THE ADJUSTERS

44

Awash

When I come to, the world explodes into focus, and my cunt screams at me to find a cock to stretch it out and fill it up and pound it into sweet oblivion.

My name is Jennifer Hansen, and I’m hungry—I’m hungry for sex, hungry for cock, hungry for cum. That defines my world right now, this craving to be taken, invaded, possessed, in the most primal way imaginable. I’m awash with waves after waves of desire and lust. I want to moan and shout to someone to come and fuck me, but there’s something in my mouth keeping me from talking. I want to reach down and rub my hungry cunt raw and fuck myself with the first stiff thing I can get my hands on, but my hands are tied up above my head. I’m a needy cunt with no available release.

* * *

The door opened, and Nurse Pietro Gutierrez entered. He was not alone.

“Have you—” The voice was uncertain. Doctor Kiyoko Agnieska sounded worried.

“Yes. Of course. I always do. The camera’s off. You are such a worry wart, doc.” Gutierrez sounded exasperated, impatient, a little nervous. But then again, he always was before a party.

On the bed before them, Jenn was reeling under the assault on her senses. Her body, keyed by the male presence nearby, went into overdrive, and the craving, the desire to feel male flesh between her fingers, her lips, her thighs, blasted through her and made her moan, and the moan sounded like music to Gutierrez’s ears. But he remained far from her—Jenn was coming out of her medically-induced catalepsy, and was starting to assert herself, and Gutierrez did not like it. He needed her for the party, but he only liked her paralyzed and unresisting.

Meanwhile, Doctor Agnieska checked Jenn’s vitals. Earlier that day, she had programmed Jenn’s medication delivery system to gradually reduce the amount of drugs injected in her system. She should now be coming out of her catalepsy. Jenn’s eyes opened slightly, and she could dimly see Agnieska check the monitors and the IV drip.

Doctor Agnieska turned to Jenn, feeling herself observed, and gave the patient a faint smile that never reached her eyes. Agnieska bent down and flashed a penlight in Jenn’s eyes, and the touch of her fingers on Jenn’s face made Jenn’s mouth water with need. She wanted to suck on those fingers, turn Agnieska on, get her to stuff those wet fingers into her dripping pussy. Jenn had dropped out of bliss, and was plunging head first into the fires of lust.

Jenn was losing herself. She could still think, but it was getting more and more difficult, every thought drowned out by the shouts of her body clamoring for attention and release. When she was Biff’s slave, she was a passenger inside her own body, observing it, feeling what it felt, unable to affect its actions, but remaining free to think, feel, dream. But Biff’s last instructions that she “would start craving the feel of a cock in her mouth, in her pussy, in her ass, craving the feel of cocks spurting inside her,” those cravings overwhelmed her mind and shut her out, kept her from thinking straight, kept her from being able to feel and think about anything but the needs of her body, that unquenchable need for cock, for cum, for sex.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Doctor Agnieska said, her voice soft, trembling. “You’re going to be okay.”

You’re lying, Jenn wanted to say, but she could not—all that came out was a long moan, and to her dismay, her hips jerked, upward, seeking contact with Agnieska, with Gutierrez, with anyone.

After giving Gutierrez a look, Agnieska pulled out a syringe from her coat pocket and injected its content into Jenn’s IV drip. Jenn moaned again. Not again! she wanted to say. Don’t make me do this! she wanted to protest.

She wanted to scream at them that they were bastards, and also beg them to squeeze her tits hard and stuff their fingers into her pussy and her ass and come all over her.

And then, the world spun out of control, and it was neither bliss nor lust but sheer blackness that engulfed her.

* * *

My cunt rages for a good stuffing, my mouth waters, my whole mind scrambles under the assault of my senses: my whole being screams for just one thing. Cock. Cock. Cock.

Memories come back to me slowly, and they come back fragmented, jumbled, for it is almost impossible for me to hold on to a single thread of thought, to a single idea.

I have visions of Agnieska showing up to my room to check up on me—recalling her hands on my body makes me wet. I have flashes of Gutierrez humping me as I lay unmoving—recalling his cock plowing into me makes me moan in the ball gag stuck in my mouth. I vaguely remember Sanderson—for it was Sanderson, no?—bringing me out to the recreation room to hang out with the other patients—recalling all that female flesh surrounding me drives me crazy, all that pussy juice to be licked and sucked and rubbed on my body. And then there are those flashes of Agnieska and Gutierrez coming to my room again before… before this—coming to knock me out so that when I wake up, I’m that other me, the other me that Biff created—the slut, the cock-craving slut, the delicious cum guzzling slut that I cannot help to be, that I want to be, that I am.

For I am a slut, there is no doubt about it, none whatsoever. My whole body is screaming at me that servicing cocks is all I’m good for—suck them, fuck them, worship them. Shivers, cold and hot, alternate, and I feel as though I’m drenched in sweat. It takes a frightening amount of concentration on my part to even put together a coherent though, and I nearly exhaust myself trying to ascertain my surroundings. Knowing one’s environment is the first step to keeping yourself safe, or so said my self-defense teachers back in high school.

I’m in the middle of a small room, attached by the wrists to a chain hanging from a hook in the ceiling. My shoulders are killing me—I have no idea how long I’ve been here, but long enough for my hands to be numb. My feet reach the ground, thankfully.

The room is small, decorated like a cheap hotel room, all in beige, with nondescript paintings on the walls, a small stainless-steel sink in one corner, a table with a chair but nothing on it, a wardrobe, and a double bed against the wall with its covers pulled back in one corner, as if waiting for someone to come in and use it. Along the other wall, another table, this one covered with a cloth.

It all seems so familiar, as if I have seen this room before. And then memories flash back to me, slowly, times in the past where I have been in this same room, previous times when the Pig pulled me out of my bliss to get me to fuck, in this same room, men, women, anyone interested in getting it on with a hot slut that will do anything to feel a stiff cock pounding her and flooding her with delicious cum.

The Pig is pimping me out, and the thought of it, the memory of it, the sheer notion of it is enough to send fire down to my crotch, and I moan again in my ball gag, closing my eyes. I’m a whore. I’m a cum-craving whore, good only to be used as a fuck toy.

And I’m attached to a hook on the ceiling. I’m trapped. Offered. Available to any man that comes in and wants to feel me up, grab my tits, spank my ass, spread my legs and fuck me to his heart’s content.

I almost come on the spot, without touching myself.

When I try to find my footing, I realize that I’m wearing high heels—and tall ones, at that. Fuck-me heels. I look down—they’re black, and so is the silken slip I have on, a short, body-hugging slip with a plunging neckline that half bares my breasts. That slip has but one single function: to advertise sex. The black stockings sheathing my legs complete the picture. Imagining how I must appear to someone looking on makes my pussy gush so hard my head spins, and my nipples harden—they push through the silk in an obscene way. I’m dressed to seduce, to tantalize, to arouse. I’m dressed up as a fuck doll, and a moan escapes my throat. I want a cock! I need a cock!

I want to run my tongue over my lips, but the ball gag that’s stuffed in my mouth prevents me. And when I concentrate on my lips, I feel a a thick coating of lipstick over them. I shiver. Lipstick, according to folklore, was how whores advertised their wares, how they signified that they were experts at satisfying men with their mouths, that they were cock suckers, and good ones. And my lips are painted like cock-sucker lips—I’m telling the world I suck cock, and I do, with pleasure, with glee, and my pussy throbs with desire.

I rub my thighs together to try to quench the need that’s buried there, and that’s when I feel it, the coldness against my groin, the lack of mobility, the lack of sensation. I can’t see—the silk slip barely covers my crotch, but it’s enough to hide what’s underneath. I close my eyes, letting my body feel whatever it wants to feel, and try to focus on my lower body—and then it comes to me, in a flash. The weight, the coldness, the sensations. A chastity belt—they put me in a chastity belt! I moan again, my pussy on fire. Chastity belts are for sluts that can’t keep their legs closed, that rub themselves against anything that vaguely looks that a cock, that wantonly shove whatever they can up their tight dripping cunts! That’s me! That’s so much me I want to cry, to scream, to suck a fat dick shoved down my windpipe!

When I hear the door open, I freeze. My cunt gushes—despite the chastity belt, I feel my juices drip down my thighs to the elastic bands holding up my stockings. My nipples get harder. My mouth starts to water. Even my ass twitches. I start humping the air, as if warming up, as if getting ready, and I should get angry, I should scream out, I should fight, do something, anything, except shake in need.

A woman comes in first, her heels clacking on the floor. She looks familiar—I’ve seen her before, other times when the Pig woke me to be used. She’s beautiful, tall with long black hair, wearing a leather corset that cinches her waist and exposes a pair of round breasts that I simply want to wrap my hands around, with large hard nipples that I want to suck and nibble. Her high-heeled boots reach mid-thigh, and between the boots and the corset, there is nothing but an exposed pussy that makes me shiver in anticipation.

She has a superior expression on her face, her lips twisted in a smirk, and a light in her eyes that spells out clearly that she likes what she sees. She takes a step towards me, and her eyes follow my body down like a caress.

Her eyes glide over me like I’m naked, and I feel naked under her stare, and it feels amazing—her eyes on my breasts, on my tummy, on my thighs, my legs, me feet, then back up to my cunt, my cunt on fire, begging for her to touch it. I think I moan—it’s so hard to tell what’s going on inside my head and what’s out of it. The woman takes another step towards me, her eyes focused on my lips, spread around the gag, as if she wanted to fuck them just by looking.

When’s she’s close, her scents wafts to me, and it’s a mixture of sweat and semen and pussy and my head spins and I want to lick her skin, suck her juices out of her, and I stumble in my heels and struggle against my bonds, trying to get my wrists out so I can run my hands on her body and part her legs and dive between them to her juicy center.

There’s a man behind her who followed her into the room, but he’s keeping his distance, while still staring at me with wide eyes. He can’t keep his eyes off me. Which amazes me because if I were him, I’d have eyes only for the naked round ass of the leather-clad woman—fuck, if I were him, I’d grab her and push her down on the bed and take her from behind like a bitch in heat, making her squeal and scream and beg to be fucked harder and faster and deeper and I’m shaking with need now, imagining that it’s me on the bed with my ass in the air getting pounded by this man as he reaches down to grab my tits and squeezes them hard.

The woman is right there in front of me, and she’s smiling now. She lifts a hand to my face, slowly, and grasps my chin between her thumb and index finger, lifting my head up. I’m shaking hard, and I want to beg her for… for what exactly, I have no idea. But I want to beg—I want her to hear me beg. Please…

The woman smirks, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, and she lets out a little laugh. I recognize that laugh; I’ve heard it before. She’s a patient in the Gallery, I think she’s called Cassandra or something like that, but before I can think about that further—it’s so difficult to concentrate on anything except on her presence right there in front of me, her fingers on my skin, her eyes on me, and on that of the man behind her with a large cock in his slacks just waiting to pounce into me.

“You want to say something, you pretty little bitch?”

I groan at her words, at the way her lips move. I am a little bitch. I am your pretty little bitch, I want to say—I will be the prettiest filthiest little bitch you’re ever had, I want to say. She runs her thumb over my bottom lip, and I want to sneak out my tongue to lick and suck that teasing digit that is driving me crazy. She then slips it over my teeth, on the side of the ball gag, and I try to push my tongue on the side of the gag to reach her finger for some contact, and she smiles at my feeble attempts and my moans while doing so.

“Such pretty titties,” she says, grabbing my breasts and squeezing them. It’s like she’s squeezing my clit the way it makes my body shiver in need. “Don’t you think she’s got pretty titties, Young Thing?”

The man doesn’t say a word. His eyes are drawn to Cassandra’s hands, pawing my tits without respite. There are drops of sweat on his forehead, he’s slightly red-faced, and his breathing is fast.

Cassandra nods towards the table covered with a cloth against the wall. “If you want, you can play with them. We got all sort of toys there that you can use on her. There that lash with some nasty metals balls at the end of the strings that do wonders for horny bitches that can’t keep their legs closed. And the little bitch here really loves to get her titties whipped red, don’t you, cunt?” Get those titties all nice and red.” She pinches one of my nipples through the silken slip, and my muffled shout is part pain, part pleasure.

The man is staring at me, at my reaction. The way he looks at me, the way his eyes run over my body, a combination of embarrassment, surprise, and yes, lust, stokes the fires that Cassandra ignited, and I look at him with what I know full well is hunger, unabashed naked hunger. My whole body drives toward him, and I stumble forward, held back by my wrists above my head, and a groan of frustration turns into a whine of desire that elicits a laugh of derision from Cassandra, who runs a hand underneath my slip to touch the skin exposed by my chastity belt. I thrust my ass back to further the contact.

“Look at her, Young Thing,” Cassandra says. “I think she likes you. Not really surprising, though.” She leans over, her lips by my cheek, and I turn my face as if seeking a kiss, but she stays just beside my range. “Because this little slut here likes anything with a cock, doesn’t she? Yes she does, yes she does,” she continues, as if talking to a dog. Not a dog—a bitch.

She grabs my hair and pulls my head back hard and licks my lips, while I struggle to keep my balance, my shoulders taking the brunt of the shock. I groan, because I want to feel her tongue in my mouth, kissing me deeply, but she won’t take the gag out.

Her hand mashes my left tit and I moan as she grips my lower lip with her teeth and bites. My body is on fire, and my legs are shaking.

When Cassandra lets me go, I shiver, and my eyes are driven to the man, who’s still staring at me, and my eyes drop down to his crotch, and it’s clear that he has a hard-on—he must like seeing two girls getting it on, and that he likes it makes me so hot that I want to grab Cassandra and fuck her while he watches before he joins in and fucks us both.

“You like my boy Sanderson here, you little slut?” Cassandra says in my ear. “I think he likes you too. You see, he’s new here, and you’re sort of his signing bonus. It’s your job to show him a good time. But that’s not a problem for you, is it?” She grins as she slaps me twice on the ass before letting her hand roam freely back there—I push my ass back to get more contact, more anything. I want something in my cunt so bad tears forming in my eyes.

And the small rational part of me that still lives up in my head, all but forgotten, ineffectual, useless, holds on for dear life to Cassandra’s words. My boy Sanderson.

Sanderson—the hunk in front of me with the kind eyes and the hardening cock is Sanderson, the one guy that has not groped me in the ward, who has not taken advantage of my inability to defend myself to run his hands all over my sensitive skin. Sanderson, who has taken it upon himself to pull me out of my isolation and wheel me out regularly into the recreation room. Sanderson, who would show up sometimes in the evenings, after his shift, to read to me from novels he was himself reading—overly verbose politico-technological thrillers, but distracting nonetheless.

Sanderson, who seems to care about me, something that brings a tear to my eye and a flood of juices to my overheated pussy. Sanderson, who looks at me in a way that reminds me how Daniel used to look at me—no, don’t think about him! as my body stiffens in panic and a groan of fear rises from my throat.

Cassandra mistakes that groan for one of lust, and she squeezes my tit harder, pinching a nipple through the silk. My moan transforms. Sanderson takes it all in, silent, watching, his cock hard in his slacks, his eyes torn.

I stare at him. The look I give him must burn through his clothes and sear his skin because he looks up to me and our eyes meet and I don’t know what he sees but all I do see is a man teetering at the edge of lust ready to dive and I want to be the one to push him down into the depths of depravity.

I’m grateful for the kindness he’s shown me in the ward, and my body takes this gratefulness and interprets it as wantonness. And it’s not a far off interpretation. Because I want him—right now, I need him! I want to fuck him like he’s never been fucked before so that he comes back to fuck me over and over again until I’m nothing but a limp of female flesh drowned in a sea of his arms, whimpering helplessly as I beg him to take me over and over and over again.

Cassandra’s laugh and her slap on my ass snap me out of my daze.

“Oh yes,” Cassandra says, sounding delighted. “You are so ready to be fucked like the little worthless cunt you are. Too bad I can’t join you—I’d love to see how red I can get those cheeks of yours, and feel your mouth on my pussy again.” She grins, and licks my lips once more, and it feels more sexual than most of the fucking I’ve done in the past months. I would lick her pussy and her ass and anything else she asks for another lick like that. As it is, she lets me go, and with one last grope on my tit—and my moan comes out louder and more clear and I groan a “Please” into my gag—she turns to Sanderson and tosses him a small key ring that dings as it flies into his extended hand.

“Here you go, Young Thing. She’s all yours. Don’t hurt yourself—she can get a bit wild when she gets hot.”

She takes advantage of Sanderson’s shock to grab his cock through his slacks before disapproving and closing the door behind her. Her smell lingers and the silence of the room is marred only by my ragged panting.

My eyes were riveted to Sanderson’s crotch, where Cassandra hand was but a few seconds before, and where I can see a becoming bulge. I feel my drool drip the side of my open mouth. There is no point in thinking how slutty I must look hanging from my wrists in an obscenely short black silk slip, black stockings, and black fuck-me heels, tits rising, hips swaying slowly, a look of hungry lust on my face.

I moan in my gag, and twist to try to get his attention. I want to feel his hands on my body, his lips on my skin. His cock in my cunt. His eyes are locked upon me, but he doesn’t actually seem to see me.

He shakes his head, as if coming out of a dream. In slow motion, he pulls out a wallet from his back pocket and slides out what looks like a small photograph. I can’t see it from where I am, but Sanderson’s eyes go from the photograph to me and back to the photograph. I moan again, and this seems to snap him out of his wide-eyed trance.

With a slight hesitation, he takes a step forward, before stopping and going back to the door.

“No…” I groan in my gag. He can’t leave now. I’m burning up and I need a cock inside me. “Please…” The words come out muffled, and I shiver at the sound of utter debasement that you would hear in my voice were they not.

Sanderson locks the door and comes back to me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, keeping his eyes into mine, clearly avoiding looking down at my heaving tits. Touch them, please!

He reaches behind my head to remove my gag, and I tilt my head and rub my face against his forearm, like a kitten wanting to play.

He manages to unfasten the strap behind my head, and the ball gag slips out, and my jaw hurts when I move it, but it just makes it even hotter. Like I’ve just been giving head to a huge cock that barely fit—Jennie, the cocksucking queen, taking a cock that dislocated her jaw. My pussy gushes.

“There,” he says, tossing the ball gag in the corner of the room. I can see—I can smell—that he’s trying to control himself and not touch me or even look at me, as if he wasn’t trusting himself. “Better? Fuck, what did they do to you? Here, let me…”

He fumbles with the key ring and reaches up to try to fit a key into the lock holding my wrists together with the hook dangling from the ceiling, and I take advantage of the opportunity to slide forward and make contact with his crotch and I shiver so hard I stumble off my heels. I can feel his hard cock through his slacks, through the chastity belt, and my cunt wants it, bad. My tits press into his chest as he grabs me, and I push my head forward and kiss him, hard on the lips, our teeth bumping into each other’s. He’s taken by surprise, and he doesn’t resist as I thrust my tongue into his mouth and french him like a glutton.

He pulls back, shivering. “Jennie—” he says, and I hear the name, that awful name that Biff used and forces me to use when talking about myself, that name that embodies everything that Biff wanted me to be, a slutty bimbo with only one thought in her pretty little head, to please men and make them come, and come hard. My body shivers, and I moan again.

“Cock…” My voice is almost a croak. Sanderson’s closeness is making it difficult for me to concentrate.

“What’s that?”

“Cock—Jennie wants cock.” I look up at him, equal part humiliation and hunger. My mouth is open, panting, and I can taste him on my lips. “Jennie wants your cock, baby, deep into her wet tight cunt.”

Sanderson is taken aback, and he almost drops the keys he was raising to the lock binding my wrists. And why wouldn’t he? Not only the need in my voice, but that stupid instruction that Biff gave me early in our so-called relationship that I could only refer to myself in the third person, which along with his instructions to make use dirty language whenever possible tends to make me sound like a cock-hungry bimbo—which to be honest is pretty much what I’m feeling like right now, keenly aware of Sanderson’s hard cock but a few inches from my crotch, calling me like a beacon.

“Huh, hold on, let me get you down—” He’s confused, but also aroused. I can practically smell it. His face is flushed, and his eyes keep dipping down to my tits, as he fumbles with the keys in his hands.

“You like Jennie’s titties, baby? You like Jennie’s titties, all soft and sensitive and begging for you to suck them? You want to fuck Jennie’s titties? You can do that—you can do whatever you want to Jennie, whatever you want—just give her some cock and then you can do whatever the fuck you want to your little slut!”

My crotch is seeking his again, and even though I can’t feel anything through the chastity belt, I don’t care. I moan, and thrust my chest forward. I want him to grab my tits and squeeze them and twist my nipples.

“Fuck,” and Sanderson is flushed when he talks, fumbling with the keys above my head. “Let me get you down and we’ll talk about it, okay? Jesus, why the fuck did they—There!”

The lock clicks open, and suddenly there is nothing holding me up and I stumble and Sanderson manages to catch me and just like that I’m in his arms. I shiver, the contact making me go crazy, my cunt pulsing with desire, my nipples hard as rocks. My mouth salivates, and I can just imagine what he’ll taste like when he stuffs his big cock down my throat, choking me, before he flips me over and fucks me until I squeal like a stuck pig, over and over again.

Sanderson holds me up while saying forgettable soothing things, and all I can feel are his hands on me. I can tell he’s forcing himself to not fondle me, to not take advantage of the situation, even though I can feel his cock hard and throbbing against my hip. I twist my head and his lips are right there in front of me and I press mine against his and soon I’m kissing him with all of my soul and my tongue is seeking his and I notice that his breath is fruity.

He tries to pull away, just like before, but this time my hands are free and I grab his head and keep him there against me as I slide my naked leg between his and up to his crotch and I moan into his mouth and maybe that’s when he gives in because he groans and presses his crotch against my thigh and responds to my kiss with a fervor that sends more shivers down my spine and his hands on my back trail down to my ass and squeeze it and it feels incredible.

I want to grind my cunt against him, to feel his cock against me to feel my juices spread and moisten my whole crotch—and I whine because the belt prevents any possible contact.

“Jennie,” he says, pulling out of the kiss—I hate that name, it’s the name that Biff made me use to refer to myself, the name he’s still forcing me to use, even though he’s not even here. “This isn’t a good—”

“Jennie wants your cock, baby” I groan, my hands on his body, my chest thrust out, trying to entice him with my tits—I’m in full wanton mode, and there’s no way to stop it. His smell, his hands on my body, his hard cock in his slacks, it all conspires to send my body into overdrive. There will be no focusing—however little I can achieve with these cravings running through me—until I get some release. “She wants it hard, she wants it fast, she wants it deep. She’ll be the best fuck you’ve ever had. Let her be your little plaything, your fuck doll, your shameless slut.”

As I say all of that, in one breath, my hands are at his crotch, opening his pants and tugging them down. He tries to resist, but it’s half-hearted. “Jennie,” he growls.

His cock jumps out of his pants, hard, red, looking almost angry. It looks delicious. “Oh you got a nice cock baby—nice and hard for Jennie.” My cunt clenches thinking about that shaft pounding into me hard. Without hesitation, I slide my lips over the head, taking it in, and suck half of his cock into my mouth, running my tongue on the underside. I groan at the same time he does as well, and I can feel his knees buckle. My cunt pulses with the effect I have on him.

I slurp his cock out of my mouth, and look up at him, jacking him off slowly. “Jennie’s gonna suck your cock long and hard and make it spurt all over her face and her tits and then she’s gonna make you hard again and then you’ll fuck her like a little slut!”

I don’t wait for his acknowledgment, simply dive back in. And this time, in one long motion, I took him in all the way, his cock sliding down my throat, and my lips pressing into his pubic hair. Biff taught me to deep throat the hard way, and the lesson stuck. And Sanderson’s cock is smaller than Biff’s. Not that I care right now.

“Oh shit!” Sanderson groans, and I’m pretty sure any reservation he had has just flown out the window because his hands grasp my head and keep me there in place against his crotch—completely unnecessary, because I have no intention of going anywhere: I have his cock in my mouth, down my throat, and there is nothing else that I want but to suck and suck and suck until he spurts inside me. My body shivers at the thought, my nipples tingle, and I press my thighs together only to remember that doing that achieves nothing and I moan in frustration against the thick shaft skewering me.

I start sucking on Sanderson’s cock with no restraint, thrusting my head forward forcefully. My body loves his hands in my hair, and keeps wishing for him to just grab my head and take control and start fucking my face.

When I look up, he’s got his eyes closed and his mouth open. His fingers twitch in my hair as I plunge his cock into my mouth, banging in the back of my throat and gagging me, and his hands follow my head. I can feel him wanting to press me down harder, it’s just something that my body knows, deep down in its bones. I let his cock slip out and look up.

“You like having your cock in a slut’s mouth, baby? You like stuffing her until she can’t breathe, until she chokes, until all she can do is wait for you to pull out? You like the warm feel of her tongue and lips worshipping your cock? You like having a complete whore lavishing her oral attentions on you?”

He looks down at me with desire fighting it off in his eyes with something else, some reticence that still lingers, and I give him a naughty grin before putting one of my hands over his on my head and pressing down as I swallow his cock once more.

Every man likes their blow jobs differently. Some want it hard and fast, with lots of spittle and heavy sounds and droll dripping down a girl’s body; others like it slow and languorous, with the girl making love to their cock.

One thing that Biff’s programming has done to me—or was it always there and I never noticed—is that I’ve gotten very good out figuring out what men want. It’s like a sixth sense, an intuition that I’ve used to satisfy my cravings.

And my intuition tells me that Sanderson likes his blow jobs slow and deep. And so I suck him slow and deep. On every thrust, I sink down, slowly, running my tongue along his flesh, letting him invade my mouth fully until the head of his cock hits the entrance of my throat, triggering my gag reflex. I tilt my head, swallow, and open my throat and take him down as deep as it will go, my nose pressing against his abdomen. Sanderson’s hands clench in my hair.

Deep slow plunge, maintain, pull back, repeat. Sanderson likes it, a lot: his hands are in my hair, and his knees tremble whenever I bottom out. I make very little noise, except for the slight gagging that sends a twitch up his cock. I’m pretty sure that’s how he likes fucking too, with long deep slow thrusts, and the thought of it makes me ache to feel him inside of me. I want him to grab me and take control and use my mouth like a fuck sleeve.

Sanderson is looking at me, and he has a weird expression on his face. It’s like he’s seeing me but not seeing me at the same time. It is the same look he had earlier, when he first saw after coming in with Cassandra.

“Do you have a girlfriend, baby?” I ask, letting his cock out of my mouth. It bounces a few inches from my lips, wet with my saliva. Looking up at him, I pull down the straps of the slip and bare my tits. I massage them with my hands, and pull on my nipples.

“No,” he answers, mesmerized by the sight. He sounds far away.

“Then who do you see when you see Jennie? A friend? A lover?”

There’s a shadow that flies in front of his eyes, and right then, I know what it is.

“It’s an ex, isn’t? You’re thinking of an ex-girlfriend, kneeling at your feet, sucking your cock like Jennie is sucking your cock, isn’t it, baby? Did she suck your cock like Jennie, baby? Did she suck your cock like a little starved slut? Do you miss her mouth? Do you wish she was here swallowing your cock, like Jennie, wanting you to fuck her mouth, like Jennie? Begging you to take her and fuck her and make her come over and over again, like Jennie?”

I don’t give Sanderson any chance to answer, and simply dive back to swallow his shaft, keeping the same long and deep motions, except harder this time, faster, sucking hard on the way back, opening my throat wide on the way in, the sounds escaping serving to make me even wetter. I can feel my juices drip down my thighs, and I spread them around with one of my hands, wishing that I could just rub my aching pussy and get myself off.

“Fuck!” he growls.

I feel his hand on my head pressing down and drives his cock in deeper, and I gag more loudly this time, and I can feel him hesitate, and I can sense the apology coming from him, and to prevent it, I start pushing my own head deeper, gagging over and over again, to show him that I don’t mind, that I like it, that I want him to use me like a little fuck slut. When I pull his out cock, the droll dripping off my chin and onto my heaving tits, I’m grinning madly, jerking his cock. He looks dazed.

“Come on, baby—fuck Jennie’s mouth like you want to fuck that bitch of an ex—show her what she’s missed out on by leaving you.”

Sanderson is shocked by what I say, and I figure I must be right—his ex left him. Not that I care if I’m right or not. All I care about is getting that cock to pound me, and if getting Sanderson worked up about that ex is what it takes, then so be it.

“Go on, baby—fuck your ex’s pretty face like the little slut she is. You know how much she loves cock—”

I can’t finish. Sanderson’s pushes his cock back between my lips and starts fucking my mouth. I let saliva accumulate as he thrusts in and out, and then I slightly part my lips—the droll slides out the sides of my mouth and drip down my chin, and his cock makes squashing sounds as it bangs into my throat. Most men love it when the blow job is deep and sloppy, and I get the feeling that Sanderson does too. Not in an overt way, like most guys that end up at these gatherings and use me like a cum dump, but deep down inside, he likes it, and I like that he likes it, and I want to give him anything he wants.

He finally jerks me off his cock, breathing hard, and keeps my head some distance away. My mouth is open, and my tongue sneaks out to reach the tip of his cock, and I can hear myself moan and whine to be allowed to taste him again, and a stab of humiliation that I’m behaving that way runs through me only to be met with a spike of arousal as the humiliation turns me on the way Biff intended. I want Sanderson to make me feel that way, over and over again. “Please,” I find myself whining, my voice needy. “Please—Jennie needs your cock!”

“Jennie, Jesus, this is crazy.” He shakes his head, as if he’s trying to clear it. He’s sweating, and his cock is rock hard. “What the fuck am I doing?” That last one was for him. “I can’t—”

I don’t give him a chance to continue. He’s on the edge. He was fucking my face, and something scared him. I can guess what. I tapped into something. Something deep. Something unresolved. Anger. I can use that. My pussy gushes at the prospect, and I feel my juices dripping down my thighs.

I stand up, making sure to rub my entire body on his as I do, loving the way my tits feel pressing against his clothes, and then I kiss him, hard, like a desert traveler coming upon a fresh spring. I don’t even think for a second that I’ve had my mouth on his cock for the past several minutes and that some guys don’t actually enjoy kissing you after that—as far as my body is concerned, kissing your man after sucking him off is dirty, and whatever’s dirty is hot. It’s like tasting your own pussy juices on a man’s cock—nothing gets my body going faster than that. Sanderson is confused, but does not pull away.

And then I bite his lower lip, hard. Like Cassandra bit me earlier.

“OW!! What the fuck?!” He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back, but I cling to him. I laugh. The look in his eyes cycle through confusion, anger, and disbelief.

I lunge at him again, teeth first, pushing him toward the bed, and he pushes me aside and I hang on to him as I fall on the bed. I scream like a banshee, and try to claw at his face. He’s bigger than I am, but the only way he has to control me is to get on top of me and straddle me, pinning my wrists away from my body. I can feel my tits jiggle as I struggle to escape him, bouncing left and right and up and down, and I so much want him to ravish me and pound into me that it hurts.

“What the hell!?” he screams, drops of blood falling from his injured lip. “Jennie! What’s wrong with you?!”

I practically growl at him. I know what will get him to fuck me. I just know. Part of me cringes inside, but it’s such a tiny part—my body is on fire, and I can’t think straight. I stop struggling, and stare deep into his eyes.

“Jennie wants your cock, baby. Jennie wants you to shove your cock deep into her slutty little cunt and fuck her like you’d fuck that slutty ex-girlfriend of yours. Like you’d fuck that slutty cheating bitch that dropped you like you didn’t exist—fuck her hard, baby, slap her around, make her bleed—the little cheating cunt that went out to find a real man to fuck her. Show her you’re not just a fuckin’ wimp, baby.”

I can see the shock and the flash of anger in Sanderson’s eyes, and I feel him tense. I’ve got not clue if his ex-girlfriend cheated on him or not, and I don’t care. All I do care about is to get him to fuck me, and to fuck me hard. I arch up my back to get my tits closer to his face.

“Come on, baby—don’t you want to punish that silly bitch for going off to find a real man? Don’t you want to fuck her again to show her you’ve got what it takes? To show her you’ve got a real big cock that can satisfy a woman, to show her that you’re not just a little wimp that girls laugh about and fuck around behind his back?”

“Shut up!” He shakes me, pressing hard on my wrists.

It hurts, but that just makes me grin wider, and my tongue sneaks out between my lips, seeking to lick his face. My body is going crazy. I worry that my nipples are going to burst, that my cunt is going to split open on its own. I want this man so bad I could cry.

“What are you gonna do to make her shut up, wimp? You gonna stuff your big cock in her mouth? You gonna fuck her slutty cunt? Maybe you can shove your cock up her ass? Did your slutty cheating ex take it in the ass? Did she ever let you fuck her ass? Bet she didn’t. She probably saved it for a real man—the kind that loves to stick a fat cock all the way into a tight ass.”

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” I fully expect Sanderson to slap me, but he doesn’t. His eyes are getting wet, and he’s grinding his teeth together. I want him angry, so angry that he loses control and takes it out on me so that he can fuck me the way I want—need—to be fucked: hard and fast and with no regards for my pleasure.

I laugh, throwing my head back. “Poor baby,” I say, tilting my pelvis upwards, rubbing the stiff material covering her crotch against his cock. “His girl left him to find a better cocksman, and all he can do is dream about fucking her in the ass to show her he’s a real man. How pathetic. Jennie bets you’re not even able to fuck a girl. Hey? Are you? Come on, baby, show Jennie what kind of man you really are and fuck her hard! Teach her a lesson, teach your slutty cheating cunt of an ex a lesson—show her who’s the boss, show her how to behave, how to take it—come on, you piece of shit! Show Jennie what sort of man you are!”

Sanderson, now crying, is still mumbling “Shut up!” and his face is scrunched up, and he’s clenching his teeth. I’m almost there, I can feel it. He’s half distracted—I move quickly, wiggled out of his grasp, and grab his face and pull him close, bumping his forehead against mine. I can feel his breath on my face. My eyes are driving deep into his. I make sure my words are clear. “Fuck the bitch, baby—fuck the cheating slutty bitch till she bleeds.”

Sanderson snaps. He screws his eyes shut, screams something unintelligible, and push me down onto the bed so hard that my shoulders are going to hurt tomorrow I’m certain. Still shrieking incoherently, Sanderson starts shaking me before grabbing me and flipping me around on my stomach. He’s out of it—I don’t know what he’s feeling, what he’s seeing, but it’s not me.

Grabbing my hips, he pulls my ass upward, and I prop myself up on my elbows, my head down, my hair falling all around me like a curtain. I feel him push up my flimsy slip, baring my lower body, and revealing the metal of my chastity belt. No matter how much my drooling cunt might crave being pounded into oblivion, it can’t just magically wish the barrier away. But that doesn’t stop my hungry cunt from pushing me into lifting my ass and swaying it tantalizingly left and right, hoping that Sanderson will get the bait.

I’m amazed he’s not saying anything about the belt. And glad. Because what can I say? That it’s one of Gutierrez’s or Cassandra’s games? That it’s a new way they’ve found to drive me crazy? Because a crazy Jenn makes for happy visitors, and Gutierrez likes happy visitors, who come back again and pay him good money—I guess—to fuck the pretty crazed bitch that can never get enough? Cassandra probably just enjoys seeing me squirm and beg to be fucked. Just another way to tell me that I’m just someone else’s toy, that it’s all I’ll ever be?

“Fucking bitch! Fucking BITCH!” Sanderson seems to be otherwise occupied. The belt I have on doesn’t cover much, and he slaps my ass hard, over and over again, and my cheeks sting under the assault, but my yearning cunt is drinking it up and clenches in the crazy expectation that it will get hammered soon.

Sanderson’s slaps come hard and fast, and I can hear him sob—and to know that I’m the one that caused this pain, that I managed to push him to the brink of breakdown makes me disgusted with myself, but it makes my body so hot that my mind reels.

“You fucking BITCH!” shouts Sanderson giving me a harder than ever slap that sends me sprawling on the bed, making me lose my balance, and then he pulls on my nightie so hard that it half rips and it hurts and it feels so good that I moan out loud and try to thrust my ass upward again hoping that he’ll—that he’ll what? Spank me again? hit me? Fuck me?

He pulls against the chastity belt, ineffectually, and I hear his grunt of frustration. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the fact that I’m wearing a chastity belt—he’s so far beyond reason that what it may mean completely escapes him. Right now, it’s just an obstacle for his manhood.

“Take it off, baby,” I moan. “Take it off and fuck your cheating cunt of an ex until she begs you to take her back, until she pleads to become a slave to your cock—take it off and show her you can fuck her better than those men she’s been spreading her legs for since she dumped you.”

Sanderson growls and spanks me again, and then I hear the sound of keys jingling, and my cunt spews out a load of juices at the realization it’s going to get plowed and plowed good.

Without warning, he puts his hands between my legs and twists my pelvis upwards, practically lifting my legs from the bed. I feel him fiddle with the belt, and I start shaking. I moan. “Fuck your little bitch, baby—fuck your little bitch and show her that you’re a real man. Fuck your little cheating slutty bitch of an ex, baby.”

It’s not like I know what I’m saying, or that what I say is all that important. It only serves one purpose: to egg Sanderson on, to get him to ravish me, to treat me like a little fuck toy.

And it’s working—or at least I guess it is, because Sanderson, mumbling under his breath, is pressing my hips upward to get at the flexible strap running up from my crotch, I guess trying to slide the key into its slot and unlock my belt.

I hear the lock click open, and it’s like it unlocks something inside me, and I start—I kid you not—whimpering like a child, moaning and groaning and thrusting my ass up and spreading my legs, craving contact, any contact, craving something to press on my clit or into my cunt and make me come.

With a growl that sends shivers down my spine, Sanderson pulls the chastity belt off and tosses it in the back of the room, and none too gently runs a hand between my thighs, pressing hard on my pussy, sliding his fingers through my slit. I nearly come, right there, on the spot.

“Fuck yes! Fuck yes! Fuck Jennie, baby! Fuck Jennie’s hungry little cunt—spear her, pound her, hurt her—fuck your slutty bitch, baby—fuck her hard and fuck her long and show her that you’re the man, that you’re the king, that you’re the master of this body that’s all yours to do with as you wish!”

I’m babbling, I know, and of course I can’t stop myself. I’m a slave to the onslaught of raw lust coming from the depth of my being, from that place which Biff tapped when he cursed me.

Behind me, Sanderson grunts and he pulls me to him by grabbing my hips, and I love those hands, strong and demanding, and I spread my legs and thrust my ass up to ease his access, making it as clear as I can that he’s welcome to slide his cock in whichever hole he chooses, that I’ll happily service him. My head spins from the rush of emotions, and I cradle it in my arms, bending my back down, loving the feel of the rough sheets on my tits. The image of a hungry pair of lips wrapping themselves around my hard nipples flashes through my mind, and I moan out loud, rubbing my chest against the bed. Why won’t Sanderson fuck me already?

“Ah!” comes the shout of pleasure from the man kneeling behind me as his cock finds the dripping slit between my thighs and slides in with one hard thrust. He goes in so easily, so smoothly, that I feel his hips bump into my ass, and just like that I’ve got his big cock filling me up completely, and I grunt and moan and squeeze my pussy around the insistent flesh and I am rewarded with an inarticulate groan.

“Fuck yeah,” I shout, pressing my ass back against Sanderson. “Fuck your little cheating slut good, baby! Fuck her hard! Fuck her haaaaa!” My last word morphs into a scream as Sanderson starts pounding into me the way I wanted him to so badly, and I’m left with my mouth open, tongue hanging out, body slammed back and forth on the bed, my tits rubbing against the sheets, sending fire up and down my body. I wish I could spread my legs even more, let him smash into me deeper, investing my whole body, my whole soul.

Sanderson is like an animal, and he’s grunting and snorting as he slams into me over and over again, eventually reaching down to pull me up by grabbing one of my tits to hold me in place, his other hand alternating between clenching my hip and slapping my ass .

I mumble incoherent things, over and over again, trying to egg him on to fuck me harder, to make it hurt, to punish me because it’s what I know he wants to do and what Sanderson wants is what I want, but all that comes out is a stream of sounds that he has no hope of understanding if he’s even hearing me. If he did, he’d hear me tell him that I want him to thrust his thumb in my ass, to hook me like a fish while he pounds my insides to dust, that I want him to shove fingers down my throat so I can suck them like a cock while he smashes me with his battering ram.

Sanderson’s grunts come faster and faster, and he’s muttering as well, and I can’t understand what he’s mumbling, but that doesn’t matter because my imagination takes over—he’s fucking his ex-girlfriend from behind, berating her for being a cheating bitch, for leaving him, hate-fucking her into submission, and she let him because she wants him to take her back, and she whines and promises that she’ll be good and obedient and the best fucking slut that he’s ever had and that I’ll let him do whatever he wants to me and then he motions for another man to come in and kneel in front of me and feed me his cock and I gobble it down as Sanderson fucks me harder and harder telling me that I’m just a no-good cheating slut that deserves to be ruined and the man in front of me is fucking me so hard I’m choking and he and Sanderson high five each other and tell me how good a fuck I am and there’s a whole line of men waiting for their turn to fuck me and my head spins and my cunt explodes in pleasure and pain and everything in between.

The last thing I notice before I pass out from the massive orgasm is Sanderson stiffening within me with a slight cry and pressing his cock hard into me and dousing me with rivers of cum that seek to drown me but before they do everything goes black.

* * *

I must have dozed off—or more likely, zoned out, for when I pay attention to my surroundings again, I’m lying on the bed in the same room as before, naked as a jaybird, two fingers lazily playing with my own pussy. There’s a soft and warm sensation on my chest, one that’s working to arouse me all over again, for even though I may have stubbed my earlier craving with Sanderson, the dark demons of my unnatural urges are waking right back up.

I open my eyes, and there’s a woman there, a tiny thing, washing me with a warm cloth. She’s washing me with soft touches, concentrating, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips. It’s the one everyone calls Mouse; I have never heard her real name. She rarely speaks and when she does her voice is barely audible and her tone says she expects to be insulted or hit or both. Cassandra, in particular, whenever I’ve been in the recreation room of the ward surrounded by other patients—though with my eyes closed and unable to interact with anyone else—seemed to enjoy teasing and bullying the poor girl—how old is Mouse anyway? Older than I am, certainly—which hardly surprises me coming from the dominant woman. Poor Mouse with her submissive attitude, fodder for the aggressive demanding Cassandra. Even now, Mouse’s shoulders are hunched, as if she’s a turtle trying to hid in her shell—the perfect victim.

Even as I feel pity mixed with projected irritation at her predicament, my body reacts to Mouse’s submissiveness and a sudden and strong desire to grab the poor girl’s head and push it down between my legs and force her to lick me and suck out the semen that Sanderson spurted inside me and that I can feel slowly seep out and trickle down my thighs washes over me like a tidal wave of lust.

Mouse, who’s running the soft damp cloth over my breasts, notices both my shivers and the sudden hardening of my nipples, and casts me a quick glance before looking back down.

“You have such beautiful skin, Mistress,” she says, barely audible, almost mumbling. I try to resist what my body is clamoring for, but there is no use.

“Come here,” I say, my voice hard, demanding, calling up all the domination I can muster. I react to Mouse’s presence, and my lust ignites suddenly. I need sex again, and Mouse is there, and Mouse needs to be dominated, and dominating her makes me hot and hungry. I’m going to destroy that poor little submissive bitch, make her beg me for mercy.

For a split second, I wonder where Sanderson is right now, how he feels about what happened earlier, how he feels about me—but I can’t think about that right now, just like I can’t think about Daniel and how much I miss him and how much I wish he was here to hold me and take me away from this hell, but even just the image of Daniel—the warmth of his eyes, the tenderness of his hands, his smile that always would cheer me up and make me fall in love with him all over again—triggers that fear deep in my bones, that fear that Biff stuffed in there, along with all the other crap he tossed in and that landed me here a toy for others to use and abuse.

Mouse is privy to none of that internal tension. At my words, she shivers, trembling from head to toe, and drops the washcloth, her eyes having difficulty meeting mine. She shifts closer to me, and I can see her lower lips tremble and she stops it by biting it softly, a move that reminds me of a young cousin of mine—will I ever see her again? Will I ever see anyone I know and love again?

Images of Daniel playing with children flash in my mind before I can stop it and panic starts swooping in—but Mouse biting her lips makes her look so vulnerable that I feel the wash of lust sweeping me and suddenly I just want to hurt this poor girl—probably because I know that’s just what she wants. I grab Mouse’s short hair, and pull her to me and she does not fight me when I kiss her hard, less to share an intimate moment than to make it clear that I am her boss, her mistress, her goddess. And Mouse, darling Mouse, inoffensive Mouse, submits, opening her mouth and accepting my burning kisses.

When I break off the kiss to catch my breath, I sense that Mouse wants to say something. I toy with the idea of spitting into her mouth, but save it for later, the expectation heating up my dripping cunt. The thought of getting her little tongue scooping out Sanderson’s cum from between my legs makes me shiver.

“Yes?” I ask her.

She demurs. “A lowly slave must ask permission before speaking, Mistress.”

“Oh, like you did before?”

Mouse, still avoiding my eyes, flushes bright red. “Mistress will have to punish this stupid disobedient slave, then.” I can practically smell her arousal from where I am, and it’s not helping me think straight.

“We’ll see. What did you want to tell your Mistress?”

“Your mascara, Mistress. It’s running.”

She picks up the warm washcloth and wipes beneath my eyes.

As she does that, the full force what I must look like hits me: naked, cum dripping from my abused cunt, mascara running down my face, a silent witness to how my throat was used as a deep fuck hole. That Mouse is lovingly cleaning me up just rounds off that picture of depravity—she’s cleaning me up despite the fact that I want to do disturbing sadistic things to her body until she cries and begs me to stop because she can’t take it anymore but knowing full well that I won’t stop and that her tears just egg me on to ruin her for anyone else and to destroy her so that anybody who sees her feels both lust and pity for the wreckage of a body she’s been left with. My cunt twitches in expectation for what is to come.

I kiss her again, much more violently, biting her lower lip and tasting her young blood on my tongue and hearing her whimpers, in a repetition of what I did to Sanderson earlier but this time not to entice a lover but rather to hurt and make her cry and scream. Without even realizing it I’m grasping her small breasts through her white blouse and squeezing as hard as I can and the scream of pain she lets out in my mouth almost makes me come on the spot—my body needs to feel that cute little body squirming underneath me.

And I would have done exactly that and more, I am deadly certain, if not for the door opening and letting in a man. For a second, I think Sanderson has come back, and my pussy and my ass twitch in expectation, and I grab Mouse by the shoulders and twist her around so that she’s facing him. I pull her back against my chest while my hands are back on her small breasts kneading them roughly and trying to pinch her nipples through her blouse.

But it’s not Sanderson. It’s an older Latino man, dressed casually in jeans and a shirt, with really short cropped hair, almost shaved. The large webbing tattoo on the side of his neck catches my eye; it covers at least half of the exposed skin and reaches up almost to his ear.

He freezes as soon as he sees me and Mouse. “Holy shit,” he says, looking at us. I’m used to having men looking at me, especially since Biff forced me to wear clothes that expose my body precisely to attract men’s attention, but this time is different. The man’s eyes shift between me and Mouse, still on my lap getting pawed, but eventually settle on Mouse, and I can read ravenous hunger in his gaze.

I can read the situation easily. “Stand up girl,” I tell Mouse, pushing her up. “Present yourself to the nice man.”

That’s when I finally notice that Mouse is dressed as a schoolgirl, or more accurately, a fetishist’s view of a schoolgirl: her white blouse is tight and tied to bare her midriff, her blue pleated skirt is short and exposes the whole length of her naked legs, and she wears knee-high knitted blue socks and saddle shoes with a low heel.

The man just looks on, and Mouse remains motionless, her knees together, her head down, the hands joined behind her back.

“Santa Madre, you’re cute!” the man finally says. He takes a careful step towards Mouse. “Pietro said you’d be, but man, you’re perfect. Fuck, you’re hot!”

I’m still naked on the bed, watching the scene, idly caressing myself. I’m still horny, of course, and the presence of this man is sending every nerve of my body into high gear.

My body automatically picks up on what the man likes, responding to the scene before it. The knowledge of what’s going on makes me hotter, and I start fingering myself more thoroughly, sliding my fingers between my pussy lips, encountering the thick gluey cum from Sanderson, which highlights even more my sluttiness, something that sends my body into overdrive. I can’t keep a moan out.

The man turns to look at me. He takes in my naked body, at my hand between my spread thighs caressing myself. I look at him, look into his eyes, see his desires, and I strike.

I smile, taking my hand up to my mouth and rubbing it into my lips. I lick them, tasting Sanderson’s cum on the tip of my fingers. I glance at Mouse with my eyes, and tell the man. “Do you like Jennie’s daughter, Sir?”

The man stares at me, as if trying to understand what my game is. Come on, Tattoo Guy, catch up. I grin, shake my head, and go back to caressing my dripping pussy. The man follows my hand.

“Sugar,” I tell Mouse, and she easily picks up I’m talking to her by my tone of voice, and also because despite her behavior, I can tell that she’s no idiot. “This is going to be your new daddy tonight. You will treat him as well as you treated your real daddy, okay? You take care of him good, you hear?”

Mouse does not answer, merely nods her head barely perceptibly, and my voice hardens. “You take care of him good, you hear, Mouse?”

“Yes…” comes her voice, small, almost fearful. Her body language has changed, as if she has suddenly grown younger.

The tattooed man looks from me to Mouse and back to me, still trying to understand what is going on. I can see the bulge in his jeans. I smile at him and wink. “Mouse,” I say, “go greet your new daddy.”

Mouse doesn’t respond and shyly walks over to the tattooed man, who looks at her walk towards him with fascination. “Amazing,” he says, whistling to himself. “She’s such a pretty little thing.”

“Isn’t she?” I’m smack in my role as the dominant shameless mother pimping out her daughter to strange men, and my cunt is ecstatic with the act and wants nothing more than feeling the tattooed man’s cock pounding it. “She’s had a tough time when her real father left when she was young, and she’s been looking everywhere for a new father figure—you know: a big strong man to look up to and show her the proper way to act as a woman.”

Tattooed Man gives me a glance, and I can see understanding in his eyes and a smile comes upon his face, and it is not a particularly pleasant smile. I don’t know what this man’s background is, but it’s not a nice one, I’m willing to bet. My cunt acquiesces, and wants nothing more than for Tattooed Man to not be nice to it.

Mouse stops right before Tattooed Man, her hands still behind her back, her head down. I can tell that that her pretty little pussy is dripping wet at the prospect of submitting to the man’s perverted fantasy. Suddenly, it flashes into my mind: I wonder if she ran into someone like Biff, someone that reprogrammed her mind to become this sort of fantasy girl.

“Thank the man, baby,” I tell her, unable to stop myself. “Thank him for being your new daddy and to teach you how to be a good girl.”

Mouse blushes, and rises her eyes just enough to cross Tattooed Man’s gaze. The man is shaking his head in disbelief, still with his disturbing smile on his face, and he reaches up to press one of Mouse’s breasts through her blouse, pawing it softly, but acting as though he wants to do it a lot harder but restraining himself to increase his future pleasure. Building expectation.

“Thank you, daddy,” says Mouse in a small voice. “Thank you for showing me how to be a good girl.” The way she emphasizes good girl is enough to send my cunt is spasms of pleasure. It seems to affect Tattooed Man in a same way, because he laughs, a laugh that sounds more like a growl.

“You’re welcome, my pretty little thing. How about we show your mother here how well you swallow cock? I’m sure you’ve sucked loads in school.”

“Yes, daddy,” Mouse says, with a trembling soft voice. Without further ado, she drops to her knees—her little skirt exposing her ass, and I’m swamped with the desire to see that tiny ass ravaged by a large cock, natural or otherwise, and my eyes automatically flash to the table in the corner with the implements that Cassandra mentioned to Sanderson earlier, and I just know there is a huge dildo in there, and I picture it sawing in and out of Mouse’s ass as she’s satisfying the Tattooed Man and it’s making my head spin. My fingers are going faster and faster over my hungry cunt.

“Oh fuck yeah!” comes the groan from Tattooed Man, and I see that Mouse has pulled his jeans off and is jauntily sucking him down, her eyes closed, her pretty face bobbing up and down over the man’s cock which looks like it ought to not fit in the petite woman’s mouth but she seems to be able to spread her lips wide and has no difficulty taking half the shaft into her mouth.

It doesn’t take long before Tattooed Man is grabbing Mouse’s head and keeps it in place while he drives his hips forward, fucking into Mouse’s face, over and over again, and Mouse gags and drools and hacking sounds come from her throat but she keeps her eyes closed and despite an infrequent grimace she looks like this is exactly what she wants, and my attentive eyes see her hips shifts slightly in time with the man’s thrusts and I know full well she’s wet and ready for hard fuck. I feel bad for the submissive girl, but my body thinks it’s the hottest thing ever and my fingers are pushing in and out of my own cunt wishing someone was pile driving me just like that.

Tattooed Man is grunting, and Mouse is letting him do whatever he wants.

“That’s it, daddy,” I say, watching the display before me with envy and lust, “fuck my daughter’s little mouth—show her how a real man does his thing, show her who’s the boss. Fuck the little bitch’s throat!”

Tattooed Man turns to look at me and I blow him a kiss. He grins and then his eyes glaze over and from that and his jerky movements I can tell he’s about to come and with a particularly vicious thrust that sinks an additional two inches of his cock down Mouse’s gullet he explodes with a loud grunt, his whole body tensing. Mouse’s chokes on the spurting semen flooding her mouth and she coughs despite the man’s shaft blocking her air and snot and cum fly out of her nose and drips down her face. Tattooed Man is grinding his shaft inside her, thrusting slightly to push his cock deeper, his eyes closed, a look of utter bliss on his face. I’ve got four fingers in my cunt and I sneak my other hand to my ass and finger myself there as well. I want his cock so bad it’s burning me.

When Tattooed Man lets Mouse go, she pulls back and takes big gulps of air, and the sight of her face all red and tear-streaked sends sparks down my spine. As Mouse tries to catch her breath, I beckon her over.

“Come see mommy, baby. Mommy’s cunt need some loving care like you just gave your new daddy. Come and suck mommy’s cunt, baby. Come.”

Mouse does not hesitate and comes over to me, on all four, making sure she sways her ass unambiguously with every step. Tattooed Man watches her go, and I can’t help but notice his cock is still quite hard.

“Take off that shirt,” I tell Mouse, while leaning back and spreading my legs further, giving her access. “Show your new daddy your pretty little titties and maybe he’ll kiss them and suck them and squeeze them when he fucks your tight little pussy later.”

Mouse flushes and her breath still short—and with a thin line of cum hanging from her nose—she strips off her shirt. No bra underneath, of course, and her small pert breasts were tipped with round hard nipples. A desire to bite those little nipples off runs through my mind, and thank God the desire to feel her tongue lapping me up overwhelms the desire to hurt her, or I don’t know what I might do.

As it is, the sight of Mouse going down on me, her lithe little tongue lapping my pussy lips and sneaking inside and finding the goo that Sanderson left earlier and sucking it off with relish is enough to make me forget everything else. I grab her head and presses her down hard on my crotch, guiding it so that I can shift my hips and rub my hard clit against her face, over and over again, spreading my cunt juices over her pretty face, abusing her like Tattooed Man was abusing her earlier—she just calls for it, and I know for a fact that if I was to reach down between her legs and feel her pussy I’d find it dripping wet and craving a big fat cock to rip her open.

Big fat cock. Tattooed Man. He’s looking at us, slowly stroking his cock, and his eyes are fixated on Mouse’s tight almost boyish ass still exposed by her short flared skirt. I catch his eye, and wink at him.

“How about you come here, daddy, and mommy will get you all hard again so you teach my pretty little daughter all about fucking real men?”

Tattooed man grins, and swaggers towards us. “Mother and daughter, huh? Every guy’s dream, ain’t it? Okay, mommy, suck me off then. And then I’m gonna pound that pretty little bitch so hard she’s gonna remember me for the rest of her life.”

Both Mouse and I shiver at his words, and Mouse’s mouth on my cunt gets even busier. “Fuck yeah,” I groan, lifting my hips. “Stick your fingers in mommy’s ass, baby. Oh! That’s it! Just like that! All the way in mommy’s ass!” Her fingers in my rear feel amazing, and I hump them and her tongue in alternation, while Tattooed Man walks up to my side of the bed.

His cock is right there in front of my face, still shiny with Mouse’s drool and some of his cum. “Fuck this dirty mother’s mouth,” I groan to him, and his lopsided smile tells me just how much of a slut he thinks I am as he grabs my head and sticks his cock inside and I swear I come right then and there with that big cock invading me and Mouse’s tongue and lips and fingers working me between my legs.

Tattooed Man is grunting as I suck him off to the best of my abilities, and I’m impressed how hard he is despite having come not two minutes ago. I let him know, because I know full well that’s the sort of thing that really gets to a guy. “Wow, daddy, you’re still so hard and big.”

Tattooed Man laughs and runs his hand through my hair, almost tenderly. I spot another tattoo on his forearm as his shirt sleeve pulls up—another extensive webbed design. “Well, it’s been a while, mommy.” I think he likes this little role-playing game. “It’s what happens when you do time. Now that I’m out, I’ve got some catching up to do. And fuck do you ever know how to suck cock!”

I let his cock slide out of my mouth, doing my best to make it pop out and let a lot of drool sneak out. I smile at him. “You can fuck mommy too, if you want, daddy. Her cunt’s not as tight, but it’s got a lot more experience.”

“I bet it does, you puta. Bet you’ve been fucking since you were a kid yourself.” He turns to look at Mouse, still licking me with enthusiasm. “So, who’s Biff?” he asks, with a grin. He’s seen my own tattoo, framing my cunt. Biff’s Cunt.

“My own daddy,” I say, taking a second to let his cock slip out of my mouth. I look at him with a glint of glee in my eyes.

He shakes his head and laughs. “You’re one sick bitch, that’s for sure.” He lets me suck him a bit more, while he stares at Mouse’s ass. “Right, well, this is great, but I gotta get me some of that young tight pussy there.”

“Go ahead, fuck her hard, she’s gonna love every minute of it. The little slut’s always whining for a big cock to pound her.” My intuition does its thing, and reads Tattooed Man’s body language and it knows just what to say. “If you want, daddy, you can fuck her ass, too. It’s real tight, and it’s hardly been used.”

He looks at Mouse’s ass in her short little skirt, hunger on his face.

I grin, giving a long languorous lick to his cock. “Anything for you, daddy…” I emphasize the anything, and he looks at me and understands that I just offered him my own ass if he wants it. I shiver inside at the thought, and my pussy gushes at the image of this hard man splitting me open back there. Mouse moans softly as she laps up the dripping juices.

Tattooed man looks at Mouse eating me out, and shakes his head, laughing. “This is fucking great!” He reaches down and grabs Mouse’s hair and pulls her head up. “Look at me, you pretty little bitch. I’m going to fuck you now. Fuck you hard. What do you say?”

Mouse swallows—her face is shiny with my juices, and her eyes are slightly crazed when she glances up at the man before looking down. “You can do anything you want to me, daddy,” she says in a low voice. “I’m a good obedient little girl.”

“That’s right, you are.” He’s still smiling as he looks at her, and then he gets a weird expression on his face. “What’s your name?”

Mouse doesn’t know what to respond.

“Mouse,” I jump in. “They call her Mouse.”

“Mouse? What sort of name is Mouse?”

“Just look at her,” I laugh, and reach down to squeeze one of her small breasts. Mouse squeals and starts panting. She licks her lips, still splattered with my juices. “She’s this tiny little thing. And she’s so easily scared and taken advantage of. When a big strong man wants to shove his cock up her holes, she can hardly fight back.”

Tattooed Man grunts at my words, and I see his cock twitch, and for a second there I wish it’s me that he’s going to fuck. “Mouse, huh?” he says. And then he tilts his head, and frowns. “You look… familiar.”

“Just fuck the little slut, daddy,” I groan, reaching down to grasp his cock as it dangles there, between his legs, as he crouches to stare into her face. “Mommy wants to feel daddy’s cock pound into her little body and see her come hard.”

That seems to jerk Tattooed Man out of his reverie, and he struts behind Mouse. He takes a moment to appreciate the boyish ass of the small woman in front of him, running his hand underneath the diminutive skirt.

Mouse groans when Tattooed Man sinks two fingers inside her, and he laughs to himself. “Man, she’s tight, ain’t she?”

I look at him, and blow him a kiss. “All the better to make her new daddy happy.”

I don’t know if he heard me, because he’s intent on what he’s doing, which is pressing the head of his cock against Mouse’s slit. My cunt is so fucking jealous that I almost whimper out in need, and relieve the internal pressure by grabbing Mouse’s head and pressing her down into my crotch again, telling her to suck me harder while she fucks her new daddy. Her response is muffled, and I don’t know whether she’s responding to my demand or to the cock that just then sinks deep into her.

Tattooed Man fucks her hard, a look of utter and complete bliss on his face, and the hammer blows he gives her make Mouse grunt and I feel them as she’s slammed into my cunt over and over again and fuck me if I’m not going to come myself just from that and the visuals.

Having already come once before, Tattooed Man lasts much longer this time, but Mouse still arouses him enough that he doesn’t last as long as he might have otherwise—I’d like to think that my own contribution, a wanton brunette egging him and Mouse on to fuck harder and to “really slam the little slut,” helps him along.

Mouse is beyond pleasure, enjoying being caught between Tattooed Man and myself, both of us using her shamelessly for our own ends, and she comes several time while Tattooed Man pounds into her, the last one when Tattooed Man lets out a loud grunt and slams hard and explodes inside her. I grab Mouse’s head and rub it violently up and down against my cunt, smashing her face into my clit, and bringing myself off as Tattooed Man finished spurting inside her and then staggers backward, drained.

Driven by the need, and by the smell, I grab Mouse’s head again—my body tingles every time I do that—and kiss her hard, tasting myself on her lips, before tossing her on the bed and diving between her legs, licking and sucking the semen that Tattooed Man had deposited there.

“Fuck me—that’s hot!” he groans, watching me clean Mouse in and out, while she thrashes on the bed under my assault. I don’t care if she enjoys it or not—though from the feeling of her cunt clenching around my tongue and my fingers, I can tell she does in fact enjoy it tremendously—I just need to feel Tattooed Man cum in my mouth. When it hits my tongue, it’s like a drug that sends waves of pleasures down every single one of my nerves, and I shiver and tremble as I lick and suck noisily.

Tattooed Man approaches the side of the bed, and I can see from the corner of my eye that he has a cell phone in his hand. “I’ve definitively seen you before,” he says, looking at Mouse. He snaps a few pictures of her and I as Mouse shivers her way into another orgasm, her thighs pressing against the sides of my head. He winks in my direction. “Pietro said no pics, but we’re not gonna tell, are we, mommy?” He has a smile on his face, but I can hear the threat in his voice clearly.

He stares at me for a moment longer, watching me tongue Mouse’s pussy to seek more juices, and my eyes roll in the back of my head under the ecstasy of the sensations engulfing me. My body loves cum—freshly drained, warm, runny—nectar of the gods as prescribed by High Priest Biff. “Next time,” says Tattooed Man, “I’ll do you too, mommy. And your slutty little daughter here will suck my balls while I do.”

I groan when I hear him say that, and look up to him. “How about you fuck mommy now, daddy? Her cunt’s hungry.” And I move to stand up.

He laughs and backs away. “Hold on, mommy. I need a bit of a break here. But you and that slut can make out a bit…”

I bite my lips, and in slow motion, moving my body to emphasize every curve I have, I crawl on top of Mouse to kiss her and rub my breasts against hers. She doesn’t resist—I don’t expect her to—and submits to my advances. Just the feeling of her body against mine is getting me hot again, and I start rubbing my cunt against hers, and it feels so good I’m going out of my mind.

By the time I’m locked in a sixty-nine with Mouse, Tattooed Man is gone, but I don’t care—though my body whines at the disappearance of his cock—I’m on the brink of another orgasm as I lick off Mouse’s cunt and hump her face with my own, rubbing against her lips and against her tongue over and over again until the world explodes in a shower of lights.

The rest is fuzzy in my mind, with more orgasms and more abuse of the poor Mouse who takes it all with her customary submissiveness, enjoying everything I can dish out, even when I grab one of the whips from the table and start slashing her breasts, her cries of pleasure and pain unleashing pure fire deep in my cunt.

My mind completely overloaded, blinking in and out of consciousness, I barely register Cassandra coming in at some point, and finding Mouse between my legs, gently licking my cunt to soothe its rawness. Her tongue feels amazing, soft and cool, and I wish I could have her lick me like that forever.

Cassandra grabs Mouse and pulls her to her feet and kisses her, a harsh kiss that turns almost tender by the end, as Mouse whimpers in the taller brunette’s arms. Cassandra whispers some things that I can’t hear in Mouse’s ear, her hand caressing the poor girl’s hair and running down her back. I’m not out of it enough to not see the love, even though Cassandra ends the hug by pinching one of Mouse’s badly abused tits.

Later—how much later? I must have blanked out again—I come to when Doctor Agnieska enters the room accompanied by a wide-eyed Sanderson. My hands are between my legs, fingers in my cunt, thrusting in and out slowly, almost languorously. My ass is pressed into a cold puddle of my own juices.

Doctor Agnieska pulls out a syringe from a medical bag. As she taps the needle, she whispers, “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s all going to be okay… This is going to make everything better, you’ll see…”

I barely pay attention as she presses the needle into my shoulder. My gaze is directed at Sanderson—a man! a man with a cock I can practically smell from where I lie, a cock I want to feel punching into me like the worthless slut that I am—I start to salivate, and I can’t stop the words pouring out of my mouth. “Fuck Jennie… Please… Fuck Jennie… Jennie needs your cock… Jennie needs your cock inside her…”

The doctor’s drugs are effective, and the world starts to dim slowly, and my body relaxes, imperceptibly at first, and while the desire to reach out to grab Sanderson and strip him and jump him is still there, it is possible for me to ignore. Sweet bliss is about to descend upon me again, and I’m looking forward to it, looking forward to the oblivion, the tranquility, the peace.

As Doctor Agnieska fusses with her medical bag, I look up; Sanderson is staring at me. I thought I’d see pity, or disgust, in his eyes, but much to my surprise, I don’t. I see… I can’t describe it. Or I can. It is a look I have seen before. It is a look that I have last seen in Daniel’s eyes.

I brace myself for the fear response that any thought of my fiancé sparks, but whatever Doctor Agnieska gave me must be strong because while the fear is there, it is almost abstracted, in the background. For a split second, I feel myself. I can’t describe it. I’m not a slave to my drives, but I’m not floating on a cloud of bliss. It’s that magical balancing moment that I milk for all it is worth.

I want to bask in my memory of Daniel’s face, his laugh, the way we used to just hang out together reading, or watching an old movie, or just working together, side by side, happy with each other’s presence. I focus on one single memory, our first kiss, after a midnight showing Casablanca at the University Theater, while we were arguing the psychology of the movie characters: the look in his eyes, the taste of his lips, the feel of his hands on my back. I savor the memory, relive it, seek strength from it. It gives me hope. And a desire to escape. To find Daniel, and put all of this behind me.

Sanderson is still looking at me. My consciousness is slipping away. I stare into his eyes, and I barely have time to mutter the words “Please Richard… Please help Jennie…” before everything finally fades away.