My name is Debbie. I grew up in village in the middle of nowhere, deep in the south, where everybody knew everybody by name. School was three rooms in the community building, and my year group consisted of me, Amy, Cara and Rob. Dad was always going about getting good grades to get into college, but college was a foreign thing far away while my friends weren’t, so I was quite satisfied with passing grades.

As long as I could remember, money was tight. Our small farm didn’t earn enough to make a living, and Mom’s side jobs just kept our heads above the water.

I somehow managed to make do with my non-existent pocket money. The shop owners liked me, so they let me have a tab. Mom’s sister sometimes visited and gave me a little bit of cash, and very seldom, I snatched a small job like biking to someone’s farm to deliver an urgent package. I never went crazy with purchases, but over time, my debt had grown, spread over all the shops and businesses.

I had turned eighteen two months ago, and had finished high school exams a month after. It was a Wednesday in early June, and it had hundred degrees outside around noon. Life more or less ceased on such days. We hung out on the large, roofed patio at Amy’s place. Her parents were off to the city, both working there now and only coming back Friday evening.

“I’ve still not heard a thing,” Amy complained, and we knew what she was talking about.

“None of us has,” I said. “I would do anything to earn some money.”

Cara didn’t say anything. Of us four, she was the one with the wealthiest parents. Her dad owned the diner.

Rob just sighed.

Cara pulled her lounger over next to mine.

“What’s up?” I asked, and immediately knew that it was bad.

“I hate this,” she said, lying on her tummy and staring straight ahead at the wall. “Dad told me to remind you that you still have more than two hundred on your tab.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “He wants half of it next week, or he will talk to your parents.”

My breath hitched. “Next week? How I am I supposed to do that?”

“He’s been cashing in debts for almost a year now to stay afloat,” she said. “You’re the last because you’re my friend.”

So much for Cara’s dad being well off. Then it hit home. “I’m in deep shit,” I groaned. “Dad will quarter me, and Mom will roast the pieces.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Cara sighed.

“I don’t think working it off is an option?” I asked, which made her laugh out loud.

“What work?” she asked. “Waiting non-existent food to non-existent guests or washing clean dishes?”

“I need to talk to him,” I decided. “At least get a little more time.”

“Good luck,” Cara said.

I overheard it by accident when I got home. Mom and Dad were having a lively discussion in the living room. “The only thing that sells anymore is sex,” Dad said. “And that doesn’t grow on our fields.”

“We will get through it,” Mom said. “It’s not the first crisis. Perhaps I could-”

“No way,” Dad said.

An idea was born. I had always been the tomboy between us girls. I surely couldn’t grow out my hair in a day, but I could change other things. I slipped up to the attic and rummaged through the dusty boxes until I found it. It was a thin, white mini dress, far shorter than anything else I had seen Mom wear, with a high, round collar and an oval cutout under it, a bit like some of these fake cheerleader outfits I had seen on tv, only without the colored trims.

I sneaked it down and washed it by hand while taking a shower, then hung it from a quickly attached line behind the bushes in the back.

“Do you mind if I sleep over at Amy’s?” I asked while we had dinner. “Her parents are away all week, and she needs some company.” I didn’t really have to ask, since I was now eighteen, but it was the polite thing.

“Of course,” Mom said. “But don’t forget about job applications.

“She gets the paper,” I said. “We’ll both be looking.”

The next day after lunch, I rode my bike to Amy’s and told her I would be sleeping over, but that I had a plan for the evening. Of course, borrowing her iron to get the dress perfect meant I had to tell her.

“What if he gets ideas?” she asked, meaning Cara’s dad.

“Then I’ll have to work out a deal, won’t I?” I asked, not looking at her.

“You’d do that?”

“If I have to.”

“I’ll do your makeup,” Amy offered. “And you can use some of Mom’s perfume.”

“Brills,” I said.

We spent the afternoon lazing around and reading through the job offerings. Most of them were scams anyway. There were a few that required a car, and nothing usable in the wider vicinity.

“We’ll never find a job,” Amy sighed.

We roasted a fish Amy had caught in the morning and ate it with potatoes, then I hopped into the shower.

I had just fried my hair when Amy slipped into the bathroom. “You can’t wear your usual underwear,” she said and held a bundle of fabric out to me. “Not with that.” She nodded to the dress hanging on the door.

I unfolded the fabric. It was a matching pair of lace bra and panties. Very small panties.

“They are Mom’s,” she said with a blush.

“They probably cost a fortune,” I said with a little worry.

“Just be careful. I’ll wash them first thing in the morning, so she won’t know a thing.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Put them on,” she said.

“With you here?”

“I want to see what they are like,” she said.

I shrugged and pulled the towel away from my body, pointedly not looking at her. Both pieces fit me perfectly. Compared to my own bras, I barely felt this one.

“It looks perfect,” Amy said with a dreamy note.

“You think?” I asked and turned in front of the mirror. “My tits look huge.”

“That’s the point,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Now get into the dress so I can do your makeup.

She put on far too much for my taste. My eyes looked dark and huge. My cheeks looked like I was blushing with embarrassment. I told her so.

“You’re an idiot,” she said. “You look brilliant.”

The dress itself clung to my body like a second skin. I liked how it felt, despite my natural aversion to dresses.

“Here,” Amy said, pulling me from my musings.

“What? Oh.” I took the beige leather sandals from her.

“You can’t wear your trainers with that,” she said, shaking her head. “Really, you’re so clueless!”

I shrugged and slipped the sandals on. They fit like gloves.

“I owe you,” I told Amy.

“Yes, yes, like you do everybody else in town,” she said and waved me off. “It’s getting dark already, so you don’t have an excuse to dawdle.”

Riding my bike was out of the question in this getup, so I walked the ten minutes to the diner. As I had hoped, it was open but empty. Cara’s dad, Mr. Jones, stood behind the counter and polished glasses.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

“Hello, Ma’am,” he said. “Pick any seat you ... Debbie?”

I slowly walked up to the counter. “Yes, Mr. Jones.” I bit my lip. “I’m here to talk with you about my debt.”

He stopped polishing but still held the glass and rag up. He stared at my chest as if seeing it for the first time.

“I don’t have money,” I said quietly. “My parents neither, with economy like it is. Cara told me about the deadline.” I bit my lip again. “Could you extend it a little? Please?”

He gulped hard. “It’s - it’s not that simple,” he said. “I have bills to pay.”

I nestled with the oval cutout. “I understand,” I said. “But I’m desperate. I would be so grateful if you gave me a little more time.”

“Grateful?” he asked and set the glass down slowly.

“Very,” I said. “I - I could show you just how much.” There, I did it! I shivered a little.

Mr. Jones was still quite handsome for his age. Not a hunk or so, but he had a nice face and smiling eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Totally,” I said.

“I don’t think there will be anymore customers tonight,” he said, walking around the counter. “I may as well close up and do some work in the back room. Why don’t you head there?”

“Sure, Mr. Jones,” I said.

“What did you have in mind?” he wanted to know five minutes later. We were in a small room that was both storage and office.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked back with a pout.

“I can’t really afford to postpone your debt, but I’m considering it. Why don’t you show me what you have to offer?”

I was trembling a little. He had taken the bait for real. I turned around. “Can you help me with the zipper, please?”

He could, of course. I slipped out of the dress, folded it neatly and put it on a reasonably dust-free spot. Then, even slower, I turned back to face him.

“Oh,” he whispered and stepped closer. He reached up, and his hand stopped an inch from my face. “Debbie,” he said and gulped, “you are playing with fire.”

“I like fire,” I said and leaned into his palm. “You’ll burn me, won’t you?”

“Something like that,” he said and ran his thumb over my lips. I caught it between them out of reflex.

His eyes widened. “Nobody can ever know about this.”

“Nobody,” I agreed. “They would call me a whore.”

“And worse,” he said with a nod and reached around me, skillfully opening the bra and slowly peeling it away.

I gasped when the cool air touched my breasts. “You’re beautiful,” he said and threw the bra aside. “I’m going to touch them.”

I sighed and bit my lip. My breath hitched when caressed them. “That feels good,” I said. It felt more than good.

“I’m afraid touching won’t be enough, Debbie,” he said, his voice full of arousal.

“Will you be gentle?” I asked.

“I’ll try,” he said, turning me around and peeling my panties down. “Lean on the desk.”

Fabric rustled behind me, and something smooth and warm pushed against my pussy, sliding up and down.

“You’re wet,” he said.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s very good,” he said, “though it makes you a bad girl.”

“What happens to bad girls?” I asked.

He showed me. He pushed the tip of his hard cock into my pussy and took away my breath. He pulled back and pushed again, and it went even deeper. I felt so incredibly full, and I thought he would never stop!

“I have to apologize, Debbie,” he gasped and held still for a moment.

“For what?” I asked.

“I can’t stay gentle anymore.” He gripped my hips and rammed his cock inside me. His body slapped loudly against mine and pushed me up against the desk.

“You’re fucking me!” I gasped, the word sounding so deliciously crude. “Oh god, yes!”

Fast slapping filled the air, accompanied by his grunts and my moans. I was panting hard after a minute, and pleasure washed over me with every of his thrusts.

“So good!” I screamed. “Oh yes!”

I had the first real orgasm of my life, and it was glorious. He came soon after, right inside me, and held still, pressing his body onto mine while his cock pumped his seed into me.

“That’s what happens to bad girls,” he said and slowly withdrew. I felt sticky and naughty down there and shivered when his cock slipped out.

I pulled my panties back up and let him help me back into the rest of the clothes. “You have one more week,” he said when he closed the zipper on my back.

“Only one week?”

“I told you that you were playing with fire,” he whispered into my ear. “We can always talk about another extension.”

“Oh,” I said and turned around. “You drive a mean bargain, Mr. Jones.”

He laughed and put a peck on my lips. “Let me know a day in advance next time, and we can find a more comfortable place than this.”

“I will,” I said and bit my lip when he grinned.

Amy wanted to hear everything in detail. I hesitantly told her, reminding her time and time again that she couldn’t say a word to anybody, and that included Cara. I helped her wash the underwear and rode back home afterwards.

I didn’t tell a soul about this. Unfortunately, somebody else wasn’t as quiet.

I learned that on Monday when I was walking past Mrs. Malone’s ice cream parlor on my way back from sending another futile application letter.

“Hello, Debbie,” she greeted me from the door. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” I said and headed inside. “What is it?”

“Mona, can you take care of the parlor for an hour?” she asked her daughter.

“Sure, Mom,” Mona said. She was a few years older than me and waved in greeting.

“Come along,” Mrs. Malone said and lead me to the back and up a staircase.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Somewhere we can talk,” she said and ushered me into a small living room. I grew a little uneasy.

“What about?”

She sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to her. “Sit down, please.”

I did, and stiffened when she put her hand on my thigh. “Debbie,” she said, “you have a tab here.”

I froze, suddenly having a bad feeling.

“Yes?” I said.

“And you know how tight money is for everyone.”

I nodded.

“I need you to pay it up,” she said.

“When?” I asked quietly.

“Now,” she said.

“I can’t,” I admitted.

“I know,” she said and my head snapped up. “We business people sometimes talk. It’s lonely for a single woman who works all day.”

I stared at her. “But,” I said, “but you’re a woman.”

“Sometimes, an eager tongue is a sufficient replacement for a male appendage,” she said and slid her fingers under the hem of my t-shirt. “May I?” she asked.

“What happens if I say no?” I asked and gulped.

“I’ll have to talk with your father,” she said.

I gulped again. “You may,” I said.

She stripped me completely. Then she touched me. Despite not wanting to, I got aroused, very aroused. She helped me lie back and kissed my breasts. “You have such pretty tits,” she praised and sucked on my nipples, and I arched my back in wanton lust.

When she let go of my breasts, she was naked too. She didn’t look bad, a little overweight and pale, but very feminine.

“I’m going to lick your pussy,” she said, spreading my legs. “Has anybody ever done that?”

“No!” I gasped and moaned when her tongue slid through my folds. “Oh yes,” I breathed.

“When you lick me,” she said, “make sure to focus on my clit like this,” she explained and ran the length of her tongue over that small nub, making me moan louder. “You can use a finger inside me too, like this.” She easily slipped a finger into my already wet pussy and moved it in and out while she resumed licking my clit.

It felt incredible.

“Now you,” she said and helped me sit, then laid herself down, one foot on the floor, the other on the backrest. It looked so lewd!

“Don’t waste time,” she said softly and spread her pussy lips, exposing the shiny, wrinkled folds there.

I climbed between her legs and gave it a tentative lick. It tasted strange, but not that bad. I licked some more, found her swelling clit and focused on it like she had said. I trembled a little when I slipped my finger into her hot, wet channel and felt its silken walls throb around it.

“Yes, just like that,” she said. “A little harder.”

She started breathing faster, gasping, then she started moaning my name. She screamed when she came, but clamped her hand over her mouth to silence herself.

After a minute, she got up and went to the loo while I slipped back into my clothes. She handed me a moist wash cloth to clean my face.

“You have a week more now,” she said with a strange glow. “Why don’t you drop by next Monday after lunch?”

“I will,” I said.

I blushed madly when I walked back through the parlor. Mona gave me a hard stare and a shake of her head. I quickly looked away.

Amy, of course, was excited. “You didn’t!” she said over and over and asked what it was like, wiggling her legs and staring at me from her spot on her bed.

“Why don’t you try it yourself if you’re so curious,” I said.

She eyed me strangely. “Okay,” she said.

“That’s not what I meant,” I quickly said.

She tilted her head. Then she grinned. “Debbie,” she said slowly, “you still owe me twenty dollars from school excursion.”

I had forgotten about that. “Amy,” I said.

She bit her lip, then, in one smooth motion, shrugged off her shorts and panties.

“Show me,” she said and turned onto her back, shuffling her legs apart.

Her pussy was nice. Puffy, but not as fleshy as that of Mrs. Malone.

She tasted better too. She made the cutest little noises when sucked on her clit, and her pussy fit so tightly around my finger.

“Oh god!” she whimpered over and over, getting faster and louder every second.

I flicked her clit fast with the tip of my tongue, and suddenly her thighs clasped my head and she bucked like a wild horse.

“Oh!” she groaned and relaxed her legs. “God!”

I blushed. I just had licked my best friend’s pussy, like a lesbian.

“That was nice,” she said. “We’ll do that again.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You still owe me,” she said with a grin and winked. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

I took a deep breath and let it back out. “It was nice,” I admitted.

She slipped back into her clothes and lay down next to me. “Say,” she asked quietly, “did you ever pay Rob for repairing your bike?”

“Amy!” I gasped. “Don’t you dare! I mean it!”

“You are awfully busy lately,” Mom said, handing me the salad bowl. It was three weeks after my first encounter with Mr. Jones.

“It’s summer,” I said and put some on my plate. “Holidays.”

“I heard the most curious thing last night when I was in town,” Dad said and took a slice of roast.

“Really?” Mom asked.

“It seems there is a young lady who visits some of our store owners every week, without buying a thing, going into the back instead.”

I tried to keep from trembling. My stomach turned into a churning mess.

“You think something untoward is going on there?” Mom ask.

“I am sure,” Dad said. “Mr. Jones, for example, supposedly has this freshly fucked grin after every visit.”

I gripped the edge of the chair.

“That young lady wouldn’t be you, per chance?” Dad asked and stared at me.

I opened my mouth. I closed it.

“I thought so,” he said slowly, cut a piece of roast and put it into his mouth without looking away.

“I...” I said.

“Debbie, honey,” Mom said and I slowly looked over to her. “Mrs. Malone too?”

I nodded jerkily. “And Mr. Logan?”

“Only since this week,” I admitted quietly.

“Oh my,” Mom said. “Jacob?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why don’t you invite Mr. Jones over for Sunday afternoon?” she said.

“What for?” I asked, panicked.

“It’s about your debts, isn’t it?” Mom asked.

I nodded again.

“We’ll work something out with him, don’t worry,” she said, which did little to calm me. “Tonight, I want you to write a list with everybody you owe money to and an estimate how much.”

“Mom?” I asked, but it came out as a sob.

“Everybody,” she said. “We’ll talk about it.”

It was ten when Mom knocked quietly on my door.

“Come in,” I said, sitting on the edge of my bed and holding the two sheets of paper in my shaking hands.

She took one look at me and sighed. Then, to my surprise, she walked to the other side of the bed, climbed onto it and leaned against the wall, patting the spot next to her. “Come here, honey. Let me see your list.”

I shuffled over so I was next to her and handed her the list. “I really didn’t realize it was that much,” I said. A few hundred dollars, I had thought, never doing the maths. Not almost three thousand.

“Oh my,” Mom sighed and shifted to the second sheet, then looked at me and back at the paper. “Dr. Redberry?”

“The pill,” I said with red cheeks.

She looked at me again.

“I - it was when I was sixteen. Amy thought Rob fancied either her or me, and I wasn’t sure if I fancied him, so we decided we should be safe...”

“That was a good decision,” Mom said to my surprise. “You summed it up.”

“And nearly got a heart attack,” I confessed. “God, it really got out of hand.”

“That it did.” She shuffled around and sat cross legged at my side. “How often did you have sex because of this?”

“Six times,” I told her, looking at my lap.

“And how much did that lower your debts?”

I stared at her, and I was sure she could see the question marks in my eyes.

“You did it for free?”

“To get an extension,” I said. “They called it due. At first it was just Mr. Jones, but he told Mrs. Malone, and I think she told Mr. Logan.” I took a deep breath. “I was afraid they’d tell Dad, or worse, demand that he paid them. I know how tight we are on money.”

Mom closed her eyes and took a deep breath. I was sure it would get loud.

“You silly girl,” she said instead and ran her hand over my cheek.

“I never told you I had tabs everywhere.”

“We knew. But we thought you took care of it yourself. The shop owners used to ask as about it when you were younger, and we paid part of them when they got high.” She brushed a stray lock out of her face. “It’s been quite some years since someone mentioned your tab. I think they just assumed you were old enough to take care on your own.”

“I should have been,” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully. “On the other hand, we always kept you on a tight budget, and we rarely talk about money at home, other than to complain about it’s lack.” She took my hand. “We should have taught you about it instead of hiding the topic.”

“What will happen now?” I asked.

“Well, your dad and I could take of the worst of it. We’re tight but not broke.” She sent me a strange smile.

“Why are you smiling like this?”

“Did you have fun when you had sex? Please be truthful.”

I stared hard at my hands in my lap. My cheeks burned hotter than ever, I think. “I had,” I admitted.

“Let me tell you a story,” she said and shuffled back against the wall. “Once upon a time there was a young, good looking guy who inherited a little farm. The machines were old and the tools half broken. He had worked in the city for a year and thought to earn good money for a while, save up and modernize his parent’s farm. There in the city, he met a woman his age who worked as a waitress not far from where he lived. He fell in love with her and married her after only three months.” A sad smile played around Mom’s lips.

“But then his parents died in an accident, and he had to take over the farm. His wife, of course, followed along and helped as good as she could, but try as they might, they didn’t manage to make a living, and most of their time was spent fixing things they couldn’t afford to have repaired.”

“That was you and Dad?”

She winked. “Now comes the good part. To make matters worse, their tractor broke down. The young farmer had it towed to the shop, and he and his wife went there the day after to talk about repair cost. It was far more than they had, even more they would earn the whole year. The repair shop owner quickly discovered that and made the couple a very immoral offer. He would repair the tractor for free if the wife spent three nights in his bed. He gave them two weeks to think about it.”

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

“He wasn’t ugly, and the farmer’s wife had had quite a few partners before she settled down and married, but she was worried what her husband would think. The husband, in turn, was too afraid to ask for her thoughts. They got worked up, each caught in their own mixed emotions. Two days before the two weeks were out, they had a huge row and almost, almost split up. But through a lucky accident, the wife’s dress caught on a nail next to the door and ripped apart, and she suddenly stood there in her underwear.”

“Go on,” I whispered when she fell silent and just smiled serenely.

“They both froze, and the husband stared at her full of wonder. Then he said, ‘You are so beautiful. I love you so much. Please don’t go!’ The wife saw the wonder in his eyes and couldn’t walk away. She said, “I love you so much too. Could you live with it if I shared other men’s beds and even enjoyed it, if I always came back to the one man I love?’”

“You’re making me cry,” I whispered and rubbed my eyes.

“He thought hard for a minute, then he opened his arms, and they embraced and kissed. He asked her if she really meant it, or if she only wanted to do it for him. The wife confessed that she had always loved having sex with varying people, and that she would be happy to do it. The husband smiled and told her that she was too beautiful not to share with the world anyway.”

“Wow,” I said.

“The shop owner had the tractor repaired and even freshly painted. The wife told him that he was allowed to recommend her method of payment to trusted friends. Soon, business men were calling and offering things, and while some of them she had to send away, others had useful items or money. Three years later, the farm equipment was like new, and they had saved quite some money. That was when the wife got pregnant and had to stop that practice. They might have started again discreetly once their daughter was old enough, but there was enough money to last quite some time, and being a housewife and mother and working on the farm was really everything the wife needed.”

“Mom?” I asked after a long, comfortable silence. “Did you just tell me...”

“That I’m okay with you having sex for money?” She pulled me to her. “As long as you are careful. Your dad and I could keep an eye on it, if you want us to.”

“I think that would be good,” I said. “I really don’t know how to bargain.”

“No, you certainly don’t,” she said. “Would you mind if got into that business again, too?”

I looked up at her. “Really?” I asked.

“Your dad thinks I’m not too old for it.”

“He’s right,” I said. “You’re beautiful.”

She giggled. “You borrowed that white dress, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“I had an idea when Jacob told me what you had on the night he spotted you.”

“He saw me?”

“Luckily,” she said. “There are more boxes like that in the attic. We’ll sort through them tomorrow.”

I wasn’t quartered, nor roasted. Instead, I stood in my parents’ bedroom and stared at my reflection with the flimsy black dress Mom held in front of me.

“It’s almost transparent,” I said.

“Mr. Jones won’t know what hit him,” she said and put the dress on the “to keep” pile. “But it gets even better.” She handed me a strange black lace bra.

I turned it a few times until I could make sense of it. “It won’t even cover my nipples,” I said.

“If it wasn’t that dusty, I would tell you to put it on. It puts your breasts on pedestals, shapes them perfectly. Whoever sees them won’t stop drooling.” She winked at my reflection. “Not that they aren’t drool worthy already.”

“Mom!” I said, blushing madly.

“Panties too.” She held up black panties even finer than the white ones I had “borrowed” from Amy’s mother.

“You can wear some of my shoes, too, we’re the same size after all.”

“Roger!” Dad suddenly said sharply. I was waiting outside the living room.

The hapless Mr. Jones nearly choked on his coffee and had to clean his nose. “What is it, Jacob?” he asked, suddenly worried.

“Is it true that you coerced my daughter into having sex with you just to postpone payment of a few dollars?”

Dad could be imposing when he tried.

“I...” Mr. Jones stammered, then apparently decided that attack was the best defense. “She offered! It was all her!”

“Roger, Roger,” Dad said evenly. “There are always two to tango. You’re the grown-up, the business man. Tell me, what’s the running interest for a week on two hundred and five dollars?”

Mr. Jones stammered some unintelligible.

“It’s thirty-two cent.” Dad slowly and rhythmically tapped his knuckles on the table. I was really impressed. “Do you really think taking my daughter’s virginity was only worth thirty-two cent?”

“O-of course not,” Mr. Jones quickly assured him. “I did not look at it that way, I swear!”

“I know how you looked at it,” Dad said. “I’m a man of honor, so I will not force my daughter to renege on a deal. But,” he said threateningly, “if you ever have sex with my daughter again, you will pay her no cent less than such a young, ripe, beautiful woman gifting you with unspeakable pleasure deserves. Do you promise that?”

Poor Mr. Jones stared at him with incomprehension. Ever so slowly, he started breathing again.

“Roger?” Dad asked.

“I promise!” Mr. Jones gasped. “I swear!”

Dad relaxed. “That’s good enough for me,” he said.

“For me too,” I said quietly and walked into the room with small steps. Mr. Jones’ breath hitched when he saw me. Like Mom had suggested, I sat down on his thigh, almost facing him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

His gaze was locked to my chest, where my nipples were clearly visible through the thin black fabric, and the hidden bra cups made them look huge. “The past is the past,” I said quietly and smiled. “The question is, do you still want me?”