Britney's Prison A Very dark Romance Read online

  Chapter One

  The trailer smelled as filthy as it looked. I hoped the musty odor didn’t cling to my dress as it often did the clothes I wore to school. I'd grown so accustomed to it my nose hardly detected it anymore, but it was especially bad right now. My mother wasn’t a lazy woman by any means. She earned her living slinging cocktails, having worked at nearly every casino on the river front. She just lived in a dream world where the maid was always about to waltz in and give our single wide trailer a good cleaning, maybe even go crazy and cook a meal that didn’t come from a can or box. Of course, when you’re dreaming you always wake up before you get to the end, so the maid had never once showed.

  It was partly my fault the place got so trashed. I was eighteen and I could have helped out more at home, but I was a busy girl. I'd tried out for cheer leading my freshman year and ever since I'd been an alternate on the squad. What that meant is that I got to wear the uniform, but I only got to cheer if another girl got injured and left a spot to fill. That never happened, but hey, I got the uniform. It was gold and maroon and I looked good in it-in a slutty sort of way.

  Just because I didn’t get to cheer before a crowd didn’t mean the uniform was useless. It opened doors for me, doors that were normally closed to the kids with the wrong address. Take tonight for instance. I was going to the biggest Christmas party of the year and I had a date with one of the hottest guys in school. Lance was a shallow dick from a well to do family, but dealing with self-entitled assholes was nothing new to me. There were quite a few of them in my high school and I’d fucked nearly all of them. Tonight I’d likely fuck him, too. I hadn’t set out to become the school slut. No girl sets out to earn that title. It just sort of happened. I considered it a side effect of the uniform. As much as I loved it, it sometimes seemed to be an evil thing like a genie who grants wishes that go horribly wrong. It got me into trouble in the worst way.

  The truth was I didn’t mind fucking assholes. I’m not a nice girl, never pretended to be, so all I cared about was getting one of the Ivy league bound pricks to give me enough attention to get me into the right parties. I knew I’d never get one to see me as a serious girlfriend. I just figured I could at least exist on the fringes of their world, which was located almost exactly fifteen miles from the trailer park, but felt more like fifteen thousand. Okay, maybe I wanted more, truth be told. My mother had her dreams. I had mine.

  I was fairly desperate not to wind up a cocktail waitress, I admit. My mother was always tired and in her late thirties the varicose veins had already turned her legs into a blue spider’s web. She was quite self-conscious about them and hid them in dark black panty hose. I’d have gone to any measure to avoid her fate. I even considered getting pregnant by one of the assholes so I could sue for child support. The kid could be a good portal into whichever high society family I picked as a mark, but I was afraid a baby might also backfire. It could wind up getting me nothing more than another single wide to call my own. Men didn’t always do the right thing. My mother could vouch for that. I hadn’t seen my father since I was two.

  I imagine some people wouldn't care much for my ethics. That’s okay. I’m willing to bet they've never eaten ramen noodles for six days straight because thier mother loaned all of her tip money to a deadbeat she met at the craps table. Anyway, I was never going to follow through with the planned pregnancy bit. The wheels in my mind just spin sometimes. I make up a lot of schemes I’ll never follow through on. It passes the time. Tonight what I would follow through with was my plan to let Lance Kelsley fuck me. I wondered if he was the type of guy to hold me after. Some did. I’d gotten good at ignoring the impatient expressions on their face, as if they were counting the minutes until they could pull away without seeming rude. Sometimes, even the most arrogant of the pricks will go to great lengths to appear polite. Good breeding, I guess.

  I gave myself one last glance in the mirror before leaving my room. I saw a redhead with big tits and a nice ass. The tight, low cut, emerald dress really brought out her eyes. The reflection that stared back at me was so fucking hot. Sure, in a few years my pale skin would have premature lines, but tonight I was hot. Tonight I was young, at least on the outside. And hey, one thing I learned from growing up with a bunch of society snobs is that the outside is all that matters.

  My mother was in the kitchen, standing at the counter next to the sink piled high with dirty dishes. She wore her waitress uniform as proudly as I wore my party dress. It was a low cut black leotard with lace that barely covered her tits. It sort of reminded me of something the women would wear in one of the old Play Boy clubs. I often wondered how she walked around in those spiked heels all night carrying trays of drinks high over her head. The shoes were pointed and squeezed her toes, which were often bleeding with open sores. Yet, she smiled and collected her tips. She often complained that her face hurt more than her feet from all the fake smiling she did. She was due to leave for work soon. It would be four a.m. the following morning before she returned. I didn’t have to worry about her making a half-hearted attempt at enforcing a curfew. I was free all night.

  “Britney, I have to tell you something,” she smiled at me.

  “What is it, Mom? Lance will be here to pick me up any minute. I told him I’d be waiting for him outside.”

  “I met a man. I think it’s serious.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You always think it’s serious, Mom. Don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Britney, I am telling you I have a real connection with this guy. I’ve been seeing him for a while. His name is Bill.”

  “Uh-huh. Did you meet Bill at the black jack table?”

  “The craps table. The high rolling table. The minimum bet is a thousand dollars. What’s that tell you?”

  “Has Bill introduced you to any of his friends or family? Has he taken you to his house, or does he rent a motel room?”

  She didn’t answer, but the way she narrowed her mint green eyes that were so like mine told me what I needed to know.

  “I figured,” I sighed. “What’s that tell you?”

  “You’re wrong about Bill.”

  “I’ve never met Bill, but I think I’m right.”

  “Don’t you want to hear more about him before you make up your mind?”

  “Not really.”

  The only difference between my mother and me was that I fucked for fun, while she fucked for gold. With all due respect, she's quite gullible. I forgave her for it because hers was a natural flakiness. It wasn't alcohol or drug induced like those single moms on the after school specials. Though she made her living serving hard liquor to casino vultures, she herself rarely drank anything stronger than iced tea. And though she did date more than the average woman, she'd never brought home a stranger and made me call him Daddy.

  There was that one incident where I spent twenty-four hours in foster care because you can't leave a ten year old alone for eight hours, especially when you work the night shift. I was mature for my age, so she thought I'd be okay. Like I said, flaky, but not intentionally negligent and I was only in foster care that one day. The state made her promise to find a sitter. That's when she started leaving me with Mr. Humphrey next door. That was her worst mistake, but she didn't know it. I never told her about Mr. Humphrey. She did the best she could and I didn't want to make her feel worse. She wasn't the world's greatest mom, but she tried.

  I gave her a kiss on her cheek. Her porcelain skin wasn’t as soft as it once was. She looked tired. It made me sad. I honestly wished she could find the man that would take her out of the park before it was time to retire her leotard. I had lots of good wishes for her, just not much hope.

  Outside I sat on th
e steps and waited for Lance to pull up in his Rover. It had seat warmers. My ass was riding in style tonight all the way to the Greyson's. Chase Greyson was the guy throwing the party. I didn't know Chase all that well. He seemed okay. It was his brother, Nathan, who gave me the creeps. Nathan was twenty-two. He'd graduated the year before I entered high school. That didn't mean I didn't recall how he'd tortured me in the sixth grade when I had the misfortune of riding the same school bus as him. I hadn't even realized my clothes stunk until he told me and everyone on the bus. Guys like Nathan can sniff out poverty.

  Hopefully, he wouldn't be at the party, but he did still live at home when he wasn't away at college. It was Christmas break. Chances were I'd run into him. If I did he might not recognize me. Everyone at the party would be drunk by nine o'clock. The social barriers would be temporarily down and I’d be everyone’s friend. They’d be hugging me and asking me to dance as though I’d always fit into their tight circle. By ten I'd be kneeling in a closet or bathroom sucking rich boy cock. That's what girls like me did. It might not even be Lance's cock. Sometimes the boy I arrived with wasn't the one to take me home. It didn't really matter. That was the beauty of alcohol, and of youth. Nothing I did really mattered, or so I thought. You don't think it's possible to fuck up your entire life when you're eighteen.

  And then you do.

  Chapter Two

  I fucking knew he'd make a pit stop. We hadn't driven more than a few miles from the park before Lance pulled the Rover into the parking lot of an old gas station that looked like it had been out of business since the seventies. He parked around the back of the building where no one driving past would see us. I'd fucked a lot of places. It was sort of what I was known for, being the girl who would do it anywhere, anytime. That and being the girl who would do anything. My reputation didn't really bother me. It beat being the girl who sat home alone every Saturday night because she couldn't get a date. I hung out with rich kids. I breathed their privileged air, drank their booze and smoked their pot like a groupie who always had a back stage pass. But you know how groupies earned their passes, right? It was something like that.

  Still, I didn't like this atmosphere. There were no street lights. When Lance turned off the key in the ignition everything was pitch black and I couldn't see his face. He had a pretty face and sapphire eyes. They were beautiful eyes. Still, I didn't stare into them for too long. Otherwise, I saw what he saw when he looked at me, a pussy with a heartbeat. I saw that reflected in a lot of guys' eyes. I admit it stung a little if I allowed myself to dwell on it too long.

  I didn't think Lance was the type who would hold me after. Nope. He'd stuff his cock back into his pants. When we arrived at the party he'd dump me at the door and be gone, lost in the crowd.

  “What are we doing here?” I asked, knowing the answer.

  “Don't be coy. You know what,” he said.

  My eyes were adjusting to the dark. I could see him fumbling with his jeans. The sound of the zipper coming down caused me to smile. I might not have been a very important person, or a person at all as far as he was concerned, but he needed me right then. For the next fifteen minutes I'd be the only person in his world that mattered. That thought alone was enough to make me drool at the idea of taking his cock into my mouth. How often did a girl from the trailer park have so much power?

  I unfastened my seat belt to lean down and across the seat. Making a fist around his stiff cock, I didn't need to see it to know drops of precum already moistened the tip of it. I darted my tongue over the mushroom.

  “This? You want this?” I whispered.

  “Yeah, suck it.”

  I wrapped my lips around the shaft and bobbed my head over it.

  “Yeah, that's good, but I think you can do better than that. I heard you can take it all.”

  I pulled my head back, letting his dick fall out of my mouth. “Where'd you hear that?”

  “Come on, Britney. Everyone knows you deep throat. It's the only reason I invited you tonight. I've never had that.”

  Okay, some people might say an ounce of self-respect would have sent me bolting up and out the door, preferring to walk home than have such an asshole anywhere near me. I saw it differently. I was using him the same as he was using me. I alone had earned the reputation for being the best, easiest fuck in school, so what was there to be insulted about? I liked being a slut. I loved that men couldn't get enough of my body. If Lance hadn't invited me to the party, some other guy would have.

  I took him back into my mouth and exhaled as I moved down his cock. When the head pressed against the back of my throat I kept going until I took all of him.

  “Oh, you dirty little slut,” he grunted, bucking upwards to thrust the last of the rod down my throat. Then he did what I knew he would, what they all did. He desperately grabbed a clump of my hair as though I might try to get away and started fucking my face.

  The first time one of them had done this I panicked and choked until the bastard let me come up for air, coughing and sputtering. He hadn't shown a lot of mercy. In fact he'd laughed out loud and forced my head back down, cramming his dick back into my mouth and forcing me to swallow it once more. That was my first crash course in face fucking and I pretty much had it down after that. I found I could hold my breath for a very long time when needed. They did eventually allow me to catch a gasp of air once in a while. Lance wasn't any different. After he bucked beneath me awhile he released my hair and allowed me to pull back.

  “I love it when you shove your dick down my throat. I can't get enough of your cock. I'm so hungry for it,” I said. In reality, I didn't particularly care for the feel of anything down my throat, but it turned me on knowing I was giving him something none of his snob girlfriends would ever consider. Dirty girls like me might not get an engagement ring, but we served our purpose. Men needed us like a drug. We were their weak spot, their vice. They always came back for more, yet somehow I was the slut.

  “Take it,” he grunted.

  I swallowed his dick again. He shot a wad of cum into my throat as his hips shot up. It never took long. Fifteen minutes had been giving him too much credit.

  “Fuck that was good,” he sighed as he zipped his pants.

  After sitting up, I fished a piece of peppermint gum out of my purse and popped into my mouth. I stared out the window into the darkness. Feeling nothing, not kidding myself that this fucker was going to give me so much as a thank you kiss, I sighed. I was anxious to get to the party. With some of the guys I'd slept with there'd actually been a bit of chemistry. With Lance there was nothing. I couldn't wait to get the hell out of the car. The smell of his sex was making me nauseous.

  He turned the key in the ignition and the head lights flicked on, casting a yellow glow that only made the deserted parking lot all the more spooky. He didn't say more than a few words to me the rest of the drive. I entertained myself with the scenery. As we got closer to Chase's street the houses grew bigger and the Christmas decorations became more grandiose. It seemed each one displayed a thousand more lights than the last until they became blinding.

  In our park there were multicolored bulbs hanging from every third or fourth trailer. Those who'd really gotten into the holiday spirit went all out and planted plastic blow up Santas in the front of their lot. It was only the first week of December and already our neighbor's Santa laid deflated, a victim of puncture wounds made by stray dogs. Before Christmas morning who knew how many flat Santas the wind would be blowing across the park. Not that anyone would mind them. We're talking about people who wouldn't get around to taking their lights down until April or May, if ever.

  Nope, not much sight seeing in the park. When I was little my mother would put me in the car and drive me to this very neighborhood. We'd stop at the gas station and grab a cup of hot chocolate before spending hours circling the blocks, taking in the view of the dazzling lights until I fell asleep. One year we circled too many times and it was red and blue lights that appeared in the rear view mirror, jus
t a curious cop investigating a beat up '82 Honda cruising the upper west side of St. Louis.

  “Don't worry, Britney,” my mother had said, tucking the ticket for the expired registration sticker into her purse. “Someday we'll live in one of these houses.”

  Even at ten I knew that was the crap of which pipe dreams were made. You figure out fast who you are when it turns out you're no one at all. Nevertheless, I nodded in agreement because it made her happy. The fact was, we actually did belong on the west side. We lived in the one and only park in the district. Years after it went up the city council passed a zoning law prohibiting trailers of any kind. Ours fell under the grandfather clause, so we got to stay. While it was always respectable to tell people you lived on the west side, it was hard to be the only kid in school without a pot to piss in, so it was both a blessing and a curse.

  Lance braked to a stop at the private gate of the Greyson estate and rolled down the driver's window to give the guard his name. The uniformed man scanned a sheet of paper attached to the clipboard in his hand and nodded. A second later the iron gate swung open and we rolled slowly up a paved winding driveway. We didn't get far. There were at least fifty cars parked in front of the Victorian three story house. He pulled the Rover in behind them and we still had to walk about an eighth of a mile up the black top to the front door. Lance didn't speak a syllable to me. When he rang the bell a drunk jock I recognized as a member of the basketball team answered. As anticipated, Lance stepped inside without so much as a glance at me and was engulfed by a harem full of inebriated dancing girls. I stood in the doorway a moment, watching him hug several of them, planting kisses on their forehead as he moved towards the bar.

  “In or out, babe?” the jock asked.

  I stepped further into the foyer and leaned against the wall, my eyes taking in the festivities while I was so far unnoticed. I didn't see anyone over the age of twenty in sight. The typical party with loud music, bodies crammed together in groups of cliques, and a wet bar. I assumed Mr. Greyson had left Chase in charge of making sure the house suffered minimum damages in the midst of this holiday shin dig. That was probably a mistake. None of the party goers appeared lucid enough to think twice about trashing the place and it was still early. Nathan Greyson was nowhere to be seen. I don't know why the idea of running into him made me so jittery. He hadn't fucked with me since the eighth grade. Yet, the encounters I'd had with him had left a scar or two. I was still licking my wounds after all these years.