Becoming Staci

The sight of us making out really turned on the guy behind me, who started fucking me even harder. Which turned me on even more, causing me to kiss Mel all the more passionately; she was already getting fucked herself, and this was her chance to have an orgasm that was so powerful it almost shut her down; she clung to me and I held her up while she shuddered. The guy behind her grunted, obviously cumming -- and then I felt a rush of cum flooding my own pussy, as my guy did the same.

As soon as Mel started to come back to her senses, I kissed her some more, gently this time, welcoming her back to the world of the living. My guy enjoyed his afterglow, for a moment, and as soon as his cock started to soften, he pulled out. I quickly pulled my skirt back down into place, so that nobody would notice any cum leaking out of my pussy; I hoped none would drip on the floor!

I also hoped to get some more in there, the first chance I got.

I scanned the room, looking for likely candidates, and saw a guy who was sitting off on his own, just enjoying the show. I walked up to him and, without a word, reached down to unzip him, freed his cock, and lowered myself onto him. I rode him slowly but intently, looking him in the eye, until he closed his eyes and came. When he was done, and looking at me again, I leaned down to kiss him on the lips, and whispered, "Thank you."

For the next little while, I wandered the room going from guy to guy. If I saw someone on his own, and there wasn't too much danger of people seeing that I wasn't using protection, I'd walk over and get him inside me as quick as I could, so that he could deposit another load into my sopping cunt. If there were too many people looking in our direction, I would kneel down in front of him for a quick, sloppy blowjob instead.

I knew the other girls would tell me this was a bad idea. Escorts are more careful than any other women when it comes to using protection; the strippers I've worked with always use condoms even for blowjobs. When you're in any form of sex work, protection is no joke: you need to stay safe. I, on the other hand, was beyond caring. I wanted cum, as much of it as I could get, in whatever hole was most convenient to the cock at hand. I wasn't overly happy about the thought of anal, after the previous day's experience, but if it came to a choice between getting it up the ass and not getting it at all, I'd have bent over without question.

I even blew one of the bodyguards, standing by the door -- but that turned out to be a bad idea.

---

I was looking around the room, in search of the my source of cum, but everyone seemed to be occupied except for the bodyguards. So I walked over to the nearest one, gazed up into his eyes with a questioning look on my face, and ran my hand gently up his crotch. It wasn't a hard code to crack, he got the message. He glanced over as his buddy, who shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, "Sure, why not? Go for it." So we moved off to the side, I got down in front of him, and got to work. The only thing separating this blowjob from the others was the fact that, as my head bobbed up and down, there was a gun, right there in my line of sight. The sight of it made my clit tingle.

Unfortunately, the timing was terrible. Just as I was starting to really get consumed with my task, the door burst open and three men in masks ran in, guns in hand. They must have been from a rival gang, or something, taking advantage of all of their enemies being in the room at the same time.

It was like a scene from a movie... mostly. As soon as people realized what was happening, they scattered. The girls were screaming; people were jumping behind furniture to get out of the line of sight; the bodyguards were pulling their guns; the newcomers and the bodyguards exchanged fire. One of the masked men went down immediately; the bodyguards were really on the ball, and had quick reflexes. The guy I was sucking took one in the shoulder and was knocked onto the ground, but still managed to get a shot off and take down a second of the intruders. The third, realizing he had just become outnumbered, ran back out the way he had come, and the other bodyguard fired a few shots down the hall after him. I assume he went down too, though I didn't see it.

The difference -- the thing that you don't usually see in a movie, when a party rife with whores and drugs is interrupted by gunfire -- is that I never stopped sucking the cock in front of me. As the noise erupted all around me, and the other girls were screaming and running around naked, I kept going. When my guy took one in the shoulder and went down it meant that I lost his cock from my mouth for a moment, but I crawled back over to him and immediately went back to work. Just after he shot his masked intruder (over my bobbing head!), he also shot his load into my throat, so that my work was properly done.

I moved up to lay beside him, and nestled my head on his uninjured shoulder. "Christ that hurts," he muttered, referring to the injured shoulder, while he raised up a hand to nestle his fingers in my hair. Now that the danger was over, I think it was comforting to have a hot, naked girl lying by his side, as he lay there waiting for the ambulance. (Not to mention the cops.)

Of course the girls had hurriedly gathered whatever clothes they could grab and run out the door. Just like in the movies, one of them ran out stark naked, still screaming; I wondered what she was going to do when she got to street level. The other guests had also made a fast exit. One guy, I assume it was the guy who'd arranged the party, stopped to tell the bodyguards that there'd be something extra in their bank accounts that night, before beating his own hasty retreat. The bodyguards themselves simply waited patiently. They knew there would be paramedics and cops any minute -- I could already hear the sirens -- but one of them was injured, and the other wasn't going to abandon him.

As for myself, I had lost count of the number of loads of cum I'd swallowed or had deposited in my pussy over the course of the party. In my imagination, my whole body was full of semen, still warm. I was practically purring. So I just lay there, in the crook of the bodyguard's arm, content and at peace.

The paramedics were the first to arrive, and one of them started patching up my bodyguard's shoulder. Others went to check the two masked men, but they didn't do much with them, so I guess they must have been dead. I got up to get dressed, and was about to leave when the cops arrived, one of whom prevented me from going out. They started questioning the two bodyguards, though they didn't even bother to ask me any questions, they just left me on my own, off to the side. They didn't expect one of the whores to know anything, but they had to keep me there just in case.

Soon the detectives arrived, and I realized how long the night was going to be. I wouldn't be going home any time soon.

Friday Morning: The Police Station

Not even the detectives questioned me there in the wrecked hotel room; they didn't pay much attention to me at all. I was just a whore who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. They weren't expecting any useful information out of me, but, as a formality, they knew they'd have to question me at some point, after they'd gone through more productive lines of inquiry. Mostly that meant questioning the bodyguards, who didn't say a word -- like literally didn't say anything. I don't know what they were being paid, but whoever was paying them was getting his money's worth!

Someone eventually decided that we were messing up the crime scene too much by staying in the room, so they bundled the three of us outside, to a waiting police van with steel benches inside. The bodyguards were cuffed, and once in the van the cuffs were attached to the floor with a chain, but I was still unencumbered. I don't know why they even put me in the van with the bodyguards -- seems like it was a dumb idea to have a witness sitting with two suspects -- but I didn't feel I was in any danger and it was the cops' problem, not mine, so I didn't care.

As we drove, the uninjured bodyguard turned to me, with a smile on his face, and said, "Jesus, you really clung to Joe's cock back there, dintcha? You weren't gonna stop suckin that thing for anything!"

"Goddam right," said the other bodyguard -- Joe, I guess -- "She almost sucked the life right outta me! And I mean that in a fuckin good way!"

They were laughing uproariously, obviously not too worried about the situation they were in.

As for me, I was getting flustered. Not because I was in the back of a police van, having just been in the middle of a shoot-out, oh no, I was flustered because I was thinking back to the moment when Joe came in my mouth, and it was turning me on.

"I just..." I said, "I... once I start, I just can't..."

I couldn't get a coherent thought out, but the uninjured bodyguard -- whose name I still hadn't caught -- apparently noticed the dreamy look on my face.

"Ain't no ordinary whore, are ya kid?" he asked. And the way he was looking at me, and the deep blue colour of his eyes, started to warm my nether regions.

"No," I replied, reaching over to run a hand over his crotch. "I guess not..." I stretched up to kiss him, feeling his cock grow harder in my hand, and then I broke off the kiss long enough to unzip him. I got in front of him, pulling my skirt aside, and he got his cuffed hands out of the way, so that I could lower myself onto him, reverse cowgirl. I didn't know how much time we had, so I just wanted to milk the cum out of him as quickly as I could. I looked at "Joe," who was sitting opposite us, and saw that his cock was already out; I was just close enough to lean over and take him into my mouth, while the other guy fucked me from behind. It was cramped, and I was in a weird half standing, half sitting position, but I didn't care: I had two cocks in me, and I was doing what I now believed I was meant to be doing.

And then they came! Oh god in heaven, they both came at the same time, pumping cum into my pussy and my throat. I didn't have an orgasm myself, but that wasn't the point: I'd never been happier than I was at that moment. I felt like a vortex, a black hole, attracting semen from all directions into my centre.

We were just in time, too, because very soon after rearranging my skirt and sitting back down, we arrived at the police station.

They brought the bodyguards in, leaving me in the van, and then came out a few minutes later to escort me into the station. One of the uniformed officers put me into an interview room. It was one of those no-nonsense rooms with a table that's bolted to the ground, just like in the movies, except that there wasn't an ashtray on the table. Times had changed, I guess.

He told me to have a seat, and asked if I wanted anything to drink, but didn't cuff me or anything. I still wasn't considered a suspect, just a witness. On his way out the door, he turned back, like he couldn't help himself, and said, "You know, we do have cameras in the back of that van! We can see everything that goes on!"

"Oh?" I replied, uninterested. After the few days I'd just had, if the cops wanted to get off watching me fuck a couple of their suspects, I didn't give a shit. In fact, I'd be in favour of it! As the cop shook his head and left the room, I was lost in my own world, already starting to picture it: two or three cops are sitting in a dark room, surrounded by monitors, and they notice me starting to stroke the bodyguard through his pants. "Hey, get a load of this," one of them says, and they all start watching. Maybe taking their dicks out, and starting to stroke them... Mmm...

Would they cum? Would they jerk themselves off right there and then? No, probably not, I figured; they'd probably think it was "gay" to do that all together. I was disappointed at my own conclusion, but it was just as well: I'd started to feel my hand, of its own accord, starting to work its way toward my crotch. If I'd let the fantasy go on too long, I would have started frigging myself right there in the interview room -- and if there were cameras in the van, there would definitely be cameras in here! They'd probably... Mmm... they'd probably make copies of it, and email it around to their cop buddies. I'd be a running joke in the station -- the whore who couldn't stop whoring even in a shoot-out, let alone in the interview room! -- but at night, when they were alone, I'd be wanking material for them. God! All of those men... all of those cocks... erupting in cum... because of me...

I was on the verge of playing with myself again when one of the detectives finally came in to question me. It was immediately apparent that he wasn't expecting much from this interview. But it was also apparent, from the strange look in his eye, that he'd either seen the video from the back of the van, or at the very least had been told. (I hoped he'd seen it. haha!)

We got off to a slow start, when he asked my name.

"Staci," I said.

"Staci what?" he asked.

"I... um... just Staci," I replied. This threw us both off, momentarily.

It threw him off because he could tell I was genuinely confused. He'd had lots of people refuse to tell him their name before, but I just really couldn't remember. Which is what threw me off. Why couldn't I remember my name? Surely I was more than just "Staci," wasn't I? I must have had... like... a name, right?

But we moved on, and for the rest of the interview he got exactly the answers he'd been expecting: yes, I was one of the whores at the party; no, I didn't know whose party it was; yes, I'd seen some of the action; no, I couldn't identify any of the intruders because they were wearing masks -- not to mention that my attention had mostly been directed to the blowjob I was giving at the time.

It was this point that he spent the most time on. He wasn't trying to trick me, or get me to crack under pressure and change my story, like those police interviews on TV; I think he was genuinely confused.

"So let me get this straight," he asked for the hundredth time, "you're sucking this guy's dick when a shoot-out starts, there are bullets flying everywhere -- the guy you're blowing even takes one himself -- and you don't stop? The other girls are all screaming and running for cover, like a normal person would, but you're still blowin this guy?"

"For all I'm worth!" I boldly responded. "Once I start, I can't stop. I just... can't! I need it; I need that cum." I stopped myself, once again, from playing with myself, but it took some willpower.

I could tell the detective was non-plussed. Not just by my answer, but by the way I delivered it. When I told him that I need it, I need that cum, part of the message I was delivering was getting through loud and clear: If I had the option, I was communicating, I'd be gobbling down your cum right now, too! I'd be sucking your cock so hard you wouldn't know what to do with yourself...

"OK, miss, uh... Staci. I think that's all we need from you. You're free to go. If you need any assistance -- counselling, or that type of thing -- please talk to one of the officers at the front desk, and they'll be happy to help in any way they can. And thank you for taking the time to answer my questions. I know it's been a long night for you already."

"Are you sure there's nothing else you need from me?" I asked.

"No ma'am, that's it," he responded.

"Or... want from me?"

"Oh jeez... uh... excuse me for a sec," he said, and practically bolted out of the room. He accidentally left the door open a crack behind him, so that I could hear the conversation he was having, though it was a bit muffled.

"Look," he was saying, "I know it's unprofessional, and it'll taint her entire interview, but it's not like any of it is going to be helpful anyway!"

"You need to stop thinkin with your cock, Johnson!" another voice answered, but I could tell that the guy who said it was smiling. "Just cuz she wants it, don't mean you gotta give it to 'er!"

"You mean, doesn't mean 'we' don't have to give it to her," the detective -- Johnson -- replied, and I gave out a tiny gasp of pleasure.

They obviously heard me, and I think it made their decision for them.

Johnson came back into the room.

"You know what?" he said. "There's something we totally forgot, when we brought you in! We forgot to... uh... check you. For weapons. Or... drugs."

"You're right, officer!" I replied. ("Detective," he corrected me.) "I could have anything hidden on my person!" I stood up, and sidled over to him. "You should probably... check."

What followed next could have been the subject of any hokey amateur porn video. He started to run his hands over my body in a way that was clearly intended more for feeling me up than actually searching for anything. And I loved the attention.

But he was impatient, too, so it didn't take long for him to move things along a step further. "I'm going to have to search a bit deeper," he said, and bent me over the steel table. He hiked my skirt up, and, unencumbered by any panties -- I suddenly realized that I'd been without them since the first guy had fucked me at the party, and, if possible, got even wetter than I had been -- and I felt a finger, then another, working their way into my cunt. Again, aside from his words, there was no pretence of this being any kind of search: he was finger fucking me, and I was loving it. Bent over a steel table; breasts against the cold metal (still inside my top -- for the moment); looking at myself in the mirror, being finger-banged in a police station; knowing that there were an unknown number of men on the other side of that mirror, watching the exact same thing... I closed my eyes and came on Johnson's fingers.

"I think I'm going to need to look a little deeper," he said, and a moment later I felt his fingers being replaced by his cock.

"Thank you," I murmured, though it was so quiet I don't know if anyone even heard me. I'm not even sure if I was thinking him for fucking me, or just generally thanking the universe for supplying me with another cock.

Still impatient -- and maybe feeling a bit guilty for how unprofessional he was being -- he didn't work up to it at all; as soon as he was inside me, he was fucking me hard. And that suited me just fine: I wanted him to cum. In me.

I didn't have long to ponder this, though, as I felt something rubbing against my lips. I opened my eyes to see that another detective had entered the room, pulled out his cock, and was ready for a blowjob. I was happy to do it!

While Johnson fucked me, I greedily sucked the cock in front of me. And as I glanced in the mirror again, I noticed that the three of us weren't alone, either: There were a number of uniformed cops in the room, greedily eyeing my body while I got spit-roasted. At the sight of it, I had a small, warm, climax; my soul was at peace, knowing that I was about to fuck and suck my way through all of these men. (If I was lucky, some of them would come back for seconds!)

And I did. No sooner had Johnson cum inside me than another cock took his place. No sooner had I swallowed the detective's cum than another dick was in my mouth. At some point I got flipped over onto my back -- getting my top off as I changed position -- and it wasn't long before I was feeling cum raining down on my tits from one of the cops who couldn't wait his turn to get inside my pussy or my mouth. Or maybe he just had a thing for tits; either way, he wasn't the last to do it.

I don't know how long I was in that room, nor do I know how many men used me. I swallowed some cum, and took some in my cunt, and some guys preferred to pull out and cum on my belly or my tits, or my face. One guy actually put on a condom, before fucking me -- but, luckily for me, when he was ready to bust, he pulled out, took it off, and came on my tummy. So at least it wasn't totally wasted.