“I WILL RIP THOSE COPPER TEETH RIGHT OUT OF YOUR HEAD AND SELL THEM!”
Screeching like a harpy, Zita flung open the doors of the row house and stumbled outside into the heart of Italian slums. She had to get out! Out! Out! Away from that bitch of a woman before one of them strangled the other. There was tittering laughter from a pair of passing merchants who witnessed the display. They pointed and laughed as if watching a Punch and Judy show.
“What are you looking at?” the whore spat. Zita adjusted her threadbare chemise, hoisted up her breasts, then transformed her tone to a sickly sweet one. She grinned and waggled her tongue at the men.
“You like what you see?”
Zita grabbed her crotch through the hem of her dress and flounced away, turning her back on them. The men melted into raucous laughter as Zita grinned to herself.
Her mother would soon come out of the house, but if she saw that Zita was working, perhaps she wouldn’t be so angry at her daughter’s insolence. What the hell did Mama expect? The whore monger wanted Zita to work, while she lazed around and did other things. Probably went to the gambling houses with their monthly earnings for all she knew. Of course, Zita knew that Mama was right when she said that younger flesh earned more coin, but all she wanted was one day off from a cock in her face. Was that too much to ask?
There was a sudden splash and an acrid stench. Zita turned to see a neighbor emptying their family’s chamber pot dangerously close to the hem of her dress. Bitch! She gave her clothing the once over to make sure that her dress didn’t get soiled with piss or excrement and rewarded the neighbor with an obscene gesture. What a shitpile this city was. City of masks. Hah! More like city of ass. Venice wasn’t fit for the stray dogs that roamed its streets. It was a miracle that she hadn’t tried to drown herself in the canal yet.
#2
Always a fraught time between mother and daughter, between the hours of early evening outside the small Rossellini hovel choices were being made for better or worse. The plans usually went as followed: Pierra wanted to go out drinking and gambling, and Zita needed to remain in the slums and work.
“You think it’s not fair that you have to make money and I go to the Sea Monster? What about all of those years when I lay on my back with my legs in the air, my belly aching with hunger so that I could feed you, eh?” To illustrate her point, she threw a glass bowl, dropped off in an act of random charity one day to the Rossellinis, and it shattered to the ground. No wonder all of their plates and cups were wood and tin. Pierra’s temper saw to it that nothing which could break would be left in one piece for too long.
“I WILL RIP THOSE COPPER TEETH RIGHT OUT OF YOUR HEAD AND SELL THEM!”
“If you lay a finger in my mouth, I will bite your hand clean off,” she growled behind Zita. Seething for a moment, trying to decide whether to give up the fight and get good and blathered at the Sea Monster or grab that final word triumphantly as though grasping a flag from a tower, Pierra went with the latter.
Marching after the girl as she always did, gleeful in the fact that she’d been barren since practically Zita’s birth, thick scarring the result of a violent customer, Pierra noticed the neighbor and the errant chamberpot. By Venus’s cunt, it was trial enough to get her daughter to work without piss being spilled all over her gown.
With the heel of her hand she smacked the Signora Lelia across her head, causing the woman to shrink in pain. “You do that again, and I’ll have my man come by.” She often threatened the nearby residents with sending mercs after them, but it was anyone’s guess whether Amatore, Lamberto, or Santo were real or fictional. Snorting at Zita now as though the urine smell was her fault, she said, “The men round here don’t care about a drop of piss on a girl, do they?” Pinching her daughter’s shapely chin, she said, “Some charge extra for that.”
<a href='index.php?showuser=167' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Zita Rossellini</a>
“You think it’s not fair that you have to make money and I go to the Sea Monster? What about all of those years when I lay on my back with my legs in the air, my belly aching with hunger so that I could feed you, eh?” To illustrate her point, she threw a glass bowl, dropped off in an act of random charity one day to the Rossellinis, and it shattered to the ground. No wonder all of their plates and cups were wood and tin. Pierra’s temper saw to it that nothing which could break would be left in one piece for too long.
“I WILL RIP THOSE COPPER TEETH RIGHT OUT OF YOUR HEAD AND SELL THEM!”
“If you lay a finger in my mouth, I will bite your hand clean off,” she growled behind Zita. Seething for a moment, trying to decide whether to give up the fight and get good and blathered at the Sea Monster or grab that final word triumphantly as though grasping a flag from a tower, Pierra went with the latter.
Marching after the girl as she always did, gleeful in the fact that she’d been barren since practically Zita’s birth, thick scarring the result of a violent customer, Pierra noticed the neighbor and the errant chamberpot. By Venus’s cunt, it was trial enough to get her daughter to work without piss being spilled all over her gown.
With the heel of her hand she smacked the Signora Lelia across her head, causing the woman to shrink in pain. “You do that again, and I’ll have my man come by.” She often threatened the nearby residents with sending mercs after them, but it was anyone’s guess whether Amatore, Lamberto, or Santo were real or fictional. Snorting at Zita now as though the urine smell was her fault, she said, “The men round here don’t care about a drop of piss on a girl, do they?” Pinching her daughter’s shapely chin, she said, “Some charge extra for that.”
<a href='index.php?showuser=167' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Zita Rossellini</a>
word count: 416
#3
Zita couldn’t help snickering at Signorina Piss Pot, as mama smacked her upside the head. The scene was not as funny when Zita was Perria’s next target. Mama took her chin between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed like a vice, warning Zita that the men in the slums didn’t care about piss on a girl. In fact, they charged extra. Unfortunately, Zita didn’t need to be reminded.
“Ugh!” The girl wrenched herself away from the harpy’s grip, and skipped off, just out of grabbing reach.
“I cannot do all of the work, Mama. My cunt will revolt, just like the French!” Rico, the peg-legged drunk who was watching the drama play out, let out a cackle at Zita’s comment, and she flashed him a wink. It was obvious from the number of gin-blossoms on his nose that drink took precedent over whores. Rico was a staple in this neighborhood, like so many others that Zita saw every day. Many had looked after her when she was a little girl, playing in the street with the other urchins. Even then, knowing Perria, it was painfully obvious what Zita would grow up to be.
“Look, Mama. Here.” She reached down into the bodice of her dress where she had stowed away a treasure, tucked into a pocket she had sewn into the fabric, where she hid things from mama. It was a cameo, made of Sardonyx stone. Carved into it was the angry face of Medusa with winding serpentine hair. It bore an uncanny resemblance to Perria, in Zita's opinion, but she wouldn't dare say that aloud. The piece was shoplifted from a merchant’s shop in San Polo, and Zita had been planning on selling it herself, behind Mama's back. Pushing the pendant into her mother’s hand, Zita whined at her mother, reverting back to girlhood habits.
“That will more than cover my earnings. Come on Mama! Let me have a night off tonight.”
<a href='index.php?showuser=168' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pierra Rossellini</a>
“Ugh!” The girl wrenched herself away from the harpy’s grip, and skipped off, just out of grabbing reach.
“I cannot do all of the work, Mama. My cunt will revolt, just like the French!” Rico, the peg-legged drunk who was watching the drama play out, let out a cackle at Zita’s comment, and she flashed him a wink. It was obvious from the number of gin-blossoms on his nose that drink took precedent over whores. Rico was a staple in this neighborhood, like so many others that Zita saw every day. Many had looked after her when she was a little girl, playing in the street with the other urchins. Even then, knowing Perria, it was painfully obvious what Zita would grow up to be.
“Look, Mama. Here.” She reached down into the bodice of her dress where she had stowed away a treasure, tucked into a pocket she had sewn into the fabric, where she hid things from mama. It was a cameo, made of Sardonyx stone. Carved into it was the angry face of Medusa with winding serpentine hair. It bore an uncanny resemblance to Perria, in Zita's opinion, but she wouldn't dare say that aloud. The piece was shoplifted from a merchant’s shop in San Polo, and Zita had been planning on selling it herself, behind Mama's back. Pushing the pendant into her mother’s hand, Zita whined at her mother, reverting back to girlhood habits.
“That will more than cover my earnings. Come on Mama! Let me have a night off tonight.”
<a href='index.php?showuser=168' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pierra Rossellini</a>
word count: 371
#4
Even Pierra cracked a smile at Zita’s joke about her cunt, which caused a raucous laughter from Rico and the neighbors who were never too far away. There was no such thing as privacy in the slums. Every fucking moan of pain or cry of sorrow had a built-in audience. And you couldn’t take a shit in the outhouse without someone asking you for a ducat. Hell’s Inferno, most folks just dropped their ragged breeches right then and there and shat on the street like a stray mutt.
But as quickly as it appeared, Pierra’s lips stretched back over her copper teeth and a grimace replaced the fleeting grin. There’s a warm whiskey waiting for me at the Sea Monster, and I’ll be damned if Zita ruins my plans to get good and sozzled tonight, she thought. But when Zita drew out the brooch, the older prostitutes eyes followed it until her daughter pressed it into her hand. She slapped Zita away, so she could examine the trinket by the light of a nearby brazier.
“Do you think I had a day off, nay an hour off, when you were sucking at my teat, practically chaffing the flesh like the Devil’s unholy imp?”
Sucking her teeth in a noise that likely annoyed her daughter, Pierra said, “Maybe child. But not until we talk to that fine gentleman.” Pierra pointed to the silouette of a man in a tricorn hat, the first sign that he wasn’t from ‘round here. Maybe he’d want a quickie with Zita, she’d have some extra coin for the Sea Monster, and her daughter could have her precious night off.
<a href='index.php?showuser=167' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Zita Rossellini</a>
But as quickly as it appeared, Pierra’s lips stretched back over her copper teeth and a grimace replaced the fleeting grin. There’s a warm whiskey waiting for me at the Sea Monster, and I’ll be damned if Zita ruins my plans to get good and sozzled tonight, she thought. But when Zita drew out the brooch, the older prostitutes eyes followed it until her daughter pressed it into her hand. She slapped Zita away, so she could examine the trinket by the light of a nearby brazier.
“Do you think I had a day off, nay an hour off, when you were sucking at my teat, practically chaffing the flesh like the Devil’s unholy imp?”
Sucking her teeth in a noise that likely annoyed her daughter, Pierra said, “Maybe child. But not until we talk to that fine gentleman.” Pierra pointed to the silouette of a man in a tricorn hat, the first sign that he wasn’t from ‘round here. Maybe he’d want a quickie with Zita, she’d have some extra coin for the Sea Monster, and her daughter could have her precious night off.
<a href='index.php?showuser=167' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Zita Rossellini</a>
word count: 318
#5
Normally, Bastien tried to keep out of the business of prostitutes. He was, in general, charming enough to get by without having to pay anyone to spend a night with him; his hard-earned coin could be spent elsewhere. Not to mention that in his knowledge of these kinds of places, you got a free gift of a disease along with your company more often than not.
He did like to walk around the less affluent areas of places though, meaning he'd met many a whore in his time. He did not look down on their profession, but was always quick to excuse himself once talk of money for services became involved.
He would have walked by these women without a thought usually, then. But the loudness of their argument, and the laughs of the people around, grabbed his attention. Sidestepping the muck on the road, he stayed nearby, quietly listening for a moment or two as he grasped the situation.
Laughing at her joke, he found he liked the younger girl, at least from a first impression. She had a spirit, he could tell. From what he could gather, she was looking for the night off. Such a small thing to ask, he thought. For whatever reason, he quickly decided he would attempt to help her get it.
He could already see the mother between the two selecting a man to have his ways with the girl, so he knew he'd have to be quick. He stepped forward so he was stood next to the women.
"Now, Madam." He placed a hand on his chest, talking to the older woman. "Forgive me, but I was listening to your conversation, and I have found in my heart some..." Don't say pity, he chided himself. "...empathy. I will pay for your daughter to have some time to herself. Look at the girl! She is tired."
Whether she was or not he didn't know, but he hoped he seemed the picture of sympathy. "How much shall I pay to buy her for the night - not for myself-" He added, looking back at Zita in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, "-but for her own time?"
He did like to walk around the less affluent areas of places though, meaning he'd met many a whore in his time. He did not look down on their profession, but was always quick to excuse himself once talk of money for services became involved.
He would have walked by these women without a thought usually, then. But the loudness of their argument, and the laughs of the people around, grabbed his attention. Sidestepping the muck on the road, he stayed nearby, quietly listening for a moment or two as he grasped the situation.
Laughing at her joke, he found he liked the younger girl, at least from a first impression. She had a spirit, he could tell. From what he could gather, she was looking for the night off. Such a small thing to ask, he thought. For whatever reason, he quickly decided he would attempt to help her get it.
He could already see the mother between the two selecting a man to have his ways with the girl, so he knew he'd have to be quick. He stepped forward so he was stood next to the women.
"Now, Madam." He placed a hand on his chest, talking to the older woman. "Forgive me, but I was listening to your conversation, and I have found in my heart some..." Don't say pity, he chided himself. "...empathy. I will pay for your daughter to have some time to herself. Look at the girl! She is tired."
Whether she was or not he didn't know, but he hoped he seemed the picture of sympathy. "How much shall I pay to buy her for the night - not for myself-" He added, looking back at Zita in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, "-but for her own time?"
word count: 368
#6
With a slap of her hand, Mama waved her daughter away so that she could inspect the brooch more closely. When Zita suggested that the piece would more than cover her night off, the demon spawn said “maybe, child” and wanted her to talk to an approaching male customer.
Maybe!? Maybe?! The sale of that brooch would help them eat for a week! Cock-sucking wench! Zita’s blazing eyes followed Mama’s to the gentleman in question, the one in the tricorne hat. His skin was dark, an exotic foreigner from the looks of him, with beautiful brown eyes. Zita liked servicing the men from the Indies much better than the men here in Venice. They tended to be a little bit nicer, and always had interesting stories to share of places Zita would never get to visit in her lifetime.
Before Zita could even pull out a breast for him, the man stepped out of the shadows and began talking to Mama first. The girl drew near so that she could better eavesdrop on their conversation. Her mouth hung open at what came next. The stranger wanted to pay for Zita to have some time to herself, saying that she looked tired. That was… different. So not every man in Venice wanted to treat women like farm animals? First she grinned at the newcomer. Then Zita’s hands shot to her hips as she turned, arching a brow insolently at her mother.
“See, Mama? The nice Signore wants me to have a break, too. He says I look tired because you are running me ragged!”
<a href='index.php?showuser=185' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Bastien Desrosiers</a>
<a href='index.php?showuser=168' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pierra Rossellini</a>
Maybe!? Maybe?! The sale of that brooch would help them eat for a week! Cock-sucking wench! Zita’s blazing eyes followed Mama’s to the gentleman in question, the one in the tricorne hat. His skin was dark, an exotic foreigner from the looks of him, with beautiful brown eyes. Zita liked servicing the men from the Indies much better than the men here in Venice. They tended to be a little bit nicer, and always had interesting stories to share of places Zita would never get to visit in her lifetime.
Before Zita could even pull out a breast for him, the man stepped out of the shadows and began talking to Mama first. The girl drew near so that she could better eavesdrop on their conversation. Her mouth hung open at what came next. The stranger wanted to pay for Zita to have some time to herself, saying that she looked tired. That was… different. So not every man in Venice wanted to treat women like farm animals? First she grinned at the newcomer. Then Zita’s hands shot to her hips as she turned, arching a brow insolently at her mother.
“See, Mama? The nice Signore wants me to have a break, too. He says I look tired because you are running me ragged!”
<a href='index.php?showuser=185' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Bastien Desrosiers</a>
<a href='index.php?showuser=168' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pierra Rossellini</a>
word count: 305
#7
Javier spent much of his time in the slums, walking around, taking in the scenery, often in the company of a whore or two of course. Unfortunately, at the moment Javi didn't quite have enough money to afford the company, he'd already wasted the last of his money on drinking and whoring in some brothel, and now he didn't even have enough coin to afford lodging, instead sleeping in whatever vagrants nest he could worm his way into around the slums.
He just minding his own business, seeing to his equipment, when he heard the two women arguing, looking up from his work for a moment to chuckle at the two whores arguing. The younger one had moxie, that he could appreciate, but the older one had a certain viciousness to her that was just as respectable. He'd seen whores fight before, pour souls scrapping over a loaf of bread or a wealthy client, they would fight tooth and nail just for a handful of coins, so seeing the girl asking for a break was almost refreshing in a way. It made her seem more... human, in a way and less like a shameless harpy whose only desire was coin.
Javier's smile only grew as he heard the man join the discussion, it was admirably truly, but the mercenary worried that the girl's mother might need one last little push before she would let her daughter run free for a night. With a grunt, he stood and holstered his gun. It was clean enough, and he'd have more time to care for it later. For now, this little catfight proved much more interesting than the monotony of maintaining his weapon.
"She's right Signora. No man wants a whore that falls asleep while on the job. Give her a night to rest and do as she pleases, it only means she'll be more vigorous in finding clients tomorrow. Isn't that right girl?"
<a href='index.php?showuser=168' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pierra Rossellini</a>
<a href='index.php?showuser=185' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Bastien Desrosiers</a>
He just minding his own business, seeing to his equipment, when he heard the two women arguing, looking up from his work for a moment to chuckle at the two whores arguing. The younger one had moxie, that he could appreciate, but the older one had a certain viciousness to her that was just as respectable. He'd seen whores fight before, pour souls scrapping over a loaf of bread or a wealthy client, they would fight tooth and nail just for a handful of coins, so seeing the girl asking for a break was almost refreshing in a way. It made her seem more... human, in a way and less like a shameless harpy whose only desire was coin.
Javier's smile only grew as he heard the man join the discussion, it was admirably truly, but the mercenary worried that the girl's mother might need one last little push before she would let her daughter run free for a night. With a grunt, he stood and holstered his gun. It was clean enough, and he'd have more time to care for it later. For now, this little catfight proved much more interesting than the monotony of maintaining his weapon.
"She's right Signora. No man wants a whore that falls asleep while on the job. Give her a night to rest and do as she pleases, it only means she'll be more vigorous in finding clients tomorrow. Isn't that right girl?"
<a href='index.php?showuser=168' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pierra Rossellini</a>
<a href='index.php?showuser=185' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Bastien Desrosiers</a>
word count: 369
#8
Well this is interesting! A man willing to pay for Zita’s time and only her time? Pierra clasped her heart in a dramatic fashion remarking, “Whatever you say, Signore! You are the customer after all. But it only seems fair that Zita accompany you to where you are going. Or perhaps we should all go to the Sea Monster, which is just up the road.”
Yes, that’s what she would do. Pocket the money and try to have the men buy them whiskey - never wine or ale as whiskey was more potent than either of them. And then if one of them - or both of them - wanted Zita later, she’d charge them again. And by then they might be good and drunk and not even able to recall paying her in the first place.
“I can tell you all about dear Zita.” Facing Javier and with the biggest shit-eating grin she continued: “On the contrary, my daughter will not be more vigorous finding clients tomorrow for she never cares to put that much effort into selling herself. I have to do all of the work, and I reap none of the rewards like her pretty dresses.” She flicked her fingers at Zita’s dress which was rather dirty and tattered - not at all a “pretty” gown.
Then Pierra turned to Bastien and said, “I can tell you more thrilling stories of Zita but first your coin please, Sir.” She held out her sweaty palm to receive the payment.
<a href='index.php?showuser=167' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Zita Rossellini</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=179' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Javier Lozada</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=185' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Bastien Desrosiers</a>
Yes, that’s what she would do. Pocket the money and try to have the men buy them whiskey - never wine or ale as whiskey was more potent than either of them. And then if one of them - or both of them - wanted Zita later, she’d charge them again. And by then they might be good and drunk and not even able to recall paying her in the first place.
“I can tell you all about dear Zita.” Facing Javier and with the biggest shit-eating grin she continued: “On the contrary, my daughter will not be more vigorous finding clients tomorrow for she never cares to put that much effort into selling herself. I have to do all of the work, and I reap none of the rewards like her pretty dresses.” She flicked her fingers at Zita’s dress which was rather dirty and tattered - not at all a “pretty” gown.
Then Pierra turned to Bastien and said, “I can tell you more thrilling stories of Zita but first your coin please, Sir.” She held out her sweaty palm to receive the payment.
<a href='index.php?showuser=167' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Zita Rossellini</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=179' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Javier Lozada</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=185' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Bastien Desrosiers</a>
word count: 309
#9
Already, Bastien knew he'd walked himself into something that was steadily becoming more complicated than he had meant it to.
He welcomed the support of the other man in his endeavor, but didn't much care for his argument; he felt whether she would be good at her job tomorrow was firstly a thing they didn't know, and secondly not relevant. Still, it wasn't the time to argue semantics, so he only nodded agreement.
Immediately he knew what was happening when the older woman suggested they head to a bar. In his younger days, when he'd been caught up in far more quests to help people than he was now, he had been duped similarly over and over again by cold-hearted souls looking to take advantage.
"I'm afraid I don't drink, Madame." It was a lie, and if anyone knew him a rather obvious one (he was an artist after all, and artists were famed for their use of outside inspiration), but these people did not know him. "And I am paying for the girl to have her own time, no? If I am there it defeats the purpose. Similarly if you, or this fellow-" He gestured to Javier. "-are there, 'Sea Monster' or not."
Bastien begin to count out some money. "Well, how much should I pay? I do not do this often. What is the normal amount for a night?" He asked this of Javier and Zita, thinking they were less likely to mislead him on the price.
He welcomed the support of the other man in his endeavor, but didn't much care for his argument; he felt whether she would be good at her job tomorrow was firstly a thing they didn't know, and secondly not relevant. Still, it wasn't the time to argue semantics, so he only nodded agreement.
Immediately he knew what was happening when the older woman suggested they head to a bar. In his younger days, when he'd been caught up in far more quests to help people than he was now, he had been duped similarly over and over again by cold-hearted souls looking to take advantage.
"I'm afraid I don't drink, Madame." It was a lie, and if anyone knew him a rather obvious one (he was an artist after all, and artists were famed for their use of outside inspiration), but these people did not know him. "And I am paying for the girl to have her own time, no? If I am there it defeats the purpose. Similarly if you, or this fellow-" He gestured to Javier. "-are there, 'Sea Monster' or not."
Bastien begin to count out some money. "Well, how much should I pay? I do not do this often. What is the normal amount for a night?" He asked this of Javier and Zita, thinking they were less likely to mislead him on the price.
word count: 257
#10
Of course, the whole street had to get in on the action, and why wouldn’t they? Who wouldn’t want to miss an altercation that could explode into hair pulling and screeching at any moment. The slums got boring. This was free entertainment!
Zita’s mother began to mock the nice man, and then suggested that they all go to the Sea Monster together. Oh for Fuck’s sake. So much for a night off for Zita! A burly dark skinned man approached, and then agreed with Zita, telling Perria that a night’s rest would make her more vigorous in finding clients tomorrow. Ha, take that Mama! Three against one.
“Yes, much more vigorous,” Zita agreed, jiggling a breast in her hand, but the bitch was already bad-mouthing her, telling the newcomer that Zita never put much effort into selling herself. If one believed Pierra’s story, Mama did all the work and her lazy daughter reaped the reward.
The younger whore shook her head. What a big fat lie that was. It was the other way around, of course! “Nobody believes that Mama,” Zita scoffed back. “Which one of us has the younger, firmer body, eh?” Zita probably should have stopped herself, but she was on a roll now. She pointed to her chest demonstrably.
“These tits are firm and bouncy, with supple, perky nipples. And you’re a saggy-chested cow!”
Zita flinched, steeling herself for the incoming attack.
Meanwhile, Male number one spoke up next saying that he didn’t drink, and insisted that going to the Sea Monster defeated the purpose of Zita having her own time. He took out some money and asked how much he should pay. Of course, Mama would give him the price, and whatever it normally was, she would probably double it just to be difficult.
<a href='index.php?showuser=185' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Bastien Desrosiers</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=168' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pierra Rossellini</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=179' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Javier Lozada</a>
Zita’s mother began to mock the nice man, and then suggested that they all go to the Sea Monster together. Oh for Fuck’s sake. So much for a night off for Zita! A burly dark skinned man approached, and then agreed with Zita, telling Perria that a night’s rest would make her more vigorous in finding clients tomorrow. Ha, take that Mama! Three against one.
“Yes, much more vigorous,” Zita agreed, jiggling a breast in her hand, but the bitch was already bad-mouthing her, telling the newcomer that Zita never put much effort into selling herself. If one believed Pierra’s story, Mama did all the work and her lazy daughter reaped the reward.
The younger whore shook her head. What a big fat lie that was. It was the other way around, of course! “Nobody believes that Mama,” Zita scoffed back. “Which one of us has the younger, firmer body, eh?” Zita probably should have stopped herself, but she was on a roll now. She pointed to her chest demonstrably.
“These tits are firm and bouncy, with supple, perky nipples. And you’re a saggy-chested cow!”
Zita flinched, steeling herself for the incoming attack.
Meanwhile, Male number one spoke up next saying that he didn’t drink, and insisted that going to the Sea Monster defeated the purpose of Zita having her own time. He took out some money and asked how much he should pay. Of course, Mama would give him the price, and whatever it normally was, she would probably double it just to be difficult.
<a href='index.php?showuser=185' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Bastien Desrosiers</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=168' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Pierra Rossellini</a> <a href='index.php?showuser=179' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Javier Lozada</a>
word count: 365
