Trailer trash teen ch.8

Tina awoke with the sensation of a cock sliding in and
out of her pussy. She slowly shook her head from left
to right. Then, finally, she opened her eyes and
stared up at a large, sweaty body.

The groggy teenager had no idea who this guy was at
first. She smiled at the sensation of his cock planted
deeply within her, fantasizing perhaps that this was
some lover of hers waking her up with a romantic love-
making session. The sleepy teen began to lift her
arms, wanting to drape them over this man’s back, hold
him to her prone young form. She wanted the fantasy to
continue.

Something was wrong though. Her hands were sticky. She
soon realized that her hair felt matted and sticky as
well, and that she was sore from head to toe. Also,
that this was no large, comfortable bed she was lying
on, but a small uncomfortable couch.

That’s when she remembered everything from the night
before. It hit her in a flash: the group sex with all
those “Oilmen”; Lucy, the pretty Asian woman; the
strip club; Razor. She let her arms drop back to her
sides as all this registered. She hoped that the man
who was now thrusting in and out of her hadn’t noticed
her move.

She closed her eyes tightly and held as still as
possible. She just wanted it to be over, for whoever
this was to quickly finish and go away. But was he the
last one? For all she knew there was a line behind
him: all the Oilmen coming back for extras before
taking off, possibly.

Certainly she’d been fucked several times since she’d
passed out the night before, too. These people cared
that little for her, she realized. For them she was
just a hole attached to a woman’s– a teenage woman’s-
– body. Conscious or not, they had fucked her all
night long. She could tell already: her ass was sore,
her pussy sore, too. They had cum in her and on her,
and had given no regard at all for the passed out
young girl.

Flashbacks of those encounters threatened to make
themselves known to the frazzled teen, but she pushed
them away. It was bad enough remembering the things
she’d done before falling asleep.

She continued to pretend being asleep as the man
pounded his cock more quickly in and out of her. Her
body lurched forward and back on the couch with each
violent thrust, but she kept her eyes closed and tried
to keep her breathing even, too. Still, it was hard:
she could feel the familiar sensation of her body
charging itself up toward orgasm as the cock slid deep
inside her tiny frame.

She focused on her breathing: in, out, in, out.
Slowly, casually. If she had to cum, maybe she could
do it without him noticing. She didn’t want him to
notice, not one bit.

Just then she felt his strong hands, which had been
around her waist, slide up to her slight torso and
squeeze. His body went rigid, and he was cursing under
his breath as he came. She felt the goo spurt inside
her, part of her annoyed he hadn’t gotten her off and
the other part just relieved that it was over.

When he rolled off of her, and she heard him leave,
she could no longer control herself: she began to sob.
She turned into the couch and sobbed loudly, letting
the surface of the upholstery muffle her pathetic,
gasping cries.

She felt utterly dirty. From head to toe! Cum in her
hair, on her tits, in her pussy. Cum everywhere! She’d
been fucked all night long by these men.

She was completely naked, too. Even the belt that Mr.
Blackwell had insisted she keep on was gone. She
cuddled against the cold chill she felt across her
sore body, then turned over again and stared into the
dark. In the background, from outside the bar, she
heard birds chirping. It was morning, but what time?
Probably almost time for school.

She dared to stare around the room some more, and was
relieved to find none of the Oilmen were left. She was
alone in the “Executive Lounge” now, tired and naked
and laying on the couch upon which she’d been fucked
numerously, all night long.

Suddenly she thought about Lucy. Where was she?

Tears welled in her eyes again as she thought of her.
That sweet, pretty Asian woman, who had been so nice,
so caring. And who also had kissed her. She had kissed
Tina heatedly, and done much more besides.

Tina sobbed louder, and then threw her hand over her
mouth. She turned over, then back, then onto her
belly. She felt so cold! So dirty. So sick.

She might have fallen asleep again, had it not been
for the sudden slamming of the Executive’s Lounge
door.

Just after that, she felt shaken into awareness. She
gulped at the touch of the hands on her body, and
tried to continue her fake sleep. He was probably one
of the Oilmen, she figured, wanting another fuck.

Her heart raced. Her body continued to be shaken, more
violently now. Then she finally heard his voice
through the fog that was her mind: “Wake up!” said
Razor.

She turned. When she saw his face through the dark,
she couldn’t help but feel relieved. There he was,
larger than life! There to make her feel okay again.
He would make what she’d done the night before all
better, she thought.

It didn’t occur to her for a moment that he was the
reason that night had occurred in the first place.

He basically had to order her around for the next
thirty minutes. If he hadn’t, she might begin sobbing
again. The normally headstrong and defiant teenager
eagerly obeyed his every command, too. It was better
than thinking; it felt good to have someone think for
her.

The first thing he’d done was curse when he saw her
appearance. “Fuck!” he’d cried. “…cum in your hair!
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Fuck! You look like a used up
street-whore!”

He wasn’t angry, she knew. In fact, he was impressed!
She had done so well that she looked filthy. That was
a good thing, to him at least.

He told her to take a shower, to do her hair, to get
dressed. She followed his orders obediently, relieved
still that she didn’t have to think for herself.

The shower had been shorter than she’d liked, but only
because she’d wanted to shower for the next twelve
hours. She felt so used! So fucking used, all over.
She felt sticky and sweaty, and although all that
could be cleaned, nothing could wash away the shame
she felt. She’d had sex for money! She’d fucked, how
many? Six guys? And a girl? And how many times? She
couldn’t even remember how many she’d done it while
awake. Who knew how many times she’d done it after?

She was nothing, now, but a whore. Not an aspiring
college student. Not the victim of all the wrongs that
had been done to her throughout the years. No. She was
now nothing but a filthy, cheap young whore.

No shower in the world could wash that realization
away.

She was numb at the thought. At least she wasn’t
crying anymore, she reasoned. But the shower was weak,
and that frustrated her. She wanted fierce, hot
streams of water to sting her body, like at home! To
be forced into her most intimate areas and wash away
her embarrassment. Instead, all the 16-year-old got
was warm, weak jets of spray. It was simply not
enough.

It was also eerie. The girls’ room at EZ’s was similar
to the girls’ locker room at school: big,
institutional, and without any privacy. It was like a
large locker room, with shower-heads scattered about
the perimeter, several drains near the center of the
room. But Tina was alone in there. No one else was
left in the bar, apparently, but her and Razor.

Every sound echoed. The rushing of the water, the
sounds of her soft feet on the tiled floor. Even her
occasional whimpers of hopelessness.

When she finished, she dried, then wrapped her towel
around her damp body. But she didn’t leave the room.
She sat on one of the benches instead, until Razor
finally came back. When he did he had with him an
outfit for her to wear which was almost appropriate.
Of course, she’d rather have gone home and changed,
but she had to go to school. And this saved him a
trip.

She dressed slowly, practically in silence. Razor said
nothing, but he did watch. He watched as she pulled
the white-cotton panties up her slender young legs. He
watched as she snapped the pleated gray skirt around
her hips. Then he watched as she pulled on the bra,
and then the shirt.

It was obviously one of the outfits the strippers at
the bar might wear onstage. The skirt was short, grey
and pleated; the shirt was a white button-up; the
socks reached to just below her knees and were black.
The panties and bra were white.

Thankfully, the “Catholic girl” outfit wasn’t as tight
as she had expected. It was almost comfortable. If the
skirt itself hadn’t been so short, she would have been
a lot more comfortable, though.

After getting dressed Tina brushed out her hair and
pulled it back behind her head in a short ponytail
with a hair tie. She hadn’t the energy to do anything
special. After that she brushed her teeth, and then
finally applied a little make-up.

There was still that slight bruise around her eye, but
it was hardly noticeable at all, now. She powdered it
lightly, and added just a hint of shadow. It
disappeared. Then she added a bit of lipstick,
lavender, and practiced a “normal” smile in the
mirror.

She didn’t feel normal at all, but her reflection
looked fine. No evidence of the previous night’s
activities.

As she sat there, fully made up and ready for the day,
Tina tried to get out of going to school suddenly. She
meekly explained to her new boss that she hadn’t the
energy, but Razor would have none of it.