Best Fetish Erotica by Cara Bruce

Author:Cara Bruce [CARA BRUCE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2012-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

The Whore Gene

Lisa Montanarelli

I love money. No, that’s not quite right. I lust after it. As far back as I can remember, I was trading kisses for pennies and nickels on the school playground. My father was a gambler and my mother a whore. One morning when I was about five I walked into their bedroom. They’d been in Monte Carlo for a month, and I’d missed them terribly. I knew they’d gotten back late the night before—long after my bedtime—and I wanted to see them. I heard the squeaking of the bed and heavy breathing. I pushed open the door. My parents were lying naked on a huge pile of money. My father was on top of my mother, who was digging her nails into his back and groaning. I thought he was hurting her and started to cry. They stopped what they were doing immediately, and my mother got out of bed naked, money sliding off her body to the floor. She picked me up, carried me over to the bed, and placed a wad of cash in my hand.

“Look,” she said. “Your daddy won this money. We’re having a good time.” Years later, I finally understood what she meant.

Memories like these have been flooding over me lately. Three years ago my mother was charged with pimping and pandering. Rather than go to jail, she fled the country, and I haven’t heard from her since.

As a kid, I thought about money every night in bed, rubbing the spot on my body that felt so good. When my cunt began aching for something inside it, I slipped coins in. I was a human piggy bank. When I went to the bathroom at school, I’d find coins in my panties—coins I’d put in the night before, warmed from being inside me. They slipped out of me in class. When I stood up, they’d slide down my pants leg, as if I had a hole in my pocket. But no one guessed my secret, and I put more coins in. They jiggled, clinked, and slipped out onto the floor when I jumped up and down. I liked the weight of the cold metal. By the time I was in high school, I was a human pocketbook, walking around with rolls of dollar bills in my cunt.

It’s not that I can’t have sex with people. I can. But there has to be money involved. Otherwise my body won’t do it. I won’t even get wet, unless money’s nearby. I have to be counting it, rolling around in a pile of it, or getting paid for sex. I’m the perfect whore.

Some of the other girls don’t think so. I work at the Coochie Ranch, a legal brothel in Washoe County, Nevada. As far as I know, I’m the only girl here who actually enjoys having sex for money. Oh, I’m sure the others do too; they just won’t admit it. They think it’s sleazy, degrading. As long as they don’t get turned on with clients, they can pretend they aren’t really whores.

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