Teen virgin is deflowered on the Facial Abuse porn site (part 1)

The reflection didn’t lie. Small, pale breasts that dipped instead of perched. A soft, rounded belly. Hips that flared into thick, dumpy legs. Spotty skin. Just plain. Emily’s critical gaze swept over her naked body, a familiar ache of dissatisfaction settling in her chest. No wonder no one wants you. Eighteen years old, nineteen in two months, and not even a single, clumsy kiss to her name. The boys in her small town were just as plain as she was, and she craved something real. Someone who knew exactly what to do with a girl.

With a sigh, she pulled on a robe and slumped into her desk chair, the glow of the monitor the only light in her dim room. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, a well-practiced ritual. The homepage loaded, the stark logo sparking an immediate, guilty throb between her legs. Facial Abuse. And him. Bootleg.

Her breath hitched as a new thumbnail appeared. A fresh scene. A new girl with wide, nervous eyes. Perfect.

She logged in, her username ‘cockwhore07’ flashing on screen. Her hand slipped under her robe, fingers finding her clit with a practiced ease. She circled it slowly, her eyes glued to the screen as the interview began. The girl was from a small town. Inexperienced. But she had approached them. She had emailed them and asked to do a scene! The thought was a lightning strike. Emily’s fingers stilled.

Could I?

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She furiously opened a new tab, her search history a desperate map of her obsession. ‘facial abuse casting’... ‘facial abuse agent’... nothing. Her pulse pounded in her ears. ‘facial abuse support’. There. A tiny ‘contact us’ link at the bottom of the page.

It was just a generic web form. They’d never see it. They’d never reply. But the sheer audacity of it, the filth of the fantasy, made her core clench tight. A fresh wave of wetness slicked her fingers. Why not?

Name. Email. Username. cockwhore07. She blushed, but typed it anyway. The message box stared back, blank and terrifying.

Fuck it.

“Hi, I'm Emily. I'm 18 years old and a virgin (never even been kissed!). I want to lose my virginity to Bootleg.”

She hit ‘send’ before she could think, her need cresting. She fumbled with the mouse, maximized the video, and sank a finger inside her tight box, a low moan escaping her lips as she imagined being that girl on the couch, waiting for him.

*

The reply came two days later. Emily’s phone chimed and the sender name�a official-looking support address�sent a jolt of pure panic and adrenaline straight to her cunt. Her cheeks burned as she read it.

“...a bit of a line up of girls who want to fuck him... pass his test... stand out from the crowd... email me a short audition tape...”

An audition. The words were a live wire. I can’t do porn! The sensible thought was immediately drowned out by a hotter, darker voice. Why not? This is what you’re for. This is all you’re good for.

Her robe pooled on the floor. She stood before the full-length mirror again, phone held shakily in front of her. Her first instinct was to recoil. Look at you. But a new, defiant heat surged through her. Bootleg could want this. He could want you.

She pressed record. Her naked body filled the screen.

“Hi, Bootleg, ” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m Emily and I’m your biggest fan.” She cupped one small breast, giving it a tentative squeeze. “I’m 18 years old and I want you to take my virginity.” Her heart was a wild drum against her ribs. She reached down, her fingers parting her slick folds for the camera, offering herself. “That’s right, I haven’t even been kissed yet.”

She turned, bending over to show him her ample rear, spreading her cheeks to reveal her tightest, most private hole. She faced the mirror again, a boldness she never knew she possessed flashing in her eyes.

“Please, Mr. Bootleg, ” she purred, pushing out her lower lip in a pout. “I’ll do anything for you.” She blew a kiss to the lens and stopped the recording.

Pussy juice was dripping down her inner thigh. She didn’t think. She just attached the video, typed “Here you go ;)” and hit send. She collapsed into her chair, her scent filling the air, and frantically rubbed her clit. She came in seconds, her back arching off the chair as a broken cry was torn from her throat. Fuck. This turns me on.

*

“She’s a bit of a pig, but the virgin thing is a winner!” the cameraman chuckled, leaning back from the computer screen.

Bootleg didn’t take his eyes off the video, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. On screen, Emily was spreading her ass, her plain face etched with a desperate, hungry need he knew all too well. He could almost smell her innocence through the screen, and the submissive plea in her voice was like a drug.

“Yeah, ” Bootleg said, his voice a low rumble. He adjusted the growing bulge in his jeans. “Let’s fuck this whore.” His mind was already moving, plotting, imagining the first slap, the first taste of her fear, the feel of that virgin cunt stretching around his cock. It was going to be a good shoot.

*

Emily sat at the airport in a daze. The last two weeks had been a blur. They'd said yes, and instantly the wheels were in motion. Plane tickets were booked, ID verified, they found a discreet clinic for her to get an STD test (and to quietly check that she was actually a virgin). An amount was agreed on - it seemed like quite a lot to Emily, but she didn't really know much about these things. She didn't really have the time to think. A story was made up for her parents - she was "visiting a school friend" in New York. And, before she knew it, she was sitting here waiting to fly over. No backing out now.

She felt doubt and apprehension start to creep into her mind again, but every time she even thought about what was going to happen, her pussy quickly took over and her panties were instantly wet. Fuck, she thought. Now I've got to fly with wet pants. Best not to think about things.

Her gaze flickered to the departures board. Two more hours. Two more hours until she was thousands of miles away from everything she knew, stepping into a world that both terrified and thrilled her. Her heart raced, and she crossed her legs tightly, trying to quell the ache between them. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through the emails again as if to reassure herself this was real. The confirmation from Bootleg’s team. The details of the shoot. The instructions to meet them at a specific address in Queens. It all felt like a dream�or maybe a nightmare�but the throbbing wetness soaking her panties told her it was anything but.

Emily bit her lip, glancing around the terminal. Did anyone know? Could they tell just by looking at her? She felt exposed, as if her secret was written across her face. But no one paid her any attention. She was just another plain girl in a hoodie, lost in the crowd. That’ll change soon, she thought, a shiver running down her spine. Soon, I won’t be plain anymore. I’ll be his.

Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts. A new message from the production team: “See you soon, Emily. Bootleg can’t wait.” Her stomach flipped, and she pressed her thighs together harder. Neither can I.

*

The fluorescent lights of the warehouse hummed overhead, casting a sterile, unforgiving glow. Emily’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing in the silence. Bootleg leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze a physical weight on her. It wasn’t a look of admiration or even simple lust. It was an appraisal. A cold, hard assessment of meat.

She tried to focus on the stack of papers in her lap, but the dense legalese swam before her eyes. Release of liability... acts of a sexual nature... including but not limited to... Her fingers trembled as she flipped a page. Every time she glanced up, his eyes were there, pinning her in place. That predatory smile hadn’t left his face. It was a promise and a threat, all in one.

“Done yet?” the cameraman’s voice cut through her panic.

“Not quite, ” she lied, her own voice a faint squeak. She forced her eyes down, scanning the clauses. Spitting, slapping, watersports, deep throat... Her stomach clenched. Was she really going to agree to all this? Yes, a hot, insistent pulse between her legs answered. This is why you’re here. This is all you’re good for. She scrawled her name at the bottom of the last page, a messy, desperate signature.

“Great, let’s get started then!” the cameraman said, snatching the papers away.

He led her into the main room. It was smaller than she’d imagined from the videos, the famous couch looking worn and vaguely stained under the hot lights. Toys were scattered on a nearby table�thick cords, scary-looking clamps, a collection of plugs. And on the floor, sitting innocuously by the leg of the couch, was the red dog bowl. The letters spelling ‘WHORE’ were chipped. She felt a dizzying lurch of arousal and terror.

“Sit, ” the cameraman instructed, already adjusting his equipment.

She perched on the edge of the couch, her hands knotting together in her lap. And then Bootleg entered the room. Without a word, he began to strip. His t-shirt came off first, revealing a torso roped with muscle and covered in faded tattoos. Then his jeans. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

His cock sprang free, already fully erect, thick and veined and so much bigger than it looked on screen. Emily’s breath hitched. A fresh wave of heat flooded her, soaking the thin fabric of her panties. He caught her wide-eyed stare and smirked, giving his length a slow, possessive stroke. She looked away, her cheeks burning.

“Lights, camera, action!” the cameraman called, the red recording light blinking on.

*

The cameraman leaned in, his voice a flat, bored monotone that cut through the quiet hum of equipment. “So, bitch. Let’s get this part over with. You’re a virgin.”

It wasn’t a question. She nodded, her throat tight. “Yes.”

“Speak up for the mic, sweetheart. No one’s gonna believe a squeak like that.”

“Yes, ” she repeated, her voice a little stronger, laced with a shame that made her cheeks burn.

“Never been fucked. Never sucked on a cock. Tell me, you ever even been kissed?”

Emily’s eyes flicked down to her hands. This was it. The confirmation of her total, pathetic inexperience. “No, ” she whispered.

“No?” The cameraman chuckled. “Jesus. Eighteen years old and you’ve never even had some pimply kid slobber on you in a movie theater? What’s wrong with you?”

Before she could form an answer, a gob of warm spit hit her cheek, sliding slowly down toward her jawline. She flinched, her eyes snapping up to see Bootleg standing over her, a cruel smirk on his face.

“Look at her, ” Bootleg growled. “Ain’t no surprise. Got a plain, forgettable face on a soft, chubby little body. What guy’s gonna line up for that?” He reached out and gave her face a sharp, stinging slap that made her gasp and her eyes water. The pain was immediate, a sharp heat, but underneath it, a treacherous pulse of excitement throbbed between her legs.

“Why’re you here, then?” the cameraman asked, zooming in on her tear-filled eyes. “Why do you wanna fuck him?”

She looked at Bootleg, at the raw, dominant power radiating from him. “I... I love how dominant he is, ” she breathed, the admission feeling like a confession. “I’ve watched all his videos. I... I get so wet.”

Bootleg’s laugh was a short, harsh bark. “I love a good submissive cunt.” His open palm connected with the side of her face again in a loud crack. The shockwave of the slap rattled her teeth, but the sting was already dissolving, replaced by a deep, pooling warmth in her belly. He was touching her. Noticing her.

“She wants it rough, ” the cameraman observed. “How about it, Boots? She wants her first kiss. You gonna give it to her?”

Bootleg looked her up and down, his expression one of pure disgust. “Ain’t no way I’m kissing that ugly cunt. My dick’s gonna be in it later, that’s humiliation enough.”

“Looks like you ain’t gonna get kissed, whore, ” the cameraman said, his tone falsely sympathetic. “I’ve got another idea though. Get down on your knees.”

Her legs were weak, but she obeyed, sliding off the couch and onto the cold, hard floor.

“Boots, get up on the couch and spread your legs. This cunt can have her first kiss with your arse.”

Bootleg’s smirk widened. “Fuck yeah.” He positioned himself on the edge of the couch, pulling his knees back towards his chest, exposing himself completely to her. The musky, male scent of him washed over her. “There you go, cunt. Ready for your first kiss?”

She stared, horrified and mesmerized, at his exposed asshole. Her stomach churned. I can’t.

“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?” the cameraman barked. “Kiss his arse!”

Tentatively, her heart hammering against her ribs, she leaned forward and pressed her closed lips against the firm, surprisingly smooth skin of his buttock. It was a dry, quick peck.

“What the fuck was that?” Bootleg snarled. “Get your fucking mouth onto my arsehole!”

She screwed up her face, apprehension twisting her gut into knots.

“Now!” the command was simultaneous from both men.

Swallowing her revulsion, she leaned in again. She closed her eyes and planted a soft, hesitant kiss directly on his pucker. The intimacy of it was staggering, more vulnerable than anything she could have imagined. She pulled back, her face a mask of disgust.

“Ok, now you’re gonna get super acquainted with Bootleg. Stick your tongue out!”

She blinked, confused. “What?”

Bootleg’s hand shot out and connected with her cheek. The slap was hard, making her head ring. “Stick your fucking tongue out, whore!”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she obeyed, poking her tongue out past her lips.

“Now stick it up his arsehole. French kissing time.”

“I can’t do that...” she started to say, but Bootleg’s hands were suddenly on her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He didn’t give her a chance to refuse. He forced her face forward, grinding her mouth against him. She could feel the tight knot of muscle against her lips.

“Get to work, whore, ” he grunted, his hold on her head relentless.

Trapped, with the coarse hair scratching her nose and his dominant musk flooding her senses, she gave in. This was what she wanted. This was attention. She tentatively flicked her tongue out, tracing the tight rim. The taste was salty, musky, deeply and primally male. It was filthy. It was degrading.

And it made her soaking wet.

“Ah, that’s better, ” Bootleg moaned, his hips pushing back slightly against her face. “How does that taste?”

She tried to answer, but it came out as a muffled groan against his skin.

“I guess you shouldn’t speak with your mouth full. Keep going!”

Emboldened by his reaction, she did. She licked and probed, her tongue working in circles before pressing a little harder, seeking entry. The shame began to curdle into a perverse pride. She was doing it. She was pleasing him.

“Does this bitch like this? Check her cunt, ” Bootleg ordered.

The cameraman’s hand slipped down the back of her leggings, his cold fingers delving between her cheeks and finding her soaked slit. She jumped at the intrusion. “Fuck, this bitch is dripping wet, ” he announced with a laugh. “Loves her first kiss!”

“You fucking whore, ” Bootleg laughed, the vibration shaking through her. “Keep going. Make it more sensual. Kiss that arsehole like you love it.”

A low moan escaped her as she redoubled her efforts. She wasn’t just licking anymore; she was kissing him there, worshipping him with her mouth, her tongue pressing and circling with a fervour that shocked her.

“What a fucking slut.” The cameraman pulled his wet fingers away. “Ok, pull back and stick your tongue out as far as it can go.”

She did, panting, her tongue extended in the open air.

“Now fuck his arse with your tongue.”

This time, there was no hesitation. She dove back in, spearing his hole with the pointed tip of her tongue, pushing as deep as the muscle would allow. A guttural groan of approval rumbled from Bootleg’s chest, the sound going straight to her clit.

“Fuck yeah, she knows what to do now.”

She kept at it, enthusiastically fucking his ass with her tongue, lost in the rhythm and the raw power of the act.

“Ok, that’s enough. We don’t want you falling in love with his arsehole. Get back on the couch.”

Breathless and dazed, she pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to him for a second before it broke. She crawled back onto the couch, her entire body humming.

“How was your first kiss, baby?” the cameraman asked.

“Intense, ” she breathed, a small, unsteady smile touching her lips.

“Ok, now that’s out of the way, let’s move on. Clothes off. All of them.”

Her fingers trembled as she pulled her top over her head, then shimmied out of her leggings and underwear until she stood completely naked under the scorching lights. She instinctively tried to cover her small breasts and soft stomach with her arms.

“Uh-uh, ” Bootleg said, swatting her hands away. “Let us see the merchandise.” He let out a low whistle that felt like another slap. “Look at that. Fat little tummy. Teeny tiny tits. And look at this arse, ” he said, delivering a sharp smack to one cheek that made her jump and sent a jiggle through the flesh. “All that junk back there, nothing up front. You’re built all wrong, pig.” He spat again, this time the wetness landing on her bare shoulder and sliding down toward her breast.

The cameraman moved in for a close-up. “Sit down and lie back. Legs spread. Let’s see that virgin pussy.”

She leaned back, exposing herself to the lens and the two men, her heart pounding. She felt utterly exposed, every perceived flaw magnified a thousand times.

“Looks tight, ” the cameraman commented.

“Let’s find out, ” Bootleg said. He pushed two fingers against her mouth. “Open. Make ‘em wet.”

She opened her mouth, and he shoved his fingers inside, rubbing them over her tongue. The taste of his skin, mixed with the lingering memory of his ass, was dizzying. “Now, ” he commanded, pulling his glistening fingers free. “Spit on ‘em.”

She leaned forward and spat a large glob of saliva onto his waiting fingers.

“Good girl.” He moved between her spread legs, his eyes fixed on her core. He pressed the pad of his middle finger against her entrance. It was a shock of pressure, a blunt, impossible intrusion. She was too tight. He pushed, but her body resisted, a burning stretch that made her gasp.

“Fuck me, ” he chuckled. “She’s a locked box.” He pressed harder, the single finger forcing its way past the tight ring of muscle, an inch, then two. The burn was intense, a sharp, stinging pain that made her eyes water, but beneath it, buried deep, was a thrilling sense of violation. He was inside her. Finally.

“Jesus, she’s tight, ” Bootleg grunted, working his finger slowly in and out, the wet, slick sounds obscenely loud.

He pulled his slick finger from her, the sudden emptiness a hollow echo of the violation she’d just craved. The cameraman’s voice cut through the humid air of the room. “So you’ve never sucked a cock, have you whore?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide and fixed on Bootleg’s looming form.

“Have you even touched one?”

Again, a meek shake of her head.

“Boots, get over here.”

Bootleg moved to stand directly in front of her, his hard cock level with her face. It looked different up close, veined and thick, the head a dark, flushed purple.

“Grab his cock.”

Her hand trembled as she reached up. Her fingers, cool and tentative, closed around his shaft. The skin was shockingly soft, a pliable sheath over the unyielding hardness beneath. She gave an experimental, unsure stroke.

“How does that cock feel?” the cameraman asked, the lens zooming in on her hesitant grip.

“So soft, ” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “I thought it would be harder.”

“Well, it’s going to feel a lot harder when we get it inside you, ” he laughed. “Ok, now we’re getting to the start of the real scene. We’re called Facial Abuse, and that’s what we are gonna do to you. For the next 20 mins, it’s open season on your throat. Boots, fuck this bitch up.”

“With pleasure!” Bootleg’s hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back. “Open the fuck up, whore!”

Her jaw fell open obediently. He didn’t ease in. He rammed his cock into her mouth, the blunt head hitting the roof of her mouth, a sharp, shocking pain. He started thrusting hard, the length of him sliding over her tongue, trying to force its way deeper. She spluttered immediately, her body instinctively trying to recoil, to back away from the overwhelming intrusion.

He slapped her hard across the cheek. The sting was bright and sharp. “Don’t run the fuck away. Put your hands down, and let me fuck your face.” He grabbed her head with both hands, holding her prisoner, and started pistoning his hips. Her throat clenched, refusing him entry. She gagged, her eyes watering.

“Fuck, she’s tight. This is going to take some work.” He ripped his cock out of her mouth, a string of saliva snapping between his lips and her own. Before she could gasp for air, he jammed two fingers deep into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue. “Let’s loosen this bitch up.”

She gagged violently, her body convulsing.

“C’mon, we’ve got to loosen you up. Let me in.” He pushed his fingers down further, until her throat bulged around them. Her stomach heaved, a violent, unstoppable convulsion, and suddenly she vomited, a hot, acidic rush all over his hand and the floor between them.

“What the fuck was that? What have you been eating?” Bootleg looked down at the mess with a disgusted curiosity. “Time to clean up, bitch. Open up.”

She looked at him, confused, nausea and shame warring on her face.

SLAP.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

She flinched and quickly obeyed, her mouth falling open. He started scraping the vomit from his fingers, wiping it onto her tongue. The taste was foul, bitter. “Swallow that.”

She whimpered but obeyed, the acidic lump burning its way down her throat. She gagged again, her eyes streaming.

“Now, lick my hand clean.”

She reluctantly stuck her tongue out, a pink, tentative thing, and licked the remaining filth from his fingers and palm.

“Now the floor.”

“What?” The word was out before she could stop it.

SLAP. The other cheek this time. “Clean off the fucking floor. With your tongue.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and shoved her face down toward the puddle of her own sick. The smell filled her nostrils. “Lick it up, cunt.”

She tentatively extended her tongue, the very tip touching the cold, wet wood. It was humiliating. It was degrading. A fresh wave of heat flooded her core. She licked faster, as instructed.

“Make sure to swallow it all. Here, let me help you.” Bootleg hawked a huge dollop of spit and let it drip onto the floor, right into the mess. “To make it taste better.” She obediently licked it all up, swallowing the bitter, salty mixture.

“Taste good?” She nodded, unable to speak. “I think this one has some potential. Check her cunt again.” Bootleg reached down and ran a finger through her slick folds. “Fuck, she’s super wet. Here, taste yourself.” He shoved his wet fingers back into her mouth. She suckled them clean, tasting her own unique, musky flavor beneath the remnants of vomit.

“Tasty?” She nodded again, her submission complete. “Good whore. Now get your whore bowl, we don’t want too much mess on the floor.” She scrambled for the red plastic bowl and placed it between her knees. “Boots, back on the job.”

He grabbed her by the throat, not hard enough to choke, but with a firm, dominant pressure. He shoved two fingers back down her throat. She gagged again, but fought the urge to vomit. “Good girl, let’s try more.” Three fingers now, stretching her jaw, fucking her throat with his hand. She gagged, her eyes rolling back, but kept it down. “Stretching out nicely!” Then four fingers, a brutal, knuckle-pressing stretch that made her choke and sputter. He ignored her, fucking her throat with his hand relentlessly.

She lasted about half a minute before her body betrayed her again. She vomited, a thinner stream this time, letting it spill from her lips as he continued to fist her mouth. It ran down her chin, over her small breasts, and dripped into the bowl. Bootleg kept going. She vomited again, coating his hand, her chin, her body in the mess. “Nice!”

He abruptly pulled his slimy hand out and shoved his cock back in.

This time, it went straight into her throat.

A deep, shocking penetration that stole her breath. “Fuck yeah.” Bootleg started face fucking her relentlessly, his hips a punishing machine. Tears streamed from her eyes, tracing clean lines through the mess on her cheeks. She gagged helplessly around him, her body his instrument. He changed his rhythm constantly�fast, shallow jabs, then deep, grinding pushes he held�so she could never find a pattern, could never get used to it.

She vomited again, a thin, desperate heave that coated his cock and balls. “Clean me up, whore.” She obediently leaned forward, her tongue licking the spew from his shaft and sack, the act itself making her shudder with a perverse thrill. “Good girl.” He rammed back in, angrily fucking her face. “You look less ugly, but you can be prettier.” He hawked up a huge loogie and let it drip from his mouth onto her forehead. It slid slowly, glacially, down the bridge of her nose. “Much better.”

The cameraman’s voice broke the rhythm. “You know what, I think it’s time we popped this bitch’s cherry. You can have some more fun with her face later. What do you reckon, cunt? Ready to get fucked?”

She looked startled, pulled from the singular focus of her throat’s ordeal. But she nodded.

“Get the fuck up on the couch.”

She moved on shaky legs, sitting on the edge of the stained leather.

“Well, don’t just sit there, spread your fucking legs.”

Bootleg roughly pushed her back so she was lying down, then grabbed her ankles, yanking them apart, exposing her completely to the camera and the hot lights. “Do you reckon she needs some lube?” the cameraman asked? Bootleg ran a finger through her soaked slit and laughed. “Nup, she’s good to go. What do you think, whore? You ready to go?”

She nodded meekly.

“You’re too quiet, bitch. Use your fucking words. Are you ready to get fucked?”

“Y-y-yes, ” she stammered.

SLAP. “Yes, what?”

“Wh-wh-what do you mean?” she mumbled, disoriented.

SLAP. “Yes, SIR!”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Better. We don’t like rude bitches around here. Now, how do you want this to go down? Nice and gentle or do you want it rough from the start?”

“I don’t know.”

SLAP. “Sorry, I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, let’s make this interesting.” The cameraman pulled a coin from his pocket. “50/50. Flip the coin, boots. Heads you go gentle and tails you fuck this bitch up from the get go. Sound fair, whore?”

She nodded meekly.

SLAP. “Yes, sir.”

“Ok, let’s go.” Boots tossed the coin, caught it, and slapped it onto the back of his wrist. He showed the result to the camera. Tails. A cruel smile played on his lips. “You know what, I’m not going to tell the bitch what the result was. She can just find out right now. Spread your legs!”

She lay back, her heart hammering against her ribs, and spread her legs wider. Bootleg knelt between them, lining his cock up with her hole. He gently rested the slick, broad head at her entrance. The pressure was immense, promising.

“Well, cunt, it’s time to pop that cherry. How about you count us down.”

“What?” she stammered, confused.

Bootleg sighed, reached up, and slapped her. He then wrapped his hand around her neck, not squeezing, just holding. “Give us a 3, 2, 1 count down to the grand opening!”

“Ok, sir. 3..” She took a shaky breath. “2..” She braced herself, her hands clenching the couch. “1..”

As soon as the final number left her lips, Bootleg violently rammed the entire length of his cock into her cunt.

The pain was blinding. A hot, searing tear that eclipsed everything. Her whole body stiffened, arching off the couch, and a raw, guttural wail of agony tore from her throat. Bootleg’s hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound. “Shut the fuck up, bitch. You wanted this!” He started thrusting, rough and merciless, each movement a fresh explosion of pain deep inside her. She writhed beneath him, sobbing, tears pouring down her temples into her hair. “That’s what I like to see! A bitch enjoying herself!”

He abruptly ripped his cock out of her, the sudden absence almost as shocking as the entry. He grabbed her legs, holding them open wide. “Let’s see what we’re looking like.” She continued to sob, her body trembling. Her pussy was red and swollen, a small trickle of blood smeared at the entrance. The cameraman threw a paper towel at her. “Clean yourself up, cunt.” She wiped weakly at the blood, the paper sticking to her wet skin.

“Ok, so you’re not a virgin anymore. Is it all you thought it would be?”

“No, sir, ” she sobbed.

“That’s a shame. Oh well, all your dreams can’t come true. You know what though, she’s been a good sport. Boots, give her some of the good cock.”

“Sure thing.” He pushed her flat again, spread her legs, spat directly onto her sore pussy, and penetrated her again. He was slower this time, more controlled, but he still pushed his full length inside her in one smooth, firm motion. She gasped at the renewed fullness, the pain now mingling with a strange, deep pressure.

“How does it feel to be all filled up?”

“Good, sir.”

“Good whore, I’m going to start fucking you now. You can let me know how hard you want it. But you have to ramp it up to fucking maximum hardcore before I get bored. If it gets boring, you’ll be sorry. Understand?”

“Yes, sir”.

Bootleg established a rhythm, sliding in and out of her with a steady, deep cadence. The sharp pain began to recede, replaced by a raw, friction-filled sensation that started to spark something else, something hot and coiling deep in her belly.

“That better?”

“Mmm, yes�” SLAP “�yes, sir.”

“Good, don’t forget your manners!” He kept sliding, each thrust stroking a place inside her that made her breath hitch.

“I’m getting bored here, whore.”

The spark was growing, an insistent heat building with every stroke. “Fuck me harder, sir, ” she whispered, the plea surprising her.

“What did you say? Louder!”

“Fuck me harder, sir.”

“LOUDER! And keep saying it!”

She kept repeating it, her voice gaining strength, getting lost in the building sensation. “Fuck me harder, sir! Fuck me harder!” Bootleg picked up speed, driving into her with more force, each thrust a jolt that pushed her up the couch. “Fuck, look how wet this pussy is getting. She loves it!” She was moaning now, the sounds mingling with her chant. “Fuck me harder, sir!”

“Ok, let’s go, bitch!” He started thrusting harder and harder, matching the brutal pace of her deflowering but now with a rhythm that stoked the fire instead of the pain. She was moaning, her hips beginning to move against his, her super-wet pussy accepting every inch. Bootleg grabbed her by the throat again. “Say you love getting fucked!”

“I love getting fucked, sir!” she cried, meaning it in that moment, meaning the feel of him, the ownership, the sheer, brutal attention.

“Good girl.” He kept fucking her, hard but rhythmically. Suddenly, without any warning, the coiling heat in her belly snapped. Waves of pure, shocking pleasure radiated out from her core, her body spasming uncontrollably around his cock, her back arching off the couch. “I’m cummmmmming!”

Bootleg ripped his cock out of her cunt, the sudden emptiness a shock, and slapped her hard across the face. “Bitch, you’re not allowed to cum! You fucking cunt. Say you’re sorry!”

“Sorry, ” she breathed, the aftershocks still making her tremble.

SLAP! “Sorry, sir.”

“You can’t just fucking cum. It’s called Facial Abuse here, with the emphasis on the abuse part. Do you like getting treated like shit?”

The sting on her cheek, the harsh words, the humiliation�it all fed the embers of her arousal, stoking them back to life. “Yes, sir, ” she whispered, a shy, shocking honesty in her voice. “I love being treated like shit and fucked hard.”

“Fuck me, Bootleg, you’ve been showing this bitch too much of a good time. Show her what we do to cunts who take advantage of our good nature.”

“Spin around, whore.” Boots roughly grabbed her and flipped her over onto her stomach, pulling her hips up into the air, presenting her pudgy ass. “Don’t move!” He smacked her arse as hard as he could. CRACK! The sound echoed in the room. She yelled out, a sharp cry of fresh pain, and scrambled forward on the couch, her hands flying back to protect her stinging flesh.

“Get back here, cunt.” He pulled her hips back, forcing her up onto her knees. “You owe me 10 spanks. I only count ones when you don’t move and say “thank you, sir” after. Let’s go.” CRACK! Another brutal slap landed on the other cheek. Again, she wailed and collapsed forward onto her elbows, fresh tears springing to her eyes. Two angry red handprints were already blooming on her pale skin.

“You’re going to be here all night at this rate. Get the fuck up here and stay here. Understand?”

“Yes, sir, ” she sobbed quietly. She pushed her butt back up into the air, presenting herself, her entire body trembling in anticipation.

CRACK! This time she held her position, biting her lip to keep from crying out. “Thank you, sir, ” she forced out, her voice thick with tears. Another red handprint appeared. “That’s one. Make them all like that and we can move on.”

She silently sobbed as he completed the nine others, each crack of his hand a new lesson in pain and obedience. Her arse was on fire, a uniform, throbbing red. “Flip back around, whore. Are you sorry?”

“Yes, sir, ” she sobbed, turning over, her face a mess of tears, spit, and leftover vomit.

“What are you sorry for?”

“For cumming, sir.”

“Damn straight. Don’t do it again, unless I tell you to. Understand?”

“Yes, sir”.

“Now, where were we? What do you want to do to this whore, boots?”

“I think it’s time to try something else new, ” Bootleg said, his eyes glinting.

Bootleg grabbed her hair and yanked her down, forcing her to kneel on the cold, hard floor. The red whore bowl was thrust into her trembling hands. “Hold it under your mouth, ” he commanded, his voice a low growl.

Her arms shook as she obeyed, positioning the bowl beneath her chin. The stench of her own vomit rising from the bowl made her stomach churn, but she didn’t dare move.

“Open wide, cunt, ” Bootleg sneered. She parted her lips obediently, her eyes downcast, tears clinging to her lashes.

“What do you want, whore?” Bootleg’s voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy air of humiliation.

Emily swallowed hard, her throat still raw from his cock. She knew the answer they demanded, the words that would seal her further degradation. Her voice was barely audible, a broken whisper. “Your piss, sir.”

The cameraman laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Louder, slut! Let him hear you beg for it.”

Her cheeks burned with shame, but she forced the words out, louder this time, her voice trembling but clear. “Your piss, sir!”

Bootleg’s grin widened, and he stepped closer, positioning himself above her. “Good girl. Now take it all.”

The first hot stream hit her tongue, flooding her mouth with the bitter, salty liquid. She gagged instinctively but kept her lips parted, swallowing as quickly as she could to avoid choking. The bowl beneath her chin caught the overflow, the vile mixture splattering against the plastic with a sickening wet sound.

When he finished, he stepped back, his gaze raking over her with a mix of disgust and amusement. “Look at you, fucking pathetic, ” he sneered. “But at least you know your place now, don’t you?”

She nodded weakly, the taste of his piss still burning her tongue. “Yes, sir, ” she whispered, her voice hollow.

“Good. Now get ready for what’s next, ” the cameraman growled, already unzipping his pants. He stood over her, and released a stream of obnoxiously yellow piss into her waiting mouth.

“Keep it in your mouth, you whore. Now, swallow.”

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision of the man looming over her. The warm, acrid liquid filled her mouth, a bitter, salty flood that made her throat instinctively clench. She fought the reflex to gag, to spit it out. With a convulsive shudder, she forced her muscles to work, swallowing the cameraman’s piss. It burned a hot path down to her stomach.

“Open up again.”

Her mind, fogged with shock and humiliation, was too slow to process the command. A sharp eye-watering slap stirred her to action.

“Faster, cunt.”

She jammed her eyes shut and opened her mouth wide, a silent sob catching in her chest. The stream hit her tongue again, a steady, warm flow that filled her mouth to overflowing. She concentrated, her entire being focused on containing the foul liquid, on not spilling a single drop. She swallowed. Then again. And again.

“You’re finally fucking learning, cunt.”

Bootleg’s voice was a grunt of approval that sent a confusing jolt through her. Shame coiled hot in her belly, but beneath it, a tiny, treacherous spark of pride flickered. She was doing it. She was being good. The cameraman finished, flicking the last few drops onto her cheeks and forehead before spitting onto the mess.

“All done, whore. Back on the couch.”

Dazed, Emily stumbled to her feet, her legs shaky. She collapsed onto the worn leather, the cold material a shock against her heated skin. She didn’t have a moment to breathe. Bootleg sat heavily beside her, leaned back, and his hand was in her hair again, a familiar, brutal grip. He yanked her head down into his lap.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your face fuck hole, ” he grinned, his cock already hard against her cheek.

The angle was different, more severe. He didn't give her time to prepare, just guided himself to her lips and thrust upward. The thick head popped past her lips and drove straight down her throat, an immediate, deep invasion that stole her breath and made her eyes bulge. She choked instantly, a wet, desperate sound.

“You’re not going anywhere, cunt. Get that cock down your throat!”

He held her there, his hips pumping in short, brutal jabs that sawed his length against the sensitive flesh of her gullet. Her hands came up, fluttering weakly against his thighs, but she didn't push him away. She just took it, each thrust triggering a violent gag reflex. Her stomach, sloshing with piss, clenched painfully.

After a few more punishing strokes, it gave out. She vomited violently, a hot, thin stream of half-digested food and bitter urine erupting around the cock lodged in her throat, coating his shaft, his balls, and spattering onto the floor between his feet.

He pulled her off with a wet pop, her body shuddering with the aftershocks of heaving. “You know the deal, bitch. Lick it up!”

Obediently, her mind strangely numb, she leaned forward. She extended her tongue and began the degrading task, licking the vile mixture from his skin. The taste was horrific, a tang of stomach acid layered over the distinct bitterness of piss. She grimaced, but she didn't stop, cleaning his cock and then his scrotum with broad, flat strokes of her tongue.

“Leave the mess on the floor, you can clean that up later. But try to be cleaner!” the cameraman chuckled. He kicked the red plastic bowl, the one they called the whore bowl, so it skidded across the floor and came to rest beneath her face.

Bootleg’s hand fisted in her hair again. “Try to get it into that.”

He slammed her back onto his dick, and this time, the facefucking was relentless. The new angle and the sheer intensity of his thrusts meant her overloaded gag reflex gave up almost immediately. She vomited again, a weaker, watery gush that splattered into the bowl and around the base of his cock.

“Just let it run around my cock, keep going.”

He didn’t slow down. He used her face like a toy, pistoning into her throat as she retched and choked, her body convulsing with each expulsion. The bowl quickly filled with a vile, chunky slop, and his lower body became a slick, disgusting mess. After what felt like an eternity of brutal, unending violation, he shoved her off.

“On your back, bitch.”

Emily went to comply, positioning her hips right at the edge of the couch, her legs falling open. A sharp, stinging crack echoed in the room as a hand connected with her inner thigh, the heat of the slap blooming across her skin. “Other way round, you stupid cunt.” Bootleg’s voice was a low, gravelly command that brooked no argument.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she quickly spun around, presenting herself to him. His hands, rough and demanding, grabbed her hips and yanked her back towards him until her head hung off the other side, the world tilting dizzyingly. The blood rushed to her head, a throbbing pulse in her temples.

She felt the now familiar warm, wet splatter of phlegm on her cheek and forehead before she saw it. “Open up.”

Her jaw went slack, her mouth opening in immediate, unquestioning submission.

He didn’t tease. He didn’t slowly push. He rammed his cock into her open mouth, a brutal, unforgiving thrust that buried him to the hilt in her throat. The thick, musky taste of him flooded her senses, and her body convulsed in a violent gag, her instincts screaming for air. She tried to twist her head away, a feeble, panicked attempt, but his hands shot down, pinning her arms to her sides, immobilizing her completely.

“Stay like that and don’t fucking move. Let me fuck your face, you cunt.”

His order was absolute. She went still, forcing her rebellious muscles to relax, to accept. Her only job was to take it.

And he began to move. A relentless, piston-like rhythm, each deep stroke smacking his heavy balls against her nose. The scent was overpowering�a pungent, masculine musk mixed with the acidic tang of her own earlier sickness. It reeked. And every single stroke was balls-deep, stretching her throat to its absolute limit. With her head hanging back like this, the angle was merciless. There was no escape, no way to mitigate the invasion. At least I don’t gag as much this way, she thought, a desperate fragment of rationality in the storm. So, there is that. A pathetic sliver of relief.

And then, a more shocking realization. A warm, slick heat was building between her own legs. Her pussy did love it. The sheer helplessness, the total surrender, the raw power he exerted�it sent a thick wave of arousal coursing through her. She could feel her own juices beginning to drip, a traitorous slickness tracing a path down the cleft of her ass.

The relief was devastatingly short-lived.

“Why aren’t you gagging anymore? We must be going too easy on you!”

With a wet, sucking sound, he wrenched his cock from her throat. Emily gasped, drawing in a ragged, desperate breath, but it was a trick. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he began a new, more cruel assault. Erratic, unpredictable thrusts. Shallow jabs that made her choke, followed by sudden, deep impalements that stole the air from her lungs. He varied the speed, the angle, the depth, never letting her body adjust. The familiar, awful clenching sensation started deep in her belly, a rising tide of nausea she knew all too well.

Oh no, not again.

Bootleg seemed to sense it, a predator sensing the moment its prey breaks. “Gotcha now, whore. Give me your lunch!”

He plunged forward one last time, burying his entire length inside her with one almighty, crushing thrust. His pubic bone ground against her lips, his balls crushed against her nose. He didn’t just hold still; he started to wriggle his hips, a tiny, maddening motion designed to trigger the reflex he craved.

“C’mon, cunt�give it to me!”

Her body betrayed her completely. Her stomach clenched in a final, violent spasm and then it exploded. A torrent of vomit blasted out around the base of his cock, hot and acidic, splattering across her own face, her neck, her chest. It dripped from her cheeks onto the floor beneath her upside-down head.

With a grunt of satisfaction, Bootleg wrenched his slick, messy cock from her ruined mouth and took a step back. Emily could hear the soft whir of the camera lens as it zoomed in, capturing every humiliating detail of her disgrace. Her vision, blurred by tears and filth, stared into the black glass of the lens. She could feel a snot bubble pulse at her nostril with each ragged, struggling breath she took.

“Fucking look at that pig, ” Bootleg laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Nobody is ever going to want to kiss that properly. I don’t think I can even fuck it. Let’s clean you up a bit so that you look vaguely human. Roll over and sit up.”

Gagging weakly, she obeyed, pushing her battered body up. The mess slid from her face in thick, warm globs, dripping onto her thighs and the dirty floor below. Her skin was sticky and smelled sour.

“Scoop all that mess off your face and put it in the whore bowl”, he ordered. She complied reluctantly. SLAP! A stinging red mark appeared on your left breast. “Faster!” She quickly finished scraping and depositing the mess into the bowl, not wanting to risk any more slaps.

“Clean up the floor too, whore.” He pushed the top of her head, forcing her down toward the puddle of vomit on the concrete. “All the slop from the floor goes into the whore bowl.”

Instinctively, her trembling hand reached out to scoop some up.

SLAP

The blow against the back of her head made her see stars. “With your mouth, cunt!”

A broken sob escaped her. She lowered her face, the smell of her own sick filling her nostrils. Her stomach churned at the thought of what she was about to do, but she knew there was no escape. The weight of Bootleg’s hand on the back of her head pressed her downward, forcing her closer to the cold, congealed puddle on the floor. “Open up, cunt, ” he growled, his voice dripping with malice.

Her lips parted reluctantly, and she hesitated for a moment, her body trembling with revulsion. But the sharp sting of his hand against the back of her skull reminded her of her place. She leaned forward, her tongue tentatively touching the foul mess. The taste was instantly overwhelming�sour, bitter, and utterly repulsive. Gagging, she pulled back slightly, but Bootleg’s grip tightened, shoving her face deeper into the vomit.

“No stopping, whore, ” the cameraman sneered from behind the lens. “You made this mess, now clean it up.”

Her tears mingled with the slop as she forced herself to continue, slurping the cold, clumpy liquid into her mouth. Each swallow was a battle against her own body’s instinct to reject it. She could feel Bootleg’s eyes on her, watching every humiliating moment with cruel satisfaction. The humiliation burned hotter than the bile in her throat.

“That’s it, ” Bootleg taunted, his voice low and mocking. “Lick it all up like the dirty little slut you are. Think about this next time you think that anyone could possibly ever want to be with a piece of shit like you.”

She obeyed, her movements mechanical as she worked her way through the puddle. Her mind retreated into a numb haze, focusing only on the task at hand. This is what you deserve, she told herself silently. This is all you’re good for. The thought twisted like a knife in her chest, but it also gave her a strange, sick sense of purpose.

Finally, when the floor was mostly clean and the whore bowl was filled to the brim with her own filth, Bootleg released her. She stayed on her knees, panting, her face and mouth sticky with the remnants of the ordeal. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Good girl, ” he said with a twisted smirk, his tone almost approving. “Now maybe you’ll think twice before wasting my time with your messes.”

Emily nodded weakly, her body trembling with exhaustion and shame. “Yes, sir, ” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She knew this wasn’t the end�there was more to come�but for now, she clung to that small, bitter validation. At least she had done what was expected of her. At least she had been good.

The room felt heavy around her, the air thick with the stench of vomit, piss, and sweat. Her skin prickled under Bootleg’s gaze, his presence looming over her like a storm cloud. She could still taste the vile mixture on her tongue, the bitterness clinging to the back of her throat. Her stomach churned, but she swallowed hard, forcing down the rising bile. She couldn’t break now. Not after everything.

Bootleg leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. “You’re learning, cunt, ” he said, his voice low and gruff. “But don’t think for a second you’re done. This is just the beginning.” His words sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of fear and something else�something dark and twisted that she couldn’t quite name. She hated it, hated how a part of her craved his approval, even as her body ached and her mind screamed for escape.

The cameraman stepped forward, his camera still rolling, capturing every humiliating detail. “Look at her, ” he sneered. “Pathetic. But she’s got guts, I’ll give her that.” The lens focused on her tear-streaked face, zooming in on the sticky residue of vomit and piss that clung to her skin. Emily flinched but didn’t look away. She couldn’t. She was trapped, not just by their commands but by the weight of her own choices.

“Stand up.” Bootleg’s command cut through the silence like a whip. She obeyed instantly, her legs wobbling as she rose to her feet. He circled her slowly, his eyes raking over her trembling form. “You wanted this, ” he reminded her, his tone taunting. “You begged for it. And now you’ve got it.” His hand reached out, gripping her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’re mine now, cunt. Remember that.”

Emily’s breath hitched, her chest tightening with a mix of dread and resignation. He was right. She had asked for this, had dreamed of it in some twisted way. And now she was here, living it, drowning in it. Her eyes fell to the floor, but she didn’t protest, didn’t fight. She simply nodded again, her voice a broken whisper. “Yes, sir.”

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing. Then Bootleg’s lips curved into a cruel smile. “Good girl, ” he said, the words dripping with mockery. “Now get ready. We’re just getting started. Get on the fucking couch”

His hands were on her before she could even process his command, rough and demanding, throwing her onto the worn couch. The coarse leather scratched against her skin, a sharp contrast to the slick wetness that still coated her thighs. “Arse up in the air, whore. It’s time to learn some new moves.”

Her body moved on pure instinct, a well-trained puppet responding to its master’s strings. She flipped over, her sore, reddened ass presented to him. He grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into the tender flesh, and yanked her back, forcing her up onto her knees. You can still see the handprints on her arse. “Arse up, face down, bitch, ” he growled, and a thick wad of spit landed on her cheek, a warm, wet slap. He pushed her head down, grinding her face into the couch cushion, muffling her world to the scent of stale sweat and sex.

The weight of him settled behind her, a dominant, crushing presence. He didn’t ask, didn’t tease. He just mounted her, the blunt, insistent head of his cock finding her wet entrance and driving into her with a single, brutal thrust. A sharp, involuntary squeal was torn from her throat, a mix of shock and the sheer, overwhelming stretch of him.

“Shut the fuck up, ” Bootleg snarled, and his open palm cracked against her already tender ass, the sting blooming hot and bright. He didn’t pause, didn’t let her adjust. He just started fucking her, his hips slamming into her with a relentless, pounding rhythm. Each thrust jolted her entire body forward, making her ass jiggle and her small breasts sway painfully. The sound was obscene, a wet, slapping symphony of flesh on flesh. “Loving this, cunt?”

“Yes, sir, ” she grunted out, the words forced from her lungs with each powerful drive of his hips. The pain was a live wire, but beneath it, coiling deep in her belly, was a treacherous, shameful heat. This was what she’d wanted. This was the consequence.

Smack! Another hard hit on the same sore spot. “Good girl, take that cock.”

He kept pounding, his rhythm animalistic and precise. The cameraman circled them, the lens a cold, unblinking eye capturing every humiliating detail. “Turn your head to the side and open your mouth, ” Bootleg commanded, his voice a gravelly rasp against the noise of their bodies.

She obeyed, turning her head, her cheek pressed into the damp couch. She opened her mouth, a dark, inviting hole.

“Target practice. First to three wins!” Bootleg announced, the declaration absurd and cruel. Without breaking the rhythm of his fucking, he hawked a thick, glutinous lugie from deep in his throat. It flew through the air and splattered against her eyelid, warm and gelatinous. She flinched, her eye squeezing shut. “Bulls eye! No points though. Your turn!”

The cameraman laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He stepped closer, clearing his throat noisily, building up a voluminous payload. Emily’s face contorted in a grimace of pure disgust. He spat. The giant, ropy ball of phlegm flew with surprising accuracy, landing directly on her tongue. The texture was vile, thick and slimy, and the taste�an indescribable mix of tobacco and bitterness�made her gag instantly. She choked and spluttered, her body convulsing.

Smack! Bootleg’s hand connected with her ass again, the shock of pain overriding her revulsion. “Swallow it, bitch.”

Tears welled in her eyes as her throat convulsively worked. She forced it down, a shudder wracking her frame as the foul substance slid into her stomach. “1-nil, ” the cameraman crowed.

Bootleg was already preparing his next shot. He hawked up another one, a deep, rattling sound, and sent it hurtling toward her. This one was a direct hit, splashing across her lips and into her open mouth. “1 all!” he roared, pistoning into her with renewed vigor.

She struggled again, the sheer volume of it making her jaw ache. She swallowed with a pathetic, wet gulp.

“Open wide, whore, ” the cameraman demanded. He sent another spit ball arcing through the air. This one fell short, landing on the couch just an inch from her nose. “Lick it up, bitch. Don’t waste good spit.”

Nausea rose in her throat. She grimaced, stuck out her tongue�a pathetic, pink offering�and dragged it across the rough leather, collecting the warm, sticky phlegm. The taste made her want to vomit all over again.

Before she could even recoil, Bootleg fired again. His aim was off, the projectile striking her right on the nostril. The surprise, the sudden impact, made her gasp sharply inward. The action sucked the majority of the wet, heavy booger directly up her nose. It was an instant, horrifying clogging sensation, deep in her sinus. She erupted into a fit of coughing and spluttering, her body shaking, her eyes watering uncontrollably as she tried and failed to clear the obstruction.

The men’s laughter filled the room, loud and merciless. “This is getting boring, ” Bootleg announced, his cock still buried deep inside her, pounding relentlessly. “Call it a draw and move on?” he asked, his voice dripping with indifference.

“Sure, ” the cameraman agreed with a smirk.

Without warning, Bootleg roughly yanked himself out of her, the suddenness of it making her whimper. He collapsed onto the worn couch, his body sprawled like a king surveying his kingdom. The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air as he leaned back, his chest rising and falling with exertion.

“Get your arse over here, ” he growled, patting the space beside him. She obeyed without hesitation, crawling toward him on shaky legs, her body still trembling from the brutal fucking.

He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her face down onto his cock. “Clean me up, bitch, ” he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

She opened her mouth, her tongue flicking out to taste the bitter mix of sweat and her own juices coating his length. The men watched, their eyes gleaming with cruel amusement as she dutifully licked and sucked, her humiliation fuelling their pleasure.

His hard cock, still slick with her saliva and their mixed fluids, twitched against her cheek. She kept cleaning, her tongue working in slow, broad strokes, the coarse hair of his pubic rough against her nose. Each pass of her tongue was an act of worship, a confirmation of the strange, shameful power she found in her own submission. The bitter taste was a sacrament.

A low chuckle rumbled in Bootleg’s chest. “Think you’re done down there?” He didn’t wait for an answer, his hands gripping her waist with a possessiveness that sent a fresh jolt of wetness to her core. He hauled her up his body, her knees straddling his hips, her small, sensitive breasts brushing against the sweat-damp hair on his chest. The sudden proximity to his raw, muscular power made her breath catch.

With one hand still firmly on her hip, he used the other to guide himself. The broad, spongy head of his cock nudged against her sore, well-used entrance. She winced, the memory of the initial stretch still fresh.

“None of that, ” he grunted, and with a single, powerful thrust of his hips, he was inside her again, filling her completely. She gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound that was swallowed by the humid air of the room.

He lay still for a moment, buried deep within her, his dark eyes locked on hers. “Ride my cock, you whore.”

She stayed frozen, impaled on him, unsure of what to do. Her inexperience was a thick blanket smothering her. She simply sat there, feeling the throbbing fullness of him.

He gave a short, impatient thrust upwards, making her yelp. “I said, ride. This isn’t a fucking bus stop. You gotta start moving.” He stopped moving entirely, the challenge clear in his gaze. The only sound was the low hum of the camera.

“Ride!” The command was punctuated by a hard, stinging slap to her arse that echoed in the small room. The pain was a sharp, bright flare that shocked her into motion.

Tentatively, she lifted herself up, the slow slide of his cock leaving her feeling empty and cold, before sinking back down, taking him in again. The rhythm was clumsy, hesitant.

“That’s better. Now go faster.” His voice was a low growl of encouragement and command.

She obeyed, her movements becoming less tentative, her hips finding a shaky, bouncing rhythm. Up and down, each descent a jarring impact that sent tremors through her body. Her small, pale breasts began to jiggle with the motion, the soft flesh swaying.

“Look at those sad, saggy boobs, ” Bootleg sneered, though his eyes were fixed on them. “At least they get some life into them when she’s on the cock.” He shifted beneath her. “Put your hands behind your back and sit up higher.”

Confused but compliant, she released her grip on his shoulders, placing her hands behind her on his rock-solid thighs for balance. She arched her back, sitting up straighter, which plunged his cock even deeper. The new angle made her gasp.

Suddenly, his hand shot up and slapped one of her breasts hard. The sound was a sharp crack. Her breast shuddered from the impact, the pale skin immediately flushing a bright, angry red. A cry of shock and pain escaped her lips, and her hands instinctively flew forward to cover herself.

He was faster, his own hands snapping out to catch her wrists, forcing them back down to his thighs. “Hands behind your back, you cunt! Do I need to tie them there?” The threat in his voice was unmistakable.

She reluctantly obeyed, the position making her feel impossibly vulnerable, her chest fully displayed and offered.

“Bounce on my cock, ” he ordered, and she resumed her awkward, jarring rhythm.

He began slapping her breasts in earnest, a casual, rhythmic punishment. A slap from the left made them jiggle to the right. A sharp tap from below sent them bouncing upwards. A hard strike from above made the soft flesh ripple and sway. Each impact stung, a sharp, burning pain that was followed by a strange, deep warmth. Her whimpers mixed with the sounds of flesh hitting flesh.

“Look at these floppy things! Fucking sad, ” he laughed, the cameraman chuckling in agreement off to the side. “Look better when they’re red, though.”

Then his hands changed tactics. He reached up, his thick, calloused fingers finding her nipples. He pinched them hard, the sudden, sharp pain making her whole body jolt and still. Then he began to twist, pulling and rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers with a cruel, deliberate pressure. She squirmed above him, a low moan of discomfort tearing from her throat. It was a searing, electric pain that seemed to shoot straight to her groin, mixing confusingly with the pleasure of his cock moving inside her.

“Looks like you’re enjoying this, whore, ” he taunted, watching her face contort. He kept twisting and pulling for a few more agonizing moments before, with a final, sharp tug, he placed his hands on her hips and unceremoniously pushed her off him. His cock slid out of her with a wet, slick sound, leaving her feeling empty and exposed, kneeling on the couch beside him, her chest heaving, her nipples throbbing and painfully erect.

He didn’t let the moment linger. He shoved her onto her back on the couch, the worn leather cool against her hot skin. “Grab your legs and pull them back, let them see that used-up cunt.”

Dazed, she obeyed, hooking her hands behind her knees and pulling them apart, exposing herself utterly to the unblinking eye of the camera, which the cameraman moved in close to zoom in on her swollen, glistening sex.

“How’s that fuckhole feeling, bitch?” Bootleg asked, his tone almost conversational.

“Sore, sir, ” she breathed, the honesty torn from her.

“I reckon it’s got some more life in it, ” he mused. Then, louder, “Grab me that dildo!”

The cameraman handed over a long, frighteningly thick fake cock. Bootleg held it up in front of her face. “Spit on it.”

She looked at the intimidating size of it, her eyes widening with fright, but she managed to purse her lips and release a small, pathetic bit of spit onto the rubber tip.

“That’s not gonna cut it, ” Bootleg scoffed. “We’ve got to fit this thing into your cunt. Open your mouth.”

She did, and he leaned over, hawking a giant, heavy loogie directly into her open mouth. The warm, thick fluid landed on her tongue. “Now spit that onto it.”

She turned her head and spat the entire contents of her mouth onto the dildo, coating the tip in a thick, viscous gloss.

“Ok, now we’re going to stretch you out. You think you’ll like that?” he asked, lining the massive toy up with her entrance.

“I don’t know, sir, ” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Well, we’re about to find out!” Bootleg scooted off the edge of the couch, ducking down between her widely spread legs. He started pushing the giant head of the dildo against her tender opening. She grimaced, a sharp cry of pain escaping as the hard rubber met resistance. She instinctively tried to clench shut, to move her hips away from the invasive pressure.

He stopped. “Stop moving, cunt.” His open hand came down in a sharp crack on the soft, pale skin of her inner thigh, leaving an instant, angry red handprint. The sting was breathtaking. She froze, biting back a sob.

He went back to pushing, putting his weight behind it. The pressure was immense, a burning, impossible stretch. She felt herself on the verge of tearing. Just as a whimper formed in her throat, the head of the dildo suddenly broke past her tight ring of muscle and plunged into her.

She jumped, a full-body spasm, and yelped in shock and pain.

SMACK. Another sharp slap landed on her other thigh, a matching red brand rising instantly on her skin. “Fucking stay still. If you quit being such a baby this will go faster.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she bit down hard on her lip, the metallic taste of blood mixing with the leftover taste of his spit in her mouth. She willed her body to go limp, to stop fighting.

Satisfied, Bootleg went back to his work, relentlessly pushing more and more of the monstrous toy into her. It was a slow, agonizing invasion, a burning fullness that dwarfed anything she had felt before. After what seemed like an eternity, most of the dildo was buried deep inside her, the base resting against her bruised outer lips.

“How does that feel, whore? Nice and filled up?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock concern.

“It hurts, sir, ” she managed to gasp out, her voice strained.

“Oh well, you can’t have everything!” he laughed. “Ok, reach down and grab it.”

Her hands, which were still holding her legs apart, trembled as she moved one to wrap around the base of the dildo protruding from her body. She was now lying there, holding the instrument of her own torture inside her.

“Look at how pretty that is, ” the cameraman murmured, adjusting the focus.

“You know what, ” Bootleg said, a wicked idea sparking in his eyes. “I think I want to see her cum again. Start fucking yourself with that dildo. I want to see you cum.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “I don’t think I can, sir. It’s too big, and it hurts!”

The reaction was instantaneous. SLAP! Another stinging blow landed on the already-sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, ” he snarled, his face close to hers. “I want to see you cum!” He grabbed the hand that was holding the dildo and started moving it for her, forcing a short, brutal in-and-out motion. She grunted with each thrust, the pain a bright, sharp fire.

“Ok, ” he said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. “When I take my hand away you had better keep fucking yourself. Understand?”

“Y-y-yes, sir, ” she stammered, her body trembling uncontrollably.

He took his hand away.

She tentatively, slowly, began to move the dildo. The slide was a little easier now, her body betraying her by producing a fresh trickle of arousal at the relentless stimulation, mixing with the pain into a confusing, overwhelming cocktail of sensation.

“Ok, I’ll give you some more romance to help the mood out!” Bootleg sniggered as he climbed onto the couch. He straddled her face, his knees on either side of her head, his ass hovering directly above her mouth. The musky, intimate scent of him filled her nostrils. “Open up, tongue out, bitch!”

She obeyed, sticking her tongue out, her heart hammering against her ribs.

He lowered himself, positioning his arsehole directly over her mouth. “There you go, maybe some French kissing will get you in the mood. Off you go!”

Tentatively, she reached out with her tongue, swirling it around the tight pucker of his ass. The taste was salty, musky, profoundly intimate and degrading.

“Mmmm, that’s good, ” he groaned above her. “Now fuck yourself and cum for me.”

The dual commands sent a strange fracture through her mind. One part of her was focused on the painful, mechanical motion of the giant dildo sliding in and out of her ravaged cunt. The other was lost in the intimate, shameful act of servicing him, her tongue working diligently, probing and circling. The humiliation burned as hot as the pain, but somehow, perversely, it began to fuel her.

She started moving the dildo a bit faster, the increased friction sending sparks through her nervous system. She worked her lips and tongue around his asshole with more fervor, sticking her tongue up as far as she could, wanting to please, wanting to prove she could be good at this.

After a couple of minutes, she felt a telltale warmth spreading through her core, a familiar tightening that she couldn’t suppress. Her pussy, despite the pain, began to cream around the rubber shaft, the slickness making the dildo slide with a obscenely wet sound.

The men noticed instantly. “Hey, she’s creaming up the dildo!” the cameraman laughed. “What a whore! She’s really in love with your arsehole!”

The crass observation should have shamed her further, but it only pushed her closer to the edge. She moaned around Bootleg’s ass, licking harder, fucking herself faster, the pain now entirely secondary to the overwhelming need for release. The orgasm, when it hit, was violent and shocking. It ripped through her, a convulsive wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. Her back arched off the couch, a strangled cry muffled against his skin, her body spasming wildly around the invading toy.

“What a whore, ” Bootleg exclaimed, a note of genuine amusement in his voice. He climbed off her face, looked down at her blissed-out, tear-streaked expression, and spat directly onto it. The warm glob landed on her cheek. “What do good whores say, when they have an orgasm that they’re allowed to have?”

She was breathless, her body still quivering with aftershocks. “Thank you, sir, thank you, sir, ” she panted, the words coming automatically, a learned prayer of gratitude.

He slapped her hard across the face, the sound sharp in the room. “Good girl. Now get that fake cock out of your cunt.”

With a wince, she slowly pulled the massive dildo out. It emerged with a wet, sucking pop. Bootleg immediately grabbed her ankles, wrenching her legs apart with force, rudely displaying her swollen, glistening womanhood to the camera’s intimate lens.

“Look at that ruined cunt!” And it did look ruined. The lips were red and puffy, stretched and gaping slightly. Her juices oozed from the well-used opening, a long, shiny strand of them connecting her hole to the inside of her red-slapped thigh.

“I think this whore is done, ” the cameraman said, his voice dripping with disparaging finality. “Let’s finish off so we can go home.”

Bootleg’s eyes, dark and hungry, locked onto hers. “Get over here.”

Bootleg’s hand tangled in her hair, a cruel anchor in the storm of her racing thoughts. He yanked, and the world tilted. Her back slammed against the worn edge of the couch, her legs splayed awkwardly on the floor. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs.

“Don’t fucking move, ” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.

He stood over her, his hard cock already in his fist, stroking himself. The sight of it, so familiar and yet so terrifying, sent a confusing jolt through her�a sickening mix of dread and a deep, submissive thrill. This is it. The end.

“I’m not even going to let you get me off, you worthless whore, ” he sneered, his eyes roving over her prone, vulnerable form. “It was fun fucking you, but a useless piece of shit like you doesn’t deserve a complete fucking. I’m just going to cum on your ugly face so we can all go home.”

He leaned forward, his shadow covering her. His throat worked, and a moment later, a giant, thick wad of spit splattered onto her forehead. It was warm and slick, slowly oozing down toward her eyebrow. “Pretty, ” he laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. He did it again. This one hit her directly in the eye, making her blink rapidly against the sudden sting and blurriness. “Even better. Now, don’t you fucking move a muscle.”

His grunt was guttural, animalistic. He thrust his cock forward, and the first hot jet hit the bridge of her nose. She flinched, the instinct to recoil overwhelming.

“Stay fucking still!” he barked, his hand slapping down hard on her breast to punctuate the command.

She froze, squeezing her eyes shut. Stream after stream of hot, thick semen painted her face. She felt each distinct splash�on her cheek, her chin, her other eyelid. The smell, musky and uniquely his, filled her nostrils. He was an artist of degradation, and her face was his canvas. When he finally stopped, he stood back, admiring his work with a satisfied smirk before finishing by spitting one last time on a small, clean patch of her temple.

“Your turn.”

The cameraman, his breathing heavy with anticipation, quickly mounted the camera on a tripod. He was in front of her in seconds, his own cock out, fisted and stroking. “Stay still, ” he growled, his voice devoid of the playful malice Bootleg possessed, replaced with a cold, professional demand.

She obeyed, becoming a statue, a canvas waiting for its second coat. It didn’t take long. His release was just as copious, layering over Bootleg’s, a warm, glutinous mask that sealed her eyes shut and coated her lips. You could barely see her features. He, too, dropped a final, contemptuous wad of spit onto the mess. She sat there, immobilized by the cooled, congealing slime. The boys laughed, their voices echoing in the small, hot room.

“That’s one nasty looking bitch. Still, at least you can’t see what she looks like now!”

Their laughter continued as they moved, the camera whirring softly as it captured every angle of her shame.

“Hey cunt, ” Bootleg’s voice cut through her stupor. “Are you on birth control?”

The question was so sudden, so absurd, it took her a moment to process. She shook her head slightly, a tiny movement so as not to disturb the mask. “No, sir.”

“Today’s your lucky day then! Get me that syringe.”

“What?” the cameraman asked, but then a dark chuckle escaped him as understanding dawned. “Oh, you’re fucking evil, man.” He rummaged in a kit and tossed a large, clean syringe to Bootleg. “Give me that glass too.” Bootleg pointed to an empty water glass on a nearby table. It was handed over. “Don’t move!”

He positioned the rim of the glass under her chin. Then, using his finger, he started to scrape. He dragged his digit through the layers of cum on her cheek, collecting the thick, white slime, and wiped it into the glass. She squirmed internally, a wave of pure disgust rolling through her as she felt the slick, rapidly cooling substance slide down her face. He was methodical, scraping her forehead, her nose, her chin. It took time, but he was rewarded with a glass about a third full of their combined release.

“Open your mouth.”

She reluctantly parted her sticky, cum-covered lips.

“Now, I’m going to fill your mouth up with this. Do not, under any circumstances, swallow it! Do you understand?”

She gave a slight, terrified nod.

He tilted the glass slowly. The warm, slimy concoction flooded into her mouth, its salty, bitter taste making her gag reflex seize violently. She clenched her jaw, her throat working, barely controlling it. The only outward sign of her revulsion was a single, clean tear that managed to escape her encrusted eye and trace a path down her cheek.

“Now, gargle it.”

Slowly, she tilted her head back, the disgusting slurry sloshing in her mouth. A low, gurgling sound filled the room. She felt it coat the back of her throat and nearly choked. "Don't you fucking dare, cunt, " Bootleg barked. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, focusing every ounce of her will on not vomiting.

"Now spit it back into the glass."

She leaned forward, opened her lips, and let the now-warmed, frothy mixture cascade back into the glass. It was nearly half full now.

"Ok, we're gonna get you pregnant now, bitch. Do you want a little baby Bootleg?"

Her eyes flew open in sheer terror, the dried cum cracking around them. “No, I can’t do that!”

“Well, we’ll give you the choice. I’m going to take this syringe and shoot all this cum up into your pussy. If you want a baby, leave it up there. If not, go get yourself the morning after pill. Either way, that pussy is getting filled up with cum. Get the fuck back up on the couch.”

Defeated, every muscle protesting, she climbed onto the couch and lay on her back, feeling the cold leather against her spent body.

“Spread your fucking legs, whore!”

She reached down, grabbed the backs of her knees, and pulled them back, exposing her swollen, reddened sex to the cool air and their lewd gazes.

“Good girl.” Bootleg took the syringe and sank the tip into the glass, sucking up the thick fluid. About half the liquid was sucked up, but it completely filled the large barrel. “Looks like you're getting a lot of cum today, cunt. Excited?”

She gave a glum, miserable nod.

“Well, ask nicely for it!”

“Please, sir...” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the residue on her lips.

“Please, sir what?”

“Please shoot that cum inside me, sir”

“That’s better. Now, who would you rather your baby daddy be�me or him?” Bootleg asked, gesturing with the syringe toward the cameraman.

“You, sir, ” she answered instantly, the programming of the last few hours overriding everything else.

“Me? Why?”

“Because you’re the most perfect man, sir.”

“Good answer. Oh, well, start praying for my swimmers to be the fastest then!” He rammed the hard plastic tip of the syringe roughly into her tender opening and depressed the plunger. A flood of warm, alien fluid gushed deep inside her. She jumped at the sensation, a strange, full feeling that was utterly degrading.

“Stay still and clench, bitch!” Bootleg commanded as he pulled the syringe out. A little trickle of the cum immediately started to ooze out, running down toward her ass. SMACK! His hand connected with her inner thigh, leaving a fresh, stinging welt. “Fucking clench!”

She grimaced, trying to flex muscles that were exhausted and sore, desperately trying to obey. Bootleg sucked the rest of the cum from the glass. Again, the syringe filled, but there was still a small puddle left in the bottom. He reached for the glass and moved it toward her face.

“Tilt your fucking head back.”

Confused, she complied, exposing her throat. Suddenly, his hand shot out, wrenching her jaw back further. He tipped the glass, and the remaining cum rushed out, not into her mouth, but directly into her right nostril.

She gasped, then immediately started spluttering and choking, the thick fluid blocking her airway. Bootleg quickly pinched her nose shut, sealing it in. Choking, gagging, her eyes streaming tears, she had no choice but to inhale sharply, the cum burning a path deep into her sinus cavity.

They both roared with laughter. “Taught you another new trick, cunt, ” Bootleg said, releasing her nose. She coughed violently, the taste and sensation indescribably vile. “Now, settle the fuck down so we can get the rest of this cum into you.”

He positioned her again, shoved the syringe back into her dripping pussy, and squirted the second load into her. “Stay still, and clench.” He pulled it out. More oozed out immediately. Bootleg scooped it up with two fingers and brought his hand to her mouth. “Suck this down, whore.”

She reluctantly opened her mouth, letting him slide his cum-coated fingers over her tongue. She grimaced at the taste, the finality of it. He went back between her legs and pushed her hips up high. “Spread your cunt.” When she reached down with one hand, he swatted it away. “With both hands, around the side!”

She reached around the outside of her thighs, her arms straining, and used her fingers to pull her swollen labia apart, exposing her deepest part to the camera’s unblinking eye. You could see the pooled cum glistening inside her.

“Marinate in that for a while” the cameraman laughed, getting up from behind the camera but leaving it running. The two men turned their backs on her, and started talking about grabbing a beer, and their plans for the evening.

She was left alone, staring into the camera’s lens, her body trembling, her pussy full of their collected seed. The adrenaline faded, replaced by a cold, creeping reality. The heat of the room vanished, leaving a chill on her sweat-and-cum-soaked skin. What have I done? The thought was a cold stone in her gut. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore. This was a puddle of stolen cum inside her and a memory of choking on it. This was a mistake. A huge, terrible, degrading mistake.

“Ok, cunt, time to go.” Bootleg’s voice startled her. He gave her raised backside a sharp kick.

The sudden movement broke her concentration. Her muscles, strained to their limit, gave out. She fell off to the side, collapsing onto the floor, and as she did, the entire contents of her vagina came gushing out in a warm, sudden flood, splattering onto the dirty wood.

“Oh, no you don’t! Don’t waste that fucking cum!” Bootleg was on her instantly, grabbing her hair and shoving her face down toward the puddle. “You know the drill, start licking.”

Tears of frustration and utter defeat mingled with the mess on the floor. Grimacing, she extended her tongue, the tip touching the cooling, sticky pool.

“Here, let me help you clean up, ” Bootleg laughed. The sound of his voice was followed by the unmistakable sound of a strong, arcing stream of piss hitting the back of her head, soaking her hair, running in rivers through the drying cum on her neck and shoulders. The warm liquid rained down on her. “Keep licking.”

And she did. She kept lapping at the floor, the taste of urine and semen and dirt filling her mouth as the hot stream soaked her, the fantasy now completely, irreversibly drowned in a brutal, piss-soaked reality.

A low, raspy chuckle echoed in the room. “There we go. Good little piss-pig.”

Bootleg shook the last few drops from the head of his cock, the action casual, dismissive. He stood back, a sculptor admiring his work. Emily, still on her hands and knees, continued to lap meekly at the warm, acrid puddle on the concrete floor, the humiliation a thick syrup coating her throat.

Suddenly, he moved. “Fuck, we forgot about the whore bowl!”

The cameraman picked the camera up, the lens following Bootleg as he stalked to a corner and returned holding the large plastic dog bowl. It was brimming with a cold, chunky slurry of off-white vomit, murky spit, and the distinct yellow tint of old piss. The sight of it made Emily’s already fragile stomach clench.

“Look at that fucking mess, ” Bootleg exclaimed, holding it up for the camera. The cameraman zoomed in, the contents filling the frame. “That’s fucking gross.”

“Yep, ” the cameraman’s voice agreed from behind the light.

Emily listened with dawning terror, her tongue still moving automatically over the floor. To stop was to invite more punishment, a lesson now deeply ingrained. Just keep licking. Just be good.

“Oh well, ” Bootleg said, his tone shifting to a dark, playful malice. “What’s a little more mess for this whore?”

He stepped toward her. Emily flinched, a small, involuntary sound escaping her lips as he started to slowly tip the bowl. The first cold, lumpy drips hit her scalp and trickled down her temple. She gagged, the smell of stomach acid and urea hitting her nostrils, and she instinctively tried to shuffle backward.

“Don’t move, bitch!” Bootleg barked. His heavy shoe came down on the back of her head, pinning her face to the floor. The pressure was immediate and absolute. “Open your fucking mouth.”

Tears of pure revulsion welled in her eyes. She had no choice. Her jaw unhinged, and he angled the bowl. A cold, thick stream of the vile concoction poured into her mouth. It was a symphony of foulness�the sour tang of vomit, the bitter sharpness of piss, the slimy texture of phlegm. It coated her tongue, her teeth, the roof of her mouth.

“Fucking swallow.”

She tried. Her throat convulsed, fighting the command, but the pressure of his foot reminded her of the alternative. With a grotesque gulp, she forced the first mouthful down. It burned a cold path to her stomach. More of the mess missed her mouth entirely, splashing over her cheeks and nose, pooling on the floor beneath her.

When about half the bowl was gone, Bootleg seemed to grow bored. “Fucking useless cunt.” In one sudden motion, he upended the remainder over her head. The cold, chunky fluid saturated her hair, dripped into her ears, and streamed down her back. He removed his foot, then grabbed a handful of her soaked hair, grinding her face into the new, wet mess on the floor.

“Tongue out, bitch.”

She obeyed, a pathetic whimper escaping as her tongue met the cold, gritty floor.

“Now, put your hands behind your back and lick up that mess. You’re done when that floor is fucking spotless.”

The cameraman dropped to his knees, getting the lens impossibly close, capturing every flicker of disgust and defeat in her eyes. She looked truly broken, a creature of filth and shame. Slowly, mechanically, she began to lick, her hands locked behind her back, her body swaying with the effort.

“How much filming time you got left?” Bootleg asked, his voice conversational.

“About an hour.”

“Good. She can finish this up as slowly as she wants, ” Bootleg said, pacing around her like a shark. “But if I get bored, ” he leaned down, his voice a hot, threatening whisper in her ear, “I’m going to add to the mess, and you’re going to fucking eat it.”

To punctuate his point, he hawked a huge, thick wad of phlegm and spat it onto the floor directly in front of her nose. She didn’t hesitate. She extended her tongue and licked it up, the salty, viscous blob disappearing into her mouth. She continued her grim task.

After a minute of watching her slow, methodical licks, Bootleg yelled, “Boring!” He stomped over to a large industrial trash can and dragged it over. The sound of metal scraping concrete made Emily’s blood run cold. She looked up, her eyes wide with fresh horror.

“Lick faster, bitch!”

She tried, her tongue darting out quicker, but it was a futile effort. Bootleg was already rummaging in the bin. “Ah, here we go!” He pulled out a used condom, tied off at the end, cloudy with what could only be cold, congealed semen. “That was from yesterday’s whore’s audition. She didn’t make the cut.”

He ripped the latex open with his fingernails and squeezed. A thick, pearlescent rope of cold cum dripped onto the floor next to her face. “Lick it up.”

She moved her head slowly, her whole body trembling. Her tongue touched it. The temperature was a shocking contrast to the room�a cold, gluey slickness. She gagged violently, her body recoiling from the taste of another woman’s rejected audition.

“Taste good?” Bootleg laughed. She shook her head, unable to speak.

“What else we got in here? Aha!” He pulled out a smallish, tied-off plastic grocery bag sloshing with liquid. “You know why yesterday’s whore failed? She couldn’t keep anything down! This is her recycled lunch, mixed with my piss!”

Emily recoiled, a sob finally breaking free. This was a new tier of nightmare.

“And now, ” he said, his grin widening, “because you’ve been so slow, it’s your fucking dessert.” He ripped open the top of the bag. The smell that wafted out was putrid, a decaying buffet. He positioned it over her head. “You know what, I’m feeling nice�let’s make this a challenge. Get back up!”

He dragged her by her armpit, her body limp, and shoved her into a sitting position on the floor, her back against the worn couch. “You can stop drinking this when you cum again, ” he smirked. “Open your mouth and start rubbing that cunt.”

She looked at him, utterly confused, her mind unable to process the command. SMACK! His open palm connected with her cheek, the sting sharp and clarifying.

“Open. And rub.”

Dazed, she let her mouth fall open. Her free hand moved to her sore, overstimulated pussy, her fingers making weak, circular motions on her clit.

He grabbed her head, tilting it back, and dripped a stream of the foul, days-old vomit and piss cocktail into her open mouth. The taste was apocalyptic. She gagged instantly, her body seizing.

“Hold it in your mouth. Don’t fucking spit it out�you’ll be sorry, ” he barked. “And rub.”

Tears streamed down her filthy cheeks. She held the vile liquid, her jaw trembling. But her fingers, almost of their own volition, began to move with more purpose on her clit. A spark, traitorous and unwelcome, flickered in her core. No, not this, not from this...

“Now, swallow.”

She obeyed. The wave of nausea was immense, but it was followed by a shocking, deep throb of pleasure between her legs. Her hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk.

“Open.”

He filled her mouth again. This time, she was ready for it. The taste was no less horrific, but her body was betraying her, layering the disgust with a building, undeniable arousal.

“Swallow.”

She did. And as the foulness slid down her throat, her fingers worked her clit in earnest now, her back arching off the couch. It happened three more times. Each mouthful of degradation was a command that her body translated into fuel. Her breath came in ragged gasps between servings, her world narrowing to the foul taste, his voice, and the electric coil tightening in her belly.

On the fourth swallow, the coil snapped. Her body seized, back bowing violently as a raw, guttural cry was torn from her throat. An orgasm, brutal and shocking, ripped through her, utterly divorced from pleasure, a pure, convulsive release of nerve and muscle.

Seeing her climax, Bootleg tipped the entire remaining contents of the bag over her head. The cold, chunky fluid washed over her. He delivered one final, stinging slap to her soaked cheek. “Now you’re done. The shower’s down the hall.”