“Stand the fuck up; young lady.” He almost whispered. Jenny was confused. Sitting on the floor with her butt between her splayed heels, she raised...herself to a sitting position. Subconsciously she must have had some sense of what was going to happen, because she crossed her arms in front of her; shielding her breasts.“I want to see your fucking twat.” It was almost a sneer. It was almost a whisper. Jenny’s head dropped like she had been hit with a hammer. Still it was just words. Nobody would. Between their hard kisses, “Oh fuck Travis! I need you! I need you so fucking bad!” Their hands ran into each other, each interrupting the others furious rush to undress the other. He lifted her top and her breasts dropped out from it's embrace with a wonderful to behold buoyant bounce and jiggle as they settled into place. She was not petite, you could not count her ribs or see her abs, but she was soft and small, a light layer of flesh to cushion their heaves-- but she had no trace of excess. And Tracey hadn't forgotten the time she and Buttercup woke too late to get to the front of the queue of the other women waiting to get into work, and ended up having to walk back home without having got anything for their pains of actually getting there. As a prostitute you were guaranteed of getting something, and the returns were substantially better than sealing pies in cellophane, slicing legs of ham or packing munitions. In fact, after her first day, Tracey was wondering why she'd not. She had just been his whore, and he had just been another cock for her to suck on. In the days when Grandma had still spoken, her vulgarity knew no bounds, and her brutally honest words were free of any sensitivity towards young Benny. Grandma said that the girl, then nineteen, had been diagnosed with HIV, “either from all the tar she shot” Grandma had said, “or all the men she serviced for a few nickels.” The girl probably knew she didn’t have much time left, so she decided to leave 4 year-old.