm not concerned with how you look or feel," I said sternly. "If you really do want to show your gratitude for my kindness, you need to remove those plates. Do you understand?"

Realizing I was not taking no for an answer, she nodded. With trembling hands, she slipped out her dentures and put them on the coffee table. The removal of her plates left her with sunken cheeks and tightly pursed lips. She knew she looked ridiculous, and the expression of humiliation on her blushing, caved-in face made my cock throb.

"That's a good girl," I said soothingly. "Now, Gloria-with-an-I, show me how grateful you are."

She nodded, grasped my tool at its base and wet her lips with her tongue. Lowering her head to my cock, she ran her tongue around its tip and grimaced at the acrid taste her pussy had left on it.

"Pretty nasty, isn't it, Gloria?" I laughed. "Well, you have no one but yourself to blame for that. You need to keep that stinky cunt of yours in better shape!"

She overcame her aversion and went back to nuzzling and tongue-polishing the head of my cock before parting her lips and taking it into her toothless mouth. She dropped her head down inch by inch over my cock until the head of my tool was lodged snugly in the back of her throat. She kept it there for several seconds before raising her head slowly until only the tip of my rod was between her lips. This was clearly not the first gum job Gloria had ever given. She knew exactly how much pressure to exert on my cock with her smooth, toothless gums as she moved her head slowly up and down over its length.

"Good girl, Gloria," I said, resting my hand lightly on the crown of her head. "That's what I call gratitude."

The praise seemed to please and inspire her, and she put more energy and élan into her performance. She varied the pace of her head's bobbing motion over my shaft with different tempos, sometimes angling her head so my cock head pushed against her spongy inner cheek, a technique that is unfortunately unknown to the majority of women.

"You know all the tricks, don't you?" I said to the scrag.

She took her mouth off my saliva-wetted cock and looked up at me with a sly grin on her shriveled mouth. "I guess I should by now, mister," she said. She chuckled hoarsely before fitting her mouth around my cock again and continuing to gum me.

Reaching over her bobbing head, I picked up the can of beer from the coffee table and took a swig. I settled back and relaxed, luxuriating in the sensation of Gloria's tongue, lips and slippery gums working their lewd magic. She encircled the base of my cock with the thumb and index finger of one hand while the other fondled my nut sack. From time to time, she would lower her lips to my drooping bag, licking it and sucking first one ball and then another into her warm, wet mouth as she stroked my saliva-wetted cock.

Gloria may have been a useless, white trash souse but when it came to sucking cock, she was a skilled artisan who took real pride in her expertise, raising her glassy eyes to mine from time to time to see my reaction to her ministrations. In response, I would indicate my satisfaction with an approving nod and she'd return to her task with a pleased smile on her face

But as splendid a job as the slut was doing, I wanted to ramp up the action and push her beyond her comfort zone. With no warning, I grabbed a handful of her hair in my fist and forced her head down on my cock until its head was buried deep in her throat. She gagged and looked up at me with pleading, bulging eyes but didn't pull away. I yanked her head up and then shoved it down even harder on my dick. After I'd repeated this several times, her bloated, sweaty face flushed crimson and a vein flickered in her temple but she offered no resistance.

"That's my girl," I said, plunging her head up and down rhythmically on my cock. "Now I'm really feeling the gratitude."

I face-fucked the choking slag hard for several minutes, shoving my cock as deeply into her throat as possible with each thrust. When I finally tugged her head off my tool, she spluttered and noisily sucked in a lungful of much-needed air with drool running down her chin. Still holding her hair in my grip, I pushed her head lower between my legs.

"Now let's see how good you are at analingus," I said, slouching down on the sofa and lifting and spreading my legs to give her better access to my asshole.

The formal name of the act was unknown to her and she looked at me quizzically until I pointed from her mouth to my asshole. "Ah okay," she said, catching on. "You mean you want me to toss your salad, right?"

"That's right, Gloria. Let's see if you eat ass as well as you suck cock."

She nodded dutifully and moved her face into my ass crack. I felt her lips brush my asshole and then her tongue began to flick lightly against it.

"Well, Gloria," I said. "How does my anus taste?"

She withdrew her face from my crack and answered with amusing gravity as though she were offering an educated opinion on a fine vintage wine, "Not bad. Kinda sweaty and salty but it don't taste like crap or nothing like some dude's buttholes."

I laughed and congratulated her on being such a knowledgeable connoisseur of bung holes. Then I put hand on the crown of her head and pushed her face back into my ass crack where she continued to daintily tongue my hole.

"Harder," I said. "I can barely feel that. I want you to really tongue fuck it. Eat my shithole the way I ate your pussy. And stroke my cock while you do it."

She obeyed, slashing her tongue hard against my hole and rubbing her wet lips all over my pucker until my entire ass crack was soaked and slippery with her drool. I took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit up. I drew the smoke deep into my lungs as the lush snuffled and lapped away between my ass cheeks, enjoying the wet, warm feel of her mouth and tongue on my anus while she stroked my cock with her sweaty hand.

When I finished my cigarette, I pulled her head up out of my crack. Her face was damp with sweat and saliva.

"Good little doggie," I said, patting her head. "You've earned yourself a treat."

I picked up her wine glass and held it out to her. She took it eagerly and tossed back a good sized portion as if to wash away the salty taste of my asshole. I let her have a few more swallows before I got to my feet and grabbed her pony tail in my fist.

"Put the glass on the table and follow me," I said, leading the vagrant on her hands and knees like a dog on a leash towards the tiled floor in the kitchen area. Things were about to get messy and I didn't want to soil my carpet.

On the tiles, I told her to remain on all fours. I squatted behind her and viewed her plump, mottled ass cheeks and the plump, furry cunt sandwiched between her thighs. Here and there, drying globs of my spunk still clung to her matted pussy hair, evidence that she had done only a cursory job of wiping herself after her interminable piss. Little wonder, I thought, that her pussy smelt as strongly as it did if that was her best effort at cleaning herself.

I found her cunt hole with my finger and pushed it into her. She sucked in a deep breath of air between gritted teeth and her entire body tensed, a reaction that told me her snatch was still sore from the pounding I'd given it.

As I continued to finger fuck her chaffed pussy, I told Gloria to spread her ass cheeks. She obeyed and parted her cheeks, exposing the brown pucker just above her slit. Her rusty, wrinkled asshole was surrounded by a few sprigs of dark hair and looked like a peach pit cut in half. I brought my face down close to it and inhaled. Her ass crack gave off a potent, musky smell and when I touched my tongue to her hole, it had a strong coppery taste. But strangely the cleft between her buttocks and her asshole itself seemed less odiferous than her cunt. The condition of the assholes of some gutter tramps I'd entertained in my apartment was enough to make me think they'd never heard of toilet paper. To her credit, Gloria was apparently more conscientious than most of her ilk about performing reasonably good house-keeping on that part of her anatomy.

Slipping my slimed finger out of her cunt, I placed it against her asshole and smeared her dark pucker with pussy juice. Her chocolate starfish winked and flexed as I rubbed it. After spitting on it to further lubricate her hole, I slipped my finger into her. Although her asshole was much tighter than her cunt, my entire finger slid in quite easily. I wriggled it inside her and when I pulled it out, I saw a thin crescent of brown under the tip of my fingernail. I pushed it back into her shithole and worked it inside her until her sphincter to loosen. This time when I removed my finger, there were a few brown smears above the second knuckle and a kernel-sized gob of shit on the tip, which I rubbed off on one of her flabby butt cheeks.

I continued to mine her dirty shaft until it loosened enough for me to insert a second digit. Soon both fingers were stained with her butt mud and her asshole was primed and ready to fill with my throbbing cock. To make sure I was well-lubed for my tool's entry into her shit canal, I shoved my cock into her cunt to oil it with her pussy juice and her whole body jerked from the pain of my intrusion.

"How do you feel about being sodomized, Gloria?" I said as I wet my cock inside her cunt.

"Huh? Sod-what?"

"Screwed in the ass, Gloria. Bum fucked. Corn-holed. Buggered. Do you like it?

"Oh, that. Well..., it ain't my favorite thing in the world, if I'm bein' honest."

"But you're fine with letting me fuck you in the ass because you really want to show me how grateful you are, am I right?"

I pulled my cock out of her pussy and placed its tip against her asshole.

"Uh, well, sure," she stammered uncertainly. "I guess I do."

"Damn right you do, you dirty slut," I said as I pushed my cock against her shit hole.

Despite the mixture of cunt juice, shit and spit lubing the rim of her asshole, my tool didn't magically slide into her. It took considerable pressure to push my engorged cockhead past her tight anal ring. From the "e-e-e-e-e" sounds she made as I pushed in, it was evident she was not enjoying herself. Still, she dutifully continued to spread her cheeks and did not pull away.

Finally, her sphincter relaxed enough to allow an inch or two of my cockhead to enter and I fucked her ass shallowly to loosen her pucker before delving deeper. The sensation of her tight ring spasming around my cockhead was sublime. Slowly, it opened and yielded to the girth of my cock and I sank into her muddy back door inch by filthy inch.

I pressed hard into her bowels until the entire length of my rod was lodged in her ass and then reversed the motion, leaving just the tip of my cock inside her ring. Looking down, I saw that my shaft was streaked with smears and small beads of shit. A smell drifted up from her asshole that was not unlike the wet muck around the edges of a fetid marsh.

I pushed my tool back into her shit tube and began to fuck her with a slow, steady rhythm, loving the sticky friction of her beshitted hole on my cock. It grew darker and darker with shit as I slid in and out of her, my ball sack slapping against her grizzled cunt.

"You really are a worthless slut, aren't you, Gloria?" I said as I sodomized the tramp. "Just a toothless fuck pig with a smelly cunt and filthy asshole. Isn't that right?"

She slurred an unintelligible reply and I realized that her last mouthful or two of wine had been a tipping point in her descent into serious inebriation. Not wanting to deal with a comatose and filth-covered drunk passed out on my kitchen floor, I decided it was time to begin my end game.

I pulled my mucky cock out of her gaped asshole. Getting to my feet, I stood in front of her and pulled her head upwards by her pony tail so her body straightened and her sweaty face was level with my crotch.

"Look up at me and open your mouth," I ordered.

Groggy with booze, she obeyed without hesitation and I pushed my cock between her lips and into her toothless mouth.

The loathsome taste and smell of my shit-covered prong was a rude awakening for the drink-befuddled scrunt. She jerked her head away, leaving my browned cock bobbing freely inches from her face.

"S'all covered in shit!" 'she slurred. "Ugh, s'disgusting!"

She wiped her collapsed mouth with the back of her hand and tried to spit out the shit that had rubbed off onto her lips.

"Oh come on, Gloria, you're shit-faced already," I joked. "Seriously, you don't want a little shit to stand in the way of showing me how grateful you are, do you?"

She closed her eyes and shook her bowed head limply. "Don' wanna do it, mister," she whined. "Please, mister. Tastes so bad. S'got shit all over it. I don' wanna suck no shitty cock."

I stroked her hair and talked to her as though I were speaking to a child. "I'm very disappointed, Gloria," I said tenderly. "I would have loved to have you stay here with me but I really can't abide an ungrateful, selfish guest. Well, there's still enough time for you to get to the shelter although now that I think of it, they're unlikely to take you in considering how intoxicated you are. Looks like another night in the park for you instead of staying here and enjoying some more wine and a nice long bath before sleeping in a clean, comfortable bed instead of in the bushes. Shame really."

As I spoke, I touched my fouled cockhead lightly here and there on her face leaving brown dabs on her forehead and sunken cheeks.

"Come now, Gloria. It's not a lot to ask," I persisted. "You'll get used to the taste and smell quickly and when we're done you can bathe and we'll have a nice relaxing evening together. Otherwise, I really will have to ask you to leave. Immediately."

I cupped her chin firmly in one hand. With the other, I held my cock at its base between my thumb and index finger and brought it close to her mouth. The stench made her grimace in disgust but she didn't resist when its head touched her lips.

"Now be a good girl, Gloria," I said. "Take a deep breath and open your mouth wide."

A look of defeat came over her face as she closed her eyes, sucked in a lungful of air and parted her lips.

"There's a good piggy," I whispered as I pushed my filthy rod against her mouth.

She parted her lips slightly but still kept her gums too close together to allow my cock passage into her mouth. I ordered her to relax and open her jaws. After a second of hesitation, she complied and my cock slid unimpeded between her gums. She retched again and started to pull away. But my grip on her chin prevented this and my cock remained in her mouth.

I entwined the fingers of my free hand in her hair so it was not possible for her to move her head at all. I began to fuck her face slowly, pushing my cock a little further into her mouth with each thrust. Soon it was hitting the back of her throat, making her gag and retch loudly. Thick white ropes of phlegm tinged with brown leaked from the corners of her mouth and clung to my shaft.

"See, Gloria?" I said soothingly," that's not so bad, is it? I knew you could do it if you tried."

Tears leaked from her tightly shut eyelids as my filth-covered cock moved between her gums. My cockhead slammed the back of her throat with every thrust and elicited an amusing gluck-gluck-gluck sound from the drunken cow's gullet.

Close to cumming now, I decided to treat her face the way I'd treated her cunt earlier. Pulling my cock from between her lips, I tilted her reddened face upwards and told her to open her mouth wide.

"Now wrap your hand around my cock and stroke it, you disgusting whore," I commanded her.

She did as she was told. My cock was slick with a patina of shit and phlegm that provided a perfect lubricant for the back and forth motion of her hand.

I entwined the fingers of both my hands in her hair and held her head close to my tool. "Jerk me harder," I demanded.

Her grip tightened as she ramped up the tempo of her stroking and suddenly I was cumming. I moaned through gritted teeth and curled my toes in pleasure as my man sauce jetted out in great gobs onto her face and into her mouth. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of sperm that dripped down her chin onto her tits but kept her mouth open and continued to stroke me as my cock spewed out my load. I snatched her hand away and shoved my still spurting cock between her lips.

"Suck every drop of cum out of it, you dirty bitch, but don't you dare swallow it, understand?" I said as my semen flooded her mouth.

When I was spent, I pulled my cock from between her lips and told her to open her mouth wide. She obeyed and when I looked into her mouth I saw a pool of thick jizz on her tongue stained with shit to a café-au-lait hue.

"Okay, now swallow it, you beast," I demanded. "Swallow every last drop of it."

She nodded, hung her head and chugged down my tainted seed with a loud gulp that made her choke and gag.

"All gone?" I asked. She nodded and opened her mouth to show me she was telling me the truth.

I told her she was a good little slut and patted her head.

She remained on her knees before me with her saggy ass resting on her heels, head bowed and shit-stained hands folded in her lap. Grabbing her pony-tail, I tilted her face upwards and ordered her to look at me.

Her shit-browned, shriveled lips resembled her puckered asshole, and a glaze of cum, spit, sweat and tears covered her entire shit-flecked face from brow to chin. A few rivulets of this mixture had dripped down onto her meaty udders, which were also streaked and smudged with shit. Covered in this vile mess, she gazed up at me forlornly with eyes devoid of light and spirit, the countenance of a broken, degraded woman resigned to her demeaning subjugation. I stared down at my debauched creation and felt a blend of loathing and satisfying sense of achievement.

"God, you are a repulsive creature, aren't you?" I said before spitting a thick wad of phlegm onto her face. She flinched but did not recoil when it landed just below her left eye and oozed down her cheek. I posed the question again more loudly and this time she nodded slowly with tears filling her eyes. I laughed and patted her head. How could she dispute it?

I saw her filth-browned lips tremble as though she wanted to ask me something but was restrained by fear.

"What now, Gloria? Out with it."

"Sorry, mister. I-I really gotta piss again. Can I use the toilet again?"

I considered denying her permission to empty her bladder and forcing her to hold her piss for as long it amused me but I'd had my fun with the cow.

"Well, apparently your brain and your bladder are both the size of a pea. Yes, you may use the toilet, Gloria but don't touch anything with those disgusting hands on the way."

She struggled to her feet, unsteady from alcohol and the ordeal I'd just put her through. As she walked away, I saw that her ass crack was outlined in brown and her cellulose-pebbled ass cheeks and thighs were marked with flourishes of shit. When she'd staggered off to the bathroom, I wiped my hands and cock on her panties and wife-beater. A more thorough washing up in the shower would come later. Now it was time to eject the sullied vagrant. She had fulfilled her purpose and needed to be sent packing.

I dressed quickly and gathered up all Gloria's clothing from the floor. I brought her rags to the bathroom and found her sitting on the toilet, attempting to dry her pussy with obvious difficulty.

"Looks like that stinky cunt of yours is still sore," I said.

She grimaced and nodded as she moved the paper tentatively between her legs.

"Mishter, can I have a sh-shower now?" she asked, mush-mouthed from the booze. "I got shit an' stuff all over me. S'nasty."

I looked down at her swaying groggily on the toilet and a wave of revulsion swept over me. I wanted her out and fast.

"No, no shower for you," I said. "Wipe your face and tits with these and be quick about it.

I handed her the filthy panties and wife-beater. She stared at them perplexedly and opened her mouth to complain but thought better of it and as best she could, began cleaning the mess on her face with her already shit and cum-stained under garments. She managed to remove some of the foul concoction but there were still stains of brown here and there on her face and drying beads of cum in her hair. She overlooked the smears of excrement on her udders and was unaware of the disgusting condition of her ass and thighs but I was not about to point these omissions out to her. I wanted her gone and couldn't have cared less about the state of her personal hygiene.

"Okay, Gloria," I said. "That will have to do. You've overstayed your welcome. Time for you to get dressed and go."

"Huh? Go? But you... you said I could stay here 'til I got my shit together if I was gra-grateful," she whined pathetically. "I done everything you wanted, mishter, so why do I hafta go?"

"You'll never get your shit together and you couldn't possibly show enough gratitude for me to let you stay another minute under my roof," I returned. "Now get dressed and get out of my apartment. The sight and stench of you makes me want to vomit."

She looked incredulous as I grabbed her pony tail and pulled her to her feet. She was too inebriated to dress herself as quickly as I wanted so I helped her on with her clothes. I decided it would be too much work to get strap her into her bra so I left her titanic tits unharnessed and yanked her wife beater over her head and torso. She neglected to remember to put her soiled panties on and I saw no point in reminding her so I gripped her arm to steady her while she clumsily pulled on her jeans. When the drunken tramp managed to get into her hoodie with my help, I grabbed her arm, hustled her out of the bathroom and pushed her toward the front door.

"Hey, mister, wha'... wha' 'bout my money?" she whined, suddenly remembering our initial agreement. "You said you'se gonna give me fifteen bucks to eat my pussy."

"Sure, I'll pop a check in the mail," I replied. "Now let's go, piggy."

I dragged her into the hall and pushed her towards the stairwell. Navigating the stairs with the clumsy drunk wasn't easy and she complained all the way down

"Hey, take it easy, mister. Wh-why you gotta be so mean to me? I done all the stuff you wanted. This ain't right!"

I ignored her complaints and continued to manhandle her down the stairs. When we finally reached the door to the parking lot, I opened it and shoved her outside. She staggered and almost fell but managed to steady herself and turned back to look at me through the open door.

"Please, mister," she begged. "S' gettin' dark an' I don' got nowhere to go. Can't I stay jus' one night? I'll let you do whatever you want to me but just one night. Please!"

"I've already done all I want to do to you. Now I'm done with you and it's time for you to piss off before I get really angry."

She looked at me in utter despair as I slammed the door in her face. Returning to my apartment, I went out on my balcony to make sure she hadn't tripped and passed out in the parking lot where she might be discovered by some good citizen who would call the police to the scene. As the building's manager I'd almost certainly be questioned and I didn't need that kind of stress. But when I checked her progress, I saw she had reached the laneway and now stood swaying almost in the same spot where I'd first encountered her that afternoon. She looked up and down the lane trying to get her bearings and then shambled off into the night with her head down and shoulders bowed; the very picture of misery and dejection.

I watched the vagrant until she was out of sight. When I was satisfied she wasn't going to return, I set about cleaning my apartment so I would not be confronted the next morning with any evidence of my foul guest's visit.

I picked up her ragged bra and filthy panties from the bathroom floor and dropped them into a plastic trash bag before scouring the toilet seat that the cow had--not once but twice--covered with her chubby ass to release a veritable cloudburst of alcohol-tainted piss into the toilet bowl.

Next, I wiped dried sweat and cum and Gloria's cunt drippings from the surface of the kitchen table before rubbing it with my cloth until the polished wood gleamed. I arranged the chairs neatly around the table and turned my attention to the living room. Among the empty beer cans, wine jug and tumbler on the coffee table, I discovered Gloria's dentures where she had placed them before gumming my cock so expertly. I threw them into the trash bag along with the beer cans and grinned as I pictured her mortifying embarrassment when she discovered their loss and realized she would have to live with a comically misshapen face until she could cadge the cost of new plates from one of the many nanny-state organizations that exist to waste tax payer dollars coddling non-producers like her.

As I emptied the ash tray into the trash bag, I made another discovery: Gloria's grubby pack sack half-hidden under the sofa. I fished it out, sat down and dumped its contents onto the coffee table. All her earthly possessions amounted to a few wads of crumpled newspaper--likely for use as emergency toilet paper--a frayed toothbrush, some tampons, an empty cigarette box, two pairs of grubby panties, a malodorous black tee-shirt, five mismatched socks and a cheap, plastic wallet.

Inside the wallet, I found bills and loose change totaling about fifteen dollars, almost exactly the fee I'd agreed to pay her for the pleasure of eating her unwashed cunt. I smiled as I pocketed the cash. Essentially the vagrant had paid me for debasing her with the same amount I promised to give her. The irony was wonderfully rich.

In one of the wallet's pockets, there was a laminated parole card from the Ohio Department of Corrections issued eight years earlier, apparently her only identification. It showed her date of birth and doing the math, I realized that Gloria was now a few months short of her fortieth birthday, younger than I'd guessed. She was less heavy in the photo on the card, her hair shorter and neatly arranged and her face less spider-webbed with wrinkles. But her frowning, full-lipped mouth and deep-set, morose eyes staring vacantly at the camera instantly identified her as the beaten down hobo I'd had such filthy sport with that afternoon. I would never know what legal transgression sent her to prison but it was safe to assume it was not a white collar crime or any sort felony requiring even a modicum of intelligence or skill to perpetrate. Most likely prostitution or a drug offense or some other low-level infraction within her limited grasp.

The last item in the wallet was a 3x5, folded and creased photo of a young couple with a little girl in a frilly dress standing between them and holding their hands. The couple stared in rapt adoration at the child who beamed at the camera in delight, exuding the kind of spontaneous joy that only well-loved, happy children project so intensely and unselfconsciously. Turning the photo over, I saw written in faded ink "Mama and Papa with our darling daughter Gloria. Berea, KY June 1987." Based on the date, Gloria would have been five or six when the photo was taken, an innocent child blissfully unaware of the brutal, squalid life that awaited her.

If I were the sort of person given to such conjectures, I might have pondered what hellish life trajectory accounted for transforming this ebullient little girl into the drunken wreck of a human being I'd ravaged that afternoon. But I consider such sentimental speculation a pointless waste of time so gave it no thought. I ripped the photo into pieces before dropping it into the trash bag where it joined her dentures, undergarments and the entire contents of her pack. There was just enough space left in the trash bag for the pack and I stuffed it in with the other detritus. I tied off the top and left it by my front door where it would remain until I threw it into the building's dumpster the next morning, a fitting metaphor for what Gloria had done with her life.

After clearing the coffee table, I stowed the wine jug in a kitchen cupboard and washed Gloria's glass. I gave the whole apartment a final once over and was satisfied that I'd purged my space of all signs of the vagrant's visit. Now it was time to do the same to my body.

I carried my robe to the bathroom, stripped and stepped into the shower. I turned on the tap, soaped myself thoroughly, and let the jet of hot water wash away any lingering residue my bout with Gloria had left on my skin. As I washed myself, I reflected that Gloria would not have the opportunity to do the same that night. Drunk and exhausted, she would trudge along until she found a suitable place to pass out behind a dumpster, among some scrubby bushes or in the doorway of an abandoned building. After stretching out on the hard ground, she would pass out, her skin and clothing still reeking of dried sweat, shit, semen, alcohol and the stink of her unwashed nether regions.

Early the next morning, the glaring sun would wake her. Disoriented and confused, her bladder full to bursting and her cunt, asshole and head aching, she would look around her and struggle to get her bearings. As her head began to clear, it would dawn on her that her dentures and pack were gone. She would desperately try to recall where she'd lost them but considering how intoxicated she had been when she left my apartment, she would not be able to bring to mind the events of the previous afternoon. Scrubbing her filthy leavings from my body under the hot water, I laughed aloud as I imagined the look of anguish and panic on her vacuous face when her loss and the harsh reality of her predicament sunk in.

After sluicing off all visceral traces of the tramp from my skin and hair, I stepped out of the shower, toweled off and put on my robe. I decided to enjoy a cigarette and glass of bourbon on the balcony before I slept. Twilight had dimmed into full darkness, and the air was still warm but comfortably so. I lit a cigarette, sucked in a lungful of calming smoke and raised the glass to my lips. The excellent whisky purged the last vestiges of the taste of Gloria's cunt from my mouth and suffused my mind and body with a feeling of well-being and contentment.

Gazing out into the night, I replayed in my mind the details of the grotesque pleasures Gloria had afforded me at such a great cost to herself that afternoon. My experience with her had been exceptional as these things go and I wondered if perhaps I had jettisoned the hag too quickly. What increasingly vile acts might I have perpetrated on her had I kept her for another day or two, plying her with booze and veiled threats while promising her a bright future in my home if she continued to show her gratitude for my promised kindnesses? My mind reeled and my tired cock twitched as I considered the possibilities.

But no, I decided, I had been right to release her back into the wild when I did. After all, there is an interminable parade of women like Gloria passing through this world who for any number of reasons--drugs, alcohol, a childhood spent in State care, misplaced love of a toxic man or, more often than not, their own stupid, misguided choices--stumble and fall into endless night where at times their survival depends on providing deviant delight to feral predators like myself. Satisfying our abhorrent demands inevitably deepens their despair and self-hatred, and creates a vicious cycle from which many never escape. There would always be another broken woman drifting aimlessly into my orbit whose struggles I could leverage for my own perverse pleasure and subject to a level of abuse and humiliation perhaps even surpassing that which I had heaped on Gloria. No, there was no need to pick at the bones of a carcass already stripped bare when there was an abundance of fresh meat available to feast on.

I quaffed the last of my bourbon, rose from my chair and stepped back into the apartment, leaving the balcony door open to air out the place and rid it of any lingering funk Gloria might have left behind her. I did not want to wake to an apartment smelling like the emissions from a poultry rendering plant.

After completing my final nightly ablutions, I lay down on my bed in the dark, my mind blank and my body fully relaxed. I closed my eyes and drifted easily into that deep, dreamless and untroubled sleep so familiar to the dead of heart.

THE END