Julie led a pampered life as a normal, and modest (though very highly sexed), suburban housewife. But now that all was changing, possibly forever, after her husband Brad suddenly lost his high paying corporate job. At first neither of them felt too worried. Surely a man with his experience could easily find a comparable, if not superior, job before long. In the meantime they made the most of all the increased leisure time together. With a pandemic raging around them, a great deal of that time was spent indulging themselves at home, frequently in bed. But weeks stretched into months, and no good job offers materialized. Soon their savings were fully depleted, and one after another of their credit cards maxed out. Actually they never had much savings to begin with. To them, living well and living frugally was a total contradiction. Money seemed to flow through their hands as quickly as it fell into them, but now the spigot was dry.

As the bills piled up her husband's self confidence crumbled, until finally Brad seemed a shadow of his former self. He stopped applying for high paying jobs, fearing the seeming certainty of yet another stinging rejection. And he became less sure of himself in every way, even in the bedroom. Sex, which had always been care free, ceased to be reliable fun, or more to the point, Brad had ceased to be reliable. Two days after a particularly disappointing tryst, Brad informed Julie that he finally had lined up some work, two new jobs in fact, both in the service industry. Neither of them however paid well. Between the two her husband earned a small fraction of his former income, not nearly enough to make ends meet, and the cumulative long hours Brad now worked kept him away from home, and from Julie, almost all of the time. In her darker moments she wondered if that in fact was why Brad chose those jobs. When her husband got home now late at night, on the days when he wasn't working overnights, he was always "too exhausted" for sex. In his depression Brad was building a wall around him, with Julie left alone on the other side.

Julie too became depressed, both by their increasingly dire economic straits and by a growing sense of physical estrangement from the man she had always counted on to be there for her, to provide for her every need. However sheer panic finally forced Julie, however haltingly, reluctantly into action. They had fallen behind on mortgage payments on their dream suburban house, and Julie was becoming increasingly desperate over the prospect of losing it. At first she diligently tried to find a respectable job that would pay her decently, but Julie (who had never really worked a day in her life) soon found out that she had no marketable skills - outside of a bed that is. So she lied to Brad, reassuring him that she soon would be bringing in good money from a new gig selling costume jewelry to other well off wives in the neighborhood, but the truth was that she had already failed miserably when she attempted to do just that. However that innocent enough sounding lie offered Julie a perfect cover for what she knew she inevitably had to explore next, selling her own body to strangers.

Having no previous experience with the sexual underworld, and lacking any personal connections with the denizens who inhabited it, Julie anxiously ventured out (on one of the many nights when her husband would not be coming home) dressed in a lovely silk, but uncomfortably sheer, blouse that her husband had bought her for their last anniversary. She had only worn it once before, but that time she was safety accompanied by Brad at all times. They dined at a posh restaurant, and of course she made sure to wear a decent bra underneath the blouse. This time Julie would be out alone, and this time there would be no bra to obscure her pink and stiffening nipples from view. Though she had never gone into that part of the inner city before, Julie knew exactly where its red light district was. Everyone did, the local news invariably covered some titillating story that for some reason took place there at least once or twice each month.

Julie drove around nervously for what seemed like a half hour, staring at the seedy array of liquor stores, porn movie houses and adult book stores that dominated the neighborhood whose streets were inhabited by rough and disheveled men, each one looking more homeless than the next, a sort she thankfully never had been forced to encounter before. Finally she picked out a parking spot in front of an old boarded up store front, locked her doors, and sat there frozen in the car.

Julie had found what she was looking for. Actually she had spotted them before but it took awhile for Julie to screw up enough courage to actually park her car. There on the corner stood three women clustered together.Their high heeled boots looked incongruous to Julie in the setting of a slum, and they all were wearing impossibly short skirts, and tops that were either ridiculously tight or plunging low to (mostly) expose their breasts. Julie's plan had been to locate one or more street hookers like these women, and then to approach them. What she would actually say to them she never had gotten clear on, but that proved not to be an issue. Alert to all of the comings and goings in a neighborhood as familiar to them as their own bedrooms, the streetwalkers had noticed Julie long before she noticed them.

One of them peeled away and walked over to the drivers side of Julie's car. Reaching out she tapped on the window, "What's the matter honey, you lost or something? You just don't look like the type of woman who belongs here." Leaning in closer she peered more closely at Julie, whose body was clearly illuminated by the glow from the nearby street light. "Hmmph", she said, and then she chuckled. "Or maybe you do. Damn, you got nice tits."

It didn't take long for the hooker to get the full story out of Julie, who by that time had half opened her window and begun to cry. There was something about Julie's obvious vulnerability, and truth be known, the soft swell of her breasts, that softened Heather's features - the two women were by now on a first name basis.

"Julie honey, I know you need some dough, and lord knows there are men who would gladly pay for you. You still look put together for your age, and some Johns will figure they can fuck you at a discount. But the truth is, you won't last five hours out here on your own. Oh you might get lucky the first time, or the second, but men can smell a newbie, and, excuse my french, stumbling onto a rich bitch like yourself? They might not all be, well, let's just say friendly. Out here you're fresh meat for hungry lions. You need someone to watch over you girl, to protect you, to hook you up with Johns who ain't gonna hurt you. A classy cunt like you shouldn't be working the streets. You need to be set up in a room, you know, in a whore house. Call it a brothel if you like the sound of that better."

"My man runs one on the side. It's illegal as sin, but at least you don't have to worry about getting busted there. A good pimp makes sure the heat gets paid, and he pays them all off well. Of course you won't make nearly as much as a kept whore as you otherwise might, but like I said he has a lot of expenses. He sure as hell pays better than Burger King though, or the money you can make hawking stupid trinkets. And Tyrone will keep you safe babe. Shit, you can even work regular hours if you want, and Brad don't ever need to know nothing about it."

From that point on the night became a blur, Heather introduced Julie to Tyrone, and he immediately took control. An hour later Julie was on her back, getting fucked royally. When one man stumbled out spent another would enter the room to take his place inside her. They were all older than her husband, mostly overweight, and some of them emitted a strong sour stench. All of them fucked Julie with mindless abandon, caring nothing for what she might feel, Perversely, that just made the sex more intense for Julie. The rougher they got, the stronger her orgasm, or more accurately orgasms, were. Three hours and eight men later, Tyrone told her she should take a short break "to freshen up." A large group of men would be arriving soon who had reserved her for at least four hours. "Hope you like gangbangs" he told her. "We do a lot of them here, they're the house specialty."

Julie was flooded with strange and inflamed emotions, feeling lust and fear in equal measure, with sharp disjointed memories of the non stop raw passion that had reduced her to a quivering mass, her nude wet body splayed across the bed, like a ragdoll abandoned by the side of a road. The "break", if you call it that, she got was short, barely long enough for Julie to wash out her sore crotch. Holding a sperm covered washcloth in her hand, Julie was surprised to find herself smiling as she heard loud footsteps, and coarse male bantering, approaching her from down the hall.

This whole whore thing, she was starting to realize, just might work out a lot
better than she thought.