Anita’s working-class parents had worked hard all their lives to give her a good education, and sending her to university had cost them most of their savings. Once there, Anita had to find her own way of covering her day-to-day expenses, but with the economy being what it was, finding even part-time work that would fit around her long classes and intensive studies was almost impossible. So, when she overheard some of the other students gossiping about a girl who made fifty dollars in two hours from giving out handjobs in a gloryhole in the back of the sex shop on 69th street, Anita had to admit that she was more intrigued than she was disgusted.
She was bad at it at first, but gradually she found her “rhythm”. Nobody who looked at Anita in those early days would have guessed she would become an expert at giving handjobs. With the money she earned from the gloryhole Anita was able to not just meet her expenses, but even managed to save some money for a rainy day. She even had enough left over to treat herself to a makeover! She could have stopped there – knew she should have stopped there – but something drew her back again and again to the gloryhole. She tried to rationalize it to herself; she was only building up her savings a little more, just until she could find a real job. But every time she stepped into the disused toilet that served as her workplace, it became harder to ignore the way her heart fluttered in the claustrophobic space; how the lingering, musky smells of sex that had made her gag at first now aroused her; the feeling of a hot, throbbing cock in her hand as it spurted its warm load all over her hands, and the urge to massage that warmth into her tits, belly, and dripping pussy.
On the day a particularly pent-up customer sprayed his cum all over her, saturating Anita’s new crop top and leaving thick, gooey lumps hanging from her chin and lower-lip, she knew she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. Squatting in her platform heels with her miniskirt hitched up around her waist, Anita fingered herself madly while literally sucking her fingers clean of the last drops of cum. She abandoned any pretense of what she was doing there. What she had become.
Her “menu” of services grew, but the money had long since stopped being her motivation – handjobs and blowjobs became “free samples”, a clever trick to bring in more customers and feed her growing addiction. Whatever money she did earn was immediately spent; jewelry, piercings, tattoos, sex toys and skimpy strips of cloth that could hardly be called “clothing”. Soon she was using the money she had originally saved for a rainy day to get lips fillers and cheap breast implants – then emptied her savings entirely when she decided her DD tits needed to be bigger still. If she looked like a whore, then people would know she was a whore, so she reasoned. And what did a whore want, if not somebody to shove a cock in her holes and empty their seed in her?
