by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 25
I left the office early Friday afternoon and headed straight out to Fire Island. Marge had called and said she’d meet me on the beach at 3 p.m. I told her, Be there. I need some female company. She wanted to know why, and I told her, I’ll tell you when I got out there.
(If you’re not familiar with Fire Island then go to chapter 13, all will be revealed.)
Two hours later, I flopped on my lounge chair, grabbed the sand and let it sift through my fingers. The beach. Finally. The week in the city had been like living in an oven. Little John hadn’t helped much in that respect. Like a fool I agreed to work. He introduced me to his johns as the upper class girl with Waspy breeding and refinement. I came to him dressed in elegant business suits, right from work. His hounds drooled at the sight of me. But I’d been under Little John’s spell for the past month, and he knew that he could do whatever he wanted with me.
Marge, on the other hand, was as comfy and bored as a cookie in a jar. I turned to her and said, Such a tough life you have. She shifted her lovely body in that worn out beach chair of hers and warned me, Some day you might have little boys and you’ll understand.
I didn’t believe her. Ned and Ryan were not only my greatest admirers, but the two little demons met me at the ferry with their wet snorkels and flippers over their shoulders. I could barely pull my luggage as they pulled my arms to take me to the beach. Of course, I first bought them ice cream, then they followed me to my beach house where they knew I had frozen Snickers in the freezer.
I went into my bedroom and stripped. I found a nice sexy white lace panty with hip ties and slipped it on. I found a matching top (really just a bra) and headed out to the kitchen. From chin to brow the boys were covered with chocolate. I tried wiping their faces, but it was a waste of time. They escaped out the sliding door of my porch and ran screaming to the beach.
Marge again complained, You’re spoiling my boys. I said, They’re spoiling me. I slipped off my top and tossed it in my beach bag. Marge glanced at my breasts and secretly admired their ripeness. She reached over. I handed her the sun lotion and she creamed my back.
She said, I was at Mr. Farrelli’s the other night. My husband sent me over. I looked at her and said, He sent you over? She said, Yes. He thought I needed to be, you know what. I asked Marge, You’re not the only one who’s been getting it lately. She said, According to Farrelli, you haven’t been there for a while.
I said, I met this black guy in the park. Marge looked at me, Really? Are you getting that desperate? I said, I’m not desperate at all. I tried to avoid him at first because I’m not that kind of girl. Marge asked, Has he been spanking you? I replied, What do you think? Marge stopped rubbing for a second and teased, You’re such a little slut.
I told her that she was wrong. I wasn’t even going to let him fuck me, at first She said, But you did. I said, Yes, well, I finally gave in. I mean, he was the most persistent guy I ever met. She asked, What does he do for a living? I said, He’s a pimp. I thought Marge’s eyes were going to pop out. She cried, You’ve been going out with a pimp? I nodded my head. Marge stopped rubbing the lotion and asked, Why on earth? I said, Marge, why not?
The boys momentarily rescued me from Marge’s inquisition. They came running up from the surf with a great big story about a shark that had been seen off shore. They went into great detail and the more they talked about it the larger that fish became. Marge and I were scared and humored all at once. The boys told me I’d be crazy to take a dip. They swore that they were never gong to go in the water again for the rest of their lives because they heard the shark had been eating people up. I thought it was all nonsense, but was entertained, nonetheless.
Little Ned reached into my bag and discovered another Snicker. I had one for his brother, too, and they feasted. It would’ve been nice had they put my magazine and bra back in, but boys don’t bother about such niceties when their hungry.
Marge asked, What’s he like this pimp? I said, You mean ‘My’ pimp. She dropped her jaw and stared at me like she’d seen hell. I said, Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. But he’s my pimp.
Marge’s jaw was still wide open in disbelief. I said, It’s not that I readily agreed or anything to let myself get whored, but one thing led to the next and soon I was getting pimped on a regular basis. He happens to be a good pimp, too.
If Marge could’ve opened her jaw any wider it would have dropped to her knees. She said with incredulity, So he happens to be a good pimp. I said, As a matter of fact yes. He’s also pretty tough, but they have to be in their business.
Marge sarcastically said, Really? They have to be in their business? You’re a millionaire Carrie. You’re rich, well known, and very accomplished. Why this? I said, It has nothing to do with being rich or whatever. It just happened. That’s all. I’m still the same person, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me a slut. I’m a decent good person and you know it. Furthermore, my pimp happens to be decent as well.
With impassioned curiosity, she asked, How does he pimp you? On the street? I knew she thought it was lewd, but I pointed to my hot little beach panty and said, As a matter of fact, like this. Astonished, she asked, You mean you walk down the street in your panties? I said, Of course, but late at night and only on certain streets, and in high heels. You have to look hot. This way you can grab your John and turn your trick quicker.
She asked, How many tricks have you turned so far? I said, Well, one night five. She incredulously asked, You let five strangers fuck you? I said, That’s what my pimp wanted, so that’s what I did. If I didn’t trust him, believe me, I would never do this.
Marge fidgeted with her wide straw hat while she thought over what I had said. Then she added, I hear they can be tough these pimps. I said to her, Well it is a business Marge and if a girl doesn’t act business-like she can end up getting disciplined. It happens like that in any business.
She asked, Have you ever been disciplined? I said, Well, they way my pimp sees it, he thinks that since I’m a white girl with a lot of class I might have some attitude just because of that. He doesn’t like attitude and God knows how many times I’ve tried to tell him that I don’t have any.
Last night he really spanked me hard because he thought I was acting up. He lifted up my skirt, tugged down my panty and told me to kneel on the bed and grab the post so he could smack my bottom hot and hard. He punishes me quite often.
She asked, How much does he pay you? I told Marge, That’s why he disciplined me last night. I asked him that it in front of some johns. It was the wrong time and place. You see Marge, having a pimp is like having someone own you. It has to be that way because it’s against the law.
She looked at me half crazy and asked, What do you mean by that? I dropped my panty and showed her the tattoo I got for Little John. She read it out loud, LJ’s White Slut 10. She asked, But why a tattoo? I laughed, Why not? I happen to be his tenth girl. If ever he has an eleventh white girl and she gives me attitude, I’ll just show her this.
Marge asked, Do you really like doing it? I said, Like doing what? She said, You know. I watched the boys scramble across the serf hollering with a bunch of other boys. One day they would grow up and be men and want to do things to women, also. I told Marge, I suppose so. Why not?
I had enough of her quizzing. I thought she’d be more understanding. So I got up and walked to the serf. Some guys walked by and fucked me with their eyes. I ignored their dumb leers. I slipped my hand into my hot little panty and over my tattoo where Little John owned me. I liked being owned. I liked that he could do what he wanted with me, fuck me when he wanted, and pimp me when he wanted. I liked it that guys would have to pay for me and behave, or else. I felt privileged in an odd way. I think Little John understood that. I think that’s how he got to me.
I took a nice sexy walk to where the nudists hung out, slipped off my panty and joined the naked crowd. It felt good to get a lot of stares. I tried to count how many had noticed my little tattoo, but I couldn’t really be certain.
I found a nice spot and sat down in the warm comforting sand. Soon enough a guy came by and asked if he could join me. He wasn’t bad looking, but I told him, No. Before he walked on he asked, Who’s LJ? I laughed, Wouldn’t you like to know. He then asked, Does he own you? I was surprised, but thrilled that he understood. I said, In fact, he does. He walked on and said, Lucky guy. If he had stayed, he might have been lucky. I was getting in the mood.
