Nursing her hangover, Vicky felt like a disgusting whore. She’d invited a strange man into her bed, a man who had gone from gentleman to fuck happy abuser in a matter of minutes. And it was her fault. She’d encouraged it. She’d asked for it. The details were hazy, but the memory of the sensations, the orgasms, the painful slapping of her cunt and groping of her tits, she remembered.
Lying in bed, cradling a mug of broth, Vicky sniffled at her own shameful actions. Her phone had died, sometime during the night. Now, it was charging. She sipped the broth, her blinds pulled shut against the invading sunlight, and tried not to think about what she’d done.
She napped, fitfully through the day, but she couldn’t not think about it. She couldn’t not think about the fact that she was going to do it again, tonight, because there was too much at stake. Some time in the early afternoon, after a good shower and some food, her headache receded. She hydrated, rested, napped, then ate again.
Periodically, her eyes would fall on the phone. It sat on the bedside table, taunting her, daring her to look at the video, to replay the events and confirm that, yes, she had been a slut. It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that a perverse curiosity made her pick it up.
Looking around the room, as though she might be caught, she unlocked the phone and went to the video. She played it. The angle showed the bed, but at the start of the video, they had not been on the bed. The sounds of her own moaning, the smacking of her lips against Luke’s, the occasional glimpse of and arm, were all that she could see. She heard a squeal of pained pleasure from herself, followed by another.
After some minutes of these sounds, Vicky saw herself falling backwards onto the bed, her large udders wobbling sluttily as she groped them and moaned. Luke was out of the shot, licking her cunt, but then she watched herself say, “Not like that. Harder. You can… you can spank it. My cunt.”
The sound of Luke’s hand striking her wet cunt sent a shiver of perverted pleasure through her body and she felt her pussy getting warm at the memory, the image of herself enjoying that slap. The next one came, then the next. Vicky took one hand off of the phone and touched her pussy. It was wet.
Was this who she really was? Was she the kind of slut that brought home drunk men and told them to slap her cunt? She must be, because the proof was right here. She saw herself orgasm from having her cunt slapped by a stranger. Then, she watched that stranger push his cock into her and she began to masturbate. The half-lidded, open-mouthed look of pure bliss on her own face, the way Luke held onto her tits as he used her like a wet hole for his pleasure, the way she squealed and purred as she was ravished, had Vicky’s pussy clenching around her fingers each time she pushed them into it.
She orgasmed when Luke mounted her chest and squeezed her tits together, pushing his cock into the valley of her chest, his hard shaft vanishing between the lewd mountains of titflesh, while his fingers squeezed her nipples. The Vicky on the screen yelped loudly at the rough treatment and, when Luke told her to, “Shut the fuck up, slut,” and slapped her across the face, Vicky came again, sniffling in humiliated confusion.
Vicky watched the entire, degrading video, which lasted for nearly two hours. She did it to punish herself, she thought, to remind herself that it was not who she was, that it was not really what she wanted. She was like an actress, throwing herself into the role for the benefit of her evil benefactor, doing it for his approval, so that she’d be named heir to his massive fortune. She would use that fortune for good, she thought, so that other women would never have to experience the pain of having their tits slapped and pulled on. She’d do it so that they’d be able to live in a world where unkind men, like her father, like Luke, wouldn’t view them as fuck dolls that were only useful as vessels for their semen. She’d do it, she decided, after she watched the part where she’d struggled, Luke’s cock blocking her airway as she came, just one more time.
Vicky did not want to develop some sort of reputation as a neighborhood slut, and so she drove, tonight, to another bar she’d found online, one that catered to a more blue-collar crowd. It wasn’t that she wanted to find a man that was a little rougher than Luke, she thought. Luke had been very rough with her, after all, and Vicky hadn’t liked it at all. The Vicky in the video had been a drunken slut, uninhibited and powerless, deprived of rationality because of the alcohol.
The real Vicky, the one that was posing as a slut in order to win this game with her patriarchal nemesis, did not want to be roughly treated like a sex toy by unkind men. That Vicky was sober, going into this place in order to find the kind of man she knew would be easy, the kind that would know how to be a little rough with her, in order to make another video of the kind her father would approve of. It was disgusting and it was twisted, but she would come out of this thing a hero, having suffered at the hands of degenerates, just like her idols, in order to give other women a brighter future. It was not because she liked it, and it was not because her bare, pantiless pussy was wet.
From the moment she entered, Vicky knew that it was a mistake to stay. The place was crowded with tradesmen, rather than the white collar office workers at Ace’s. These men worked construction or skilled labor, as evidenced by their faded and dirty jeans, grimy shirts, the evidence of a hard day’s work in the sun apparent. Here and there sat a few women, none of which Vicky would have considered associating with in the course of normal life. This wasn’t normal life, though.
Conversations died away and drinks, half lifted toward mouths, paused in their course as the rowdy patrons quieted. Vicky was not the kind of girl that came through these doors, unless she was selling pussy, and she could immediately see the men mentally checking their bank accounts, wondering if they had enough for an hour between her giant jugs and supple thighs. She blushed as the eyes looked her over, devoured her, and her nerve faltered. She took a step back toward the door.
One man, bolder than the rest, quickly made his way to her. He was, like most of them, gruff, muscular, his tanned skin flecked with bits of dirt. He wore faded jeans and heavy boots, his cut-off brown tee, similarly, streaked with dirt. Clearly he was a man who’d come in for a good drink, straight off the worksite. He touched her arm, gently.
“You lost, honey?” he asked.
“What? No. I just… came in for a drink,” Vicky said.
“Come and have a seat,” he suggested, “We’ll take care of that for you. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be alone in this kinda place.”
Vicky allowed the man to lead her to a nearby table, where he pulled out a chair across from his companion, another man in similar attire, who held a glass mug of beer. Two shot glasses, filled with something brown, sat in front of him. While many eyes remained trained on her, now that someone had laid claim to the slutty eye candy, conversations began to resume.
“I’m Ron. This here’s Bill,” the man said, and waved a hand toward his companion.
“Like the shirt,” Bill said, quaffing his beer.
Ron took one of the shot glasses from Bill and slid it across the table to Vicky.
“Have a swallow,” he said with a grin, “It might not go down easy, but you’ll like it in the end.”
Bill chuckled over his beer mug.
Vicky took up the shot, breathed, then tossed it back, giving a cough as it burned its way down. She pursed her lips and gave a violent shake of the head.
Bill banged his mug on the table and Ron laughed, saying, “That’s a girl. Get ya’ another?”
Vicky shook her head, coughed and said, “Maybe… a cock… a cocktail.”
Ron caught the attention of a girl making her rounds, carrying a tray, who came to the table and set her hateful eyes on the slut at the table.
“What’ll you have?” she asked.
“Lady needs a cocktail,” Ron answered for her, “Bring her that thing that Brandi drinks.”
“The Redheaded Slut?” the girl asked.
“That’s the one. Make it a double.”
“Anything for you?” the girl asked.
“A refill, if you please, darlin’.”
The girl returned to the bar.
“Now, jus’ what the hell is a gal like you doin’ in here with these uncouth shitheads?” Bill asked, finally speaking.
“I’m… just out for some fun and the place looked nice.”
Ron laughed and said, “Nice? This place is a shithole. Don’t worry, baby. You’re in good hands.”
Ron and Bill continued to eye Vicky’s cleavage, but they did prove to be entertaining, making jokes about the other patrons, telling vicky about their concrete work. The server returned with two Redheaded Sluts for Vicky and new beers for the men. Vicky consumed the drinks in rapid succession, as the two men laughed and made conversation.
Vicky let the alcohol do its work, warming her head in the same way as her cunt, which was bare and wet, growing wetter as she thought about what she was here for. As the men talked, Vicky wondered what it would be like to take one of them home with her. They were rough, crude, and if this was how they acted in public, what sort of men would they be in bed?
After a few hours of drinking, Bill made his exit, reluctantly heading home to his wife.
“I’m sure you’ll have something to think about tonight,” Ron jested, his eyes flicking to Vicky’s tits, to which Bill laughed and answered, “Yesir!”
Vicky blushed, knowing that the man would go home, fuck his wife, and imagine that he was pushing his cock into Vicky. When Bill had gone, Ron put down his empty glass, waved the server over, paid his bill, and then turned to Vicky.
“I’d best be on my way, too,” he said, “You want I should show you out? Wouldn’t want one of these fuckers to take liberties with ya’, walking around here unescorted.”
“I’d… I’d like that,” Vicky agreed, standing and following Ron out of the bar.
“You gonna be okay to drive?” he asked, walking Vicky to her car.
“Yes, but… I was thinking…” she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger nervously, “I thought that maybe you’d like to… to have some fun?”
Ron grinned and then said, “Love to, honey, but I don’t think a humble guy like me could afford you.”
Vicky blushed, humiliated, but she couldn’t blame him.
“I’m not… It’s not like that. I don’t do… that,” she said.
“No shit? Sorry, honey. I just assumed… shit. Ya’ know what they say ’bout assumin’.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
“My place ain’t far. You wanna follow or ride with?”
Vicky knew she was already on dangerous ground. Coming here at all was stupid. Going home with a rough, strange man, half-drunk and dressed like a whore was an even worse idea. Being cut off from her car, though, reliant solely on this man, was an even worse idea.
“I’ll follow you,” she said.
Ron nodded, and then reached out and squeezed her ass through her skirt as she turned to get into her car. Vicky jumped as a jolt of warmth flooded her pussy. She followed Ron’s big truck to a small, well-maintained, but aging house. The place sat along a pockmarked street lined by similar homes. Vicky’s trepidation at the situation, somehow, only made her wetter.
Ron let them into the home, flipped on a light, and Vicky was pleasantly surprised to find the place clean, simple, and cozy.
“Mind if I jump in the shower? It’s been a hot day,” Ron asked.
Vicky shook her head. Ron showed her to his bedroom, where Vicky sat on the bed as he vanished into the bathroom. The sound of the shower drifted from the open door as she waited, propping her phone up nearby to film the degrading fuck that she knew was coming, the mountains of money in her mind as justification for her actions. They did not, however, justify the hot and wet arousal, the anticipation of this encounter, the excitement of the idea that a strange, muscular man was about to have his way with her.
The sound of the shower stopped and a moment later, Ron appeared, naked, his cock already hard. Vicky blinked, surprised. There was no seduction, no stripping or fumbling at clothes, like there had been the night before. Ron just came in, cock out in the open, ready for action. His cock was large, too, bigger than her previous boyfriend and thicker, longer than Luke’s.
Ron stepped up onto the bed, approached Vicky as she lay against the headboard and put his cock in her face, saying, “Why don’t you give your new friend a little kiss?”
Vicky didn’t want to do it. Her father’s edict stipulated that she get fucked, not that she suck cock. She hadn’t wanted to have Luke’s cock in her mouth either, but he hadn’t given her a choice, in the end. She had, though, masturbated that same afternoon, watching the video of herself unwillingly having her throat assaulted by his swollen penis.
“I don’t… do I have to?” she asked, looking up at him submissively, his cock bobbing in front of her mouth.
Ron did not look happy. He’d brought home a half-dressed slut, certain that she was going to behave however he pleased. He was, likely, used to women doing as he asked.
“What kind of cocktease doesn’t suck cock?” he said, rudely and then he slapped her face.
Vicky reeled back, her head banging against the headboard in surprise, her eyes wide. Her pussy gushed at the slap and she moaned sluttily.
“Uh huh,” Ron said, the light of realization in his eyes, “That’s your game, huh?”
“No!” Vicky protested, as it was not, in fact her game.
Ron, though, now more convinced than ever by her response, slapped her again. Vicky yelped and then the man pushed the swollen head of his cock into her mouth and put his hand on her head.
“There you go, slut,” he said, sighing in pleasure as Vicky squealed around his cock, “Don’t you worry. I know how to handle you.”
Ron began to roughly fuck his cock into her mouth, banging her head against the headboard on each inward thrust as Vicky choked and glurked around his penis. She put her hands on his legs, pushing, but it was like trying to shove over a tree.
“That’s the way, baby,” he said, “Make it fun. Hell yeah!”
Vicky continued to struggle, to force his cock from her mouth, wiggling on the bed, but Ron gripped her hair in his fist and held her firmly in place as tears of humiliation, pain and confusion welled in her eyes. His rough use of her mouth made her cunt so hot and Vicky felt like she was going to orgasm. Finally, he pulled his spit-coated cocklog from her mouth and yanked up her top.
Vicky’s tits wobbled wildly as they came free, bringing a groan of desire from Ron, who tugged on her hair, forcing her onto her front as she wailed in pain. At the same time, she parted her legs, expectantly, her skirt riding up around her hips. With her tits pressed into the mattress, Ron mounted her like a bitch and drove his cock into her soaking snatch.
“Fuck me! That’s one wet cunt, honey,” he said, pushing the length of his dick into her.
His arm went around her neck, locking around her as he began to pummel her fuckhole in long, deep strokes, breathing heavily into her ear. In just the first few strokes, Vicky’s pussy betrayed her, cumming hard around his invading cock as the sound of his thrusts slapping her jiggling bottom filled her ears.
She hated that she was enjoying it, orgasming from the hard pounding of another stranger’s cock into her, as he choked her with his locked arm. Ron released his hold on her and Vicky sucked in breath, but then he put his hands on each of her arms, holding them down as he rhythmically drove his prick into her. Vicky moaned whorishly, taking his cock, feeling herself pushing back against him as he held her down.
“That’s it, slut,” Ron growled, “That’s what you need. Fuck, you got a good little cunt on you.”
Vicky came again when he let her arms go, raised up on his knees, and spanked her ass forcefully, the crack of his hand on her skin bringing forth a cry of confused pleasure from her. Her head spun with worry as the man took her, slamming his cock into her repeatedly, worry over her own arousal at the filthy treatment, worry that her father was right about her, that she was just a slut that didn’t know it, that all girls were sluts.
The worry did something to her, compartmentalizing her mind, pushing away the Vicky that worried about those things, letting the Vicky that was enjoying this take over, because that Vicky needed to act out her role. She needed that Vicky to win this game. When this was over, when she had her inheritance, she could be rid of the slutty Vicky that was, even now, cumming with some random construction worker’s cock in her. She’d cast her aside, like Luke had cast her aside, like this man would cast her aside, and then the world would be a better place, because the real Vicky would make it that way.
Her head filled with a wave of stars and pleasure as Ron growled, pushed his cock deep into her, and then released a flood of hot cum. Vicky continued to hump against him, trapped by his weight on top of her as his body trembled and filled her. The real Vicky sobbed in defeat, called her a traitor, but the slutty Vicky panted heavily as the hot pleasure began to fade, the strange cock pulled out of her, and she felt semen running down her slit.
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