Free Use City Newport Ch. 02: Dirty

One of the jokes I sometimes heard before moving here was, "What does a Newport virgin smell like in the morning? Cocoa butter. What does a Newport virgin smell like in the evening? There are no virgins in the evening, only whores who stink of cocoa butter... and cum."

Just a joke, but that's me now. I leave home with breasts that smell of cocoa butter, and seldom make it through the day without at least one cock finishing between my breasts. Cocoa butter and cum.

Nneka's open-front dress makes her breasts as immediately accessible as no doubt her cunt and ass are. I struggle not to stare at that inviting opening as I wonder what it must look like when a man fucks her tits, his creamy cum splashing across the dark skin of her neck and filling the deep vale between. I wonder how often men use her tits.

As if in answer, a uniformed guard enters the office with a large box. "Here's that item you asked for, Nneka," he says, placing it on her desk.

"Thanks, Tom," she says with a smile.

He doesn't leave immediately, though. He walks round to stand beside her, and with a subtle roll of her eyes she pulls a lever under her chair. The seat lifts up until her breasts are perfectly positioned for the cock that thrusts between them. Her breasts are big, but Tom's cock is long enough that I see the head poking up into view and disappearing again, and again, and again.

"This is the case we confiscated from the man we arrested on the tracks yesterday," she says to us, indicating the box.

I peer inside and see a black plastic equipment case. As I lift it out, I see the locks have been sawn off. The lid opens easily to reveal what I guess are miniature cameras and communications equipment. Maybe for industrial espionage, more likely someone looking to spy on Newport's free use activities and stream them to the world as porn.

Tom is panting and Nneka's chair is squeaking as he fucks her tits with passion. "We know he has a partner in the city," she says, "but that's out of our jurisdiction."

"Don't worry," Mary says. "We'll catch the bastard."

"You do that," she says fiercely. "What happens in Newport, stays in Newport. Isn't that right, Tom?"

"Right," he says, though it's more of a grunt as he shudders to a halt, and creamy cum fountains up from his pulsing cock, and I stare with helpless fascination at the sight of that creamy mess on Nneka's dark, gorgeous skin.

*

Cory works in the basement, but he sees the whole world. He's a geek with glasses, and may not have seen real sunlight in years, and he may be the only man in Newport who watches porn more than he uses women.

I know him by reputation, so to actually see him in his dark domain, surrounded by a dozen computer displays, some showing esoteric computer code or tables of data, some showing news channels, one clearly a combat game, and two that are blatantly (but silently) porn, is an experience.

I sent the equipment case to him and went for lunch with Mary. For once I made it all the way through lunch without having to entertain a single cock, but found myself sandwiched between two lusty lengths in the elevator. It turns out it is possible to be penetrated both fore and aft while standing, but it's more awkward than fun, and more than a little embarrassing afterwards, a double helping of cum dripping down my thighs in the closed quarters of the lift with strangers and colleagues getting in and out on every floor.

Thus I greet Cory, stinking of recent sex and flushed from the exertion, aroused and unsated. I did not come, but was cruelly close at the end. Cory's grin at the sight of me is unsubtle, and his gaze lingers on my cum-slick thighs. I wonder if he will use me, and I'm horny enough to welcome it. To want it.

"Hi Angela," he says. We've spoken over the net before, but never in person. "Take a seat." He pulls up a chair next to him.

As usual, I wipe the seat before sitting, conscious that I'll have to wipe it after too. Again I'm reminded how Newport teaches women to be sluts and never lets them forget. The plastic is cold against my bare cheeks, but there's a fire burning between my thighs. "What have you found?" I ask, picking up one of the cameras and studying it.

"Something, maybe," he says evasively. "There's something else you need to see." A few clicks of his mouse and suddenly I'm watching a porn video full screen on a large display, volume up.

It's unmistakably the interior of a Newport bus, a dozen passengers, three of them men. A blonde in a green dress is bent over with a cock in her mouth. A brunette at the back of the bus has her tits wrapped about another. But almost dead centre is a woman getting her ass railed, and the horrifying thing is that she is me.

I remember this happening, but it's a shock to watch as an observer. "Is this Security footage?" Only Newport Security is authorised to record public spaces, and access to that is strictly controlled. "How do you have this?"

"I found it on a porn site," Cory says. "Uploaded yesterday and half a million views already."

My blood turns to ice. Half a million strangers have watched a man use my ass for his pleasure, and my expression is not one of denial. I'm clearly loving it. Anyone back home watching this will see me dressed like a whore and behaving like one too.

It's one thing to act the slut in a city where all the women do it, quite something else to have the whole wide world seeing and judging. Half a million views... If I ever leave Newport, will there be people staring at me, pointing at me, whispering estimates of the number of cocks that have used my ass and my mouth and my cunt? Will they expect me to be as willing to be used by them as I clearly am to be used here and now?

Cory picks up a camera and comms unit. "These are identical in appearance to those used by Newport Security, but they can also broadcast a signal on a secondary channel. There must be a control and receiver unit somewhere close, perhaps even carried by a passenger on the bus. Whoever it is has uploaded over twenty videos so far, all on Newport buses, and I think I've narrowed it down to four specific buses."

That's something, at least. "So we just have to get Security to replace the units on those buses - and maybe all the buses, just in case?"

"We could, yes," Cory says patiently, "but what we really want is to identify who has the receiver, and if we replace all the units they'll know we're onto them."

"So how do we do that?"

"With this." Cory presents me with a little jewellery box, the sort that might contain a wedding ring. It doesn't contain a ring. It contains what looks like a spaceship that's been shrunk down to smaller than my little finger. Or the world's smallest beaded anal wand, perhaps. "Have you ever used one of these?"

"No," I say in all honesty. "What is it?" I hold up the tiny silicone wand to the light to see it better.

"It, ah, goes in your urethra," he says, and blushes too.

Abruptly the toy looks huge, given where it's supposed to go. "Why?"

"It has a remote control vibrator in it," he explains, "but I've tuned it to the frequency used by these comm units. You'll be able to tell immediately if they're transmitting, and then you just need to try and work out who has the control unit. Just try not to be obvious about it."

I still don't understand. "So I have to let myself be used, even knowing that another half a million people might end up watching again? While the world's tiniest vibrator is buzzing away in entirely the wrong hole?"

Cory grins. "Yes. Exactly."

The man on the bus pulls out of my ass and gives me a friendly spank, and my expression on the screen as I return to my seat is one of obvious frustration. At the back of the bus, the brunette is wiping cum from her breasts, and the blonde in the green dress is now sitting on the cock she was sucking earlier, bouncing up and down with clear enthusiasm.

"Come here and sit that ass on my cock before you go," Cory says, fishing out from his pants a cock that's very hard, and impressively long too.

I glare at him for a moment, but after all he is entitled to use me. It's been less than fifteen minutes since my ass was filled with cum in the elevator and already it's in demand again.

Maybe this time I'll make it all the way to a climax...

*

I've done some research. It's called urethral sounding and some people do it for fun. Of course. In fact, the tiny vibrator wand that Cory gave me is on the small side, but I've never had anything shoved in there before and it takes courage to even try to slip it in.

Following instructions, I do it in relaxed privacy, freshly showered, use plenty of lube, and bring myself to a welcome orgasm before daring penetration.

It is not a comfortable experience. It's not painful, but it's not sexy or enjoyable. The only pleasure in the experience is in its novelty, but there is a definite pressure against my clit that has me wondering what it will feel like to have the sound in my urethra and a cock in my cunt together...

*

I wear the sound when I'm on the bus, on the way into work, or on the way home. I've gotten used to inserting it, and I've grown accustomed to feeling it inside me. I've even enjoyed bringing myself to a climax in the evening with my fingers, the intruder really intensifying the stimulation of my clit.

When a man does use my cunt, on my third morning commute wearing the sound, the double presence within me is exquisite. It's an average cock, and the passion is indifferent, but I come so hard my cries of pleasure fill the bus.

*

Mary invites me to join her and another colleague at a different bar after work. I don't know Timothy, although I've seen him around and he seems okay. "What kind of bar?" I ask.

"You'll see," she says with an enigmatic smile.

Because we get there by bus, I insert the urethral sound before the three of us set off. Five days now, and still no telltale vibrations. I wonder if maybe it's broken and there are more videos out there of me being used.

Mary rides Timothy's cock on the bus while I sit next to them, pretending not to be envious of him. Women in Newport are there to be used by men. No matter how horny I get, I can't ask for what I want. If I were allowed to ask, I probably wouldn't want it so badly. If I could choose which cocks were allowed to use me, if I could ask or even demand to be used, I probably wouldn't be so grateful for every cock that does thrust my way.

And it's not just cocks I want. I want Mary too. I'm not a lesbian, but being unable to touch her just makes me want to. Swapping cum while we kissed the other day was such a startling pleasure, and I keep hoping another man will ask it again. It wouldn't be the same if she just stayed the night with me, because it's perfectly acceptable for women to do lesbian stuff in the privacy of the bedroom. But out in public, women are for men to use.

Directly across from us, an energetic young redhead is riding another man. His cock is buried in her ass and his hands are grabbing at her tits from behind, and her shaven pussy is wet and I keep staring at it, wondering how many cocks have used it today. Wondering what it must taste like.

I'm not a lesbian, but living in Newport is making it easy to see women as objects to be used, and to find myself caught between a wish to be in their place, fucked like them in whatever rough and dirty fashion until I scream in ecstasy, and a malicious desire to see them brought to the edge of pleasure only to be denied its final resolution. Because how often now have I myself rushed home after work, stinking of cum, sex and sweat, raw and aching from too many brutal and demanding cocks, and desperate from hours of unmet need? Rushed home to massage my cum-and-cocoa-scented breasts while my vibrating anal plug sends delicious sensations coursing through my almost painfully aroused flesh, until eventually plunging my fingers into a cunt that's dripping with the evidence of my increasingly slutty nature.

I do often miss having a lover to comfort me at night with his protective arms and his warm embrace. There are no lovers in Newport, only users. To invite a man into my bed here is to give away the one part of the day when I belong to myself, without any trust that he will not be in some other woman's bed the night after.

The redhead cries out quietly as the man grips her hips tightly and she squirms frantically in his lap. I have grown so used now to the sight of an aroused pussy. There's so much fucking in this free use city, but there's no romance, no impregnation, no children. Part of me longs to get the hell out of Newport and back to real life where things like monogamy and family are possible, but I'm not sure I could stand the endless boredom of it.

The bus slows to a halt. "This is our stop," Mary says, and hops off her ride.

*

"Find us a table," Mary says as soon as we enter Switch!, and disappears with Timothy through a door to the left.

I'm still trying to process the bizarre scene laid out before me. As is usual for Newport, the layout in the club is fairly relaxed, small groups of people gathered around tables, drinking, laughing, talking and fucking. Less usual is the number of men wearing formal suits, black with white shirts. That and the women wearing slave collars with leashes.

Except the men are not men. It's women wearing the suits, their shoes the usual chunky high heels, the cocks jutting from their unzipped flies an array of colours of silicone strap-on. And the collared slave women are men, but in wigs and makeup, in high heels too, tottering around obediently after their masters.

A fetish bar, I realise, where the men get to be used and the women get to use. A surreal and delicious reversal of the city outside. I'm not the only woman here dressed as a woman, I see, but we are the exceptions.

I find a table and order drinks, and enjoy for a while the sight of so many men on their knees. It makes me wonder if a free use city where it's the women whose pleasure is served could actually be possible.

Mary strides between the tables towards me, tugging a very slutty Timothy after her. She's very imposing in her suit, tall and slender, her white shirt straining to encompass her breasts. Her fluorescent pink cock is a startling sight, both feminine in aspect and masculine in purpose. "on your knees," she growls to Timothy, "and suck my cock. Get it nice and wet. If you're a good girl, I'll let you suck it again after I fuck Angela with it."

Timothy is wearing a blonde wig and a baby-pink dress. I'm amused to see his legs are hairless, and he walks in his high heels with the confidence of practice. Clearly this is a regular thing for him. Mary grins fiercely at me as Timothy wraps his lips about her cock and sucks with genuine passion, looking and behaving like a real Newport woman, and abruptly I understand that the rules of Switch! mean Mary gets to use me as she wishes. "That's right, Angela. Get your bum up on the table and spread your legs for me. I know Timi here would love if I ordered him to lick your dirty cunt clean, but I think he should wait."

Even here, I realise suddenly, it's about pleasing the men. This role play might allow Mary to do what she likes to me, but whatever we do, Timothy will be a part of it, close enough to touch. That's the real reason for the leash: to tie the mistress to the slave who owns her.

Timothy's eyes are bright with hunger as I obey, and he watches closely as Mary's fingers tease my clit and brush against the protruding urethral sound. She pulls it out slowly, the beads sending shivers of excitement racing up my nerves, then pushes it in, out and in, fucking me slowly in an unnatural yet wonderfully intimate way.

When she stops this tease and instead eases her pink cock into me, my cunt is more than ready for her. Timothy's face is practically in my crotch as Mary's silicone dildo settles into a harsh rhythm, hammering into me, and I love every brutal stroke of it, the urethral sound pressing against my clit with each exquisite thrust of Mary's hips.

"Stand up, Timi," Mary orders. "Rub your little clit until you squirt all over my angel's sweet pussy."

There's nothing little about Timothy's clit. It stands proud and erect, his short dress unequal to the task of concealing it. He presses the soft head of it against my clit, nudging and rubbing against me as he strokes his shaft with lustful determination.

The combined sensations are quickly too much for me. "Fuck! Yes!" I cry out, their assault on me continuing unabated as I am pushed over the precipice into orgasmic contractions, made sharp and intense by the urethral sound sandwiched between my clit and Mary's synthetic cock. "Fuck!"

It's too much for Timothy too, and his cock pulses against my clit as his cum spurts against the dildo that continues to pound into me, deep and hard, prolonging the blissful pleasure -

- until she pulls out suddenly. "Lick it clean, slut," she growls at Timothy. "Taste yourself, Timi. Taste every man who's used her cunt today..."

*

Sometimes I think there must be something in the water here. Or in the food, or in the subliminals. As if it isn't enough to create a city where women are there to be used, they want to make sure the women are used, and often. You would think people would get bored of constant sex, that their bodies would get to point where they say, "You know, fucking is fun, and all, but I'd rather watch TV, read a book, play a video game - anything, really."

Sure, the exercise is good for the figure, and no one complains about orgasms (except the tantric fuckers who love to stick it in and aren't in any hurry to finish, like Mark in accounting who grabs random women at lunchtime and makes them sit on his cock for half an hour). There's a tonne of advice on nutrients and vitamin supplements, and clearly it works because the number of men who fuck a dozen times a day and still manage to produce fountains of cum at the end of it is really quite amazing.

Perhaps it's diet, perhaps it's just practice, but the stamina of some guys is incredible. Colin, the pee-drinker, is like a machine when he fucks. He likes it hard and fast, loves changing positions every few minutes, and can keep going for half an hour before finishing. I'm not saying I don't enjoy it, but when it's the middle of the night and I just want to sleep... There's a reason I don't want him in my bed every night. Once a week, sure, but I value sleep.

But a guy by himself on the bus ignoring the two blonde girls sitting opposite, and barely even glancing at me as two port workers in coveralls decide my mouth and cunt need something to occupy them. (They're brothers, I think, the same wiry, muscular frames, their faces and way of speaking very similar, and they argue in a friendly manner about football players and tactics as they use me.) A guy by himself, staring down at something in his hands, while I'm being driven wild - not by the cocks thrusting insistently into my cunt and mouth, but by the vibrations of the urethral sound that is pressed against my clit from within.

The camera is active, transmitting, making an unconsenting porn star of me again. Will there be another half million men stroking their cocks as they watch me get spit-roasted on a public bus? Is it bad that the two cocks and that buzzing instrument have me so aroused that I actually don't care how many people will end up watching me, that the only thing I care about, other than trying to spot who has the controller, is making sure I finish before the two men.

The cock in my cunt eases out and presses into my ass instead. "They're a right bunch of wankers," its owner says. "They're so scared of taking risks, they just pass the ball around, wasting everyone's time."