Tralala

Her name is Tralala. Not her maiden name, obviously, but this hard-boiled hooker chose that name for some reason. Maybe she thought it was sexy, or maybe she thought it was funny. Nobody knows, and to be honest, nobody cares. She's not particularly attractive (she looks very hard and used) and God knows she doesn't have an appealing personality. The blindness of her slutty self-destruction was very real, and reminds me of most streetwalkers I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter.

As time passes, Tralala, who makes her living with her body, gets older and less and less attractive. She's for all intents and purposes homeless, and "flops" with any guy who'll buy her a meal and rent a hotel room. Her clothes get progressively shabbier and she herself is unwashed, "scabby" and pimply. We call them dirty whores for damned good reasons. Her only asset left are her big boobs and her flaunting of them is what leads to her comeuppance. The well deserved fate of Tralala is truly chilling and grotesque, but compelling. Because this bushwacking, scrub, alkie piece of garbage had it coming. She got what she deserved, after years and years of intolerable provocations.

One night at the bar, spurred on by over time  refusing to take her prescribed meds, replacing them with booze and drugs, an astoundingly intoxicated Tralala announces that she will have sex with every man in the bar for cocaine and a bottle of Jim Beam. The bar takes the deal.

Set up in the back of a wrecked car on a vacant lot, Tralala is at first a willing participant in the gang bang, as she swills her booze and the guys in line fight over who is going to be first. Ofcourse, she drank more and more, as the particularly odious and noisome cunt she was. Hence she forgot to notice that the train she was pulling grew longer and longer. She starts in the back seat of a vehicle behind the bar surrounded by ten or fifteen men, but the number of men begins to increase as calls are made and word spreads. Before long, the men — there are now forty or fifty of them — decide it will be easier for them if they pull the back seat out of the car and have sex with Tralala on the dirty ground. And the train kept rolling on, to the accompaniment of cheering.

As she lies on a mattress getting fucked by the last one in line, Tralala suddenly starts to grumble in resentment. He ignores her murmuring, and pumps another load of spunk inside her. The amount of spunk delivered  inside Tralala is at this time already gargantuan. You know, I’ve always liked that word, “gargantuan”, You so rarely have an opportunity to use it in a sentence. And while it is possible to stand the pangs of multiple dicks going in-out of a well used hookerpussy, it is impossible to bear the heat inside the  body which results from excessive accumulation of semen. Tralala is glistening with sweat. She keeps murmuring to the next guy in the chaingang, but he ignores her just as well as the last one. When she finally tries pushing him away, she’s pinned down by strong hands, taking fierce grips on her wrists and ankles, speading her wide open. The line then formed again, and the men went into a wild frenzy. They tore her clothes to small scraps, and started  to fuck that cunt even harder than before. Tralala’s plaintive screams blended with the men’s whoops and ululations. But her sudden anger soon changed into fatigue and indignation. Tralala was already bruised in the hips, and after the train had made it clear there was no brakes slowing things down anymore, her big bouncing boobs started to look funny  from all them hickeys and bitemarks. She also starts getting teethmarks on her tighs, and her neck. Anyone seeing a bodyhair on her legs, are pulling it off. She started to cry out she was sorry, in an excessively servile way, and to see this hard-boiled tramp in such a state of mind was priceless. Tralala herself may have been quite worthless, but the fun she gave us were, as I said, fucking priceless! Yeah! She did not deserve the right to say no. A deal was a deal, and the line awaiting its turn grew longer. This filthy piece of trash were fucked in more ways than one, I can tell you. Soon the geeks and hipsters from the luncheonette come over, and then someone puts in a call to the Navy base and the seamen join the swelling ranks. Guys who have had their turn join the end of the line for seconds. Or  thirds. And so on and so forth. Some men later said they’ve had that cunt 6 or 7 times, but I don’t know. But I do know that even a whore like Tralala got more dick than she could handle, this glorious night. Her sobbing were music to my ears, and I liked her melody even better when she started a prolonged, more or less continuously, inarticulate rattling. And soon Tralala passed out. We dickslapped her disgusting cuntface a few times, and she mumbled incoherently and turned her head,  but she only comes to for a few moments, and  we couldn't revive her, so we continued to fuck her as she lay unconscious on the seat in the lot. And honestly I found this to be an improvement. I despised her less when she was silent and motionless. After all, everything was annoying to me about that cunt. And I do mean everything. But some men liked her better awake, for some reason, and one of them tried slapping her face. “Look at me” the slapman growled into her face in rage and disgust. “I’m still here, and I’ve not done with you yet!” Tralala’s only answer were a prolonged sigh,  and it was obviously not good enough for the slapman. He spitted in her face, like he was personally insulted by her bare existence. And when she started drooling he kinda snapped and yelled at her. “How fucking DARE you! You fucking WHORE!” And then he fucked her. Fucked her hard. And I’ve never seen anyone fuck a whore harder. One could almost feel sorry for that cunt. Almost. But she had brought it all upon herself. True justice prevailed that night, and everybody knew. And ofcourse, she also passed out again.

A bucked of ice cold water reveived her once more, and the one man currently inside her smirked gloatingly at her weary mimicless face and whispered into her ear “Yes, we’re still here. Yes, we’re still fucking you.”  It looked like she tried to say something, which indicates that she heard the man, but soon after  this her eyes rolled up in her head, revealing their whites, and only her whites were visible after that. This was the last time she were conscious, as we know about. The next bucket of water slashed on her, had no similar effect. Eventually, Tralala is out cold but we kept fucking her until one after another become bored with moving in and out of a motionless body. Personally I prefered her that way, but no man is alike. When the train finally tired of her the daisychain broke up, gradually, and they went back the bar and the base. The men — or mostly boys at this point — who didn’t get a chance to fuck her while she were still conscious,   they who were watchng and waiting to take a turn, yeah you guessed right, they all fucked her anyway. Then they took out their rage and disappointment on Tralala by assfucking her ass well, going in dry. Personally I’ve had her pussy 3 times already, and I then took her ass twice, and then gave her pussy one last salvo with my shitstained dick, making it a statement to her, as well as cleaning up my cock.

The kids then took out their frustrations on Tralala. Spittin on her. Right in her face. This much older woman, who suddenly became theirs to play with and enjoy.  Some kids write insults on Tralala’s body with her own lipstick, then puts in up her ass. They  put out a few cigarettes on her nipples. Jerked off on her. Ejaculating into her face, her hair, her mouth, her ears, her nostrils, and all over her body. Then they starts pissing all over her.

The pissing is just like some signal for “closingtime” at the event. Nobody wants to fuck her after that, and most guys have already left anyway. A few are extinguishing more cigarette butts on her nipples, then smear some dogshit they found all over her face and into her already messed up hair. Somebody comes dragging on a besom he’s found somewhere, and he jammed it up her snatch. He’s then forcibly ramming the wooden broomstick handle deeper into her vagina, half of it, and I tell you this; that got to hurt, even for a hardlooking streetwhore like Tralala. Not that a streetcunt like her had any womanhood to begin with, but with that besom between her legs, she reminded me of a witch. An outfucked witch. A witch fucked into oblivion. Totally destroyed. Or rather annihilated. Sexual annihilation. And it became her. Few if any have deserved it more than her. My coup de grace were to empty a garbage bin on her. Even a cunt like her would probably get my message.

Finally bored we grow tired of the cunt, and left her there in the abandoned lot, with zero regards for whether she lives or dies. We left her lying amongst the broken bottles rusty cans and rubble of the lot. Just like the trash she were herself. Like a worn out chewing gum, used and spitted out, into the garbage were it belongs. She really were worthless. Her only worth came from giving some good men, real people, some entertainment.

I stumbled into a cab, still laughing and gloating. And I leaned toward the window as I passed the lot and got a good look at Tralala. It was fucking perfect. She was lying naked. Spread eagle, wide open. Covered with shit, urine and semen, and with a small blot forming on the seat between her legs as blood and spunk seeped from her crotch. She looked so damned perfect, that I decided there and then to tip off the ambulance. Even thou she really wasn’t worth it.

After all, I wouldn’t mind doing her all over again.