Cammi stared at herself in the cracked mirror. Her inflated lips pouted prominently, stuck in their constant ‘O’ shape, while her feminine, teenage facial features were caked in layers of low quality, whorish cosmetics. Her big, innocent green eyes were enhanced with heavy mascara and glittery pink eyeshadow while her high, rounded cheekbones were dusted with blush. Her tiny button nose and weak, rounded jaw were dominated completely by her DSLs, which had certainly done some DS’ing in the last few months. They were wet and shined with fruity-flavored pink lip gloss. Cammi’s mind briefly flashed with fantasies of big black dicks sliding between her love pillows. She felt her mouth beginning to moisten at merely the thought of blowing a hard cock.
Trailing her eyes down past her smooth neck and delicate shoulders, Cammi’s gaze fixated on the enormous breasts straining her back. They were heavy, fleshy, and hung high on her chest. They looked decently natural but also suspiciously perky for their size. Attached to her breasts was a pair of fuchsia pink nipple pasties that failed to cover her areola. Her areola spread wide around the tiny pasties, running with a series of nearly translucent arteries that advertised female fertility. Her thick nipples strained against the pasties and threatened to leak milk at any moment. A series of beaded pink tassels dangled below the pasties and swayed with even the tiniest of movements. Cammi gently shook her shoulders and watched as her tits heaved and jiggled with slightly different timing than the tassels, creating a hypnotic undulation.
She raised her lithe arms and used her hands to gently cup her wobbling breasts and stop their movement. Her two-inch, low-quality acrylic nails clicked as they slid through the tassels. Cammi then hefted each tit, feeling the fleshy orbs overflowing her tiny hands. Below them, her waist cinched inwards then flared out into an exaggerated hourglass.
The glint of a belly button stud caught her eye. Two fake diamonds surrounded by silver threaded through her navel courtesy of Daddy and Mr. Green. He owned the establishment Cammi was now working in and insisted she get the piercing. It seemed all his other girls were similarly pierced, and it was a requirement to work. As Cammi’s manager, Daddy was more than willing to have her modified. She knew her sexy new jewelry marked her as a working girl.
She shifted her hips, which barely fit between the arms of an unstable wooden chair. She still hadn’t gotten used to the recent expansion of her butt and hips courtesy of Doctor Frank. It felt like she was sitting on two dense cushions as her supple ass flesh spread beneath her. She carefully stood from the chair and turned in the mirror, marveling at her perfectly rounded ass cheeks, which jutted behind her like a shelf. They were completely uncovered with only a fuchsia pink c-string wedged between her legs. A frilly oval of fabric covered her thick pussy lips, while the string of the underwear was lost completely within her dump truck. The outline of her cameltoe was prominently displayed and swollen against the tiny sliver of pink fabric, though from behind she looked totally naked. Her slutty tramp stamp sat just above her newly expanded ass and contoured around her exaggerated curves.
Turning back to the mirror, Cammi swept her long nails through her waist-length blonde hair, which was tied in a messy ponytail. Dark roots showed through the amateur bleach blonde dye job, and it seemed brittle and lifeless. Combined with her thickly applied makeup, Cammi’s shiny pout and damaged hair made her look like a cheap and wanton whore. This aesthetic was furthered by the pink c-string ‘panties’ and nipple pasties molded to her ultra-feminine body alongside her cute, tiny feet, which were standing on glittery and cheap pink platform heels, barely elevating her 4'10" stature to the height of a normal woman.
The pounding bass of a modern hip hop song shook the peeling, purple concrete walls of the cramped and slightly damp space that Cammi was standing in, breaking her from a mild trance. Everything, including Cammi’s body, seemed to vibrate as the music reverberated through the walls. It was a sensation she was becoming intimately familiar with since she was relocated here by Daddy. It was hard for her to gauge how many days had passed since the last porn shoot, as her life had become a blur of sucking, dancing, giggling, fucking, moaning, degradation, and hot sweaty bodies. While numbers, calendars, and clocks were meaningless to Cammi, her period was always a reliable measurement of time. Cammi knew roughly another month had gone by each time she felt the familiar biological processes beginning and ending within her vagina. She still couldn’t count or add up the cycles, but at least she had a way to orient herself through menstruation!
Cammi peered around to take stock of her living situation.
The vanity in front of her was littered with barely functioning cosmetics. Broken eyeshadows, runny mascaras, dirty brushes, and lipsticks used down to the stubs—all knockoff, no-name brands that even dollar store shoppers would scoff at. In the corner of the room was a metal trashcan overflowing with a mountain of discarded hygiene products, both in it and spilled around it. A beige, plastic laundry hamper filled with discolored and stained clothing was situated next to it. Trash and dirty garments intermingled between the receptacles, and Cammi could see piles of skimpy outfits and negligee coated with various bodily fluids. A faded and fraying neon green underwire bra poked out of the trash pile while a tampon applicator and a balled-up wad of tissues spread among the clothing.
The ceiling was low—REALLY low. It gave the room an oppressive aura and suggested that the space wasn’t originally built for its current purpose. It felt more like a storage room or a claustrophobic basement complete with spider webs crisscrossing the corners and hanging down two ancient-looking bulbs dangling from black wires in the ceiling. The webs themselves looked abandoned and brittle. It appeared that even the vermin of the world avoided this place.
The wall opposite from the vanity had a porcelain sink, which was heavily discolored from water stains. Its metal spigot and handles had long since rusted, though a familiar apparatus was attached to the sink and slowly dripped pink-colored water. Next to it was a similarly stained and rusted toilet. The inside of the bowl was crusted with a sickly yellow ring, and the stagnant water was brown-tinged.
Beneath her feet, the concrete floor was covered in a very thin layer of cheap green carpet. The carpet didn’t fit the floor properly, and it was bumpy and raised in some areas. Cammi had learned to navigate carefully after tripping a few times. A discolored path of wear was matted and stamped into the carpet leading from the vanity to a narrow stone staircase leading up towards the pounding bass. She made several trips to the vanity every night, and the worn path in the carpet highlighted that. The room reminded Cammi of her previous residence beneath the liquor store, though this place was a little smaller. She caught a quick glance at the clothes pile and smiled. At least she had the extra clothes! Daddy had promised her, even if they felt like whore hand-me-downs.
The final fixture of her bedroom was a horribly stained mattress that rested between the vanity and the trash and laundry baskets. Laying on the mattress was Cammi’s trusty black dildo and her cute pink cell phone. ‘Black Cock Paradise’ was displayed with images of gigantic black dicks scrolling across the screen while pulsating colors massaged her brain and beckoned her to play. The title screen also played the high-pitched, pleasured moan of white women and the deep, dominating grunt of black men on loop. Cammi could hum the looping noise after hearing it thousands of times over and over. She resisted the urge to play but felt elated that she could come back after her shift and devote all night to her favorite game. Cammi’s barely covered cameltoe pulsated lightly beneath the c-string as her brain became awash with images of black dicks.
A gravelly voice broke Cammi from her second daydream, “You ready to take my spot, Cam?”
Cammi turned and glanced up at a middle-aged woman crouching down and speaking to her from atop the stone staircase. Her name was Jen, and she’d been a fixture at this club for years. She was completely naked except for the silver and diamond-colored belly button stud threaded through her navel, which matched Cammi’s exactly. Unlike Cammi, however, Jen’s soft, flabby stomach nearly engulfed the jewelry. She stood with her legs partially open, bearing her droopy and blown-out pussy, discolored and darkened from what appeared to be decades of overuse. Its dark, meaty lips leaked a river of viscous white fluid. A trashy pubic tattoo, fuzzy and faded, flanked both sides of her crotch while her thighs and ass were dotted with cellulite and even the beginnings of varicose veins. If Cammi’s ass was a thicc dump truck, Jen’s was just a saggy dump filled with fat and age. Her small breasts hung low and loose on her chest, and her ugly face was mannish and asymmetrical. Garish, low-quality cosmetics somewhat hid her manly features, though the dark beginnings of a mustache above her painted lips worked hard against her. A stringy and lifeless mess of greasy brown hair framed her face and a yellowed, crooked smile that she nervously projected.
Jen looked like she absolutely belonged among the peeling, damp walls that her gnarled hand rested on.
“Did you—did you hear me, Cammi?” Jen asked nervously in her alto rasp.
“Oh, um, yeah! Like, totally! Thanks Jen, I’m coming!” Cammi squeaked, returning Jen’s nervous smile.
Jen nodded and curled a few errant strands behind her ear before turning back towards the bumping bass; her lumpy ass jostling behind her like a bag of dense salt.
Once Jen was out of sight, Cammi gave herself a final once over before drawing a sharp breath and heading towards the staircase. She tottered across the floor with the muffled *click* of high heels against cheap carpet. Her normal gait had become a swaying waddle with wide rocking hips, and her enhanced ass jiggled provocatively, clapping lightly with each strutting step.
Cammi’s heels clacked against the stone steps as she navigated towards the music. The stairs were lopsided and crooked, but her muscle memory kicked in, and she floated up with a jostling hustle. A dilapidated hallway opened into a larger room where Jen reclined in a ratty fabric armchair. Her unsightly love handles squished over the sides, and her labored breaths came in audible wheezes. The room was illuminated by rows of vanities on each side. Large mirrors surrounded by bulbs, many of them burnt out, and tables covered with cosmetics, wigs, negligee, and other various tools of the trade. Two racks of slutty outfits and costumes hung haphazardly in the corner with various clothing pieces strewn about. A filthy and cramped shower was stationed in the corner, its tiles discolored and coated with grime. The rusted showerhead dripped lazily, and there was no curtain or wall to shield its user.
Cammi stopped and stood at the opening of the hallway and scanned the room. Her gaze moved from Jen to two scantily clad, middle-aged women sitting at adjoining vanities. They were both smoking cigarettes and leaning towards one another, deeply involved in some clandestine conversation. Their whispered words ceased at Cammi’s scrutiny, and they shot friendly smiles before refocusing on one another, bending closer and speaking quieter. Their cigarette plumes curled into the yellowed ceiling, hanging in the air like lazy storm clouds and filling the area with the stench of addiction. Another, much rougher-looking woman was unconscious on a shabby couch by the far wall, draped over the torn cushions. A rubber tie-off was wrapped tightly around her skeletal bicep, and an empty needle lay on the carpet beneath her. Gasping snores periodically escaped her cracked lips in concerning bursts of choked air.
Adjacent to the couch was a wall with peeling faux-gold wallpaper. A large, intentional tear revealed a scrawl of red spray paint on the exposed drywall displaying the name of the establishment, the one she had been working at for the last few months—a name that she felt herself embodying on a nightly basis:
Cammi momentarily stared at the red lettering just as she had countless times before. Every night she strutted up the uneven stone stairs in a slutty outfit excited to show her worth—and every night she would slowly descend them again on weary, shaky legs, dripping semen from one or more battered holes and leaving a small tear of her humanity beneath the thumping bass. Every man that used her as a set of nameless holes—that used her as his personal boner garage—pushed Cammi to accept the reality of her situation. More and more she saw the scrawl that she passed twice every night was referring to HER. She WAS a set of nameless holes—she WAS a boner garage—she was THE boner garage. She couldn't even read the words but knew they referred to her.
Having wasted enough time, Cammi lifted her gaze and navigated towards the door leading to the main room. She inhaled the latent smoke from her gossiping coworkers and sidestepped the sagging armchair where Jen sat, collapsed and dripping. Cammi’s nipple tassels bounced and swayed while her c-string wedged tightly into her pussy and newly enhanced ass. She stood before the final door leading to her usual avalanche of sweaty cocks. Cammi reached up and pulled out her hair tie, tossing it to the right of the door, where it landed in a pile of identical hair ties from previous nights. Even with the valiant hand-comb of her long acrylics, Cammi couldn’t get it to look like anything other than brittle and lifeless. The repeated cheap blonde dye jobs, general maltreatment, and long nights had taken their toll. She had the hair of a worn-down, thoroughly used, and abused ‘Boner Garage’ whore.
With a push of the door, Cammi forced an excited smile onto her face as the heavy beat, cool air, low light, and stench of sweat and rot enveloped her all at the same time. She glided through the threshold and was swallowed up.
Cammi’s appearance was immediately noticed by one of her coworkers, Isabelle, who scampered over from the far wall holding a black tray. She was a pudgy, middle-aged Hispanic woman wearing a yellow micro bikini with a thick, dark bush creeping over the thong. Her rounded facial features had a light sheen of sweat, and her double chin wobbled lightly as she approached.
“Ay! Chica!” Isabelle wheezed, totally out of breath, barely audible over the loud music, “You take—you *huff* you take thees tray fer me? Iz jus’ *wheeze* iz jus’ one minute fer the leetle girl room, Chica! Plea?”
She crossed her tanned, cellulite-dimpled thighs and put on a pained expression while offering the black tray.
Cammi kept her smile and nodded, reaching up to accept the cold plastic serving tray.
She responded warmly, “Like, of course, Izzy! I totally got you, okay?”
Isabelle brushed past Cammi towards the only bathroom before turning and speaking over her shoulder, “Tank you, Chica! Iz jes the beck table still needs’a dey drink, okay?”
Cammi nodded, hoisting the tray onto her bare shoulder and watching Isabelle’s flat ass as she shuffled towards the bathroom.
But before she could even turn around and get her bearings, Cammi let out a surprised and high-pitched ‘EEP!’ as a rough hand smacked her protruding BBL ass. She shot her gaze towards the culprit and fixated on a crusty and portly, middle-aged Asian man smiling stupidly at her with crooked, yellow teeth. He had a single tuft of greasy black hair and wore a short-sleeved blue button-up shirt with visible sweat stains under each armpit.
He leaned close to Cammi and invaded her personal space. His breath reeked of onions, and his voice sounded strangely wet as he yelled over the music, “Printhcess Cammi, my beautiful little dove! I wasth waiting for hoursth for you to gracthe me with your divine presenthe!”
Cammi kept the soulless smile plastered on her teenage face. She was intimately familiar with Mr. Ming, who was usually waiting for her at the start of every shift. She tried to tactfully retreat a half step only for Mr. Ming to immediately close the gap, his hot, stinky breath washing over her face like an exhaust pipe. His eyes drank in her impossibly skimpy outfit from the heels up. His surveying gaze stopped briefly on her C-string cameltoe and again on her nipple pasties, which didn’t quite cover her areola. For all intents and purposes, Cammi was naked, and beneath Mr. Ming’s leering gaze felt every inch of visible skin.
“Oh, um, hi Mr. Ming.” Cammi offered awkwardly.
His long, dirt-caked fingernails brushed into his tuft of hair as he yelled over the bass, “What’sth a man gotta pay to earn an angel’sth mouth tonight, milady?”
Cammi shimmied her shoulders and navigated around Mr. Ming carefully like he was a dangerous animal or a pile of vomit. The image of Mr. Ming’s smegma-covered chode ran through Cammi’s brain, and she held the tray like a protective ward. He followed her with dark, needy eyes and a confident smile. He was clearly viewing her behavior as playful.
“Oh, um—" Cammi started, “I’m, like, totally sorry, Mr. Ming? I have to, um, do drink orders and junk for a bit?” She held up the tray for evidence. “If you stick around, I’ll, like, DEFINITELY find you once I’m done, is that okay?”
Mr. Ming stood upright and performed a little bow; his flabby belly peeked out from beneath his shirt. Cammi could see a tiny bulge in his dirty gray pants and barely stifled a shiver. He may have had his rancid dick inside her dozens of times, but if she could avoid it, she would!
“But of coursthe, my beautiful dove. I will be watching you from a distanthce. Your strong protector in the shadowsth!”
“O-Okay, Mr. Ming. I’ll, like, see you soon, okay?” Cammi chirped while turning away.
But Cammi just couldn’t help herself. Out of pure muscle memory, she stopped and bent forward slightly, pushing her ass out towards Mr. Ming while shooting him a devilish smirk over her shoulder. Her hollowed eyes brightened instantly to a half-lidded, stereotypical ‘fuck me’ gaze through a sheathe of damaged blonde hair. It was basically involuntary at this point, but Cammi felt compelled to present her ass and tease Mr. Ming despite her aversion. The prostitute conditioning of both her body and mind yearned to give him the chance to touch her again. As expected, he wasted no time, and his rough hand collided against her shelf-like, naked, ghetto booty with a meaty *SPANK* while his face was twisted with arousal and the triumph of ownership.
Strutting away from her regular client, who now sported a full-on tent in his pants, Cammi crossed the room while hoisting her tray with purpose. The main floor was essentially a dim smoking lounge with metal stripper poles and stages on one side and a rickety bar on the other. Tall, tiny tables without chairs were strewn about, and a collection of stools lined each stage. The scuffed wooden floors were covered with a gritty dusting of grime. Long-forgotten pints, mixed drinks, and bottles of beer were clustered and abandoned on nearly every table or spilled on the floor. The low ceiling was dark from decades of heavy smoke and crisscrossed with blackened cobwebs, which could be classified as antiques. A hodgepodge of low-quality men lounged around wearing what could only be described as homeless attire while leering, wolf-whistling, and catcalling at two scantily clad strippers grinding and dancing on stage. The women looked worn, desperate, and downright homely, but the men didn’t seem to care beyond launching crude remarks. The deep base of ghetto rap music boomed from huge speakers situated on each corner of the stage.
The first woman was a mature, redheaded ginger named Max, who spoke with the strongest Scottish accent that Cammi had ever heard. She had wide-set eyes that gave her a perpetually stupid expression and a bloated belly paunch that spilled over a neon thong. Her floppy tits sagged as she indifferently ground against the pole; her glazed-over grey eyes scanned the room with no emotion.
The second stripper was an older Black woman named Foxy that Cammi had only interacted with sparingly. While Max was pudgy, Foxy was downright fat with overflowing rolls of blubber jiggling and shifting around as she tried to put on a show. Her natural black afro was nappy and wild, and she wore a rhinestone-covered red diaper that Cammi knew was due to her incontinence. Cammi watched as Foxy pointed a long acrylic nail and smiled at a skinny homeless man who was one of her regulars while Max unsuccessfully tried and failed to climb the shiny pole, dropping onto her ass with a loud ‘Ah, fook me!’ While both women were disgusting in their own way, they had been nothing but kind to Cammi, and she felt a strange kinship, particularly to Foxy.
Approaching the bar, Cammi squeezed between two patrons that reeked of booze and desperation. Her nearly naked breasts brushed against a sinewy arm as she laid the black tray onto the counter, and she felt the lustful stares of the comparatively giant men flanking her on both sides. Tiny and exposed, Cammi’s attention turned to the bartender, who was a used-up-looking Asian woman wearing a purple push-up bra and a black microskirt.
The woman, whom Cammi knew as Maddi, was probably in her late fifties with a considerable spare tire of fat bulging around her exposed midsection. Her plain, wrinkled face was splattered with cheap cosmetics, and her black hair nearly shined with grease as it hung lifeless and limp against her shoulders.
Maddi acknowledged Cammi with a nod, her double chin forming and receding with the effort, before waddling over with a limping gait.
“Herro Cammi.” Maddi spoke in her harsh tone with an almost unintelligibly strong Asian accent.
“Like, um, hey there Ms. Maddi!” Cammi responded.
Maddi looked down at the tray resting on the counter and frowned, “Why you have? Where Isabelle? Stupid Mexican girl being razy again!?”
Before Cammi could respond, she let out another surprised ‘eep!’ as the rough hand of the drunk, homeless-looking white man to her right smacked her globular ass cheek with a meaty *SLAP*. It stayed there and he fondled her roughly while letting out a low grunting noise directly in her ear.
Without further hesitation, Cammi permitted the fondling and responded to the agitated Asian, “Isabelle, um, totally had to, like, use the little girls room if that’s okay?”
Maddi scoffed while Cammi instinctively pushed her ass backwards and bent slightly forward against the counter, letting the man have easier access to her butt and resting her pastie covered tits on the bar.
“You wait and bring drink. Velly good tip. Famous Hollywood man, okay?”
“L-like, okay,” Cammi answered.
Turning curtly, Maddi began angrily mixing and swirling drinks from the dusty bottles lining the back while muttering to herself in a language Cammi didn’t understand. The fondling became more aggressive, and the man pushed Cammi forward, causing her to fall against the bar, splaying her taloned hands and resting her full weight against it. Cammi felt warmth and wetness forming beneath her c-string at the man’s rough treatment. She bit her pillowy lower lip and pressed back against him while subtly opening her legs. Her heavy and enhanced breasts rubbed against the grubby counter, and loose, brittle blonde hair fell into her face.
The man’s gruff voice and whisky-saturated breath whispered into her ear, “You fuckin’ like that, slut? I bet-choo wanna take some daddy dick, dont’cha?”
Losing more faculties to lust by the second, Cammi kept her gaze forward but couldn’t help herself—she HAD to nod.
The tiniest acknowledgement by Cammi that she, indeed, DID want this random homeless dude’s ‘daddy dick’ immediately emboldened the man whose fingers shot between Cammi’s slightly parted thighs. Cammi gasped as his fingers pinched her c-string and peeled it away. Strands of viscous natural lubricant briefly connected the menstrual pad-like garment to her hungry pussy, which ached for a hard, veiny cock to plunge its yearning depths. She felt her body going limp from submission and desire to be bred. This is what her body was trained to do; this is what her body WANTED to do.
The man’s fingers probed Cammi’s damp outer lips, threatening to slip inside, just as Maddi turned around and dropped four completed cocktails onto the tray with a solid *clink*. Her judgemental, dark eyes rested on Cammi, who was bent over the counter with eyes crossed and tongue lolling stupidly from her mouth.
Maddi shooed the man with gnarled hands while ordering, “You no touch whore pussay unless you pay rate for whore pussay! You buy?”
Withdrawing his hand from between Cammi’s swampy thighs, the man sputtered, "Uh—no, I ain't—I ain’t paid—YET." But I was gonna.”
Cammi whimpered and shook her presented ass and bare pussy, wanting nothing more than to impale herself on a veiny shaft. The table could wait! So what if it was a ‘Hollywood star’? She needed dick and she needed it now!
Maddi slid the tray towards Cammi before folding her arms, keeping her attention on the man. “You lie. You no pay. You leave whore pussay alone in you no buy.” She then looked down at Cammi. “You take tray now, yes? Table six. Nice one in back.”
The man grumbled and called Maddi a ‘chink bitch’ beneath his breath as he turned forward, staring down at the empty shot glass in front of him. Cammi reluctantly stood upright, feeling cool air wafting against her now totally bare genitals. It seemed she would have to wait to get a proper dicking until she had either finished the task or gotten out of Maddi’s view. She searched between her breasts at the grungy floor but didn’t see any sign of the pink C-string around her heels. Glancing to the man, Cammi saw he was holding her underwear in his hand. The sticky crotch section was facing up, and he leaned forward to take a heavy sniff. He let out a low, lust-fueled growl while inhaling the stench of her slippery prostitute cunt.
Not wanting to cause any further issues, Cammi simply sighed and pulled the tray towards her, careful to stabilize the drinks. The way she saw it, having her crotch naked just removed an annoying layer standing between her and the penises she so desperately sought. It actually made perfect sense in her cock-addicted brain, especially considering the man likely wouldn’t appreciate being asked to give it back.
When she turned towards the indicated table wearing just nipple pasties and heels, the man sniffing Cammi’s panties turned his head and slurred in a drunken garble, “Ssstill gonna fuck that wet- *hick* wet fuckin’ cunt tonight, slut. After them drinks is ssserved *hic* ‘m gonna ssshoot a fat fuckin’ load in ye.”
Cammi felt fluttering in her chest at his assertion.
She stuck her bare ass towards him and wiggled it enticingly before chirping, “That better, like, be a total promise, mister!”
Flashing her a yellowed, crooked smile, the man gave her one final spank before Cammi strutted off to complete her delivery.
She carefully clicked her way across the dimly lit floor holding the tray, aware of the dozen or so sets of male eyes that followed her. Among them was Mr. Ming, who waved a pudgy hand from afar. They looked like a hungry pack of wolves tracking a wayward sheep, ready to pounce and devour their quarry at a moment's notice. She was used to this power dynamic with the surrounding men. They only contained themselves until enough money had swapped hands. Her fragile prey body was ready and willing to be ravaged by savage predators. Their stares made her feel desired and beautiful. She knew pleasing men visually and sexually was the epitome of success for a woman like her.
When she finally made it to table six, the nicest table in ‘The Boner Garage,’ Cammi stopped to survey a familiar set of faces. The first, seated at the middle of the table, was the older, balding white man with thick glasses that used to be one of Cammi’s regular Johns at the liquor store glory hole. This was the first time she had seen him without a cell phone up to his ear. His ill-fitting tan suit hung loosely around his short body. He was glancing around, appearing generally uncomfortable with the atmosphere, until his eyes found Cammi. They narrowed momentarily before a toothy smile sprouted across his thin lips and turned into a full-on grin. Memories of his withered, pale cock played in Cammi’s mind as she remembered sucking him off a dozen or so times with his thick white pubes and the smell of cologne dominating her nostrils. He had always treated her well after nutting down her throat, so she returned the smile and winked at him as she walked over, still carefully hefting the tray.
Next to the old man was Dr. Frank's wife, Molly. Her youthful face wore a disgusted expression, and she looked very uncomfortable in the club. Her athletic body wore a professional purple button-up blouse and black slacks with short wedge heels. Her blonde hair was tied in a tight bun, and a professional pair of black glasses sat smartly on her nose. When Cammi walked into view, Molly’s disgust faded into neutral stoicism. She ran her calculating eyes up and down Cammi’s body.
Next to Molly, on the opposite side of the older man, was a woman that Cammi didn’t immediately recognize. She looked to be somewhere around Molly’s height with light brown hair hanging loosely down her back. Her face was a little plain but feminine with a decent amount of makeup, and her curves were generous. Her chest was contained in a long-sleeve, light-pink ballet wrap top that dipped into a deep V and showed ample cleavage. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which meant her breasts were outlined in the thin top and her nipples were visible and clearly hard. On her lower half were bright white yoga pants that clung to her shapely legs like a second skin and dug deeply into the cleft of her visible cameltoe. Despite her feminine appearance, Cammi could see the woman had a decent amount of muscle beneath the long sleeves of the pink top. Not anything crazy for a woman, but clearly more than Molly, who was more athletic than muscular.
The closer Cammi got, the more it became clear that the muscular woman was Brandi. When she realized it fully, Cammi momentarily stopped and let her mind catch up with the fact that her former boyfriend had become fully female. The thick and obvious slit between Brandi’s legs and the breasts hanging off her chest left very little to the imagination. Brandi’s face still had traces of her origins as Brad, but she now looked like Brad’s sister or female cousin. She pressed her thighs together and folded her painted nails in her lap, peering shyly around the room as if she were embarrassed by something. When she finally focused on Cammi, Brandi quickly whispered something towards Molly, who responded with a disinterested shrug.
With all three sets of eyes focused on her, Cammi approached and wore her most winning smile. The pumping bass was a little quieter on this end of the room but still buzzed all around. Cammi gently placed the tray down by bending at the waist, letting her heavy breasts and pasties swing enticingly towards the grinning, former John.
She curled her lifeless, bleach blonde hair behind her ears while giggling over the bass, “It’s, like, sooo good to see all of you?”
The wrinkled man snatched his drink first, a whisky on the rocks, and spoke playfully before taking a sip, “As I live and breathe—it's Cammi Swallows! It’s been a few months since the classroom! Are you whoring here between porn shoots?”
Cammi nodded happily and put her hands on her wide hips while adopting a feminine stance with one side jutted out. Her bare pussy was framed perfectly for the whole table.
Molly retrieved a lemon drop martini from the tray and examined it closely, checking to ensure the glass wasn’t dirty. She took a tentative sip before placing it down in front of her. She then collected a cosmopolitan from the tray and placed it in front of Brandi. The bright pink concoction shifted lightly as Brandi lifted the drink and brought the brim to her painted lips. She kept her gaze down and drank while Molly curled a handful of assorted pills into her hand. Brandi instantly threw back the pills and imbibed half the cosmo, swallowing everything in one big gulp.
The man smacked his lips, which were wet with whisky, before making a turning motion with his pointer finger. “Go ahead and show us the goods! I heard Mrs. Grungot’s husband gave you another enhancement. I know girls like you love flaunting it, so let’s see it!”
A flutter of excitement quivered in Cammi’s chest, and her enhanced lips curled into a beaming smile as she turned to face away from the table. Her body moved on autopilot as she bent at the waist and subtly opened her legs. She glanced over her shoulder with half-lidded eyes at the man and matched the beat of the song with a deep twerk. Her fattened ass cheeks clapped lightly with each motion, and her pussy flashed the table again and again.
A deep black voice rapped over the pounding bass:
Fat ass trick droppin’ droppin’ low
Workin’ the pole an’ takin’ it slow
Clap that ass bitch, show me how you do it
Moanin’, beggin’, ridin’ like she stole shit
Doin’ kegels on this dick, bitch ain’t got no off switch
Thrust thrust thrust, ain’t stop til a nigga bust
Cammi felt the song’s lyrics embody her soul as she clapped her cheeks in rhythm for male viewing pleasure, a vacant smile and glazed-over eyes playing second fiddle to jiggling ass flesh. Molly flashed a disapproving glance at the old man but stayed quiet behind her lemon drop while Brandi shifted uncomfortably, clutching a nearly empty martini glass in her slightly mannish hands.
“Look at that thing gol!” The man chortled triumphantly before adding, “Dr. Frank is a damn wizard with plastic. I swear I’ve never seen such realistic-looking implants.”
With a defeated sigh, Molly placed her martini glass onto the grimy table and spoke to the man in an annoyed soprano, “Mr. Fletcher, as my husband and I have told you numerous times, our proprietary technology is not implant-based and—"
Mr. Fletcher interrupted Molly while waving his hand dismissively, “Blah blah ‘scientific breakthroughs,’ blah blah ‘first of its kind.’ You Grungots are a sensitive bunch, aren’t you?” He sat back and took a gulp of whisky. “All I’m saying is: I’ve been in show business for a long time, and I’ve seen plenty of sluts go under the knife. None of them looked like…that! I mean, look at that cock holster showing off! What kind of straight man wouldn’t have a hardon right now?”
Cammi’s grin widened at Mr. Fletcher’s words. She stood upright and blew him a kiss, letting her thick, painted lips pucker into a vapid duckface. Her bare pussy felt warm at his attention and analysis. While she wasn’t necessarily attracted to him, being reduced to her current physical characteristics and their ability to arouse a man made Cammi feel valuable and sexy.
Mr. Fletcher asked brusquely, “You know what I mean?” He then paused and expectantly glanced between his companions before shrugging and mumbling, “You girls don’t understand, obviously. I mean, how could you, right?”
Molly’s face tightened and gained a frigid edge while Brandi stared sadly between her legs, which were tightly pressed together.
Brandi croaked gently, her alto voice barely registering above the thrum of the music, "I—I used to know before, um…”
Mr. Fletcher scratched his balding head while shrugging. “Oh yeah. I keep forgetting you had a cock at one point! Crazy stuff, huh?”
Brandi didn’t respond, but her shoulders sagged in the light pink ballet wrap. Her expression was dour, and she stared down past her braless chest at the nearly empty martini glass.
A few moments of uncomfortable silence gripped the table. Mr. Fletcher, Brandi, and Molly sat silently in front of their drinks while the fourth glass was still full in front of an empty chair. The heavy rap music filled in the gaps while a flickering neon sign flickered from a nearby wall: ‘BONER GARAGE.’
Not wanting Mr. Fletcher’s attention to remain elsewhere, Cammi dramatically flipped her long blonde hair behind her shoulders and let her heavy breasts jiggle freely. The beaded pink tassels hanging from her nipples flopped around and caught Mr. Fletcher’s eye. Watching his dark gaze rise and fixate once again on her body gave Cammi a pleasurable jolt between her legs. She smiled warmly and gave him a half-lidded wink while feeling her bare pussy becoming warm and swampy. Images of fat black cocks started periodically streaming through her mind while she stuck a sexy pose.
Mr. Fletcher suddenly snapped upright and looked to his right. He grinned and beckoned with his hand.
He spoke loudly, finally breaking the awkward silence, “There he is! The man of the hour! I thought you’d never make it out of the bathroom, kid.”
Cammi followed Mr. Fletcher’s hand to her left, and her eyes narrowed as she focused on a man quickly approaching the table. He was a tall, muscular, middle-aged white man with short brown hair and a perfect layer of stubble. His facial features were chiselled, and he carried himself with effortless confidence. He wore a tight gray compression shirt, which accentuated his muscles, dark jeans, and white tennis shoes. He also wore an expensive-looking watch and a simple gold pendant necklace. While Cammi wasn’t attracted to white guys, she couldn’t help but notice a sizable bulge in his pants and the swell of a big, muscled man ass. The man grinned as he passed behind Molly and Brandi, who acknowledged him, respectively, with a head nod and a nervous smile.
He slapped his hands on Mr. Fletcher’s shoulders and responded in a gleeful baritone, “Sal, you should have seen this bathroom. I’ve never seen anything so disgusting in my life!” He pulled out the empty chair and added, “Why the hell are we here again? This place is—" He stopped speaking as he sat down. His gaze rested on Cammi, and his eyes visibly widened while he cleared his throat and spoke, “Oh, uh, hello there.” His focus instantly began shifting between Cammi’s chest and her moistening slit.
Cammi’s cheeks started to flush, and she lazily twirled her waist-length blonde hair around her long nails like a flirty schoolgirl. Her body filled with warmth as she responded with a giggle, “Hi, mister! Do you, like, um, like what you see?”
The man nodded his head and lifted his drink to his lips. He took a hearty gulp and sat back in his chair while speaking, “I may have judged this place too soon. The atmosphere is as shitty as it gets, but the product…I mean, look at that body!”
The man motioned with his hand towards Cammi’s body, and she giggled again as another jolt of arousal spiked between her legs. She squirmed in time with the pounding music and gently jiggled her feminine body beneath the man’s stare, making sure he got a good show.
Mr. Fletcher nodded towards Cammi and spoke loudly, “This is the one I told you about, kid. Gives the best blowies in town. Can’t act worth a damn but if you were looking for a new genre to mess around in amateur porn could be it. I’ll send you copies of her…filmography so you can see for yourself. Look at it this way: you get to bang no name sluts like this and show everybody that you’ve turned a corner. Win/win!”
The man examined Cammi up and down with a more discerning eye before confirming, “Best blowies in town, huh?” He chuckled and grinned. “You know from personal experience I take it, Sal?”
Sal sipped his whisky and threw up his hands. “Hey, you know me. I’m always testing things out to find what’s best for you, kid. You know how seriously I take my job! Always looking out for you!”
The man scoffed, “Uh huh. I’m sure having her mouth wrapped around your cock once or twice was a real show of sacrifice and devotion for your meal ticket.”
“Twelve times.”
“Twelve times?”
“Twelve times. I had to make sure my first eleven cumshots down her throat weren’t a fluke!”
Brandi coughed loudly, spitting the last remnants of her lemon drop onto the table. She banged on her chest and coughed a few more times, clearing her throat. Molly gently patted Brandi on the back with a completely blank expression. Mr. Fletcher respectfully waited for Brandi's cough to die back down, though her already dour expression seemed to have deteriorated into something even more dejected and broken.
Mr. Fletcher pointed to Cammi and spoke dramatically, like announcing a WWE bout, “But where are my manners? This sexy little lady is currently the sixty-fourth most trending actress in the ‘amateur’ category on Pornhub and thirteenth in the ‘amateur/interracial/BBC’ combination category. She is the undisputed blowjob queen of ‘The Boner Garage’ and my personal dick shiner. Give it up for Cammi Swallows!”
Cammi grinned and did a little curtsey, spreading her legs momentarily and feeling cold air rush against her hot crotch. A pearl of wetness glistened on her inviting labia.
Mr. Fletcher then pointed to the man, his voice no longer dramatic but respectful and measured, “Cammi, this is my friend, partner, and client, Chris Evans.”
The realization suddenly struck Cammi as a grin spread across her face, stretching her enhanced lips. She knew the man looked familiar! It was all so clear to her now!
He was the star in one of her favorite movies, ‘What’s Your Number?’
