A Promise Kept, with Regret

At eight that evening, I stood outside the apartment. I could hear a raucous conversation inside. I was frozen to the spot. Trembling. Sweating. Finally, I dug out my keys and opened the door. I was shell-shocked. In my new home were not just a couple of guys, but a lot of guys. Drinking beers, they were all quite animated and excited. Testosterone filled the air. A quick look around the room confirmed 17 men - exactly Brandon's version of my number, I immediately realized. Some were from Brandon's work, others were from his veteran's support group. I shuttered when I noticed two were men from my firm that Brandon had met. I turned and bolted for the door, but Brandon was quicker. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back into the room.

"Here," he announced to his now quiet friends, "is Debbie. You all know her - and now you'll all know her as I do." Grabbing me tightly by the back of my neck, he unzipped my dress and pushed it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor around my feet. I now stood exposed in only my favorite lingerie. "Who wants to go first," he asked as he dragged me to the large ottoman that normally stood in front of the couch but was now ceremoniously placed in the middle of the living room.

The men looked at each other, tentatively, wondering if anything was really going to happen. Brandon ripped my thong away and then pushed me onto the ottoman and forcibly spread my legs wide. "Who's first," he demanded?

At this, Ted - a big guy from Brandon's office - stepped forward, pulled out his cock, and stroked it a few times to get hard. Swiping it a few times across my gash, he then plunged into me in one fell swoop. I was dry. It hurt like hell. I grimaced, but closed my eyes to the humiliation that was befalling me. "Is this what you really want" I asked Brandon in my mind?

I let go and tried not to think. Ted fucked me hard. I am embarrassed to say that my body responded slightly, fortunately supplying a little natural lubrication to ease the pain. After a few minutes, Ted shot off inside me. He was quickly replaced by another guy; he looked familiar but I could not place his name. With Ted's load still in me, he slid right in. "Is this what you really want" I asked Brandon again in my head. Dan, Dave, or whoever he was finished quickly as well and was replaced by a third, fourth, and yet another cock. Someone stuck their dick in my mouth and I started to gag. To avoid choking, I just sucked him off until he came down my throat. Soon, guys were coming in one hole after another. Some, perhaps grossed out by fucking in each other's cum, began to jerk off onto my tits. Others must have come back for seconds or thirds, as I lost count of the number of cocks that penetrated me or that shot their loads in my mouth, on my face, or on my tits. I was covered in warm, slippery jism. Despite the stimulation that should have sent me into numerous orgasms, this was not enjoyable. The guys cared only for their own pleasure, not mine. I was merely a receptacle - perhaps a sexy receptacle in my fancy lingerie and covered in cum, but a mere receptacle nonetheless.

Throughout this assault, Brandon sat on the couch watching me with a cold, steely glare. This was not making him happy, a thought that only extenuated my anguish - for what was the point otherwise? Nor was this turning him on. He was not flushing, as he usually did when he got excited. He had not removed his pants nor was he stroking his cock as I would have expected if he was stimulated by the scene in front of him. He just sat there, staring at me with a cold, blank look.

This was a test - and I had failed it! I had thought this would please him, convince him of my love, that I would do anything for him - even things that I vigorously protested I did not want to do. He was convinced that I was a slut, that I would stray, that I would leave him for another - and that I would let 17 guys fuck me repeatedly, even under duress, only confirmed the truth of that which he already knew. I guess he expected me to resist somehow even as I thought I was doing this for him.

As I lay there, getting fucked yet again, I realized that his insecurities, his injuries that made him feel less than whole, his initial lack of experience made him unable to believe in my love and devotion to him. We were caught in different worlds where the words might be the same but the language had different and apparently indecipherable meanings. Try as I might, I could not convince him of my love. In despair, I lost the ability to resist and just let the crowd have their way with me.

Finally, as the guys were wearing themselves out, a big black guy who had not yet joined in, stood up and dropped his trousers. He was huge - and hard. He drove himself into my now soaked pussy, covering his meat in the cum of his predecessors. Pulling out, he pushed at the entrance to my back door. With so much other cum in the general vicinity, he slipped in relatively easily. I resisted his push, screaming when he forced himself past my sphincter. Once in, he abused my ass, finally coming there as well and ensuring I was filled in every possible hole. As he finished, he came around and forced his cock into my mouth, cleaning himself off, apparently. As he zipped himself up, Brandon finally stood - and high-fived him.

With the last of the guys satisfied, Brandon escorted everyone to the door. They were laughing, joking that they would have to do this again and so on. After they left, Brandon turned to me. I rose from the ottoman with difficulty. After nearly three hours of getting fucked by an army, I was stiff. My muscles ached. Cum was drying on me even as it oozed from both my pussy and ass. I could feel it dripping down my thighs, puddling on the floor as I stood there. "How could you," I cried at Brandon?

"How could you," was all he said? "You really are a slut." With that, he walked to the front closet, pulled out a suitcase that he had apparently packed earlier, and left. For the first time in a long while, I noticed his little limp.

I collapsed, crying hysterically. I spent the night on the hard floor, in a puddle of cum. I couldn't move - and didn't want to either.

As the sun rose in the morning, I found myself stuck to the floor. My silk stockings had dried to the puddle during the night. I had to rip off what little clothing I had on to get up. I left the shreds in a heap. Whatever memories that lingerie once held were now in tatters.

I certain of only one thing. I had to leave. Having been repeatedly fucked in front of my co-workers, there was no way I could return to the firm. Brandon's inviting them probably ruined my career - how could he have even raised the idea with them without humiliating me at work forever. My days as a lawyer were over. Brandon not only took away his love and my dignity, but he took away my career as well. Nor could I stay in Chicago. No telling who all those guys were, or when I might bump into them again. Packing only what I could carry, I fled. As I left the apartment, the door and my life locked behind me.