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Originally published this elsewhere, but thought it was remiss of me not to upload it here too. 🙂
*****
I have a fantasy where I am offered a very special job by a very rich friend of my father:
He hires me to be a party whore for a huge event that will host hundreds of powerful people. The amount of money he offers pays off my student loans, and more – it is staggering.
I am a secret amenity at this party. The men have been alerted on their invitations that provided they submit proof of recent clean blood work before arriving, they will have access to my special services while their wives enjoy the event.
All night, as hundreds of famous, wealthy people socialize in the ballroom downstairs, I am kept in a secret room down the corridor from the restrooms. A large, heavy set man stands guarding the door. If a woman approaches him, he’ll simply tell her the area is private.
If a man approaches him and gives the password, he’ll let him through.
When the male party guests open the door, they’ll find me cuffed spread eagle to a four poster bed, one light shining down on my open, dripping pussy in an otherwise shadowy room. My hair is in a braid, and my eyes are covered by a mask.
They have been told my limits (though those are few) and a second security guard watches inside the door.
The men may change my body position however they wish, binding me into their preferred sex position before they have their way with me.
Mostly, however, I lay still and silent with my legs spread wide as stranger after stranger enters the room, unzips his fly, and fucks his cock into me.
They know I won’t talk back to them, and they also know they are allowed to say anything they wish to me, so they do: they call me a whore, a slut, a fuck toy, a pig. They call me the names of other lovers, or women they wish were their lovers. They call me mother. They call me their little girl as they dump their hot loads of cum inside my pussy.
No one cleans me up between men, and I am not allowed to wipe myself, or even to touch my own pussy. I am simply a moaning rag doll for these men to relieve themselves upon.
Occasionally I hear a voice I think I recognize, and I wonder idly if the man fucking me is someone who knows my father – a childhood friend who’s fucking the pussy of a woman he’s known since birth without knowing it. I wonder if the man fucking me is a politician whose voice I’ve heard on the news espousing beliefs zonguldak escort I disagree with. I wonder if he is an actor I like.
They come by themselves, or they come in groups.
A group of four young men come into the room at once. By the way they talk, they sound like they are perhaps freshmen in college. They take turns vigorously pumping me, and each dump their loads in my waiting cunt. They laugh the whole time, thumping each other on the back, and shouting encouragement.They are muscular. They like to spit on me, slap my face. One of them chokes me hard and grunts as he cums.
One man is so fat I feel smothered beneath his weight. He grunts on top of me, thrusting his angry, mushroom-headed cock into my pussy in short, brief bursts. Once he has spilled his juices inside his cum dump, I hear him say, ‘All yours, son’ before peeling his sticky flesh off me. He is replaced by a body of similar weight. The first man stands just above us as his son uses his own father’s cum as lube to fuck his overly wide cock into me. I hear him sighing, groaning along with the wet slapping sounds of his son’s fat against my thighs. When the son finishes, he slaps his wide cock playfully against my clit and laughs. ‘Thanks, whore, ‘ he says.
I lose track of time. Hours pass. My pussy is a sloppy mess, and I seem to begin waves of orgasm that start with one anonymous lover and finish with another.
My breasts are groped, my face is slapped and spit on. Men pull my hair, choke me. They kiss me tenderly. Many of them use my mouth, but the goal – the rule – is that they must finish in my pussy, in the creamy soup that all the other men have left behind.
Once, a man old enough to be my grandfather reaches his wrinkled fingers deeply into my cunt, scoops, and drips a blend of semen into my mouth.
Of course, I swallow.
At the very end of the night, I am limp with exhaustion. My nerves are on fire. I can think of nothing but sex. I have been given water, and I want no food.
The security guard comes in, and tells me that he has my last patron of the evening waiting outside. This man, he tells me, has paid a fee additional to be the last man to use me. He is very famous, I am told, and accustomed to getting what he wants.
When he enters the room, I can’t see him clearly. It is only once he speaks that I think I know who he is. He only whispers commands, but it’s enough for me to recognize his distinct bursa escort voice. He is an actor whose work I follow.
He uncuffs me from the bed, gruffly commands me to stand, and holds a glass beneath my dripping labia. Floods of cum drip into it. ‘Whore,’ he murmurs, laughing. ‘This is incredible.’
He sets aside the glass and takes a damp towel to my cunt (‘I want you a little less sloppy when I use you’, he explains) and cleans me up. it’s a Herculean feat and he doesn’t do a perfect job, but once he is done my cunt is almost empty of cum.
He orders me onto my back, unzips his fly, and pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket. From this angle, between my legs, bent close to my face, I know who he is.
He shows me the wad of bills. ‘You have limits, I’m told. Is this enough to break them?’
I remember what I said I wouldn’t do. I look at this man and know I would let him do anything.
‘Yes,’ I say. First limit, no speaking: broken.
He grins. He removes my mask. Second limit: broken.
‘Hello, whore,’ he says smiling. ‘What’s your name?’
I tell him. Third limit: broken.
Now completely vulnerable and exposed beneath him, he takes his cock in his hand and guides it into my cunt.
I did not think I could come anymore, but I tremble at the feeling of it. He is thick and long, his head bulbous.
“I think hundreds of men have sampled this cunt tonight, Rose,’ he sighs lazily as he tweaks my nipples and fucks into me in long, slow strokes. ‘Does it feel good to know you made them all cum?’
I say nothing, accustomed to the habitual silence, and he slaps my face. ‘Answer me.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you feel like a toy?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Like your purpose is to serve cock?’
‘Yes, sir.’
His hand is around my throat, and he’s fucking me harder. He reaches for the glass of semen with his other hand.
Grabbing it, he holds it above me.
‘Open up, Rose.’ I feel his balls slap my asshole. I am completely full of him.
The glass tips towards my lips, and I gag in disgust. It is full, full of the mixed fluids of god knows how many men, but I told this man I’d do anything for him- I WANTED to do anything for him – so I parted my lips.
‘Sip it,’ he commanded. I blinked. ‘Don’t just open your mouth and let it pour all over your face.’
My stomach churns, understanding what he means.
‘Put your malatya escort lips to the glass and sip.’
I do.
I am nauseated, but I sip slowly. It is salty, thick, disgusting, intensely erotic. My cunt is full of cock and it is on fire.
I have never felt so used in my life.
I sip the entire glass of cum, ounces of it, like a milk shake. My eyes start to water as I struggle to control my nausea, and though he sees the panic in them, he simply holds his cock still inside me and pours.
He removes the hand around my throat, reaches down between our bodies and rubs my clit.
‘That’s my girl, Rose. Drink it. If you were mine, you’d live on cum.’ He pulls back and thrusts. I feel him slam into my cervix and wince, but my lips don’t leave the glass.
‘Would you like to be mine?’ I whimper, neither a yes or a no, just a sound. My mouth is full of the semen of strangers and his fingers on my wet clit are beginning to drive me wild.
‘Is that a yes?’
We reach the end of the glass. I have swallowed it all. He wipes his hand over my messy mouth, then kisses me. Putting the glass to the side, he wraps his hand around my throat again. He still has me by the clit.
‘Is that a yes, Rose?’
I choke out some approximation of the word, and feel him start to spasm in my cunt. He cums intensely, growling, his hand never once leaving my neck, and with that grip he throws me to my knees on the ground.
The floor is slippery, and I am shaking. I leak his cum out of my cunt.
He grabs my face and shoves it between his legs, wiping it back and forth as though he were using a rag to clean his cock and balls. I see the pile of bills he’d offered me tossed on the bed, a mess.
‘Open your mouth.’
Obedient, I do – surprised he could want a blow job so soon after coming. His now mostly flacid cock rests on my tongue.
‘Close your lips, whore. I know you’re still thirsty after all that cum,’ he says, before beginning to piss down my throat.
I sputter and choke, surprised, before he slaps me again snaps at me to close my lips.
I do. My mouth fills up more quickly than I can swallow, and little salty rivers of piss drip out the corners and down my chin.
He finishes and wipes his cock dry on my hair.
I am panting, still recovering, when I hear his zipper close, and feel his hand pat me on the head.
‘Security,’ he says, and the man in the corner steps forward, opening the door to admit the other security guard outside. ‘Take your turns with her first if you like, but have her cleaned up and delivered to my car by midnight. Let our host know that she’s agreed to my proposed arrangement.’
With not a word more to me, he leaves.
The security guards are already unzipping their flies.