Perfect Little Slut

Slowly, carefully, I pressed my head down, filling myself with him. Then back up, gingerly, mindful of my teeth. I took a breath through my nose. And then back down again, sealing off my windpipe. At any moment he could have held me there and I would have suffocated on his cock. He didn't. Back up again. Another breath. And then again. And again.

Once I'd worked myself into a tentative rhythm I began to wonder how long I'd be able to keep this up. I wasn't getting enough oxygen, and my jaw was on fire. And then I felt something hard press against the outside of my asshole. Not hard like an erect penis; hard as in solid. Like glass.

Reflexively, I let Kyle's huge tool slip out of my mouth and turned my head to see what was happening behind me. But before I could turn far enough to see, Kyle roughly grabbed my face and turned it back to him.

"Don't worry about what's going on back there," he sneered. "Concentrate on what you're doing right here," he pointed at his rock-hard cock. I took a second to marvel at its size, enjoyed a few deep breaths, and decided not to burn his short fuse. I resumed swallowing his monster, but my wary attention was on the pressure at my asshole.

It was a beer bottle, of course. Ryan was pressing the lip of a beer bottle against my hole, trying to impale me with it. I wanted to object, but I was too afraid of Kyle and, anyway, when Anna and I had worked out the short list of kinks that would be off limits, having foreign objects inserted into my rectum hadn't been among the agreed-upon exclusions.

My well-used ring relented to the pressure as I bobbed down on Kyle's meat once again, and I felt the glass tube slide into my hole. The collar of the bottle seemed smooth enough not to cut me, so I wasn't overly alarmed, but as he twisted it in deeper, I quickly realized that the neck was tapered; it widened toward the body of the bottle. The further in he pushed it, the farther open it stretched my hole.

Up and down my head worked its way along Kyle's shaft. The inside of my throat was battered and tender. Ryan shoved the bottle harder, and my hips rocked forward, shirking away from its girth. Undeterred, he followed my movement and pushed in again. The bottle's curved neck forced my ring open as far as it had ever been, and he kept pushing. Stretching me. It hurt terribly, and I whimpered nearly inaudibly around Kyle's flesh. But I didn't stop.

Ryan was fucking me now with the bottle while I skewered my throat with Kyle's cock. Each thrust felt like it was making tiny rips in the muscles of my ring. I wondered why he was fucking me with an object instead of his cock. I supposed it was just to demean me and hurt me. Tears were flowing down my face. Kyle noticed. He laughed.

My jaw was like rubber. I couldn't keep this up much longer. I was terrified what Kyle would do when I quit on him. Ryan apparently got bored with bottle-fucking me, and I felt the smooth glass withdraw. I don't think my asshole closed completely when it did.

In a stroke of luck, just as I was knitting together what my feeble apology to Kyle was going to be for giving up on his blowjob, he grabbed me viciously by the neck and shoved me to the floor, where I landed awkwardly on my back. My head lolled to one side.

"That's probably enough foreplay," he said casually. I lay there on the worn carpet, gasping and coughing, my skirt up around my waist exposing my bare, shrunken genitals, my legs askew. I was slightly dazed, my eyes unfocused, and I noticed only in passing when both of them began to take their clothes off. I don't know how long I lay there before I was shaken out of my daze. Literally.

Kyle knelt over me and took my shoulders in his hands and jolted me back to reality. His hulking form was naked, his giant cock still erect.

"You're not done yet, bitch," he said. I groaned. He cackled and grabbed me underneath my armpits, lifted me up like I was a doll and tossed me onto the near side of the bed, face up. I could feel bits of debris from the carpet stuck to the makeup on my cheek. "Time for the main event. You're gonna want to be awake for this part." I turned my head toward his voice. He was standing over me next to the bed. Ryan was beside him, also naked, also muscular, and his tool was — like everything else — almost as big as Kyle's.

Ryan glanced over at the nightstand, spotted the box of condoms and picked it up. He looked inside it and made a face.

"Hey Kyle," he said in a deep voice I hadn't heard since they walked in. "Bitch is out of rubbers." I closed my eyes. Oh shit. Was that good or bad, I wondered. Were they going to be mad? Was I going to have to suck them both off now? I didn't think my jaw could handle it. And it could take forever. I was so exhausted. This had turned into nightmare.

"Fuck it," Kyle answered. "Gimme the lube." Oh no. This was one of the few things Anna and I agreed would be off-limits. This was supposed to be safe sex only.

"No," I protested weakly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I can't —"

"Shut the fuck up," Kyle interrupted. "If you wanted me to use a fucking rubber, you shouldn't have run out of rubbers." Dread resignation settled in. There was no fight in me.

Kyle walked around to where my badly scuffed high-heel shoes were jutting out from the foot of the bed. I lay helplessly and watched him rub lubricant onto his cock. He tossed the bottle back to Ryan, who placed it back on the nightstand. Kyle took me by the ankles and pulled me toward him until my ass was at the bottom edge of the bed, then he pushed my legs back until me knees were pressed against my chest. My left arm dangled, limp, off the side of the bed.

Kyle held both of my fragile ankles in place above my head with one enormous hand and, without prelude, drove his cock into my ass. The pain was overwhelming, but I didn't have the energy to scream. I simply mewled helplessly. He didn't pause to let me get used to his size. He just started battering me immediately, his rod like an industrial piston slamming through the weak resistance of my interior flesh.

The ring of my hole felt like it had swollen lips from the abuse it had sustained throughout the evening. It ached around his shaft as he punched my guts with his immense knob. I stared up and focused on my pretty, painted toenails rather than suffer the cruel fury of Kyle's expression.

"Over here, bitch," came Ryan's voice from above and beside me. I feebly turned my head to the left. Ryan's prodigious black cock pointed threateningly at my face. "Open up," he ordered. I hesitated only a fraction of a second, then did as I'd been told, my jaw muscles creaking in protest.

Ryan angled my head back and pivoted his hips slightly, ensuring a direct route to my throat. It occurred to me, almost too late, to take a breath before he entered me. And it was a good thing, too, because, like Kyle, he had no interest in a gradual approach. He shoved his thick meat through my open mouth and past my tonsils, cutting off my airway. He held it there for a second, his leathery ball sack resting against my cheek — my gag reflex apparently too exhausted to intervene — and then withdrew until his cock head was in my mouth again, my lips wrapped around the underside of his glans.

"Suck on it," Ryan said. I did, almost enthusiastically, as I was able to breath again through my nose while I squeezed and massaged his manhood with my mouth and tongue. I did my best to hold my lips firmly around him so he wouldn't slip out as my whole body shook with the savage rutting Kyle was inflicting on my asshole and my insides. I concentrated on stimulating him, trying somehow to hasten things along. I even reached out with my dangling left hand and caressed the back of his leg while I serviced him.

"That's real good, bitch," Ryan said eventually. "I'm gonna fuck your face now," he was kind enough to warn me. I inhaled deeply, and he shoved forward, pressing himself steadily into my gullet. And then back about halfway out — not far enough to open my airway — and back in, and then halfway out. My lungs burned. All the way back in, and then he withdrew until his head was back in my mouth and I could exhale and gasp a breath, but he went immediately back in again.

He repeated this cycle. Disturbing retching noises emanated from within me, and my body shook both from Kyle's violent fucking and from my involuntary reaction to gradually increasing oxygen debt as Ryan's cock claimed my esophagus over and over. Drool poured out of my mouth around Ryan's shaft and ran down my cheek.

"Hey, man," I heard Kyle say, panting. I couldn't turn my head to see him. "You want some of this ass?" I guessed he was talking to Ryan, whose ebony tool was deeply ensconced in my throat.

"Shit, man," Ryan responded, pausing his assault on me, "You crazy. I ain't fucking this filthy bitch without no rubber."

"Suit yourself," Kyle said, and redoubled his efforts.

The two of them worked on me, almost in unison. One huge cock filling my anal cavity, the other occupying my oral cavity. I felt Kyle switch his grip; now he had one of my ankles in each hand, and he spread them apart, the bed creaked as he leaned into his assault.

My eyes flicked up and I caught a glimpse of Ryan's rippling abdominal muscles flexing as he fucked my face. A thin sheen of perspiration glistened in the lamp light as he labored, using me, filling me. I felt one of his hands grip my blonde wig; it gave slightly but stayed on.

In that moment, I was nothing more than two warm holes being packed with huge cocks. Sounds of moist slapping and grunts of different pitches echoed through the room.

I didn't even realize I was doing it when my right hand reached down and took hold of my dick. Somehow the brutality of my predicament, my helplessness, had awakened something in me. Despite the pain, Kyle's massive tool was sending ripples of arousal through my body as it slammed into me. The sensation of having what seemed like the entire length of my body impaled with cock was so demeaning and emasculating. I tingled. Kyle noticed.

"Holy shit," he grunted. "Little cunt is fucking LOVING this!" He barked out a laugh and fucked me faster, battering my inner wall.

Ryan's strokes were getting faster, too, my opportunities to breathe a casualty of his ardor. I stroked my own shaft, getting hard now, excitement building.

"Aw shit," Ryan grunted, and a spurt of hot cum hit the back of my mouth. I expected him to drive back in and deposit his seed directly into my belly, but instead he pulled out and pumped his shaft with his hand, spraying my face and hair, spurts landing on my neck and my red top. I coughed and gasped, finally having an unfettered windpipe for the first time in ... who knows how long that had taken.

Kyle lifted my ankles higher, raising my ass off the bed as he drove his piston into my gut. Faster. Harder. His balls slapped the base of my spine as he impaled me. Now that my mouth was empty it was free to emit guttural noises of aching and exhaustion and submission and indulgence. I continued to rub myself.

"Look at you, you fucking whore," Kyle bothered to sneer, despite that he was out of breath with exertion. "Just can't get enough cock can you." Slam. Slam Slam. His cock head ramming home. "Your holes are fucking destroyed, and it's actually turning you on." Slap. Slap. Slap. His balls smacking my skin.

I felt the tingle of an orgasm beginning to develop. I looked up between my legs and saw Kyle, red face locked in a contemptuous smirk, his massive body shoving forward, into me. I jerked myself faster.

He leaned over me then and seized me by the neck, thrust his cock up into my depths, further than he had before. Something felt broken inside me. He squeezed my throat, choking me, and let out a terrible yell. I tried and failed to inhale as I felt the heat of his seed rush into my bowels. He kept pistoning, pumping more of his cum into me and plunging it deep into my inner reaches. I furiously yanked on my cock, trying to bring my orgasm to fruition, trying to get release.

His cock spasmed inside me, emptying itself, filling me. He held himself still, glaring down at me, panting. And then, abruptly, he withdrew, unshackling my throat, ripping his cock out of my ass and standing up at the foot of the bed. I clenched my eyes closed, gasping for air, still manipulating myself frantically, and tried to concentrate on reaching climax. But it wasn't getting any closer. It was slipping away. Denying me. Taunting me. Some combination of exhaustion and vodka and ... emptiness conspired against me.

My hand slowed. Stopped. Gave up.

I lay there for a moment. I heard the ruffling and jingling sounds of clothes being put on. When I opened my eyes Ryan was already fully dressed, finishing off another beer. Kyle was tucking in his shirt. He glanced at me and laughed.

"Can't come without a cock inside you, huh, faggot?" I whimpered almost silently. "Too bad," he jeered. "You already served your purpose." He put the finishing touches on his clothes and turned to Ryan. "Ready?"

"Yep," Ryan answered and grabbed the remaining beers in his free hand. Then they simply left.

I couldn't move. I couldn't open my eyes. I could barely breathe. I felt cum hardening, cool on my face and dripping, still warm from my ass. I took a minute to bask in the stillness of the silent room. I wanted to just let myself drift into the darkness. But some part of my consciousness sounded a warning note. A Pavlovian reflex developed over the course of long hours had my ears tuned, awaiting the sound of a knock at the door.

I rolled over, forgetting which side of the bed I was on, and landed in a heap on the floor. One of my heels caught in the sheet as I fell and twisted my ankle. I winced. Then slowly, painfully, I raised myself to my knees, pulled myself to my feet with the aid of the nightstand, and hobbled carefully into the bathroom.

I wasn't at all prepared for the sight I beheld in the mirror. My makeup was a ruin. Mascara and eyeliner ran down my face in thick, dark, tear-carved rivulets. My blush and foundation were pocked with dirt and lint. My lipstick was smeared into a grotesque, clownish frown. All of it was clotted with thick, semi-dry ejaculate.

As was my beautiful, blonde wig, which clumped together in places and had been ripped halfway off my scalp to hang limply to the side over one ear. My throat bore deep bruises. My clothes were torn and stained, and wet with cum and sweat and spit. I leaned on the counter, helpless, knowing there was no way I could manage another reset.

I felt a drizzle of cum — Kyle's cum — trickle its way down the inside of my leg. My hands were shaking. I tremulously filled a glass with water from the sink and sipped it. Closed my eyes. Took another sip. I considered possibilities. I could wash my face and reapply my makeup, not meticulously, of course. I could comb some of the cum out of the wig and refasten it in a couple of places. I could —

— There was a knock at the door. Oh no. Oh no no no no no . . . . Then a chirping sound followed by a brief mechanical whir, and the sound of the door opening. I limped out of the bathroom and came face to face with Anna. She looked at me, and her eyebrows went up.

"Oh my," she said. "You look like you've had rough go of it. Are you okay, dear" she asked, sounding sincere. "Wait — come in here and sit down, you poor thing." She led me into the room, and I smoothed my miniskirt before settling down onto the desk chair. I noticed with relief that she had my rollaway with her. She unshouldered her large bag and reached into it, removing a smaller paper sack. She placed that on the desk.

"Some food," she said. "You must be famished. Now, *are* you okay?" I looked at her and took a deep breath, considering the question.

"Well," I began. "I guess so. I mean, I don't think I have any real injuries." My hand went absently to my throat. I could feel a wet spot forming in the nylon of my skirt beneath my still-dripping asshole.

"But those last two guys . . . . They didn't follow the rules," I said, almost feeling guilty saying it for some reason. "I ran out of condoms, but they insisted on fucking me anyway — at least one of them did; the other one wouldn't and just used my — you know, my mouth." She looked at me sharply.

"Two guys," she asked. "Which two guys?"

"The huge blonde guy and his black friend ... Kyle and Ryan," I answered. Her expression darkened.

"That son of a bitch," she said, to herself mostly. She considered it for a beat, then looked back at me and sighed in resignation. "Well, it's a hazard of the job, I suppose." What did that mean?

"Anyway, my dear," she regained her placid demeanor, "I look forward to hearing all about your escapades, but that can wait. You're hungry and exhausted. You should eat something and get to bed. You can sleep here tonight. But first . . . ." She reached into her bag and rummaged around for a few seconds, then withdrew a sizable stack of cash. "We must settle accounts." I looked at her, mute. Confused.

"It was a very good night," she said as she rifled through the stack. "Now then. There's the cost of the room." Anna peeled away a chunk of the stack and set it on the desk in a neat pile. She turned back to me, scrutinizing me up and down with a mild scowl. "Replacement cost of ruined garments — you really need to be more careful with those." She counted off another significant portion of the stack and set it on the pile. I furrowed my brow, unsure what was happening.

"And my professional services, of course," she said lightly, stripping away most of the remaining bills and further padding the pile. "Last but not least," she said, almost with fanfare, "Your share." She extended her hand toward me, holding the few remaining notes. I hesitated.

"Go on, dear, take it," she urged. "You certainly earned it." I looked at her, uncomprehending. I blinked. She nodded toward the money, encouraging me with a smile. I reached out tentatively and accepted it.

"That's a good girl," she said approvingly. I peeked at my hand. Three $20 bills. That had to put her stack well into the hundreds.

"I don't understand," I said with growing dismay.

"Oh, I think you do," she said in a placating tone. "Congratulations, darling, you're a whore. Literally. A prostitute. You just had sex with men in exchange for money." My blood went cold. "A lot of men," she added.

"No ... no," I stammered, "I didn't ... I mean, I was just ..."

"Oh, relax," she said, her tone soothing. "Are you such a puritan suddenly? You wanted to dress up and get used by men, and you got to experience that fantasy. Are you going to scoff at both of us having a little compensation to show for your effort?"

I didn't know what to say. I looked her her, dumbfounded, then at the bills in my hand. Then a thought occurred to me. I exhaled with a measure of relief. Yes, of course. I almost grinned. Anna hadn't just helped me feel like a slut. She'd gone the extra mile and given me the adventure of feeling like a whore — a true whore. Right down to the money in my hand.

But that raised other questions. Troubling ones. How had she found the customers? Was there an online ad? Did it have pictures of me? I'd just committed a crime, repeatedly. Could I be sure I was in the clear? It was a lot to absorb. It had been a wild ride, but I wasn't at all comfortable with the risks she'd taken. I noticed the brown sack she'd said contained food; my stomach rumbled, and I set my concerns aside.

"I guess not," I said.

"Good, dear. That's good," she said as though settling the issue. "Next time perhaps we can keep the overhead down — a less upscale location — and increase your share." I chuckled softly.

"I'm not so sure about a next time, Anna," I said doubtfully. "I don't think I could go through this again."