A Ringside Seat

I wanted something from her husband. He said he wanted me to make something for him in return. Fair was fair. A stage he called it; a rotating, raw wood, stage. The kind that leaves splinters in naked skin. He didn't say what it was for but I found out soon after I've finished it. I got a ringside seat.

There were other men behind me; a dozen more maybe. They clung to the dark corners, for one reason or another reluctant to approach the stage that sat under a single spotlight, displaying a pretty slut kneeling naked on the rough wooden boards. Her eyes darted around occasionally, trying to make out details in the dark, but spent most of the time fixed to her husband's feet. He sat in a chair to my right, detached as usual. She didn't seem frightened, but her usual ready smiles were absent.

A young man gathered courage first. Maybe he just wanted to get it over with; maybe the sight of her, naked and ready, overpowered his shyness. Seeing him climb up on the stage and struggle out of his clothes, she dropped to her hands and knees and turned to allow him access, her eyes coming up to meet her husband's. For you, they lied.

The kid came two minutes after his cock, straining and curving upward, disappeared into her body. Too quickly, stated the uncontrolled, disappointed grunt that tore from his lips, but she didn't mind. He was soon replaced by another. And another. As soon as the ice was broken, they closed in like a hungry pack of wolves, forming a ring around her that broke only around the two chairs. More than a dozen, I realized, some looking somewhat uneasy, just as I was, some with their hands cradling growing erections, just as mine was. I couldn't resist it if I tried, watching the raw act of lust mere steps away.

Not a word was spoken and it was easy for me to hear her breathing growing slightly labored as the man behind her thrust his dick into her forcefully and came, panting his pleasure. Her husband raised his hand to signal the next man to wait. The stage, rotating slowly, brought her behind into his view. Her hips still showed pinkness where men had held her. Her clit had come out of its hood completely, seeking stimulation. A white, creamy mixture of several men's sperm seeped slowly out of her. She rocked her hips to show it off, squeeze more of it out. Her husband stroked his cock slowly, the usual calm coldness on his face. He motioned for the next man to claim her. The guy was lean, his head shaved clean, the smile on his lips obscene as he aimed for her sopping pussy. His thick shaft smoothly entered the well-lubricated opening.

I felt a rush of malicious excitement despite sickening compassion and worry for her. She was starting to moan softly. The men's attentions were getting to her, but it was a bitter pleasure. The men were paying for her, and as if that wasn't demeaning enough, they were paying less than you'd need to buy a pack of decent cigarettes. It was a joke. At least her husband appeared to expect me to laugh when he told me about it.

He'd found her down by the shipyards, he told me. She hadn't been a hooker, he said; she'd been doing it for pleasure. Money had been only part of a script. She'd just had two 'customers'; she'd waited for them to leave before lifting up her skirt again. He'd watched her masturbate. The oddest things can make a man take a wife, he said. People have been known to tie a knot for less profound reasons.

Well, she was rolling her hips. She was arching her back. There was a soft music of arousal coming from her throat and I honestly didn't care any more about right and wrong. I made myself more comfortable and watched the guy fuck her and sneer. He got the joke alright.

As soon as that one was finished, another took his place. Impatient, the next man in line climbed on stage to take her mouth. No one complained. I watched her face with bated breath; the sad, crazed little half-smile opening to accept a thick, stubby prick presented to her sweaty face. I tried not to notice the man's flabby belly and the yellow teeth that showed as he breathed hard through open mouth. She looked like she was trying for resignation, but between the meat in her mouth and the friction in her pussy, she was warming up and beginning to move against her tormentors visibly.

Some were satisfied with a quick release, having already stroked their erect dicks almost to an orgasm. A few took their damn time, varying the pace to make it last, pausing to massage her ass cheeks and pinch her tits. She moaned each time, causing them to repeat the tease over and over. They added their sweat to hers until it dripped from her skin onto the boards; they pumped sperm out of her until it trickled down her thighs and pooled around her ankles, then replaced the leakage with their own fluids. The smell of sex reached my nostrils from time to time; the bitter sharpness of fear and the sweet tang of fulfilled craving.

The fatso with bad teeth started cumming deep in her mouth, but a violent, orgasmic jerk tore him from between her lips with a plop and he sprayed all over her forehead and hair already matted from sweat and men's hands. She looked up when he was done, the way she looked into the face of each man who'd came, as if to thank him. She started blinking when a gob of sperm rolled into her eye, dropped her head as it started to sting and whined. The man pounding her from behind never missed a beat, all of his attention on the sight of his cock plunging into her pussy, jaws clenched, shuddering in silence as he shot his load.

The next one, pale-skinned and red-haired, approached her with a grim expression on his face. He slid two long fingers in her vagina to scoop up what hadn't already come out on its own; white strands hanging off his hand, he slapped it onto her ass. It made a wet, sloppy sound that made him grin darkly as he pushed his entire length between her slippery lips in one stroke.

Too slippery, her husband must have decided, because the next man was instructed to fuck her ass. Other than a muffled groan, she hardly gave a sign she'd noticed the difference. She swayed back and forth between whichever two men were using her, her eyes closed, drool and sperm running out of the corners of her mouth. Tears leaked from under her eyelashes. Maybe the cum stung her eyes, maybe she was crying as she felt herself slipping away into sexual haze; I had no way of knowing what went through her mind, if anything at all. Man after man, panting loudly, slushy slaps accompanying their every move, cock replacing cock, hands rubbing sweat, cum and cunt juice along her sleek trembling body; whatever they made her feel, she didn't let it show. I saw her fend off an orgasm more than once, gasping for air, trying to wiggle away from men using her long enough for pleasure to subside. They swore nastily, one grabbing her ass, another handfuls of her hair to hold her in place.

Her near-orgasm triggered theirs. The pair was replaced by another two, no more gentle, one spreading her ass cheeks wide and holding her slippery, wet lips apart to show off the lewd sight of his hard dick sawing in and out rapidly, the other grabbing her head and shoving it down to the boards coated with sperm that had streamed out of her mouth and dripped to the floor. He held her down, her chin rapping against the wood as the man behind her rammed her asshole wildly. She lapped up the puddle from the floor obediently, making me wince because I knew just how unpleasant those dry splinters could be. The guy just shook his head at her and reached under her belly to pinch her clit, making her body jerk in vain attempts to avoid the mistreatment.

She writhed and twisted, a lost expression on her face, under men pawing and wrecking her body without concern. A few of them stood around her waiting for their turn or at least a chance to rub their demanding cocks wherever they could on her body. Soon she wouldn't have the space to breathe, I thought, and turned to glance around me. No more men in the dark. Most of them had left without me even realizing it. It was a relief and a disappointment at the same time. I was curious to see how much she could take. It felt like hours had passed, but I wasn't certain.

The last few men couldn't last long, and no wonder; just watching her being fucked mercilessly had me on the brink of cumming despite having all but stilled my hand long ago. The sheer depravity of the sight, the meekness of the woman accepting attacks of so many horny men, was making my stomach clench. I had a somewhat resentful, but growing, respect for her husband who'd stroked his cock methodically the entire time. He was watching her intently from start straight to the moment the last of the men pulled out of her asshole, placed his cock in her crack and pressed it down squeezing hot seed out in gushing waves, then left.

The sudden silence was startling. Grunts and moans still echoed in my ears. She was left alone under the spotlight, chest heaving, smooth hips still undulating, perhaps unaware it was all over. She raised her head a bit when her husband stood up and joined her on the stage, a soft, but thick and heavy, strap dangling from his hand.

I had time to swallow before it rose with a deceptively smooth whoosh and fell hard. Only that first lash got a scream of anguish out of her. She bowed her head, turning it aside and biting down on her own forearm. He beat her until her body was covered with terrible purple strips, one beside another. He ordered the welts with amazing accuracy, covering her entire lower back and thighs. I couldn't see most of her face, but it drew my eyes like a magnet. Her body reacted to the torture, but her face was resigned, submerged in pain completely. Not a thought of escape or asking for mercy, and he was drawing a damned zebra costume across her defenseless skin.

He made lengthy pauses between the blows, glaring his hatred at her naked glistening flesh. Adjusting his position slightly, he landed one cruel lash between her buttocks and I thought I saw sperm shooting from her asshole when the strap hit it. Each lash now tore across already red skin, the strap snaking and clinging to her sticky curves each time for a moment as if trying to hug her. One more lick from that thing and I was going to see blood, I thought, just as he stopped, breathing hard, his face a mask of anger and contempt.

Her muscles still twitched and her body remained rigid. Perhaps she expected more. I thought it might be my presence that was preventing it. He watched her for a minute, strap hanging from his hand and trailing across the floor, body fluids hanging off it in slimy ropes. He spat and kicked her ass to get her moving. She must have gotten her instructions earlier; still in silence, she crawled off the stage, unsteady even on all fours and almost toppling as she climbed down because she didn't seem to realize the stage was rotating. She crawled to my knees and lifted her face, her eyes huge holes of darkness. More humiliation and abuse was what she wanted from me. Demonic intuition driving me more than conscious understanding of her, I took her face in my hands gently, my thumbs stroking it with genuine compassion.

"Poor, stupid slut," I said softly, and her face suddenly distorted, a sob shaking her body. Her eyes went even wider with sadness and an unspoken plea. Treating her kindly, the way a human deserves to be treated, was now the ultimate cruelty, reminding her of a shell she'd rejected.

"Poor beautiful girl," I whispered and kissed her. I didn't mind the taste of other men's sperm. I tasted blood too but didn't know whose it was. She probably didn't even know. Her tongue was warm and slimy, her mouth sucked on mine eagerly.

"Rub your cunt," I mumbled into her breath. I watched her cry and cum.