"What the fuck did you say to me bitch?"
Uh oh. I'd pissed Daddy off.
I'd been whoring for Daddy for three weeks now. I can't remember the number of black gentlemen who have enjoyed what I have to offer them. Still using my hotel room, every penny I earned went to Daddy. But that was a problem. The hotel wanted their room paid for and my credit cards have been maxed out. Between the room and Daddy buying himself clothing and entertaining ladies, we blew through my limit. Now the bank like the hotel, was dunning me for payment. So I had gone to Daddy and asked for his advice.
"I'm broke Daddy. The hotel is threatening to throw me out of my room and I have no where to go. My credit cards are worthless now and I have no money."
It is an upscale hotel but the lounge is a well known hangout for white sissy prostitutes and the black ex-cons we cater to.
Working for Daddy was dangerous. The thrilling sense of worthlessness and being in constant fear of the man I loved was compelling. I was drawn to him for those very reasons.
But now I was really scared. Daddy didn't like white people at all and sometimes I think he hated us sissies who worked for him. One of his sissies was caught holding out on Daddy. When Daddy found out he took her out of the lounge to talk with her. When he came back, he was alone.
"Apparently the little faggot was so distraught with guilt she threw herself off the roof," was the only explanation he offered.
The hotel help found her the next morning, naked and dead in the alley behind the building. It was ruled a suicide. It was said that there were some bruises on her that the coroner was unable to explain. But, as usual when one of Daddy's bois goes missing or dead, case closed.
Now here I was standing before Daddy and one of his white girl friends trying to explain my situation.
He growled at me. "You mother fucking white faggot piece of shit. I give you everything and you want more. You ungrateful cunt. Be careful bitch, I hear you can't fly either."
An obvious reference to the dead whore.
I started to cry. I was so frightened and so helpless. "Daddy," I wept. "I don't know what to do."
By now the whole lounge had caught on that I was pissing Daddy off. All eyes were on us.
With alarming quickness Daddy leaped from his chair. In a quick motion he grabbed the front of my romper and tore it completely off. I was left in a pretty leopard print panty, garter and hose, and ho shoes. Daddy removed his belt and holding my upper right arm, he began to beat me in front of the lounge patrons.
Daddy had beaten me before. In fact, he called them tune-ups. Usually when he was stoned on one drug or another, he liked to tune up a white sissy. Sometimes when business was slow, he blamed us and had us select from the 5 of us, which one of us was going to relieve him of his anger.
We'd rock, paper, scissor, until the last loser was identified. Then we would stand and watch as Daddy applied his special training techniques.
But this was different. Daddy had a look in his eye like he was going to kill me.
He growled obscenities at me as he whipped me. I thrashed about, crying out in pain with each blow. Daddy held my arm preventing me from getting away.
When Daddy stopped whipping me and freed my arm, I dropped to the floor at his feet. Crying and groveling, I knelt there head bowed as he chastised me in public.
"See this punk, this ungrateful faggot? I made this bitch everything she is today. I give her the chance to do something with her life, to be what I knew her to be. I showed this cunt how to dress, had her taught how to keep herself looking fuckable. I gave her the pleasure of my cock. I broke her in and turned her out. And this is the thanks I get."
I held his ankles, gently of course, during his out burst. While I still had tears in my eyes, I was unashamed by Daddy's tirade. He had taken my self esteem. I was his property and I knew that my selfishness had brought this on. I felt some pride that he would show the entire room that I was his to do with as he pleased.
My little clit was hard from the beating. Daddy had awakened the masochist in me and I found pleasure in the pain when he graciously applied his attention to me.
Thinking back to those heady days when we first met, Daddy had trained me well. Since I met him, he engrained in me that my place was at the beck and call of black cocks. My self worth was based only on the pleasure I could bring black men and the money I could make for Daddy. Prior to that, I'd been a married self employed, thriving individual. But I was really wasting my talents, as Daddy told me.
He fucked me in the shower in the hotel's gym without my permission. Some would call that rape, and indeed, I thought it was rape myself. Then I confronted Daddy in the lounge afterwards and he continued to show me my place.
Since he had taken me to Ms. Siobhan for a make-over, Daddy kept me supplied with a steady supply of HRT pills and opioids. The opioids made me more accepting of Daddy's training and more dependent on him. The hormone therapy made me feel more feminine. I had begun to sprout tiny little boobs and my nipples had become very tender. There were other changes from those pills that made me more desirable to black men and I earned Daddy a lot of money in a short 3 weeks.
So by now I felt the male inside me had died and Daddy had brought out the woman in me. He told me I was better for it and I believed him. Over and over, as I nursed on his cock, Daddy would explain my role, my place in his world. He convinced me that I was no more than a piece of ass and it was my place to support him by whoring. He scoffed at the notion that I could make him more money with my business than I could being his prostitute. Daddy told me that he wanted this for me. He wanted to debase me, take away any pretense of my being anything more than his faggot whore.
