Lola's Got a Reputation

Author's note: This story follows the events of several other stories I've written. It can be read as a standalone installment but makes some references to a few of my earlier stories.

If you don't want to read any of my previous stories (boo), then here's what you need to know in order to enjoy this one:

My name is Lola, and I'm a half-Asian girl with big tits and serious daddy issues. My dad is white, and we've been estranged since I was 18, so I mostly fuck older white guys as a way to fill the void he left in my life (or so my therapist says). I have major submissive tendencies that are triggered by aggressive, big-dick alpha males who act like they own me. I have a bad habit of putting myself in situations where these guys have the upper hand, and when that happens, I almost always end up with a huge cock (or two) buried inside me.

I'm in my late-20s now, but this story takes place during my senior year of college.

Hugs,

Lola

***

There are hundreds of thousands of words in the English language, perhaps as many as a million. Nobody really knows the exact number because it changes all the time. In my experience, however, the most powerful word in the English language is easy to identify.

"Slut."

Contained within those four little letters is a kind of dark magic that has the power to shift perceptions, alter destinies, and warp the reality in which we live. You may think I'm exaggerating, but let me explain.

I've written elsewhere in my stories that no girl is born a slut. It takes a man, and usually more than one, to make a slut. There's a pattern to this process.

First, men treat you like a slut, because that's what they want you to be. Then, you start to believe that you're a slut, because why else would they treat you like one? Finally, you begin acting like a slut, because that's what you think you are. And once you start acting slutty, those same men feel completely justified in treating you like one.

It's a perfect cycle that functions as a self-propagating machine for male gratification.

And the reason that "slut" is such a potent word is that it has the power to kickstart this machine. Then, once this cycle gets going, it can feel almost impossible to stop.

You see, the thing about the word "slut" is that it implies more than just a girl who has sex regularly with different partners. A slut is promiscuous, but she isn't just promiscuous. No, no, no.

A slut is promiscuous... and everybody knows it.

You don't become a slut just by fucking a bunch of guys. You become a slut when people find out about it. To really be a slut, you need to have a reputation as a slut.

And therein lies the insidious power of this word.

Once people start to call you a slut, that's what you are to them. Calling someone a slut is often all it takes to establish their reputation as a slut, which in turn fulfills the most important qualification for actually being a slut.

Then, the dark machinery of this cycle begins its work, because if you have a reputation as a slut (whether justified or not), then men will invariably begin to treat you like one.

And then—unless you are blessed with incredible willpower, endurance, and self-control—it is only a matter of time until you live up to your reputation. Few among us have the capacity to defy the world's expectations indefinitely. Eventually, most people will embrace those expectations, or succumb to them in a moment of weakness. I know I have. More than once.

As such, I have a complicated relationship with the word "slut." I've felt the sting of its searing, shameful bite. I've come to fear and respect its formidable power. But in recent years, I have to admit that I've also become kind of attached to it, even protective of it in a weird sort of way.

When my girlfriends call each other "sluts" amid playful banter, there's a part of me that roils quietly with indignation. When I overhear a girl at the bar tell her friend approvingly that she's "being such a slut" for grinding with a random guy on the dance floor, I can't help but seethe inwardly at such casual posturing.

These are girls who can try this word on like a cute skirt or a flirty top. They can pose with it, snap a selfie, then toss it aside like so many discarded outfits.

But for some girls, this word cannot be cast off so lightly. For some of us, it weighs heavy on our shoulders, our minds, and our hearts. For some of us, it is not a garment at all, but a brand that has been burned into our very identities.

Those girls I see giggling at the bar have no right to the word "slut." They don't deserve it. It's not their word.

It's mine. Because I've earned it.

***

"Ohh goddd... ohhh, Rick, ohhh fuck..."

"That's it," he grunted, his hips pounding against my firm, well-toned ass. "You like this dick?"

"Fuck, Rick, don't stop," I moaned.

"Let go," he spat hungrily. "I wanna see you lose control for me..."

"Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod," I panted, teetering on the brink of an orgasm.

"You don't control this dick," he cried, plunging deeper into the tight, velvety well of my pussy. "This dick controls you..."

"Mmmmmm," I whined, my eyes shut tightly as I focused on the pleasure building inside me.

"You don't own this cock," he crowed, the pace of his hips quickening. "But this cock owns you..."

"Fuck—fuck me hard," I whispered, desperate for him to push me over the edge.

Rick's hands moved from my hips to my shoulders, his fingers digging into my smooth, supple flesh. With all his strength, he pulled me backwards as hips began to buck wildly, slamming into me with reckless abandon, forcing his huge cock into the deepest parts of my trembling pussy.

"CUM! CUM LIKE I OWN YOU!"

"HNNNNNNNNNNNNGGG!" I moaned as the pleasure overwhelmed me.

"WHO OWNS THIS PUSSY?!"

"Own me!" I screamed, lost among the tremors rippling through me. "Own me, Rick!"

"WHO OWNS THIS PUSSY?!" he yelled again.

"You do!" I moaned, writhing against him, my body spasming around the giant tool buried inside me. "You own my pussy!"

"TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE," he demanded, his pre-cum rushing into me.

"I'M YOUR CUM-SLUT!" I moaned, screaming the words I knew would finish him.

"FUCK—FUCK, LOLA—"

"OWN ME WITH YOUR CUM!" I squealed, encouraging him.

A primal scream erupted from behind me as I felt thick, heavy ropes of cum spatter against the walls of my cunt.

"EMPTY YOUR BALLS IN ME!" I screamed.

As Rick's huge cock flooded my pussy with his seed, we both dissolved into a panting, sweaty mass, ecstasy radiating from our spent, glistening bodies.

A minute or two later, once his heart rate had begun returning to normal, Rick rose from my bed and began to put his clothes back on.

"I'll come over on Saturday," he said, pulling his pants up. "After I get some waves in."

"I have practice on Saturday," I yawned, sitting up in bed. "And I really need to catch up on some work this weekend."

"Has to be Saturday," he said. "Elsie's going to be at a regatta all day, but we have plans on Sunday."

"I dunno, Rick," I whispered uncertainly. "Maybe we should skip this weekend..."

"No," he replied flatly, turning to look at me squarely. "I'm gonna fuck you again on Saturday, Lola."

"But Rick—"

"I'll text you after I get home from the beach," he said, slipping his t-shirt over his broad, muscular shoulders. "And wear something pink. I like you in pink."

"Okay," I said, giving in to him like I always did. "I guess I'll see you Saturday."

He smiled at me, the light catching his bright blue eyes.

"You're so fucking hot," he grinned, reaching for the door. "See you Saturday, Lola."

***

After I hooked up with Rick at Coachella, it wasn't long before our tryst followed us back to campus. Within 24 hours of our return to LA, Rick was already texting me, insisting that the sex had been way too good for us not to keep fucking.

At first, I didn't respond, but that didn't seem to deter him. Then, I told him how stupid it was for him to keep texting me while he was still dating Elsie. But that didn't dissuade him either.

Like a lot of alpha males, Rick was so self-assured and confident in himself that he couldn't fathom the idea that this might blow up in his face. He just assumed that he was smart enough and smooth enough and slick enough to skate around any potential blowback.

And like most alpha males, he also believed in earnest that he was entitled to more than one woman. Because although he was quite intent on fucking me again, he seemed to have no intention of breaking up with Elsie.

I could understand why. Elsie was pretty and rich and belonged to a prominent family. In many ways, she must have been an ideal girlfriend, but still Rick wasn't satisfied. After all, he was tall, handsome, and very well-hung. Why should he have to choose between his petite, adoring blonde girlfriend and the hot, busty half-Asian slut who worshipped his incredible cock? In Rick's mind, it was clear that he deserved to have us both.

I tried to resist Rick's advances, but the attraction was strong. He was tall, handsome, and well-hung. The sex had been very good, and I had to admit that it did feel like a shame for us to fuck only once. And Rick had made it clear that he wouldn't relent until I gave him what he wanted. Aside from breaking up with Elsie, he seemed willing to do whatever it took to get back in my pants.

As it turned out, what it took was a video he sent me one day while I was at tennis practice.

I was leaving the USC sports complex when I saw that he had sent me a video. From the thumbnail image, I couldn't tell what it was, but I put my headphones on just in case. As soon as I pressed play, I gasped.

The image that came into focus was Rick's body from the neck down. He had clearly mounted the phone on his desk and was standing a few feet away so that he could fit his entire torso and upper thighs into frame.

In the video, Rick was completely naked and fully erect. He was standing at a three-quarters angle to the camera, so his turgid cock curved away from his body, its length and girth on display against the white walls behind him. The thick, corded muscles of his arms and upper body flexed rhythmically as he held the base of his cock with one hand and stroked it with the other.

"I know you want this big dick," his disembodied voice whispered, his hand gliding up and down his shaft. "I know you've been thinking about it."

He moved closer to the camera, his cock growing larger and harder inside the frame.

"You know you want to suck my cock," he growled. "You know I'm going to fuck you again."

His hands and his cock now filled the frame, and my breath caught in my chest as I watched the blue veins pulse with blood. He reached past the camera and came back with a little tube. He turned it upside down and squeezed a liberal bead of lube onto the tip of his cock, smoothing it over his glistening shaft with his other hand.

"Stop lying to yourself, Lola," he grunted, his breathing ragged. "Stop pretending you don't want my cum."

For several seconds, he stroked himself in silence, the sliding sound of his well-oiled hand filling my earbuds. Then, the head of his cock began to twitch, and I could tell that his sticky, potent seed had nearly completed its long journey from the depths of Rick's balls to the mushroom tip of his magnificent tool.

"Oh, Lola, fuck—" he moaned, finally ready to burst.

And then, just as Rick began to climax, the video abruptly ended.

My mouth fell open in disbelief. He had edited the end of the video to cut off his climax.

And then, in a heartbeat, I felt myself go from being shocked by the contents of the video to an unexpected pang of frustration and disappointment, as if I'd torn the wrapping off a present only to find an empty box inside.

I quickly put my phone away and hurried home, but I couldn't dismiss the video from my mind so easily. By the time I got back to my apartment, I rushed inside my room and slammed the door.

I feel I need to say for the record here that, as a general rule, unsolicited dick pics are not a winning strategy. Girls don't want them, and guys, you shouldn't send them. But.

There are exceptions to every rule.

And if you're a very well-hung guy with a ripped body...

And you're sending it to a girl you've already fucked...

And she's already told you that she has a borderline infatuation with big cocks...

Then you might be an exception.

Within seconds of closing the door behind me, I was on my bed, fumbling with the buttons on my jeans as I held the phone in my other hand. By the time my fingers reached my clit, my pussy was already soaked.

I'm not sure how many times I watched that video play on loop, but I can tell you that I came twice before I left that bed.

His words and the images were hot enough as it is, but the fact that he had the audacity to deny me his climax was even hotter. He was the one pursuing me, yet even so, he was dictating the terms in a way that only served to reaffirm his alpha status.

It was brazen and reckless to send a video like this. Even though we had hooked up at Coachella, he was still with Elsie, and I was still her close friend. Since getting back to campus, I hadn't done anything to encourage his advances, or given him any reason to believe that I would entertain a repeat performance. With a video like this, I could easily prove to Elsie that her boyfriend was cheater who was desperate to fuck me.

But like other alphas before him, Rick seemed to know that wasn't what I wanted.

I waited a few hours before texting him back.

"Bad video," I wrote.

"U know u liked it," he replied swiftly.

"Not really," I wrote.

I waited for a few minutes, but he said nothing.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. You already fucked him, I thought to myself. You're already a bad friend and a cheating slut. Would this really make it worse?

I tapped out a message, sighed to myself, and pressed send.

"I would've preferred a happy ending," it said.

A few seconds later, a response appeared on my screen.

"Me too," it said, followed quickly by another message.

"Give me ur address and ill show u the directors cut"

I tapped out my response, swallowed hard, and pressed send.

***

In a weird way, Rick quickly became perhaps the healthiest sexual relationship I had ever had, which says a lot about how fucked up my sex life had been up to that point.

Yes, I was his sidepiece, and he was cheating with me on one of my close friends. But he was at least an age-appropriate mate, not a much older man like my boss or my professor. And although I had to share Rick with Elsie, he didn't insist on sharing me with his friends the way that Grant had. We may not have been dating, but he wasn't a random hookup or a one-night stand. And although it wasn't great that Rick was cheating on Elsie with me, that didn't seem half as twisted as my last sexual encounter, when I let my boyfriend's younger brother fuck me senseless while he slept soundly in the room next door.

So yes, Rick was a cheater, but so was I. And if I just looked past his relationship with Elsie, he seemed by far and away the most normal guy I'd ever been with. Part of me did wish that Rick and I could somehow get together on the level and become an actual couple, but the reality was more complicated.

For one thing, if Rick left Elsie to be with me, it would be pretty obvious that I'd been sleeping with him while the two of them were together. It wasn't like Rick and I were friends, and everything going on between us had to be a secret, so there wasn't really an innocent explanation that would fly if he dropped Elsie and started dating me.

But even setting Elsie aside, it wasn't clear that dating was what either of us really wanted. If Rick had no misgivings about cheating on Elsie, then why should I think that he wouldn't cheat on me, too? What made me think I was so special? If anything, my experiences with men had taught me that my body was very special, but I really wasn't.

Moreover, did I really want the pressure of having another boyfriend? I'd had two boyfriends so far, and I hadn't been faithful to either one. I could rationalize that fact a million different ways to minimize my own guilt, but it still made me wonder whether I was even cut out for a normal dating life.

So while I sometimes daydreamed of dating Rick, he didn't show any interest in leaving Elsie, and I wasn't about to start campaigning for the two of them to break up.

But what Rick was very interested in was fucking me. A lot.

Once he fucked me a second time back on campus, any pretense that our Coachella hookup had been a one-time mistake evaporated completely, giving Rick an opening to assert an ongoing claim to my body.

Although I knew that Rick was still having sex with Elsie, that didn't seem to dim his appetite for my pussy at all. His demand for my body was practically limitless, and he often insisted on seeing me two or three times per week.

Like a drug addict going through withdrawal, he became agitated and aggressive if he couldn't see me every few days. And when he finally did come over, he would fuck me savagely, often pinning me to the mattress with his weight and pounding me until I would do or say whatever he wanted.

While I sometimes bristled at the demands he made of me, when we were actually together in bed, our chemistry was insane. Try as I might, I couldn't get enough of his big cock and alpha attitude, and he exalted in abusing my huge tits and exploiting my submissive nature.

Writhing around on his gigantic tool, my pleasure was so intense that it crowded out any feelings of guilt that I had about Elsie. If I'm completely honest, the fact that he was cheating on her with me probably made the sex even more deliciously forbidden.

It's a funny thing about men who cheat, though, because they're almost all wildly jealous and intensely possessive. It wasn't enough for Rick that I let him fuck me whenever he wanted. He also needed to know that I wasn't having sex with anyone else. He gave no thought to being exclusive with me, but he absolutely insisted that I be exclusive with him.

I think part of the reason that he became so agitated when he couldn't see was because he feared that this would leave an opening for another man to claim me. Of course, he couldn't actually prevent me from seeing another guy, especially since everything between us had to remain a secret. But every time he emptied his balls inside me, it was another opportunity for him to reaffirm his claim and remind me that my pussy belonged to him and only him.

If this sounds to you like a toxic dynamic, well, you're probably a healthier person than I am... because I kind of loved it. I know, I know—I need therapy.

The thing was, even if Rick wasn't my boyfriend, I did belong to him in a very primal sense. And even if Rick wasn't going to date me, he was deeply obsessed with owning me.

Belonging and ownership may seem a pale imitation of real love and affection, but when you are as starved for romantic connections as I was in those days, then even belonging and ownership can feel like a source of comfort and security. And for a few blissful months at the end of my junior year, it was.

Then it all came crashing down.

***

It was the middle of summer when the first random dick pic showed up in my inbox. It was from a Gmail address I didn't recognize.

It was an unremarkable, unimpressive penis, even by dick pic standards. In the subject line, it just said, "Let me fuck you." The body of the email consisted of the dick pic, followed by the message, "hmu slut," then a phone number I'd never seen before.

I frowned, press delete, and put my phone away. A few minutes later, it buzzed again.