The cameraman clicked ‘pause’, freezing the raw video on a glistening, obscene masterpiece. Emily’s face was contorted in the throes of a powerful orgasm, her mouth a filthy, open cavern filled with a frothing, milky cocktail of recycled spew and piss. “We have to get her back, ” Bootleg’s voice was a low growl of pure avarice. “Yup, she’s gonna make us a fucking fortune. How are we gonna do it though? We didn’t exactly go easy on the dumb bitch, ” the cameraman chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. “And we need to get to her before this fucking video drops, because there ain’t no way in hell she’ll ever want to come back after her friends and family see her like this!” he continued, gesturing at the screen with a greasy finger. “When’s her flight?” Bootleg enquired, his eyes never leaving the frozen image of Emily’s debasement. “Tomorrow night.” “Then let’s get the cunt back today.” “How the fuck are we going to do that? The bitch will barely be able to fucking walk today!” “If you get her here, I can get her to shoot again, ” Bootleg assured him, a predator’s smile playing on his lips. “The cunt fucking loves me. Think of something.” The cameraman leaned back in his creaking chair, laced his hands behind his head, and a vile, calculating grin spread across his face. “Leave it with me...”
*
The buzzing of her phone dragged Emily from a deep, painful sleep. What time is it? Fuck! She glanced at the screen, the light searing her tired eyes. 4 p.m. She’d slept the entire day away. She tried to roll over, a sharp, aching throb radiating from between her legs making her wince. Oh, right. The memory of the previous day crashed over her, a sickening wave of shame and... something else. A dark, coiling heat low in her belly that stubbornly refused to be extinguished by the shame. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she picked up the phone. A text from the cameraman.
“Hey, I just realized that we forgot to get some stills of you at yesterday’s shoot. It’s nothing hardcore - we just need you to stop by to do some promo shots for us. Ring me ASAP to arrange a time. We’ll send a car for you, and shoot you some extra cash for your trouble.”
Shit. The absolute last fucking place on earth she wanted to be was back in that studio. That den of filth and humiliation. Maybe if she just ignored them, they’d forget it. She dropped the phone back on the bedside table like it was on fire. A few seconds later, it started ringing, the caller ID flashing the cameraman’s name. She ignored it. It rang out. Phew. Then it started again immediately. Fuck! They’re not going to stop, are they? With a trembling hand, she tapped ‘accept.’
“Emily, how are you? Great scene yesterday!” the cameraman’s voice was sickeningly enthusiastic down the line.
“Ummm, yeah it was... okay, ” Emily somberly replied, hating the weakness in her own voice.
“Boots was over the moon! I just got off the phone to him. He loves working with you! He’ll actually be here later while we’re taking your stills. He said he’d love to catch up before you go.”
Silence on the line. Emily’s breath hitched. He loved working with me?
“Hello, are you still there?”
“Um, yeah I’m here, ” came her confused, hesitant reply. “He really said that?”
“Said you were the best he’s ever had!” the cameraman gushed, laying it on thick.
“Oh... well, I guess I can come in and do the stills. I’ll need to get ready though.”
“No need, just throw some clothes on. I’ll get a makeup girl to come doll you up. We’ll make you look great for these!” the cameraman went on, his voice dripping with fake cheer.
“Ok, I can be ready to go in an hour then, ” Emily replied, the decision made for her by the sudden, treacherous pulse between her legs.
“Excellent, a car will be ready. See you soon!” He hung up.
Emily sat there, a confused and distant look on her face. And a slow, undeniable trickle of warm pussy juice slid down her inner thigh.
Meanwhile, over at the office, the cameraman smiled his evil, triumphant smile to himself. What a dumb, needy cunt.
*
Emily was back in the chair in the cameraman’s office. This time, a makeup girl, Jenny�a trashy-looking thing with tattoos snaking up her arms�was carefully dabbing at her face with a sponge. “Wow, you’re so fucking pretty!” Jenny enthused, standing back to admire her work. “Look at you!” She smiled a friendly, conspiratorial smile at Emily. Emily managed a shy, hesitant smile back. The cameraman, sitting quietly in the corner, smirked to himself. Jenny had been carefully instructed on her role, and she was playing her part perfectly. His phone buzzed. A text from Bootleg. “How’s it going?” Boots was waiting outside in his car, ready for his grand entrance.
“Bitch has taken the fucking bait, just got to reel her in now, ” he typed back.
There was a knock at the door. “Come in.” A youngish guy walked in, a camera bag slung over his shoulder. He was surprisingly good-looking, Emily thought. He flashed her a warm, professional smile. She smiled back, a genuine one this time. Maybe this is going to be okay.
The cameraman stood up. “Ok, so all we need are some softcore stills. You smiling at the camera, a few different poses, a couple of sexier ‘teasing’ ones. You know, stuff to arouse interest, but still leave a little mystery. You cool with that?”
“Ummm, sure, ” Emily replied. It sounded a thousand times less intense than yesterday.
“Let’s go into the studio then.”
They all followed him in. Emily’s breath caught as the infamous couch came into view, but it looked almost innocent today. The studio was clean, bright, almost like the set of a daytime talk show. But a visceral flashback�the smell of sweat, the feeling of being stretched and filled�jumped into her mind and she gulped nervously. And, she noticed with a jolt, her fucking pussy gave a little spasm of need. Fuck! This shit does not turn you on anymore, Emily! She plastered on a brave smile, walked over to the couch, and sat down. See? Confidence.
The cameraman, who had been watching her like a hawk, knew better. He could read the desperate flicker in her eyes, the slight tremble in her hands. Fuck, she is so unbelievably dumb, he thought, nearly laughing out loud.
“Ok, I’ll let Tom here take over. Emily, just listen to him. He knows what to do. It’s all easy peasy.” He gave her his most disarming smile.
“Ok, ” Emily replied, keeping the fake smile firmly in place.
Tom took his camera out and began. “Ok, Emily, just smile at the camera for me. Yeah, like that. That’s lovely! Now, lean back and turn to the side a bit. Yeah, like that. Hold it. Great!” The camera clicked rhythmically. After a couple of minutes, Emily visibly relaxed, even starting to enjoy the attention. The cameraman waited. His phone buzzed again. “What’s happening?”
“Come on in in 5 minutes, ” he replied.
“This is actually quite fun!” Emily thought as she pouted seductively for the camera. Her panties were definitely getting wetter. Even though her cunt ached from yesterday’ brutal fucking, it was now throbbing with a warm, insistent energy that pushed the pain into the background. And then the door opened.
Fuck. It’s him.
In walked Bootleg, strutting like he owned the entire fucking world. “Evening, folks.” He nodded to the crew, his eyes landing on Emily. “Hey, Emily.” That’s the first time he’s actually said my name. The thought sent a thrill straight to her already-damp core. Her pussy clenched, shifting into a higher gear of desperate wanting.
“Thought I’d pop in and say hi to my star before she left town, ” Bootleg said, his smile a weapon.
“Th-thanks, ” Emily stammered.
“Looking good. How are the pics going?”
“Ummm, great!” she replied, her voice a little too high.
“Mind if I watch?”
“Sure!”
Boots straddled a chair backwards, his arms resting on the back, and just stared at her. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Click, click, click. The shoot continued. “I think I’m nearly done, ” Tom told the cameraman.
“Ummm, yeah it all looks good to me.” The cameraman pretended to think. “But, since Boots is here now, get a couple of shots of them together. You guys don’t mind?” He looked at Bootleg and Emily.
Boots stood up immediately. “No fucking worries.”
Everyone turned to look at Emily. “Ummm, sure, ” she said, bowing to the overwhelming pressure.
Bootleg sat next to her on the couch, his thigh pressing against hers. She could feel the heat of him through his jeans.
“Ok, put your hand on his thigh, and gaze longingly at his crotch, ” the cameraman instructed, taking over.
She nervously complied, placing her hand on the rough denim covering his powerful leg. Her fingers were inches from the thick bulge she could already see straining against his zipper.
“Great! Now, Boots, grab her tit.”
He reached out without hesitation and grabbed her right breast, squeezing it firmly. The sudden contact, the possessiveness of his grip, sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to her clit. She bit her lip to stop a moan.
“Great, hold that. Now, Emily, reach over and grab his cock.”
This isn’t softcore, she thought dimly, but her hand was already moving, driven by a need deeper than reason. She placed her palm directly onto the hard, hot ridge of his erection straining against his jeans. Fuck. The heat was immense, radiating up her arm. She could feel her own juices beginning to seep profusely onto her cotton panties.
“That looks really fucking good, you two! Hold that.” The cameraman directed Tom to take photos from every angle. All Emily could concentrate on was the sheer, solid mass of his cock under her hand. How could it be so fucking hard, so fucking hot?
The cameraman noticed the deep flush on her cheeks. I’ve got you now, you stupid cunt, he thought victoriously.
“Ok, now flip around and stick your ass up in the air, Emily. Yeah, like that.”
Emily complied, leaning forward and presenting her ass. A cool waft of air rushed up her thighs under her light summer dress.
“Now, Boots, kneel up next to her head. Emily, grab his cock again. And Boots, grab her ass.”
Bootleg reached down with both hands and squeezed her ample buttocks, his fingers digging into her flesh. It took every ounce of her willpower not to gasp out loud. Click, click, click.
“Ok, hike her dress up a bit.”
Bootleg grabbed the thin fabric and dragged it up, exposing her simple white cotton panties. Emily, mesmerized by the aching in her pussy and the hard cock in her hand, barely registered it.
“Ok, that looks great. Now, pull her panties down a bit.”
Before she could even process the command, Bootleg had hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slid them down, exposing the full, pale swell of her ass. She gasped as the cool air hit her damp pussy lips.
“Nice! Freeze there, that’s a fucking great photo!” the cameraman commanded.
Emily froze, terrified that any movement would cause her to embarrass herself, to let the slickness between her legs become visible to everyone.
“Ok, now play with her cheeks a bit, Boots.”
Bootleg grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and began massaging, kneading the flesh, then slightly spreading her apart. Emily bit down on her bottom lip harder, a second audible gasp threatening to escape. He got more adventurous, pulling her cheeks wider and wider apart. She sensed Tom moving in for a closer shot, the lens focusing on her most intimate exposure.
Suddenly, Boots pulled her ass cheeks open as far as they could go, leaned down so his lips were nearly touching her ear, and whispered, his breath hot against her skin, “You want to get fucked again, don’t you?”
She looked up at him, startled. “I... I...” she stammered, her mind reeling.
“I know you want me to fuck you again. I can fucking smell your cunt from here. It’s dripping onto the carpet, you filthy bitch. Don’t you want me inside you again?” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive drawl. “Just say the word, and you and I can have some real fun again. Wouldn’t you fucking love to feel me sliding in and out of that tight little cunt again? Didn’t you fucking love how that felt?”
He chuckled inwardly. How many times could he cram the word ‘love’ in? Stupid, eager bitch.
He could see the war on her face, a mix of raw longing and deep-seated apprehension. He took one finger and lightly, tauntingly, brushed it over her slick pussy lips.
Her whole body quivered violently. A little whimper escaped her lips.
“Imagine how much you’d fucking love to feel me sliding into you.” He then smoothly moved the same finger to press firmly against her tiny, clenched, and completely virgin asshole. “And I don’t own you completely yet, anyway. You’re still a little anal virgin. I want the complete fucking set.”
She gasped louder this time, and she could feel a fresh, hot gush of her own juice spilling out of her.
He massaged the little hole casually. “Don’t worry, I’m a fucking professional. I’ll slide in like it’s nothing.” And to punctuate his point, he gently probed his finger a mere half-inch into the tight, forbidden ring of muscle.
The heat inside her was an inferno now. The dark, hungry voice in her head screamed, shoving all other thought aside. YOU NEED TO GET FUCKED. NOW!
She looked up at Bootleg, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and undeniable, desperate need. “Please, ” she whimpered, the word a pathetic, broken sound.
Boots straightened up and gave the cameraman a sharp, definitive thumbs up.
Game the fuck on.
Like a well-oiled machine, they sprang into action. Boots yanked her panties back up, pulled her to her feet by her wrist, and led her swiftly into the office. A new contract sat waiting on the desk. She didn’t even notice it was already filled out, the dates, names, and a brutal list of acts already printed. It was the same as yesterday, she noticed glumly, but with a few stark additions her foggy brain struggled to process: Anal insertion and intercourse (with penis). Anal insertion (toys). Multiple performers. The cameraman noticed her frowning at that last one.
“That’s just so we can have the other people on set. You don’t have to do a fucking thing with them, ” he finessed smoothly. Pretty sure I’m going to get Tom to dump a fat load of cum right on your stupid face, though, bitch, he thought.
“Oh, ok, ” she said, her voice hollow. Her pussy was screaming, demanding they get started. NOW! She feverishly scribbled her name at the bottom.
The cameraman slid a plastic douche pouch across the table toward her. She looked at it, confused.
“To make sure we don’t have any accidents, ” he explained dismissively. “Quickly scoot to the toilet, squirt this up your ass, and then expel it into the toilet. Off you fucking run!”
Emily apprehensively picked up the douche and scurried off to the bathroom.
“Shouldn’t we have given her a few of those, just in case?” Bootleg asked quietly.
“Nah, ” the cameraman laughed, a nasty edge to it. “Whatever happens, happens.” He winked. Bootleg just rolled his eyes. “You’re not the one who’s going to suffer the fucking consequences of that decision.”
Emily reappeared a few minutes later, looking flushed. “All good?”
She nodded meekly.
“Then let’s fucking go!”
*
The atmosphere in the studio had shifted completely. The bright, friendly lights seemed harsher now. Emily sat on the couch, and the cameraman sat behind his camera, all pretense of friendliness gone.
“So you’re back, cunt?” he sneered at her.
“Yes, ” she answered, her eyes fixed on the floor.
“And it looks like you haven’t learnt a fucking thing! Where are your fucking manners?”
“Oh, ” she replied, startled out of her reverie. “Yes, sir.”
“Since this ain’t your first fucking rodeo anymore, we have higher standards now. Any rudeness will not be fucking tolerated. That was your first and final warning. Understand?”
“Yes, sir, ” she replied meekly. She steeled herself. Just obey. If you obey, they’ll fuck you. Your pussy needs it.
“And how was your time with us yesterday?” The cameraman smirked. “A virgin teen girl’s fucking dreams come true?”
“It was very intense, sir, ” Emily answered, her voice a monotone.
“We aim to fucking please, ” the cameraman continued. “Now, you’re looking all dolled the fuck up today. Why didn’t you make the same effort yesterday? Would have made looking at your ugly face a whole lot easier. Mind you, all this makeup still can’t hide the fact that you’re a fucking ugly cunt. Put lipstick on a pig, and it’s still a fucking pig.” They all laughed�Tom, Jenny, Bootleg. A harsh, mocking sound. Emily’s cheeks flushed a deep, humiliated red. She had thought she looked almost pretty today.
“Boots, go show this cunt what we think of the effort she made today.”
Bootleg stalked up to her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and jerked her head up. “Look at you. All made up, nice dress, pretty little panties, ” he sneered, using his free hand to flip up the hem of her dress, displaying her white cotton underwear to everyone. “Such a fucking waste of good clothes and makeup. Nothing can hide what an ugly, used-up cunt you are.”
With a sudden, violent motion, he grabbed the neckline of her dress and ripped it straight down the middle. The fabric tore with a sickening shredding sound. One of her breasts, pale and tipped with a hard, pink nipple, flopped into view. He slapped it, hard. The sound cracked through the room. A bright red handprint instantly bloomed on her tender flesh. She didn’t flinch. Just get through this. Then you’ll get fucked.
“Being a good submissive whore today, are we?” Boots enquired, tightening his grip in her hair.
“Yes, sir, ” she dully replied.
“Well, cunt, get down on your fucking knees.” He shoved her roughly to the floor. She landed hard on her knees, the impact jarring her bones. She dutifully opened her mouth, expecting his cock to invade it.
SLAP! His open palm connected with her cheek, snapping her head to the side. The sting was immediate and sharp.
“Not so fucking fast, bitch. We’ve gotta get rid of that trashy makeup first. Can’t have you pretending you’re not an ugly piece of shit.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he unzipped his fly. His cock, already semi-hard, sprang out. He aimed it directly at her face and unleashed a powerful, hot torrent of piss all over her. It blasted into her eyes, her nose, her mouth, stripping the makeup away in seconds. The lipstick smudged into a grotesque clownish smear, and the mascara left thick black trails down her piss-streaked cheeks. He moved the acidic stream around, dousing her hair, matting it down, soaking what was left of her torn dress. She screwed up her face, squeezing her eyes tightly shut against the assault. It seemed to go on forever, this hot, degrading baptism. How much did he have to fucking drink? Finally, the torrent slowed to a trickle, then stopped.
“I saved that up all fucking day for you, bitch, ” he sneered, looking down at the disheveled, dripping girl on her knees. “Now you’re nearly ready to go.” He stalked off, stripped off and returned with a pair of stark black plastic gloves. As he pulled them on with a loud, contemptuous snap, he stared at Emily with pure disgust. “After what we did to you, and what I’m going to do to your filthy holes today, I never want to touch you with my bare fucking hands again, you fucking pig.” He slapped her again, the plastic glove making a cruel, cracking sound that echoed in the silent room. Just endure this, the dark part of her brain chanted. It will all be worth it when your aching cunt finally gets filled.
“Look alive, whore, ” Boots snarled, grabbing her by the soaked hair again. This time, he wanted her mouth. His cock, now fully hard and jutting proudly from his body, rudely jabbed at her lips. “Open the fuck up!”
She obeyed instantly, and he began his brutal assault on her throat. It was a relentless, punishing rhythm. Fast and shallow, making her gag. Then deep and slow, fucking the very back of her throat until her eyes watered. He spat on her face, a thick glob landing on her cheek. He spat into her open, waiting mouth. He slapped her face, the sharp cracks making her ears ring. He slapped her tits, the stinging pain blooming into bright red handprints on her pale skin. Endless taunting. Crude jokes from the cameraman, who watched with glee. She endured it all, her mind going blank, focusing only on the sensation, the degradation, the building pressure in her own core. Look at me, she thought with a flicker of dark pride, a total fucking pro after one day. Maybe I was born for this...
The cameraman was happy to let the face-fucking play out. The punters loved this shit, and Bootleg was a master, smoothly moving through all the angles, getting the best, most humiliating shots. He watched him flip Emily onto her back, her head hanging off the edge of the couch, and proceed to pierce her throat with deep, rhythmic strokes, a river of spit and spew drooling down her face into the waiting “whore bowl” below. Usual day at the office. After the required amount of time, Bootleg lay back on the couch, roughly pulled Emily down onto his cock, and used her face like a fleshlight, fucking upwards into her mouth with brutal, piston-like thrusts. More spew. The bowl was brimming. Whore knows her fucking stuff now. Still, he had far darker, far nastier plans for this eager bitch. He’d just wanted the face-fucking on tape in case they broke her later. But now, it was time.
“Alright, enough of that, ” the cameraman said, his voice cutting through the sound of Emily’s gags. “Time for the main event. Boots, you know what to do. Let’s break in that virgin ass.”
The words sliced through the fog in Emily’s brain. Fuck. The brutal face-fucking had lulled her into a hypnotic state, a place where she didn’t have to think, just endure and obey. But this... this was different. After yesterday’s savage deflowering of her pussy, the idea of another invasion, one into a place that felt even more forbidden, sent a jolt of pure terror through her. Her body, which had been pliant and accepting, suddenly went rigid.
“Ummm, I’m not sure I’m up for this...” she started to say, her voice a weak, pathetic whisper.
But Bootleg was already moving. He didn’t argue, he didn’t persuade. He just picked her up off the floor like a sack of laundry and threw her onto the couch. The worn leather felt cold against her soaked skin. Before she could even process the impact, his strong hands were on her thighs, roughly spreading her legs apart, exposing her completely to the harsh studio lights and the hungry lens of the camera.
“Look, bitch, I’m a fucking professional. Just let me do my fucking job!” Bootleg said, his voice a low growl of exasperation. The cameraman moved in, zooming in on the glistening, pink flesh between her legs. As usual, the undeniable wetness of her cunt betrayed her true feelings. A fresh trickle of her own arousal seeped out, a traitorous admission that her body wanted this even if her mind recoiled.
“Let’s just check out this ass first anyway, to make sure it can handle it, ” he added, his tone shifting to a mock-conciliatory one.
With her legs spread so wide, that dark, hungry part of her mind felt tantalizingly close to getting what it truly craved. Her resolve, already paper-thin, crumbled into dust. The need, the aching emptiness that had been building in her pussy, overrode every shred of fear. Just get through this, and you’ll get fucked, the dark voice cooed. You know you want it.
“Ok, sir, ” she agreed meekly, her voice barely audible.
“Good, cunt, ” Boots said mockingly. “Now pull your legs back.”
Emily grabbed her own knees, pulling them apart and back toward her shoulders, making herself utterly vulnerable. “Fucking knees to your chest, whore. Now, wrap your arms around the outside and pull your ass cheeks open.” SMACK! A sharp, stinging pain bloomed on the soft flesh of her buttock. “Fucking pull harder.”
She obeyed, her fingers digging into her own flesh, straining to expose her most private hole to their clinical, cruel inspection. The cameraman moved forward, the camera whirring as he zoomed in on her tight, untouched pucker.
“Fuck, that looks tight, ” Boots exclaimed, leaning in for a closer look. “It’s not even gaping a little.”
“Don’t worry, ” the cameraman chuckled from behind the camera. “We’ll get it wide open by the end of the night.”
Emily lay there, feeling a cool draft on parts of her that had never felt air before. The humiliation was a live wire, but it was inextricably tangled with a throbbing, desperate heat between her legs.
“Ever had anything up there, cunt?” Bootleg enquired.
“No, sir.”
“Not even a finger?”
“No, sir. I like watching anal sex but... I don’t know how it can be enjoyable so I never thought to try.”
“Oh, how wrong you are, whore. Anal sex can be super pleasurable!” He leaned in closer to her, his lips nearly touching her ear, and whispered conspiratorially, “For me, anyway.” He straightened back up with a cruel laugh. “Who knows though, some sluts fucking love getting dirt-piped. Maybe you will too.”
He looked critically at her entire exposed region. “Well, I don’t need any fucking lube yet, because your cunt is a fucking river. You must leave a trail like a goddamn snail wherever you go!”
Everyone on set laughed�Tom, Jenny, the cameraman�a chorus of ridicule aimed directly at her. Emily could feel her face flush a deep, hot red. She’d forgotten they were all there, these extra witnesses to her complete and total shame.
Bootleg swiped two fingers through the slick mess of her cunt, coating them thickly in her juices. He teased her outer lips, making her gasp, but pointedly avoided penetrating her hungry hole. “See, the fucking pig loves this. Say you love it, cunt.”
“I love it, sir, ” she dutifully replied, her voice quiet and hollow.
“Not quite the enthusiastic response I wanted, but I’m sure you’ll be screaming your love for my cock from the rooftops in a few moments, ” he chuckled. “Ok, now don’t fucking move.”
Suddenly, the wet, slippery pad of his middle finger pressed firmly against her tight asshole. Emily jumped at the foreign pressure, a small, involuntary yelp escaping her lips.
CRACK! A sharp slap landed on her inner thigh. “I said don’t fucking move!”
She froze, taking a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. She focused on the throbbing in her pussy, using its desperate need as an anchor.
“Good whore, ” Bootleg noted absently, as he continued to work the pressure, circling, then pushing. “I’m glad I’ve got these gloves on, who knows what the fuck we’re going to find up here.”
There was a moment of intense, burning pressure, a stretching that felt like it would tear her in two, and then with a painful, internal pop, his knuckle pushed past the inner ring of muscle. His finger was fully inside her ass. The sharp pain was blinding for a second, but then it quickly subsided into a deep, full, stretching ache.
“See, whore, this ain’t that bad!” Boots exclaimed. “You’ve definitely pushed bigger turds out than my finger.” He twisted his wrist slightly, and Emily gasped. “And look at the fucking pussy!” he laughed. “Fucking dripping wet again!”
She didn’t need to look. She could feel it. A fresh gush of her own arousal coated her inner thighs. Why the fuck am I like this?? she thought, a wave of self-loathing mixing with the undeniable pulse of pleasure.
“Now to check how clean you are.” She felt him swirl his finger around inside her, scraping along her inner walls in a way that was clinical and degrading. “Ok, results time. Shut your eyes and open your mouth, cunt.”
“Wha�?” CRACK! Another stinging slap, this time on her other thigh. The pain was immediate and sharp.
“No questions, you stupid bitch. Eyes shut. Mouth open. Now.”
She reluctantly obeyed, squeezing her eyes shut and letting her jaw go slack. She felt him pull his finger out of her ass with a slick, obscene sound, and then the wet, latex-covered tip was at her lips.
“Don’t suck it, just lick all around it for starters.”
She tentatively flicked her tongue against the finger. It tasted of latex and something uniquely, musky... her. She felt a fresh wave of humiliation burn through her. “Keep going, ” Boots ordered, twisting his hand so she could reach every millimeter. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he issued his last command. “Now, suck it.”
She dutifully wrapped her lips around his finger, sucking it clean, tasting the proof of her own degradation. After half a minute, he pulled his finger out with a pop.
“Open your eyes and tell me what you think, whore. How clean are you? What did you taste?”
“Ummm, it tasted... salty, a little bit sweet... and a little tangy, ” Emily replied, a strange sense of relief washing over her. She was clean. She’d passed.
“I don’t know about calling anything that comes out of your ass sweet, ” Boots said incredulously, “but, yes, you are clean enough to get fucked in your ass!”
His expression changed, becoming deadly serious. He leaned over her, his face close to hers, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “Now, cunt, listen in and listen up good. I’ve been breaking in whores since before you were born, and I know how to do it right.” Ironically, he thought to himself, you can destroy a virgin pussy on the first thrust. A little blood, then you’re good to go. But if you break an ass by going too hard too fast, that bleeding never seems to stop. “I’m going to get my cock up your ass now. It’s going to hurt, but if you do exactly as I say the pain won’t last for long. But....” he paused, letting the threat hang in the air. “if you are a dumb bitch and don’t listen, it will hurt, and hurt some more, and continue to hurt until you fucking listen to me. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir, ” Emily replied automatically, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and shocking, undeniable anticipation.
He straightened up, and the seriousness vanished, replaced by his usual cocky swagger. "Now, let's ass fuck this bitch!"
The cameraman tossed a bottle of lube to Bootleg. He caught it, popped the cap, and squirted a generous, glistening amount onto his palm. He slicked his thick, veiny cock with it, rubbing it up and down until every inch shone under the lights. He then squirted a cold dollop onto his fingers and rubbed it all around her exposed pucker, making her jump when he smeared a bit just inside her with the tip of his finger.
He directed her to pull her legs back again, and he positioned himself between them. The broad, slick head of his cock pressed against her rear entrance. Emily glanced down, her eyes widening. There is no fucking way that thing is fitting in there, she thought, a fresh wave of pure terror seizing her.
Seeing the look on her face, Boots addressed her, his voice low and steady. "You're going to have to fucking relax, cunt. Trust me, I haven't come across an asshole that I couldn't get into."
Huh, I honestly believe that, Emily thought with a shock. The man was a real fucking pro. She took another deep breath, forcing the tension to drain from her body, from her thighs, from the very muscle he was trying to breach. She visibly relaxed.
"Good girl. Now, I'm going to start pushing. I've only got to get past the muscles at the start of your ass, and then we're golden. Here's what you do. When I break through, you've got to push down like you're trying to dump out a massive turd. You're gonna want to tighten up. Do not fucking tighten up. Try to push my cock out. It relaxes the muscles faster. You gonna remember that, cunt?"
"Y-y-yes, sir, " she stammered.
"You fucking better."
And he began to push.
At first, it was just pressure. An insistent, growing pressure against a part of her body that had never felt anything like it. The pressure grew. And grew. And grew. It felt impossible, a solid, unyielding force against her impossibly tight ring of muscle. Just as she thought he couldn't possibly push any harder, that something had to give, the head of his cock suddenly popped into her ass.
A blinding, white-hot pain ripped through her. It was a searing, tearing sensation that made her see stars. She cried out, a raw, guttural sound.
"Push, you stupid cunt! Push!" Bootleg yelled at her, his voice cutting through the agony.
The pain was so immense it nearly rendered her senseless, but she was so conditioned to obeying his orders now that her body reacted on instinct. She bore down, pushing out with her muscles as if she were trying to expel the massive invader.
For a few more agonizing seconds, the pain was all-consuming, and then, miraculously, it began to subside. The world stopped spinning. The searing tear faded into a deep, full, stretching ache.
"See, told you so, " Boots said, a note of triumph in his voice. "Now, don't fucking move. I'm just going to let my cock head stretch you out for a little while, then we'll slowly start going further in, and then we'll be ready to go. So fucking easy."
"You are a real fucking pro, " the cameraman said admiringly from his side of the camera.
"How does it feel, cunt?" the cameraman asked, zooming in on her face. "To have given all your virginities to this fucking degenerate." He gestured toward Bootleg.
Emily, so immensely relieved that the worst of the pain was over, managed a small, genuine smile. "I'm just so glad I'm totally a real woman now, sir."
"That's nice for you, but you're not a real woman, you're a real fucking whore. Say that, cunt."
"Sorry, sir. I'm a real whore."
"In a full fucking sentence!"
"I'm so glad I'm a real fucking whore now, sir."
"That's better."
Her attention was abruptly wrenched back to the intense sensations in her nether regions as Bootleg started to slowly, inexorably, drive his cock further into her ass. The stretch was incredible, a burning fullness that was both painful and strangely stimulating.
"Just relax and push, bitch. Relax and push, " Bootleg ordered, his voice a low grunt.
She did what she was told, focusing all her energy on bearing down, on trying to accommodate the monstrous thickness spearing her insides. It merely controlled the pain now, not totally killing it.
"You've just gotta get through this next bit, cunt. You can't expect me to just sit here with my cock marinating in your taint, can you?" he grunted.
She didn't reply, her world narrowed to the feeling of being slowly, completely filled. With one final, deep thrust, his hips met the cheeks of her ass. He was buried in her to the hilt.
"Success, cunt!" he exclaimed. The pain subsided another degree, replaced by a profound, overwhelming fullness. "Look at that!"
She looked down, her eyes wide. The sight was perverse, unbelievable. His cock, her body, joined in this brutal, intimate way. And it reawakened something deep in her cunt. She could feel the wetness seeping out of her, a fresh trickle of arousal betraying her utter depravity.
"Now we've just got to build up some speed, and it's happy days!" Boots exclaimed. He slowly pulled his cock back, almost all the way out, the stretch a delicious, burning friction. Then he slowly pushed back in, all the way to the base. The pain was now a distant memory, replaced by a strange, full feeling�if she was honest, it felt like she was shitting out the world's longest turd�and a building, coiling warmth in her pussy that throbbed in time with his thrusts.
"How are you feeling up there, cunt?" the cameraman asked, his voice eager. "Ready to transition to something more... Facial Abuse style?"
"Just give me a minute, " she breathed, still afraid that any faster movement would split her in two.
"Ok, a minute I can do. But no longer, we'll start losing viewers. No one wants to see you getting gently and lovingly fucked, " he laughed.
Bootleg slowly built up the pace, a steady, rhythmic in-and-out that was more about stretching and preparation than pleasure. In. Out. In. Out. It didn't hurt now, not really. It was just... a lot. And her pussy, her traitorous, hungry pussy, seemed to love it. It clenched around nothing, aching and empty, weeping its approval with every thrust into her other hole.
She absent-mindedly realized she was beginning to develop a split personality�Emily, and Emily's pussy. And, unfortunately, her pussy was the one calling the shots, reveling in the degradation, the fullness, the sheer nasty filth of it all.
"Ok, Boots, " the cameraman commanded, his patience evidently at its end. "Let's get this thing happening! Let's return to our regular programming!"
Bootleg’s rhythm changed instantly. The slow, measured thrusts vanished. His grip on her hips tightened like a vise, and he drove into her with a new, brutal force.
He started thrusting in and out of her violently, his hips a brutal piston slamming against her ass cheeks. Smack. Smack. Smack. The sound was a sharp, wet report echoing off the studio walls, a percussive beat to her degradation. She was getting bounced so violently up and down on the couch she was in danger of slipping off. Bootleg, anticipating this, roughly grabbed her arms, pinning them to her sides, using them as leverage to hold her steady and pull her down onto each savage thrust.
"Yeah, bitch, " he grunted, his voice a low rumble of pure ownership. "Now it's time to fucking rock 'n' roll."
The pain returned with a vengeance, a blazing, stretching fire in her ass that made her eyes water. She grimaced, a little pained yelp escaping her lips before she could stop it.
SMACK! His open palm connected hard with the side of her face, the sound cracking through the air. "Remember what I fucking taught you, you stupid cunt, " he snarled viciously. "You clench on that fucking pain. You push down on my cock. You fucking take it."
Gasping, she obeyed, focusing all her will on relaxing the tortured ring of muscle, forcing herself to push down to meet his next brutal invasion. It worked, the sharpest edge of the pain subsiding into a deep, full, aching stretch. Bootleg continued his relentless assault, slamming into her and pulling nearly all the way out, making her feel every thick, veiny inch of his retreat, before driving back in to the hilt. The loud, wet slapping of flesh on flesh was a constant rhythm now.
"Shit, that fucking whore can really take a pounding!" the cameraman laughed from somewhere behind them, his voice full of dark admiration.
I think he's gonna break me, Emily thought, her mind hazy with a mix of pain and a shocking, burgeoning pleasure. Is he ever going to run out of energy? She managed to tilt her head, looking up at his face. He was sweating, a cruel, triumphant smile plastered on his lips, his eyes gleaming with predatory joy. No, she realized. He’s having too much of a good time.
"OK, bitch, let's see what we've done to that fucking asshole of yours." Boots roughly pulled out of her with a sudden, wet pop that made her whole body jolt and gasp. "Pull your legs back further. Show me what I’ve made."
She complied, trembling, holding her knees to her chest, presenting her utterly used hole to the room, to the camera, to him.
"Wow, look at that wrecked fucking ass!" Boots laughed, and it was true. Her ass was a deep, angry red, the once-tight pucker now gaping open, a dark, wet little O about a half an inch wide. "It's starting to open up nicely, " he said, jamming two fingers in roughly, scissoring them. Emily jumped at the sudden intrusion. "Stop fucking moving, you dumb cunt, " he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.
"OK, I want to see how much of a gape we can get going. I'm gonna shove my cock in, and when I pull out, you push out your ass like you're trying to fucking take a shit. Got it?"
"Yes, sir, " she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"Pull your fucking legs back!" She did, and Boots rammed his cock straight back into her ass, a single, powerful thrust that sank him to the hilt, knocking the breath from her lungs. But it didn’t hurt like before. The pain was a distant cousin to the overwhelming feeling of fullness. Even my own muscles want me to be a fucking whore, she thought, the realization both horrifying and thrilling.
Bootleg pounded into her another dozen times, a short, brutal series of strokes to keep her stretched and loose. Then, as he pulled out, he yelled, "Push, bitch! Fucking push!"
She bore down, grunting with the effort, and she could actually feel her ass opening up, the muscles straining outward as his thick cockhead emerged.
"Wow, fucking look at that!" the cameraman exclaimed, moving in close with the camera, the lens like a greedy eye. "We got a good fucking gape! Look at that � you can see right into her, you can see what she had for fucking lunch. Let's do it again. Make it permanent."
"Bitch, reach around your legs, grab your ass cheeks and pull them wide open for the camera. I'm gonna fuck you some more and when I pull out you push. Got it?" Boots asked, his tone leaving no room for anything but obedience.
"Yes, sir." She reached back, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her own buttocks, pulling herself apart, aiding in her own humiliation. Bootleg rammed his cock back in, the angle even deeper now that she was spread so wide. He pounded her another few dozen times, the pace merciless. "Push!" he commanded as he withdrew.
She pushed, and a wet, airy gasp came from her stretched hole. The cameraman whooped. "Yes! Look at that fucking ass. What a dumb fucking teen cunt, " Boots exclaimed, staring at the evidence of his work with pride. "How are you feeling, bitch, now you're all opened up? Now that everyone can see inside you?"
"Good, sir, " she replied automatically, reciting the lines she knew they wanted to hear, even as a confusing warmth spread through her belly.
"Just good?" Boots asked, feigning surprise. "Aren't you fucking loving this yet? Loving my cock wrecking your shithole?"
"It's ok, but I don't really feel much, sir, " she replied honestly, the pleasure still a subtle undercurrent beneath the overwhelming sensation of being used.
"Well, we can't have that, bitch! We're gonna keep on fucking until you fucking love it. What do you think of that?" he growled.
"Ok, sir, " she replied, a hint of disbelief in her voice. He can’t make me love it, she thought. It’s just a hole.
He jammed his cock back into her ass, a punishing thrust that buried him deep. This time, there was almost no pain, just a profound, filling pressure. "Ok, cunt, I'm gonna keep on going until I see that you fucking love it!" He started a new, faster, more rhythmic pounding. "Yeah, let's see if you like this now!" One of his hands snaked up her body and clamped firmly around her throat.
He started to squeeze, not enough to cut off her air completely, but enough to make every breath a conscious, desperate effort. "Now, bitch, you better start fucking loving my cock in your ass or else I'm gonna start squeezing harder. If you want to stay awake, you start showing my cock some love. Fucking milk me with that nasty hole. Got it?"
"Yes, sir, " she gasped, the words strained.
He resumed his rhythmic thrusting, his hand a constant, threatening pressure on her neck. This is not gonna fucking work, she thought, panic rising. But her body, her treacherous, traitorous body, had other ideas. The new angle, combined with the rhythmic pressure and the lack of air, made every nerve ending sing. His cock was pistoning into her, and with each inward stroke, the hard length of him rubbed firmly against the thin wall separating her ass from her pussy, sending jolts of electric sensation directly into her clit.
Oh fuck. A spark, then a steady burn. A pleasant sensation began to emanate from the region, growing with every thrust. It wasn't the sharp pleasure of a clitoral orgasm; it was deeper, darker, a throbbing, internal heat that was spreading through her pelvis, warming her from the inside out.
Boots, watching her face intently, saw the change. The pained resignation in her eyes flickered and was replaced by a dazed, glazed look of surprise. A soft moan, completely different from her previous pained gasps, escaped her lips. He kept up the exact same angle and rhythm, a master craftsman honing his material.
"You like this now, don't you, bitch, " he stated triumphantly, his voice thick with arousal.
"Yesss, sir, " she gasped, the word a genuine exhalation of stunned pleasure.
"Good, " he purred, his hand tightening minutely on her throat. "Now tell me you fucking love it."
"I... I fucking love it, " she moaned, the admission shocking her even as she said it.
"So, what do you fucking love, cunt?" he asked, his free hand snaking up to viciously slap her breast, the sting only heightening the bizarre pleasure coursing through her.
"I love having your cock in my ass, " she cried out, the words tumbling out of her, fueled by this new, overwhelming sensation.
"Damn straight you do, " he growled, maintaining his perfect, pleasure-giving rhythm.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, her mind chanted. This deep, building pressure was unmistakable. It was going to make her cum. A real, full-bodied, devastating orgasm was coiling deep within her, fed by the brutal anal pounding. She could feel it gathering, a storm of shameful ecstasy, and she was helpless to stop it. She could see it on his face, he knew. He watched the changing expressions�the shock, the disbelief, the dawning hunger�and he didn’t change a thing. He was going to let her tip over the edge.
Just as the tension reached its absolute peak, as she was hovering on the very brink of a shattering climax, he wickedly wrenched his cock out of her ass with a filthy, wet sound.
The loss was so abrupt, so devastating, it was a physical pain. "No!" A raw, desperate gasp was torn from her mouth. "I was so close!"
SMACK! He slapped her across the face, hard. The sting was a violent contrast to the pleasure that had just vanished. "Stop being so fucking rude, " he sneered, leaning down so his face was inches from hers. "You know my policy on you cumming. You're not allowed to until I tell you that you fucking can. You can fucking wait until later!"
Her entire body screamed in frustration. Her pussy clenched around agonizing emptiness, pulsing with denied release. A tear of pure frustration welled in the corner of her eye.
"There ain't no way you're cumming without my fucking explicit permission, you got that?" he snarled.
"Y-yes, sir, " she almost sobbed.
To punctuate his statement, he slapped her face again, a sharp, dismissive crack. "Say it again. Louder."
"YES, SIR!" she cried out, the words echoing her submission.
"Ok, cunt, time to show the world how much of an anal princess you really are." He shifted, lying flat on his back on the couch. "Climb on fucking board. Ride this dick with that gaping teen ass."
Dazed and throbbing with unmet need, she moved to straddle him. In the cowgirl position, his pubes tickled her slick, aching clit. He reached behind her, gripped his slick cock, and speared it back into her well-used asshole.
"Now, fucking ride, " he ordered, his hands going to her hips, not to help, but to guide and control.
She complied, sliding up and down on his cock, the motion now familiar, the stretch almost comfortable. "Fuck yourself, dumb cunt, " he sneered, his hands moving up to grab her by the throat. He started manipulating her, bouncing her up and down his length. Again, the loud slapping noise filled the room as her ass slammed against his thighs.
"That's much better!" he grunted.
Yes, it is, Emily thought, a dangerous idea forming. His pubes were roughly scratching her clit with every downstroke. The friction was exquisite. Maybe... maybe I can just get a sneaky orgasm in here. He won't notice if I’m quiet. The teasing sensation began to build again, a tiny flame trying to rekindle the fire he’d just extinguished. Bootleg continued to bounce her, one hand on her throat, the other reaching around to slap viciously at her ass cheeks. The heat from the slaps blended with the building pleasure, pushing her closer, closer...
"Oh fuck, " she whispered, the words a breathy plea she couldn't contain.
"What the fuck are you doing, bitch?" Bootleg’s eyes snapped up, suddenly realizing what she was up to. His grip on her throat tightened. "No fucking way! Put your feet up on the couch, get your cunt off me and fucking ride me properly!" he commanded, delivering an extra-hard smack to her ass that made her yelp.
Crestfallen, the tiny spark of pleasure instantly dashed, she obeyed. She planted her feet on the couch on either side of his hips, lifting her pussy away from his body, and started riding his cock with just the muscles of her ass and thighs. The sensation in her pussy faded to a dull, desperate ache. "That dumb fucking cunt was trying to sneak an orgasm past me!" he announced to the room, laughing.
She bounced up and down, the effort making her thighs burn. She noticed her pussy was still flowing freely; she could feel it running in a slick, hot trickle down her inner thighs, dripping onto his stomach and pubes. Fuck, if I can just get a finger�anything�in or around my cunt, I'm gonna fucking explode.
Boots watched her, his expression one of contemptuous amusement. "Keep on going, cunt. Good fucking exercise for you, you fat fuck!" She soon tired in this awkward position and leaned forward, resting her hands on his hard chest for leverage to push herself up and down.
"You're an out of shape fucking cunt, aren't you?" he said, grinning. "Okay, let's fucking flip you around." Without warning, he pushed her off him roughly. She tumbled onto the couch beside him, disoriented. "But first, fucking clean me up. Look at that fucking mess!"
He moved his cock aside to show the camera his lower stomach and pubic hair, matted and glistening with a slick, congealed mixture of her juices and his sweat. "Get the fuck over here!" He grabbed a handful of her hair, yanked her over, and pushed her face down into his crotch. "Tongue out, whore."
She stuck her tongue out, the humiliation a fresh wave, and began lapping at his skin, sucking her own sticky, salty juices into her mouth. It took a full minute of this degrading task to clean him to his satisfaction.
"That's much better. Now, climb on board again." She moved to climb on in the cowgirl position, but he reached out and delivered a stinging smack to her ass. "Not that fucking way, cunt. Face the camera. I want everyone to see the fucking stupid look on your face while I wreck your ass."
"Oh, " she replied, the hope that he might finally fuck her pussy rapidly evaporating. She turned around, put her feet up on the couch, and straddled him, her back to his chest. She hopefully positioned her dripping cunt over his cock.
"Not in your fucking pussy, you dumb whore, " he laughed, the sound cruel and condescending. "In your fucking ass."
Disappointment, sharp and acidic, twisted in her gut. She changed the position, guiding his slick cockhead back to her stretched, waiting entrance. He didn’t wait for her; he rammed upwards, burying himself in her ass in one smooth, brutal motion.
"That's better, " he grunted, his hands gripping her hips. "You just stay there and take it." He began fucking up into her, his thrusts powerful and deep from this new angle.
"That fucking cunt of hers looks a bit sad, " the cameraman said, his voice dripping with a mockery of sympathy that made Emily’s skin crawl. "Do you need it filled up, whore?"
The question hung in the air, a taunt wrapped in the very thing she desperately craved. Her pussy clenched around nothing, a hollow, aching void that screamed for attention. "Yes, " she moaned, the sound desperate and raw, her voice barely a whisper under the studio lights. "I really need a cock in my pussy, sir."
The cameraman’s laughter was a short, harsh bark. "Well, you'll have to wait until he's finished ass fucking you first and then we'll see about your pussy. But how about we make you look a little bit happier in the meantime, at least. Get over here!" He gestured to Jenny, the makeup girl, with a sharp flick of his wrist.
Jenny stood and sauntered over, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. This wasn’t the friendly girl from before; this was a predator. "It looks like that cunt is a bit sad. Can you make her look happier for me? Go get your lipstick."
Jenny laughed, a sound like breaking glass, and went to her makeup bag, returning with a tube of the brightest, cheapest red lipstick Emily had ever seen. "Now make those fucking lips look happy."
She moved towards Emily, who stopped her rhythmic rocking on the cock and looked up, confused. "This is the multiple performers part, you dumb bitch, " the cameraman spat. "You know, that bit in the contract you signed. She's not gonna fucking penetrate you, just touch up your fucking makeup, so settle the fuck down." Emily let out a small, defeated "oh."
"Ok, let's make that cunt look pretty." Jenny wound the lipstick open and moved towards Emily’s face. Instinctively, Emily tilted her chin up, expecting the waxy substance on her mouth.
"Not those fucking lips, bitch!" Jenny laughed, the sound cruel and sudden. She bent down between Emily’s spread thighs. "These ones." She reached out and smeared the thick, greasy lipstick around Emily’s pussy lips. The sudden, cold contact was a shock, a jolt of electricity that shot straight to her core, making her gasp and her hips twitch involuntarily.
When she finished, Jenny stood back and admired her handiwork. "Look at that! Looks much better. Pretty fucking red lips." The whole set erupted in laughter. "Look at that gaping fucking drooling mouth of a cunt."
Emily looked down. The vibrant red outlined her swollen, dripping folds. It was obscene. It was terrifying. It’s true, she thought, a strange detachment washing over her. It is just a gaping fucking wet dripping pussy.
"Hey, bitch, " the cameraman snapped, pulling her from her thoughts. "I know you've never had cock before yesterday but were you a closet dyke before that?"
"W-what?" she stammered, the non-sequitur throwing her.
"I mean, were you a fucking rug muncher?"
"I don't understand."
"Were. You. A. Fucking. Lesbian?" he asked, pointedly articulating every word as if she were simple.
"No, no sir, I hadn't done anything with anyone - boy or girl!"
"Well, I think it's time you learn what another pussy tastes like, then."
"What?? I can't!" she blurted out, the protest leaping from her lips before she could cage it.
"Look, " said the cameraman, his tone shifting to one of false reasonableness. "It's not fucking penetration. This bitch isn't gonna do anything to you and you still will only have been fucked by one guy! All you gotta do is kiss Jenny here on her pussy." As an aside, he asked Jenny: "We have your STD results on file here, don't we?"
"Yep, I'm good to go, " Jenny replied.
“Just take a lick at this bitch's pussy and then we can move on."
"I don't know, " Emily said nervously, her mind reeling.
"Look, I'll fucking throw some extra money in it for you if that matters, " he said, and then delivered the killing blow. "And you know once we get through this then we'll maybe move on to some pussy fucking. What do you think of that? Brighten up, cunt!"
The promise, however hollow, was all it took. The dark, hungry part of her brain took over. I can do this. "Ok, sir, " she replied, her voice small.
"Now, get off his fucking cock and lie on your back."
She awkwardly lifted herself off the cock, a fresh wave of emptiness washing through her ass, and moved to lie on her back with her pussy towards the edge of the couch.
"Why the fuck would you put your pussy down this way, you dumb bitch. No one wants that now, " the cameraman sneered. "Boots, fucking put her in the right position."
Bootleg moved with practiced efficiency, roughly grabbing her shoulders and spinning her around so her head sat at the edge of the couch. "Ok, cunt, time for you to lick some pussy. Get ready, Jenny."
Jenny moved to step out of her jeans and panties, her movements slow and theatrical.
"But we can't have that ass all empty while she's playing around with pussy!" Bootleg interjected. "Here, hang on." He stalked to the other side of the room and came back with the same massive, veined dildo that had brutally penetrated her yesterday. "Here you go, bitch. To keep that ass of yours occupied while you're licking Jenny's pussy."
"No, " she started to cry out, but he slapped her reaching hands away.
"C'mon cunt, it says fucking toys on the contract. You know you can fucking take it." He squirted a generous stream of lube all over the giant silicone cock, roughly spread her legs wider, aimed the bulbous head at her well-used hole, and pushed.
It breached her instantly, and a familiar bloom of pain erupted deep inside her. "Push, you know what to do, you fucking dumb whore!" Boots yelled.
She bore down, her muscles straining, and the blinding pain slowly subsided into a deep, stretching ache. She looked down, her upside-down view showing the dildo was already halfway in. Fuck, I can't believe how loose I am now, compared to how tight I was only an hour ago, she thought with a mixture of horror and awe.
"Bitch, keep on pushing, let's get this fucking thing in." She pushed down, breathing in ragged gasps, and he roughly shoved the rest of the monstrous toy into her ass, the base pressing firmly against her sore cheeks. "Ok, cunt, there you go - a nice placeholder for my cock. Reach down and fuck yourself. You can multitask, can't you? I want that cock sliding in and out of your fucking ass while you taste Jenny's cunt."
Meekly, she reached down between her legs, her fingers slippery with lube and her own juices, and gripped the base of the dildo. She began working it in and out of her ass in a slow, hesitant rhythm.
"Ok, Jenny, let's go!" the cameraman commanded.
Jenny came up to Emily’s upside-down face, her bare cunt hovering just inches away. Emily could smell her�musky, sweet, and undeniably female.
"Hang on, say hello properly before you get on board, " the cameraman said. "Give that bitch a little slap."
Jenny laughed, reached down, and slapped Emily hard across the cheek. The sound cracked through the room. "Now the other cheek." She delivered another sharp slap to the opposite side. If anything, Jenny’s slaps seemed sharper, more hateful, and personal than the men’s, each one stinging with a specific female venom. Emily’s eyes watered.
"Now spit on her."
"Ok, " Jenny laughed, then violently sucked a loogie from deep in her throat and spat it directly onto Emily’s face. It was thick and warm, spraying across her eyes and nose, dribbling in a viscous strand down the side of her face. Emily flinched, the humiliation a hot brand. How stupid am I? she thought, the reality of Jenny’s duality crashing down on her. She was never nice. I’m just a dumb fucking bitch.
"There you go, whore. Some of my best makeup work ever!” Jenny cackled and climbed on top of Emily, straddling her face, facing towards the rear of the couch. Her pussy now hovered directly over Emily’s lips, a dark, wet temptation. “Ok, bitch, get fucking licking.”
Emily stuck her tongue out about halfway and tentatively took a little swipe at Jenny's clit.
“That’s not gonna fucking cut it, you dumb cunt, ” the cameraman barked. “Get the fuck in there!”
Jenny pushed down suddenly with her hips, grinding her wet slit against Emily’s mouth. The sudden, intimate contact was a shock. The taste of the other girl’s sex flooded her senses�musky, sweet, and a little sour. She felt a wave of disgust, but underneath it, a spark of something else. A twisted sense of pride. This bitch doesn't taste as good as I do.
Jenny roughly rubbed her pussy all over Emily’s lips and nose. “Fucking lick me, you dumb cunt, ” Jenny snarled, reaching behind her to grab a fistful of Emily’s hair and yank her face up hard into her mound. “Tongue out - fucking get all up in there.”
Emily complied, sticking her tongue out as far as she could, and began moving it in earnest, lapping at Jenny’s folds.
“Mmmm, that's better. Good girl - are you sure you haven't licked pussy before?” Jenny moaned, her hips starting a slow grind.
“Nnnnoo, ” came Emily's muffled reply, the words vibrating against Jenny’s sensitive flesh.
“Oh well, you're a fucking natural, ” Jenny laughed. She kept riding her face, maneuvering Emily's head around by the hair, using her like a living sex toy. Emily could feel the copious juices leaking from Jenny’s cunt, running into her mouth and smearing all over her lips, her chin, her cheeks.
"Ok now, cunt, let's see you have a real good taste, " the cameraman ordered. "Stick out your tongue as far as you can."
She complied, her tongue extending past her lips.
"Now fucking spear that cunt hole of hers!"
Jenny rode Emily’s face, her hips grinding in slow, deliberate circles as she used Emily’s mouth like a personal sex toy. Her hands tangled in Emily’s hair, yanking her head up and down, guiding her tongue to where she wanted it most. Emily’s nostrils flared as she struggled to breathe through the intoxicating scent of Jenny’s arousal, her pussy juices smearing across Emily’s lips, nose, and cheeks. The taste was overwhelming�musky, sweet, and slightly sour�as Emily lapped at Jenny’s folds with increasing desperation.
Jenny’s hands tightened in Emily’s hair, yanking her face upward with brutal force. Emily’s tongue plunged deep into Jenny’s pussy, spearing her hole with a suddenness that made Jenny gasp. “Oh fuck, that feels good, ” Jenny moaned, her hips bucking forward as she ground herself against Emily’s face.
Emily could feel the endless stream of Jenny’s juices coating her tongue, flooding her mouth with their sticky sweetness. She gagged slightly but kept her tongue buried deep, letting Jenny use her like a living dildo. “Good girl, ” the cameraman sneered. “Stay like that. Let her ride that fucking face.”
“Alright, now, ” the cameraman ordered after a minute, his voice dripping with malice. “Taste her fucking ass.”
Jenny let go of Emily’s hair long enough to reach back and spread her own cheeks, exposing her puckered hole. “Get the fuck in there, ” she commanded, her tone harsh and impatient.
Emily hesitated for only a second before flicking her tongue upward, tracing a line across Jenny’s asshole. It was slick with sweat and lingering traces of pussy juice, but the taste was harsher, more bitter.
“Don’t just tease it, you dumb bitch!” Jenny snapped, slapping Emily hard across the cheek. “Stick your fucking tongue in there!”
Emily obeyed, forcing her tongue as deep into Jenny’s ass as she could manage. Jenny let out a guttural moan, her body shuddering as she lowered herself harder onto Emily’s face. “Oh yeah, that’s good, ” she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “This little whore knows how to use her tongue.”
She continued to ride Emily’s face, fucking herself on Emily’s probing tongue until she finally pulled back, panting heavily. “You’re better than I expected, ” Jenny said almost admiringly, though her tone was still laced with cruelty. “But I’m not done yet.”
She reached down and grabbed Emily’s spare wrist, yanking it upward toward her pussy. “Here, whore. Put two fingers in me and make me cum.”
Emily hesitated for only a moment before sliding two fingers into Jenny’s soaking wet cunt. The sensation was startling�Jenny was so slick and warm that it was almost overwhelming. “Now lick my clit, ” Jenny ordered, grinding herself against Emily’s mouth. “And don’t stop until I tell you to.”
Emily obeyed, her tongue flicking over Jenny’s swollen clit as she pumped her fingers in and out of her pussy. The rhythmic sloshing of Jenny’s juices filled the room, mingling with the sound of her uneven breathing and the occasional slap of skin on skin.
“Faster! Harder!” Jenny demanded, her voice rising in pitch as she neared the edge. Emily doubled her efforts, her tongue working furiously as she thrust her fingers deeper. Just as Jenny’s body began to convulse, a sudden gush of fluid erupted from her pussy, splashing across Emily’s face and soaking her chin.
“Oh fuck! I’m cumming!” Jenny screamed, her body shaking violently. But Emily, caught off guard by the sudden spray, pulled her fingers out and jerked her head back, breaking contact.
“You fucking idiot!” Jenny shrieked, slapping Emily hard across the face. “You ruined it!” She reached down to finish herself off, more jets of fluid squirting out and drenching Emily’s face and chest. The warm liquid pooled around Emily’s neck and shoulders, its salty tang lingering on her tongue.
“Clean this shit up, you worthless bitch, ” Jenny snarled, shoving Emily down onto the couch. Emily dutifully pressed her face into the wet leather, licking up the sticky mess. It was strange and unpleasant, but she forced herself to swallow it anyway.
“On your back again!” Jenny ordered, flipping Emily over roughly and straddling her face once more. Before Emily could even process what was happening, a hot stream of piss hit her in the face. “Open your mouth and take it!” Jenny commanded.
Emily tried to obey, but the torrent was too strong. Bright yellow urine splashed across her cheeks and up her nose, its acrid stench making her gag. She swallowed what she could, but most of it just pooled around her neck and shoulders, soaking into the couch beneath her.
When Jenny finally stopped, she climbed off Emily’s face and shoved her back onto the floor. “Look at you, ” she sneered, slapping Emily hard across the face and spitting on her for good measure. “You’re a fucking mess.”
The cameraman laughed from behind the camera. “Well, whore? How was your first girl-on-girl experience? Tender and loving?”
Emily just sat there, stunned and humiliated, her body trembling as the reality of what had just happened sank in.
The cameraman’s shoe connected with her hip and sent her stumbling toward the familiar, stained couch. “ass up, face down, you dumb fucking cunt!” Bootleg’s voice was a low growl, already thick with renewed intent.
Emily moved automatically, her body a well-trained puppet to their commands. She bent over the back of the couch, presenting her well-used holes to the room.
“Oh, shit, ” Bootleg’s voice was mock-surprised. “Your dildo fell out, you dumb cunt. Hope your ass is still good to go after all that fucking nonsense. Let’s find out!”
His hands, still encased in those slick black plastic gloves, grabbed her hips, his grip possessive and cruel. There was no preamble, no gentle guidance. He just positioned the thick, ruddy head of his cock at her loosened entrance and shoved forward with a single, brutal thrust.
A grunt was punched from her lungs. Fuck. It was unlike anything she’d felt before. Her body simply yielded. There was no searing ring of fire, no gasp of shock. Her sphincter, stretched and obedient, accepted him with a wet, yielding ease that was almost as shocking as the initial pain had been. It’s like I’ve been fucked up my ass every day of my life, she thought, a dizzying wave of depravity washing over her. It just... opens for him.
He started to move, his rhythm not frantic, but clinical and precise. Each deep, withdrawing stroke was slow and deliberate, each pounding return thrust was calculated for maximum visual impact. She could feel the heat of the camera’s light on her spread cheeks, could sense the cameraman perched just inches away, his lens capturing every obscene detail: the way her stretched hole clung to Bootleg’s shaft, the glisten of lube and her own internal slickness, the violent jiggle of her flesh with every impact.
And then she felt it. A long, warm trickle. Her own arousal, undeniable and slick, began to seep from her neglected pussy. The cameraman saw it too. “Well, look at that, ” he narrated, his voice a dry commentary. A nice long string of grool connected her filthy cunt to the couch. “Fucking beautiful.”
A strange, powerful confidence bloomed in Emily’s chest. Ok, I can do this. The pain had become a distant, throbbing backdrop to the overwhelming sensation of being so utterly filled and used. The sharp slaps Bootleg delivered to her ass cheeks didn’t sting with humiliation; they felt like punctuation marks on a sentence of pure, raw fuckery. They spurred her on. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, a low moan escaping her lips.
The cameraman watched, his initial amusement fading into something like boredom. This was too easy. This wasn’t the terrified virgin they’d broken yesterday; this was a whore getting a routine drilling. He needed to break the rhythm, to crack this new, complacent façade.
“Alright, bitch, time to move on. Boots, get off the cunt.”
Bootleg pulled out with a wet, sucking sound, his cock gleaming under the lights. Emily felt a sudden, shocking emptiness, a cold draft on her wet, open flesh.
“Give us a quick gape, you cunt, ” the cameraman commanded.
Dutifully, Emily reached back with both hands, grabbing her ample cheeks and pulling them apart as wide as she could. Her asshole, pink and well-used, remained open in a wide, slack circle for a moment before slowly beginning to contract.
“Yeah, looks like your asshole is well and truly worked over, ” he said, his tone flat. “Time for Boots to get some more loving. Get up on the couch, man. Time for her to make you feel real good!”
Bootleg smirked and moved to lie back on the couch. But he paused, his nose wrinkling. “I can’t lie here, it’s covered in this cunt’s fucking pussy juice!” He pointed a disgusted finger at the small, shiny pool she’d left behind.
“Well, you know what to do, cunt, ” the cameraman sighed with feigned exasperation.
But Emily was already moving. She slid off the couch and onto her knees, lowering her face to the damp spot. Her tongue, broad and flat, lashed out, lapping at the slick leather. She cleaned it meticulously, the taste of her own arousal a familiar, almost comforting tang now. She finished the job quickly and looked up, a silent question in her eyes.
Bootleg lay back with a satisfied grunt. “Legs up, man, ” the cameraman instructed. “It’s not fair that her asshole has had so much attention but yours has been so sorely neglected. Bitch, get in there and show him some love. Worship your fucking master.”
Emily crawled between his muscled thighs without hesitation. The rich, musky scent of him filled her nostrils�acrid sweat, the faint, sweet hint of her own juices, and the deep, primal smell of man. Despite the funk, a fresh wave of wetness soaked her pussy. This act, this intimate service, felt strangely more personal than anything else they’d forced her to do. It was the closest thing to kissing, to tenderness, in this entire filthy nightmare, and the sane part of her clung to it.
She didn’t wait for another command. She pressed her lips directly against his puckered hole, her tongue darting out to trace a firm, wet circle around the tight muscle.
Bootleg jolted slightly, a genuine laugh of surprised pleasure bursting from him. “Fuck! This bitch is hungry for my ass tonight! That’s it, work it, cunt! Get your tongue up in there!”
And she did. She fucked his ass with her tongue, spearing it as deep as she could, her nose buried in his cleft. She was lost in the act, a slave to the rhythm and the taste and the sheer depravity of it. Obvious, eager sounds of effort and enjoyment came from her.
The cameraman watched, letting it continue for a moment. Fuck, this one was easy to train, he thought. But her enthusiasm, her apparent enjoyment, was starting to bore him again. He missed the fear. He needed to shatter this newfound comfort.
“Hey, cunt. Back up. Talk to me for a bit, ” he said, his voice cutting through the lewd sounds.
Emily jerked up, startled, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his ass. “Wh-what? Was I doing it wrong?”
“No, you were doing fine, ” he said, his tone oddly conversational. “Say, whore. Do you want to get married one day?”
Silence. The question was so absurd it short-circuited her brain.
“Answer me, bitch. Do. You. Want. To. Get. Married?”
“Ummm, maybe... I don’t know... I haven’t really thought about it, ” she hesitantly replied, utterly confused.
“Now tell me how much you love licking Bootleg’s ass.”
The non-sequitur was dizzying. “I... I love licking his ass, sir, ” she stuttered, the words feeling both true and ridiculous.
“Great! Wedding time it is then!” The cameraman’s face split into a malicious grin. “You can marry Bootleg’s ass!”
Peals of laughter erupted from Tom and Jenny. Before Emily could even process the joke, the cameraman wrenched her to her feet. He grabbed a few multi-colored dildos from a nearby table and shoved them into her hands. “A bouquet for the beautiful bride! Now, we need a veil. I know!”
He pushed her back to her knees. With a loud, hawking noise, he brought up a huge wad of spit and slowly drooled it in a messy, glistening line across her forehead and into her hair. “There you go. A white veil. Stand up again.”
Emily complied, a prisoner in a play she didn’t understand, the cooling spit dripping down her temple. He maneuvered her a few feet away. “Boots, get your ass ready. The altar awaits.”
Bootleg lay back and spread his legs wide, presenting his hole to the room with a theatrical flourish.
“Music!” the cameraman announced, and gave a short, off-key vocal rendition of the wedding march. “And go! Bitch, get on the floor on your knees.”
She obediently knelt on the hard floor between Bootleg’s thighs, the dildo bouquet clutched in her wet hands.
“Dearly beloved, ” the cameraman began, his voice booming with mock solemnity. “We are gathered here today to join in unholy matrimony this cunt, ” he gestured grandly toward Emily, “and Bootleg’s asshole.” He nodded respectfully toward Boots’ exposed center. “Do you, Bootleg’s asshole, take this worthless cunt to be your slave, to own and command, until she gets too old and ugly to fuck?”
Boots reached around with his hands, making his ass cheeks clench and pucker, mimicking speech. “I do, ” he squeaked in a high falsetto voice.
More laughter echoed in the studio. Emily felt her cheeks burn, a hot mix of shame and a strange, flickering excitement.
“Do you, worthless cunt, take Bootleg’s asshole to be your master, to worship and obey for all fucking eternity?”
Emily said nothing, her mind reeling, still clinging to a shred of dignity.
“Answer him, bitch!” Bootleg commanded, and swiped a foot out, catching her in the ribs.
“I do, ” she mumbled, the words tasting like ash.
“Excellent!” the cameraman proclaimed. “Then, by the power vested in me by absolutely fucking no-one, I pronounce you cunt and asshole. You may kiss his ass!”
Emily bent forward, ready to complete the absurd ritual, but the cameraman’s hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder.
“The rings! I forgot the fucking rings! Anyone got a spare ring?” He looked around the studio with feigned panic. Shakes of head all around. “Oh well, I guess there is one ring we can use. Emily, give me your ring finger.”
He grabbed her left hand, forcing her to extend her fourth finger. “Lube it up nice for me, bitch.” He pushed the finger into her mouth. It came out glistening with her saliva. He let go of her hand and smirked. “Now stick that finger up his ass. Your wedding ring.”
Her eyes went wide. No. The thought was a flash of pure panic.
“NOW!” he bellowed, the word cracking like a whip.
The command overrode her shock. Slowly, hypnotically, she raised her lubed finger and moved it toward his exposed hole.
“You ok with this, Boots?” the cameraman asked, the picture of faux concern.
Bootleg chuckled. “Shit, if it makes this cunt unhappy, then I’m fine with it. Bring it on, bitch.”
Her finger touched the tight pucker. She pushed tentatively.
“Fucking harder, you dumb slut!” Bootleg growled. “You just had your tongue halfway up my colon. You know the fucking way!”
She pushed harder, and with a soft, wet pop, her finger slid in to the hilt. The heat and tightness around her digit was shockingly intimate.
“It’s official!” the cameraman exclaimed. “You’re now Mrs. Bootleg’s Asshole!” The studio erupted into fake cheers and applause.
“Now you can kiss him, ” the cameraman said.
She went to pull her finger out.
“No!” he snapped. “Kiss around the finger, cunt. Kiss your wedding ring.”
Nauseated and aroused in equal measure, Emily leaned in. She pressed her lips against the stretched ring of muscle surrounding her buried finger, kissing and gently licking the place where her flesh entered his.
“How does that feel, Boots?” the cameraman enquired.
“It’s such an emotional day for me, ” Bootleg replied, his voice straining to hold back laughter. “We’ve been in love for so long, it feels only natural.” He lost control, his body shaking with loud, booming guffaws.
Ignored for a moment, Emily slowed her nuzzling, the absurdity of it all washing over her.
“Don’t fucking stop, bitch!” the cameraman spat, noticing her hesitation.
She hurriedly resumed, her tongue making obscene circles around the base of her own finger buried in her co-star’s rectum. After a minute of this, the cameraman had had his fill.
“Ok, finger out, cunt. And lick it clean.”
She pulled her finger out with a wet plop and instinctively went to look at it.
The cameraman grabbed her wrist and roughly shoved the slick digit back into her mouth. “Lick it, whore! When someone offers you a nice wedding feast like that, you eat it while it’s hot.” A sharp, musky tang filled her mouth, but she could feel no solid matter, only the slick film of his innermost self. She swirled her tongue around her finger, cleaning it thoroughly, a good wife indeed.
“Ok, bitch, that’s enough foreplay, ” the cameraman commanded, kicking her roughly toward the couch with his shoe. “Boots, get ready. I think it’s time the happy couple gave us a proper show.”
She began to crawl back up on the couch, the worn leather cool against her sore knees, but Bootleg’s hand shot out, a vice around her bicep. He yanked her backward, her balance gone, and she landed with a soft thump on her back on the filthy studio floor. The air left her lungs in a rush. Before she could even process the new ache, he was on her, his strong hands grabbing her hips, manhandling her like a doll. He dragged her towards the couch, hiking her hips up into the air until her world tilted violently. Her ankles were forced down near her ears, her knees framing her face, and her holes were thrust into the air, totally exposed and utterly vulnerable.
The piledriver, she thought, a flicker of recognition amidst the dizzying disorientation. She’d loved watching other girls get fucked like this in videos, the raw, animalistic power of it all. But now that she was the one folded in half, her own sagging tits and soft belly the only things she could see when she looked up her body, a wave of self-consciousness washed over her. Oh, well, she reasoned, pushing the insecurity down, surely this is the last anal position. Just get through this, and then it’s pussy fucking time. Her neglected cunt gave a desperate, aching throb at the thought, a fresh trickle of wetness easing the sting between her legs.
Bootleg mounted the couch above her, his shadow falling over her exposed body. He looked down at her stretched, used asshole, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. He hawked loudly and spat, a glob of warm saliva landing with a wet splat directly on her tender hole. Without any further preamble, he plunged his thick cock straight into her ass. The new, deep angle sent a brief, sharp flare of pain radiating through her, but it was quickly smothered by the familiar, overwhelming stretch. Fuck, Emily thought, a strange pride mixing with her humiliation, it really didn’t take long to train this hole. From zero to anal whore in less than an hour!
He began his assault, each brutal thrust jolting her entire upside-down body. “Yeah, whore. Now you’re learning!” he sneered down at her, his voice a gravelly taunt. He leaned closer, hawked again, and dropped a giant, heavy wad of spit onto her forehead. It landed with a wet, disgusting splat, the weight of it making her skin crawl. “That’s a good one. Don’t you fucking dare wipe it away, cunt. And don’t fucking move either.” Not that I could move in this position, Emily thought with an inner, hysterical roll of her eyes. She was completely helpless, a fuck-toy pinned for his use.
He resumed fucking her ass, his pace punishing, each snap of his hips punctuated by an angry slap against her flailing thighs. Red, hand-shaped welts bloomed all over her pale skin, a stark map of his ownership. She endured it, biting her lip, her focus narrowed to the intense, full feeling in her ass and the desperate, empty ache in her cunt.
Suddenly, the cameraman was there, standing over her, having left the camera on its tripod. She heard the familiar, ominous sound of his zipper coming down. A warm, strong flow of piss hit her squarely in the face, shocking her. “Open up, cunt, ” he commanded, his voice cold. She reluctantly opened her mouth, the bitter, acidic taste flooding in, making her gag. The piss kept coming, a relentless stream. “Now swallow, whore, ” he ordered. She gulped it down, the process made infinitely harder by the fact she was upside down, fighting gravity. The overflow pooled around her neck and in her hair, a warm, yellow-tinged mess. When he was done, he zipped up and returned to his camera without another word.
“Aw, you ruined my artwork, ” Bootleg said with fake disappointment. He hawked even louder, gathering a massive ball of phlegm, and sent it rocketing down at her face. This one hit her directly in the eye with a stinging, blinding splat. Her vision blurred instantly, her eyeball burning. She knew better than to even try to wipe it away. He resumed fucking her ass with renewed vigor, but his attention turned to her dripping pussy. “Look at that fucking cunt, leaking again, ” he said, his tone dripping with contempt. And it was true; a glistening trail of her own juices was slowly making a sticky path down her body toward her navel. He reached down, grabbed a pussy lip with each hand, and violently wrenched her cunt open. The sudden, rough contact on her most sensitive, neglected flesh sent a bolt of pure, undiluted electricity straight to her core. I don’t care if it hurts, she pleaded silently. At least my fucking pussy is finally getting some attention! Please, just touch me.
“And to think you were a complete fucking virgin yesterday, ” Bootleg said, his voice laced with incredulous mockery. “Now look at you. Just another regular two-dollar hooker.” He spat into her gaping, weeping cunt, the glob landing directly on her clit before he resumed his brutal pace in her ass. The contrast was maddening�the violation of her ass and the teasing, fleeting contact on her pussy. She was strung tight as a wire, every muscle tense with desperate, unfulfilled need.
Suddenly, he pulled out of her with a wet, obscene pop and kicked her legs, knocking her out of the precarious position. “On the floor, whore. ” Finally! the voice in her head screamed in triumphant relief. It’s my turn. I’m going to get my pussy fucked! She scrambled to obey, her body aching, her face a mess of piss and spit, but her heart hammering with a perverse, eager anticipation. She sat on the floor, back resting on the couch, awaiting instruction. Her pussy burned, ready for the penetration she’d been craving for what felt like an eternity. She looked up eagerly at Bootleg, wondering which position she was about to be manhandled into. But Bootleg just stood over her, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he slapped his wet, hard cock against her cheek.
“What are you looking me like that for, cunt?” he laughed, the sound hollow and mean. “I just needed a better angle. Open that pretty mouth. You’re going to clean my fucking cock.”
He grabbed her roughly by the hair, the plastic gloves squeaking against her piss-damp scalp. “Open the fuck up, cunt.”
Annoyed at what she perceived as a pointless delay, she quickly engulfed his cock to the base, swirling her tongue with a frantic, practiced efficiency. There, she thought, her mind a haze of need. Clean as a whistle. Now, for fuck’s sake, fuck me!
Bootleg, sensing her desperation, drew it out with sadistic pleasure. “Woah, slow the fuck down there, whore. Make sure you cover every last fucking inch, you greedy slut.” He maneuvered her head like a puppet, forcing her to lavishly lick his shaft, his balls, even the coarse hair of his pubes, making her repeat the process until his skin was shiny with her spit. “There, all clean. What now, boss?” he enquired of the cameraman.
“I’ve got all the ass-fucking footage I want. Time to cum on this cunt’s face and call it a fucking night, ” the cameraman replied, not even looking up from his camera’s viewfinder.
Emily’s face fell, a genuine cry of anguish ripping from her throat. “Nooo!”
The cameraman’s head snapped up, a vicious sneer twisting his features. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”
“You... you haven’t fucked my pussy yet!” she wailed, the protest sounding even more pathetic and whiny to her own ears than she intended.
He laughed, a cold, hollow sound. “Yeah, well, this is an anal shoot, you stupid bitch. We don’t really need any penis-in-vagina action today. The contract’s fulfilled.”
“But... but I need to cum, ” she almost sobbed, the ache between her legs becoming a throbbing, desperate pain.
The cameraman’s eyes lit up with a cruel idea. “Alright, you want to bargain, you filthy cunt? How about this? You let Tom over there cum on your face as well as Boots and me, and I’ll give you that vibrator over there and you can go to fucking town on your cunt. Deal?” He gestured to a terrifyingly large, industrial-looking wand vibrator sitting on a equipment case.
“Wh-what?” she stammered, her mind struggling to process the degrading math of it.
“Fucking dumb cunt, ” Bootleg spat, slapping her face sharply. “If Tom, who must have some serious fucking blue balls from having to just sit and watch, drops his load on your face as well as the two of us, then you get to cum. Or else, it’s just blow and go time for us. That’s the deal. Take it or fucking leave it.”
Emily looked around the room, her vision blurred by unshed tears of frustration. Tom gave her a sympathetic-looking shrug that didn’t reach his cold eyes. Jenny was smirking, already playing with her own nipple through her shirt. It’s better than nothing, the dark, primal voice inside her reasoned. That toy looks like it could fucking wreck me in the best way. “Fine, ” she whispered, the word tasting like ash.
“It’s a deal then, whore!” the cameraman announced with a clap of his hands. “Tom, get your ass up here. Cunt, you just sit there like a good little sperm receptacle. Boys, start jerking. Let’s cover this greedy slut in so much fucking cum she can taste it for a week.”
Tom walked up, stripping his pants off as he moved. His cock was already hard, and he started stroking it with a practiced ease. Bootleg, ever the professional, was already slick with pre-cum and looked seconds from erupting.
It was Tom who got there first, though. He stepped forward, aimed his cock at her, and with a low grunt, started shooting long, impossibly thick, white ropes that stuck to her skin like paste. “Fuck yeah, ” the cameraman chuckled to himself. “That’s why I hire him. He can take a good fucking photo, and he shoots one of the stickiest loads in all of fucking New York.”
Emily sat there, painted in Tom’s mess. She could feel the weight of it; it was like a plaster mask instantly hardening on her skin. Tom then leaned over, hawked loudly, and sent a giant, warm glob of spit sailing onto her forehead. This, however, did start to run, a slick, disgusting trail that oozed down her nose before slowly drooling down either side of her mouth. “Don’t you fucking move, cunt, ” the cameraman warned.
She sat statue-still, her vision now partially obscured by the spit hanging from her eyebrows. After another minute, Bootleg moved in close. “This is for being such a needy bitch, ” he growled, and with a forceful shudder, added his own hot, slightly thinner load to the mess on her forehead. His cum was less viscous and immediately started to drip, stinging as it ran into her eyes. She slammed them shut against the painful, milky burn.
“Open your fucking eyes, cunt!” the cameraman yelled.
She reluctantly forced them open, her world now a blurry, white haze. Bootleg laughed and viciously spat directly into one of her eyes, rendering her completely blind on that side. “Eyes open!” came the pre-emptive warning again, and she strained to keep them that way.
“There, looking properly fucking disgusting, whore. A real piece of art, ” the cameraman said. He put his camera on a tripod, set it to record, and stood up. “It’s going to take me a little while to get in the mood, so why don’t you all gather around for a good, old-fashioned spit party while I get ready to finish painting this cunt.”
Laughter echoed through the studio, and Emily could see shadows descending over her. They were all there, she realized with a sinking heart. Bootleg, Tom, and Jenny. Within seconds, the first spitballs began to fly. It instantly turned into a competition, each of them trying to outdo the other in volume and accuracy. Her face, neck, and chest became a slick, slimy canvas of their contempt. When her face could hold no more moisture, they found new targets, filling her ears with warm, disgusting spit until she could hear nothing but a muffled, bubbling roar.
The cameraman finally announced he was ready, his own cock in hand. The mucous assault ended, and he stepped forward. He didn’t say a word, just grunted as blast after hot blast of his cum joined the disgusting cocktail already on her face and in her hair.
Finished, he stood back to admire the result. “Fucking awesome, ” he breathed. “Boots, get the fucking scraper.”
Bootleg returned with a clear plastic speculum, its cold, hard edge an ominous threat. He squatted next to Emily and began to roughly scrape the congealed mess off her face, the plastic digging into her skin. “Open the fuck up, cunt, ” he snarled.
Emily blankly complied, her spirit breaking just a little more. Just get it over with. Just get to the vibrator, she chanted in her head. He deposited the first foul, gelatinous scoop of mixed fluids into her mouth. “Swallow it, you bitch.”
She complied, her stomach lurching violently despite the gallons of worse she’d already consumed. He continued his methodical work, searching out every last drop of wetness on her skin, dumping load after nauseating load into her waiting mouth.
When he was done, he reached over, grabbed the whore bowl�still brimming with a murky cocktail of piss, spit, and her own earlier spew�and held it high over her head. “Ready for your dessert, cunt?” he asked, a malicious grin spreading across his face.
“But... what about me cumming?” she meekly asked, looking pleadingly at the vibrator.
His grin vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated hatred. “You’re not fucking cumming today, bitch, ” he savagely spat. “You came at least three fucking times yesterday, you greedy whore. You’re done.”
“But you promised!” she wailed, the dam of her composure finally breaking. “The deal!”
“No, I fucking didn’t, ” Bootleg said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “He did.” He pointed a dismissive thumb at the cameraman. “And is he your owner?”
The question hung in the air, heavy and final. “No, sir, ” she whispered, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
“Who is your fucking lord, master, owner, and god?” he sneered, leaning in so close she could smell his breath.
“You are, sir.”
“Damn fucking straight. And you ain’t cumming today. In fact, you ain’t cumming ever again unless you get down on your fucking knees and beg for my permission. If some nerdy little fuckstain who doesn’t know you’re the world’s most pathetic slut has somehow ended up licking your wrecked cunt, you had better fucking ring me up and ask permission to cum before you do. You got that?” he snarled, each word a hammer blow.
“Yes, sir, ” she cried softly, the last of her fight evaporating into the stale studio air.
“Now tilt your fucking head up, and open your disgusting mouth.”
She complied slowly, a single tear finally escaping and carving a clean line through the filth on her cheek. Her pussy screamed in silent, agonized protest, a desperate, needful clench with nowhere to go. Boots slowly, deliberately, tipped the entire cold, vile contents of the whore bowl over her head and into her open, waiting mouth. The acidic tang of stale piss and the thicker, sour notes of vomit flooded her senses, making her gag and choke as she tried desperately to swallow. He then smashed the empty bowl upside down onto her head like a disgusting crown and slapped her so viciously her ears rang. “Now, get the fuck out.”