Vicky hated herself the moment she removed her costume the following morning. Slutty Vicky had let two men do gross things to her. She’d even put Vicky’s tongue into a man’s asshole as he fucked her tits. As she lay in bed, sobbing, the little voice of Slutty Vicky told her that she’d actually done her a favor. She’d fucked two men in one night, which, by the edict laid down by her father, meant that she was finished.
Vicky argued against this, because she knew that her father was cruel, and specificity of instructions mattered. He’d dictated a different man every night for the rest of the week, not four men in total. That meant that two men in one night was just Slutty Vicky being a slut, not helping her win the game. Slutty Vicky, also aware that the old man was a cruel bastard, couldn’t disagree with this logic, and so she slapped Vicky across the face and told her to quit being such a whiner. She was only making this more difficult with her arguments.
Vicky, who did not like being slapped, even if it was, technically, happening inside her own confused head, retreated from the mean bitch to keep herself safe. Just another day, she thought, and she could be rid of her.
***
Vicky did not want to wear the costume to the mall, because the costume was slutty. When she wore the costume, though, she didn’t have to feel bad or think about the dirty things that Slutty Vicky was doing with her. She could just pretend, for now, that she was that person, the kind of girl that she needed to be, in order to fulfill her mission and become a hero. Slutty Vicky assured her that, when it was over, when she had her inheritance, that she’d look back on this and laugh. She reminded Vicky of Lucy Burns, imprisoned more than once in her fight for women’s rights.
Lucy fought on, against oppression and injustice. Vicky had never been jailed. Vicky, in fact, wasn’t even doing anything but sitting back and bitching about the hard work that Slutty Vicky was doing for her. She should be grateful. Getting her melons knocked around a bit and having some good sex was hardly, Slutty Vicky argued, a reason to get so teary-eyed and whiny. If that was what it took to get her hands on a multibillion-dollar fortune, which she could use to battle her father’s stupid, outdated ideals, then it was a small price to pay.
Vicky couldn’t fault that logic, but it still did not mean that Vicky believed wearing a micro miniskirt, heels, and a tight top that showed off her grotesque melons was a good idea. It wasn’t, she said, actually necessary, because it was the middle of the day and she was not going out cock-hunting. She was only going to the mall for some retail therapy, in order to make herself feel better about what a whore Slutty Vicky had made her be. But Slutty Vicky was in charge for now, and Slutty Vicky wanted to wear the revealing clothes, because Slutty Vicky had just spent two hours masturbating to rape porn and her pussy was wet.
Using some of the money leftover from her father’s checks, Slutty Vicky bought the real Vicky some normal, good girl clothes. These, she convinced herself, she could wear after their dirty deeds were done, and Vicky should be happy that her father’s money was, even now, going toward these chaste, acceptable outfits. She was, secretly, getting in a small win over him, one that he’d never know about, and they could keep that secret and laugh at the old man’s ignorance.
Just to further show her that they were on the same side, Slutty Vicky tossed some of her change into a donation box she passed by, for a local women’s shelter. It wasn’t a billion-dollar check, like her father was handing out to those awful groups of backwards degenerates, but every penny counted in the fight for disadvantaged women. That kept Vicky quiet for a while, thankful even.
“Ma’am?” a stern voice said from behind her.
Vicky turned to face a uniformed security officer.
“Yes?” she asked.
“The mall, and the actual law, have guidelines concerning a lack of clothing,” he said, looking her over disapprovingly, “You can’t wear that… outfit here. You’ll need to cover up. Otherwise, I need to ask you to leave.”
Vicky flushed, embarrassed. Other people slowed as they passed by, taking in the half-dressed slut being chastised for something by mall security.
“I… I’ll go,” she said, and allowed the guard to escort her to the door.
Wearing the slutty clothes, having people look at her as the went from store to store, dressed like a cocktease, had Slutty Vicky’s pussy wet. Being marched to the doors, though, as people stopped to watch, was like a humiliating aphrodisiac. She could see it in the faces of the people that stopped to watch the spectacle. They thought she was a prostitute that had come to the mall to peddle her pussy to their suburban community. They thought she was a whore. Security, wise to her game, was now showing her the door.
Her nipples were making tents in her shirt by the time the guard opened the door for her, ushering Vicky out into the late afternoon sun. Her bags in hand and slut nectar coating her inner thighs, Vicky trapsed back along the parking lot to her car, tossing her bags into the trunk. She rounded the car, focused on her cunt as she fantasized about the guard taking her back to his office and showing her what they did to girls that showed up at the mall dressed like tarts. Lost in her fantasy, she paid no mind to the white van with the little yellow light on top, Security stenciled on the side, parked next to her car.
The sliding door opened, and Vicky yelped in surprise as she was pulled, roughly, into the van and pushed onto the floor. Her face and tits mashed against the smooth rubber of the interior and then she squealed as someone mounted her, pushing up her skirt and ramming a cock into her roughly. Slutty Vicky orgasmed immediately at the realization that she was being raped.
Whoever the man was, he was humping away at her like a silicone love torso. Vicky squealed as the cock battered her fuckhole in angry, sharp thrusts that made her obscene tits scrape back and forth across the hard rubber of the floor. The real Vicky made to push herself up on her hands, trying to crawl away, but within seconds the man was ejaculating into her, bottoming out, pushing her hips against her soft ass and driving her back onto the floor.
The door opened again, and her unseen rapist rolled her out the door, where she crashed to the ground, next to her car, stunned. The van sped away before she could even clamber to her feet. The whole incident couldn’t have lasted more than a couple of minutes. She managed to sit up, her back against the car door, hair disheveled, knees scraped. Her skirt was still bunched around her waist, and she could feel cum leaking from her cunt.
The real Vicky sobbed as the horror of her violation caught up to her, but Slutty Vicky cursed at her for not having the presence of mind to film the rape. It was a lost opportunity. Now, she’d have to go find another man to fuck tonight, and it was Vicky’s fault. No, Vicky argued with her slut, the old man needed proof. The proof was in her pussy. She scrabbled in her purse for the phone and took a video of her raped pussy, spilling a stranger’s seed into the parking lot.
Vicky thought it was enough, but Slutty Vicky disagreed. Slutty Vicky put the propped the phone on its stand, aimed at her leaking twat, and used the rapist’s sperm to masturbate, right there in the parking, lot.
“I was raped by a mall cop,” she told the camera, “I came from being raped by a mall cop!”
And then she came again, her pussy expelling the stranger’s cum in her violent orgasm as the camera filmed.
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