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Vicky's Inheritance, Chapter Five: Cockhunter

Vicky wore her coat, again, as she left the office, distraught. She did not want to get raped. She did not, in fact, want to have sex at all with anyone that she didn’t care for. The instructions were clear, though. A different man each day for the rest of the week, starting today. On the ride home, Vicky considered if this was really worth it. These things were terrible. Her father was terrible. The old man was the worst human being she’d ever encountered. Would it be so bad if the government got his money, rather than her?

Then, she thought about the billion a week going to groups of men that advocated for subjugating women. The longer that Vicky dithered, the more money the old man would be giving away to hateful, vile groups of perverts. Didn’t she have an obligation to do something about that? She reminisced over her heroes, other women that had gone through arrests, beatings, trauma, all in pursuit of liberating women from the antiquated ideas that her father supported. Not all heroines, she mused, got that kind of attention in the history books.

Thus far, the things Vicky had endured were nothing compared to her heroine’s trials. Being slapped a bit, called names, and having to get a boob job were things that were embarrassing, but those icons of gender justice that she admired had gone through much worse. Vicky rallied her strength, her will. She would be the silent hero. No one would hear about her, and no one would know. She could make a stand against the old man, though, doing those things that would win his approval, while he was alive to see them, and then use his fortune to undo the horrible things he’d done with it. Someday, perhaps, when she’d spent that money on creating opportunities for underprivileged women, somebody would write something about her, call her a heroine.

Upon returning home, Vicky felt strange. Something wasn’t right. As she stripped off the slutty clothes, glad to be rid of them, she caught her appearance in her full-length mirror. Her skin was flushed, and it was then that she realized what was wrong. She was aroused. Highly, desperately aroused.

All the way home, she’d been considering what she was going to do, how she was going to do it. She’d been fantasizing about herself being molested and even raped. She’d gotten horny from fantasizing about it. Her father, she thought, would approve of that, but Vicky did not. It was awful. What kind of disgusting slut gets wet from fantasies of being used for pleasure by anonymous men?

She did. She’d gotten wet from it. Now, she had to do something about it, because it was all she could think about. Vicky locked her door, as though she were about to commit some kind of crime. Then, she got under her covers and began to masturbate.

Vicky did not masturbate often. She was not a highly sexed young woman, and masturbating made her feel dirty, like she was doing something wrong. Normally, Vicky would picture her encounters with her one, previous boyfriend as she touched herself, remembering the pleasure of his tongue on her sex or the feel of his hands as they’d touched her small breasts, the hotness of his breath in her ear as their bodies moved together, slowly and passionately.

Now, though, as she dipped her fingers into her sopping pussy, Vicky did not think about hands on her small breasts. She thought about the videos she’d watched, while tied to the bed, and she thought about the faceless men slapping the girls’ tits and making them cry. Vicky didn’t have small breasts. Vicky had giant tits, fuck handles. The thought of the word, “breasts” brought the memory of a painful electric shock discharging into her cunt. Vicky had tits, melons, jugs, udders.

As she rubbed her twat more vigorously, the prior boyfriend’s hand no longer gently cupped her small breasts, his hands roughly groped and squeezed at her oversized melons, pinching the nipples in his fingers, tugging them painfully as her pussy got wetter and wetter. The slow, sensual movement of their bodies, grinding in a passionate rhythm became the hard slapping of his hips against her pelvis, as he drove his engorged cock into her and told her, in her father’s voice, that the only thing more useless than a girl with an empty cunt is a girl, in general.

To her horror and shame, Vicky orgasmed at the imagined scenario, sobbing in confusion as the pleasurable waves, so unlike any prior masturbation, swept through her. She tugged, painfully, on her own tit and gritted her teeth, but then she came again. Vicky cried harder when she pinched her own clit, choking off a third orgasm that had been about to come, before she finally got a hold of herself.

It was sick! She was sick! She scrambled from the bed and fumbled with the lock on the door, then, nude, started the shower and got in immediately, letting the icy water pelt her hot skin. The shock of the cold water began to clear her head, but it began to heat, and Vicky washed her traitorous pussy, she began to think, again, about how she was going to entice strange men to fuck her, in order to win her father’s approval. Worst of all, she imagined the ways she would prove that it had happened.


Vicky was not a drinker. On occasion, she would have a drink or two with friends, but never to excess. Tonight, she drank the remaining five wine coolers in her refrigerator, before heading out the door. The walk to the little corner bar near her apartment took her fifteen minutes, during which she passed only a few people. All of them, though, gave her a long look. This was because Vicky had worn one of the tight, short skirts she’d picked up recently, paired with a belly shirt that stretched tightly over her ludicrous melons. Her heels clacked on the concrete with each step and her skin was flushed crimson with embarrassment.

Vicky knew what she looked like. She didn’t feel sexy. She didn’t feel cute. Vicky felt trashy, like she was a hooker, going out to entice a man to fuck her for money. Only, the sum wasn’t small. Her fee was a mountainous fortune, which was in the hands of a perverted octogenarian that wanted Vicky to act like a slut. Her father saw a woman’s… no, a girl’s value as the wet slit between her legs, the funbags on her chest, and the hole in her face that could be used to masturbate his cock with. Her father was evil.

Vicky recited this line of thinking in her head the whole walk to the bar, justifying what she was about to do by trying to picture the face of smiling and happy women, as Vicky handed out opportunity from her inherited bounty. Only, when she thought of the smiling faces of those women, she pictured those same faces being slapped until they were red and crying, and that thought made her pussy wet. It was horrible and she felt disgusted by herself, which, in turn, made her pussy wetter.

The bar at the corner was called Aces and it was a typical suburban establishment, clean, with a middle-class clientele. Vicky did not want to go looking for filthy dive bars, where rough and violent men drunk themselves into a stupor on hard liquor, because Vicky did not want to be raped. She believed that she could do what many other women did these days and find herself a handsome throw-away for a one-night stand. That seemed the safest and most reasonable way to have mindless sex with a stranger.

The eyes of every man were on her the instant she stepped through the door. The women, out in small groups or attended by their significant others, eyed her with contempt and disgust, the same feelings that Vicky had for herself. She was here for a single purpose, and it wasn’t a night out with friends or to socialize. She was here to find a strange man to fuck her, and she felt like a slut. The men, rightly, saw the next hole that they could push their hard dicks into. She could practically see each of them filing through their library of pick-up lines and introductions, picking the one that would give them the best chance of taking this full-chested goddess home, to bounce her on their cock and watch her giant tits wobble about obscenely.

Vicky, already slightly tipsy from chugging five wine coolers in rapid succession, clacked her way to the bar and took up a seat next to an attractive man who, she guessed, was in his mid-thirties. He wore a pair of tan trousers, into which was tucked a button-down plaid shirt. After quickly scanning the leering faces of the wolves, she’d decided on this one as her first attempt. She thought, though, that if he wasn’t interested, she was just going to seem like even more of a slut when she moved on to another one. It wouldn’t take long, after that, for the patrons to realize that she was cock-hunting, and then they would, truly, peg her for a hooker.

The man gave her a curt nod as she sat on the stool and, a second later, the bartender sidled up, his eyes on her cleavage, and asked her tits what they’d like to drink. He continued to stare at her chest as she asked, “What do you suggest? I want something hard.”

Both the man next to her, as well as the bartender, grinned at the clear meaning. Vicky figured that they’d have to be completely braindead not to pick up on a line like that.

“Whatever she likes,” the man next to her said, “It’s on me.”

He turned to her, careful to keep his gaze off of her melons and said, “I’m Luke. I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Vicky,” she said, quietly, blushing, holding out her hand.

He kissed it, rather than shaking it, and Vicky added, “Thank you for the drink. I’ve never been in here.”

Vicky had, in fact, been in the bar once, with a friend. That Vicky, though, had had small breasts and she dressed appropriately. The Vicky that had entered tonight was a cock-hound with oversized jugs, dressed like a trashy porn slut, with no underwear and a wet cunt. This Vicky was planning to take home a strange man and let him fuck her, while she secretly videoed the encounter on her phone. This Vicky was going to share the video with her own father, an evil billionaire, in order to get a vast fortune. This Vicky was a whore.


Luke was interested, it turned out, and he was also a gentleman. He complimented Vicky and asked her questions about her life and interests. Vicky thought that, if circumstances had been different, that she might actually like him. Instead, she plied herself with drinks as Luke talked. Vicky forgot most of what he had to say, though, as she drank herself into stupidity, filling her body with liquid courage.

“You want me to call you a ride home?” Luke asked, after a few hours of drinking, as Vicky’s inebriation became rather apparent.

Uncharacteristically, Vicky became very touchy feely, resting her hand on his leg, stroking it, her cheeks red and eyes glazed. She giggled and slurred. When Luke asked the question, though, she leaned close to his ear and drunkenly said, “I live kinda close. You wanna walk me home ‘stead?”

Not one to turn down a sure thing after a hard day’s work, Luke nodded and replied, “Sure. It’s only gentlemanly,” to which Vicky giggled again.

She swayed as she got off of the stool, leaning on Luke’s shoulder. Luke quickly extracted a wad of cash, left it on the bar, nodded to the bartender, and helped Vicky to stagger out the door. The pair of them were followed by sets of envious and disgusted eyes as Luke opened the door for his conquest. Vicky stumbled along, her head warm and her pussy wet, imagining what it would be like to have this strange man naked in her bed. Her muddled thoughts turned toward the imagined feeling of spreading her legs for him and feeling his hard cock pounding at her, her pussy soaked at the fantasy of how he’d hold tightly to her new melons as he battered her fucktunnel roughly.

Fortunately, she was aware enough to remember where she lived, though she had some difficulty with the key. Luke, kindly, helped her to get the key in, guiding her hand with his own as he smiled and pressed his erection against her ass, his other hand resting on her hip.

“It was nice to meet you,” Luke said, as Vicky stepped through the door, turning to watch him shift, expectantly.

“You…” she started, “You should come inside me… come inside!” she said, blushing and laughing at her own slip-up.

Luke chuckled, glanced quickly around, and then stepped through the door, closing it behind. Vicky took his hand and led him down the short hallway to her bedroom. Once in the door, she stumbled toward her nightstand, swiping open her phone, flipping on the camera, and then propping it up against a book, titled, You are a Princess. She began to tug her top up over her oversized tits, looking back over her shoulder blushingly. Luke got the message, quickly tugging his shirt from his slacks and undoing the buttons.

Vicky turned, covering her embarrassing jugs with her hands, and Luke took her in his arms, pushing his mouth against Vicky’s and putting his arms around her waist. Vicky kissed him sloppily, drunkenly, awkwardly pushing her tongue into his mouth. Vicky was not the most experience kisser and had always felt like she was losing control or acting slutty when her boyfriend wanted to tongue kiss. Tonight, though, it felt good.

Her head swam, dizzily, as she kissed the strange man she’d enticed home from the bar, allowing him to grope her ass through the tiny skirt. Vicky put her hand on his cock, found it hard and jerking in his pants, and rubbed it as she moaned into his mouth. Luke’s hand moved up her side, until it reached one of her tits and she heard him grunt appreciatively as he squeezed it, unable to get the entirety of it in his grip. Vicky squeaked as he groped her tit like a squeeze toy, feeling her pussy throb with need.

She hooked her thumbs into the skirt and pushed it down, then drunkenly worked at Luke’s belt. He released her tit and aided her, eager to get his cock out. His pants hit the floor, followed by his boxer shorts, and then his cock was in Vicky’s hand. She stroked it, the second penis of her life pulsing in her grip, hot, hard. This wasn’t so bad, she decided, as Luke kissed her again. The man was handsome, and he smelled good. He was kind and wanted her to feel good.

Her father was wrong. He was a monster. Men weren’t all a bunch of fuck-ready apes that only cared about their penises, and this guy was proof. He was sweet and he was gentle, touching her softly. She put his hand back on her tit and encouraged him to squeeze it again. He did.

“Harder,” she hissed into his mouth.

Luke groped her tit a bit harder, but it wasn’t enough. She needed it to hurt, just a little bit, she decided.

“Harder,” she hissed again, and this time Luke squeezed her melon again, then twisted her nipple in his fingers.

Vicky moaned into his mouth, so he did it again, this time tugging on her nipple painfully. Vicky moaned again, her body shuddering. Luke moved his mouth to her other tit and took the nipple in his mouth, sucking at it, and then nipping gently.

“Harder,” Vicky said, again, and he bit her nipple harder, yanking it with his teeth.

Vicky moaned delightedly, knowing that it wasn’t right, that the pain of his teeth on her sensitive tit shouldn’t be making her hot, but it was. Luke stepped her backwards, until she was lying on the bed, her legs spreading in invitation. She flushed at how slutty it was, parting her legs for a man she’d known for a few hours, offering him her bald pussy. He accepted the invitation, sinking to his knees to taste her.

Luke lapped lovingly at her pussy, drawing forth more arousal, but it wasn’t what she wanted. It was gentle and it was loving, and the feeling of his tongue on her twat and the soft caress of his hands on her body made Vicky remember the painful shocks in her cunt.

“Not like that,” she said, dreamily, “Harder. You can… you can spank it. My cunt.”

Luke paused his licking, blinked at the use of the dirty word, but he obliged. He stood, raised his hand, and gave her cunt a soft slap with his hand. The sound of his hand impacting her wet sex made a squishing sound that excited Vicky. She moaned happily, so Luke did it again, harder this time. Vicky squealed and trembled. It felt right, but it wasn’t there, so she said, “Harder.”

Luke spanked her cunt hard. Vicky squealed at the harsh slap and said, “Yes!”

Luke spanked her cunt again and Vicky closed her legs this time at the pain, her body shuddering in confusion at the mix of sensations. Luke, having gotten the message that Vicky was some kind of pain slut, forced her legs apart and roughly shoved the length of his cock into her in one hard thrust that filled her up.

“Fuck!” Vicky squeaked, and then Luke was pulling his cock back out, pushing it back in quickly, his hand latching onto one of her tits and rolling her nipple roughly between his fingers.

Vicky pushed back against him and moaned.

“You like it a little rough, huh?” Luke asked, his voice deep and husky.

“No!” Vicky said, because it was both true and untrue.

“Fuck, that’s hot. You’re one of those girls, huh?”

Vicky did not know what he meant by, “those girls,” but as Luke pushed her legs backwards and began to pummel her fuckhole, she stopped caring, because she orgasmed on his cock.

“Fuck, you’re a dirty bitch,” he said, and tugged on Vicky’s tit.

Her cunt squeezed his cock happily, as he hurt her tit and called her the demeaning name.

“No!” she said again, denying the fact that she was a dirty bitch, even as her pussy indicated, clearly, to his cock that she was.

“I knew from the minute you walked in that you were gonna be an easy fuck,” Luke said, his gentlemanly facade falling away as he fucked her, “Only a slut gets tits this fucking big.”

He rested Vicky’s ankles on his shoulder and put both hands on her jugs, gripping them tightly as he plowed his cock into her with short, powerful strokes. Fuck handles. He was using her tits as fuck handles, she thought, through an alcoholic, slutty haze, and then she orgasmed again.

In his drunken state, Luke was not cumming anytime soon. He wanted to get all the pleasure he could out of this chesty pain whore, and so he went, long into the night, alternately pumping his slimy cock between Vicky’s mounds, into her twat. When he wanted to push his cock into her mouth, she protested, and so he pulled on her nipple roughly, making her open her mouth in a squeal of pain, then used the opportunity to push his cock between her tired, parted lips.

He rotated his body into a lewd, 69 position, so that he could force the length of his cock into her mouth, while at the same time issuing hard slaps to her cunt. Vicky writhed and bucked, trying to lift his weight off of her, attempting to breathe, and occasionally, whorishly, sadly, orgasming when his hand would come down painfully on her gushing twat.

At last, his cock satisfied, tired from vigorously using Vicky’s body, Luke jerked himself off onto one of her tits, which gave Vicky another orgasm as she sobbed from the humiliation. Luke wiped his spent cock between the wet lips of her fuckhole, then put his clothes back on and left without a word.

Drunk and tired, herself, sore and worn out from the hard fucking she’d taken, Vicky curled into a ball, naked under her sweaty, wet sheet and fell asleep.


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