Author: Lizard69
Title: Foster Whore
Part: Part 2
Keywords: Mg, nc
Summary: Early training and where do we go from here.

This is a work of fiction.  If you have trouble with the boundary between
fact and fantasy, don't read it.  If non-consensual sex between adult men
and a young girl freaks you out, don't read it.  Do not under any
circumstances forward this file to anyone that hasn't specifically
requested it.  In case you haven't figured it out yet this is intended as
*adult* entertainment.  Do not allow it to be accessed by minors.  If you
have inadvertently downloaded it in a jurisdiction where such material
isn't legal please delete it immediately.  Do not re-post in whole or in
part without this notice.  Do not repost on any "for profit" site without
my specific written permission.  Copyright 2011 by Lizard69.

   Foster Whore (Part 2 Mg, nc) Lizard69

   "OK.  I guess the next thing to look at is money.  We'll cover food,
clothes, and a bed.  If you're willing to pitch in on some of the household
chores, we can negotiate an allowance.  It won't be much but you need a
little pocket money.  I don't want you doing anything stupid because you
can't afford to buy nickel and dime items.  So, what are you going to do
for real money?"

   "Real money?"

   "You told me the last time you were home schooled all they were
interested in teaching you was sex.  Around here it's all about making
money.  That means finding out what you like and getting skilled enough at
it that people will pay you.  Mostly it means learning how to think.  The
better you can think Amber, the less you have to sweat."

   "What are you talking about?"

   "My father was a factory worker.  The pay was decent but the job was
mind killing dull.  His father was a farmer back when all you needed was a
strong back and a few more brains than your livestock.  If he worked all
day every day he usually had something to eat.  Bill is a broker.  He puts
in long days selling things he doesn't own and buying things he doesn't
want.  He makes a pretty good living from the piece of each transaction he
gets to keep."

   "What about you?"

   "I guess you could say I'm in support services.  I cook, clean, manage
the household budget, make sure the pool gets cleaned and the grass cut,
and all the other things his job doesn't leave time for.  I'm also his
lover and probably the best friend he's got."

   "You mean when he's not fucking some kid."

   "Loving him doesn't mean I have to love everything about him.  If I knew
then what I know now we would never have gotten married.  What you need to
understand is that more than half of married couples can say the same
thing. Often a problem that would be a deal killer up front isn't enough to
break up an established relationship.  So there's your first home school
lesson.  The more you know the less chance you have of getting burned.  Now
it's your turn."

   "My turn?"

   "Yep, teach me something I don't know about."

   "I thought you were supposed to be the teacher."

   "I've been several sorts of teacher so far and I'll be more before I'm
done.  When I met Bill I was an entry level flight instructor in the Air
Force.  That's where I learned that you don't really know anything until
you can teach it to somebody else."

   "What am I supposed to teach you?  I'm just a kid."

   "OK, You're a kid.  I've been your age, but that was twenty years ago.
I'm sure some of it has changed.  I've also read your file.  You've been in
situations I didn't encounter until I was much older.  To be honest, I'd
find it hard to imagine myself doing some of the things you've done.  How
does a kid get into that?"

   "You're the one married to a pervert.  Hasn't he told you?"

   "We've done some...  role play.  I can look in a mirror and tell you
he's into short, skinny, blonds with tits like a couple of fried eggs.  I
know a little about what he likes.  But that's playing out a fantasy, not
real life.  I know almost nothing about how he gets a kid to go along with
what he wants.  I certainly don't know anything about what it's like from
the kids view.  Tell me how it started.  Or tell me to go to hell if you
don't want to talk about it.  We'll try to find something else I can learn
from you."

   "I'm not sure exactly how it started.  I guess that sounds kind of dumb.
I mean, I remember the first time mom told me that I couldn't tell anyone
about her special friends, The ones who brought her *medicine*, or helped
her pay for it.  Most of them, ignored me.  That was better than the ones
that were phony friendly.  I remember several guys who liked to have me sit
on their lap.  Sometimes if mom wasn't looking their hands would, uh, slip,
when they were helping me on or off.  A couple times I know mom saw, and
looked like she was going to say something, but she didn't.  Most of them
never did anything more, so I can't really say when it started or how much
was intentional.

   "One day Frank, a guy who helped pay for her stuff, was on the couch
when I got home.  I was on the way to my room to change out of my school
uniform when he pulled me down onto his lap.  Mom was acting really
strange. When I tried to get up she bent over until we were almost nose to
nose and told me to sit still.  She said she had to make a quick trip down
the hall.  She was only going to be gone a few minutes and *DIDN"T* want me
making a fuss.

   "I didn't understand.  I mean I understood what she was saying but it
didn't make any sense.  She would leave me alone for hours, sometimes a
whole day, without making a big deal out of it.  It wasn't any secret by
then, at least not to me, that she was going down the hall to a drug
dealers apartment and that Frank gave her the money to make the trip.  You
can probably guess where this is going.  Mom was hardly out the door before
his hand was under my skirt and his fingers slipping inside my panties.  I
tried to push his hand away.  I asked him to stop.  What else could I do?
He was a grownup and I was eight.

   "I was also beginning to understand what my mom meant about not making a
fuss.  He let me get up when we heard her footsteps coming back down the
hall.  I had my mouth open as she came through the door but before I could
say anything she snapped at me to go to my room.  I tried again later when
she finally got around to fixing something to eat.  She cut me off as soon
as she understood what I was trying to talk about.  She wasn't interested
in listening to any, 'wild accusations', about Frank and warned me I'd be
in a world of hurt if word got back to her that I'd been spreading that
kind of gossip anywhere else.  From there I started noticing the changes
more.  Stuff that had been happening all along without me paying a lot of
attention to it."

   "What sort of changes?"

   "The normal people, the ones that usually ignored me, stopped hanging
around.  Especially the women.  Mom had a couple of really nice friends. 
When they started bugging her about letting creepy guys hang around she got
mad and told them not to come over if they didn't like the company.  The
only women that came over with the creepy guys were drunk or drugged or
even weirder than their boyfriends.

   "The clothes she bought for me started changing.  She couldn't do much
with the school uniforms, at least not the ones I actually wore to school.
There was one in my closet with a skirt that didn't make it half way to my
knees and a top that left at least four inches of my stomach showing.  Most
weren't that bad but definitely *girl* clothes.  It got to be almost
impossible to get her to buy me a pair of jeans.  Every time I wore
something out or grew out of it she replaced it with the 'big girl'
version. I got bikini panties for school, thongs for 'dress up'.  While
other girls were still wearing pajamas with sewn in feet, I had a nighty
that covered my ass only because the smallest one mom could find was cut
for a woman four inches taller.  Even that was just front and back.  The
sides were open almost to the bottom of the tits I still don't have."

   "Don't put yourself down.  We're both A cup but you probably fill it
better than me and I'm old enough to be your mother.  By the way, I hope
you don't mind shopping at yard sales and thrift stores.  I've got a closet
full of lightly used designer labels that didn't cost a fifth of what they
get at those cutesy little boutiques downtown."

   "I guess.  I haven't shopped for *clothes* since I was little.  Towards
the end it was me and mom fighting over whether I was getting clothing or a
costume.  Later I was wearing whatever people gave me.  Do me one favor
though, no mother/daughter stuff.  OK?"

   "All right.  I guess you taught me something.  It hadn't occurred to me
that might be a problem.  With designer labels there isn't really an adult
or kid version.  I'm not that much bigger than you.  You could probably
raid my closet for some stuff already.  If we don't duplicate outfits I'll
be able to raid yours as well.

   "So, back to the original question.  What are you going to do for
money?"

   "OK, I give up.  You both keep rubbing my nose in the fact that you've
read my file.  It's no secret that every place I've been for the last four
years they've either sold my ass directly or sold porn they used me to
make. Sometimes the payoff was drugs or money.  Sometimes a creep would get
to use me in exchange for letting another girl be used the same way. 
Sometimes they'd get payed off in other favors.  One of the creeps even
worked for the police vice squad.  In return for letting the house mother
know about any investigation he could do whatever he wanted to any kid in
the home."

   "So, what was your cut?"

   "My cut?"

   "Yeah, the percentage they let you keep for doing the work."

   "You're joking, right?"

   "I wish it was something to laugh about.  Ok, first lesson, business
101, you are a capital asset.  What you are and what you can do has value.
If you let somebody else do the marketing, they'll reap the profit and
you'll just get raped.  I don't have to tell you what it's like being a
piece of property.  You could tell me more than I want to know about that.
What I want you to do is get in the habit of thinking of your body and mind
as valuable property under your control.  You're not just a kid.  You're
the core holding and major asset of, 'Amber Inc.' In fact, right now you're
the only real asset the company has."

   "Ass, asset, what difference does it make.  Tell me who to fuck and
leave me alone the rest of the time."

   "Sorry kid, that's a management decision and I'm just an unpaid
consultant."

   "I don't get it."

   "Obviously.  From now on *you* decide what happens to your own body. 
Who you fuck, when, where, how much you charge if anything, is all up to
you.  I'll do my best to steer you away from anything really stupid.  In
the long run that won't matter much.  The final choice is, and always will
be yours."

   "You think I have a choice?"

   "Don't you?  I don't blame you for past decisions.  You were a kid, used
to taking orders, short on other options.  The few times you turned them in
instead of waiting for them to get caught didn't work out much better than
doing nothing.

   "This is different.  I'll do my best to help with whatever choice you
make.  If you refuse to make a choice I'll try to put you on the
conventional track.  I'll supervise you like any other kid, order you
around until doing the normal thing is second nature.

   "I suppose you could continue that way for the rest of your life.  Most
people do.  You can fit in, conform.  Make good grades and you'll get into
a good college.  The right degree will get you a steady job with a solid
company.  Get involved with the company retirement plan.  Set up your own
investment portfolio.  Find some dull office drone and hatch a couple
future drones together.

   "Or you can go with plan 'B'.  Start thinking of yourself as, 'Amber
Inc.', and learn how to manage yourself like a successful business.  Forget
chasing credentials and work on developing marketable skills.  If you don't
want to sell your ass, learn something else people will pay you for.  If
you want to start earning right now you'll have to go with what you already
know.  That means household chores that people who are in the country
illegally will do for less than the minimum wage.  Or???"

   "Sex.  I guess if I have to choose between making beds for nickels or
unmaking them for twenties it isn't much of a choice.  I never thought of
it as a job or a business."

   "That's not surprising if you didn't get to keep any of the money. 
First suggestion, shoot for a higher price point.  You don't need to do
this to survive.  Any perv who can't scrape up a couple hundred doesn't
want to play very bad."

   "Two hundred dollars!?"

   "Why not?  Girls working in a house where it's legal make that much for
a one hour trick, plus all the tips and add-ons."

   "Tips?  Add-ons?"

   "It's a service job.  Base rate is what you get just for being
competent. It's generally understood that exceptional service rates a
gratuity.  How large a gratuity depends on how exceptional the service.

   "In normal marketing add-ons are called, 'back end', sales.  Sex is such
a part of regular advertising that using, 'market speak', in the skin trade
will have you hip deep in bad puns if you're not careful.  It's simply a
fact that the easiest person to sell to is the one that just bought
something from you.  Women are supposed to be shy about sex but men are
usually worse.  A man will ask for a blow job, or a straight lay, when he's
really after something a little less main stream.  Often it isn't anything
really wild or kinky.  They're scared to death that you'll think they're
weird, or even worse that you'll laugh at them.  The most dangerous thing
you can do around a man is laughing at the wrong time.  I'd imagine the
most difficult part of whoring sometimes must be controlling your urge to
laugh out loud."

   "Maybe at first, after a while you forget how to laugh."

   "Then that's the first skill you have to work on.  The kind of guy who
will pay to stick it in a girl who lays there like a piece of dead meat
isn't anybody you want in your appointment book.  Most guys are good for
about three minutes on the first go around.  They'll do maybe ten on the
second.  Fifteen is unusual.  So if you're with him for an hour you're
looking at fifteen minutes of actual intercourse and forty-five of keeping
him interested and entertained.  You aren't charging him for the fifteen. A
tub of raw liver could do that.  You're earning your fee during the
forty-five."

   "Where do I find a guy who wants to hang around that long?"

   "Wrong question, guys are all over the place.  What you need to learn is
how to make an average guy *want* to hang around that long.  There's a
whole lot of little things you can do but the biggest trick is to convince
him you're having a good time."

   "Something's wrong with the sound in here.  I thought I just heard you
say I was supposed to have a good time."

   "Not quite, I said you need to convince *him* you're having a good time.
I'll admit that's a whole lot easier if you're actually enjoying it. 
Regardless, you don't have to be a super talented actress if you're telling
a guy what he wants to hear.  You'll never make an enemy by complementing a
man on his ability as a lover."

   "What if he's a klutz that can't find the right hole without a road map
and a guide dog that can read it?"

   "He's the one that needs the complement the most.  You have to keep it
believable though.  Try to convince him he's already the hottest you've
ever had and he'll think you're making fun of him.  That's as bad as
laughing at the wrong moment.  Tell him he could be really good with a
little practice and he'll buy it.  Convince him you'd like to help him
practice and it's the next best thing to money in the bank.  With enough
gentle coaching he might even become an acceptable lay.  If he can take
even a couple hints it will knock some of the rough edges off and make it
easier for you to fake it."

   "Uh, Mary, when were you a whore?"

   The older woman laughed.  "If you mean a straight, 'pay for play',
deal.., never.

   "After that disaster with Doug I started to wonder what it could be like
with a guy who wasn't a creep.  Maybe I set the bar a little too low.  By
the time I was in high school I had a reputation as the local wild child.
Most of the girls who had a, 'steady', gave a sigh of relief when I left
for a college out west.  One of my boyfriends there had a pilots license
and I got hooked.  Then I found out the Air Force would help with my
student loans and I got into the ROTC program.  I graduated with a major in
business administration, a minor in boys, a set of flight instructor
credentials and a commission as an officer in an organization where the
ratio was about fifty to one.

   "I've never taken money for it.  I've also steered clear of any guy who
had an, 'I bought the drinks now you can supply the entertainment',
attitude.  I guess some folks would say I was a slut.  I'd say I was pretty
choosy.  I'll admit I had a huge pool of intelligent, likable, guys to
choose from and I chose a lot of them.  If whoring was a legitimate
profession I'd probably rate a guild membership based on horizontal hours
by now.  I can give you a lot of help on operating like a business and
delivering an acceptable product.  For market research you should probably
start with Bill."

   "You want your husband to be one of my customers?"

   "No, but we each have a chunk of the household income as entertainment
money.  As long as he 's spending his own money on his hobbies I really
don't have much to say about it."
   End of Part 2