The Makings of a Fucktoy (Open to one male - PM interest)

[Woe_Foe]

The Makings of a Fucktoy (Closed!)

OOC: Closed!

My character:

http://i461.photobucket.com/albums/qq331/woefoe/0a668188-fb1a-4e51-8169-e4d73708d289_zps5e6acdc6.jpg
Name: Mandy Smith
Age: 22
Height: 5'9"
Cup size: 38 G


~~~

(IC:)

http://adviceaboutfinance.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/detroit-rundown-houses.jpeg​

That's where the party was at. Yeah, I know, the neighborhood has obviously gone to hell and back. Oh right - you probably don't know what I'm talking about. Let me introduce myself, my name is Mandy Smith. I'm twenty-two years old and I was about to enter some sketchy part of Chicago because of my idiot little brother. Okay, so maybe that was a bit harsh but I'm sure that once you get to hear my little story, that you'll understand where I'm coming from.

I was in my senior year of college, majoring in psychology and early childhood education at the City College of Illinois, Chicago. I wasn't your straight-A student, but I did pretty well for myself. I had an internship coming during my next session, coming in January and I was sure that I was going to get accepted into the Master's program at the University of Chicago. I was slowly climbing up to the ranks of a successful life and career. The same couldn't be said of Martin, the brother of mine that I keep mentioning.

He was in his senior year of high school and while he started his teenage years gracefully, he wasn't doing so great anymore. Yeah, like many people of his youth, he succumbed to peer pressure and found himself in trouble under numerous of occasions. First, it was shoplifting, then it was fights and most recently, evidence that he was planning on joining some stupid gang. Both my mom and dad were distant and away whenever he needed help, so it was up to me to call the school and try to solve things before they got out of hand.

Apparently I wasn't too good at that.

About two weeks ago, he came by to ask me for some help. As the good sister that I was, I was more than happy to help out...well, at first. As things turned out, he was in a real pickle - he did, in fact, join some gang in the less desirable parts of Chicago and he was running behind on some payments. He needed money and he needed it bad. I agreed to helping him out, if and only if I could head over to their 'hideout' and tried to talk some common sense into whoever was in charge over their membership there. My brother begged me not to go, that it wasn't safe and I was in way over my head. I wasn't having any of day - I already failed once before and if I had done things right when these problems arose, we wouldn't have been in this mess. I was sure that the entire team of theirs was filled with teenagers, so I wasn't worried.

So, imagine my reaction when that twerp of a brother of mine decided to head out early, without me, to their headquarters. I was furious, as you could imagine, and drove after him as soon as I could. And so, here I was.

I simply followed both the noise and the distinct aroma of marijuana smoke before I came to what appeared to be their base of operations and I left my car by the driveway. Once I made my way to the entrance, two bouncers halted my entrance and stared at me.

Okay, so one thing that I should have pointed out earlier is that my body had this effect of guys. Yeah, I had curves in all the right places and I knew the effect it had on men. Part of me enjoyed it too, though I never let those stares go any further than just that. Still, I smacked my head (mentally of course) for having worn my usual attire, namely, a tight vest (which couldn't have been buttoned up completely, thanks to my jiggling 38 G cup breasts) over a flimsy top and a tight pair of faded jeans, complete with three inch heels.

They stared, dumbfounded almost before I let them know:

"Hey, eyes up here." I said " Could you move out of the way? I'm late."

They didn't know who I was but let me in anyway. I guess they figured that with my hot tempered attitude, that I was expected to show up for whatever reason. Good thing that they didn't ask any questions, or I would have been in trouble.

Now, where the hell was Martin?

 

[LitShark]

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3873/14330422111_4872accd5e_m.jpg

Ro was seated at the back of the smoke filled room, while little Marty Smith slouched over in the grasp of the much larger Emilio who held him upright. Marty’s face was bleeding from several places, already beginning to swell up and discolor where he’d taken the most punishment. Greg was winding up to smash his fist into Marty’s face again when Ro spoke up at last, halting his subordinate.

“Marty, Marty, Marty… Look at yourself. You’re a mess! You’re obviously not made for this life. What were you thinking about?” Ronald Jefferson asked with measured composure and condescending sympathy. “You were the one who came to me, who begged for an advance, some product to move for me—I warned you that this might happen. But you just had to have a shot, had to prove yourself. Now look at us.”

Ro stood and walked into the light cast by overlapping lamps plugged into orange extension cords, the smoke from his smoldering blunt casting shadows in the harsh lamplight. Both powerful lights were focused on Martin Smith, a young up-and-comer who thought he was ready to be a street soldier. Marty wasn’t ready. He’d gotten in bad with the stuff he was supposed to be selling, forgetting the cardinal rule: “Don’t get high on your own supply.”

If it’d just been weed, the loss would have been negligible, but Marty had gotten caught up in the crack game, and worse yet, gotten mugged on one of Ro’s corners when some jackers got word that he was holding weight while at a diminished capacity. The muggers had roughed him up pretty bad, but that was nothing compared to what losing Ro’s cash and product was going to mean for him.

“Do you think I like this? You think I want to hurt you? ‘Cause I don’t. This ain’t my idea of a good time—I mean hell, I’ve been pulling for you kid.” Ro leaned in close, letting Marty smell the weed if he could still smell anything besides blood in that mashed up pulp that used to be his nose. “It’s not personal Marty, it’s business. But forty Gs isn’t the kind of thing I can just let slip away, you understand? Forty Gs man! I don’t want to hurt you, man. But I do want my goddamn money.”

There was a sickening hiss as Ro pressed the orange ember at the end of his blunt into Marty’s neck, evoking a strangled, pained scream from the tortured wannabe.

“I can’t let you make me look like no bitch out here Marty, no matter how much I like you. You need to find a way to get me my motherfucking money, with interest.” Ro paused and took a breath, at last removing the burning cigar paper from Marty’s neck. “You don’t want to know what’ll happen if you don’t. Throw this piece of shit out.”

Emilio grabbed hold of Marty’s hair and dragged him out into the main room where the rest of the crew was hanging out, smoking, drinking and talking shit. As Ro followed the two into the main room, he heard someone by the door remark loudly.

“Da-amn! Who ordered fat-titty bitch for dinner, and can I snack on the leftovers?” Mike was joking from the stairs.

Ro’s eyes snapped from Mike to the object of his remark, sure enough—some fine as fuck, fat-titty bitch had wandered into the front door of the trap house. What a pleasant surprise she was. Ro shoved past Emilio who was busy picking Marty back up from the floor after losing his balance as soon as he tried to put weight on his shaky legs.

Ro jumped over two or three others, slow in getting up and shoved Mike all the way down until he landed hard on the wooden steps and spilled his drink. Instinctively, Ro’s arm slipped around the lovely girl’s back and pulled her hips against his.

“Well hello there, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Ronald and this is my house, you can call me ‘Ro’ or ‘Daddy’ if you’re kinky. What can I do for you?”

 

[Woe_Foe]

The house, if one could call it, was an absolute mess. Not only the smell of alcohol and drugs, but the very foundation of the place felt sketchy - in the sense that I wasn't even sure if they occupied the place rightfully so, or if these wannabe thugs were squatters. Regardless, my eyes went about the place and all I could think after a while was "oh my god Marty, what did you get yourself into..." That's when suddenly, I felt some arm snake around my hips. "What the hell?" I said out loud, though I don't think that the figure could hear me through the music. Or at the very least, didn't care.

“Well hello there, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. I’m Ronald and this is my house, you can call me ‘Ro’ or ‘Daddy’ if you’re kinky. What can I do for you?”

I scoffed at the man, though did notice that he didn't seem like your regular high school senior like most of the folk here. Maybe I really did have to be careful...or at least, it could have been easier to be careful with my tone, if his hand wasn't so dangerous close to my denim covered backside.

"Yeah, sure." I said, with sarcasm while his gaze seemed fixated on my cleavage "I'm just looking for someone. If you'll excuse me..." I then added, trying to be polite and pull his hand away from me.

He wasn't exactly compliant...

 

[LitShark]

The foxy bag of tits seemed distracted, less nervous than she ought to have been, but not at all receptive to Ro’s advances. That was disappointing, she’d need an attitude adjustment it seemed. Ro wasn’t at all discouraged when the girl shrugged him off and tried to brush past, he deftly adjusted himself and turned with her, draping his arm across her shoulders and leading her through the crowd of fascinated onlookers at various stages of intoxication.

“Looking for somebody, huh? Lots of people come here looking for lots of things. We’ve got lots of things here, lots of somebodies too, even more nobodies. If you tell me who you’re looking for I can probably find them, or I could show you my bedroom upstairs, or maybe you want me to guess who you’re looking for.” It had been her brown eyes that tipped him, Ro vaguely recalled Marty mentioning a sister during better times, he’d forgotten to mention a lot more about her though. “That’s it, huh? You want me to guess?”

As Ro led his reluctant guest to the center of the room, were the rest of the crew could leer and catcall, Emilio had succeeded in dragging Marty back up to his feet. Emilio kicked a youngster who had fallen asleep in the big leather armchair directly across from where Ro had placed their guest. When the youngster obliged in moving, Emilio sat Marty down heavily into the armchair.

“If I guess right, you’ve got to do something for me though. You’ve got to give me a lap-dance, that’s not too scary, is it? Just a little bit of erotic performance between friends. My first guess is, let’s see… I guess you’re somebody’s sister, otherwise you wouldn’t be so mistakenly relaxed—Which rules out a lot of the people here. I’m going to guess that you’re Little Marty’s big sister, come to settle his debts. Am I close?”

Some among the partiers (those more sober than their contemporaries) had made the connection already, and were licking their lips and rubbing their hands together, imagining ways in which the busty beauty could make installments on Marty’s debt—the rest erupted in gleeful derision, shouting and whooping at Mandy, already fully aware of the burden the gang bore from Marty’s incompetence.

“Did your baby bro tell you how much he’s into me for? Or did he leave that part out when he told you to come down here? With interest, little Marty owes me fifty Gs, and not to be crass… but it don’t look like you’ve got room for that kinda bread in those jeans.”

With this, Ro leaned back, for the first time making an obvious appraisal of the girl’s body. He took his time, guiding her into a slight turn so that he could be sure to take in every inch of her.

“You should tell me your name now, since you’re going to be grinding up on me if I’m right.”

 

[Woe_Foe]

The man was absolute pig - he wasted no time trying to get me to walk into his bedroom and obviously I wasn't going to have any of that. I had to wonder whether he was on something too; a lot of what was coming from his mouth, at least at the start of our conversation (if you could even call it that) was complete and utter gibberish. I grimaced at the lewd ways that he looked at my body and I honestly thought of just straight leaving.

“That’s it, huh? You want me to guess?”
"Sure, go right ahead Einstein." I replied, my words ice cold.

He led me to the center of the room, where I was greeted by more lewd comments and catcalls. I rolled my eyes and cursed myself at the moment for not having worn a more supportive bra. Anyway, soon enough my eyes caught a figure that...oh my god, it was Marty.

That was my brother! What did they do to him?!

“If I guess right, you’ve got to do something for me though. You’ve got to give me a lap-dance, that’s not too scary, is it? Just a little bit of erotic performance between friends. My first guess is, let’s see… I guess you’re somebody’s sister, otherwise you wouldn’t be so mistakenly relaxed—Which rules out a lot of the people here. I’m going to guess that you’re Little Marty’s big sister, come to settle his debts. Am I close?”

I looked at this man in utter disbelief. "You bastard." I said, my body nearly shaking from the revelation. "What did you do to my brother?!"

I calmed myself. I needed to keep a leveled head otherwise...otherwise God knows what would happen.


“Did your baby bro tell you how much he’s into me for? Or did he leave that part out when he told you to come down here? With interest, little Marty owes me fifty Gs, and not to be crass… but it don’t look like you’ve got room for that kinda bread in those jeans.”

$50,000? Marty what did you do...

I felt like panicking and sobbing but I was determined, more than anything else, to get my way out of this mess. I wasn't planning on giving anyone a lap-dance and I knew that I couldn't show any fear, otherwise these vultures would swoop around me fast. I swallowed my pride, as the ring leader watched my body - openly, even, just to taunt me further. His eyes were particularly happy of how my breasts rose and fell with each heavy, yet composed, breath coming from my lungs.

“You should tell me your name now, since you’re going to be grinding up on me if I’m right.”

"My name is Mandy." I said, calmly somehow "And I have $10,000 to give you if you let my brother go now. One fifth of the money owed to you must be worth something, right?"

 

[LitShark]

Mandy had barely been in the house for five minutes and Ro was already getting bored with her, which wasn’t a good thing for her or Marty. The whole ordeal of giving an opportunity to this little shit who was so determined to be down was already much more trouble than it was worth. Now it had cost him in cash, time and rep—at a certain point one has to cut their losses. An example needed to be made, either of Marty, Mandy or the thugs who jumped him and Ro was done throwing resources after Marty’s fuck-ups.

“Listen, bitch. You fine, so you amuse me for as far as that goes, but you need to take your tone-of-voice and put it in a headlock in a hurry, ya heard? You can’t just come up in my house and start talkin’ to me any kinda way, got it?” Ro’s voice had dropped to just above a whisper, his fingers slipping into Mandy’s belt-loops and positioning her so that she could feel the outline of his cock through his baggy, starched jeans. “Don’t go accusin’ me of shit, we ain’t do this to him. Your brother got caught slippin’, tried to carry weight above his pay grade and got his ass jumped. They beat him like this. We were just goin’ over what needs to be done about it.”

It was a lie, but Marty was in no condition to refute him and as Ro finished his whispered conversation he took a step back and lifted the front of his white, ribbed tank top. The grip of Ro’s pistol came into view, tucked into the waist of his jeans and pressed against his muscular stomach.

“This ain’t Chase Manhattan over here, bitch. We don’t do installments and we don’t take checks or credit. Ten doesn’t get us close. But more than the money, my reputation is all fucked now, ‘cause of your baby bro. Somebody’s got to pay, right away.”

With this, Ro pulled his snub-nosed, chrome revolver from his pants and offered the grip to Mandy.

“If you don’t want Marty to pay, and you can’t, then you’ve got to make somebody else pay. Go out and find who mugged your brother and make an example, kill for us. That could buy you some time… Otherwise, you might want to rethink your approach. There are… other ways to buy some time. But you’d need to make a drastic change in your attitude. Ya heard?”

By now, sensing the shift in Ro’s tone and demeanor, many of the others had gathered in around Mandy. Some had produced guns of their own, others were beginning to lay hands on the young nubile body before them, feeling her ass and others beginning to fondle her chest.

“What do you say, baby? Is you a killa, a thrilla or do you have my scrilla?”