Becoming Staci

In the early afternoon I checked my emails on the new account I'd just created... um... recently? Why did I have a new email account, again?

Anyway, I found out that some of my girlfriends from the strip club were going to be working a video shoot later. The typical type of thing dancers do from time to time: the band wanted to have a bunch of sexy girls in skimpy outfits dancing around while they pretended to play. I emailed back to say I'd be happy to join. This was getting back into my normal self: I'd be getting paid to look slutty, but I wouldn't actually have to be slutty. I could go back to trying to figure myself out after I'd been paid a couple of hundred dollars for wearing a bikini or whatever.

Most of the girls were already at the shoot by the time I arrived. There were a bunch of us; the video was for a song about how many "chicks" the lead singer would "bang" every time they did a show, so they wanted a lot of hot girls to parade in front of the camera. The lady from the wardrobe department handed me something skimpy to wear, and I went into the change room to put it on. Some of my friends noticed that I was quieter than usual, but they got so consumed trying to help some girl figure out all of the clasps and buckles on her S&M outfit that they didn't pay much attention to me, which was perfect. Today wasn't a day that I wanted a lot of attention; I'd be quite happy to stay in the background, shake my tits a bit, and go home to a quiet evening alone.

And I was able to do just that, at first: I let the other girls push their way forward to hog the camera, and I stayed in the background. I looked really hot, I have to admit -- the wardrobe lady picked out an outfit that perfectly accentuated my body -- but I tried to let others have the spotlight.

Unfortunately, I caught the eye of the lead singer. Who, it so happened, turned out to be kind of a dick. (I couldn't believe that he would "bang" as many "chicks" as his song claimed he did. Then again, some girls like jerks, so who knows? Maybe he did.) In any event, because I'd caught his eye, he started making the director feature me more and more, and I couldn't stay in the background as much as I wanted.

It was mostly the type of stuff that you'd expect from a video like this: shots of the band pretending to play their instruments while hot chicks danced around them; shots of the band having fun at a party, while hot chicks danced around them; shots of hot chicks dancing around in a kiddie pool, splashing water at each other and giggling. That kind of thing.

Once they'd taken care of all those group shots, they started letting some of the girls go, but others were kept behind to shoot smaller, more intricate scenes. One included the lead singer riding a motorcycle, with me on the back. It looked ridiculous -- who rides a motorcycle in a bikini? -- but it was in front of a green screen, we weren't actually driving anywhere, so I didn't complain, I just pretended to be turned on by the whole thing and leaned sexily into the wind machine. Music videos aren't supposed to be realistic anyway.

Eventually I was the only girl left, and the director asked me if I could do one more scene. I was starting to get tired, by this point, but I know enough not to make trouble, or you don't get invited back, so I said sure, and asked what they wanted me to do.

He said that this was a scene that was going to get inter-cut with the party scenes. They wanted the lead singer to sit in a chair, and I was going to kneel down in front of him and mime blowing him. From the camera's point of view, all that would be shown would be the back of my head bobbing up and down, as if I was sucking him off in the middle of the party. (Sounds familiar...)

"No problem," I said, and got ready to shoot. I asked them if they could put down a mat or something, for my knees, because I knew that they'd need to do a few takes and I didn't feel like wrecking my knees while pretending to suck off some douchebag for his music video.

I was bored of the whole thing, and just wanted to get out of there... right up until the moment that I got face to face with the guy's crotch, and then my body started to react. I could feel my nipples getting hard, and my pussy was getting warm. I wasn't really going to blow this guy, just pretend, but the thought of it -- of blowing a guy in the middle of a party, with everyone watching, just like last night -- was turning me on.

And apparently my excitement really helped me sell it. The camera would have seen nothing except for the back of my bobbing head, but I was moving my hand along the guy's thigh, and up his tummy; I was moaning; it was believable.

Not good enough for the douchebag, though.

"Hold on," he said, after a couple of takes. "It's not working for me; let me adjust something." And, then, out of view of the others he pulled out his cock, and looked at me. Nobody else saw his cock, because I was in the way.

I would have been within my rights to walk out at that point. Despite what I said about making trouble, this was crossing a line, and it wasn't necessary in the first place because they already had some very good shots of a girl giving him a blowjob. I could, and should, have walked out, and any director worth his salt would have supported me in doing so.

But I didn't, because when I saw that cock, something came over me: I had to have it. My reaction was visceral, and immediate: as soon as I saw it in front of me I took it into my mouth, and started sucking.

"OK," he said, "try it now."

"Sure," the director responded, though he sounded bored. He already had what he needed, but he figured he would humour the "talent" rather than fight with him.

Meanwhile, I was past paying attention to the crew or the director. I had a new cock in my mouth, and it's all I cared about. I wanted to make it cum; I wanted to make it cum in me.

I think it became obvious to the crew at some point that I was no longer pretending, I was going to town on this guy, but it didn't seem to phase them. They probably assumed all of the female extras were sluts; the fact that one of them was blowing the lead singer of a band didn't seem out of place. They just wanted to get their shot, and go home.

And I just wanted cum. Which I wasn't even rewarded with, because before I received it the director finished the shoot: "OK, I think we've got it. That's a wrap everyone! Good work!"

"In that case," said the douchebag, "let's have some real fun!" And he got up, spun me around, and pulled my bikini bottoms aside. There was a piece of some lighting rigging in front of me, so I leaned on that, because I knew what was coming: one more cock for my increasingly abused pussy.

"Just fuck me," I said. "Hurry!"

Part of me felt embarrassed; this douchebag was going to fuck me while a group of teamsters went about their business, dismantling the set from a cheezy video shoot. But it was a small part; the rest of me wanted an orgasm, and my pussy wanted to be able to clamp down on a cock when it did.

I was in for a surprise, however, because he didn't fuck my pussy after all: As soon as my bikini was out of the way, he shoved his cock into my ass. The only thing that stopped me from screaming in pain was that I had gasped with the shock of it; I didn't have the breath to scream.

"No!" I finally managed to yell, "Not there!" But it was too late; he was already steadily fucking me. My ass felt like it was on fire; his cock was only average size, but in there it felt huge.

"Ow! Please stop!" I'd say, from time to time, as tears of pain and shame ran down my face, but he didn't slow down.

"Oh yeah, bitch," he said instead, "you're so fucking tight!"

Of course I was tight! I'd never had anything in there before -- not even a finger! And here this guy was ploughing it with more abandon than some of the dudes had fucked my pussy the previous night! With his hands on my hips, he was fucking me hard.

And how were the teamsters not even phased by this?!?

Eventually, though, I started to get used to the sensation of having a cock in my ass, and relax into it a bit. The tears started to dry on my face -- I hated to think what my makeup was looking like! -- as I just stood there, braced against the rigging, taking it.

And then I made a slight mental adjustment: Instead of focusing on the pain of having my asshole stretched out, I started to focus on the mental thrill of being so full of dick. I knew it was all in my head -- if he'd been in my pussy I'd have been disappointed with his size -- but in my ass, he felt so big that I was mentally imagining my entire insides being rearranged with every thrust into me. In this way, I was able to find some pleasure in the situation, not physically, but mentally; emotionally. I was tapping into the slut I'd become over the previous two days. I even started to moan and grunt along with his thrusts -- "Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!" -- which must have convinced him that I was having the thrill of my life, getting dicked in the ass.

It seemed like I was standing there forever, having my ass punished, but in reality it probably wasn't more than a few minutes before he gave a final grunt, thrust into me one last time, and I felt his cock convulsing. He pulled out, slapped my ass, and walked away, as I stood there, still leaning against the rigging, panting, and feeling his cum leak out of my gaping asshole, running down over my pussy lips. After a moment I pulled myself together, positioned my bikini back in place, and stood up straight. Some of the teamsters were still putting things away; none of them paid the slightest attention to me. "Ho hum, another whore getting fucked on a music video set. No biggie."

The final humiliation came when I started to make my way toward the change room, and realized that I was walking funny. Dammit, my ass hurt! But I knew how it would look to anyone who saw me: Like I'd just been fucked so good that I couldn't walk straight. Which wasn't true, but wasn't 100% wrong, either.

And it was that fucking douchebag who'd done it to me! It was bad enough that I'd gone into full slut mode one more time, bad enough that I gave up my ass like it was something I did every day of my life, bad enough that I'd put on another public sex show... but the fact that it was him made it the final humiliation.

No... not the final humiliation. The final humiliation came when I got back to the change room, threw their ruined, cum-soaked bikini into the garbage, and then fell into the nearest chair and desperately frigged myself to an orgasm. I should have been praying every second that nobody would come in and find me, but I was too out of my mind to think so clearly: I just needed a climax. (Luckily, nobody did come in.) But sitting there, with two fingers in my cunt and my other hand tweaking my nipple, remembering how I'd sucked his cock, remembering how full I'd felt with his cock in my ass, remembering how thoroughly I'd been used for his pleasure... it was too much for my tiny little mind. I needed release, and it came quickly.

After that, I got dressed, caught a cab, and went back home. Where I spent the rest of the night avoiding any situation in which I'd have to sit down on my sore, used ass.

Thursday: The... Drug Lord? Mafioso?

To my huge relief, my asshole was feeling close to normal by the time I woke up Thursday morning. My mind, on the other hand, was in terrible shape. I'd woken up Wednesday morning wondering if I was a slut, but I woke up Thursday knowing I was. It had been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. Not because of the ass-fucking I'd gotten, that was partially out of my control, but the way it turned me on -- and the compulsion I felt to get myself off after -- was proof positive. I should have been upset by this realization, but instead, I found myself re-playing my adventures from the last few days, over and over in my mind, and wanting more. More cocks, more cum, more men using my body for their pleasure.

So what does a girl do, when she's become a slut? It's only a small step from there to whoredom, so...

I logged onto my new account -- I still couldn't remember when or why I'd created it, but I was studiously avoiding my old account for some reason I wouldn't let myself think about -- and found a dancer friend of mine named Kelly, who worked as an escort on the side. I caught her at a good time, she was online, so we were able to talk. I told her that I was going through some things, was a bit confused at the moment, but that I was hoping to get into a bit of light escort work, just to try it out.

I had no idea how it would impact my identity crisis to go from slut to whore, but I figured an experiment might not be a bad idea, and for some reason I just couldn't get the idea out of my head. I was already feeling... weird, about getting ass-fucked by a douchebag (and being so turned on by it), so what was the worst that could happen? If a guy paid me for sex and I didn't like what it did to me, I just wouldn't do it again.

I was thinking that Kelly might have some sweet, friendly client, who I could use to try things out. To my surprise, she suggested the exact opposite: She'd been invited to a party by some shady characters. Someone wanted to impress someone else by having a lot of high-class whores at a party. Every guest there would have earned his money in highly questionable ways, but they'd have a lot of it. Worse yet, from my perspective, Kelly had no idea what to expect at this party; she'd been to things like this before, and sometimes the guys wanted nothing more than to sit and talk to the pretty, scantily-clad girls, and other times they'd want to tag team some girl, giving each other high fives while they spit-roasted her. (She said it was the difference between whether they were serving pot or coke, whatever that meant.)

It was exactly not what I wanted, for my first experience as a whore! Not quiet, not a means of easing into it, and definitely not safe, in any sense of the word.

"I'll do it!" I responded. "Txt me the 411!" Because I was honest enough with myself to notice that my pussy was absolutely dripping at the thought of a party like that. As she texted me the details, I snuck a hand into my panties and ground out another quick climax.

Frankly, it was starting to get downright Pavlovian: Any time I saw a cock I wanted to get my mouth around it or get it into my pussy. When I thought about sex, I immediately got wet. When I thought about being used like a sex toy, I practically gushed. I wanted nothing more than to go to this party and be passed around from man to man, collecting cum as I went.

I met Kelly in the lobby of the building that evening, along with a few other girls. One of them was Mel, the girl from the party on Tuesday, and when she saw me, her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She was looking at me the way I'd been looking at cocks recently: it was more like hunger than lust. I was pretty sure that we'd be spending time together in the hours ahead. I don't know if she was a lez or just bi, but she was definitely into me.

I was the last to arrive, so we went the elevator together to the penthouse. When we got there, the door was opened by two of the largest men I'd ever seen, both of whom were wearing guns at their side in holsters. Obviously the bodyguards; it really was going to be dangerous. I got a bit warm at the sight of them, and it was a good warmth.

Eventually, guests started to join us. Things started out slowly, as they usually do at parties. Like Kelly had said, it was mostly sitting around, looking pretty, talking to guys and laughing at their jokes. The kind of stuff any stripper is able to do in her sleep, so I was right at home. From time to time I'd see a girl doing a line of coke with one of the guys, which was a double bonus for the girls because the guys were using rolled up hundreds as straws, and the girls would pocket the bills after. (The guys, feeling magnanimous in this party atmosphere, pretended not to notice.) I wasn't in the mood for coke, but one of the guys pulled out some pot, and we shared a joint, which mellowed me out nicely.

We sat and talked for a while, and I let him ogle me as I lounged on the couch, showing off my sexy legs. Mel came by and joined me, stretching out the opposite way, with her legs on top of mine. The guy pulled out another joint, and this time we shared it amongst the three of us.

Kelly was the first to really get the party started. I looked over and noticed her going under a table, to service a guy who was sitting there. I caught Mel's eye, we smiled, and she winked at me. (I'm not sure if it's because we were just enjoying the fact that things were getting started, or if she was remembering me doing the same thing, Tuesday night...)

Another guy came up to the back of the couch, and leaned over to slide his hand down the front of Mel's dress. She leaned her head back so that he could kiss her, and he asked if she wanted to have some fun.

She got up off the couch and went around the back to join him. I watched them over the back of the couch, enjoying the show as she got down in front of him, unzipped his pants, and took him into her mouth. She didn't suck his cock for very long, though, just long enough to make sure he was hard, at which point she grabbed a condom from her purse, rolled it on him, and then bent over the back of the couch. He came up behind her, and she reached back to guide him in. She had such a look of bliss on her face that I couldn't tell if she was faking it or not. For all I knew, she really did want this guy bending her over the couch and pounding her.

Which he was. He was barely inside her before he started fucking her relentlessly. I wondered how long he'd last; the condom would help, I guessed.

But at this point I looked back to the guy who'd shared his pot with me, and he was obviously ready for some action as well.

"Ready to join them?" I asked, and he was immediately out of his chair, and unzipping his pants.

I stood up and got my panties off as quick as I could, before leaning over the couch -- Mel was bent over the back, and I was bent over the front -- and hiked my skirt to give him access. He came up behind me, but he hesitated for a second; he was obviously waiting for me to roll a condom on him, or to at least produce one for him to roll on himself, but instead I reached back and guided him toward me. He was so hard he was practically quivering, but more importantly, I was so wet it was dripping down my leg. I needed to be fucked; not only would a condom have slowed me down, but it would haven't gotten between his cock and my pussy -- not to mention his cum, which I desperately wanted.

By this point every girl in the room was in the middle of some kind of sex act, and Mel had her eyes closed as she relished the fucking she was getting, so nobody noticed my lack of safety.

Wet as I was, he had no problem sliding into me, and with one, smooth thrust I felt his balls slapping against my clit. "Oh fuck yessssssss," I moaned, and it must have been out loud, because Mel heard me, looked over, and smiled. Not just in camaraderie; I think it was also in pleasure. She already had a thing for me, and at that moment I must have been a sight to behold. Having his cock buried inside me completed me in a way I couldn't even describe; I was so happy, in that moment, doing what I was meant to be doing. "To a stranger!" I thought, and my smile grew even wider.

She leaned over to kiss me -- I don't think she could help herself -- and I kissed her back with a desperation I'd never felt for a girl before. Both of us were getting fucked, on opposite sides of the couch, and our lips met in the middle. I reached up to bury my fingers in her hair, and pull her closer to me.