I Am Not a Slut

"Aw, Jeez," he sighed, "this bitch really knows how to suck a cock."

This Bitch, I thought? He called me "This Bitch?" First I was Mud Bunny and now, after he rapes my face he feels like he can objectify me by calling me This Bitch? It pissed me off.

"Donkh gahl be a bishf," I said. It's hard to speak clearly with a dick in your mouth.

"What'd she say," asked Mr. Nice Guy.

"I think she said she wants to try two at once," the Mean One said.

"Nouh," I tried to scream, shaking my head, but it's also kind of hard of to scream with a dick in your mouth.

Sure enough, they tried to make me take both cocks in my mouth at the same time. I did my best, 'cause I was so scared and all, but the best I could do was just take both tips in. I couldn't suck them both at once, so they had me suck them one after the other while the other made do with a little hand action while waiting his turn.

Mr. Nice Guy had a city dick. That's how my brother Rick and his best friend Tommy described it in the shed behind Tommy's dad's house when I was about 13 and they took their cocks out to show me the difference. Rick was circumcised – a "city dick," while Tommy had an uncircumcised "country dick." Rick's was a lot prettier and looked a lot cleaner somehow and I liked that little ridge around the head and the way he moaned when I ran my tongue around it, whereas I had to peel the skin back from Tommy's . . . but I digress.

I ran my tongue around the head of Mr. Nice Guy's city dick and he seemed to like that, too.

"Man, let's spread her out," he said. "I want to eat her pussy before we fuck her."

"Let's take her back to my bedroom where we can be more comfortable," the Mean One answered. "This is gonna take a while."

"Wait, we're not gonna fuck me; this is all a mistake," I protested, but realized it was no use. They were gonna do whatever they wanted.

Hanging my head in shame and surrender, I allowed them to lead me to the back of the house like a prisoner going to the gallows. I knew there would be no last minute reprieve.

It's not something I like to think about. I mean, I go to church sometimes and everything. Like I said, I'm really am not a slut; I am an honorable, virtuous woman of high moral character who would never intentionally cheat on my husband and here I was, helpless, about to be ravished against my will by these muscular young animals who were ignoring all my pleas for mercy because of their insatiable animal lust and the more I moaned and cried out in desperation the hotter and wilder they became.

It is not only shame and modesty which prevents me from going into detail about that night; frankly, it's all kind of a blur. I think I was traumatized. I hadn't even heard the term "spit-roasted" before that night, but I found out what it means.

They held me down and licked my cunt. They made me lay on my back and pull my legs back to my ears so that I was totally exposed and took turns eating me and tugging on my pussy lips and tongue-fucking my tight little rosebud asshole until I almost came.

They fucked me one after the other and then made me suck their dicks again and then fucked me again, putting me on my knees and fucking me like a dog. They slammed into me and made my big tits swing and even smacked my ass and I was so ashamed that I cried out in desperation but that only got them more excited and they fucked me even harder. Mr. Nice Guy had me ride him like a cowgirl and made me lean over so he could suck my titties while I bounced up and down on his cock.

They didn't use condoms. They shot so much jism up inside me it was running down my legs and I don't know how they could even feel anything, which is why I guess they smeared some up my crack and over my butt and then fucked me in the ass.

"NO!" I protested when I first felt them stretching me there and realized what they were doing, but it was the Mean One who started it and the Mean One didn't take no for an answer.

"Just relax," he said. "I'll go slowly. Maybe it would help if you reached your hands back and spread your butt cheeks."

Okay. Maybe it would help. Maybe it did help, because it was only a couple of seconds before I felt my sphincter relax and the head of his cock slid into my ass and I gasped as he filled me up. He started pumping me slowly, going deeper and deeper with each stroke, and it wasn't long before he was again plunging full his full length into me and again I cried out and again he smacked my ass before grabbing my hips and pumping me harder and faster. He pulled on my hair and made me lean my head back so I could gobble Mr. Nice Guy's cock while he waited his turn in my ass.

I remember wondering what I looked like getting butt-fucked. I remembered watching a drunk Mary Jane McAlester take it up the ass on her knees in the copy room at the office Christmas party two years ago and she looked so hot with her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth wide open and her tits flopping, screaming silently in rapturous abandon and it was such a turn on that I wished I had a dick so I could fuck her myself. But again I digress.

They did me all night long. They used me like a piece of fuck meat. They made me their bitch. I had long since given up trying to struggle and just resigned myself to being savagely used and abused by these wicked, sex-crazed studs who had obviously been driven so mad with lust at the sight of my heaving breasts and rippling rump that they could no longer control themselves. So I just quit protesting and let them do anything they wanted.

It was no way to treat a lady.

I woke up the next morning in a pile of sticky, tangled bed sheets that literally reeked of sex.

"Hurry, get up," Mr. Nice Guy said, shaking my shoulder. "It's late. We gotta get to work."

"What about my car," I asked groggily.

"We still have time to get it out, but you have to hurry," he said.

"Wait, what about my clothes?"

"Uh, well, there's a slight problem with that," he hesitated. "We kinda got distracted last night and forgot to put 'em in the dryer. They're still wet. You'll just have to take them with you in a sack."

"What?" I yelled. "What am I supposed to wear?"

"You still have my shirt," he grinned. "You'll have to make do with that."

I looked at the wrinkled, cum-stained shirt bunched around my waist with all but one of its buttons missing. "I can't go out in daylight like this!"

"Just shut the fuck up and get in the truck," the Mean One ordered as he pulled his pants on.

I shut the fuck up, tugged the shirt around me so as to cover up as much flesh as possible, got out of bed and followed them to the truck.

I tried to sink in on myself as we drove through traffic on the way back to my car. Nobody said anything, but I could still smell the odor of stale sex rising up from between my legs and knew the guys could smell it, too. I held the ruined shirt tightly over my breasts as we drove and tried to keep my legs together, but still I felt a sticky puddle forming on the seat under me as their jizz continued to leak out of both my holes.

Gawd, how humiliating.

I waited in the truck while they got the car out. It didn't take long. They motioned to me after they'd pulled it up on the shoulder. I walked gingerly over with as much dignity as I could muster while carrying my clothes in a sack, barely able to walk because my pussy and asshole were both so sore and swollen, and climbed behind the wheel.

The Mean One leaned in the window and grinned. "Mud Bunny," he said, "I want to thank you for a truly wonderful evening. You are absolutely the hottest little slut I have ever met."

My mouth flew open as I angrily put the car in gear. I leaned out as I stomped on the accelerator, not even caring that my boobs were again exposed and hanging out the window.

"I AM NOT A SLUT!" I screamed as I drove away with their laughter ringing in my ears.

Really, I'm not.