The Perils Of Debt

The Perils of Debt by Penfold The story I am about to relate to you happened a number of years ago, I hope it may serve as a warning to others. My name is Carol, I am now aged thirty six, but was thirty two when all this started. I am married to Steve and have two children, we live in the Midlands, near Wolverhampton. I had not worked since the children were born seven years ago, Steve had a manual job which did not pay well. Money was always tight and things went from bad to worse when Steve?s overtime was stopped. I said nothing to Steve as the debts mounted, but instead I used to hide the bills. After dropping the kids off at school one morning I called in to our local newsagents for the morning paper. As I was leaving, I noticed a sign in the shop advertising for a part time salesperson to help out in the newsagents. I thought, this is the answer to all our money worries, and applied for the job there and then. As with most newsagents in the U. K. these days, they are owned by people from the Indian sub continent, ours being no exception. The owners name was a Mr Patel, a rather ugly fat man in his sixties. I did not care for the way Mr Patel seemed to leer at me, but beggars can?t be choosers, and after a short informal interview I was told I could have the job. Steve was not to happy about me going back to work, but he realised that we needed the extra money. Working for Mr Patel presented few problems, apart from his leering at my body which made me shudder, and the occasional sexual innuendoes which I ignored. However on the home front the bills kept on mounting and I became more and more worried. It had reached the point where I dare not tell Steve how much we really owed people. One morning in the shop I just burst out crying as I thought of the debt we were in. Mr Patel sat me down and asked me what the problem was, at which point I just poured my heart out. He sat and listened, and after I had finished telling him all about my money worries, said that I obviously needed to earn some extra money rather quickly, and that he would give the matter some thought. The following morning I went in to work after dropping the kids off at school. Mr Patel seemed rather to be acting rather strangely, almost like a nervous schoolboy. When his wife left the shop to go into town, he said he thought he had come up with a solution to all my money worries. At this news I felt overjoyed, although, my joy soon turned to horror, as Mr Patel told me of his plan. It turned out that he was a keen amateur photographer, and said that he would like me to model for him, he said the money would be quite reasonable. Although I have quite a good figure, large boobs, nice hips etc. (despite my having had two children ), I have always dressed very conservatively, Steve my husband is the only man I have known sexually. I told Mr Patel, no way was I about to pose for him. He shrugged his shoulders, and with a leering smile said it was up to me. He also said that I should think what my husband would say when he eventually found out about the mess I had made of the family finances, and find out he would. I knew that what Mr Patel was saying was true, I could not keep matters secret much longer. All morning I kept turning things around in my mind, but could not come up with a solution. Around lunch time I just blurted out to Mr Patel ?what would you want me to do at this photo session?. Mr Patel sensing that he had snared his victim, almost drooled when he told me he wanted girlie shots of me. I shuddered as I replied that I was willing to pose for him, but only down to my underwear. Mr Patel agreed, but said I was to purchase some sexy underwear if that was to be the case, and gave me some money to buy some. It was agreed that I was to pose the very next day, as Mr Patels wife was going to be out all day visiting her sister who was ill. The shop shuts for lunch, and it turned out there was an empty flat above the shop, which is where the deed would be done. Mr Patel told me I had better go into town to buy the underwear without delay. As I walked around the lingerie store my stomach was churning, but not just with the disgust I felt for myself for what I had agreed to do, there was another feeling, a feeling I had not felt in a long time, that feeling was sexual. The underwear I chose was what I would call tasteful, although I was concerned about wearing stockings and suspenders. As soon as I got home I tried on the underwear, I was shocked by how much of me could be seen through the sheer material. My first thought was to call the whole thing off, however there was yet another bill behind the door prompting me to think again. My mind was in turmoil the rest of the evening and when Steve approached me for sex at bedtime I made up an excuse to put him off. The next morning I approached work with trepidation, Mr Patel on the other hand was like the cat that had just got the cream, the dirty old bastard I thought to myself. Lunch time arrived all to soon, and Mr Patel gleefully put the shop closed sign on the door and led me upstairs to the flat above. My mouth was dry and my legs felt like jelly as we entered the flat. Mr Patel had been busy, already having set up his camera equipment in front of an armchair. Apart from a screen at the other end of the room the flat was virtually empty, save for a small drinks table on which was placed a bottle of wine and two glasses. Mr Patel said he thought the wine would help me loosen up and help break the ice. I was not a drinker, but was glad of anything as my throat felt that dry, I quickly drank the rather large glass of wine I had been given. Mr Patel said I could get changed behind the screen. I felt very nervous by this point, my hands shaking as I put on the new underwear I had bought. I finished off my wardrobe by wearing a black dress and black high heel shoes. The dress showed just a small amount of cleavage and buttoned all the way down the front. When I came from behind the screen Mr Patel complimented me on the way I looked. I am not sure if it was the wine which was taking effect, or the fact that I had not had a compliment paid in a long time, but I actually did a twirl in front of Mr Patel and gave him a smile. He then told me to go over to the chair and walk around it slowly, posing for the camera as I walked. Next he asked me to undo a few buttons both at the top and bottom of my dress, this made me a little more nervous, but I did as I was instructed. I was told to lean forward, to show off my cleavage, then to sit on the chair and bring one leg up towards my waist. I was now aware that from this position Mr Patel could see right up my dress to the tops of my thighs. Instead of being appalled by this, I found instead that I felt curiously aroused by it. I was next ordered to do the thing I had been dreading, which was to take off my dress. No man other than my husband had ever seen me in my underwear before, my fingers trembled as I undid the buttons on my dress. Mr Patel poured me another large glass of wine which I quickly gulped down. As my dress fell to the floor I saw Mr Patel feast his eyes on my body, but instead of feeling shame, I again felt this curious arousal in the pit of my stomach. I was then ordered to sit in the chair and put my legs on either side of the arms. I am not sure why I obeyed without question, I kept telling myself it was because of the wine, but obey I did. With myself in this position I looked down and realised for the first time, that the material on my knickers was stretched so tight that my pubic hair could clearly be seen. Not only that, but there was now a very wet patch starting to seep through the crotch of those knickers and my nipples were trying to poke their way through the thin lacy material of my inadequate bra. Mr Patel now came over to me from behind his camera and started to fumble with the catch on my bra. I mumbled that he mustn't, that we had an agreement, only down to my underwear I told him. He took no notice, and I did nothing to stop him, as he finally undid the clasp. As he pulled my bra away, my boobs were on full display to his gaze, my nipples were now like bullets. I gasped as he reached out and rolled one of my nipples between his fingers, my hips which were already spread wide for him rose involuntarily, and the damp stain on my knickers spread ever wider. He then walked back behind the camera and ordered me to pull the crotch of my knickers to one side so that he could photograph my ?wet cunt? as he crudely put it. I refused saying that things had gone far enough. Mr Patel looked at me and said 'that wasn't a request you slut, that was an order, also you are to call your boobs tits from now on, and whats between your legs is called your cunt, okay.' No one had ever spoken to me like this before, it seemed to release in me a sexuality I did not know excisted, one that I seemed to have no control over, but Mr Patel did, and I think he now realised this. Mr Patel now walked over to me and, without saying a word, just simply pulled my knickers down. What is that between your legs he asked, I hesitated, well he asked sternly? my cunt I mumbled, louder he commanded, my cunt I almost screamed back. With this he now inserted a finger inside of me which made me groan with pleasure. I looked down as the one finger was followed by another, then another until all four fingers were buried deep inside me. Lust was now taking over every fibre in my body. He asked me if I had ever been fist fucked before, I shook my head thinking such things were not possible. I then felt pressure against my cunt, followed by a brief, sharp but pleasurable pain. When I looked between my legs, I saw that Mr Patels hand was completely buried inside my cunt. My hips now seemed to have a life of their own as they thrust up to impale my cunt ever deeper onto his hand. Without warning Mr Patel leaned forward to kiss me. His teeth were yellow and broken, plus his breath nearly made me gag as he forced his tongue into my mouth, yet the sordidness of this old man made me lust for him like no other man I had ever met. I responded eagerly to his kiss, the rancidness of his breath taking me to new sexual heights. He then said he was going to fuck me, I replied he could do what he wanted to me, although he must wear a condom, as my hubby has had the snip. I watched fascinated as this old and fat, dirty, coloured man, removed his clothes and rolled a condom on to his large coloured dick. I had never been touched by any other man except my husband. Now here I was about to be fucked by a man who, by my own admission should have repulsed me, but instead was driving me wild with lust. No sooner had he entered me for the first time than I orgasmed. The orgasm was like no other I had ever experienced before, my body convulsed uncontrollably. Mr Patel continued to fuck me unabated, but just as I was building up to another orgasm he pulled out. I practically screamed at him to put it back inside me, but he just laughed. He said Carol, you are a dirty whore and a slut, what are you. He made me repeat what he had just said, which seemed to heighten my sexual feelings even further. I have a number of friends, he said, who would also like to see you naked and fuck you, what do you say to that? Oh yes, I almost shouted at him, I will do anything you want me to, please just ask me, I pleaded. Now he said, take off the condom, I want to come inside you, I want to make you pregnant with your first coloured child. I was by this time past the point of no return and my hands trembled as I removed his condom. When this was done he slid his dick back inside me and began to fuck me like a stallion. My orgasm began to build and it wasn't long before I felt him tense and begin to pump wave after wave of his seed into my now unprotected cunt. After it was over, I strangely felt no guilt about what I had done, although I was aware of how foolish it was to have had unprotected sex. I made to get out of the chair, get dressed and clean myself up, but I was told to stay where I was, or had I so quickly forgotten my promises. Without another word Mr Patel went downstairs, made a few phone calls and then re- opened the shop. A short while later the flat door opened and Mr Patel walked in, accompanied by three of his friends, I tried to cover my nakedness, but Mr Patel ordered me not to. Mr Patels friends were just as old and repulsive as he was, two of them were in their seventies and, personal hygiene was not on their list of priorities, which for some inexplicable reason turned me on like nothing I had ever experienced before. It did not take them long to remove their clothes and start fucking me. One of the men even produced a document which I was asked to sign. It said that I had refused their pleas that they be allowed to wear a condom before fucking me, that I wanted unprotected sex with them so that I could have their coloured babies : I signed the document. And so it began, that night I went home financially better off than I had been at the start of the day. During the evening I thought about what had happened to me that day, my new sexual awakening. Before I went to bed that first night I had been upstairs to masturbate three times, something I had not done since I was a pubescent teenager. When I arrived at work the next morning, Mr Patel informed me that his wife had gone to look after her sister who was still no better, she would be away for at least a month. He informed me that during this time I would be expected to fill the roll of his wife. I knew exactly what he meant by this and my knickers at once became very very wet. He gave me some money to go into town, with the instructions being that I was to buy plenty of slutty clothes, micro skirts, tight tops etc. but no underwear, from now on that was not allowed. When I got back to the shop it was almost lunch time, Mr Patel was eager to close up. He again led me upstairs to the flat and opened the door. When I got inside the flat I could see for the first time that we were not alone. Inside were six other men, three I knew from yesterday and now three more, all of a similar age and appearance to Mr Patel. Mr Patel spun me around and stuck his now familiar rancid tongue inside my mouth, grinding his broken and rotten teeth against mine. I practically flooded my knickers there and then, and groaned with pleasure as I tasted his saliva. He then pulled away from me and asked me what had happened when I had got home yesterday. I related without embarrassment to all the men present how I had masturbated myself three times. Mr Patel then said I was to show them how I masturbated. I started to protest but they would have none of it, I was ordered to take my knickers down and sit astride the chair. I sat down, closed my eyes and then masturbated for seven old men. When I was finished they started to abuse my body in every way imaginable. Before they would let me cum, I had to ask them if they would shoot their sperm deep inside me in order that I might get pregnant with a coloured child. After that things went from bad to worse, I had given up serving in the shop. I just spent my days being fucked silly by Mr Patel and his friends. I have never known anyone with so many friends. When I wasn't being fucked I was masturbating myself. My poor old husband suspected nothing during this time, although it wasn?t long before I had missed two of my periods, I was well and truly pregnant. I could not even blame it on an accident as the baby would be coloured. My husband went ballistic when I told him, he threw me out, applying to the courts for custody of our own two children, which he got. All of this happened some four years ago, I now have four coloured children but I have not got a clue who their fathers are. I now live in a different part of town, Mr Patel still visits, as do all his friends. I am still not allowed to use birth control and have just found out that I am pregnant again. I cannot alter my life nor do I want to, my nipples are pierced as is my cunt, and Mr Patels demands grow every more extreme. Only last week he made me have sex with two old tramps in broad daylight in the city centre. I am even known to the Police as the town slut, and have had to be treated for V.D. a number of times. Story by Penfold. 6 6914 1.75/512345