No FutureChapter 63 Sinners Poor and Wretched
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No FutureChapter 57: Sinners, Poor And Wretched free porn video
Olive
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This wasn't how it was supposed to be, thought Olive. It was supposed to have been a quick transaction. She'd pay the cash, get a discount by offering a blowjob as collateral and then take the packets of brown crystal back to Oz who'd pay her double what she paid for the stuff. And maybe after that she'd treat her daughter Emily to a burger and fries after school.
Instead, she was writhing around in a filthy back alley outside the decrepit slum where she'd just been robbed, raped and discarded.
There was nothing she could do, of course. You couldn't expect help from the fuzz. They were no fucking use and never there when you might need them. All they were good for was offering protection for as long as you paid them a cut of the action.
If only she'd been able to get help from the police on this occasion. Then the cunts wouldn't have taken advantage of her. They wouldn't have ripped off her clothes and fucked her serially, violently and repeatedly. They wouldn't have stolen the few hundred pound notes she'd borrowed from Oz to do business and they wouldn't have thrown her into the alley when they'd spunked all over her.
Olive now doubted whether there'd been any brown to begin with. They wouldn't have given it to her even if there was any. Was Oz in on this? Was it his idea? He was a real fucking cunt however good a fuck he was.
And now she was lying bruised, battered and, from between her legs, bleeding. And it wasn't just from her abused vagina that the blood was seeping out. Her nose was pressed against the kerb. Her hair was pasted over her bare shoulders and flecked with coal dust and rubbish. Her limbs were splayed out awkwardly. Her clothes were filthy and ripped and had been tossed over her naked body, but Olive was still too bruised and shocked to tidy herself up.
It took a while for her body to recover from the immediate pain. But recover she always did. This wasn't the first time she'd been raped. Nor was it the first time she'd been robbed. But the timing could hardly be worse. The Fat Cunt Ozzibanjo would be coming round any day now for his dosh and Olive already owed two weeks' rent. Would a blowjob be enough to hold him off this time? Would she have to let him fuck her? Last time she let him he'd rammed his fat cock up her arse and that fucking hurt. Then there was Emily whining about how all her clothes didn't fit her any more. Well, she was a growing child so what would you expect, but even Olive could see that in her ill-fitting clothes her daughter resembled some kind of fucking Turkmenistani in a Russian refugee camp. Olive, on the other hand, probably looked more like one of those nuclear fall-out victims in Jordan or Palestine. Only her wounds didn't come from some fucking big mushroom cloud.
Olive lifted herself up onto her knees and felt the start of a bruise growing across her cheek. Her face had only just lost the blue traces of its last encounter with a fist where Mick had punched her during an argument over a crack pipe. He'd fucked her well and proper and still kept the fucking pipe. Bastard! He wouldn't be getting a Christmas card from her. Not that Olive ever gave anyone Christmas cards anyway.
There wasn't just the Fat Cunt landlord. There was also Oz who'd want either the smack he was expecting or his grand back. Olive had no illusions about Oz's charitable inclinations or, in truth, his total absence of them. He might be a good fuck but he'd probably still fuck her over.
Olive sat up on the alleyway kerb and was for the first time aware that she wasn't alone. There were the usual bags of rubbish, but these were all torn open by urchins and urban foxes who'd been scavenging for what the better-off could afford to discard. There were broken bottles, the remnants of a bicycle that had been pulled apart and some ancient electrical devices that had been disembowelled for any part of potential value. There was also a tramp sitting several metres away who hadn't noticed Olive and probably still wouldn't register she was there if she'd hit him with a brick. He was almost certainly out of it on crack or smack or maybe just alcohol (although the last was by far the most expensive). At the other end of the alleyway were three young children, probably not much older than Emily. Nevertheless, Olive wasn't to be fooled. Children were often the worst. She'd heard of people being knifed or having their throats slashed just for a sandwich or a battered old computer tablet. Street urchins had no morals or principles. Just as they also had no homes or parents.
What was now apparent to Olive was that it wasn't safe for her to stay here.
Although she'd not even begun recovering from her ordeal, Olive struggled to her feet and squeezed her pale blue-bruised frame into her torn tee-shirt and denim shorts and retrieved the battered old cheap plastic handbag that the fuckers had so considerately left with her. It still had all the stuff that a woman always needed that no man had any use for, like lipstick, tampons and condoms. However, it no longer held her purse, her private stash or the keys to her flat. But, fuck, the lock hadn't been working properly for months and any cunt could just push his way in anyway.
Olive had to think a bit. There were several ways in which she was fucked. Not just a bit fucked, but royally so. She was more fucked than a whore with a broom-handle shoved up her cunt. She staggered out of the alleyway past the tramp and his personal pool of vomit that had stained his threadbare jeans and was still spreading out between his knees. She ventured into the hustle and bustle of the high street where she was safer than she would be anywhere else in the world.
There wasn't just Oz and the Fat Cunt, was there? There were the other creditors after her. Could she forever continue to dodge Igor as he went from flat to flat on the estate, smashing down doors with his baseball bat and grabbing stuff off the shelves? He was a man who frequently took his enthusiasm for administering violence beyond just the doors and windows. As a kid, he'd had several stints in borstal for GBH when the police were organised enough to do something about the young thugs in the manor. Olive should never have borrowed that tenner off Igor when she so badly needed to score. It was probably thousands she owed now. And then there was Kev whose face was criss-crossed by knife scars with a clear imprint of a bottle across his glass eye. He was after the hundred quid Olive had borrowed when the Fat Cunt was being especially obnoxious.
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