Perfect Little Slut

"Hold on a second, baby," he rasped. I pulled my head up and looked at him, concerned that I wasn't doing a good job. It was a needless worry. His expression wasn't disappointed, but mirthful. "I don't wanna finish like this before I have a chance to fuck that sweet ass of yours," he said, grinning. I smiled back at him reflexively and cleared my throat of saliva with a soft cough.

"Okay," was all I could think to say. My nervousness flared up again. This was going to be different from anything Anna had exposed me to. But it was so exciting. This manly, confident guy thought I was hot, and he was enjoying my blowjob, and now he wanted to fuck me. I was such a good little slut.

I crawled out from between his legs, and he sat up. I watched him reach over and fish a condom out of the box on the nightstand, open the package, and roll the latex down over his still-hard cock. Then he squirted some lube onto his hand and coated the outside of the condom with it.

I turned around on the bed, still on all fours, until my ass was facing him. I spread my knees apart wantonly. There was no need to remove my skirt; it was so short that it had already ridden up to my waist and completely exposed my asshole. My average, semi-hard dick and clean-shaven balls hung lightly between my legs. I felt the bed move as he shuffled up behind me, between my legs, his thighs coming to a stop against the backs of mine.

His left hand grasped my hip, steadying me in place. I was breathing hard. I silently thanked Anna for including in my preparation for the evening an enema and a bit of manual self-lubrication, which would hopefully save me some pain and embarrassment.

The tip of his cock pressed against my hole. I tried to relax, as I'd been taught, and let myself open to him. Tried to steady my breathing. He pushed gently. I opened to him some, but not enough.

"You done this before, yeah?" His rough voice sounded cautious. I lifted my head slightly to the side so he could hear me.

"Just toys. You're my first real one," I replied.

"Ho ho," he almost chuckled. "How about that. Virgin. Gonna pop a hot little cherry." I dropped my head back down and straightened my back, as though trying to create a smooth path of entry for him. This was going to hurt regardless. "Don't you worry, beautiful," he went on, his gravelly voice reassuring. "We gonna make this easy, no problem." For some reason I wondered again what kind of accent that was.

"You gonna take a big breath, yeah? And when I tell you, you gonna push real hard like you taking a shit. Okay?" I nodded. "Okay," he confirmed. "Breathe in." I did. "Now ... PUSH." I pushed hard, like he told me, a familiar effort that — it made sense now — was designed to flare my sphincter open. As soon as I did, he jutted his hips forward and popped his knob through my ring.

It burned. Not screaming pain, but a sharp pinch that lingered. My asshole clenched around the top of his shaft, the head nestled just inside me. I expelled my breath and panted, getting used to the sensation. I had a man's cock in my ass.

"All good, see," he said, patting me gently on the side of my ass. "Hard part's over. Now the good part." He lingered there for another moment, letting me get used to being stretched open. His fingers lightly caressed my back, my ass, my hips, my thighs. All my skin, painstakingly softened with moisturizer, coming alive at his touch. Worth the effort now. I sighed. I tingled. He moved.

He took my hips in his hands and ventured forward, pushing his shaft into my hole, inch by slow inch. Then he paused, waited, let me adjust, and pulled back to my entrance. And then in again, a little bit deeper. And then back until the ridge of his cock head grabbed my ring. Pause. And back in again, a little bit further, just as slow. Filling me. Stretching me. Pause.

"Okay so far, beautiful?"

"Uh huh," I answered with another nod.

"Good, good," he rumbled. And back out. Deeper and deeper he forged into me with each slow thrust. His hands tugged at my hips as he entered my depths, pulling me onto him. My tunnel stretched to accommodate his width. His cock head burrowed into my gut, opening new spaces, filling them, vacating them, filling them again.

Further still, he rooted himself inside me, his knob now pushing at a wall somewhere deep in my cavity. The pressure touched off something within me; a little thrill of pleasure trilled up my spine with each shove of his cock. I moaned like a hungry bitch.

"Yes, my beautiful little girl" he said, as he drove into me. "Such a tight ass. You like my cock inside you, yes?"

"Yessss," I breathed in response.

His pace began to increase, building a tempo. My body was rocking back and forth with his thrusts. I could feel his balls swinging against mine each time he slammed home. Again and again, filling me, stretching me, owning me.

My arms were getting tired, and I dropped to my elbows. It changed the angle of his entry and his helmet punched a new spot in my lining, taking my breath away for a moment. He didn't stop, didn't slow down. If anything it guided him even further into me.

I lost track of time, my world narrowed to the sensation of being filled and the sounds of his grunting and flesh grinding on lubricated flesh. And that pressure inside me, the delicious pressure each time he pounded me ... I closed my eyes, grunting now, involuntarily, as he used me.

Faster now. I could hear him breathing heavily. He was stimulating my prostate every second, as he slammed, slammed, slammed his cock all the way in, my own cock stiffening in response.

"Oh, baby, you feel so good," he growled as he plowed me. "So fucking hot — such a sexy girl ..." I felt him lean over me, his hips continuing to drive his meat into my hole. He gripped my left shoulder in one hand and surprised me by reaching underneath and grabbing my dick with the other. It was like pure electricity, my nerve endings crackling to life.

Furiously he fucked me now, and pumped my cock in his fist. Again and again, our bodies rocking together, animal sounds coming from our throats. And then he shoved forward with a shout, burying himself to the hilt and holding himself inside me. I felt his cock jerking against my inner wall and yanking at my ring. His hand rubbed my shaft faster.

My balls clenched, then erupted in pleasure, and cum spurted out of my cock onto the sheet. He continued to stroke me as I came, coaxing more cum from me, coating his hand, the slickness transforming the friction to bliss. The quivering of his tool inside me gradually subsided, and then mine did too. Eventually time began to slow down again.

We both panted for breath. He gently let go of my shaft and lifted himself off of me, withdrawing his cock, heavily, from my asshole. I felt vacant and also fulfilled. I rolled weakly over and flopped down onto my back, narrowly avoiding the mess I'd made. I looked up at him. His expression was one of total satisfaction. Even, maybe, affection. I glanced down at his cock, just beginning to soften. The tip of the condom hung heavy, swollen with his load.

I smiled up at him languorously. He smiled back.

"What a treat you are," he said, finally catching his breath. I noticed the sheen of my cum on his hand. I reached up, took it in mine, and guided it to my mouth. I sucked each of his fingers clean, then licked what remained from his palm, and swallowed it. His eyes widened in pleased surprise.

"A treat that keeps on treating," he added with a kind chuckle. He pivoted and swung his legs off the bed, stood, and walked into the bathroom. The toilet flushed. The sink went on and then off. While he was in there, I peeled myself up off the bed. I dried my penis and wiped the excess lube away from the outside of my ass with a couple of tissues and then pulled my skirt back down into place. I adjusted my bra, which had come slightly askew, and straightened my top.

He re-emerged from the bathroom and began to pull his clothes on. I watched him, still aglow. When he was dressed, he looked at me and sighed.

"You something special, pretty lady." He reached out and took my hand in his, raised it to his lips and gave it another kiss. And then he gave me a look, heavy with meaning: "Be safe."

"Thank you," I nearly whispered. His smoky eyes lingered on mine a moment longer, and he turned and left.

I stared at the door for a minute, then shook myself out of what could have been a trance. I glanced at the bed and noticed the spattering of semen on the sheet. I needed to clean that up. I walked into the bathroom and checked my reflection. My face was smeared again. Shit. I had to get ready for the next visitor.

I hurriedly touched up my makeup — fortunately I'd had plenty of practice — dampened a towel and went back out to the room and wiped up my cum. I bundled up the towel and tossed it into a drawer. Everything seemed to be in order.

It dawned on me that because I'd just had an orgasm I felt absolutely no arousal any longer. As generous as the reach-around had been, in a way he hadn't done me any favors. I wasn't looking forward to any more visitors. I was tired and hungry. I felt I could have called it a night right then, my fantasy fulfilled. But I didn't have it in me to quit and throw away all of Anna's hard work. I prepared myself for what would come next.

What came next was a fat, sweaty, severe-looking man who had none of grace or charm of my previous lover. He all but pushed his way into the room when I answered the door, and his greeting consisted of "On your knees, bitch."

He didn't even really want a proper blow job, which was fortunate because he tasted and smelled awful. He just wanted me to get him hard so he could bend me over the bathroom counter and roughly fuck me from behind while sneering at my reflection and telling me what a disgusting faggot I am, among other things. He fucked me like he wanted to hurt me, and he did. The verbal abuse could have been a turn-on under other circumstances. As it was, it just ensured that I loathed everything about him.

It was almost too much for me when he told me to beg him to fuck me harder. But I did it. I debased myself, looked him in the eye in the mirror through my disheveled blonde bangs and pleaded with him through gritted teeth to please, please fuck me harder with his big, hard cock.

When he finally came, after what seemed like endless, excruciating fucking and profane, humiliating taunts, he collapsed on top of me next to the sink, his obese body crushing the air out of me even as I felt the final jerks of his unwelcome cock inside me.

When he left, I felt sick. I'd offered myself, willingly, to that vile thing and let him use me. Let him have me. Let him degrade me. What did that make me? Just someone fulfilling a fantasy? I buried the thought. I'd never wanted a shower so badly in my life, but there was no time for it. I simply cleaned myself up the best I could and threw the cum-filled condom he'd tossed on the counter into the plastic-lined trash can.

The next one — Brian, was it? — was a trim, kind of nerdy-looking 40ish guy with a goatee who seemed pretty harmless, all in all, but then he insisted on kissing me while he fucked me on my back. I mean, long and deep, and he did it the entire time he was laying on top of me, thrusting his tongue into my throat while he shoved his cock inside me.

I actually hadn't even considered that there would be any kissing involved in this — I mean, it seems silly in hindsight, but it just had never occurred to me. I decided pretty quickly that I wasn't that into it, at least not with this guy. He tasted like garlic and it was making me squeamish. But I let him do it anyway, feigning enthusiasm. I even wrapped my arms around his shoulders and rewarded him with pleasurable moans while he mauled me.

It hurt when he bit down on my lower lip, possessively, while he came. And it definitely seemed gratuitous when he pulled off his condom and poured his semen into my mouth to swallow. But I did it, and licked my lips and gave him the satisfied smile I knew he was looking for.

They continued to arrive, one after another, different ages and shapes and sizes, different desires. And I offered myself — gave myself — to all of them. Cock after cock after cock, in my mouth, down my throat, up my ass. Some of them wanted me to eat their assholes; not all of them were freshly showered. Most came in condoms, but some wanted me to swallow their loads. One decided to cum on my face, which made getting ready in time for the next guy a challenge.

While I developed a pretty efficient routine for freshening up myself and the room in between visitors, things eventually began to look a bit worn.

My reapplied makeup couldn't entirely hide how haggard I was becoming. My fishnet stockings had become marred by snags and tears. The bed was rumpled and the sheets stained where I'd hastily scrubbed spilled cum — mine and others'. My blonde hair was tangled in a couple of spots. The room reeked of sweat and latex and fucking.

My stomach rumbled deeply. Anna had cautioned me against eating any solid foods that day to avoid messy and embarrassing bodily-function issues. I was starving. I was weak.

Hours had passed. It may seem hard to believe, but I truly had lost track of how many men had been up to the room — had been inside me. At one point along the way a young man had brought a bottle of vodka with him and offered me a swig. I'd foolishly accepted a couple of hearty gulps and it had gone straight to my head while he held me by the skull and fucked my throat.

I was disoriented. It was getting very late. My jaw ached. My asshole was rubbed raw, and my insides felt like they'd been pulverized. Every time one of my visitors left the room, I prayed that the next sound I'd hear would be the chirp of Anna's key in the lock, releasing me from my ordeal.

Instead, I heard another firm knock at the door. I closed my eyes and sighed, dejected. I wondered absently what would happen when I literally ran out of energy. I staggered over and looked through the peephole. The guy outside was big. Really big. He was maybe in his late thirties, with short, choppy blonde hair and slightly exaggerated features, like he was a half step behind on the evolutionary scale. I hoped he was the "gentle giant" type.

I opened the door and was startled to see another man there next to him. The second guy was nearly as big — as tall as I was in heels — but not quite as massive as his companion. He was black, about the same age, wearing corn rows, and he was holding a beer bottle in one hand and the remainder of a six-pack in the other. He must have been standing off to the side when I looked through the viewer.

So, two guys then. After all those prior encounters, after hours of exertion and punishment and debasement, now she was sending me two monstrous guys at the same time. I wanted to cry. Instead I gave them a weak smile.

"Hi, guys," I said, trying not to sound exhausted.

"Shit, man," said the blonde, taking in my appearance. "Looks like someone's had a long night."

"'Bout to get longer," said the black guy as he pushed past me into the room. The hulking blonde followed him, giving me a slap on the ass as he passed. I let the door close.

The big blonde dropped himself heavily into the swivel chair. His friend handed him a beer, set the rest on the dresser and sat on the edge of the bed. The blonde twisted the cap off, tossed it at the trash can (missed it), and took a long swig.

"What do you call yourself, sweetheart," asked the blonde.

"Lexi," I said.

"Lexi, huh," he repeated, his tone sarcastic and disbelieving. "Well, 'Lexi,' I'm Kyle and that's Ryan," he indicated his black friend. "What do you say we have ourselves a little party."

"Sure," I said. "Sounds great." I figured that was his prelude to offering me a beer. It wasn't, which was just as well, given my condition. The blonde — Kyle — fiddled with his phone for a moment, and music began to play. Some kind of club music I wasn't familiar with. He set it on the desk and looked back at me.

"How about you give us a little dance, 'Lexi,'" he said, his tone mocking. I was taken aback; I hadn't been expecting that. I tried to play it off with a giggle.

"I'm not really much of a dancer," I demurred with a shy smile. Kyle's expression grew serious.

"Uh oh," I heard Ryan say.

"See, I'm not really asking," Kyle said, an implied threat in his voice. "Move that weak-ass little body of yours and give us a fucking show." My heart sank with fear. Either one of these guys could kill me with his bare hands on my best day, and Kyle seemed to have a short fuse. I froze for a moment and then forced myself to try and obey.

I began to sway my hips in time with the bass of the music, raised my hands above my head, and turned in place, nearly tripping and falling over. I steadied myself and started again. It was a pathetic effort. Ryan laughed derisively and drained the rest of his beer.

"Jesus, you suck at that," Kyle said disgustedly. "Okay, never mind. You might as well just come here and suck my cock instead." I was a little relieved. That, at least, was something I knew how to do. I took a step toward him.

"No," he held his free hand up and stopped me. "Get down on your hands and knees and crawl over here." I lowered myself weakly to the carpet and started moving in Kyle's direction. As I did, he unfastened his jeans and pulled his cock out. It was soft, but it was huge nevertheless. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ryan get up and retrieve another beer from the dresser.

Finding myself between Kyle's legs, I reached up and took his meaty cock in my hand and lowered my mouth over its bulbous head. I sucked on it gently, running my tongue along the ridge, and lightly stroked his shaft with my hand. I felt him begin to swell and took it as a sign of approval.

Slowly, I lowered my mouth down onto his stiffening pole, taking maybe half its length, and then reared up again. Then down again, further, and then back up. I licked his shaft from the base to the tip and took him again, deeper still. His cock continued to grow, and I quickly realized I hadn't before encountered anything close to his massive size. It wasn't just long — and it *was* long — it was thick, too. My mouth was stretched wide to accommodate it, and as he grew, I started to worry.

I finally mustered the courage to try and force him into my throat. I pushed my face down onto him, and it felt like a softball was being driven into my neck. I paused to claim a deep breath before taking it further, but Kyle had apparently run out of patience.

"Don't stop there, bitch," he barked, and I felt one of his giant hands on the back of my head, pulling it down into his crotch. I didn't have the strength to resist, and he forced his huge tool all the way into my windpipe. My gag reflex, after having been a non-factor all night, sprang to life. I choked and lurched around his solid flesh. His grip held. I pressed helplessly at his thighs with my hands, to no avail. My head swam. My vision blurred.

He ripped my head up, and I gasped, then coughed violently. I managed about two panicked breaths before he shoved my face back down around his cock, driving it deeper into my esophagus. I gagged again, heaved, fortunate there was nothing in my stomach to aspirate other than other people's cum. He held me there for a moment as my body spasmed, then released me again.

"We can keep doing this the hard way," Kyle said, "or you can make like a good little faggot and do it yourself." I looked up at him piteously, choking for oxygen. His eyes were cruel. I held his gaze long enough to steal a couple more ragged breaths, then nodded pathetically.

Somehow I managed to force myself down onto his cock without further assistance. It might as well have been somebody's arm. His giant tool stretched my lips and my throat, pinned my tongue against the base of my mouth. It took all of my jaw strength to prevent my teeth from scraping along his shaft. But I did it. I took him inside me until there was nowhere left for him to go — and that still left a few inches of him to spare.