It's considered a privilege to be one of Daddy Musa's girls and we feel that security in our bodies, a sense of peace and loyalty we carry with us in all life's moments. There are 15 of us, give or take a few every couple of months. But most of us have been selling our pussy for Musa for at least a couple years. Mostly because he makes it so clear who owns our body and time, he does.
We live in separate houses on the grounds but all work in one main house, the "Fuck Farm", as it is known on the streets, in the business world and even among the stars. The name only alluding to the way we are herded and manipulated like worthless animals. The "Farm" is actually a mansion. The grand illuminated white pillars framed by lush palms. Wealthy businessmen, drug dealers, and foreign elite tossing Maserati keys to valets. Entranced as they enter the large entry hall where the girls mingle.
Whatever your type or fetish, there is bitch for you, ready to milk your balls with pleasure. And when I say with pleasure, it's true, because Musa gives a special incentive to make the girls extra eager to get your cum out of you and inside of them. What Daddy Musa does is reward our hard work. At 8am every morning, after the hundred or so men leave, tired and drained after fucking all night, he rewards four categories. But, let's start at the beginning.
Each night at 8pm the girls come in, dressed to the nines to join the "party." Or like the men call it "the mall," where they shop for a whore like you would clothes, worthless items to be bought and sold. As they mingle, men that pay the entry fee come in to choose who they want to fuck, fist, piss on, shove items inside and so on. Free to inspect the goods as they please.
For example, last night, as I sipped from my Champaign glass, my long brown curls flowing down my exposed back, classy in my red satin dress, a slit up the thigh to show my thick honey brown thighs, 34DD breasts creating ample cleavage at the low neck line. Three men approached me, cold looks of desire in their drunk hazy eyes. The one in front lifting me without speaking onto the table.
"We are visiting from Jordan," His face suddenly inches from mine as his fingers parted my supple lips then thrust into my mouth. I sucked the rough calloused fingers dutifully, the faint taste of another woman's cunt on them.
"We heard this Fuck Farm has the best whores in the States but I need to know what I'm getting." I could smell the whiskey on his breath as he spoke.
"Open" he commanded as he pulled my mouth wide, then spit into it hard. I looked at him lustfully, the dominance waking my pussy as he pushed me back, propping my legs on the table and pushing my dress up around my hips, then slowly but firmly sliding his rough hands up my thighs before pushing them apart. His friends hissed in approval as their eyes fell on my cunt, now exposed to the packed room.
They chuckled to each other, speaking another language, discussing my body as if I wasn't there. He spit on his fingers then I felt them at my opening. Three dull fingers shoved inside me to the knuckles with ease.
"You're lucky I Iike my whore's loose you fucking big cunt bitch. How many men have fucked you there you fucking slut" He shook his fingers hard inside me. I felt my juices flow down, my pussy now slick and starting to drip onto the marble table.
