Vicky couldn’t bring herself to take off the costume. She knew that, when she did, the feelings of remorse, of guilt, of self-loathing would make her sad and depressed. She didn’t want to feel that way. When she wore the costume, let Slutty Vicky be in charge, she didn’t need to feel that way, because it was like acting. Each time she was aroused from the danger, or she orgasmed as she was treated like nothing more than a useful cumhole, she could blame those things on Slutty Vicky.
The real Vicky, meanwhile, could just wait, safely tucked away in a place that was guarded by values and ideals. While her task was complete, she still needed to wear the costume for her meeting with the old man, the following day. He’d want to see that she was acceptable, and so she’d need Slutty Vicky to convince him of that fact. Her father would want to slap her and see her become wet because of it. He’d need to be convinced that her bald twat and jiggling melons were the defining characteristics of her worth, those things that a man had a right to. The real Vicky could not convince him of those things, because the real Vicky knew that they were lies.
Slutty Vicky, though, knew what was needed to play his game. Slutty Vicky got off on the danger and the rough fucking, the way they called her names and took what they were entitled to. The slut got wet at the mere idea that her will might be overborne, that she would be forced into submissiveness and made to service the desires of men with hard cocks. That was the girl that her father expected and, until she was named his heir, the costume would be necessary.
Vicky wanted to wash the anonymous man’s cum from her cunt the moment she returned home. In fact, she wanted to report the rape to the police, but Slutty Vicky was having none of that. She’d cum from it, the slut told her, she’d been wet and horny. She’d spread her legs in the parking lot and masturbated to the memory of it, and she’d done it using her rapist’s semen as a masturbatory aid. She’d even filmed herself doing it, knowing that her own father was going to watch the video. That kind of slut doesn’t go to the police, she’d said. That kind of slut gets laughed at and told that she deserves it for dressing like a whore and cockteasing her betters.
Vicky knew that the slut was right, and so she stayed behind her walls and hummed happily to herself, making a checklist of all the good things she’d do with her inheritance. Slutty Vicky, instead, took a nap, fed herself, and then spent two more hours touching her cunt as she watched a series of porn videos, themed around girls being molested and fucked by security guards for shoplifting or cockteasing.
When her pussy was good and hot, and Slutty Vicky felt like she couldn’t go another minute without an orgasm, she put on a new outfit and left the house. Vicky, safely behind her walls, making her list, daydreaming of the accolades and the recognition from her future good works, was no longer paying attention. Slutty Vicky, after all, knew what she was doing. Besides, if she became overly concerned with Slutty Vicky’s activities, the mean bitch would just slap her or kick her in the cunt and tell her to stop whining. It was best to just ignore her, let her drive, and when it was time, real Vicky could take her off and put her away for good.
***
Slutty Vicky knew that fucking another strange man wasn’t necessary. She’d successfully fulfilled the edict by being raped by the security guard, and she’d obtained the proof. Still, when dealing with an enemy like the wily old man, it was best to be sure of these things. The raping, also, had only lasted a couple of minutes, and he hadn’t slapped her, spanked her, or said one filthy word to her. The single orgasm wasn’t even fulfilling. The sense of danger, though, of being overpowered and taken had been a rush. It was a rush she wanted to feel again.
She parked Vicky’s car in a lot at the edge of downtown and then took up walking down the street toward Majestic Boulevard, colloquially known as “Whore Street,” for reasons that were apparent as she rounded the corner. The working girls were already out, displaying their wares, enticing their clientele. A few of them cast hateful glances at the new girl with her giant melons and, while Slutty Vicky’s stomach fluttered from the sense of danger, craved it even, she didn’t go near them.
Alone, on the end of a corner, she waited, unsure of the protocol for this sort of thing, only knowing that at any moment a car might pull up and proposition her. A man would offer her money for her pussy, and she’d take it, but she had no plan beyond this. Given that she was new, and that her tits were like a neon sign illuminating her sluttiness, it did not take long for exactly that to happen.
The car was a faded blue sedan, missing a hubcap, and the man behind the wheel wore a cut-off shirt that displayed a long, black tattoo that wound its way down his arm. He looked rough and he looked mean. Vicky’s pussy gushed at the sight of him.
“You look a little out of place here, bitch,” the man said, “You must be new.”
“I… Are you… looking for some fun?” Vicky asked.
“Get in,” he said, reaching across to open the passenger side door for her, as any true gentleman would. Vicky rounded the car, her heart hammering at giving up her control to this stranger. The man drove off once she was in the seat.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m… does it matter?”
He chuckled and said, “Girl like you? If you’re gonna do this kinda thing, you’re gonna be popular. Guys’ll wanna know who to ask for. You really are new at this, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“I’ll just call you Funbags. That’s cute. What’s your rate for full service, Funbags?”
Vicky hadn’t actually considered this, because Vicky wasn’t actually interested in money.
“$300,” she answered, having no idea what pussy sold for.
The man nodded and said, “That’s fair for a set of jugs like those. That include anal?”
Vicky had never been fucked in the ass, despite being heavily used by five strange men the past few days. Still, the thought of having her ass violated wasn’t something she wanted to take off the table.
“Can I see how I feel?” she asked.
The man laughed, saying, “Yeah. Sure. No ass, though, for that rate, I’m gonna wanna slap you around a bit.”
“Okay,” she readily agreed, “but… I’d like to… to record it.”
He laughed again and said, “Sure. Sure. Everyone should have a good home video of their first time at Disneyland, eh?”
The man, whose name she was not given, drove her to a nearby home, one with a boarded-up window and faded, flecking paint. The unkept yard held a rusted car, missing the doors and wheels, which sat atop concrete blocks. Vicky let herself out and followed the man into the house. Despite the outside appearance, the place was relatively clean, but spartan. Once he’d closed the door, the man fished in his wallet for some cash and handed her the agreed upon amount, which Vicky tucked into her purse.
“Come on back and show me those tits, Funbags,” he instructed, leading her down the hall to his bedroom.
Vicky pulled out her phone and began recording, propping it up beneath a table lamp that had no shade.
The man peeled away Vicky’s top with no preamble or conversation. Her ridiculous udders bounced into view and the man groped them in his rough hands.
“Goddamn those feel real as fuck!”
He drew a hand back and slapped one of her tits, hard, watching it wobble and making Vicky yelp. Her pussy reacted happily to the slap, which was quickly followed by another one that sent her boobs wobbling like balloons in a breeze. The pain brought tears to her eyes and the man smiled at the sight of them.
“Let’s make this happen,” he said and yanked down her skirt.
Vicky stepped out of it. The man pointed to the bed and Vicky lay on it, spreading her legs.
“Nah. Like this,” he said, and spun her around so that her head hung off the side.
“What-” she said, but he slapped her face and watched her body jerk in surprise and arousal.
“That’s a girl,” he said, pushing his shorts down and exposing his cock, “Let’s get some cock in you.”
He pushed forward, plugging his cock into her mouth and sliding the length of it into Vicky’s gullet, making her sputter and choke. His hands latched onto her tits, squeezing them as he began to withdraw his cock from her airway. Vicky sputtered and gulped air, a momentary respite, before he pushed his shaft back down her throat. He held it there, as Vicky’s body spasmed and shook, his hands pressing against his legs as she tried to breathe. He was having none of it, though.
The man held firmly to her tits as she choked on his cock. Vicky reached down and began to frig her clit as the stranger suffocated her with his tool, which brought forth an amused laugh from the man. He pulled his cock back out and Vicky gasped, spit up thick foam that ran down her face, into her nose and eyes.
“You like that shit, huh?” he asked, slapping his cock on her face.
Vicky spit again, then he pushed his cock back into her and began to fuck her windpipe like a pocket pussy as she played with her cunt, chaotically masturbating herself to an orgasm, which she got when he held his stiff prick in her throat for another long, suffocating moment. The man gave her tits a few good slaps, leaving them red and aching as she choked on his cock, chuckling to himself when she came.
Vicky retched up phlegm when he allowed her to breathe again, her body shuddering as oxygen reached her brain once more, but this time he didn’t go back in for another round. Instead, he got on the bed and pushed the length of his bare, wet cock into her spasming fuckhole in one deep thrust. Vicky orgasmed again. She was supposed to be a hooker, but this man had assumed she was such a slut that it didn’t matter if she wanted him to wrap his cock. It was just what Slutty Vicky wanted.
It didn’t matter what her desires were. Satisfying his cock was the only thing that mattered. The man put his weight on her, smothering his face in her tits as he humped into her welcoming cunt, roughly battering her pelvis, as though she weren’t a living woman, but a rubber hole he’d Primed in from Amazon for the amusement of his cock. Slutty Vicky moaned whorishly, her tits mashed against his face, his tongue licking her flesh. The real Vicky ignored it, ignored the way her own hips rose up to meet his hammering thrusts, ignored the excited squeals of pleasure her mouth made. This was why she had Slutty Vicky, the reason she could stay safe and dream her dreams of a hopeful future.
The man fucked her, hard, to one more delirious orgasm, before pulling his cock out and mounting her chest. He pushed her tits together and rhythmically stroked his cock between them.
“Rub your cunt, slut,” he ordered her, and Vicky did, looking up at him as he jerked his cock off with her funbags.
Once he’d stroked his cock for a bit with her tits, he let them free, grabbed her hair and pushed his cock back into her mouth to lubricate it, issuing the occasional slap, just for fun, to her cheeks. Sufficiently wet for another go, he gripped her tits again and began to fuck his cock into them as Vicky rubbed and fingered herself to another slutty climax, watching the animal lust on the strange man’s face.
For what seemed like ages, this cycle continued. The man would spit between her tits, stroke his cock between them, and then grab her hair and use her mouth, before returning to her tits. He delighted in pulling on her nipples until she screeched and kicked her legs, which made him laugh, slap her face, and then return to fucking her tits. For his finish, he rolled her sweating, spit-coated body over and pinned her head down on the mattress. He pushed her body prone, eased her legs apart with his knees, and pounded his cock into her gripping, humping pussy until he growled out his orgasm, burying his length into her. Slutty Vicky shuddered and shook as his cum spilled into her, the hot, hard bursts pasting her insides with goo that she knew she’d let leak from her fuckhole the entire way home.
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