This story is a work of fiction.

Hey folks. First post here on sex stories post, and it's the first part of a series. For those of you wanting more of the husband dominating the wife, don't worry, we'll get to it. Also, yes, they will get married. Just not quite the way Alice thought.

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I knew I’d fucked up.

That was really the core of everything that happened after. Knowing, right down to the bone, that everything was totally my fault. Me and Todd had had a good thing going; good marriage, nice house, decent money… everything we could really look for. There were people our age who’d have killed for what we had. But I went ahead and ruined it anyway.

But if I’m going to tell you all this, then I should explain a little better. My name’s Alice McMahon. Some of you may already know me as Berry. Yeah, that one. Thing is, I didn’t expect to end up being the world’s most famous sex-worker. I expected to get married at eighteen- which I did- and then work until Todd, my husband, finished college. Then he’d get a job, and I’d stop working. We’d have kids, boy and a girl, and watch them grow up. Then, when they had stable jobs and lives of their own, Todd would resign, and we’d wander the world as happy empty nesters.

Good plan, right? And we could have done it if I hadn’t-

Oh. Wait. I’m sorry. I forgot. See, like I said, I’m Berry, too. And being Berry has rules. When this story starts, I was eighteen. I was- and still am- a redhead, with thick, long, gorgeous red hair hanging down to my waist. It’s straight. I should tell you that too. It’s very long and straight. My skin’s really pale, almost flat white in places. I don’t blush easily, or go red when I get drunk, and I’ve got really good, creamy skin. Yeah, I moisturise. Only thing I’ve got on that skin are freckles, lots of them. Big green eyes, too.

But that’s not the important part. By the Rules of Being Berry, the important part is my tits; E cups, natural, with warm, dusky nipples that, even then, would harden and rise through my shirt in an instant if I got turned on. A slim waist, emphasising my big, round, perky ass. Long legs, with big, soft thighs that tapered in towards my knees and then blew out to round, soft calves. Small feet. Big, smooth, kissable lips, a soft pink without lipstick or gloss. I bruise easy, too. Hurt me, and you can leave a mark on me that lasts for days.

That’s what’s important, because that’s what makes me good to fuck. And Being Berry means getting fucked a lot.

But I wasn’t Berry yet. No, I was still Alice then, and like I said, I had just fucked everything up.

See, me and Todd? We’d been engaged since we were sixteen. And we’d been together since fourteen. It was… pretty much perfect. Even through all the teenage bullshit, and the stuff life throws at teenagers that’s a lot less bullshit and a lot more work (his parents’ divorce, my parents’ sheer, horrible rage at me being with a non-christian), we’d managed to stay together. Keep going. Be happy.

We’d arranged to get married as soon as we turned eighteen. He was three months older than me, so he was waiting on me. That… somehow makes it worse.

But then…

I’d never been to that kind of party. Okay? Ever. I’d never had a drink. I’d never kissed anyone but Todd, I’d never touched anyone but him either and-

And we’d- had this- this fight, right before.

This stupid fight.

I’d… I’d found his laptop. And normally, I’d never have looked at it! I really wouldn’t, we weren’t that kind of couple. But that time, for the first time, I did. I looked at his laptop. And he’d been looking at porn.

A lot of porn. All kinds. I didn’t know the names then, but- well. Now, I can list them for you. Lots of female submission stuff. Bondage, spanking, nipples – you know the kink.com video where it’s Mistress Donna’s birthday party, and she has tonnes of girls who are subbing for her and she’s making them fuck everyone and she’s hurting them while she does it? And then she takes Remy LaCroix out of a birthday present box and she lets everyone fuck Remy but Remy’s allowed to cum? He had that.

Then, weirdly, a few Hotwife sites, but not many- ones where the wife talks a lot about doing it to make her husband happy, or where the bulls pay the husband first.

Plus. Plus darker stuff. There was a lot of Japanese Chikan, a few girls getting gangbanged or raped or whatever. (Not, like, actually raped, it was pretty clearly staged, but still.) And a webcam stripper, and a few escort agencies. (I didn’t think he was cheating on me. It’d have been simpler if I did, but I didn’t. And I was right, too; Todd gets off on girls hooking, so he brings up the sites and jerks off sometimes. Back then, that’s where that stopped.)

The heaviest, though? Was girls with animals. That… really knocked me for six. But the thing is, all this? It was all on his laptop. Most of it open in tabs. So that’s one busy-ass laptop right there. And little innocent me, who sees this and freaked the fuck out.

At the time, I said it was because it was disgusting, and how could he look at that? How could he like it? And that’s what happened with the fight. But the thing was, it wasn’t really about that.

It was because I liked it.

Even just looking at it, I felt my body respond. I felt hands ghosting across my skin, clamping tight on my arms or my legs or my hips. My mind conjured cocks in my asshole, my pussy, my mouth- the salty taste of cum, the smoothness of cockskin on my tongue, the clenching of my throat-

It all just… came to me. I guess maybe a little part of me was Berry, even then.

So yeah. We fought. We really, REALLY fought. The kind of dragged out, apocalyptic argument that leaves you shaking, afterwards. It was a freaking death match, it really was. And it was me who was doing the screaming. It was me who was keeping it going. Todd mainly just kinda stood there. Took it. Looked ashamed, somewhere deep down, and that made me feel guilty, which just made me madder.

Until finally I just… left. Marched out of the house, got in my car, drove away.

(We were at Todd’s mom’s house, before you ask, and she wasn’t there. Busy kinda lady.)

But I didn’t have anywhere to go, either. My folks had kicked me out when me and Todd got engaged. They’d figured I’d come crawling back to them, I guess, but there we were, a year and a half later, still not speaking.

I could have gone back.

That’s important to understand.

I could have. My mother and father would have made me repent, break off the engagement, live a good Christian life, be a good Christian wife.

Berry would have died inside me, unborn.

Or I could have just… driven round, cooled off, gone back, been honest with Todd. I don’t know where that would have brought us. Probably not here.

But I didn’t do either of those things.

No.

I drove, and drove, away from the small town we lived in, until I got to the city. I parked my car. I watched the sun set, sitting there, not angry any more, just… just picturing the laptop, and the women on it being used, and my gut was full of tension and fire and thunderstorms and I-
Wanted-
It-
So bad.

And I was mad at myself for wanting it. And mad at Todd for making me want it, but also mad because Todd meant I couldn’t have it, either.
And then it was dark, and I saw the night clubs open, switching on their neon signs. My mother always used to tell me those places were where sinners went to cavort and fornicate. She called them training for hell.

Well. I wanted a little hell.

And then I got out of the car. Standing there, in my white blouse with the sleeves rolled up, blue jeans just a liiittle too tight, sneakers, sensible bra, sensible panties.

Standing there in the parking lot. Listening to Berry.

I took off the jeans and the sneakers. Right there, in full view of the bouncer and the quickly forming line of guys and babes. People clapped. The blouse was too big for me, honestly, but that meant it made for an okay miniskirt. I’d be barefoot, but- that wouldn’t be a problem, right?

Rolled up my sleeves.

Went behind the car. Berry still whispering sin in my ears, and I was listening. And happy, too, in some strange way. Happy to finally just stop trying to be a good girl, stop letting the parents who didn’t understand or want me control my life.

Reached under the hem of the shirt, took hold of the sensible panties, and pulled them off. Then up behind my back, to the sensible bra, and pulled that off too. Naked now, under the shirt. I undid one button just enough to make that clear when guys looked at my cleavage. Took the belt from the jeans and cinched it around my tiny waist.

I’m a pawg, you know. Phat Ass White Girl, to the porn illiterate amongst you. It’s hard to dress yourself as a pawg unless you’re trying to dress like a whore. I’d always had to struggle against that. Berry told me not any more.

And then I walked over to the back of the queue. Guys looking at me, laughing, smiling. One pushing close. Big guy, broad shoulders, muscles but also fat- a beer belly starting to roll over his belt. A thick beard. I could smell the sweat on him under the cologne. I wanted that. God. I really wanted it.

Thinking about it now, it’s like I’m back there, in nothing but a shirt and a belt on a cool summer night.

“Hey baby,” he growls, and I shiver again. “You look fun.”

I try to smile, still nervous. “Yeah. I’m real fun.”

“Me too. You going to party tonight?”

“…Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

I don’t remember the rest very well; we hustled past the bouncers (but one made a show of patting me down for weapons, the thinnest excuse to put his hands on my thighs and tits and back and ass. I let him. I liked it.), and then into the club itself. Music pounding. Beer belly has me by the wrist, takes me downstairs to the private lounge.

He buys me drinks. I drink them.

He introduces me to his friends- men like him, or women so beautiful I can’t believe they exist. I say hi.

He kisses me.

I kiss back, hard. And then his friends are on me too, and I’m kissing lots of guys and lots of girls but I’m not moving. No. They have my arms over my head and they’re pinning me by the wrist to the wall, so I’m stuck on the built-in seating. And the guys are dipping their heads down to kiss me. I’m drunk, now, and I’m seventeen and a half, but I want this, so I keep kissing back. Soon their tongues dip past my teeth. I taste liquor, beer, cigarettes, weed smoke. It’s foul. I love it. I love that I’m tasting this awful thing in my mouth because I’m finally- finally- being the little slut I had always known, deep down, I was.

And the ones who aren’t holding me or kissing me are grabbing at me through the shirt. I can feel their hands on my ribs, and my belly, and then they’re latching on to my tits, grabbing the meat of them, squeezing, my nipples caught between their fingers and it hurts so good.

This is the last moment when I’m a virgin. I remember it perfectly.

Because a second later someone- don’t know who, can’t even remember- has a finger in my pussy. I’m wet as I’ve ever been, and they slip inside, and I gasp into the mouth of the woman currently tasting me with her tongue. She laughs. Another two fingers slip inside me. Then someone else has their fingertips at the quivering rose of my asshole, and I get one second to think “really?” before I find out yes, really, and someone’s inside my ass.

It hurts.

I love it.

The fingers in both start to pump, and I’m gasping now, moaning, writhing on the seat, and someone has grabbed my ankles and they’re holding my legs wide open so my pussy and my ass are on full display. They’ve stopped kissing me now. Girls get kissed. Sluts just get used. I’ve still got the taste of stale beer and nicotine in my mouth, and it’s still foul, and I still love it because I know what it means.

The fingers in my pussy are joined by a fourth, and then a thumb. I’m gaping open under the brutal ministrations of my anonymous user. The ass-finger is now buried up to the knuckle inside me. I hear Beer Belly’s voice, heavy, growling, sending my lust spiralling through the roof- “get her shirt”

Seconds later the belt is off

And they tear at the shirt and send the buttons flying

And I’m completely on display.

A happy voice bellows somewhere nearby (barely hear it through the haze of pleasure and pain) “fuck me, look at the rack on this bitch! Gotta fuck those tits, man, least once!”

The words are barely in the air for a second before the full hand that’s opened my pussy up to everyone in that room withdraws. One second of confused disappointment/relief.

And then my user punches his fist into my cunt.

My eyes open. I see that odd not-colour that sears your sight when you’ve been in darkness too long. It doesn’t matter. I can’t see what I’m seeing. Too busy being dragged under the surface by the insane, shuddering depths of sensation from being fisted. Hot tearing pain. Indescribable pleasure. Every crack and cranny of the hand seared into my memory. Toes curling, feet pointing, whole body going taut. (He wore a wedding ring. I felt the gold inside me, somehow cold against my silky pussy-flesh).

It’s just.

Perfect.

The ass-finger keeps pumping. The hands keep rending at my tits. Scratches from untrimmed nails. I’m bruised and bleeding and overjoyed. That’s what brings me back, as I get used to being some stranger’s hand puppet. It’s good that I do, because seconds later I see Beer Belly’s huge hands reach down, shove- the fist comes out of me, but I don’t see my user’s face- and then he’s over me. His shirt’s off. I was right. Giant muscles, and a huge, rolling stomach to cover me, smother me. The smell of dried sweat and male musk half-hidden by cologne. A beard. Hair, all over him, thick and black and wiry. A giant of a man.

“Since she’s warmed up,” he howls, and there’s this cruel laughter. And then his pants are down around his knees.

Todd had never had me. No-one had. My mother and father still too much in my head, I guess. I knew nothing, is my point, about sex. But even then, I could see Beer Belly’s cock was impossible. Easily nine inches long, three inches wide. Erect. Throbbing with his heartbeat.

I guess it was good I’d been fisted so well, or he’d never have gotten his cock so deep into me.

Then there was the feeling of his huge, fat chest rolling over me, crushing me under his weight. My legs have been folded up so they’re on his shoulders, and he lies down and pushes me till I’m bent in half. My tits are pressed against his chest. His tongue is in my mouth. I stare at him with glazed, tear-stained, desperate, hungry eyes, and he looks back, and oh, I’m going to be used alright.

I can barely breath. My hands are still pinned to the wall. He starts to pump into me. And I’m gone. My first orgasm delivered by someone else. Shakes through me. Rattles my bones, sends my eyes rolling back into my head. He’s on top, this grunting, growling, snarling creature, his halitosis rolling over my face

(yes, yes, terrible breath, awful, YES, USE ME, IT’S WHAT I’M FOR-)

And he keeps pumping, over and over, sometimes stopping to thrust his tongue into my mouth. Starts slow and steady, so when I come back after that first orgasm, he’s this constant, excellent rhythm in my pussy.

I’m gasping. Trying to speak. He laughs.

“Shut up, baby, no-one wants to hear the fuck toy speak.”

Fuck toy. God. Yes. That’s me. That’s who I am. Berry’s been let loose,
and I think I’ve never felt so good.

But Beer Belly doesn’t know what a good little fuck toy I am, so he grabs me, heaves me up (my arms bend painfully back for one second till the unknown hands let go) and then drops me so my back slams flat against a table. One of those small, round metal ones you see in outside cafes, not big enough to support my head, and my neck is weak and fluttering like the rest of my body, so I drop and my head hangs back at waist height. Beer Belly’s not crushing me any more, but he’s still fucking me, and even if he wasn’t I’m not going anywhere.

“Get her wrists,” he growls. “Now. Fast.”

And it’s fast, like he says. Someone’s got each of my wrists, and binds them into leather cuffs with rope running down to the ground. Someone yanks, and my arms are dragged back, painfully far, just on this side of dislocation. The agony makes a corona of red pleasure shudder in my fat tits. I’m crucified and fuckable.

Beer Belly’s starting to up his rhythm a bit. People are talking, laughing. Then there’s a belt being undone and I can see it upside down. Blue jeans and brass and leather. A zip pulling down.

The cock is smaller than Beer Belly’s, but it’s still big. Erect. I can smell it, too, that musky male scent. It’s owner reaches down and thrusts his hand into my long thick red hair. I gasp. One second of my mouth being open. All he needs. In an instant, his cock is buried in my mouth up to my tonsils. I’m gagging on it, squeezing it with my throat, and his fat ballsack is resting on my noise.

I’m facefucked. Seconds of it being pulled out so I don’t lose consciousness (Berry doesn’t want me to, wants to remember every wonderful awful moment of pure degradation) and then it’s back inside my mouth and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. Faster than Beer Belly. Jackhammer to his wrecking ball.

It hurts. And fuck me, I still love it.

After a minute, the cock in my mouth sends a gout of something hot and salty gushing down my throat. I cough and hack and I can taste it and oh God yes. This. Less then a second to savour it before another one is there, and they use my mouth again.

They go on like that for a while. Using me. Delighting me by how little of a fuck they give about me as anything other than a pussy, some tits, and a mouth. A parade of cocks in my mouth. Beer Belly, speeding up a little more, bruising the inside of my thighs.

And then one of them decides to introduce me to the next sin on the list.

In those brief moments of consciousness beneath the pounding cocks, I’d seen him. Tiny guy, balding, bad teeth. I wanted him to use me too, of course, but I wanted all of them to use me, so he hadn’t seemed special.
But he shed his pants, and I saw his long, thin cock. Like a skewer. Circumcised and somehow sharp as a javelin. But he didn’t join the queue of unknown facefuckers, or try and shift Beer Belly as she broke in my pussy. He’d made eye contact with me, just for a moment. Leered an awful yellow grin. Wanked himself for a minute to hardness, and then put his finger to his lips.

Shhhhh.

And vanished into the crowd of my eager users. I didn’t have a second to think about him. Too many people inside me.

But I saw him again later, crawling naked and frog-like on his hands and knees through the crowd. Smiled up at me. Vanished below the table.
Beer Belly had dragged me so my hips lay on the rim of the table, his hands and cock keeping me from falling. I tell you this so you can understand how skewer must have twisted and bent himself to do what he did next.

It starts almost undetectably, a whisper in the bellowing orchestra of pain and pleasure that I’m being drowned in. Another finger, cold and damp and wet, thrusting up into my asshole. I let myself go loose for it. I want it. The finger notices, probes deeper- YES- withdraws.

I swallow cum and disappointment.

And then.

Then.

I feel a hard, thrusting thing, much wider than a finger, stab into my ass. My eyes go wide again. I recognise it, immediately. Skewer. Skewer is fucking me in the ass. I didn’t even know people did that, but now it’s happening, fuck me, yes, I want it. Skewer’s long thin cock stabs up my anal passage and starts to thrust, counterpoint to Beer Belly. My ass spreads wide for him, shuddering, twitching, hungry for his pallid cock.
It’s perfect.

So he keeps at it, Skewer. Hammering my ass over and over. I don’t think Beer Belly notices, or anyone else. Skewer has my asshole all to himself.
I wish I had longer to enjoy it, but new sensations are being thrown at me. As another guy pulls out of my mouth and I gasp for breath in the brief gap before they use my face again, I feel someone sit on me. Just climbs up and sits on my rips. I glance up, and see a towering, orange-tanned, grinning frat-bro unzip his shorts and lay yet another cock between my tits.

“Fucking told you,” he says, grinning at me like a child at their favourite toy. “Got to fuck those tits, babe. Gotta.”
“Don’t call the fuck toy babe,” growls Beer Belly. I agree in silence, because I’m not a babe. I’m a piece of meat.

The frat bro laughs. He slaps me open handed across the face. I see stars and the almost-colours of pain-beyond-sight for a second. Then I feel his hands dig into the flesh of my tits and press them together, and then I’m being fucked again. It’s less intense, that feeling, but the knowing it, the fact of it that someone’s taken my breasts and is using them for their pleasure, that they want this and I have no choice but to give it to them-

That’s good. That’s really good. Frat Bro keeps his perch on my ribs, thrusting and jerking. I get to watch him for a second (underlaid by the pounding from Beer Belly and the stabbing of Skewer) before a fist clenches my hair and my head’s yanked back.

There’s two cocks this time. I wonder if the guys are brothers. Their cocks are identical. I wrap my mouth around the two as best I can, and they fuck and fuck and fuck my face.

Five cocks at once. I like that.

Second orgasm. The brothers in my mouth last longer than the guys before them, and the five who are in me- the brothers, skewer, beer belly, frat bro- drag me on to a third and a fourth. I’m starting to lose coherence, now, all thoughts gone. A bundle of sensations shivering and juddering under each new impact.

Then, at last, the brothers come. I hear one mutter to the other that my mouth is perfect. Blow jobs, then. I guess I’m all about the blow jobs. They step away, and no-one takes their place. Seconds later, Frat Bro’s cock erupts. He spunks an ocean. So much. It covers my tits, my face, my hair- he tilts his hips, stands a little- my belly and hips. Frat Bro half-falls, half-climbs off, makes eye contact, grins, mouths “call me”.

I can’t think of a reply. Even if I could, I couldn’t say it, because then Skewer comes, and as he does hammers deeper into my ass than anyone’s been, before or since. His cum is almost cold. As he finishes, he slips back out of me, slow and long, and I give a shuddering gasp. I don’t see him again.

And the crowd’s still all around me, but no-one seems to be lining up to use me any more. I come closer to normal thought than I’ve been for a while, and I see my hands are cum-glazed, the muscles cramping. I’ve been jerking guys off, and I hadn’t even noticed. My feet at wet, too- Beer Belly was sucking my toes earlier, he must have kept going.

And it’s just me and him now. Me and Beer Belly, riding a brand new slut on her maiden (the irony) voyage. He’s finally built up enough speed. The repeated thud thud thud of his hips against mind kindles a new kind of ecstacy in the pit of my stomach.

I cum again, smaller, tighter, harder. He must feel my pussy squeeze on him, because he grins at me with a wide, filthy smile. “Like that?”

And I speak. For the first time in a long time, I manage to gasp out, “yes.”

That seems to do it for him. His smile gives way to something hard and tight and yearning and he cums deep inside me. For a second we stay like that. Then he pulls out- I shudder again- lets go of my hips. I slither to the floor, my whole body this exhausted mess. It feels like my bones are made of silk. He grins down at me again, huge cock still hanging out. Reaches down. Grabs my hair and drags me into a sitting position. He wipes his cock off on my face, and then lets go to put himself away and pull up his jeans.

It takes all I have not to collapse again. The VIP area’s full of grinning, laughing, cheering men.

With camera phones. All of them on me.

I want to tell you that my guts filled with cold fear. That I knew, instantly, that this meant all of this was… was on record. That everyone would know. That that knowledge terrified me, and that the thought of my nice, neat, honourable life being torn away from me was even worse.

And to be fair, that did happen. Kind of. I felt… aware. I felt like people would know about it. About me.

But I also felt… good. Satisfied. Like they should know. The little embers of Berry in my stomach would flare up again soon, after all, and if they didn’t know I’d done this, how would they come find me and use me again?

That’s the awful truth. I knew, already, that this was the first time my body would belong to any stranger who wanted me, but by no means the last.

I did tell you this was all my fault.

There was only a few seconds to think that, though, before the next part of the night’s entertainments settled on me. As Beer Belly shouldered through the crowd, laughing a deep, leathery kind of laugh, his friends swarmed over me. I got picked up, fucked a few more times. It was good, but I don’t remember it as well. Doesn’t drag me back to that moment as clearly.

The last part, though, that I remember. The night club had closed. The bar staff had made their way back, joined the milling crowd in the VIP area, taken their turns on me like everyone else, then left me naked and covered in cum on the bartop. The owner had come out, found me, dipped his balls in my mouth (I sucked without having to be told and watches his face twist with pleasure), jerked off and cum on my face. He’d slapped me too, open handed, and smirked at me before climbing off the bar to ragged cheers by the barstaff.

They were all that was left. Drinking cervezas and chatting. Finally, as they emptied their bottles, they stood.

One, a blonde like Frat Bro, started to leave. The owner called out his name.

“Where you going?”

“Bathroom. I need to take a piss.”

“You think the rest of us don’t? Nah. I got a better idea.”

Their eyes fixed on me. Blonde considered.

“Place is gonna be pretty fucked up after.”

“It isn’t already? Bitch has tracked cum fucking all over the damn place.”

“Gonna need a deep clean, is what I’m saying.”

“Needs one anyway. Besides, when else will you get this opportunity?”

Blonde smirked, nodded. Owner grinned back at him. And I-

-see, it should have been too far. Somehow. It should have. I should have been done.
But I wasn’t. I was still Berry. Still the fuck toy, the piece of meat. I wanted to be ruined some more.

-slipped off the bar onto my bare, cum stained feet. They stopped, milled around uncertainly.

And then I sank to my knees like the obedient little whore I was. “Would you like me to open my mouth?” I murmered.

And they grinned like sharks. “Not yet,” said Owner.

They circled around me, muttering to one another. I waited. Couldn’t rush them.

Their cocks came out, small and slack. I waited.

Laughter.

Then- piss. Long, yellow, streams of piss, hitting my face. Warm, too, I closed my eyes. Another stream hit my hair, started to clear away the cum out of it. Another hit my tits (I heard laughter again, “aim for the nipple!”).
“Now open your mouth,” said Owner. I did. And his stream arcs through the air right into my mouth. Again, that awful taste, and the knowledge that yeah, it was awful, and yeah, I loved it because I wanted it to be awful. Awful was what foul little cumsluts like me deserved.

I felt owner’s eyes on my face. Watching me.

So I stared back and started to swallow. Great gulps of his piss flooding down into my belly. His eyes widened. A disbelieving half laugh punches out from his lips. I keep going, drinking his piss. The other staff see, laugh, and then they’re pissing in my mouth too.

(I’m there again now, writing this.)

I swallow all of it. Every drop. Only when they’re all empty do they stop. There’s a brief moment where- staring at their faces, empty, calm- I feel a deep, strange kind of peace.

Then Blonde grabs me by the hair again and drags me behind the bar. I hear the others laugh- “you fucking freak, she’s covered in piss!” but he throws me flat. “Fight back,” he mutters. “Try to stop me.”

I reach up, try and scratch at him, push him off, but it doesn’t work and I’m glad it doesn’t. I want his cock. If he wants to pretend to rape me, fine.
He goes at me hard, cums. I gasp as I feet him inside me. Then he climbs off. There’s a few deep sinks behind the bar, and I guess I know what’s coming when he grabs my hair.

My head is thrust into the sink, and the cold water spurts all over my face. He washes off the piss and cum and what little makeup there was after a night of nigh-constant use. Then my hair- gets every hard tangle of cum loose.

“The fuck you doing?” owner asks. Blonde shrugs. “Got to look after your toys, boss.”

He twists me around- I bend awkwardly- and then my tits, fat and pendulous and bruised all over, are under the water. Then my belly. Then (another twist) my back. He uses cold water, dish soap and a rough flannel, dirty from cleaning glasses. Next, he lifts me up, puts my naked, bruised, and aching ass under the water. “Spread your cheeks.” I do. He sprays the tap into my asshole, then buries a finger in there, scooping out load after load of cum until I’m empty again.

Grabs my hips. New bruises there, too, more marks of ownership. Flips me over. Fingers thrusting into my pussy, filling me with cold water. Most of the cum’s inside, now. If I’m pregnant, fuck all he can do about it. But he gets what he can. Gets my thighs, shins, calves, feet. Does my hands last.

I’m naked, wet, shivering.

Clean.

He gives me a critical look over. “Yeah. Okay.” Makes eye contact.

“You got a name?”

I shake my head. I’m not Alice any more. Alice wouldn’t do any of what I’ve done. And Berry doesn’t – or didn’t, I should say – have a name yet. Blonde shrugs.

“Well. You come back again. Always more where that came from.”