Paul Johnson

CHAPTER ONE ~

INNOCENCE

Sex was in her blood... some of Sylvia's earliest memories involved sex. "Mommy, can I have some juice," asked five year-old Sylvia, opening the door to her mother's bedroom. Her eyes focused on the bed seeing a man, lying on top of her mother. "Sweetie, you can have some juice," replied her mom, from under her and the man's embrace. "Now close the door." Sylvia at five years old knew nothing about sex, or what that man was doing with her mommy for that matter. All she could comprehend was that she had seen the man moving back and forth toward her mother, and there was noise. "Close the door, Sylvia, now!"

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The man had never broken from his back-and-forth movement. The noises had gotten louder. Sylvia still did not know what was taking place, but felt i f she continued to stay, the man, at least, might not hurt her mommy too badly. "Sylvia, close that damned door now!" Her mother's anger had scared her into closing the door, but she remained in the hallway, close by, pressed against the door, afterward. Eventually, after what was probably about fifteen minutes, but what Sylvia perceived to be hours, the man opened the door to the bedroom, now fully dressed. " I had a wonderful time, Janice, here you go," said the enthusiastic man, turning to her mom and handing her money. Sylvia retreated into her room before the man could see her, all the time fearing for what harm he might do to her mother, or even herself. But her fears were misplaced, as the man left their presence with a spring in his step. After a few tense moments, her mother came to her. "Baby, forget what you saw, that was nothing...just me and a friend of mine playing a game. Come on, let's go to the kitchen, so I can give you some juice," her mother said. Sylvia never did forget that day, or what that man had been doing, not just with...but to her mom. Sylvia also never forgot the fact the man had given her mother money, probably for that game they were playing. Sylvia grew up fast, one had to in North Philadelphia. The neighborhood was a desperate struggle for survival, and people could be, and usually were, ruthless.

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Sylvia was smart. Her teachers often complimented her. However, those who lived in the neighborhood seemed to be focused on things other than academic achievement. The remarks came early in her life. "Oh girl, you are getting so big and pretty." "Wow, what is your mother going to do with you? A l l that ass and titties at only twelve!" "Sylvia is going to be just like her mom, watch." Sylvia knew her mom had a lot of men friends. Sylvia and her mother lived comfortably in spite of her mom's seemingly inconsistent work schedule. To Sylvia, her mom was simply the prettiest lady in the neighborhood, and deserved to be treated in a nice manner by her friends. Other people saw Janice in a different light. Men zealously pursued Janice and were quite aware their only chance with her was if they had money and were willing to part with some. This was the genesis of much resentment, primarily from those less affluent men who couldn't have her, yet lusted after her just the same. Many women wished they had Janice's beauty, her body and her ability to captivate men's attention the way she did. Admiration turned to envy, envy turned to jealousy, eventually fermenting into hate among the women in the neighborhood especially. For Janice, the cup runneth over. For the others, they suffered loneliness, and the frustration of economic woes, none of which seemed to besiege Janice's world. Janice captured, enamored, then discarded men the other women couldn't attract, before or after. Plus,

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Janice was getting paid. Without anticipating it, oblivious as to why, Sylvia started to experience the undertones of resentment, then animosity; which was being projected her mom's way. "Look at her fast ass. She's going to be just like her mom." Such was said, even though Sylvia was trying to act as wholesome as she knew how. However, she clearly could not control what was being talked about. "These young girls are fucking in elementary now a days. I wonder how long before she pregnant?" Sylvia was a virgin and couldn't understand why the women in the neighborhood disliked her so. She kept her head down, walked directly to her destinations, while keeping to herself. As bad as the women were, the boys and men were worse. By the time Sylvia was fourteen, she almost hated going outside and all because her voluptuous body had matured. Boys her age would cop a feel, some would grab her ass at their leisure, treating her private areas like it was public property, grown men would practically accost her on the streets with impunity. "Hey, sexy, wanna come ride in my big Caddy?" "Hi beautiful, why don't you let me show you a good time? I will be gentle." "Hey, hey, hey, hey, sexy you! Why don't you let me walk you to school? I will carry your books." Some of the remarks were even less endearing. Even though it was painfully obvious she was underage, grown men would still try to pick her up.

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Paul Johnson

One time she was late for school, having had to change her route, due to the number of men harassing her, forming a veritable gauntlet as she made her way along; the thoroughfare. This occasion was not the first time she picked a route less polluted with vile men, as opposed to the quickest and more direct way to her school. Upon her arrival, Sylvia was promptly sent to the principal's office, expecting to receive a stern lecture from Mr. Montgomery on the subject of tardiness and the responsibilities as a young lady attending the school. "Have a seat, Sylvia," the Principal began, seeming anxious to delve into her tardiness issue. "Why have you been tardy so often this year," he inquired "Sometimes I walk the long way to school to avoid being harassed. "Harassed? By whom?" "Sometimes by men who be saying nasty stuff to me when I'm walking pass." "Well Sylvia," Montgomery began, raising his eyebrows, " I notice that you have matured quite a lot this school year." "Huh?" Sylvia was taken aback, not sure how to read Montgomery's last statement. Montgomery's expression turned a bit more serious. "Sylvia, boys will tend to act silly around beautiful young ladies at times," he said. Then as he looked at the floor, said, "And some men can be just as bad." Sylvia wasn't interested in Mr. Montgomery's explanation. She just wanted to get back to class. "Well that's why I was late. I was trying to avoid them."

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"Sylvia, do you have a boyfriend?" "No," she replied, not seeing what that had to do with the subject of her tardiness. "Stand up, Ms. Atkins," ordered the Principal. Sylvia complied, although hesitating for a brief moment, unsure as to Montgomery's purpose in asking her. "Now turn around." Sylvia folded her arms. "Why," she asked. " I want to make sure you are appropriately dressed." Sylvia did as she was told, not wanting to challenge his authority, all the time wishing she was not alone with him in a closed room. "You can sit now. You may want to buy bigger clothes from now on," he counseled. "You are rapidly becoming a woman." Sylvia knew her clothes were ample size, but didn't say anything. "Have you ever thought about getting a boyfriend? A man that could help take care of you and protect you?" Mr. Montgomery smiled in a manner meant to charm her, but instead, creeped her out. "No, I'm not interested in a boyfriend." "That's really a shame. The right man could make all your problems disappear." "That's okay. I'll handle my own problems." Mr. Montgomery stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Well, i f you change your mind, let me know and I will help you find the right one..." There was that creepy smile once again. Sylvia refused to make eye contact. "Can I go," she asked curtly.

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Paul Johnson

"Yes you can go, Sylvia," Montgomery said, shaking his finger in a warning-like manner, "And don't be tardy any more...I will be watching you." As she left the room, his stare fixated on her ass, felt like a laser beam. Sylvia imagined the seat on her jeans getting warmer by the second. Damn! She could not even trust the Principal. The following year, Sylvia excelled so much in Music class, the Music teacher, Ms. Simmons was able to get her placed in a special music program outside Sylvia's high school. Mondays through Fridays Sylvia left her high school at one-fifteen, traveling by bus to a music school/studio, in order to take two hours of professional music instructions. Sylvia earned class credit towards her diploma for Music Theory, Music Composition, singing lessons, along with songwriting. Sylvia was confident that becoming a famous songstress would be her profession, one day. Sylvia's music school was located at Broad and Spring Garden, a pristine area, busy with commerce by day. However, after dark, it transformed itself into one of Philadelphia's most popular "hoe" strips. Prostitutes were seen nightly, jumping in and out of the vehicles driven by sexual solicitors, or leading anxious "Johns" to one of the many seedy hotels around the corner. One of the lords of this denizen of sin and smut was a baby-faced pimp by the name of "Sweet P." Stacey Purvis had adopted the moniker, "Sweet P," as his name long ago. It was short for "Sweet pleasure," something he delivered - shortly before he turned cruel and turned a woman or girl out as his sex slave, sending her into

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the night to turn tricks. It just happened to be Sylvia's bad luck, that on her way to music school, Sweet P was out scavenging the streets, looking for new recruits, ready to be introduced into the world's oldest profession, or any experienced prostitutes, ready to leave their old pimp for some new Sweet pimping. He quickly noticed Sylvia as she crossed the street, an act that would change both of their lives forever. "Goddamn! Who is that young thoroughbred," Sweet P exclaimed loudly, but with no one in his car to hear. "Now that's a bitch that could get even a dumb pimp rich. But under my tutelage, even a pubic hair would be worth a mint." Sweet P loved to hear himself talk. Sweet P wasn't into failure, so he wanted to observe his prey in order to decide upon the best course of action. For a week, Sweet P parked down the block before two in the afternoon, watching Sylvia exit her bus and proceed to the music school. Sweet P observed both boys as well as men pursue the young girl. He witnessed hustlers jump from $50,000.00 cars to walk alongside her. She was completely disinterested, even discomforted, separating her distance from them like a marathon runner. One day, Sweet P witnessed a pimp acquaintance of his named Silky, approach the young girl with what Sweet P imagined to be some of Silky's smoothest vintage conversation, for which he was legendary in the pimp circle. His act was nothing a girl could get around. In this case, Silky moved so swiftly, Sylvia had the expression she had just seen a ghost! Seeing this,

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immediately told Sweet P that he would have to approach her from a completely different angle. He would have to find a way to first lower her defenses before striking. In spite of the substantial perceived challenge, he assured himself the young girl was worth every reasonable effort. Watching her walk generated the sound of a symphony of cash registers ringing in his ears and playing inside his head. A man in his late twenties, Sweet P could easily pass for eighteen when he chose, which was one of his primary and strongest weapons. Sweet P had no affinity for hardened, old hoes for either his stable or his bed, for that matter. He possessed an "R. Kelly" fetish, which is why most of his hoes were originally young runaways, or simply dumb, young girls he enamored with his, "I'm a young 'down and out teen,' like you, let me help you survive" routine. Once she fell for his come-on, a young girl became totally dependent on him, in love with his sweet pleasure, and possibly along the way, would become hooked on drugs, which Sweet P was happy to provide just prior to turning into the cold, calculating pimp he was, equally likely to give a girl an ass-whupping as he was disposed to uttering a kind word. Sweet P, even in his twenties, was a seasoned veteran of pimping, having pimped for over a decade. His evil streak was a source of notoriety among the pimps and hoes who knew of him. With his baby-face, almost androgynous style of dress and mannerisms, it was easy to underestimate his cruelty. Sweet P conjured up a resemblance to the artist

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Prince, but instead of a studio full of music, Sweet P possessed a stable full of hoes. It was this accomplished pimp who decided to unleash a strong measure of his pimp persuasions on Sylvia, who was barely sixteen at the time.

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Paul Johnson

CHAPTER TWO ~ PIMPING

The following Monday, looking like the epitome of youthful innocence, preppy dressed and clean shaven, Sweet P walked into the music school to register for the same two o'clock until four o'clock music program Sylvia was enrolled. Armed with false identification, reflecting his age as eighteen, with a home address in the wealthy Society Hill section of Philadelphia, Sweet P, who now was to be known as Stacey Hudson, also gave the woman who processed his enrollment the sum of three hundred dollars in cash. "My parents went back out of town to help move the rest of our things here from California. They told me to give you this envelope in appreciation for registering me as soon as possible, because I have already missed so much school."

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The woman had Sweet P in the classroom that very day. For three hundred dollars she would have given him an A-plus report card, had he asked. Sweet P had at this point, invested plenty of his time and money in this young girl as far as he was concerned. He envisioned already owning her, naming her the slave, "Kissy," and her ass belonging to him. A l l that remained was for him to close the deal, turn her out, and then turn pussy into payment. He figured a young thoroughbred such as she, could earn him thousands per day, while her young body would serve as an excellent playground for him. Sweet P already knew her name was Sylvia, but had decided her street-name would be Precious, and she would be the most valuable bitch on the track. That afternoon, two minutes after Sylvia walked into the classroom and was seated, the new kid, Stacey Hudson found his way in, sitting in a chair next to Sylvia, and gave her a shy smile. Sylvia returned the smile, and then proceeded to bury her head in her text. Music theory was a difficult course. Sweet P was blessed with an exceptionally high I.Q., having always found school work to be easy to pick up. In fact, he considered it too easy, which became his bizarre rationale for dropping out in the tenth grade and commenced pimping his young girlfriend shortly thereafter. This music class wouldn't be much of a challenge to him, especially with the stakes so high. Sweet P occupied his mind with his personal treasure hunt, taking him to the region between Sylvia's thighs, the hidden treasure, to which he had the exclusive map.

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The second day Stacey brought two egg and cheese bagels to the class, handing one of them to Sylvia. "What's this," she asked. "It's a cheese and egg bagel. I usually get hungry around this time, and thought you might too." "Uhm...thank you," she muttered, accepting the bagel reluctantly. She always harbored suspicions when it involved a male's intentions. Sylvia gave Stacey a warmer smile than yesterday, deciding he wasn't a threat, just a well-off, shy, somewhat nerdy kid from the suburbs who was also interested in studying music. They walked side by side to class, neither speaking, both feeling a friendship developing. During their singing lessons, Stacey volunteered to sing a difficult arrangement, leaving Sylvia impressed with his skills. After class had been dismissed, Sylvia commented on his performance. "You have a nice voice," she said. "Thank you," he answered shyly. "So, do you plan on being a professional singer?" " I don't know what I want to do with my future, yet," he replied. He asked her, "Is that what you want, to be a singer?" "Maybe," Sylvia replied. "It seems to be one of the few things I'm really good at," she stammered. " I can't believe a girl as smart as yourself isn't great at numerous things," Stacey offered. "Thank you," Sylvia responded, blushing a little, finding herself quite unaccustomed to accepting compliments not of a sexual nature graciously.

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Having exited the school building, Sylvia said good bye to her new-found friend, Stacey. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow. I have to go catch my bus," she announced, and turned to leave. "Why don't you let me give you a ride home? That's my car over there," Stacey enunciated, pointing to a red 5.0 Mustang he had rented as part of his ruse. "No, that's okay. The bus will be here shortly. I appreciate the offer, though." "Are you sure? It really isn't a problem." "No thank you. See you tomorrow." And with that, Sylvia walked off with deliberate steps. Sweet P was happy with his progress thus far. His Stacey character was winning over Sylvia's trust and making her increasingly comfortable to be around him. He surmised it was just a matter of time before she let her guard down completely. Sylvia was no fan of Philadelphia's SEPTA bus system. However she was not about to get into some male's vehicle, not even a classmate's. The fact Stacey was nice didn't matter when it came to that kind of decision. Later that evening, Sylvia recounted in her mind the thoughtfulness of Stacey in bringing her the cheese and egg bagel. She also thought about his singing, which was surprisingly good. She figured he may even have a future in music. Then her mind drifted toward thinking about the car he drove. It was quite appealing. Lastly, she contemplated what she might expect from a relationship with a preppy kid with rich parents. Before drifting off to sleep that night, Sylvia decided

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that she liked Stacey. She figured he was quite a different person in comparison to the rough hooligans of her neighborhood, who were preoccupied with sex from morning through night. Her last waking thought was how she looked forward to her next day at the music school. The next day, just as Sylvia arrived at the music school, Stacey coincidentally, was exiting his vehicle. He spoke first. "Hello, Sylvia, how are you today?" "I'm good. Thanks for asking." "Well, I picked you up another egg and cheese bagel, and a hot chocolate." "You don't have to keep on doing that, Stacey. I'm good. I eat before I leave for school." "That probably wasn't since lunch. And besides, I don't mind at all. The bagel shop is just up the street from my house." Sylvia accepted the bagel and hot chocolate. He had been correct, she hadn't eaten since her high school lunch hour, and the meal just happened to be an atrocious piece of meat loaf, along with a hideous batch of instant mashed potatoes. "We still have a few minutes before class," Stacey remarked innocently. "Why don't we sit in my car and eat our bagels?" Sylvia was reluctant, but remembered how Stacey had conducted himself as a complete gentleman thus far. Besides, they weren't driving anywhere, just sitting in the car. She was also anxious to reciprocate his friendliness.

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"You have a really nice car." "Thank you," he replied promptly. "My parents bought it for me as a birthday present." Sylvia's first thought dwelled on how lucky Stacey was to have parents who took such exceptional care of him. Stacey, behind the congenial smile and affable personality, recounted to himself how things were going according to plan, and that soon, "Very soon, she will be mine!" As the week progressed, Stacey and Sylvia became friendlier to one another, and by Thursday, she allowed him to drive her home, following music classes. On Friday, he drove her home once again. "Sylvia, I wanted to ask you something." "Ask me what?" "Well, they got this new dance movie showing on Delaware Avenue, and I wanted to know i f you wanted to go see it on Sunday." "Thank you, but I don't think so." "We could go to the one o'clock showing, and I could have you back by four o'clock." "Back by four?" "We will go straight to the movie and back. I promise," Stacey vowed to her with the solemnity of a choir boy. "Okay," Sylvia conceded. "Pick me up at twelve thirty and just park outside. I will look for your car and come down." "Cool. I will see you then." By the time Sweet P dropped Sylvia at her home that

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Friday, he was confident his investment was going to be paying very high dividends, and very soon. Sylvia was nervous and excited. This was her first trip to the movie theater with a boy. She didn't want to reveal this to her mother just yet. That is why she had asked him to just park his car and she would come down. Her mother was always warning about boys, about sex, and about bringing a baby home. It got so extreme, that i f Sylvia occasionally stayed out past dark without prior permission, her mother would berate her unmercifully. Sylvia would be accused of staying out to fuck boys, and be threatened with being kicked out of the house should her mother ever catch her with a man. "I'm not raising any more babies, so you bet not bring any home! And keep your legs closed," was her mother's mantra. During the Sunday matinee, Sylvia was able to study Stacey in profile as he intently watched the movie. He seems so nice and polite. Plus, I like that he never stare at my body and always look directly in my eyes when we talk, not at m breast. Plus its nice having a friend with good manners, a little money, and his own transportation. Sylvia's mind continued to dream her own thoughts as she watched Stacey, forsaking the story line of the movie. "Would you like anything else from the concession stand?" "No thank you. I'm good," Sylvia responded. "Okay, I'll be right back. I'm going to get some more M&M's." Stacey left to purchase some more M&M's, sidetracking himself in the process to the pay phones.

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Once safely inside the confines of the phone booth, he slipped back into his true persona, dialing his bottom bitch's cell phone, expecting her to be sleeping late into the afternoon, after a busy night of hoeing. The phone rang several times. Sweet P started to become impatient, then irate. A tired female voice answered the phone. "Bitch, why did you take so long to answer?" "Sorry daddy, me and these other bitches were sleep. We just got in around seven this morning, everybody except the new bitch." "Where she at?" "Daddy, I think she is addicted to this shit already. She said she wasn't sleepy and wanted to catch a few more dates before she come in." "Well, make sure you keep her under your wings 'til she learn the ropes. What kind of numbers y'all doing?" "Daddy, I did thirteen hundred last night and the other girls did between one and fifteen hundred, but the new girl should have about two thousand when she come in." "Good. Make sure you secure my money, and I want y'all home next Monday after the convention leave." "Yes, Daddy. We will be there and I will make sure these hoes make you a mint." "Good. Now, what do you love?" "Daddy, I love your pimping - all day, every day." "That's right. That's why you my bottom bitch, because you get the job done. Make me proud and I have a gift for you when you get home." Sweet P hung up with that. He always liked to have the last word.

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Sweet P had one more week of solitude and free time he could commit to ensnaring Sylvia to his lascivious plans. His hoes were set to return Monday after having entertained customers in Atlantic City during the annual Tri-State Roofers' Convention. Sweet P figured Sylvia would become a great addition to his already productive stable of thoroughbred hoes. Upon returning to his seat, Stacey was met by a set of big admiring eyes. "Sorry I took so long, but I had promised to call my mother this afternoon." "Well, you didn't miss much," Sylvia giggled, glad to see Stacey back by her side. "The two dancers just got into a fight." "Well who won?" "The one with the blond hair." "Good, the other one had been treating her badly. She has been mean to her the whole movie." Sylvia was interested in Stacey's family. "Is your mom still in California," she asked, making conversation. "Yes, she is. She asked me to get a phone number from the apartment and call her right back with it, and that it was important. Do you mind?" Sylvia became quiet. A moment of tension filled the air. I will not go into their apartment. I will just sit in the car and wait for him. Then she perked up. "No, I don't mind," Sylvia answered. The tension eased. They enjoyed watching the movie, leaving the theater at two-fifty.

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Sylvia was impressed with Stacey's address. She had rarely passed through the Society Hill neighborhood, but knew it was one of Philadelphia's most expensive locales. She waited in the car while Stacey ran upstairs to call his mother. Stacey returned to the car shortly, without his jacket on. "Sylvia, can you please wait upstairs with me? I called my mom, but her assistant said she just stepped out, but wanted me to leave a number she could call me right back at. So, I need to wait by the phone upstairs." Once again, the stress returned to Sylvia, and it registered on her face as she sat quietly and did not utter a word. This was becoming a predicament she wished she hadn't allowed. Now, it seemed, she regretted the entire trip to the movies. Sylvia quizzed Stacey: "She should be calling you right back, right? I can just wait down here." "You sure? It could be a while, and you would be much more comfortable upstairs." "I'm sure. I will be okay. I'm just going to listen to a few of your tapes." "Alright. I will be back down as soon as I can." Sylvia waited in the car patiently for more than fifteen minutes-before Stacey came back downstairs. This trip to the movies was clearly taking on the appearance of a huge mistake. "Sorry, but my mom hasn't called back yet," Stacey began. "This number is important to her," he repeated. Stacey shrugged. I called her again and again, her assistant was there, but she wasn't. I gave her assistant the number, but she said I should still wait for my

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mother's call, she thinks it is important. So can you please come upstairs? I promise you will be safe, and we can eat some food while we are up there." Sylvia's stomach was growling, as she had not eaten at the movie theater. The idea of food appealed to her, leading to a weakening in her resolve. "Okay, but if your mother doesn't call by four o'clock, I need to be on my way home," Sylvia said with determination. " I understand," replied Stacey, not quite agreeing with Sylvia's conditional acquiescence. Sylvia failed to pick up on the slight change in Stacey's demeanor. The upstairs was even more impressive than the street address. The three bedroom condo was decorated in what Sylvia assumed was a mixture of art-deco and modern furniture: big chrome tables, colorful lamps, and a large black, oddly shaped leather sofa, complemented by expensive looking artwork adorning the walls. Sylvia sat nervously on the sofa, facing the big screen television, hoping Stacey's call would come any minute. "How about I make us turkey and cheese hoagies while we wait," Stacey volunteered. "Okay," Sylvia said with tension in her voice. Sweet P was well aware Sylvia was frightened, as this was probably the first time she had been alone with a man in an apartment. No call was coming. His plan all along had been to get her upstairs, alone, where he could control the situation. He poured some Hawaiian Punch fruit drink for each of them to go with their hoagies. He dropped a pill in

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Sylvia's. It was a particularly strong version of a daterape drug, meant to loosen her inhibitions, sexually arouse her and heat up her inner womanhood. It would cloud her judgment and focus, making her lose track of all time, and become submissive. Sweet P usually enjoyed, and therefore preferred to finesse a young girl out of her panties, and into his stable, but he knew Sylvia would resist, so he needed to employ a little leverage. Stacey handed Sylvia her hoagie, a bag of potato chips, and the fateful glass of spiked Hawaiian punch. "Thank you." She accepted the meal looking just as nervous as when she had entered the condo. Sweet P watched her as she drank the punch and ate the hoagie, she all the while unaware of the transformation taking place inside her body and mind. He observed her drain the glass with a certain sense of sinister satisfaction. I got this bitch now! Time slipped by. When the clock struck four, and his mother still hadn't called, Sylvia stood up. "Stacey, I...got...to go home." She felt funny. Her words were coming out funny. She felt a little faint. Sylvia felt like everything was happening in slow motion, and was humorous. She giggled and giggled some more, uncontrollably. She had no explanation for the giggles, her situation wasn't comical at all, yet she still giggled. She felt a heat traveling up within her body, on top of and throughout inside parts she had only touched in complete privacy. Where is Stacey? Oh . . . here he is. He must feel the heat too because he is undressing me.

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"Sylvia, you are gonna be okay. I'm going to take very good care of you. Don't worry. Just enjoy the feeling." Sylvia tried to comprehend. How does he know the feeling? But she lost her train of thought. The heat, the heat became like a fire inside her. Stacey had her naked, yet her body still felt ablaze. Why is he kissing me? Why do I like it? What is he doing now? He is touching me down there! He's nasty! He's changed I, I, have to make him stop! But Sylvia couldn't find her voice; nothing came out when she tried to speak. And now what he is doing to me! The kissing, the touching was starting to feel good, making the heat more bearable. She no longer wanted to tell him to stop. He was helping her put the fire out. Floating free from earthly ties in a drug-induced fog, Sylvia felt herself being kissed, sucked and fucked in what she hoped was only a weird dream. But do dreams suppose to hurt so much? Unable to resist him, her body so beautiful and un-trampled on, Sylvia witnessed her transformation, while getting a good look at his masculinity and the effect her sexuality had in motivating him. Sweet P's dick was especially hard, having taken an enhancement aid aptly called bedroom bully." Swinging into action, he fucked Sylvia like a sex-crazed superhero from the planet Horny. Sweet P sucked on her whole body. He sucked so hard, he left red marks on her skin resembling tomatoes. He bent and twisted her body into positions gymnasts would be afraid to try. Sweet P brutally filled every hole in Sylvia's body. The scene took on the appearance of a sickly pornohorror movie. He fucked her on the living room floor

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for hours. His cum, her orgasm juice, along with her virginal blood all pooled underneath. Sweet P put Sylvia through sexual acrobatics which no self-respecting young girl should be subjected to, especially a young virgin. Sweet P unleashed his ten years of pimp experience, cruelty, and sadism on Sylvia in such a manner that her body and mind were completely unprepared for. Hour by hour, the pain and pleasure took their turns on Sylvia's senses, intermingling in a bizarre fashion, her body and soul consumed with fire. Sweet P fucked her up to and almost past her breaking point. Teetering on the brink of insanity, residing within her fog, she felt herself violated, she felt the pain, and she felt the pleasure. She wished she could just vanish but did not know how. Deep beneath the drug induced state of mind, her body's leave of its senses and control, Sylvia possessed an awareness, she had been tricked. She felt the betrayal. She knew Stacy was some kind of monster whose mission had been to steal her innocence and her soul. For days the sex endured. Sylvia rarely slept, and when she did, even then she was being penetrated. She was fed by force, forced to drink water and more punch. By now she knew she had been drugged. I t seemed each time the fog began to lift, she would have to drink more punch, and the fog would descend once again, even thicker. Sylvia had no real sense of time. A l l she knew was

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that Stacy never slept. Whenever she woke from her slumbers, he was there beside her, watching her, talking to her, in an unknown bedroom, in a bed she had never before seen. Every inch of her body was sore. There were fluids caked between her legs, her mouth swollen, and her ass hole feeling like it was ripped open. Still finding speech almost impossible, "Why," was her ever present plea between her sobs. Her pleas went unanswered. "Sylvia, you needed me, you needed rescuing. Without me you would never have reached your full potential. You would have led a dull life, full of heartache, men coming and going, fucking you for free, while pretending they loved you to keep you poor and stupid." Sweet P's indoctrination continued. "I'm going to teach you how to turn your body into a bank. Every man that looks at you will want you. And, every man will pay to get a piece of you. But, they can never have your mind and souL.Those belong to me!" Sweet P wasn't finished. "From now on, I am your teacher, your lover, your daddy and your boss. I am your pimp, your god! Is that understood?" Sylvia just nodded her head, knowing she had no choice. Smack! He slapped her so hard, she fell off the bed. Sweet P dragged her by her hair back on to the bed. "Bitch, I said do you understand?" She nodded her head, this time with words flying out of her mouth, "Yes, yes, I understand." "Bitch, my name is Sweet P. I'm the coldest, smartest, pimpinest nigga that ever lived, and you

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belong to me! Do you understand?" "Yes, yes, I understand." Sweet P.? Oh shit! I am in some real fucking danger! Sylvia was starting to realize how much danger she was in, not to mention how badly she had been tricked. "Bitch, this is your present. You get to spend time with your god before you go out there and make me rich. Now show me how much you love me, suck on this pimp stick." Sylvia complied, knowing her survival counted on it. All week Sweet P fucked Sylvia, telling her how great he was. Over and over again, he told her how he had rescued her. He was introducing her to a life of leisure and luxury. In reality, he was brain-washing her into believing her life now revolved around him. Over the days, Sweet P relied less and less on the drugs, as he felt his power and persuasion taking hold of Sylvia. Every day he broke down more and more of her willpower, more of her resistance, more of her spirit. Sylvia knew her world would never be the same again. For one, there was no sexual act her body could not endure, she already had. Sex, however, had lost its mystery, its wonder and its awe. For now, Sweet P did, in fact, own her. She had nowhere else to go. Sylvia certainly could not return home, not in this shape, not after this long absence. Besides, she knew Sweet P did not make idle threats. He really intended to track her down and disfigure her for life if she tried to leave him.

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CHAPTER THREE ~ HOES

The following Monday, Sylvia woke up in a stupor. She had endured another perverse round of sexual domination. Her face was bruised, and she had an eye swollen shut. Hours before his guest arrived, Sweet P informed Sylvia that starting with that night, she would be earning her keep. When the gravity of that statement sunk in, she resisted. "I'm not doing it," she announced. "Bitch, haven't you learned anything? You don't have a choice!" the first blow was a vicious backhand. Ever mindful of the value of his property, that is, not wanting to damage her face, the remaining blows were to her body. Even when Sylvia balled up into a tight fetal position, she could still feel him kicking her with his alligator shoes.

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Sweet P had completely abdicated his Stacey persona, having emerged as Sweet P in his speech, mannerisms, dress and intent. "Now bitch, are you ready to make me my money?" "Yes, yes, I will do it." "Bitch, call me Daddy when you address me." "Yes, Daddy, I am ready to make your money." Two hours later, Sylvia had completed her transformation. All semblance of normalcy was gone from her existence. For her, there would be no more fantasies of a Prince Charming in her life. There would be no looking forward to that "first time," no house with a white picket fence. Sylvia was now one of Sweet P's hoes, and was about to turn her first trick. A white man in a three piece suit, carrying a brief case arrived, to Sylvia's dismay. Sweet P had given her a short, semi-sheer, black dress which seemed to propel her robust body into maturity even more quickly. She had been instructed to sit on the sofa, smile and look sexy. She watched as the white man gave Sweet P two one hundred dollar bills. So that is what my body cost? Two hundred dollars! Sylvia was filled with disgust. Sylvia had been instructed, once she observed the payment rendered, to lead the man to a bedroom located at the far end of the hallway, and she had better perform well. Sylvia was painfully aware of another asswhupping, which awaited her i f she did not satisfy her client. "So this is your first time, huh?" "Yes it is," Sylvia answered. "Well, I'm honored," her client said.

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She went through the motions; he got on top of her and pumped away. When he came, he seemed happy. He seemed pleased overall. Sylvia cried inside. That night, Sylvia fucked three other strangers. The second one wanted his dick sucked. She had a difficult time refraining from her gag reflex taking over, due to the vile nature of what she was forced to do. However, this was all about survival, and she stayed ever-mindful of the fact Sweet P did own her, for now. Tuesday morning, Sylvia woke to the sound of a gaggle of bitches, out in the living room, making noise. Upon walking out to see close up, she witnessed Sweet P holding court, firmly enthroned in the middle of the females. He was a king, relishing the attention of his loyal subjects fawning over him. "Daddy, I like Atlantic City. When can we go back out there," a young blond asked. "When I say you can. Now go in there," pointing to the kitchen, "And cook some breakfast for your sistersin-law." A brunette spoke up. "Daddy, do you like the watch? When I saw that it was a real Presidential Rolex, I drugged his drink and stole it and his money when he passed out," she proudly said. "You did very good. Now go wait in the bedroom for me." The brunette smiled with glee and damned-near skipped her way to the bedroom. Sweet P then noticed Sylvia's presence, and waved her forward. " I want you other bitches to enlighten your new sister-in-law to the rules and how to conduct

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herself around this pimping. I will be back out in a little while," he said, head-nodding toward the bedroom with the eager brunette waiting. As the blond now continued to cook breakfast for the group, the remaining two hoes crowded Sylvia, making her feel uncomfortable. The two looked her up and down as though they were professional appraisers, peering and leering at a potential property. "Oh wee, Daddy going to get a lot of mileage out of you," one remarked. "Bitch, you better do what Daddy say and don't be no trouble, because he don't play," the other hoe said. Sylvia had already figured that much out! "That's right. He will kick a mud-hole in your ass i f you get out-of-pocket." "And we top-notch hoes, so don't think you gonna get away with some half-ass hoeing. Daddy don't like to see less than five hundred dollars a night from us," another brunette explained. "That's right. We got the best daddy out here. Sweet P's name is known from coast to coast and by every bitch who makes the most," the blond cook chimed in, proudly. "So, what's your name," they asked together. "Sylvia," she stammered. "No. What name did Daddy give you?" "Precious." "Well Precious, i f you do what Daddy say, make him his money, you will live good, like us," Delightful said. "Yeah, we all live in a nice big house together. We drive nice cars, and have closets full of clothes. And

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when we do extra good, Daddy let us spend the whole day, just having fun with him," Cashmere explained. Sylvia just nodded her head. "Breakfast is ready," the blond hoe announced. "It's about time," remarked a short Spanish hoe. "And that's Rosie; she has a bad temper and like to cut people, so try not to piss her off. And the one in the room with Daddy is Queen. She's his bottom bitch, his number one. She's been with him for years, and when he's not around, she's in charge. Stay on her good side and daddy probably won't have to put his foot in your ass," Cashmere explained, going into detail. For most of the week, Sylvia continued to be Sweet P's working prisoner. he girls only came by one more time, except for Queen. She came by every day to give Sweet P fists full of dollars. Sylvia spent her days being Sweet P's sex laboratory. It seemed every conceivable way a woman could be fucked, stripping her of her will, he accomplished. Perversely enough, when he went to take a shit, she would have to suck his dick during, and wipe his ass afterward. By the time the two or three clients came by to spend money sexing Ms. Precious, as she was called, it was, in fact, a step up from all she had to endure for the remainder of the time she was Sweet P's consort. Ironically, just when Sylvia was getting used to a routine of domination and degradation at the hands of Sweet P, things in the program changed, at Sweet P's direction. He addressed Sylvia. "Today you get to earn me some money outside.

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Stick with the girls. Entertain your clients, and you better not try and disappear. Is that understood?" "Yes, Daddy. I will do a good job. I promise." Sylvia was sincere by now, craving the chance to get out of her prison. "Try and turn your tricks near the track in their cars. A blowjob costs fifty, a fuck one hundred. I f they want to go to a hotel, use the one nearby, and its two hundred an hour." Sweet P's expression turned stern. "Don't be out there bull-shitting, pay close attention to how the other girls conduct business. I f you have any questions, ask Queen. Do you understand me? " "Yes, I understand you Daddy. I will make you proud." Sweet P showed a touch of skepticism. "Why do you want to make me proud," he asked. The answer came quickly, and according to the script. "Because you are my teacher, my lover, my Daddy, my boss, my pimp, and my god." "Good. Now go get ready. The girls will be here to pick you up in a little while," Sweet P said dismissively. The stable mates knew how to strut their stuff with a sense of misplaced pride. Sylvia, on the other hand, saw nothing to be proud of in doing what she was forced to be engaged in. She walked alongside Queen looking timid, all the time dreading the fact she was expected to service clients. Queen tried the caring approach. "Relax honey, it's just sex, and it usually last a few minutes. Do you have your condoms," Queen asked. "Yes. I have plenty," Sylvia answered.

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"Good, and make them all wear one, even when you suck their dick." Queen quickly quarried some prospective business just up ahead. "Okay, here come someone, give them a smile," she counseled. A blue Oldsmobile pulled up, its window rolling down within seconds. Queen was first to address the target. "You looking for a date, sugar?" "Yeah, with that young one right there," came the reply. Sylvia's first outdoor date fucked her in his car while parked on a quiet side street in an industrial area. "Damn girl," the john remarked, "You have some good, tight, young pussy. I will be back to see you again." Sylvia was already toughening up. Even though she wanted to cry she gave the right answer for business purposes. "Glad you enjoyed it. I look forward to our next date." The john, whose name was Walter, was glad to hand over his one hundred dollars, feeling as though he had hit the jackpot. Man, this was fresh meat! Sylvia quickly learned the fact that old johns especially liked new hoes. With that in mind, she stayed very busy that night, turning trick after trick, until it felt entirely mechanized. Something called numbness had taken up residence in her heart. Conversely, from a business standpoint, Ms. Precious, Sweet P's new hoe, had a stellar night her first time out. She had racked up seven car fucks, four dick

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sucks and two trips to the hotel. At the conclusion of the evening's business, Queen drove the women of Sweet P's stable in her green BMW 325i to the home they shared, first stopping by to return Sylvia to her prison. Queen turned over the tally for the night. "Daddy, here's Rosa's. She made six hundred." Sweet P. was unimpressed. "Tell that bitch she need to step up production." Queen continued. "Here's Cashmere's. She made nine hundred." There was no comment forthcoming. "Here's Delightful. She made eleven hundred and fifty." Silence. "And here's my one thousand one hundred." Sweet P replied in a matter of fact manner, "Good. Y'all keep working hard like this and y'all can get that week vacation in the Bahamas, I was telling you about. So tell those hoes to pound those streets hard and empty those john's pockets so we can vacation in style next month," Sweet P told her. "Okay Daddy. I'm going home to get some rest. Ms. Precious did good out there today. She was a little nervous at first, but I think the tricks like that - sort of like virgin pussy. She listen to me, walk where I tell her to, and turned her tricks quick like I told her." Queen took a breath. "Daddy, I think you got a good hoe there. She still have her money on her." "Who money?" "Your money Daddy, I'm sorry." " I thought so! Now take your ass home and get some rest, and stop thinking so much, that's my job. Yours is

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hoeing and bringing me dough, understand?" "Yes Daddy, I understand." "Okay, leave me. And I want to see some bigger knots this week," Sweet P said dismissively. Queen left the house with a dejected expression. Sylvia cringed at the notion of being stuck, alone with her self-proclaimed pimp-god. "So what do you have for me," Sweet P asked. He was dressed in his pimp attire: a grey silk suit, aqua blue silk shirt, and aqua blue alligator shoes. His fingers were bejeweled with diamonds. Sylvia knew from experience the significance of the gems on his hands. They served to increase the impact from the blows he dealt, and the pain she would endure. "Daddy, I made you one thousand and three hundred dollars." "That's a good bitch. See how valuable you are when you listen to me?" "Yes, I do." Sylvia handed her pimp the revenue she had taken in for the evening. Sweet P surprised her again. "Since you did such a great job tonight, I have a special treat for you. Go get cleaned up and wait for me in the first bedroom." Sylvia did as she was told. She took a long shower and tried her best to wash away the touch, taste and feel of the thirteen strangers. She dressed in some sexy lingerie and went into the bedroom, filled with dread, awaiting whatever her familiar torturer had planned for her. Tonight he was different, almost gentle. Ironically, she almost enjoyed it. Sweet P was this time: more

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focused on delivering pleasure than pain. Sylvia surmised the pleasure to be her reward for the night's good work. Keeping in mind, there was nothing he could ever do to her true liking, she reminded herself that even this pleasurable interlude, was against her will. For about three months, the routine continued: in and out of cars, in and out of hotel rooms, quick fucks and dick sucks in dark alleys. Sylvia made Sweet P a ton of money, and in the process, becoming a track favorite. The tricks could tell she was young and they all wanted some. More nights than not, Sylvia would pander to the young, tight pussy "Precious" persona, using it to leverage her earnings beyond her stable mates. Sweet P loved money; consequently, he migrated toward treating his most valuable hoe less like a prisoner and more like a girlfriend, over time. Unlike his other hoes, Sweet P required Sylvia to reside with him. She was granted very little freedom. There was no more school, there were no trips alone, and any absence from the track for any significant time was noticed. Sweet P had instructed the other women to keep an eye on Ms. Precious and they did so meticulously. As a result, Sylvia never felt free. "Daddy, things done really slowed down tonight and my feet hurt. Can I go home," Sylvia asked. It was four forty in the morning, and Sylvia had walked the track since eight fifty the prior evening. "How much money you made me?" Sweet P had only one concern. " I have over twenty three hundred dollars." Sylvia had experienced an exceptional night after one particular

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john had fallen asleep. She had helped herself to his belongings, a common practice among ladies of the night when a john made that fateful error. "Yeah, get in." Sweet P had already collected the other girls' receipts from Queen, and frankly, was ready to call it a night himself. As soon as they started cruising in Sweet P's purple S500 Benz, Sylvia inquired, "Daddy, can we go get some shrimp and fish?" "Sure," came the reply as Sweet P turned the vehicle, heading toward the only all-night fish joint, located on Broad Street at Erie Avenue. Once back in the car, headed home with their take-out orders, Sylvia asked, "Daddy, can you please pull over so I can take a piss?" "Bitch! Can't you hold it?" "Daddy, please. I was tired and been drinking coffee all night." "Bitch, you are being a headache tonight. Don't fuck around and get me out my good mood!" "I'm sorry, Daddy. I don't mean to be. I just have to piss so bad," said Sylvia, squeezing her legs together. Sweet P pulled into a dark, quiet block, stopped the car and turned to Sylvia. "Bitch, hurry up! And my food better not get cold." Sylvia stepped out of the car, taking a good look around. She couldn't see anyone else on the street, or anyone looking out their windows from above or from any of the residences. She squatted down to piss on the street and made a hasty retreat to the car. "Bitch, let's go, and don't ask me for shit else today."

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As Sylvia slid into the passenger seat up front, she immediately leaned towards Sweet P and began stabbing him. She first levied three quick jabs to his gut, followed by one hard thrust into his neck. Blood began to spurt. Then, with all her pent-up rage, she pulled the blade from his neck, plunging it into his chest with both hands, her coup-de-grace. "Motherfucker! Motherfucker," he screamed. "You are not... my teacher, my lover, my daddy, my boss, or my god!" Sweet P gurgled helplessly. Waiting dispassionately for thirty seconds, while having another quick glance around the immediate area, Sylvia then took all the money out of his pockets: the twenty three hundred she had made, the forty eight hundred the other hoes had given him, and whatever other currency he had on his person. She hastily left the vehicle, leaving his diamonds, now shaded red from his blood, the take out fish getting cold, and the door open, as Sweet P lay there, bleeding out. She ran for seven blocks, then up to Broad Street. It's a good thing the night was Friday, and cabs weren't too scarce, or too inquisitive, for that matter. With light traces of blood on her outfit, yet still under the cloak of darkness, Sylvia made her escape. Not having thought as to where to go in advance, Sylvia told the cabbie, "Take me to the bus station." Upon entering the Greyhound terminal, she deduced the next bus was scheduled to leave for Baltimore in just ten minutes. So Charm City, as it is known, instantly became her destination.

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When Sylvia had helped herself to her sleeping client's wallet and belongings, she had no particular need for the knife of his she had stumbled upon. Remembering that tricks could be mean, and hoeing was certainly a dangerous profession, she figured it was better at that moment to have a knife than not. She had no idea it would find itself in Sweet P's chest cavity. But when the opportunity presented itself, and facing another night of his sadistic sex cravings, along with his continued prostitution plans for her life - stabbing him had become a rather easy choice. "All aboard! The bus for Baltimore, Maryland is now boarding," came the announcement from the dispatcher. Sylvia climbed the steps into the bus, and found herself a seat, carrying no luggage, still dressed provocatively, scared, and yes, a bit stunned. However she felt a huge weight lifted from her shoulders, and a burden lifted from her soul. Now, equipped with a pocket full of cash, Sweet P's former dough hoe was free to find her own way in a new world named Baltimore. By the time Sylvia arrived, it was still early to midmorning. Sylvia caught a cab from the terminal to a hotel, paid for a room and fell into a deep slumber - she had definitely earned it that night. Up and feeling energetic, late in the afternoon, Sylvia walked to a clothing store she selected, buying three outfits, one of which she wore out of the establishment. Back at the hotel, she counted her money, while trying to formulate a plan of action. No

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longer the sixteen year old adolescent Sweet P had trapped; she was now a sixteen year old woman who was determined to make it on her own. Turning tricks for a living had a way of maturing you rather quickly. Sylvia had seventy three hundred, fifty dollars and felt rich. She figured she could easily forge a future for herself, but first, she had a more immediate need for food. Sylvia ventured outside once again, this time finding a restaurant that served soul food. She enjoyed fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, collard greens with corn bread, while drinking sweet tea...and mostly the sensation of being free! Sweet P bled-out that night, alone. There was no bevy of beautiful hoes to bid farewell. There was no Player's Ball, to attest to his legendary pimping. There was not even a sad or curious audience to keep him company when he died. The police weren't even summoned until he was discovered the following morning by someone in the work force. In law enforcement circles, Sweet P's nefarious reputation was well documented, his death not considered a loss to the city of brotherly love. After a perfunctory investigation yielding no meaningful leads, no witnesses, no suspects, and sans any forensic evidence on the jaunting blade left impaled in his chest, the police called off their investigation, leaving the case unsolved and as cold as his cadaver. The overwhelming sentiment at the local precinct which had taken the call was, "Good riddance." Nobody mourned Sweet P., not even his bottom hoe, Queen. The hoes continued living together for the

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time being, but eventually drifted apart, to the far corners of the hoeing world, each much happier, now that revenues earned were revenues retained.

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CHAPTER FOUR ~ B-MORE

In Baltimore, Sylvia regressed to her introverted self, once again. After staying in the hotel for a week, she rented a one-room apartment. She bought herself a sensible wardrobe and began to build herself a life outside Philadelphia and men. Sylvia attended a learning center, earning her GED. She even found a music school. But once she visited it, she quickly discovered her passion for music, which once held so much hope and promise, had been extinguished. Having reverted to her old self, Sylvia made it a practice of walking with deliberate steps, making little eye contact, especially with men, and took infrequent trips outside her studio apartment. As a result, Sylvia was mostly left alone in Baltimore. Needless to say,

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