The Poor Man's Girl (The Girls)

by S R Vicente

  The Poor Man’s Girl

  Marie blinked against the harsh light of the midday sun and cringed as she looked out over the scruffy back garden. It was a disaster zone, separated from the neighbour’s property by a short wooden fence with several panels missing. She could see straight into their garden and see its condition was even worse than the one she was presently in.

  Long weedy grass surrounded an ugly cement slab patio which ran the length of the short house. Old tyres lay strewn over growing grass like some sort of morbid art deco. She couldn’t help wonder why it always seemed to be tyres that were so symbolic of this kind of neighbourhood. These people, who allowed their homes to fall into such a state of disrepair, prepared to live in such squalor. Perhaps it was how they felt inside, reflected on the outside. It was like hanging a sign out the front reading, ‘tis scum lives here so f off!’

  “It really is the only place I’ve got on my books that I can offer you at such short notice,” Harry, her plump and ill-suited estate agent repeated. Marie could hear a note of desperation in his voice. The house had probably been on his list for months and she doubted anyone would be interested in actually choosing to live in such an impoverished area of the city. Not if they had a choice.

  After seeing the state of the garden and the sort of neighbours they could have, most potential property seekers would probably run a mile! At least that’s how she felt looking out the dirty window. Still, she thought, pushing her long red hair behind her ears, right now she had little choice. Her new post at the University started a week on Monday and she didn’t fancy staying in some pokey hotel room until the right property came along. She needed to have her stuff with her, all of it and more importantly, her old cat, Tiger.

  “Okay, I guess if it’s all you’ve got, I’ll take it but only on a rolling weekly contract. I want to be out of this dump the second I find something better okay and it aint negotiable,” she insisted. As soon as something more suitable came along, she’d skip out this place faster than a cat off a hot tin roof. She watched Harry as he nodded agreement and could see his forehead dripping large drops of sweat, the suit not helping in this weather.

  As he pulled out the application forms from his smart leather briefcase, the sun crept behind thick clouds, instantly darkening the tiny kitchen they were doing the deal in. She felt a chill run down her back and frowning, hoped this was not an omen.

  It took Marie less than a week to move into the run down little house. Most of her boxes remained unpacked along the small hallway. She had no intention of unpacking them as she already had her name on an old Victorian property that had come up since moving in here which was closer to the University. The place would be ready in three weeks and she had already started counting down the days. A suitcase of clothes, a box of books, her laptop, a few kitchen items and her cosmetics was about as far as she was prepared to go in the unpacking department.

  She did have a quaint old set of garden furniture that she put up out the back. England was halfway through an unusually warm and dry summer so she was planned to make the most of it wherever she was. In the mornings she liked to catch the early sun while sipping hot coffee. It was her favourite way to start her day. Marie had a pile of books she was in the middle of editing and she preferred working outside whenever she could.

  On her seventh morning since moving in and with sunglasses propped on top of her head, she spotted her neighbour for the first time. A slim, petite woman in a halter neck maxi dress stood at the back door smoking a cigarette. She was beautifully pale but looked utterly miserable. Marie waved and the woman waved back, a false smile instantly appearing.

  “Hey there,” Marie said loud enough for her voice to carry over to the woman.

  “Hi,” the woman replied. Marie noted the woman’s strong Northern accent. Since her first night after moving in, Marie had imagined the neighbours to be more rough and ready but this woman appeared friendly enough. She put her book down walked across her weedy garden bare foot.

  “I’m Marie – moved in a week ago now,” she said officially introducing herself.

  “Nice to meet you,” the woman replied, “I’m Sandra and well…I guess I’ve been here far too long”, she continued sounding a little worn out. Marie could see dark circles under her eyes. For such a young woman it looked out of sorts.

  “Don’t stay too long huh; you’ll never get out of this shithole!”

  Marie knew exactly what was being implied and felt a pang of pity for this attractive, young lady.

  “Have you been trying?” Marie asked. Sandra nodded, “Since I arrived, never going to happen though, not with Andrew. He’s an idiot,” she said thinking, “Sorry. Andrew’s the dickhead I married!”

  “Right,” Marie said, not knowing how to respond. “You want come over for coffee? Talk maybe?”

  Sandra seemed surprised at the request, like invites didn’t often come in her way.

  “Sure, why not?”

  Marie led the way back to where she’d been say with her book and offered her coffee.

  They sat out in the sun together for the rest of the morning as they discussed books. Marie was surprised at the extent of Sandra’s knowledge. She was self-educated and enjoyed working her way through several books a week. If she couldn’t physically escape from her current situation, at least she had the option of using her imagination to go somewhere else with the help of a good story.

  Marie felt waves of despair radiate from her as the morning progressed. It was clear that Sandra wanted much more from the life she currently had. Sandra had told he all about the husband she didn’t want. He’d been out of work a long time and didn’t seem that interested in finding a new one, preferring to use Sandra’s meagre salary from waitressing.

  Marie found herself incredibly attracted to her new friend and struggled to keep her eyes from wandering over her sexy body. Although small in every way, she was perfectly proportioned and her skin was like porcelain.

  Just as Sandra was leaving, Marie turned round and asked if they could do this again, meet up and chat over coffee or something stronger if she wanted. Sandra had shrugged but gave her a flirty smile. At least that was how Marie interpreted it.

  She had put her hand on Sandra’s bare shoulder finding her too irresistible. Sandra hadn’t flinched, holding her gaze confidently. Marie felt lost inside her hazel eyes, like they could lead you somewhere else. Somewhere unexpected. “Please, I’d really like it!”

  “Well I wouldn’t want to disappoint you then,” she replied just before giving her a quick kiss on the lips and running off like a child who had done something naughty. Marie brought her fingers to her mouth, touching her lips in a pleasant surprise, realising she was actually pleased she’d ended up in this dump after all.

  ********

  That evening, she was sat out with a bottle of red and a fleece blanket wrapped round her shoulders. It was just enough to ward off the chill that now lurked in the night air. She was sat in complete darkness and above her; she had a great view of a brilliantly clear night sky. She also had a perfect view her neighbour’s property and could see they had built a fire in an old oil drum which was slowly burning away.

  Several cars, none that she had seen before were strewn down a strip of grass that ran down the side of Sandra’s house. She had watched a short, balding man in a checked shirt come out several times to stoke the fire.

  With a bottle of beer always in his hand, she had heard him talk to himself. She hadn’t quite been able to make out what he had been mumbling about but she’d worked out that this must have been Sandra’s idle husband. Lifting her glass, she sipped away at her favourite Rioja and wondered what Sandra was up to. After having spent the m
orning with her, it was even harder to imagine how people could live like in this squalor.

  ********

  Sandra was sat on the edge of their unmade bed when Andrew attached the lead to the leather collar she was wearing round her neck. Her head was down as she stared at the floor, wishing to be somewhere else.

  “Slut” he spat at her. She continued to stare at the floor as she visualised kicking him in the balls.

  “A dirty slut wife, that’s what you are,” he carried on. He grabbed her chin and pulled her face up to look at her.

  “You be good now you hear. Do as they say okay, they’re paying a lot of money for a piece of your arse so you show it to em.”

  She nodded staring straight at his pants zipper, wondering if a head butt would hurt. He would be there to watch as she earned him the extra money he needed.

  It was becoming a quite the regular little Saturday night feature, farming her out to randy men who were prepared to pay for her pussy and it was pretty good money which Andrew was so desperate for since he’d got them into so much debt. After being out of work for so long, he owed money in every direction as he’d tried to fund his gambling and drinking habits.

  Being married to Sandra was the best thing he’d done in a long time, turning his hot little wife into quite the money spinning earner and he knew she secretly enjoyed it. He’d first started telling the guys down the pub his wife was a dirty whore who couldn’t get enough cock and it had all spread from there. Andrew made himself believe that if he didn’t make them pay for it, she’d probably be off somewhere doing it for free anyway. That was what he told himself every time he handed his slut wife over to clients.

  He heard banging at the front door, the doorbell still broken since they moved in two years ago. He pushed Sandra back onto their bed and put a hand round her neck, squeezing it. “You fuck them all good now you hear and this time, I wanna hear you scream like a slut okay!”

  She nodded. He could see her boobs were spilling out the tiny black bra he made her wear. It was her best one and she wore it with matching thongs. He felt himself grow hard looking down at her, her pale skin and firm thighs but he managed to pull himself off her most fuckable body.

  “Stay here.” he barked leaving her in their pokey bedroom as he walked the few steps to the front door. John, Deano carrying a plastic shopping bag full of beer and Simon all stood there waiting patiently. Andrew stepped outside and looked left and right, as though up to no good, which he wasn’t.

  “Come round the back, I got a fire going yeah!” He led them down the side of the house, deciding earlier that he didn’t want these men inside his house after all. As the night was cold, he had compromised on building a fire.

  Andrew let them in through a small wooden gate and locked it behind them in a feeble attempt at privacy.

  “The cunt ready?” John asked. Deano laughed, sounding more like an overexcited teenage girl than a forty year old man.

  “She sure is. You all okay for drinks. I got some stuff if you like?” Andrew asked. Deano lifted the plastic bag.

  “Just bring out the Mrs yeah, we don’t got all night”, John said. Andrew nodded and disappeared inside. John lit a cigarette and Deano passed each of them a can of warm beer.

  “You met his bird before?” Deano asked. “Bitch better be like what he said, right!”

  “Yeah, I saw her a little whiles back, one of those stupid summer barbeques work used to put on. Nice piece of ass, small tits though. I could have fucked her then, specially if the Misses wasn’t with me,” John said. Deano laughed obnoxiously and Marie, now very intrigued at the conversation hotched forwards in her seat, hanging onto their every word.

  She decided the one called John, bald and covered in tattoos was an uneducated prick. Deano wasn’t the brightest and seemed to have deep rooted need for people to like him. Then there was Simon. Simon was the oddball in the little group of perverts. His attire was very different to the others as was the language he used. He didn’t belong to this group and Marie couldn’t quite figure out what he was doing hanging around these idiots.

  Simon returned, pulling his wife out with him on a leash. Sandra was wearing a skimpy black bra, matching undies and knee length, heeled black boots. She wasn’t smiling and she stared at the ground in front of her. Marie’s jaw dropped open. Andrew brought his wife round to stand in front of their depraved guests. Marie felt aroused as light from the fire spilt over Sandra’s perfectly petite body.

  “You like it?” Andrew asked them as their eyes crawled all over her.

  “Well fuck me, I sure do!” Deano said, laughing as though he had said something funny. “Reckon she’ll do just fine,” John said while Simon sealed his approval with a simple nod.

  “Good. Then it’s a straight £50 each right? Like we agreed?”

  Knowing the deal was done, Sandra looked up at them with just the slightest curiosity. Andrew had handcuffed her wrists behind her back so she couldn’t stop whatever debauchery these men had on their minds. Having no control was a bizarre turn on. What they would do to her, how they would humiliate and degrade her while her husband just watched. Since he was selling her off as a whore, she might as well enjoy the experience.

  “And we get to do whatever we want to her right?” Simon clarified. Andrew nodded his head passing the leash over to John who stood closest to him.

  “Nice one,” he said taking the lead of him.

  “Dibs on the arse,” Deano said and once again, laughed at his non-existent punch line. The others, who had grown irritated by his girlish laugh chose to ignore him. John walked round the semi clad woman as he inspected her. A beer in one hand and her lead in the other.

  “Sandra, Sandra, Sandra,” he said, “How does it feel to have you partner, the love of your little life, sell you to three dirty old men for the night?” She didn’t answer but lifted her head and glared at him.

  “Less of the old thank you very much!” Simon said. He pulled a plastic garden seat up next to Sandra and sat down appreciating the warmth from the fire. Deano didn’t quite know what to do with himself so opted for hovering round like a dog with a lost bone.

  John looked down at the petite, pale woman and felt himself stiffen at the thought of all the places he would be sticking his cock into very soon.

  “Snow white, that’s who you remind me of! Little Miss Snow white who’s going to get herself a real good fucking tonight … while the old man watches from the kitchen window.” Sandra didn’t reply but maintained eye contact with him. John got a kick out of that, her look of pure poison.

  “You should have married a real man,” he continued the taunting, taking a large swig from his beer can. Deano laughed and John’s irritation grew.

  “What would you like me to do to you?” John asked as he stood in front of her. She remained silent staring into his eyes.

  “Come on Snow, you got to work with me here! You got three men and your arse is all paid for right! So … What would you like me to do to you?”

  She shifted her weight over to her other leg but still said nothing.

  “We have ways of making you talk,” Simon said, joining in the one way conversation. She remained fixed on John. Somewhere above she could hear the engines of an aeroplane and wished she was on it, getting as far away as she could from her reckless husband.

  “What if I bite a nipple, would you talk then?” John asked. No reply. “What if I make you choke on my cock, would that make you talk?” Sandra remained silent. Deano walked over and pushed his fingers through her hair and holding up a handful of it to his nose, he sniffed it.

  “Still nothing hey Snow,” John said shifting his focus to her lips. Full and red they looked delicious. Deano used his index finger to trace down the side of her face, drawing a path down her cheek, her neck, her collar bone and to the top of her breast. She stood straighter.

  “I know what’ll make you talk Snow!” John said. Sandra watched Simon as he pulled out his iPhone and held it in front of him,
filming the trio. Deano pulled down a bra strap and freed one of her breasts. Small and white with a dark erect nipple he pulled at it hard. She squealed.

  “What if I put a finger up your arse? That going to make you tell me what you want to do?” John continued. He moved behind her. She stiffened. Deano bent down and used his tong to flick at the hard nipple. She watched him and her stomach tightened in anticipation. She could feel John step up behind her, pressing himself into her back. He was warm and smelt of old beer as he rubbed his rough face against the side of her face.

  “Fingering hey, will that help?”

  He slid his hand over her hip and pushed it down inside the front of her tiny panties feeling her warm wetness.

  Deano pulled down her bra and was kneading both her breasts together as Simon stood up and brought the phone closer to get a better angle for the camera. John could feel her weaken against him as he shoved a finger inside the slippery folds of skin. She was wet and ready and yelped when he pushed it up her.

  “Nice titties,” Deano said as he carried on the kneading process, “You suck them?” John clucked at the stupid question.

  “You gonna tell us now Snow, come on,” Sandra remained silent.

  “Bet if she did speak, she’d be telling us to blow this joint yeah!” Deano said looking at the breasts he was kneading. “Perhaps she should stay the fuck quiet?”

  Marie was sat bolt upright in her chair watching the whole show unfold right in front of her. The woman Sandra. The beautiful Sandra, humiliated, used and about to be fucked by three dirty men. She could feel herself getting wet just sitting there, her wine glass empty and feeling drunk as butterflies fluttered deep inside her.

  John shoved Sandra down onto her knees, her hands tightly bound behind her. “You gonna fuck us all good you hear.”

  “Stick out your titties,” Deano said. Sandra pushed her chest out as she had been told. If she was obedient, perhaps they wouldn’t be too hard on her Sandra had thought.

  “Good,” Simon said, “Would you like my cock?” He unbuckled himself with one hand and used the other to hold his iPhone’s camera on the woman’s chest. She didn’t reply.