Shore Leave: Finale (Patreon)

“Ay papi…” Raquel cooed at a passer by only to roll her eyes when he ignored her.

“Good evening sir…How a-hrmph.” She said, annoyed at once again being instantly ignored.

“Hey boys…Anyone looking for a wild night?” She flirted, emphasizing her accent for the American crowd.

Nothing but chuckles and jeers. Loud assholes.

It was time to try a different spot, Raquel thought, lighting up a cigarette as she strutted down the street, her 4-inch heels clicking and clacking loudly on the stone like talons on a marble floor. Nights like this always made her reconsider her life and what she was doing with it. On one hand, she’d long since convinced herself that she had no choice but to hit the streets every night for some quick, easy cash. On the other, it was the dull nights that she couldn’t hook someone that made her wonder if it was really worth all the cheap plastic surgery just to get people to want to fuck her. Was the life she living really all that much better than just putting on a loose shirt and turning in applications to someplace looking for a pretty waitress or a cook or something?

It wasn’t that she was lazy. Hell, she thought, if that were the case then she could still be living in her old room with her parents instead of sending them letters saying that school was going great  while she spent every evening charging €100 for a “wild night.” Then once she actually got someone who wanted to be with her, they had to find a hotel that her person would hopefully pay for, or else her €100 would turn into €40 or even less. Finally, once everything was said and done, she had to actually DO whatever they wanted and hope that they didn’t get violent in the process. Most guys just wanted to grope her big, firm tits and pound away at her until they came, which was quick and easy. Others wanted to be dominated and rode or whipped or whatever the case may be, and that was an absolute pain to do. Worst of all, others wanted to do the weird stuff, asking to pee in her hair or have her give them a rimjob or whatever the fuck the case may have been.

Those were definitely the nights she wished she really was in school. Then she wouldn’t have huge, plastic, uneven tits nor the thick, angry scars underneath them. Maybe she would be a little thicker and less scrawny. It bothered Raquel to look at the mirror lately and see a whore staring back at her instead of the sweet little girl she used to be. Too many times she’d posed seductively, admiring her incredibly fake body as she invented new ways to stand or carry herself, working to be a more tempting advertisement for sex.

Filthy, sweaty, wild sex.

That’s who she was now, and she knew it.

Those same nights, Raquel would find tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at the desperate slut in the mirror. The pride in her appearance turning to loathing and self-pity as she realizes that she is nothing like she wanted to be when she was growing up. Raquel wasn’t the prime minister or an astronaut. She wasn’t a futbol player or a movie star.

She was a hooker. A prostitute. A whore.

Maybe things would have turned out different if she were a boy, Raquel thought, walking over to a local nightclub to try her solicitations there. Maybe she would have finished college if she didn’t have sex as a way to make money. Maybe she would have had more opportunities to succeed and not needed to sink so low. Raquel carefully wiped the tears from her eyes, careful not to smear her mascara and ruin her perfect look.

Maybe life would have been better if she had a dick, she thought. To get to be the predator instead of the prey. The consumer instead of the consumed. To be praised for and proud of sleeping around instead of sobbing in the shower because of it. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t have a dick. She had a pussy that had come to define her entire being and trap her in a life of shame and inferiority. But true as that was, this was time for working, not shining. With one final sigh, Raquel leaned back on a wall and tousled her hair.

“Hey boys…” She said, a seductive, playful twang in her voice. “Looking for a wild night?”

(1)

Evie woke up and rolled out of bed with a massive headache. Without thinking about it, she reached over and grabbed a steel flask from the nightstand and took a swig from it. As she choked down the cheap vodka, Evie walked over to the mirror and checked herself out.

She looked like shit, but it’d honestly been worse, she thought. Still clad in yesterday’s hot pink bell bottoms and purple tanktop, she leaned forward into the bathroom sink of her cheap hotel and cupped some water into her mouth to rinse it out. The water tasted like metal and was a little nasty but it still worked to get the taste of old vodka out of her mouth and add some moisture to her dry tongue.

“Uuugggghhhhhh….Bloody hag, you are.” Evie said tiredly, looking into the mirror at her face, marred by last night’s smeared makeup.

The sloppy blonde imagined that if she looked at her bed, she’d probably find several streaks of tan foundation caked into the sheets. The thought made her feel a little bad at first, but she quickly shrugged and let go of the concerns completely.

“Eh. That’s what room service is for.” She said.

Evie walked into the shower enclosure and turned it on, feeling the chilly water wash over her.

“….Room service.” She said in a heavy cockney accent, a tone of uncertainty lending itself to a tilt of her head and a quizzical grimace. “Room service…Cleanin service…House keepin? Housekeepin. Yeh. S’right.”

Evie began to scrub herself down with a bar of Spanish soap that smelled a little funny, but did the job. Lathering it up, she stepped out of the cold water to rub her hands on her face and get rid of the makeup from the previous night. After rinsing her face in the unpleasant but refreshing water, Evie rubbed her soapy hands all of her pulpy belly and dimpled legs. She knew she was fat. That was never in question. However, to Evie, it wasn’t a person’s body that mattered, but the way they used it.

And she planned to use it every way she could for as long as she could.

The tubby woman stepped out of the cold shower and wiped her face off with the hotel towel, watching as the last of her thick foundation rubbed off on it. Evie posed in the mirror, flaunting her body as she slipped the towel lower and lower.

“Ay luv,” she began, lifting a hand to one of her massive, sagging breasts. “Eva seen a girl do this?”

With that, Evie lifted her nipple to her mouth, sucking on it erotically as she wiggled her body sensually in the mirror before suddenly stopping. She opened her mouth and dropped her hand, letting her fat, G cup boob plop down onto her still-wet chest before going back to business. Without even waiting for her face to completely dry, Evie shook the moisture out of her bright, dye-blonde curls and began globbing on makeup.

“Yeh. That’s hot…” She said to herself softly, smirking as she smeared new foundation all over her face.

Evie wasn’t someone who stood out in a crowd early on in the English club scene. She was born looking like the average, basic bitch brunette Brit. It was only after she met an enthusiastic group of girls looking to party that she realized that even though she was boring, she had big tits and they were worth showing off. The years went by and she found new ways to stand out: a tan here…some hair dye there…and always more makeup. It wasn’t long before she was looking as chavvy and obnoxious as any of her friends, but they all seemed to embrace it, so she did too. Years went on and one by one her friends all got knocked up or quit the scene, leaving Evie a lone wolf still on the prowl for her prince…and whoever else wanted to have some fun in the meantime.

 But time meant age, and age meant change. Evie continued partying into her 30s then 40s and found that she didn’t look quite as hot as she used to. Not one to be discouraged, she took it upon herself to start tanning and upping her fashion game, finding more and sexier outfits to offset her increasing weight and wrinkles. Before she knew it, she was a fat slag of a woman greedily hunting for men to fuck her in hopes that she’d find a regular that wanted to marry or at least let her stay at his place. On several occasions, she even did, but her lazy attitude and complete lack of motivation to work rapidly made her a financial burden on the men she convinced to consider her as a roommate or even girlfriend and was soon kicked out and dumped.

Evie smacked her hot pink lips, making duck faces in the mirror as she enjoyed the contrast between the pink and her orange-brown skin. Next, she added some blue eyeshadow to her eyelids over her otherwise darkened eyes to make them “pop.”

Evie sang and danced to 2000’s dance hits on youtube as she soaked her hair in a deluge of hairspray to make sure that it didn’t go flat over the course of her day….or night. Throwing on her leopard print tank top wasn’t necessarily the hardest thing to do, save for the material sticking to her still-moist skin, but Evie felt that the cling effect made the material hug her curves better. What WAS a little trickier was stuffing herself into her denim short shorts and then pulling them up her flabby, dimpled thighs. Evie sucked her stomach in as much as she could as she nearly hopped around in circles trying to get them all the way up and button them.

“Hoooo….” She said. “Might need to size these up soon..”

Evie knew she was fat. 90% of the guys who turned her down or rejected her said as much. Every once in a while though she found a man that especially liked her and preferred her that way, rewarding her for her laziness and justifying her lack of motivation to lose weight.

With one last look in the mirror, Evie walked out of the hotel for her last day on vacation before she went back to jolly old England alone. She hefted up her tits and let her pants ride a little lower, watching smugly as heads turned towards her outlandishly colorful visage.

“Alright girls,” she told her boobs. “Last day and not a lot of time so….We’ve got a man to catch.”

(2)

Farrah stepped onto the floor eager to make all the jaws drop with her hot new look. Even with an early day of work tomorrow, she knew that this was going to be an important debut for all the recruiters and agents prowling the floor looking for something hot and special for their upcoming films. It had been a fun week and she had enjoyed it immensely. Lounging around on the beach, eating fancy local cuisine, and nights partying at exclusive dance clubs full of people who were going to do the one thing she knew they would always do: Notice her.

In truth, she’d indulged a lot more than she usually would have while on her vacation, considering it a welcome change from having to constantly watch her figure and exercise more than she liked or even wanted. Then again, Farrah was a woman who was used to having a leash around her neck. As a child, she was always yanked around, paraded in front of their rich friends like some kind of trophy, and never allowed to mingle with the lower class as they were apparently “beneath her station” and not fit to be around her.

They were right, she realized over time. For while she grew up to be rich and successful, living the good life wherever she went at any time she pleased, those same kids grew up following a formula:

Step 1: Big dreams

Step 2: Graduate from a nowhere high school

Step 3: Get a poor-paying job and either get pregnant or start dating.

Step 4: Convince yourself that your poor, mediocre-looking partner is the one for you and that despite having nothing, you’re living a good enough life.

Step 5: Complain that rich people and not your own lack of motivation made you poor and stay there until you die.

That wasn’t the life that Farrah wanted for herself no matter how much she wanted to be a normal kid. It was a harsh lesson to be taught: accepting that most people are losers whose only options would one day be to serve those more important than them. But it was either accept that people like that weren’t friends, but servants….or wind up a servant yourself. In that way, she didn’t mind spending time at the gym if it meant that she was securing a future away from her spoiled, out-of-touch parents and their money.

(3)

The reality, she realized, was that no one was ever truly free. No one ever slipped their leash completely. All the people on facebook whining about France or England or whatever Donald Trump was doing that day didn’t matter in the least. Even if they got out from where they were, they’d just find themselves under a bigger superior. The commoner served the managers, the managers served the rich, the rich served the powerful, and the powerful served a government. Even at the highest levels, the governments were shackled to the people, poor or otherwise.

Calling Farrah a “cog in the machine” didn’t make anyone else less of one, nor was she even that big a part of it. If she were to vanish or get old or lose her money, she would simply be replaced. Instantly and effortlessly.

And if that was the case, why not enjoy the life she had?

To Farrah Abdallah Nadir, the dumb little rich girl straining against her leash, the world was a gilded cage where she could be a hero if she could just get down to where all the poor people were and save them from the rich.

But to Farrah Ferrari, multimillionaire and international porn sensation, she had no desire to slump down into the trenches where the normies toiled for her benefit. She knew it wasn’t in her power to save them, nor was it her job to do so. They were peons at best. Worker ants that made sure she was as comfortable as possible in her great wide world. Because while they suffered in cages and prisons for the chance to be like her, worshipping her body from the pale blue glow of their goony little screens, she traveled the world in beautiful outfits, building a beautiful body and loving herself more than most anyone knew how. While the world demanded the normal people be made to suffer in shackles for their station in life, she could wander wherever she pleased so long as she wore a leash.

She mused over the imagery in her head as she read the scene for her next shoot. The doctors had recently sent her to Ibiza to see a plastic surgeon who specialized in and would allow the procedure she wanted. The only stipulation she had been given was a surprising one: Get fatter.

So she did. For months on end, Farrah Ferrari was absent from the adult film industry prompting many fans to wonder where she had gone. Every day had her eating out like a madwoman, waking up in the middle of the night sometimes to pack on more weight with food sitting on her nightstand. It was easy, it was decadent, and it made for a great reprieve from her regular regimen. She still had to exercise to keep her muscle tone of course, but the pressure to do cardio was no longer weighing on her shoulders.

(4)

By the time she’d even arrived in Spain, Farrah was considerably heavier than she had previously been in her life. She considered making a bbw video or something for the guys with fat fetishes, but decided not to allow her public image to be marred by an imperfect and amusingly enough, technically obese figure, no matter how temporary. Instead, she allowed herself to be a hot, but moderately unrecognizable woman on vacation, dancing the night away at nightclubs and lounging away the days drunk and high on the beach and stuffing herself with decadent treats up until the day of her surgery. Besides, she figured, if anyone recognized her after gaining 45 pounds she could just claim that it wasn’t her.

(5)

Those were the fun parts of the trip however. The rest involved going into the clinic and having her surgery and it’s laundry list of demands met. Wide, killer hips that defied natural proportions… Fat, bee-stung lips that would make it hard to even close her mouth all the way… A slender face that emphasized her lips, eyes, and cheekbones, and big, giant boobs with enough fat and plastic stuffed into them that her head would look small in comparison…

 It had taken a lot of time, networking, and money to find a surgeon who would do the work, but once the procedure was completed, Farrah knew she’d made the right call. The first couple of days were spent in the hospital in a body form made for her specialized dimensions to prevent her from having a tear in her stitches, but afterward, she was free to enjoy her week.

Unfortunately for the newly enhanced porn star, that meant that she could only lounge around on the beach or in her room while she healed, but even then she was delighted with what she saw. As the deep, purple bruises faded and her natural, if not generously tanned skin became a thing of beauty. Just in time for the big shoot.

When she got into costuming, the entire crew applauded Farrah’s new look before adorning her in a kinky collar with a fancy set of black lingerie. While Farrah was far, far from inexperienced with having penises in her mouth or other pleasurable orifices, this shoot was going to be an easy, girl-girl video called “Pussy in Paradise.” She was to play an overly endowed model who was sex trafficked to a beautiful island to join the slutty harem of some rich billionaire. The billionaire’s wife would personally inspect her husband’s new prospects while looking for a pet of her own: Enter Farrah in a sexy cat costume, complete with ears and a leash.

(6)

The cameras began rolling and Farrah walked in to see that her co-star was already languishing on the bed as she looked the new girl up and down. She had short, blonde hair and a petite, but incredibly cute figure that while not as insanely bodacious as Farrah’s, held a natural beauty that radiated superiority. It was clear to Farrah, the crew, and anyone who would watch the scene as to which of them was the rich, powerful woman and which was a plastic stuffed fuckdoll.

(7)

“Come in…Pretty kitty want some pets?” The slim, curvy blonde purred as she rubbed her inner thigh sensually.

“Ooh…I would LOVE to be pet by you…” Farrah said, climbing onto the bed.

“You know…I heard kitties like you love to give baths with your tongue..” The mistress said seductively, spreading her thighs and making Farrah’s mouth water just thinking of tasting such a sexy woman.

As the woman guided the pretty rich girl’s head down between her legs, Farrah could feel a strange and powerful yearning to please this woman as if she was much, much more than an actress in a porno.

“Silly boys..” The girl said. “Always chasing after pussy wherever they go, hoping to get lucky. But you’re the lucky one.”

The cameras zoomed in as Farrah began lapping enthusiastically at the smaller woman’s labia, teasing a warm, pleased groan out of her mouth that only increased Farrah’s erotic ferocity.

“Because now, here on this island….You get to have aaaaaallll the pussy you want.”