Kat Fucked Up Pt. 04

I sat in the darkness and watched Kat snooze on a tiny cushion in a 10-foot by 10-foot cage in the middle of a large, otherwise vacant warehouse. Her head was tucked into her arms to shield her from the single bright light overhead that bathed the cage completely and blinded her to anyone...or anything...in the darkness beyond. The bars were made of inch-thick stainless steel. The door opened with a skeleton key that appeared to be a hand-hammered.

We'd found our way here through Billy. I still hadn't wrapped my head around it. When we'd started this impossible journey, Kat had five partners before me. Now, barely a year later, she was well over five hundred...and had done things I'd never thought of, much less thought possible.

After her initial gloryhole experience and subsequent encore gangbang, Kat and I returned to Billy's seedy little adult bookstore on Highway 71 three times over the ensuing six months. With Billy working his text groups, the private Subreddits, and older forms of anonymous communication, like Internet Relay Chat, each of her appearances attracted a progressively growing number of participants and a number of others who wanted to gawk or make a digital memento.

It didn't take long for me to discover how an outdated business like Billy's continued to operate. When we returned for Kat's second gangbang, I overheard a few people quietly discussing the Bitcoins they'd transferred to Billy for the opportunity to participate merely as onlookers. "Adult Books" was a front for Billy to pass money through. I stopped short of seriously thinking about the other revenue streams Billy might be cleaning through the storefront. I was sure I didn't want to know.

I didn't convey my knowledge or suspicions to her, but I did start to wonder in the middle of the third gangbang if Kat suspected Billy was charging for her appearances. While the vast majority of her anonymous lovers never said anything and a few were extremely, vulgarly vocal, it dawned on me that there were a few with whom she shared quiet conversations on the mattress.

I hadn't asked, assuming it was merely attempts at a somewhat more private vulgarity, but noticed her staring at Billy while one of the 89 men from that night whispered in her ear. On our way home that night I'd tried, diplomatically, to get details of the conversation.

"Oh, you know," she'd responded breathily. "Mostly, the quiet ones want me to come see them, take me to dinner, give me gifts, buy me things." She was quiet for a few beats, then added. "Give me money. Nice stuff. A few of the whisperers are truly perverted. One of them is telling me he wants to take pictures of me with his dog. He doesn't get more detailed than that, but he..."

Her voice trailed off and the familiar vacant look on her face appeared. It meant she was somewhere in the recesses of her mind, overcome with her imagination. "Maybe they don't want the others to know how perverted they are," she finally offered, returning to the present. "Even among perverts I guess there are some lines that shouldn't be crossed publicly. I don't know."

Mostly? "Give you money? But...," I stumbled, still examining her answer, "but that--"

"--would make me a prostitute," she concluded, preventing my faux paus. "A whore. I'm already a slut. It's not that much of a leap." She shivered. "Really, though? Not phased by the pictures with--"

"And you're--"

"It's not like it's an original idea," Kat interrupted. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her examining me. I didn't turn my head to look but I knew she was smiling.

"You mean--"

"Prostitution is the oldest profession, I mean." She paused, then added, "Were you thinking of something else?"

I drove in silence, still processing.

"Would it be so bad?" she asked. "Right now I'm fucking them for free. At least, I'm not charging anything."

She suspects what I suspect.

"Would it bother you?" she went on. "Having a prostitute for a girlfriend?"

I didn't answer.

"Of course it wouldn't," Kat continued. "It doesn't bother you to have a slut for a girlfriend. You didn't mind sharing me with anyone who wandered into an alley. Or an adult bookstore. You can't tell me you haven't thought about it. Having the men pay to fuck me? Anyway, I don't want to wait two more months to go back. How many did I fuck tonight?" The emphasis wasn't lost on me.

"I don't know," I mumbled, my head still swimming.

"Bullshit," she said quietly. "How many? You always keep count."

"Eighty-nine tonight. Eighty you've never seen before."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I know faces."

"Wow. So that's...254. I only need 46 to get to 300. We could make our own movie called '300,'" she giggled. "You got it all on video, right?"

I nodded. The casual way she discussed it was a bit disconcerting. It had been exciting originally, but now...now it was almost monstrous. Long gone were the days when she thought having slept with five different men made her a slut.

"Arrange it with Billy. Sometime soon."

"Why don't we just show up? Like we did the first time?"

"Because there's no one there unless they know I'm going to be there. It would take months to get 46 more."

"Are you serious about the 300 thing?"

Kat laughed. "Of course not." She looked out the window and pulled her legs up snug against her naked chest. "I'm thinking more like three thousand. And I want to talk to Billy before I spread my legs next time."

###

In the past, the "client" told me, this warehouse--one of three on the property--had been used for all manner of genuine work, though he had always reserved a portion of it to 'interview' special women who were referred to him. A contractor supplier had leased the entire property from him once upon a time until the market for new homes in Austin had crashed in the mid-2000s.

They stored scaffolding, machinery, generators, pre-fabricated offices, and everything else under the sun that might be needed at a construction site, enough to fill up all three warehouses, and ran extensive support operations, including a welding and metal fabrication shop for customers with specialized needs. The in-house welder, a frequent participant in the "client's" 'interviews,' had constructed the cage for him.

"There was another," the "client" said cryptically, "for whom I'd originally intended The Cage. Her interview was...astonishing. Perhaps you'll see it one day. She attended my parties for a brief period of time but, by coincidence, I was alerted by a common acquaintance that her father was a high-ranking government official and worked in the intelligence community. Attention I didn't need."

He paused, a slight smile on his face as he visited fond memories. "As chance would have it," he continued, "she introduced me to one of her friends, a transcendently beautiful woman on the cusp of extraordinary fame. She, however, disappeared to Costa Rica before we could interview her and her attitude changed when she finally returned."

He paused as if reflecting on what might have been. "So The Cage sat in a corner, an afterthought hidden by all kind of I don't know what, until a few years ago when my tenant likewise disappeared."

"I've had other tenants," he explained as he walked with me around the property on my inaugural visit, "but the warehouse has remained largely unused by them. I no longer include it in new leases. Simpler that way. I can use The Cage without worry of interruption and I can conduct my interviews in peace."

He stopped abruptly. "Speaking of," he said, turning to face me. "She'll have to be interviewed, of course. I assume that's something you can stomach. You know of my interviews? No matter what they say in the beginning, no matter how coy they pretend to be, or standoff-ish, or prudish, they always end up fucking. Is that something you can watch? Or...take part in?"

"You have no idea," I told him.

"So I've heard." The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as if he was failing to hide a grin. "I suspect it's in the back of every interviewee's mind before they get here, but relatively few appear for their interviews consciously knowing that actual sex will be involved. Does she suspect?"

"She does. Billy said you would want to talk to her about her sex life. He didn't know exactly. At least that's what he said."

"Billy has never been to one of my interviews. Or to my home, for that matter, where I host interview watch parties. I don't find Billy to be tasteful company. So he told you the truth. Billy is not the kind of service provider I want involved in my immediate circle. He's only interested in the fiscal perspective rather than the artistic or prurient opportunity. Did he tell you anything else?"

"He said he thought it probably involved a sexual performance, like a striptease or something similar."

"'A sexual performance like a striptease,'" the "client" repeated. "Did you know Billy's name is actually 'Billy' and not 'William?' Could you imagine having--'"

"Why are you called The Client?" I interjected awkwardly. "I would have thought something more..."

"More like 'the boss' or 'el jefe?'" There was a small amount of disdain underlying his question.

"Yes."

"Because certain persons provide me the very special service of finding me an interviewee. To them, I am 'the client.' But all professionals know that 'the client' is the true boss."

He extended his hand. I shook it. "We have one more engagement before she can be interviewed," I told him.

"Of course," he said, reaching into his suit jacket and producing a business card.

I examined it and saw there was no information other than a phone number.

"Call the number on that card for scheduling," the "client" continued. "Just remember--short skirt, white panties, white thigh-high stockings, and a white button-down shirt with no bra. I prefer pleated skirts. Solids are better than patterns, but plaids are acceptable. Stockings should be plain. Lace at the top is acceptable, but no fishnets and no stripes. Get a cheap dress shirt. The cheap ones are virtually see-through. Broadcloth works best. Oxfords don't work as well."

"No problem. I think she has all of those things already."

"No penetrative sexual intercourse--vaginal or anal--in the three days preceding. Make sure she is clean, inside and out. Does she know how to use an enema?"

"Yes. I installed a hose in the shower."

He looked genuinely surprised. "Perfect. I look forward to talking to her about her--what did you call them?--'engagements.' Oh...one more thing. I have to warn you, that you will be stopped if you attempt to interrupt or intervene in any way. We normally don't allow...others...but you seem to warrant an exception."

"You're not going to hurt her." I was secretly delighted that my statement came across as a clear statement and not an idle, Hollywoodish threat.

"Of course not, but you may see things you've never seen before. That tends to alarm some."

"I doubt there's much you could do to her that I haven't already seen."

He smiled broadly. His perfectly white, straight teeth gave him a ghoulish appearance.

###

Just as she had on the two previous occasions, Kat had stripped naked at the house and climbed into the car. She was already so aroused that the upper part of her inner thighs glistened with her moisture. I picked up my keys from the counter and noticed she'd left her mask there. I picked it up.

"Forgetting something?" I asked as I tossed it into her lap and she was drying her legs.

"Nope," she replied. "I'm going without."

I tried to act calm. "And what if your co-workers happen to see you in a video or picture on Reddit or somewhere else?"

"The odds are against that happening. They'd have to be exploring the seedy underbelly of the Internet. It's unlikely. And if they are...then I should be meeting them, not hiding from them."

"'Seedy underbelly.' We've seen pictures and video of you all over Reddit--Gone Wild, Gone Wild Cumsluts, Creampies, Gangbangs--you name it. And on Pornhub and Xvideos."

"Well, you got those taken down, didn't you? And people who show up know that the videos and pictures they take are private only or they won't be allowed back."

"Once they're out there, that's it. There's really no unringing that bell."

"It doesn't matter," Kat said matter-of-factly. "I don't have tattoos. I don't have any scars or birthmarks. The mask covers so much of my face you can't even tell what color my eyes are or what shape my nose is. I wear baggy clothes to work, and my hair is always up. None of them would realize it was me, even if someone who participated told them."

"And if the commissioner finds out? You don't think he'll fire you?"

"He'd probably want to join in. He's an old perv."

"He's a conservative Christian politician."

"And...that changes what?"

We drove in silence for a bit. I knew I sounded doubtful and annoyed. It had been so exciting at first that I couldn't honestly say there was a little annoying voice of protest somewhere. But now... "What arouses you about this? The numbers? The anonymity? One night stands? Sex with strangers? The exhibitionism? What is it?"

"Same as you--all of it. I like--no, I love acting slutty. I love being slutty. Being a slut is what arouses me. And being an extreme slut arouses me even more. The riskier, the better. The dirtier, the better. I realized it when we were talking last year. Remember? I told you about Kent and Patrick. I realized then. Only a slut has multiple threesomes and lets a virtual stranger fuck her ass bareback. Only a slut would cuckold her longtime boyfriend, especially over and over and over.

"I said something like, 'Maybe I'm a slut.' I mean, I knew it right at that moment. And when you talked about me being with other men--lots of other men--and I was so turned on...I came instantly. Now I've come to realize it's not just multiple men. It's anything slutty. The more extreme, the better. Gloryholes. Anonymous partners. Unprotected sex. Sex in front of others. Having literally dozens of men come in my pussy or my ass.

"I have to admit I was completely dubious about the gloryhole idea at first, but that wore off the more I thought about it. Then I went and checked out some videos and I started to get excited. Small, dark room with porn on a cheap TV and cocks randomly poking through holes in the wall. Then when we were there, I couldn't contain my disappointment at the sparse crowd or that long wait for my first encounter...my first...my first customer."

She said it like she was trying it on for size. I let it pass. "There's not much more extreme you can go beyond what you've been doing," I told her. "These are bona fide fetishes."

"This is nothing. I've been lurking on 4Chan and a few of the quarantined subreddits. There are a lot of things that are more extreme."

"By a degree?" I lightly argued.

"Well...let's start with tonight. I stopped taking the pill in the middle of the cycle this month. Right after the last event."

It didn't immediately register in my head, but it was one of those bombshells that was felt before it was appreciated. "You...so you...that means--"

"I'm going to let someone knock me up tonight. Impregnate me. Breed me. At least I'm going to have done nothing to stop it. And I'm going to make a big production of it. I'm going to announce to everyone that they have to use condoms because my prescription for the pill ran out and I haven't gone back to get another.

"Then when the first one is fucking me I'm going to make him stop," Kat continued. "I'm going to yank off his condom and toss it to the side, and I'm going to announce that it just doesn't feel as good knowing they aren't filling me with their come."

My stomach sank as my cock jumped.

"It's quite possibly the sluttiest thing I can think of. I mean, there are far more perverted or kinky things I could do and--let's be completely candid--I'm going to do them, but this is the most wanton, whorish behavior imaginable. I love fucking so much and I love being a slut so much that I'm willing to spread my legs for dozens and dozens of anonymous someones I'll never see again and let them stab their cocks into my dripping wet pussy and come deep inside me, soaking my womb and filling me up."

She relaxed and rested her head against the headrest. Her feet went up to the dashboard. A few seconds later she proclaimed, "Jesus, I didn't think I could get any wetter, but I'm almost gushing. This might be my new favorite fantasy." She shivered and the highway light intermittently revealed her fingers dancing around between her legs.

"Can you imagine what tonight is going to be like?" she continued, still exploring her sloppy hole. "Knowing that any one of the hundred men between my legs could be the one whose sperm wins the jackpot? I've heard that women sometimes feel a twinge or a pinch in the abdomen when it happens."

"This is...you're okay with this?" I asked, sounding vastly calmer than I felt.

"Absolutely."

"What about the...I mean what are you going to do after?"

"I don't know. I'll--I don't know. Maybe I'll keep it." Out of the corner of my eye I saw her glance over at me.

"You're going to...going to go all the way through with it?"

"Definitely."

"How...what are finances supposed to look like on this?"

"You're the oddest combination of practical and impractical I've ever known," Kat frowned. "That's why I wanted to talk to Billy tonight. It's going to pay for itself."

"Even if Billy agrees," I warned her, "you're pretty much limited to whatever money you can get out of him tonight. How much could that possibly be?"

"Last time one of the guys told me it was a hundred to fuck and fifty to watch," she said quietly.

"Kat, if he charges these guys a hundred dollars each to participate and half that to watch, you're only talking about ten or fifteen thousand dollars. Even if he gave you all of it, which he won't, that's not enough to pay for maternity, much less a child."

She looked at me like I'd just farted. "I plan to keep fucking doing this," she said, unable to hide her disbelief at my idiocy. "You can film it. You can sell the videos. Amateur-looking stuff is where it's at these days! As long as we get paid, I'm going to fuck anyone, anytime, anywhere, any way. There's nothing I won't be open to, at least once. I can't believe I denied myself for so long! I'm--"

"So I'm still in the picture?" I frowned at the odd-sounding mixture of desperation and disdain.

"Of course, baby!" she squeaked, managing to sound like an empathetic tart. "All the way! You're the Golden Hero that set me free!"

As she babbled on about her plans, I wasn't sure if the relief I felt was 'boyfriend' relief or relief that my perverted fantasies would continue to unfold before my eyes.

"...even when I'm ready to pop. Don't you think it would be sexy to see a huge pregnant woman, her breasts engorged, maybe leaking or even spraying milk all over the place, ready to drop at any moment...fucking and taking a load of come? Or, even better, taking on anyone who wants to fuck and letting them all come inside her? I mean," she continued excitedly, "she knows she can't get pregnant, but she loves fucking and loves come so much that she wants them all to give her their come! How fucking hot is that?"

Kat reached over and stroked my crotch. "Obviously you think something is hot. You know what? Pull over when you have the chance. I need you inside me. I want you to come as deep in my pussy as you can. We're way early and we're still 45 minutes away from Billy's. It's going to be a long night. I'm going to give your sperm a head start."

###

A door opened somewhere behind me. I was expecting The Client again, but couldn't tear my eyes from her to confirm. If she heard the door, she didn't stir.