Walking on the Wild Side

Walking on the Wild Side Ch. 02: by Nikita © 2005

Synopsis: When two beautiful roommates explore the wild side of life, they meet with unexpected consequences. Kymber gets swept away by Michael, an older man who sees her as a challenge to control. She turns into his sex slave and the training is brutal.

The arrogant Cindy, a human Barbie doll, meets her match in Patrick. He makes Cindy debase herself in a place where she is the queen, turning her into a slut.

~Blonde Bitch Collides With Thrifty Geeks~ 

"How would you like your steak done, sir?"

"Rare, just like you, honey," he leered.

"Yes, sir." I blushed on cue. "Loaded baked potato or fries?"

"Loaded taters," he said with his deep, Texas accent.

I nodded, and with a professional flourish, turned in the order and moved onto the next table. It was the best steakhouse in Houston, and my goal was tips, big tips. It was centrally located in the middle of several office parks and the clientele was well-heeled, except for the technology companies. They hired mostly geeks, thrifty geeks, and you could spot them a mile away. Sigh.

My yellow ponytail was perched high up on my head. The boss ordered a custom black vest to showcase my bulging breasts. The short, tight matching skirt made me feel sexy and when I bent over, you could see that I was wearing seamed stockings with garters. The boss said I was a vision on heels, when I was giving him a blowjob.

On slow nights, the boss sets up a wager with the staff. All of us participate to see who gets the most tips. I was often at the top of the list. The bet was this, whoever that got lowest tip on a check had to blow the boss and the busboys. The one with the highest tip got an extra 5% on top of it. I was in! I've won these bets before but the boss was known to be tricky, and tonight, he knew something I didn't.

Sure enough, there was a reservation for a big party made by one of the technology companies. When a group of oddballs walked in, they created enough attention that the other diners stopped what they were doing to look. It was the party from some "Geeks-R-US" technology company.

I was hoping they wouldn't be seated in my section, but, of course, the boss saw to it that they were. After they were given menus by the hostess, I gave them five minutes to settle down before I walked over to introduce myself.

Their eyes popped out of their bottle cap glasses when I sashayed over. The apparent leader of the group was Seymour. I knew because it said so on the outer flap of his plastic pocket protector.

Starting to my right, I asked, "Can I get you something to drink, sir?"

I used the special innocent schoolgirl voice; it was a fail-safe style that garnered more tips. It was as if I was speaking in tongues. I handed them the wine list and made a few suggestions. They were very quiet, trying to catch the drift of the wine lesson. I couldn't get a drink order out of them. They all asked for water! They were cackling some more, apparently, the water had gone to their brain. So I returned to get their order. They were quite animated.

"Can you pour yourself into a martini glass?" chortled Seymour.

I smiled prettily, even as I eyeballed his white headed pimples that looked ready to pop.

"Are you going to nurse the drink," I teased back? He wasn't expecting to be flirted with because he smiled and his face got red.

His fellow guest, who wanted some attention as well, made a poor attempt at a joke.

"Hey! In the mornings I wake up fully tented." He sprayed spittle as he continued, "What do I do?"

I wiped spray off my clothes and wanted to say, 'Hey buddy, I want the news, not the weather.'

Then, howling like little boys, they ordered martinis. Hey, what the fuck.

All of them ordered steaks and even splurged on dessert. They ate like college students who'd lived on nothing but condiments. I was working the table, giving my best service, and joked with them a bit, but I had a nagging thought that they weren't savvy enough to know how much to tip.

The Geeks stayed until closing and although I didn't rush them off, I brought the check to them to pay when they were ready. As soon as they left, I went to fetch the signed credit card slip and had already mentally calculated the tip. I was stunned and mad! They left me 10%. I ran after them to the parking lot.

"What did I do wrong?"

I was near tears because I'd lost the bet. They looked back at me quizzically.

"Nothing. We're just being thrifty," said Seymour.

On my knees after losing the bet, my lips slid up and down the boss's long pole. He was taking an unusually long time to cum and I watched with alarm as the line of busboys grew larger. Somehow, I was coming out on the short end of this deal. It was going to be a long night.

 

~Lucky Day~

Then, one lovely day, I was driving with the top down. The wind was blowing my hair straight back and I had the car on cruise control on the busiest street in Houston. Life was good!

As I sat at a traffic light, cigarette smoke was lazily blowing out of the side of my mouth, something obnoxious caught my eye, matching plaid shirts across the street! Damn bastards! It was those thrifty Geeks. Risking a nasty U turn, across the busy, six lane boulevard, I pulled up next to them with a tire screeching halt. Moving in slow motion, like a rerun of a car accident, I reached behind the seat and pulled out a sawed off baseball bat.

"Remember me?" I asked sweetly, trying to hide the bat behind me.

It was funny to see them rub their eyes under the bottle cap glasses. Maybe the sun was in their eyes, or was it my bright smile? I didn't care.

"Who . . . uh . . . do we KNOW you?" asked goofy.

"She's the martini girl! Cindy the martini girl!" cried Seymour. "From the restaurant...Remember?"

He looked at me with obvious joy and said, "Wow! Funny seeing you here."

"It's your lucky day," I said cheerily, and then went ‘Jack Nicholson’ on all over their car hood.

~Are You My Bitch?~

It was Saturday night, and the feeling was right to blow off some steam from the week. Kymber was looking cute in her black dress and boots, but I was dressed like a slut who looked like a Barbie doll. Soft, pink canyons peeked out of my halter top. It took awhile to get the kinks out of my long, blonde hair with the straightening iron. My eyes, fringed with cornflower blue eyeshadow, gave me the that $2 whore look, just as he ordered.

The point was, when I walked into the club with Kymber, all eyes would be on me.

Patrick, the studied chameleon, was standing nearby. We had an unspoken, ongoing tug-of-war to see which one of us, him or me, was more outrageous than the other. He nodded expectantly toward Seymour and his gaggle of Geeks.

Suddenly, my stomach turned queasy and I turned to Kymber and said, "Oh, shit!"

She knew by the way that I rolled my eyes that I was about to be fucked by fate! We'd had this discussion before, how fate has a way of biting you in the ass when you least expect it.

 

A lot of good that did me, because soon, I was on my knees in the men's room with one of them and it was his lucky day. Patrick locked the door. Seymour trembled with anticipation and looked at Patrick, then, at me. I saw Patrick give him the nod to go ahead.

Seymour pulled out his pathetic little pecker. It was leaking all over his pants and by the time I reached for it, he quickly came in my hands. I must have said something mean and stood up, but, Patrick signaled for me to stay put. I was impatiently tapping my foot.

"She hates me," whined needle dick.

"No, I don't think she hates you," consoled Patrick.

"Yeah, she does," Seymour insisted.

As Patrick tried to hide a grin, he agreed, "Yeah, I think she probably hates you."

He chucked Seymour under the chin, as if he were a little league baseball player who struck out.

"I'm obsessive about germs," mumbled Seymour as he washed his hands and face in the sink, then, handed me a paper towel.

Patrick turned impatient now and took over the scene.

"Seymour," said Patrick, grabbing my hair, "See her mouth? It is a pussy mouth. This is how you fuck a pussy mouth."

I made a big O with my lips and Patrick stuck his big dick in my red mouth. As usual, he was pulling my hair because he loves the way my screams cause vibrations in his balls. The hair pulling and throat fucking made me so hot. I was swimming in my own juices. My hand moved ever so slightly. Crack! He slapped me, hard. I thought I could sneak a little pussy play in while he was distracted, be he knows me.

"I'll tell you when, slut."

My eyes flashed with anger. He held my hands above my head and slowly pushed his python in again. I opened up my throat. His balls smashed on my chin and pubic hair pushed up my nose. He concentrated his efforts into a steady rhythm. Sliding his cock back and forth in my mouth, Patrick jammed it deep down my throat several times, unconcerned about suffocating me. He seemed determined to spurt directly into my stomach, so he held my head tightly with both hands. I struggled and wriggled, my face turned red, then white, and I dropped helplessly as he spewed down my throat. At one point, he eased back just a little for me to catch a breath, then dove deep again to release the last droplets of cum.

"Swallow bitch . . . that's it," he panted, but his cum was already well past my mouth.

Sputtering, I drained his balls.

"Now clean it."

Instinctively, my tongue swam like an eel, curled around his balls, then snaked up the pole to the tip. I sucked the glans for the last drops of dew as if I were born to do this. I'm such a slut.

Realizing that Seymour just observed one of the best blowjobs he'd ever seen, Patrick resumed the lesson, "That's how you do it."

Seymour's dick had revived and he asked eagerly, "Can I go again?"

Patrick laughed and stepped aside, "Go to it, tiger."

With geek bravado, he stuttered, "Lick my dick."

Seymour fisted his dick and rubbed it all over my face. I was pissed. Glaring at Patrick, I spat out Geek pre-cum. Patrick wagged his finger in a mocking way. I wanted to rethink this thing, so I hesitated, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation. Patrick pinched my nipple hard when Seymour silenced me with his dick. He clumsily jerked his pecker in and out, then toured my mouth as if he were sharpening his pencil. My breasts were fondled and nipples twisted. I sucked and licked his balls as he fought the urge to cum. Suddenly, a fart escaped from Seymour's butt. I stopped licking; it was so gross. Patrick observed the tug of war as tears of humiliation welled in my eyes. I must have looked pitiful, and hoped to tug at his heart. Patrick rewarded my diligence with a little treat.

"You can cum," Patrick said, "after Seymour."

Patrick said the magic words, 'you can come,' and I feverishly focused on bringing him off by fingering a spot between his balls and anus, pressing firmly with my digit. My other hand caressed his balls. That was sure to make him pop like cheap champagne. I sensed his balls contract as if to spew and I snuck my hand to frig my clit with frenzied speed. At last, Seymour lost the battle, and with great relish, sprayed my face with a drizzle of cum.

"Just desserts," he sneered, looking at me with satisfaction.

Seymour washed his spent dick in the sink and left with Patrick. I pulled out my lipstick and checked my hair, then took respite at the bar with Kymber. I was looking forward to the evening's end. However, my reverie was short lived when I saw the shark-like smile Patrick threw me. That simple act always sends blood pulsing to my pussy. Why? I don't know. He just knows how to make me do what he wants.

"What's going on Cindy?" asked Kymber as she observed the exchange.

Picking up my purse, putting on my best face, I followed him to the banquet room. I was fucked! He did it again! The rest of Seymour's friends were waiting for their turn with me. My slut pussy betrayed me with wet anticipation. Then, I spied the blinking red light of a video cam.

"What's going on here?" I hissed, evaluating the situation.

The sight of Patrick, the panting geeks, camera and tripod, it all sent me over the edge. There was even a pillow in front of the camera for me to kneel on!!!

As I spun around to glare at the grinning Patrick to voice my objection, he simply said, "They want their money's worth, they're thrifty."

"That's glib," I retorted and walked out.

I should have known it wasn't smart to disrespect him this way. Patrick quickly caught up with me, grabbed the back of my neck, and firmly walked me back into the banquet room. As he escorted me to a spot in front of the camera, he picked up the pillow off the floor where I was to kneel and service all those stinky little dicks. It took the last reserve of self control to keep from complaining, that, and having one of those dicks stuffed into my mouth. While Patrick stayed at my side, the boys stepped up, one after the other, and pumped and spewed all over me.

The last of the geeks blew his nuts all over my tits and shortly after, handed Patrick some money. I cursed and swore. The room was empty except for the two of us. Patrick's eyes narrowed and his nose flared.

"You do what I say, Cindy, if you want to be my bitch. That's all there is to it. So, what's it going to be? Are you my bitch or not?"

I was ignoring him, busily cleaning geek cum off my chest and lips, adjusting my skirt, and putting my heels back on. There was such a nasty after taste of salty snot in my mouth, I wanted to throw up, and using all the disgust I could muster, spit a wad of leftover cum on his shoes. As usual, I didn't think through the consequences of my rebellion.

"My bitch would have crawled on her knees to kiss my boots and tell me how grateful she is to be owned by me," he said.

I smarted at his remarks and lowered my moist eyes to the floor. My cheeks were flushed with embarrassment at his disapproval. I had to salvage the results of my actions. He had to show me the error of my ways and I knew it. Patrick turned in silence on his booted heel and left.

"Wait!" I ran after him, "I'm sorry."

Chastened, I followed as he burst from the smoky den into the cool, but humid night air. I struggled to keep pace with my skinny heeled shoes.

"Please. Please, talk to me." I pleaded with my practiced pitiful look, the one that strengthened the desire for sadistic pleasure in him was the same one, by happy chance, that tweaked the masochist in me.

His crotch always tightened at the verbal aphrodisiac, the word, please and a self-satisfied look crossed his face.

"I'll be back in five minutes," he said getting in his car, "If I find you standing in this exact spot, naked, then I'll talk to you."

"But, we're . . . outside."

"Yeah, I noticed," he said. "My bitches do as they're told."

~Being Bratty Can be a Bitch~

Sometimes the hardest part of being bratty is when you finally get what you really want. But now, all I wanted him to do was scoop me up in his arms and take me home for a good whipping with a hot fuck afterwards.

Patrick was experienced and self disciplined. The challenge of breaking through that controlled exterior fanned my desire. Tonight cemented one important thing. I needed to be dominated, pure and simple. The more I tested him, the harder he needed to come down on me. I wouldn't have it any other way. Above all things, his silence was an unspoken weapon and he used it like a maestro. I was afraid but enthralled with his power over me, this tacit control that drew me like a moth to a flame. He was the edge of the envelope that I'd pushed toward all my life.

There I was, at 2:00 a.m. in the morning, standing outside the club, teetering precariously on my Magnolias, naked.

As bad as I wanted to cover myself and run inside the club, the clock was ticking. Nothing could be worse than having Patrick return to see me disobeying him again. I'm certain he would leave me out there to fend for myself. Getting naked in public was a bit scary, but once I dropped my g-string, the last vestige of modesty, I felt strangely liberated. For my part, it was a real act of trust. I'd been completely overpowered and made to do something I didn't want to do, but needed to, all the same. He should be damn proud of me, even if I am a kinky bitch.

I tried to cover up my fleshy zeppelins with one hand and my pussy with the other. Shit! My clothes were on the ground, right where the bastard told me to put them. Kymber would have said I looked like Venus trying to deal with the twentieth century. At least I know who Venus is. Jimmy the bartender, a stand up guy, kept an eye out for me. I didn't think Patrick was going to leave his cash cow out here alone for one second.

"Hey, how ya doin?" Jimmy asked.

At the time, I didn't know Patrick enlisted Jimmy to be his operative, to extract information about my roommate and me. Jimmy did not disappoint partly because I think he had a crush on me, and because he was promised a piece of the action. The more Patrick found out, the more appealing I became, and of course, his suspicions were confirmed. It was common knowledge that I discarded lovers out of desperation. Little did I know that it was born from searching for the genuine barbarian. Patrick possessed and ravaged whomever he desired, and I hoped he thought I was worth the effort.

I was trembling like a leaf with goose bumps covering my skin like little sand dunes. Still, I stood there waiting for him, like the feisty little bitch that I am.

"I'm freezing my ass off!" I replied with great annoyance.

I bent down to rearrange the clothing on the ground when a gust of wind blew up my ass. Brrr!

"Can I use your jacket?" I pouted, "Please?"

"Come on, be a big girl now," consoled Jimmy, "I need this jacket for work tomorrow. Who knows where you'll be then?"

That ticked me off. He was enjoying this at my expense, and sure as shit, my bitch face returned, "What do you mean?"

With his hands in his pockets, Jimmy shrugged his shoulders, shuffled his feet and whistled 'Wild Thing' for my benefit. I GOT the meaning.

Patrick was parked five hundred feet away, watching with his binoculars. With twenty seconds to spare, he screeched to a stop in front of me, looked as if he wanted to fuck me, right then and there, but, managed a thin smile. Most men would give their left nut for the hard-on Patrick was sporting.

"Put these on, then, get in," I heard, as a pair of handcuffs, a leather collar, and a rubber ball gag were tossed out the window onto the pavement. My heart sang as I put the gag on first.

Patrick hummed along to the radio oblivious to the smell of my sex that permeated the car. The passenger door opened and a cool breeze hardened my nipples. He firmly gripped my wrist. We were in a deserted parking lot, and he wasn't the least bit worried that someone would see us.

As he came around to open the door for me, I was worried he was going to give me a smarting smack.

"This way," he said.

My pussy spasmed with urgency as I was dragged to the back seat. He put me across his lap and stroked it a few times before his firm hand connected fiercely with my ass.

"You've been a real brat!" he hissed as he spanked my butt, spacing the strokes in time with the words.

I was strangely excited as my bottom quickly reddened and became raw from this blistering session. He concentrated on spreading out the blows evenly and it throbbed when he was done. As his calloused hand repeatedly connected with my apple red cheeks, I could tell he wasn't holding back. I quivered with the blows and raised my ass upward to meet his hand. I played the brat, kicked wildly in feigned protestation as I felt the insistent pressure of his cock straining up at me.

He kept it up until I was on the verge of tears. Then he taunted, "What did you think would happen?"

I was unable to respond. With every stroke, my pussy flooded with undeniable pleasure. His punishment was so severe I wouldn't soon forget it, especially when I walked, moved, or tried to sit down. In unmistakable defiance, I flexed my cheeky muscles and kicked again to see what he would do.

"Don't make me take off my belt," he threatened.

I needed to feel his oily, leather belt on my tenderized ass. I hoped he would make it all better later. Maybe he'd apply some ice and a soothing salve and caress my pained cheeks, sit me on his cock, and bounce me to the outer limits of pleasure that would erase the memory of the pain. All the things he does to me I take as signs of control and attention, the kind of attention I go out of my way to get.

The first spanks are the ones that hurt the worst. Patrick lined up the first stroke across the crack of my ass and the next one directly above it. I drooled copiously, a side effect from the ball gag. Heavy drops of my tears spattered on the vinyl seat and made it slick.

Quickly, I stood upright and was ready to run blindly away from him, but Patrick held me in place and pushed me forward onto the warm hood of the car. My heart skipped a beat as he unzipped his pants and propped his dick against my slit. Patrick fingered the juice that dripped down my leg, then cleaved me with his steel rod in one stroke. He pumped slowly, savoring the sensation of the liquid silk.

I strained to enjoy the impalement, arched my back, and pumped against his hammering thrusts. His forehead gleamed with sweat as he struggled to contain the boiling spunk from his aching bullocks. Lust won out over greed and he pulsed his steaming seed into me with a wild rebel yell.

I kept focused on my goal and rubbed my mons on the hood ornament. My clit was raw as I jammed myself on Patrick's deflating stump. I didn't care about the pain. Reaching the apex of my desire, I screamed into the gag, and fainted, leaving an imprint of my sweaty breasts on the hood.

~The Tail Hook~

The acrid odor of smelling salts were being waved under my nose. He'd plugged my ears and laid me down on a padded gym mat. I was unable to hear anything but distant mumbles. He gently wiped me down with a warm, soapy wash cloth and rubbed my skin with a cream.

Patrick must have set up this evening earlier in the week with Jimmy's help. The two men donned black leather masks to hide their identities from the video cam on the tripod, ready to create more visual proof of me in the throes of pain, humiliation, and pleasure.

Trussed up like a turkey, my globes were separated with thick, soft rope that continued around my upper arms and across the back to form a type of harness. Another rope circled my waist several times, cinching like a corset. Ankles and calves were bent and bound to my thighs, forcing my back to arch and bottom to curve up obscenely. The back of my slave collar was attached to a stainless steel blunted tail hook inserted in into my ass. This position lined up my mouth and throat horizontally. The most frustrating part was the immobilization of my head. I couldn't thrash because I was controlled by the hook restraint. I tried to scream out my frustration through the ball gag.

I'd been bound to balance horizontally from the ceiling. My collar, rope harness, and ankles were attached to heavy construction chain. Presented like a piece of raw sushi, I was served up by a pair of strong and meaty hands while being hoisted up with the pulley. Once I was raised to the desired height, the chain was secured. Struggling was fruitless as my limbs were stretched into impossible contortions by the weight of my body. My breasts looked like a pair of toddlers’ heads hanging from my chest and caused someone's cock to point skyward like a steel pole. Stroked and pinched nipples hardened before a painful set of nipple clamps were attached to them. My pussy clenched with desire as I winced in pain. I am a world class slut.

The ball gag was removed, Ora-gel was applied to my lips in preparation for the battering they were about to receive and it would have a numbing effect that would make the men last a whole lot longer. Holding my ponytail for leverage, glans rubbed over my slick lips and I licked the newcomer with enthusiasm and attempted to suck the corona. My mouth needed widening in order to accommodate the thickness of his rod. The fist sized cock stretched my mouth. Trying to shield my lower teeth with my tongue in order not to scratch the underside of his cock was an impossible effort. Gently rocking back, he fed me his dick an inch or two at a time, testing the width and depth of my throat, tight on all counts. Taking a different tack toward the ultimate goal, he lifted his smooth, lemon sized balls to my liquid lips. I knew it was not Patrick because this one's pole and balls were hairy.

He delighted in the licentiousness of anonymity as I rocked back and forth on his spike, reveling in the debasement evident by the puddle of cream on the mat under my cunt. If anything, I was happy to be spared the bobbing and bending of my throat to accommodate his log.

"She can deep throat like a fag. Shove it in deeper, but give her a chance to breathe once in awhile." Patrick crowed.

After he adjusted the focus of the camcorder, Patrick quickly slid under my steamy hole. He tugged on the nipple clamps while he sucked my bud. I protested when he moved his finger to the tail hook. He rimmed all around the tail hook, taking his good old time. Unable to express my ardor any other way, I vigorously flexed my toes. Taking note of my possible impending orgasm, Patrick returned to pressure my clit with his tongue, alternating by gently suckling my puffy, pussy lips.

He trained me to respond like Pavlov's dogs and quickly pulled off the nipple clamps as my pussy convulsed in a climax, causing my dick-stuffed mouth to open in a silent scream.

Jimmy took advantage of this golden opportunity to drive his tool deep in one lunge, but was not satisfied until the bulge in my throat was caused by his throbbing cock. He held onto my ponytail until his sperm jetted into my mouth. I swallowed instinctively, unable to take in air. I gagged and spewed. The thick, rank cum leaked from the corners of my mouth and nostrils. I openly cried when his cock softened and slipped out of my mouth. Then, the gentleman bartender used a cool washcloth to dab my battered face.

"My turn."

They lowered me to the ground and unhooked my sore tail. Relieved the worst was over, I begged for water and downed a full bottle with a straw. They gave me a few minutes to recover.

Jimmy brought along his favorite leather flogger with twenty-four tails. He had dreamed of using this on my teasing ass. He'd honed his strokes over the years on many a tender bum and knew how to vary the pace and strength of his strokes to bring the person to their final goal with mind-blowing ecstasy and pain.

Placed on my knees, breasts hanging over a padded bench, the sex acts had been all carefully planned and choreographed. This was going to be the last hurrah of the evening. Patrick nodded to Jimmy and soft strips of the flogger began to warm up my ass. Jimmy alternated from side to side with a steady rhythm to evenly marks the cheeks. I'd reached the point where the pain was almost unbearable and squawked in protestation, but Patrick grabbed my tongue and held it like a vise while he turned around and guided it to his musky ass. He encased my face between his murky cheeks and I passed out from lack of air. The smelling salts revived me and he began again. I'd figured if I didn't cooperate, he'd keep smothering me until I did.

Patrick rubbed himself back and forth on my tongue until his asshole opened like a flower. Probing deeply, I held my breath. Setting the bar on personal best for hardness, he fucked my pointed tongue while he jerked his cock to the mounting climax.

"That's it, rim my stinky asshole, you ass-licking, fucking whore," he babbled breathlessly.

I was in no position to complain.

Meanwhile, Jimmy's dick came back to life at the sight of his work on my well-marked ass. He rubbed my ass cheeks as if they were hot cross buns. Scrambling for lube, he put a finger full around his cock head and massaged the rest in my rosebud. Luckily, the tail hook had doubled for a butt plug. Jimmy fisted his tube steak and snaked it into the narrow passage, flying in the resistance of my sphincter.

"God, it feels SO good! Open up for daddy."

Jimmy gauged the flex of his cock by the sound of my grunts. At this point, his urgency to fully penetrate his princess was too much to control and I screamed as he speared the tender tissue. I tried to pull away but couldn't.

"Come back to daddy. It's going to be all better real soon," he crooned.

Feeling my nose poking further up his ass, Patrick's spunk boiled up from his swollen balls. He turned around and bathed my face with thick, salty strings of jism.

Jimmy grabbed my waist for leverage and forced me further back onto his dick. He was balls deep and I squeezed instinctively. Finding that a sign of acquiescence, he renewed the frantic pumping. He roughly grabbed a bobbing melon, twisting on the nipple. The slut in me loved the feeling of a full asshole being pistoned to its outer limits. I squeezed my rectum in staccato with impending orgasm. As Jimmy pushed me to the crest, I screamed as I stiffened, then, crumbled under him. The bull grabbed my lifeless body, and rabbit fucked me into oblivion, shooting his fluid inside my ravaged bowels.

This was sure to be a money making hit, the helpless form, skewered by two masked and muscled men, a receptacle for their spunk, and a classic picture of obscenity. And me, the bratty bitch from Cleveland, engineer of my own demise, wallowing in the pool of humiliation and sordid attention that was my destiny.