Kelly's Craving

Kelly perched on her couch, bathed in the glow of her laptop screen, lost in a world of hard cocks and desperate sluts. Her fingers flitted over the trackpad, skipping from one degrading scene to another. A public restroom, cocks forcing their way into waiting mouths, a cheap hotel room, cum painting glasses and tits, a video booth, the panting breath of a stranger driving his cock deep into her throat. Kelly’s body ached with the remembrance of those scenes made real.

She’d been on her knees on filthy tiles, felt the slap of balls against her face, ached from the strain of taking it all. As the familiar humiliation flooded through her, Kelly’s fingers slipped inside of her. She closed her eyes, drowning in need, feeling every fuck she’d ever taken. “I’m such a slut,” she whimpered, feeling the words rip her apart. “I can’t stop...”

Videos flickered across the screen, each more depraved than the last. Girls like her, cocks like she remembered, holes filled and bodies used. She couldn't stop herself from clicking on the next clip, leaning forward, the top of her shirt falling away from her heavy tits. In one, a slut begged a man to fuck her like she was worth nothing, right there on a restroom floor. The way he pushed her face down and hammered his big cock into her... Kelly's thighs clenched and rubbed together.

She felt her breath hitch. Her skin was tingling. She saw herself in those videos, her glasses dripping with cum and spit. She moaned softly, “Just like that... just like me...” Her hand moved up to touch her chest, playing with a sensitive nipple as the heat grew between her legs.

Kelly's blue eyes, wide behind her glasses, stayed glued to the screen as she watched herself all over again. Memories, fresh and stinging, took her over. She was there again, exactly there, on her knees, tiles cold and filthy beneath her. The smell of piss and beer filled her nose, and she’d wrinkled it even as it made her more desperate. Cocks were in front of her, behind her, sometimes two at once, and she remembered the way they made her whimper and grunt, each stroke degrading and perfect.

"So many... oh god, so many..." She felt the saliva drip down her tits, felt the roughness of hands in her hair, holding her, using her.

One of them grabbed her ass hard, and she remembered her cunt squeezing wet around him. She remembered her glasses slipping from her nose, falling to the floor, remembered not being able to see, remembered feeling it all. It was too much, always too much. She needed it to be too much. Her hand drifted between her legs, her panties already soaked with longing and shame.

Shame that never stopped her, that only made her wetter, needier. Her hand pushed her panties to the side, and her fingers were slick as she touched herself. “I'm a slut," she whispered to the room, to herself, "a fucking, cock-sucking slut.” Her breath came in short gasps, hips squirming, pushing against her own fingers. She felt her body go tight, remembering every filthy detail of how she was used.

Her mouth opened, her head fell back, and she squeezed her eyes shut, the images blurring into fantasy. In her mind, she saw it happening again, and she could feel her cunt get even wetter. Her fingers moved, faster, faster, the friction almost too much, almost enough, almost. She panted the words, "I want it... please... so much cock... can't stop..." Her pussy throbbed with emptiness, needing to be filled with any cock, every cock, all at once.

She was desperate for it, hungry for the next suck, the next way to let them degrade her. “Just one quick suck,” she whispered, knowing it wouldn’t stop there. It never stopped there. Her fingers moved harder, rubbed faster. She needed to be on her knees in another public restroom, a dirty stall, any filthy place with any number of strangers. She imagined them coming in, finding her, pulling their cocks out, pushing her head down, calling her a little cum whore. Her fingers moved faster.

“Use me,” she imagined saying, “use me like the fucking slut I am.” The thought made her quiver and shake, her body alive with the thrill of it, her mind crazed with lust. She imagined all the cocks she could have, her knees on grimy floors, the moans, the thrusts, the way it all filled her. She wanted it, she craved it, she couldn't go a week without it.

Kelly's breath caught as she rubbed her clit, her body jerking from the force of it. She squeezed her eyes shut, already planning the next time she'd be able to take it like she wanted.

“I’m such a slut," she moaned, "such a fucking slut.” Her hands were wet, her thighs were wet, everything was wet and slippery and she couldn't stop. She couldn't stop herself from coming. Her hips thrust into her own hand, and her entire body bucked and shuddered as the orgasm ripped through her.

"Oh god," she gasped, over and over, "Oh god, oh fuck, oh god."

Collapsing back onto the couch, Kelly panted for breath, her skin damp, her fingers still between her legs. Her body glistened, flushed and satisfied, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Her D-cups rose and fell heavily beneath her tight top. Her cunt was still wet, still needy, and her head was spinning with what she'd done and what she still wanted. What she needed. "Can't stop," she whispered, closing her eyes and seeing the grainy image of another cock flashing through her mind. "Can't ever stop."

In a haze, she reached for her laptop, her addiction taking over. She’d stay up all night like this, searching for the next filthy thing, watching it over and over, pushing herself to more orgasms than she could count. She'd lose herself to the cocks, to the sluts, to the fantasy, to the only thing that felt real to her. Her hand went back to her clit. Her finger clicked on the next clip, a restroom, a big cock, a screaming slut. The shame was perfect. The shame was her.

---

Kelly's breath came fast as she stood at the edge of the concert venue, her tight top accentuating every curve and her short skirt revealing her slutty intentions. She was on the hunt, looking for it, knowing she'd find it, that she couldn't go home without it. She saw the bathroom door, knew it was there, felt herself get wet at the thought of all those cocks. The crowd surged around her, a mass of bodies, music pounding loud enough to vibrate in her bones.

She could lose herself here, be the filthy slut she was, be anonymous and used. Kelly licked her lips, and her mouth watered at the thought of the big dicks that were so close. “Please,” she thought, “just one quick suck...” She stared at the men's room, her body tingling with the desire to open the door and kneel on the grimy floor.

She took a shaky breath, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, pushing through the throng of people. Her tits bounced with each step, barely contained by the flimsy fabric of her top. She didn’t care if anyone saw. She hoped someone would see. Someone would know exactly what she wanted.

Her thighs brushed together, and she felt how wet she already was. "So close," she thought, the anticipation making her light-headed. She could feel herself pulse and throb with each step. She couldn’t wait, couldn’t think, couldn’t stand not having a stranger's cock inside her.

Everything around her was a blur of sound and movement. The pounding music thudded in her chest, almost as loud as her racing heart. The crowd pressed in, a sea of bodies, everyone jostling for space, sweating, screaming, completely oblivious to the little blonde slut making her way toward the one place she could really let go.

The chaos, the energy of it all, made her feel both small and overwhelmed, exposed and insignificant. She bit her lip, trembling, knowing she could disappear here, let herself be nothing but a used hole, not even a name to the men who would fuck her. "I can be a total slut," she thought, breathless with the thrill of it. "I can be the slut I really am."

Her eyes kept darting to the men’s room door, drawing her back to it like a magnet. Her mouth watered with each glimpse. “Just one quick suck…” Her cunt throbbed with the words, the very thought of it pushing her closer to the edge. Her legs felt weak, barely able to carry her.

She couldn’t stop imagining it, couldn’t stop herself from wanting it. She'd gone a whole week without, and the ache was unbearable. She was getting closer to the restroom, closer to what she craved. She let herself imagine it, let herself drown in the fantasy. Her cunt felt so empty, so desperate. "Please," she thought, "please... now..."

Kelly stopped, panting, pulling her compact mirror from her bag. Her face was already flushed, her pupils huge with lust and want. She wiped at her lipstick, not caring that it was smudged, knowing it would be smudged even worse before long. The top she wore was a low-cut tease, the swell of her tits practically falling out of it.

She tugged at it, showing more skin, adjusting the neckline until her cleavage practically begged for a man's spit to drip between her breasts. The skirt was just as shameless, riding up high on her thighs, showing off her every intention. She gave her reflection a quick look, adjusted her glasses, ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. She looked just the way she wanted, just the way she needed. Slutty. Ready. Dying to get her face fucked.

Her need was overwhelming. She felt light-headed, giddy, desperate. She put the compact away, her fingers shaking with the force of her craving. Her eyes darted to the men’s room, then away, then back. It was so close. She was so close. She licked her lips, the memory of cum thick in her mouth.

She could taste it, feel it. Her whole body trembled with the need to be taken again. She stood on tiptoes, trying to see if anyone was watching, if anyone saw the tight-bodied slut checking out the men’s restroom. She hoped someone noticed. She hoped they would follow her in. Her skin was flushed, and she couldn’t stop rubbing her thighs together. “I have to,” she whispered to herself, taking a deep breath and making her way to the bathroom.

She weaved through the crowd, feeling like every eye was on her, like every eye knew what she was about to do. It only made her wetter. Her tits bounced with every step, nipples stiff against the thin fabric, painfully aware of how little she wore and how much she wanted.

“I can’t stop…” Her breath hitched, and she felt herself drip, almost weak-kneed with anticipation. She got closer, and her legs threatened to give out. She was soaking wet, so wet she thought she’d lose it right there, explode in orgasm from the thought of all those cocks, so close, waiting. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop wanting it.

“I need it,” she whimpered under her breath, “Need it so fucking bad.”

Each step she took toward the restroom made her more breathless, more crazed with lust. She felt a thrill with every inch, the music vibrating through her, the crowd a blur. She had to go there. She had to. Her heart raced as she moved toward it, each step a rush, each step sending a shiver through her whole body. She was a slut, she was a fucking, shameless, cocksucking slut, and the men's room was her chance to show it, to take it, to take all of it. “Almost…” she thought, panting. “Almost… please…”

Then she saw it—the door was slightly ajar, just waiting for her to slip inside. It was perfect, so perfect it hurt. Kelly's pussy throbbed with excitement, and she hurried toward it, her mind a blank slate of needy desperation. Her cunt was wet, wetter than she'd ever been, the idea of being used here driving her insane with lust. Her addiction swallowed her up, a hungry thing that consumed everything else. She reached for the door. She knew what she was doing. She was lost, shameless, and ready. So fucking ready.

Kelly slipped inside, the heavy restroom door swinging shut with a loud clang. She was inside. She was safe. She was alone. Her heart pounded. Her cunt throbbed. Her entire body burned with want. The smell of piss and old beer filled her nose, disgusting and perfect.

"Oh god," she breathed, "oh god, yes..." The filth was everything she wanted, a sure sign that she would be degraded like the slut she knew she was. She moved quickly, desperate, her fingers trembling as she checked beneath the stalls, making sure it was empty. "Please," she thought, "Please let me be used here." She was already wet, already slick, her skin flushed, her need unbearable. She leaned against a stall door, panting, imagining the cocks she'd suck.

It was perfect, all of it. The grime on the tiles, the way it reeked of stale piss, the absolute filth. Her eyes darted, searching every corner. She couldn’t believe her luck, couldn’t believe it was this easy. She had to be fast. She knew it, felt the urgency in her body, the desperation in her cunt. Her fingers gripped the top of a stall door, white-knuckled and quivering, as she peered beneath it, her breath ragged with the fear of being caught.

"Please let me," she whispered, “Please let me take it like the slut I am.” She couldn’t wait, couldn’t think, couldn’t stand not having it. The room spun around her, the stench, the heat, everything pushing her to the brink of madness. She was wild for it, crazed. She had to have it.

Kelly’s body responded with each step she took. Her hands were trembling, her cunt already dripping, her thighs wet and sticky. The shame filled her, made her more eager, more alive. The sound of the music outside was faint, muffled, reminding her how close they were.

Her heart pounded like the bass of the music, the excitement dizzying. She felt the heat rise to her skin, felt her tits push against the fabric of her top, hard nipples screaming to be groped.

"It's so disgusting," she thought, "It's so perfect." She was empty inside, needing to be filled. Her mind raced with it, her body ached with it, she couldn't stand another second of waiting.

She leaned against a stall door, the metal cold and rough against her flushed cheek. Her glasses slipped down her nose, and she didn’t bother to fix them. “Perfect,” she thought, panting with the strain of her craving. She knew what she was doing. She couldn’t deny herself. She was too addicted, too needy.

She saw herself, her legs spread, a thick cock pumping in and out of her mouth, cum and spit dripping down her tits. She wanted it. She wanted it all. She wanted to be a used-up cumdump, on her knees, desperate and wrecked and covered in it. Her body shook with the desire to degrade herself again, to feel a stranger thrust deep into her throat, to be so much the slut that she could barely stand it.

In her mind, she imagined them coming in, finding her, seeing her on her knees with her hungry little mouth open.

"Please," she'd beg them, "Please give me that big cock."

They'd unzip, pull their pants down, and laugh as she took it deep. She’d moan around the girth of it, her moans just making them thrust harder. They’d use her until she gagged, until she drooled, until she couldn't even see. Kelly’s hands shook with the force of the fantasy, imagining every detail, feeling the weight of the cum she hadn’t yet taken.

"I’m such a fucking slut," she thought, "I love this. I need this." Her cunt was so wet, so slick, so ready to be spread wide, fucked hard, left dripping and empty.

She closed her eyes, leaning back against the stall, letting her imagination go wild. It was everything she craved. Men pulling out their cocks, knowing she was there to suck every last drop from them.

The smell, the filth, the pure fucking shame of it, all driving her deeper and deeper into herself. She wanted it too much, more than anything, more than she could stand. Her heart raced. Her body trembled. Her pussy clenched around nothing. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Her pulse raced in her throat, her skin felt tight, her breath came fast.

She knew someone would come in soon. She knew they’d see her. She knew she would beg them, would drop to her knees and let them take turns on her. The thought made her almost burst. She couldn't believe how wet she was, how completely soaked and ready she’d become in the filthy, disgusting place.

Her panties were drenched, sticking to her in a way that made her feel used already, made her feel like she couldn’t go another minute without something hard and thick inside her.

“It’s too much," she thought, "It’s too fucking much.” But she needed it, needed it to be too much, needed to be the dirty whore she'd been all her life.

The risk was what she wanted, what she craved. The risk of getting caught, the fear of it, and how much that fear just made her want it more. Kelly’s legs felt weak, like they could give out at any second. She let herself slide down the stall door, sinking to the floor. Her breath came in frantic gasps. Her mind was a mess, her body a mess, and she knew she'd be even more of a mess before long. Her heart was wild in her chest, and she didn’t care if it killed her. "Please," she thought, "Please, please, please..."

Kelly was almost crazy with the intensity of it. She was almost crying from how much she needed it, how bad she needed it, how fucking insane she was with the craving for a cock in her mouth and another in her cunt and a stranger in every hole she had. She writhed against the wall, against the floor, humping the air with every breath, her entire body gone with want, with the certainty that she'd get it. She'd never gone a week without, not since she started, and the addiction ate her alive. She couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop herself, couldn't do anything but be the slut she was. The crazy, panting, cum-loving slut. "Almost..." she thought, "Almost..."

Kelly waited in the men's restroom stall, trying not to breathe in the stink of piss and beer. She sat perched on the edge of the toilet, biting her lip as she listened to the music pulse through the walls. Her pulse quickened at the echo of approaching footsteps, loud and careless. Her heart thudded, and the thrill of what she was about to do hit her with a dizzying rush.

She could almost feel the gaze of the man who would walk in on her, catch her in this degrading act, watch her wanton display as she kneeled and whispered, "Just one quick..." with a mouth already open for him. The door slammed, and the footsteps stopped. "Well, fuck, a cumslut," the tattooed guy in the band tee said, unzipping his jeans as Kelly dropped to her knees.

Her knees hit the filthy tile, and she could smell the reek of old piss and beer even stronger now, overwhelming and sharp. Kelly's glasses fogged with her heavy breathing, and her long blonde hair fell forward as she hungrily took his cock into her mouth. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of shame and excitement, spit running down her chin and dripping onto her cleavage. Her heart raced with the thrill of being caught like this, of giving in to her compulsive need to be degraded.

He sneered down at her, enjoying the way she surrendered so completely. The bass from the concert thumped through the walls, vibrating around them as he grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her to take him deeper.

"Just a quick one, huh?" he mocked, shoving himself into her throat. Kelly gagged, spit bubbling from her lips, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't. The addict inside of her wouldn't let her.

He moved her head roughly, thrusting in and out, as her thighs rubbed together uncontrollably. Kelly was a mess already, glasses smeared, chin wet, and pussy dripping as she submitted to his contemptuous use of her. The filthy floor scraped her knees, and the nasty smell of the room made her head swim, but nothing mattered more than the exquisite feeling of his control.

She gasped around him, breathing hard through her nose, pushing herself to take it, to take it all. He was just the first, and she already wanted more.

"Fuck, you're a dirty whore," he said, his voice rough with pleasure and disdain.

Her hands clutched at the waist of his jeans, as if holding on for dear life. Spit pooled in the hollow of her throat, sliding between her tits, soaking her tight top. She moaned helplessly, vibrations running up his shaft, as he used her mouth like the cumdump she ached to be. Every thrust sent shivers through her, every insult only making her hotter, wetter, needier.

She had wanted this, wanted it so bad she could hardly stand the wait. Now, as she kneeled on the grimy floor, taking him hard and deep, she was lost in the pleasure of finally giving in. Her glasses slipped down her nose, half blinding her with the blur of tears and jizz, and she could barely catch her breath. Her chest heaved, and her pussy throbbed with arousal, desperate to be filled and fucked.

The humiliation washed over her, sank into her skin, left her soaked with the sick delight of being used. She didn't have to pretend, didn't have to hide, not here, not like this. She was his for the taking, and that feeling drove her wild. Her cunt was drenched with it, pulsing and needy, wetting her panties as the intensity of it all pushed her to the edge. She couldn't help it; she didn't want to help it.

"I'm gonna cum on that slut face," he said, his voice tight, and she closed her eyes, ready for it, ready for everything he wanted to give her.

He pulled out and pumped himself, jerking the shaft as he aimed for her pretty features.

"Open up," he commanded, and she did, letting his cum splatter across her cheeks and lips, feeling the warmth of it mingle with the spit and tears and degradation.

"Fucking whore," he said one last time, tucking himself away as he walked out of the stall, leaving her kneeling in her mess.

Kelly stayed there, panting and shaking, her breath fogging the lenses of her smeared glasses. Her hands were still upturned and open, her entire body a portrait of submission. She could feel the cum sliding down her face, tasted the salt and shame and overwhelming thrill of it on her tongue. Her mouth hung open, waiting, like she couldn't stop herself from hoping for more. Her breath was ragged, each inhale an arousal-drenched sob. Her pussy ached, needy and slick, craving a cock to fill it, to slam it into. She had been right there, right on the edge, as he came on her face, and the humiliation of it only pushed her closer, made her tremble with the intensity of what she'd almost done.

The bathroom's stink seemed stronger now, almost intoxicating, and the noise of the concert pounded through her bones. She rubbed her thighs together, biting her lip, savoring the dirty taste in her mouth and the mess all over her skin. She couldn't wipe it away; it felt too good to wear it like that, like a badge of filthy honor. Her hair hung limp and matted with spit and cum, strands sticking to her sticky cheeks, and her glasses were almost useless now, so covered with the spray of his final contempt. She looked a wreck, and she loved it.

Alone, for the moment, Kelly could barely contain the feverish need inside her. She had told herself just one quick... but the insatiable desire was a gnawing hunger she couldn't satisfy. Her clit throbbed with it, a steady, demanding pulse that echoed in every part of her. She shifted on her knees, pushing her tight skirt higher up her legs, and let her fingers brush the soaked front of her panties. She wanted it all, every last bit of this degradation. The satisfaction was immediate and overwhelming, the familiar mix of submission, arousal, and shame.

It was freedom. It was addiction. And it would never be enough.

The dirty thrill wasn't supposed to last. Kelly knew it never did. She sat there, her heart a runaway train of shame and arousal, the pulsing music matching the pulse between her thighs. The taste of cum lingered in her open mouth, driving her wild, and she wondered how long she'd have to wait this time. Alone, messy, panting, she could hardly stand the need inside her. Her unanswered craving drove her to whisper, "Please, just one more..." Then, laughter rang out like a taunt, and Kelly's heart leapt at the sound.

A frat bro in a college sweatshirt, a drunk with bloodshot eyes—they filled the doorway, greedy and careless.

"Look at this messy bitch," the one in the sweatshirt said, pointing at the cum still glistening on her face.

"Fucking nasty," the other agreed, unzipping with a leer.

Their mocking words were like a drug, and Kelly shivered with the hit of them. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, just sat there and waited as they crowded into the stall, looming over her like she was the last piece of meat at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Her pussy was wet, wetter than ever, and the shame of it made her burn.

The drunk shoved a rough hand into her hair, pulling her head back so he could see the mess she'd let them make of her.

"She's got cum on her glasses," he laughed, pointing it out like a fucking achievement. "I bet she wants more," the frat bro said, tugging his cock out and wagging it at her. Kelly could only stare, could only lick her lips in needy anticipation, could only whisper, "I... I can't stop..."

He was in her mouth before she knew it, and Kelly's world shrank to the size of his dick. She gasped as he pushed hard and deep, not giving a fuck if she choked.

"That's it, slut," he said, thrusting as spit poured down her chin. "Choke on it." Kelly's glasses slipped again, fogging as she gagged, struggling to breathe around his relentless rhythm. But she couldn't, wouldn't stop him. Her need was too much, too desperate, too consuming. She could barely see, could barely breathe, and it only made her hotter, hungrier for more.

The drunk grabbed her tits, squeezing them through the sticky, wet fabric of her top. Kelly moaned around the cock in her mouth, the sound half-strangled and raw.

"Fuck, she's got big tits," he said, pinching her nipples so hard she gasped. The sharp, stinging pain was a spark that lit up every nerve, shooting straight down to her already dripping cunt. Kelly was drowning in it, in the helpless pleasure of being used like this. Their laughter was a soundtrack to her shame, and the thrill of it all sent her spiraling. She couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop rubbing her thighs together, couldn't stop the rush of filthy excitement that flooded her senses.

She was theirs, and the realization sent her crashing over the edge she'd been dancing on since she first dropped to her knees. Her vision blurred, a mix of tears and foggy lenses, as she sucked and gasped, gags turning into moans that sounded foreign even to her.

"Slut's about to cum," the frat bro said, a cruel laugh in his voice. He pulled out, aiming for her face, and Kelly opened wide.

Hot cum splashed her cheeks and lips, painting her with their contempt.

"You're a fucking mess," the drunk said, taking his buddy's place, forcing her mouth back open before she'd even caught her breath.

Her jaw ached, but she couldn't, didn't want to stop. Not even close. Her need was too great, and as the second load covered her features, Kelly was already longing for another. "Cumrag," they called her as they left, laughing, the word echoing in her mind like a fucked-up lullaby.

She stayed on the floor, shaking, covered, a slave to her own overwhelming desires. Her clit throbbed with it, relentless and demanding, the slickness between her legs only driving her deeper into the addiction. Kelly was the dirtiest of whores, and she loved it.

Word spread through the concert venue like wildfire. The men's room turned into a goddamn cattle call, a parade of filthy sneakers and eager cocks lining up for their turn with the little cumslut. It was more than Kelly had hoped for, more than she could have imagined. It was perfect. She kneeled in the filth, messy and wild, glasses smeared with jizz, eyes glazed with desperation.

The sticky cum on her face barely had time to dry before the next guy took his place in front of her. He was bearded, rough-looking, calloused hands unzipping with raw impatience. "You're just a suckhole," he said, shoving his dick down her throat. Kelly choked, but didn't care. It was a fucking dream come true.

She gagged hard as he gripped her hair, forcing her to take it. "That's right, you love this," he growled, pulling her onto his thick cock with brutal intensity. Spit ran from her lips, pooling between her tits, but Kelly was too far gone to notice.

She was everything they said she was, and more, and the filthy thrill of it shook her to the core. Her hand slipped under her skirt, fingers finding her clit, rubbing it frantically as she lost herself to the pleasure of degradation. Her pulse was a runaway train, matching the music's heavy throb, and the pleasure of it nearly blinded her. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and it was exactly what she wanted.

The rough man jerked her head, fast and brutal, and finished with a groan, his load splattering across her waiting face. Kelly's pussy pulsed with need, dripping with shame and arousal, as he zipped up and walked away, not giving a fuck about the slut he'd used. The line of men barely seemed to move, but there was another there to take his place, cock already out, already hard, already leaking with anticipation. "Filthy cumdump," he called her, and the words drove her wild.

Kelly didn't know how long it had been, didn't know how long it would be, didn't care about anything but the relentless use of her mouth, the parade of rough hands and brutal thrusts. Her jaw ached, her glasses hung at an angle, covered with a thick layer of spray and spit. She moaned and gagged and gasped, and the noise of it made them laugh.

"She's so fucking desperate," one of them said, and she was. She fucking was. The air filled with their taunts and laughter, mixing with the stink of cum and the echoes of her messy, unashamed need.

She couldn't see their faces, could only see their dicks, could only feel the pounding thrill of being nothing more than a hole to fuck. The thrill of it ran up her spine, igniting every nerve, making her shiver and drip and cum, her tight body shaking with the intensity of it. She lost track of time and her own voice as she gagged, cried, moaned, and gasped. Her pussy was so wet, she thought she'd die from the need of it. But it was never enough, and she loved it.

"She's fucking cumming," one of them said, "just from having a big dick shoved down her throat." And he was right, and she loved that too. Her tight top was soaked and sticking to her skin, her knees burned from the filthy floor, her entire body was a tremble of aroused muscles and overstimulated nerves. She took it, she took it all, and the brutal pleasure of it sent her reeling.

Each man was a new hit, a fresh rush of compulsion, pushing her deeper into her depraved addiction.

"Look at this fucking whore," they said, laughing as the lineup continued. The concert's noise pounded through the walls, the bass a relentless reminder of how far she'd let herself go. She was beyond control, beyond anything but need, beyond even the slick, degrading fantasy she'd imagined. This was real, this was happening, and it was fucking perfect.

They covered her with their loads, down her throat, on her face, across her tits, a symphony of thick, dripping cum and nasty, careless laughter.

"Slut doesn't even care," someone said, and he was right. Kelly didn't care, didn't stop, couldn't stop. Her glasses slipped to the ground, trampled and forgotten in the mix of spit and cum and humiliation. She fingered herself frantically, riding the filthy high of it all.

Her appearance was ruined, hair matted, makeup streaked, but it only fueled her excitement. They used her with less care than the first, taking less time to make her moan and gag and fucking love it, but she was so deep in the pleasure that she couldn't, didn't want to, ever stop.

"Suck it, you little bitch," was the anthem to her surrender, and Kelly was entirely, hopelessly, lost.

She was everything she'd wanted to be, everything they'd called her. Her need was greater than she could have dreamed, and the dirty pleasure of being used like this was the greatest thrill she'd ever known. The final guys barely bothered to hold her head, just dumped their loads with raw abandon as she stayed on her knees, panting and open-mouthed, the ultimate fucking cumrag.

Even after the last guy finished, her mouth stayed open and greedy, needing just one more, always just one more. She was an addict, and the dirty high of being used like this consumed her.

A beefy guy in a backwards cap left his load dripping from her chin as he finished, zipped up, and left the stall for the next man in line. Kelly could barely move as the relentless parade continued, her entire body trembling from the thrill of it and from exhaustion. Word had spread through the concert hall about the college blonde on her knees in the men's room, and dozens more were outside the stall, eager for a turn with the now-legendary cumdump.

"Can't stop..." she mumbled, almost hypnotically, as a short man with glasses pushed into her mouth and began thrusting mechanically. Her tight pink skirt was bunched around her waist, completely soaked through. Her top, stretched low, barely clung to her tits, leaving them exposed and smeared with a dozen different fluids. Her vision blurred through cum-smeared lenses, but she didn't need to see them anymore to know what they wanted from her.

The next man in line was already pushing forward before the current one finished. He held the top of her head, barely lasting a minute before adding to the mess covering Kelly. He was immediately replaced by another. They were young and old, fat and skinny, but they all took her with the same careless intensity. She was the exhausted whore of their dreams, a desperate college slut covered in cum and mumbling incoherently as the cycle continued. Kelly could feel herself slipping away, her own moans reduced to weak whimpers as she swallowed every load and opened her mouth for the next. There must have been a dozen more outside the stall, she thought, each one hoping to use the legendary teenage slut before the night was over.

"Fuck yeah," said a deep voice. "I've been waiting for this." A muscular jock in a varsity jacket shoved his way into the stall, forcing the smaller men aside and pushing his massive cock at Kelly's lips. He held her by her matted hair, calling her a filthy bitch as he rammed his full length down her throat.

"Look at this cumrag," he laughed, and the men outside joined in. Kelly felt the hot flush of shame and thrill at his degrading words, every thrust making her pussy throb despite the exhaustion taking over her body.

"I'm gonna use you up," he said, forcing himself deeper as Kelly choked and gagged. She could barely breathe, hardly even aware of herself anymore, just the dull heat of arousal and the sting of her own body's limits.

"Gonna keep you on your knees all night," he said, and Kelly's world started to go dark, a floating sensation as her body tried to shut down.

"Pathetic," he sneered, "You can't even take a dick without passing out." The jock pulled out with a final blast of cum across her face and neck, splattering her useless glasses and dripping down her throat. Kelly barely even noticed when the next two guys took his place, one in a skull T-shirt and the other wearing a trucker cap. They had her at both ends now, pussy and mouth, not even pretending to care about her limits or exhaustion.

"Slut's gonna die," one of them said, and Kelly was hardly sure if it was from the pain, the pleasure, or just the effort of keeping up with her own overwhelming desires.

The rough pace didn't slow down as she fell back against the toilet, barely able to keep herself upright while they used her and left, one after the other. Her skirt was pushed further up around her hips as a bald man with glasses shoved his cock between her legs, the two others at her mouth using her as though she were nothing more than a sex toy. She felt like she was going to pass out, the raw thrill of it more than she could take.

Kelly tried to mumble something, anything, to keep herself from slipping away, but there was too much, too many, and she was reduced to whimpering through her blocked lips. She thought she might have even cum a little, despite everything. Even unconsciousness was a kind of release, almost better than the orgasms she was too exhausted to have. The last one to finish—an old guy with bad teeth—laughed as he zipped up and left the stall.

"Guess she's not as hot for it as they say," she heard him call back to the others in line. "Pussy already gave out on her."

Kelly forced herself back upright. Her cunt was still dripping and ached with every movement. Her makeup was ruined. Her top was down around her waist, and her hair was beyond tangled. Her face was covered with every man's cum, her own spit, and even some of her makeup and tears. She pushed her glasses up her nose and looked around as a middle-aged man with a beer gut stepped in and closed the stall behind him.

"Jesus," he said. "You look like shit." He grabbed her by her shoulders, pulling her closer and pressing the head of his dick between her lips. Kelly struggled to stay conscious, eyes half-open, and her body trembling from exhaustion.

"You're the filthiest little bitch I've ever seen," he said, pulling away from her and pushing her onto her back. "And I've seen a lot."

He spit on her face, then forced his cock back into her mouth.

"Nasty toilet whore," he called her, and Kelly gasped in a mix of disbelief and satisfaction. His words echoed in her mind as her vision blurred, and she felt herself start to float again. Kelly lost track of how long he was there, only aware of the pounding in her chest and the mess of spit and cum on her glasses as he held her down. It seemed like an eternity, but she heard him breathing hard, his grip loosening on her shoulders, the sudden release of pressure in her jaw as he came across her tits and barely hard enough to matter.

The humiliation of it was an added thrill. Her last bit of energy was about to give out when he finally left, another load dripping down her front as she heard him say, "Pathetic little whore can't even stay awake."

Kelly couldn't move anymore. She was dimly aware of the noise from the concert hall, the sound of laughter and loud voices echoing off the tile, and her body trembled as she tried to stay conscious.

Somehow, it worked. She sat there in a daze as three more guys pushed into the stall, each of them staring at her for a moment before she realized what they were waiting for. Kelly barely even thought about it. She just opened her mouth and waited for them to use her. She felt a stab of excitement as one of them—a punk with bleached hair—muttered, "Fuck, she's still ready for it."

It wasn't much, but enough to give Kelly the energy she needed. She made herself focus on the pure thrill of it as he pushed his dick between her lips, holding her head tight and moaning with satisfaction. She was too tired to do anything but sit there, eyes barely open, and her legs spread wide. "Do it," said the guy waiting next to him. "Let her have it." Kelly felt her heart race again. It was still more than she could take, the pulse of pure heat between her legs as she felt him tense up, the warmth spreading down her throat and neck and chest as he finished with a grunt.

The other two barely let him out of the stall before they were both there, pushing Kelly back against the toilet and taking her mouth together. She wasn't even sure which of them had a hold on her tits and which was pushing himself inside, but they seemed to know. They were laughing as Kelly's head fell back against the toilet, as she went limp and they called her a fucked-out slut and a cumdoll and watched the mix of pleasure and fatigue on her face. She was lost again, a million miles away, but one of them was there, shouting at her to keep it open, to get ready for it, and Kelly could do nothing but comply. She kept it open, wide as she could, not caring who saw or what it looked like.

Even the last guy to use her couldn't make Kelly care anymore. He was wiry, tattoos covering his neck and arms, and he didn't waste any time. He shoved the other two aside, reaching for Kelly's tits as she sat there in a daze.

"You're fucking pathetic," he said, and Kelly felt a rush of humiliation and excitement as he pinched her nipples, hard. She whimpered, somewhere between a cry and a moan, and he pushed her glasses up onto her forehead as though she were a doll and nothing else.

"Can't even move," he said, and his words were as rough as his hands. He kept at it, jacking his cock and squeezing Kelly's tits and calling her a fucked-out cumwhore, and she couldn't help it, couldn't stop herself, couldn't do anything but let it happen. He slapped her tits one last time, pushed her head against the wall, and came across her chest with a sneer. He was gone before Kelly even had time to think about it, the door to the stall slamming open and the other two guys leaving her where she sat. She could hardly breathe. She could hardly see. The only thing she knew for sure was that they were right. She was pathetic, and the more pathetic she got, the more she needed it.

She was beyond broken and beyond caring. Kelly sat there with her legs spread wide, a dazed expression on her face, and so much cum on her glasses that she couldn't see through them. She trembled with exhaustion and the raw thrill of what she'd done as she slumped back against the toilet and waited for her body to catch up with her needs. There were no more men, but she didn't realize it yet.

She couldn't tell if she was hearing the concert or her own pulse pounding, or if the ache in her jaw would ever stop. Her skirt was soaked and her D-cups were pushed completely free from her top, bare tits covered in spit and jizz. "I'm fucking pathetic," Kelly thought, and the satisfaction mingled with the mess as she touched herself with a shaky hand. The last guy was right. They were all right. Her cheeks were flushed, legs trembling as she relived the moment he came and left her like that.

She wanted more. Kelly could hardly breathe, her entire body about to give out on her, but the humiliation was too intense. She gasped for air as she fingered herself, imagining the laughter and the jostling line, unable to believe it was already over. It was only after her vision started to clear that she realized. The men's voices and pounding boots were gone. The bathroom was empty. The truth of it was overwhelming, almost more than the fuck-trance she'd been in with the last few cocks.

"Look at this cumrag," she'd heard the jock say, his words as rough as his hands. Kelly was on the edge of passing out when he finished, his cock leaving her mouth with a brutal wet smack and his last words lost in a haze of pleasure and pain. The reality of it was too much, the memory almost as intense as when it happened. She could still feel him holding her by her hair, calling her a filthy bitch and pumping load after load of cum across her chest and neck and glasses.

Kelly rubbed herself harder, faster, pushing against her skirt as she heard the jock's words all over again, felt him leaving and the others taking his place. They were softer in comparison, just boys, and not even close to the brutal pace he'd set. She didn't know which one she liked better. She couldn't decide if she wanted them rough or sweet or just both at once. All she knew was that the thrill was overwhelming.

She was barely conscious and almost about to cum when it happened, the noise from the concert rising to a fever pitch and the boys following suit. "Whore's gonna pass out," they said, and Kelly had to agree. It was the best she'd ever had.

"Can't stop," she mumbled, and it was both a promise and a plea, more true than she wanted to admit.

Kelly's entire body shook as she thought about it, the exhaustion blending with the raw sexual thrill in a way she never imagined possible. She was on the verge of coming when it all came back, the dizzying sensation of being too fucked-out to move and the guys leaving as she tried to remember which cocks went where and who had called her a pathetic slut and which had filled her cunt or her mouth or both. She could still feel them everywhere, hard and demanding, a tangle of bodies and names and degrading laughter as they jostled to use her and not a single one disappointed.

She hardly noticed when the punk grabbed her tits, too busy with the two others at her lips to care, and the mix of pain and shame was enough to send her over the edge all by itself. She went limp when he finished, didn't even bother to get up or pull her top down, let alone cover herself with her stretched-out skirt. Instead, she just sat there with the next ones lined up, dripping and waiting and more ready for it than ever. It was beyond even what she'd hoped for, more than the best she'd imagined, the endless stream of cocks using her until she lost track and finally lost her mind and still lost it when she remembered and replayed it and fingered herself, so fucked out that she couldn't tell the difference between then and now. Kelly gasped at the thought. It made her dizzy and ready and she almost lost it again, too weak to keep herself steady as she brought her hand up from between her legs and tasted it.

"You're fucking pathetic," the wiry punk had said, pinching her nipples and covering her chest with his load. Kelly felt the same way as she sat there, as though they were still going and she was still ready for them, as though it would never end. It was more than she could have hoped for. It was beyond anything she'd done before, so degrading that she didn't even know who she was or what she was doing anymore.

The only thing she was sure of was that she needed it, more than ever, harder and rougher and two and three at a time until her mind and body were just as wrecked as they were tonight. Her hands and tits were coated, dripping and shaky and hardly able to keep up. Her mouth was sore and her lips swollen, and her skirt soaked all the way through. Even the stale smell of beer and piss was more intense than she expected, adding to the illicit thrill of it, making it feel even dirtier and more forbidden and so arousing that she couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop hoping for more.

It was everywhere, the mess and the smell and the raw physical evidence of it, making it hard to imagine why the men stopped when she hadn't. Kelly let herself slump back, head against the wall, still almost unsure if the absence of men was real or a trick of the fucked-out haze she was still in.

But it was real. It was done. The silence said it was true, the same silence she'd been in when she started, before she was covered and left and came and still wanted more. Kelly sat there on the grimy bathroom floor, eyes barely open, cum pooling beneath her, her body so raw and her throat so rough that she could hardly make a sound. It was over, and she'd had it all. The heat and the pleasure and the constant cycle, every inch of her ruined and her need still impossible to quench.

Kelly moaned, low and throaty and almost ready for another round, too exhausted to move and too far gone to stop herself. "Slut," she thought. "I really am." It was true, and she felt herself getting wet again, soaked already and more ready than she should be. It was better than anything she'd imagined, beyond the depraved vision she'd started with, and now there were no more men to interrupt.

"I'm a slut," she said again, hearing it as a whisper from her own lips, the truth of it washing over her as it had so many times that night. She hardly noticed the echo from the concert, the final notes so distant that they were almost forgotten. "I'm a slut," she said once more, breathless and needy, too shaky to touch herself and too filthy to care.

The final notes echoed as Kelly pulled herself up and out of the stall. She could hardly stand, her legs barely holding her up and her glasses so covered with cum that she could hardly see where she was going. She made it to the sink and started to clean herself off, but it only spread the mess around and left her looking even worse.

She fumbled to catch her balance, clutching at the counter and catching her breath. Even without seeing herself clearly, she knew she was a total wreck. "Slut," she mumbled, more of a reassurance than an insult. Kelly took off her useless glasses and shoved them in her purse, so streaked with spit and cum that they weren't worth wearing. She splashed water on her face and chest, but it did little more than move the mess around. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror was a hazy blur.

"Too fucked to care," she whispered, a compulsive thrill at how true it was. Her blonde hair was dark and matted, stuck to her neck and shoulders with dried semen. Her clothes were an afterthought, skirt riding high and tight top stretched out, and every inch of her exposed skin was covered in sweat and spit and worse. The only thing that even seemed like makeup was the mascara lines down her cheeks.

Kelly trembled as she kept at it, the flimsy fabric of her top slipping down her tits, the exhaustion so overwhelming that it was hard to do more than push the fluids around and make them stickier. "Fuck," she said, almost smiling. The state she was in was unbelievable, more extreme than she'd hoped, beyond what she'd imagined. Her entire body ached, so raw and used up that she could hardly think about it without getting wet all over again.

Kelly was about to take a break and collect herself when the door opened. A group of girls in tight concert T-shirts walked in, still chattering about the show. They took one look at Kelly and burst into laughter. "That's her," one of them said, pointing. "That's the bathroom slut." Kelly went crimson.

She could feel the heat in her face and between her legs as they whispered and laughed. She grabbed her purse, ducked her head, and made for the door before the rest could join in. She pushed past them with her D-cups still hanging out of her top and her legs shaking so badly that she could hardly walk.

"That's the one," she heard one of them say, "The cumdoll!"

Kelly rushed out of the bathroom, her heart pounding, the shame and thrill making her so dizzy that she thought she might pass out. She pushed through the crowded hallway, the concertgoers oblivious to what she'd done. Most of them, anyway. The rest she could barely see, let alone make out in the haze of noise and heat and leftover euphoria.

It felt like an eternity just to reach the exit, and every step seemed to add to the wetness and the illicit thrill of it. It was better than she'd hoped for, her most depraved fantasy and her public disgrace, even more intense because it happened at the same time.

Kelly couldn't even get her skirt straight. It stuck to her thighs and made every step feel like an effort, plastered to her skin and riding up her legs so high that she could barely call it a skirt. The disarray of her clothes was obvious, her bare chest all but exposed as the top fell further down her waist and left more of her pale skin on display. She finally made it through the crowd, made it through the doors, out into the warm night. "It's her," a group of guys said, barely out of high school.

They pointed and laughed as Kelly moved past them, barely able to keep her legs steady enough to make it across the parking lot. A few people turned to stare, but most averted their eyes, not quite sure what they'd seen but guessing it was more than they wanted to. Kelly tried to tell herself she didn't care, tried to act like the slut they all thought she was, but her face was burning. She could hardly see through her half-open eyes and still-foggy vision. "Fuck," she muttered, unsure if she was saying it because she couldn't believe how filthy she was or if she just needed another round of what had already left her soaked and shaky and hardly able to walk.

She finally reached her car, an old hand-me-down from her parents, and collapsed into the driver's seat. "Shit," Kelly said, struggling to catch her breath. She fumbled with the visor, pulled it down, and saw herself clearly in the mirror for the first time. She was even worse than she'd thought, more of a mess than she'd dared imagine. It was impossible to look at without feeling a rush of heat and humiliation. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and dark, the rest of her makeup streaked and forgotten.

She wasn't sure if she'd ever been this wrecked, but the evidence was undeniable. It was on her clothes, her glasses, her tits, her face. It was so thorough that she wondered how the men even found room to make her dirtier.

"I'm a slut," Kelly whispered, unable to look away from the reflection. Her voice was so hoarse that she could hardly make a sound, and even that was too much. She'd done it. She'd taken them all, so far gone that she'd actually enjoyed it, her body left in ruins and her pussy left soaked from the endless degradation. "I'm a slut," she said again, seeing the ruined girl she'd turned into, knowing it was true. She let a hand drift between her legs, too compulsive to resist and too needy to care.

The exhaustion left her shaky and too worn out to do anything but sit there, hardly aware of herself except in the wet heat that refused to go away. She could still feel it. She could still feel everything. The hours of abuse, the cocks in every hole, the men who'd covered her until she lost track of what she was and how much she'd done. It all came rushing back, too real and too fast for her to even register it.

She gasped and bit her lip, touching herself harder, the mix of pain and pleasure making her toes curl and her eyes roll back. "Can't stop," she said, surprised by how much she meant it, by how much she needed it. The reflection blurred in the mirror, less from the mess and more from the total loss of control she felt. Her legs shook as she slipped a finger inside her ruined cunt, as her skirt rode up to her waist and her body tensed and she thought she might pass out again.

"Can't stop," she said, ready to give in, ready to let herself go and cum and lose it like she did in the bathroom. "Can't stop," she said one more time, knowing it was true.

The evidence was all over, impossible to miss, undeniable. Even without her glasses, it was all too clear. "Can't stop," she thought, imagining the next public bathroom, the next faceless cocks, the next night as filthy and degrading as this one had been. Kelly came so hard that she screamed.