My Night as a Literal Trophy

How often was this guy bringing home girls that it was such a routine to all of his neighbours?!? "Another day, another slut" seemed to be his motto.

He was in the next apartment - no wonder she'd been worried about the noise - and as soon as we were inside he had my chest up against the door. I guess he decided not to follow his neighbour's advice: He removed his finger long enough to hike my skirt up, pull my panties down to my knees (wiping his finger on them in the process), and free his cock, before he was plunging into my tenderest of tender holes.

Like I say, Michael and I had experimented with ass play before, but this was altogether different. No lube, no warm up, no nothin, just immediate, hard, ass fucking. I clenched my teeth, did my best not to scream, and just... took it.

Unfortunately, this was the third time he'd fucked me within the span of an hour, so it wasn't going to be quick. He hammered away at my ass for a long, long time. My breasts were starting to get sore from being pressed against the door, and I'm sure my cheek was getting the pattern of the door's wood on it.

Fortunately, the pain started to recede after a while, leaving me feeling so... full. It was different from having his cock in my pussy; it's like he was filling my insides with his cock. All the more since he was thicker than Michael, so he seemed to be filling me up more than Michael had, when we'd tried this. Of course, with Michael it was also "just the tip," and over very quickly from the pressure of my tight asshole on his cock. No way this guy was going to settle for just the tip, and he seemed more used to ass fucking than Michael had been.

Once again, I found myself wondering how many other girls had found themselves pressed against this door, with an ass full of this man's cock. I was just one of many, and it was both depressing at how low I'd sunk, and strangely freeing to be able to do whatever I wanted with this man, not having to face him again the next day.

As he started to get close, he demonstrated his expert knowledge of my body once again by reaching a hand around and touching my clit. The pleasure was immediate - I must have been enjoying my ass fucking more than I realized - and I whimpered against the door; my orgasm hit at the same time his did, and the feeling of his cock throbbing, his finger on my clit, and my juices letting go, all mixed together at once in my head. I almost felt like I was cumming into my own ass.

He gave me a minute to come down from my orgasm, and then pulled out and slapped me lightly on the butt.

"Go clean yourself up," he said. "Bathroom's over there."

I passed by the kitchen, on my way, and as I passed by the garbage I took the opportunity to remove my panties, and toss them in.

Cleaned Up

I ran a quick shower to clean myself up, and came back to the living room a bit later, wrapped only in a towel. I was able to take a better look at his apartment, now, and saw that it was a bachelor unit: all one room, aside from the bathroom. And it was a true bachelor's unit, because he hadn't really even furnished it; a television, chair, and a futon in the middle of the room, where he obviously slept. And, based on the look of it, he didn't wash the sheets very often either.

He was sitting in the chair, watching TV and sipping a beer, and I laid back on the futon near him, in a leisurely manner, studiously avoiding any thought of how many girls he'd fucked in this very spot. I was driving myself crazy, thinking about the fact that I was just one among a large number of his "conquests," wanting to believe I was better than them, despite all the evidence to the contrary. I wasn't just some random slut, trolling for cock. I was sure of it.

"Still here, are you?" he asked. "Haven't had enough?"

"I thought maybe we could talk for a bit," I said.

He just smirked, and didn't even take his eyes off of the TV. "Really? What would we talk about? How much you enjoyed getting your holes stuffed? If you want to keep believing you're a good girl, maybe you should leave now, before you give it up like a bitch in heat again."

"I'm not like the other girls you bring here," I replied. "I'm not just some whore."

"Open your legs," he said. And, instinctively - as if under their own power - my legs did just as he asked. The towel opened easily, as I bared my pussy to him, leaving me as exposed as a woman can possibly be before a man.

"You might not have been a slut this afternoon," he said, "and sure, you might not be tomorrow, but right now all you want is cock."

Once again, I was blushing furiously with shame and embarrassment. At the way I had instinctively obeyed his command, opening myself up to him without a second thought - and because he was right. I wanted him to fuck me, here and now, on this dirty futon. To my chagrin, he hadn't even moved his eyes from the television. Any other man would have had his eyes drawn to me like a magnet; to him, this was just one more pussy: nothing special about it, it was one in a million.

When he showed no signs of moving - or even removing his attention from the TV - I pulled the remains of the towel off, exposing the rest of me. "Please?" I asked quietly, proving beyond a doubt how right he was.

He still didn't turn the TV off, but he got up, unzipped his pants, and came down to join me - join with me - on the futon. My last coherent thought, before giving in to the pleasure as he entered me, was to hope that he'd cleaned off his cock after fucking my ass.

I don't know what time I left his apartment, but it was late. The Uber driver seemed a bit nervous to be in this neighbourhood, and relaxed visibly once we were a few blocks away.

I didn't even bother to shower when I got home, just stripped off my clothes and fell into bed naked. I'd have to wash the sheets tomorrow, I was still covered in his cum and sweat, not to mention my own juices drying on the inside of my thighs, but I'd worry about that later. At the moment, all I wanted was to sleep.

I took the next day off work. I did laundry, sat at the table drinking coffee, and just generally avoided thinking about anything. Around 10:00 Michael called, wanting to know what had happened to me the previous night. He spent most of the conversation alternating between chagrin at his actions the night before, and wanting to accuse me of cheating on him. When he woke up people had obviously told him I'd left with the other dude; on the one hand, he knew me well enough to know that I'd never cheat on him, regardless of what he'd been told, but on the other hand, how could he not worry about it?

He finally brought himself to ask the question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to: "Did you... did you do anything with him last night?"

"What do you think?" I responded. I could hear him breathing a sigh of relief; of course his girlfriend wouldn't go off and make out with some stranger she'd just met. She'd just gone off with him to teach her boyfriend a lesson.

To his credit, Michael seemed to have learned his lesson. He never acted like such an asshole again, even when I dressed to impress.

And it never occurred to him, even for a moment, that I hadn't actually answered his question.