Chapter 2 - 2

The little pimp was at my elbow, extolling her virtues; it seemed she was a new addition to his stock of whores, and he babbled on about her marvellous breasts and her tight pussy until I shut him up with a question: "Does she speak English?"

"Yes, dear sir, of course." The obsequious little bastard had caught the scent of money, and luckily the favourable exchange rate meant that I was in a position to provide it.

"Good. I'll take her." I gave him a small wad of notes, at which his eyes glowed and became impossibly wide.

"But, dear sir, this is too much..." he said reluctantly. Had I been less extravagant he would have gladly ripped me off, but I had given him so much more than the going rate that he was genuinely shocked. It was probably more than this delightful little bitch could normally make him in weeks.
"I know. I want her all afternoon, and I'll do anything and everything I want to her." I turned him aside and said it in a stage whisper, so that the whore could hear, hoping that she understood. "I don't want to be disturbed until I've finished with her, and I'm sure you'll overlook the odd bruise, my friend." I thrust another couple of monopoly-money notes at him, just for good measure.

He was incredulous. "She is yours, dear sir. Please enjoy her as you will."

As he turned away, with an expression approaching bliss on his nasty face as he thumbed the grubby banknotes, I stopped him. I'd had an idea. "Oh, and - bring me some bureks. Buy ten, as fast as you can. OK?" He nodded silently, still dumbstruck by the amount of money he'd made. I don't know if you've ever eaten a burek, but it's the standard street-food of the eastern Mediterranean and the balkans, a sort of greasy layered pie stuffed with meat or cheese. This little piggy was going to get stuffed in more ways than one.

As the plump slut took me by the hand and led me up some carpeted stairs to her boudoir, I thought I saw a hint of apprehension behind her cherry-red smile. She was right to be apprehensive; I had every intention of being a tough customer for the pudgy little whore. I let her close and lock the door behind us, after which she began walking towards me with the exaggerated hip-swaying swagger of a stage stripper. Her teetering heels made her almost as tall as me, and I let her strut like a proud, plump peacock to within a couple of paces of me, looking into my eyes with a practised smile. Then I took a swift stride towards her and knocked off the silly little hat, then took her by her blonde hair and yanked back and downwards. This caught her totally by surprise and she overbalanced, giving a little gasp as she toppled back off her stilettoes and landed with a thud on her round buttocks. Shocked, she scrambled onto her knees, and I kept hold of her hair, bringing my other hand up to grasp around her soft white throat. The fat slut tried to get up, but I pulled back hard on her hair and tightened my grip around her wind-pipe, so that her eyes bulged and she subsided back onto her knees.

"Now listen, whore. You understand me?"
She nodded, scared.
"First things first: today, you have a new name. You are called Pig Bitch. What's your name?"
"Peeg Beetch." Her voice was quiet and strangled.
"What's your name?" I asked again, pulling back on her hair so that her chin jutted towards the ceiling.
"Peeg Beetch!" she replied.
"Good. You know why, Pig Bitch? Because you are a fat little pig." I tore away the shiny veil, exposing her tubby belly, which sat bulging fatly between her thighs, heaving with her laboured breathing.

"What's that?" I removed my hand from her throat and squeezed the fat, kneading and jiggling it. She looked at me dumbly. "I'll tell you - it's your fat gut, Pig Bitch. What is it?" I returned my hand to her throat, leaving her paunch shaking, and she answered, looking into my eyes: "Ees my fatgut."

"That's right, you porky little slut. Now listen, Pig Bitch, and I'll tell you what I am going to do to you. As you know, I have paid enough money so that it doesn't matter if you don't work for a month. That means that this afternoon, you are mine, and I can do anything I want to you. I ***ing own you, pig. Understand?"

As she nodded again, I thought her big eyes were already beginning to moisten a little with tears. This was too easy.

"What I am going to do to you, Pig Bitch, is make you squeal. I'm going to make you ***ing squeal like the plump little pig you are. And I don't care a damn whether it's from pleasure - or pain."