A Class of Her Own

She was losing track of her surroundings now, had become merely a receptacle for male lusts. Cock after cock was forced into her mouth, her pussy, her ass. Rachel felt herself drifting, strangely, in spite of the rough fucking she was getting, almost a spectator to events, a kernel of pleasure building within her until suddenly she too found herself writhing and crying out and sobbing around the cock in her mouth as one of the most intense, shattering orgasms she had experienced tore through her, leaving her shaking and weak, lying on the ground, hands still taped behind her, unable to resist each new penetration. Hot come squirted into her mouth, her pussy, her ass, over her sore breasts and puffy, red face. The choreography of the video was long forgotten. This was now just an exercise in male gratification.

Finally it began to wind down. Even these young men, fit as they were, were spent. They slowly began to file out, one by one. There were a couple of "let's do this again" and "laters, you fuckin slut," one even taking the trouble to thank her for the evening, until only Errol was left, still filming.

"You laptop over there. You can keep it now - we got loads of things to keep you in line with now," he told her. He hawked and spat, landing a great gob of it on her face. She looked up at him, not flinching, her expression calm. "You our bitch now;" Errol continued. "We own you. You get to do whatever we say now. Otherwise..." he left the rest of the threat unspoken. Rachel nodded, slowly. Accepting. Finally, he took his now flaccid cock and began to piss on her, aiming the warm jet up and down her exhausted, twitching body as she lay there on the floor, taking care to direct it to her clothes, wetting them, then her face and hair, like a dog marking his territory, before finally the spray dwindled to a trickle and stopped. He snorted once in scorn and then he too stalked out of the room, leaving Rachel lying there alone in the dim light of her laptop. She looked down at herself - her tattered stockings, one shoe off, hanging on only by its ankle strap, her miniskirt still crumpled around her waist, her bra pulled down to join it. Her panties were nowhere to be seen, and her jacket and blouse were sodden with urine. Her mouth, ass and pussy, all sore, still drooled globs of spunk. She managed to gather enough strength to pull her taped wrists apart, and as she lay there, her hand stole down to her puffy, abused pussy, and let her fingers slip into the sticky mess of combined emissions oozing from it, and started to masturbate...