The bell on the door jingles, welcoming me to the domain of men. Sent here on instruction, and I hoped to a god I didn't believe in that I was in the right place.

Master didn't tell me any details other than to show up and do whatever I'm told.

It was dark, dingy, and stank of sweat. The rows of movies were too close together to avoid a second glance, and the movies seemed to have been thrown onto the shelves.

My tank top begins to stick to my skin. The heat of the place intensifies the claustrophobic feeling.

"Can I help yew?" a man drawls from behind the counter. His eyes graze over my body, slowly, casually. I'm made conscious of my legs, wholly naked but for the tube top used as a scandalously short skirt.

"Er, yes. I'm supposed to ask about the back room?"

He jerks his chin upward, indicating a door in the back right corner of the shop.

I'd stutter out a thank you, but adrenaline floods my system. My legs feel at once cold and heavy. The carpet, trying to snag my heels, is full of holes and suspicious-looking stains.

I open the door into complete darkness and turn around, confused. The clerk at the front waves me on.

I'm not three steps in before the door is closed.

Blackness. Silence. The smell of sweat is even more pervasive, and it's mingled with the musk of sex. No, not sex- hard, loveless fucking.

A warm hand slides from my ankle to mid-thigh, and I instinctively start to spread my legs. I feel, rather than hear, a chuckle at my ear.

A tongue, now. Flat and a bit rough, it slides up my neck. It's on the other side of my head from whomever is at my ear.

My heart beats in my clit, sharp and insistent. Every cell in my brain is telling me I should be scared, that I should want to run for the door; every cell in my body is screaming for me to stay.

Another hand cups the underside of my left breast, and already I can smell my pussy juice. I wonder just how many men are here.

My pupils try to contract to the back of my eyes. I hastily try to focus, but the light is too bright. My body is lifted up and set rather roughly on a thick wooden table.

Before the blindfold is placed over my eyes, I count five men, all black, all completely clothed. One holds a video camera up, a grin peeping out from underneath it.

Blackness again. Feet scratching against the floor, whispered words I can't quite make out. Hands grasp my knees and force them apart. Air hits my pussy, the coolness revealing just how wet I am. My wrists are jerked to either side of the table, my arms perpendicular to my body.

The hands on my knees inch upwards, excruciatingly slowly. Thick fingers grasp one of my nipples, twisting cruelly. I let out a whimper and another hand slaps me across the face.

My legs are spread wider than they were before, but of my own volition. The hands are at the very top of my thighs, just barely brushing the place I want them most. I hear a low moan, and realize it's coming from me.

The fingertips leave and are replaced with a wad of spit. Now both of my nipples are being pinched so tightly I feel as if they'll come off. Two fingers are shoved into my pussy, quick and rough. Little streaks of tension sweep downward from my breasts and upward from my pussy, contracting my stomach and slightly lifting my shoulders from the table.

Another slap to the face, matching one to my right breast. I'm not even trying to disguise my arousal at this point. My breath comes in shallow gasps, my mouth hangs ajar, and I think my pussy is dripping- and not just from the spit.

"Little whore," someone breathes into my neck before biting it.

My left hand, still hanging from the edge of the table, is nudged open. A dick slides against my palm, and I automatically wrap my fingers around it. I hate to say it, but the stereotype is true. I doubt I could close my hand if I really tried.

The hand withdraws from my pussy and is held to my lips. I'm too far gone by this point to try to hold some ounce of coyness. My tongue savors the taste of my own pussy juice, along with the foreign taste of a stranger's hand.

The smooth roundness of a cock parts my pussy lips, searching for the hole. Another one rubs against my lips, and I open my mouth to accept it just as the other slides in. Another set of hands slap my breasts, over and over.

My consciousness switches from my mouth to my pussy. My mouth distends, trying to fit it in, my tongue swirling around the head, stroking the underside. The cock at my pussy feels so delicious, and every time he withdraws, it's as if I'm trying to draw him back in.

What is the most pleasurable is not the merciless pounding away at my cunt or throat, but the barely audible sigh of pleasure as the cock in my hand pumps warm semen onto my hand.

The cock in my pussy is roughly withdrawn and a slightly thicker one takes its place. I'm sucking on the one in my mouth with all of my might, feeling it getting harder and harder. It, too, withdraws, and my chest is suddenly covered with slightly oozing, slightly sticky cum.

I can't control the feeling inside of me, like I'm crazily spiraling upwards. My chest is coated, a huge cock is pounding me so roughly my hips are lifted from the table, and I bring my hand to my mouth to suck it clean.

"Slut." A low growl. My pussy is empty, save for the cum dribbling out of it onto the table.

The room won't stop spinning, and I can't seem to catch my breath. The blindfold is removed, but I keep my eyes shut, hearing the door open and close.

Laying there, the prickly feeling of wetness drying on my chest and pussy, I realize that I'm utterly satisfied. In a relaxed state of peace.

Maybe there's something to be said about adult bookstores after all.

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