Melody's Open Invite Gangbang Ch. 05

For the next several months she moves eastward, slowly, hitching from town to town, staying where it's convenient. Still having no money, she uses her body to ease her way. The one tool she has left, decreased in value though it may be. Perfect strangers will let you stay with them for a night or more if you fuck them. Men 274 - 280 get her as far east as Philadelphia, those in the first few weeks commenting tepidly on the looseness of her still-healing pussy, evidently too surprised and dismayed to be couth about it. Her hair is long enough now to dye, and she has recovered enough emotionally from her experience to redevelop a survival instinct. She dyes her pixie cut hair black, and goes by another name. Whitney, yes, nice to meet you. She comes partially out of the shell of self-destruction that she had gone into to preserve her sanity. No longer simply apathetic to her fate, she begins to bargain with herself, perhaps just some other coping mechanism. But still, she thinks perhaps she can continue her life in some form after all. 280 isn't such an unforgivable number, is it? 281 if you count her first boyfriend. Surely there are a handful of open-minded, sex-positive women in most cities across the country who have had as many partners. Maybe most guys wouldn't want to date her but, she wasn't completely without precedent was she? Still no one had confronted her in public, although for a while she second guessed every lingering look someone gave her. She allowed herself to consider the possibility of her life continuing, albeit in a very different way and setting. She had not spoken to anyone she used to know since the incident. No one had tried to contact her.

After three months in Philadelphia she had landed a minimum wage, fast food gig in some shitty establishment, under her new assumed name. A place that paid under the table, no paperwork needed. She shared an apartment with two roommates, both girls. She finally worked up the courage to Google the phrase "Melody Ann Ainsley."

The entire first page of Google was nothing but links to various porn websites. She clicked to the 10th page. Still results about her. She searched just "Melody Ainsley." Just as many results. Page after page of things like, "Washington slut Melody Ainsley swallows 60 strangers loads," "Humiliation whore Melody Ainsley brutal triple penetration," "Melody Ainsley pussy inspection," and on and on in a hundred variations. Her heart racing, she clicked on. Yep, that was her alright. In crystal clear HD. This video had 120,876 views, but it was just one of dozens and dozens. She guessed they had taken 12 or more hours of footage. There would be plenty of ways for people to split it up. In the comments, people were sharing all of her contact info. Well, her old contact info. She flicked through some of the still images, close up detail shots of various parts of her body. She was sickened by how detailed it was, how well-lit.

She exited quickly and slammed the laptop shut, unable to look any longer. She was mortified, but she noticed in a sudden moment of frustration that her panties were soaked. She crawled into her bed and rubbed herself to a series of orgasms, feeling filthy for it, but unable to stop. As if it were irresistible. Thinking of all those shockingly graphic, shockingly detailed images of her, so many with her face in them, proving undoubtedly that they were all of her. Thinking of how Micky from choir practice could be examining the microscopic bumps in the skin of her labia at this very moment, whacking off and thinking of how surprised he was that Melody of all people had turned out to be such a shameful, humiliated whore. Probably getting second-hand embarrassment for her. This scenario mirrored a thousand times over with others she knew, millions upon millions of times over around the globe.

She imagined what her new roommates would think if they saw the search results for her real name. That they were living with such a scandalous whore. Seeing proof that her name, all of her info, such an exhaustive record of video footage of every detail of her body, of the unspeakable acts she had done, was all out there on the web for anyone and everyone to see, was enough to send her over the edge. None of it could ever be undone. It was there forever. She hated it, but she was addicted to the humiliation. It gave a thrill like nothing else on this earth could. And she hated that that pleasure outweighed the self-hatred, outweighed everything. She still didn't fully understand what had happened to her or why, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow her fault. She wondered for the umpteenth time what had possessed her to announce several times on camera that she would fuck any and every person who wanted her, that they didn't have to ask and didn't have to take no for an answer. It was so stupid, so reckless, yet so incredibly hot. That was why she'd done it, in that moment. She knew there was the standing chance of rape at any time. A chance that someone would find her and sell her into sex trafficking for the rest of her life. She rubbed herself until her sheets were soaked, telling herself under her breath over and over what a dumb whore she was.

Still, when she wasn't masturbating she was terrified of the idea of actually being found out, and she managed to make herself believe that with her new name and her new hair and her new location that she was more or less safe. Maybe someone would recognize her, but hopefully they would be uncertain, and tell themselves they were crazy. Maybe she would be able to hide this event forever, her former life forever, and just let it be her deepest, darkest secret as she struggled to make a new life from scratch.

It would only take a few more weeks for her to receive a harsh reality check.

She had been working at her shitty fast food job for about two months when it happened. She hated working there, feeling like a teenager again as she put on the same black work uniform as everyone else, with the same dumb visor, getting belittled by asshole customers all the time, but at least it was a job. Everyone she worked with either was some idiot teenage kid, or a burn-out asshole. She hated almost all of them. But still, she grinned and bore it, knowing she had precious few other options, being unable to present any kind of resume or personal history of any kind to a prospective employer. So she put up with the demeaning rules, the disrespectful customers, and the shitty coworkers who were always either being dicks to her or crudely hitting on her. She was well aware that she was a lot more attractive than most girls they were used to working with.

It was late on an otherwise normal shitty Thursday night when the thing she'd been dreading happened. She was scheduled to close that night with Pete and Mike, two 30-something stoners who always fucked with her. She was in the back, cutting up some produce in preparation for the next day, while the 6' 2", 300 pound Pete stood behind her washing dishes.

"Pull the sign," he shouted out into the dining room at Mike. Mike turned the light off and locked the door.

Melody kept chopping the vegetables, not noticing for a while that Pete had stopped spraying water and was just standing there staring at her, grinning.

"Sooo...." he began, awkwardly. "Your name isn't really Whitney, is it?"

Melody paused for a moment, a sudden flush of heat rushing through her cheeks.

"It's Melody, isn't it?"

Melody kept looking down at the task before her, the panic rising up in her. She didn't know what to do or say, so she just kept chopping.

Pete chuckled. "Yeah, I thought so. I was jerking off last night, you know, as I do, and I came across this video. I'd seen it before, but I'd never connected the dots. But last night I fucking realized -- you're that fucking crazy slutty chick!"

Melody was just frozen. She had stopped chopping. She heard Mike enter the back room as well.

"I always knew you looked familiar," Pete continued, "but I could never place it. That's fucking crazy. I see those videos everywhere! Mike, did you know she's a fucking porn star?"

Mike stood with the mop bucket, staring at them with his mouth open.

"Say what?"

"Look at this shit. Tell me this isn't her!"

He pulled out his phone and typed something. Soon Melody knew they were watching her do god knows what.

"Holy shit. It is her!"

She could tell he had clicked to another video. She heard her own voice saying "I have no worth now except making men cum. I will fuck anyone and everyone who wants it for the rest of my life. Don't let me tell you no. This pussy is yours."

"Well fuck," Mike said.

"Well, answer us you little slut. Tell me this isn't you!" Pete grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

She kept her eyes to the ground. They could see that her face was flushed red, but they didn't know if it was from shame or horniness. Hating herself, she felt that familiar feeling of dampness growing in her panties. She wasn't remotely attracted to these men, so why, WHY, was she dripping at the idea of them sexually exploiting her?

"Come on, speak! Is this you?"

Melody nodded, a minuscule thing. She still didn't look at them.

"I thought so. I guess it's our lucky day." He began unbuckling his belt.

"Do we have to do this here?" Melody asked meekly.

"Where else we gonna do it? My girlfriend's home and you know I can't afford a hotel. Nah, this'll work fine. The camera's don't go back here."

Before she knew it, she was on her knees in this rundown, dead end sandwich shop, sucking her burnout second-shift manager's dick in her dumb work outfit, while Mike the troglodyte looked on. Two guys who would normally never have been able to have a shot with a girl as attractive as her. But Melody just felt like the girl who didn't get to say no. Pete fucked her face hard, treating her throat like a vagina, making her retch and fight to let it past her gag reflex, dark tears of mascara running down her cheeks, mixed with the real tears of her sorrow. She should have known this would happen. It had to. Why was her god damn pussy so wet from this?

They certainly made their shot worth it. For the next hour Melody found herself contorted 50 different ways to satisfy the various fantasies of these two slobs. Melody lay on her back on the steel table, wearing just her black work shirt now - her pants, underwear, shoes and socks having already been ripped off by Pete. She spread her legs wide as Pete hammered his somewhat short but thick cock into her bald pussy where it hung just off the end of the table. He leaned over her, his hands supporting the back of her head, drawing her face slightly closer up to his.

"So you just can't help but give this pussy away to everyone you meet, huh?" he breathed down into her face as he thrust. "I bet it's just compulsive for you. Lucky for me our paths crossed."

Melody felt a surge flash through her groin. She hated that her body responded so fully to this degradation.

Pete let Mike take a turn before he even climaxed, just moving aside for the time being while he continued stroking himself, looking around the cramped hallway of a room for who knows what.

"I'm not gonna take the same hole as you right after you, dude," he said. He licked his hand and wiped it on the head of his dick, then stepped forward. Melody felt his cockhead pressing against her asshole, trying to force an opening. Luckily, the ample amount of pussy juice trickling down her taint and into her asscrack provided him enough lubrication to get in her without ripping her up.

She held her asscheeks apart to just allow him easier entry, her ankles raised up and resting on his shoulders. Pete walked around behind him, filming on his cellphone.

"This is going online," he said. "This is fucking nuts. We got a real party girl here, everybody."

He got in close to her face, contorted from the assfucking she was receiving. "This is afterhours shit in Philly. Tell everybody your name. Your real name."

Melody looked into the camera. Deja vu. "Melody Ainsley," she said meekly.

"Melody Ainsley," Pete repeated. "Famous webslut. Back for more. Made it all the way out here to Philadelphia to party with us."

Mike stuck a finger inside her vacant pussy as he continued hammering at her asshole, pressing it into the inner upper flesh of her vagina in a come hither motion. She suddenly began gushing hot squirt out, drenching his shirt.

They continued for the next hour, swapping out and taking turns. The concept of not sharing a hole was quickly discarded, as they both wanted to experience everything her body had to offer. Both ended up cumming on their second turns, just leaving their dicks in and releasing their loads inside of her pussy, just like they'd seen footage of so many other men doing to her, but were both ready to go a second time by the time their next turn came.

When they'd finally both cum a second time, they decided they still weren't done with her, and were now going to incorporate various objects in aid of their assault on her body. She was now squatting barefoot on the kitchen floor, still wearing just her shirt, perched on the balls of her feet above the biggest cucumber the two could find, positioning it at the entrance to her vagina at their direction. She slowly sunk her weight down onto it, feeling all 12 inches slowly stretch her out. Her pussy had more or less returned to normal from the prolonged stretching of the wine bottle, but evidently she had retained some elasticity from it. Still, it was initially an overwhelming feeling sliding the huge phallic vegetable inside of herself. Soon she had the whole thing in, holding the bottom of it tight between her feet as she raised her bottom up and down, fucking herself with it, feeling herself grow wetter by the moment as she looked into the camera and performed this ridiculous act for yet another online audience.

"You like being humiliated, right?" Pete asked boorishly, holding a bottle of Crisco which he then opened and suddenly upended over her head, spilling the oil all in her hair. Melody paused for a moment from fucking herself, a flash of anger going through her. But then she looked up again at the camera through the oil-drenched bangs hanging in front of her eyes and decided it made no difference anyway. Let her be their little thing to toy with.

By the time they were finally done with her she had fucked almost every insertable vegetable in the store, and had a mess of mayo and oil coiffed up in her hair. They let her put her clothes and shoes back on, but she walked out wearing their third loads on her face, walking quickly, ignoring the baffled looks of passersby, and wiping the semen off her face with her shirt once she was out of site of the restaurant.

That night she showered, rushing in past the questions of her roommates, ignoring them. She sat in there for an hour, her mind racing, her finger drawn irresistibly to her clit. Later, when she thought her roommates had gone to sleep, she grabbed one of their laptops that had been left out in the living room and took it to her bedroom. She flicked on the webcam, her tear-streaked face just lit by the light of the monitor in the dark room.

"My name is Melody Ainsley," she began, speaking somewhat quietly so as not to wake her roommates. "You may have seen videos of me online. You may have seen me saying things, requesting certain things. I want you to know that's not who I really am. I didn't want to do that. I just want to be left alone. I'm not really the type of girl you think I am."

She reviewed the video, embarrassed how pathetic it was but seeing no other option. She knew no one would believe her, no one would care. But she had to try. She couldn't go through life like this.

The next morning she was gone again, taking the meager possessions she had accrued in a backpack and taking the first Greyhound out of Philadelphia. Time to be a different person again. She leaned her head against the window, wondering if she was escaping anything, or just heading to another inevitable scene of humiliation. Wondering if her life was not doomed to flit from degradation to degradation forever.

She moves from place to place again over the next few months, always looking over her shoulder, always second guessing every interaction. By the time she makes it to Boston and attempts to tentatively settle down again, she is beginning to allow herself some hope. No one has said anything to her since leaving Philly, no one has propositioned her for sex. She begins to wonder if perhaps she can escape it after all.

A year and a half after the gangbang, after she has lived in Boston for several months and begun to build an existence she is cautiously optimistic about, her hair has grown out again to a normal length, just past her shoulders, and she has let it go back to her natural color, a wavy, perpetually messy dirty blonde. She knew it was strange to go in disguise as her natural look, but in all the explicit pictures and videos she had had the dyed red hair, so this might be just as effective as any color. Besides, she wanted to feel like herself again. Her old self.

Still, a new name was necessary, and so she went by Garden Perry. Her grandma had called her Garden sometimes as a kid, and so she felt she could still identify with it, and not feel like a total impostor. For the past few months now she's had a job as the clerk in a small boutique shop that sold vintage dresses and clothing. It certainly wasn't as high paying as the career she'd lost, but she enjoyed the work and the couple other people she worked with, and felt safe that her real identity wouldn't be pried into. It was a small enough place that she hadn't had to present any documents proving her name in order to be hired. She walked to and from work to her studio apartment every day, and she wore sundresses and made friends and slowly regained the idea that she could have dignity.

It was around this time that she began dating Kevin. She was apprehensive at first, worried about what would happen if he found out about her past, about who she really was. She wad worried about getting emotionally close to someone only to have them leave her, as they inevitably would if they knew the truth about her. But, she told herself, she would have to face this risk no matter what. She couldn't go through life alone. She had never felt more isolated in her life than in the past 18 months, and she yearned for companionship. Kevin was nice, he was polite to her and made her feel special and loved, something she'd written off as a possibility. He seemed completely, blissfully unaware that she was anything but a cute, reserved girl who moved into town a few months ago and was just struggling to get through her 20s, like everyone else he knew. He took her on dates and doted over her. She still had the nagging worry of being ousted, but this slowly faded a little with time. She was allowing herself to heal. Once she managed to get a prescription for anxiety medication, things became even better. Her fears seemed more remote by the day. If passersby gave her pointed, lingering looks from time to time, she was now able to tell herself that it was nothing.

Despite the submissive, self-destructive side of her psyche that was coaxed out of her so shamefully to the world, she really just wanted above everything else to be a normal, monogamous person, who could give her love to one person and not feel like gutter trash. But still, that other side existed, like she was some perverse Jekyl and Hyde, and she would on occasion be reduced to a sputtering, dripping mess as she recalled what was done to her, having her autonomy completely stripped away and thrown to the wind. She would give into it at times, rubbing herself raw while thinking of the incredibly dangerous trove of material of her that was on the Internet, perpetually dangling over her head and threatening to ruin her life all over again, but logically she didn't want that. The vast majority of the time it terrified her. But why was it also the only thing that could completely push her over the edge, into a series of body-wracking, mattress-drenching orgasms when she let herself dwell on it?