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"Just give up the cunt, bitch. We know it's you. Be good for your word."
Melody squealed under the muting palm of the guy behind her while the man between her legs got out his cock and buried it deep into her wet and hot snatch. He moaned as he sank all the way in. Of course her pussy had made it easy for him. She had started dripping the moment they called out to her on the street, despite herself. The angle and gravity of the position made her sink onto every millimeter of his cock. She felt his tip just nudging her cervix. Her cunt pressed grool into his pubic hair whn he thrust all the way in.
"Just as fucking advertised," he whispered, leaning close to her face, his breath rancid.
They laid her down behind a dumpster and took turns with her, one standing watch while the other went. They barely spoke from there on out -- just used her mouth and cunt, then left her lying panting and spread eagle on the pavement with their cum leaking out of her. They just took a few pictures of her lying there and left without another word.
Nothing more for two whole weeks, and then suddenly three rapes on successive days. The third guy was an older man in a suit who had been driving a nice car and pulled a U turn and followed her for a couple blocks when he recognized her. He filmed her face the whole time he fucked her. She had gotten wet enough that he was able to coat his dick in her pussy juice and use it as lube to fuck her ass.
"Are you a fucking whore who loves being used by strangers?" he asked her, pointing the camera right at her face.
She had no good response. Wasn't she? She shut her eyes and shook her head no.
"Then why is your pussy so fucking drenched?"
He pointed his phone down to her visibly messy cunt where it sat empty but leaked girlcum down to the dick fucking her ass just below. Strands of her slime stuck to his pubic hair and belly each time he thrust all the way into her ass and pulled out.
He was right. How would she ever be able to convince anyone she didn't want this when her body constantly reaffirmed that it did? Would that even make a difference to them?
She would go home after these assaults and shower and try to feel clean, but she knew she could never feel clean again in her life. She would always end up on the forums later, seeing the posts that the men always, without fail, made about their conquest, and would masturbate herself to shamed orgasm after orgasm. She had two female roommates who were rarely at home, but she still figured they had to hear her climaxing night after night in her room. She tried to stay quiet but it was difficult.
Hundreds of comments would pour in on every new thread about someone finding and fucking her. Countless nasty comments and words of praise for the men who put her in her place. Her current location of San Diego was revealed by one of the men. She knew people would only get more bold, now that they were seeing so many instances of guys going for it and having success. They were realizing you could get away with it.
She would go through endless waves of humiliation, then growing arousal and masochistic euphoria and back. The banner at the top of the forums had a collage of nice, personal pictures of her face, juxtaposed against pictures of her spread labia or her face completely covered in cum. There was a counter at the top that was kept up to date with her number of sexual partners. It read 1,092 right now. It proudly proclaimed itself "The largest fansite for Melody Ann Ainsley on the web!" There were links to videos, to pictures, to anatomy shots, to her story (as they understood it) spelled out in great detail. It was important for them to impart the knowledge that she was a previously normal girl who had slid rapidly down a path of runaway self-destruction, quite obviously beyond her control. They liked the fact that she wasn't some pornstar or sex worker. There was a whole section that was just for safe-for-work pictures of her, for photos, videos, and stories of her life "passing as a shy, decent girl, before the day that everyone in her life found out she was the most insatiable shame-whore of all time."
Up and down the roller coaster of arousal followed by anxiety and shame would go. She would get soaked and literally shake with adrenaline as she furiously rubbed herself to orgasm while seeing this extreme exploitation of her body and life, and would feel alright until she came down. Then she would feel doomed and trapped, as if she could never show her face in public again, which would once again start making her horny. It was a vicious cycle she could not break out of. She spent all day, every day, either extremely horny, or extremely anxious and depressed and terrified. There was almost no in between. Her brain coursed with adrenaline or cortisol or both at all times.
Finally, dick number 1,093 followed her all the way home from her waitressing job one night. She was always on the lookout for guys who might be following her, and would divert her path and force a confrontation before they could find out where she lived, but this guy had been very effective at hiding himself. He finally revealed himself just as she was about to put her keys into her apartment door.
"Hey Melody," he said, grinning horribly at her. He was maybe 40, dressed like he thought he was twenty years younger. Scraggly beard and unkempt hair. "Can I come inside?"
She froze, trying to think of her options. She knew at least one of her roommates was likely to be home.
"Come straight to my room," she said. "And please leave as soon as you're finished."
Sure enough, one roommate was sitting on the couch in the living room as she entered. She just glanced up at them as they entered and just briefly raised her eyebrows in greeting then looked back down at her laptop. Melody quickly ushered her "date" back to her bedroom and let him have his way with her. The man was rough, and made sure her roommate heard as much of their fucking as possible.
He used her hard, in every hole, and left her with a pussy full of cum after taking plenty of pictures. Her roommate seeing him just leave immediately after a rough fuck session was almost more embarrassing than the sounds she must have heard. Her roommate would know for a certainty that she just got used and dumped in some capacity. Melody didn't leave her room.
Later that night she saw him post all the pictures and details on her forums. He relayed all the details of how he had followed her without her noticing, posted the pictures he had secretly taken of her walking as he followed. Posted pictures of what her apartment looked like from the outside, the pictures of her after their quick and dirty fuck session, and then finally posted her full address.
"Have fun, boys," he posted.
She packed up her stuff that night and left. She couldn't deal with the possibility of a line of men waiting outside of her apartment every morning to use her holes.
She left a note for her roommate that apologized and explained to turn away anyone who might show up looking for her. She wasn't coming back. She left enough money to cover her rent that month, then she took her single duffel bag that contained all of her worldly possessions and split town.
She made it up the coast to LA. She briefly toyed with the idea of moving to a small town where there wouldn't be so many people to recognize her, but quickly discarded the idea. Even small towns have internet, and when someone finally recognized her the ramifications and shaming would be far worse. Not to mention how much attention she would draw moving to a place like that out of nowhere. At least in a large city there was the anonymity of numbers. Just another face in the crowd.
Another month to month apartment. She started wearing hoodies and big sunglasses to and from work, despite the fairly warm temperature. The longer she could delay people recognizing her the better.
Still, they always found her. You couldn't wear sunglasses and hoodies at work, and the only jobs she could get quickly with no resume and no background check were waitressing or bartending jobs. Only three weeks in LA before a drunk patron recognized her. He clumsily tried to stealthily flash her explicit images of herself that he had pulled up on her phone, as if she would be thrilled that a fan had recognized her. She tried to hold him off by telling him to just wait until her shift was over and she would talk to him. This worked for a little while, but soon he had pulled a male stranger into his confidence, and showed the bewildered man all kinds of things on his phone. They huddled and browsed for nearly an hour, the new man's mouth hanging open in amazement, and glanced from her to the phone and back a hundred times. She wanted to tell them to leave but knew that would only make escalate the situation. Besides, they were still buying drinks.
Soon enough it was four of them in a booth together, all nearly salivating at whatever they were looking at on their phones. Melody tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. She could only imagine how horrendous the stuff they were looking at was. She could feel her face burning red hot. She tried to remember all the many horrible things that had been done to her over the last couple years, all the heinous, dehumanizing footage that had been taken of her and put online forever. All of those extreme detail close ups of every part of her. Inside and out. To think that a table full of guys was currently poring over that material a mere fifteen feet away from her almost made her knees buckle. She wanted to melt into the floor. She was completely distracted from her job. She kept repeating the same task over and over, automatically. Her coworker looked at her strangely and tried to keep up with the rush on her own.
"Are you ok?" she came over and whispered. "Are you drunk?"
Melody shook her head no and tried to pull herself together. She felt something strange as she walked over to take someone's order. She looked down. She was wearing short jean shorts, and she had managed to soak through her panties hard enough that her bare upper thighs were visibly glistening and wet, slowly seeping out from either side of the crotch of her shorts. Mortified, she walked as quickly as she could to the bathroom. She cut in front of the line, to the protestations of a few drunk girls, and went in the first open stall and wiped her thighs clean. She dropped her pants and panties. They were completely sodden. She wiped herself up with toilet paper and then folded a few squares over and stuffed them in the soiled gusset of her panties. Hopefully it would soak up some of what was to come. She went back out with shaky knees, sneaked a shot to calm herself, then tried to get back to work.
It was hard going. The four guys at the table soon became six. She could feel their eyes on her without even looking at them. Could imagine exactly what they were seeing on their phones. She just hoped they wouldn't draw the entire bar's attention to what they were looking at. Luckily it was loud and rowdy enough in there to drown most of it out.
Finally it was last call. They all got up and left, all six of them craning their necks at her as they walked out. She knew they'd be waiting for her. Waiting to try out those famous holes they'd been ogling all night for themselves.
She left out the back door around 4 am. Sure enough, they were all standing there waiting, smiling drunkenly at her as she approached.
"Shall we do it here or somewhere else, Melody?" one of them asked.
She looked around. She did not like the idea of being gangraped in a cold, dirty alley yet again, but going to some hotel or apartment with them ran the risk of turning this encounter into something far larger and longer lasting. The fact that she had virtually no ability to say no to this random group of bar patrons waiting to cum in her both scared, humiliated, angered, and thrilled her. They had merely seen and recognized her, and this was all the justification they needed.
"Let's do it here," she said.
They let out a little whoop and then manhandled her over to a little cattycorner nook between a dumpster and a brick wall. They already had a thick, discarded comforter laid out there. Their hands were all over her, stripping her clothes away. They spun her this way and that, each sloppily sucking on her face or shoving their tongues down her throat. One of them already had three fingers up her pre-soaked cunt as she turned her head and was made to french one of his friends. Now another guy's two fingers were in her butthole at the same time.
For two hours they used her hard. They were rough, unabashed, and cruel. None of them wore protection. They didn't take turns -- they fit as many cocks into her at once as they could. When one guy came he'd just wait out for a few minutes until he was ready to go again. The guys who couldn't fit into her at any given moment would pull up pictures of her bukkaked face and hold their phones in front of her face as the others railed her. They had videos of her being gangfucked pulled up on all their devices as they themselves emulated what they saw on screen. She heard her own wailing voice coming from four different phone speakers around her in various repetitions of her past violations. They taunted her as they ravaged her.
"The whore really puts out, doesn't she?"
"God, do you know how fucked up you are?"
"Do you know what number I am? Tell me. How many different guys have you let in these holes?"
They made her say it. She remembered the tally she had seen on the banner of her fan forums just recently -- a number she already carried with her in her head at all times. She added their tally to it.
"One thousand and ninety-nine," she said, breathing hard. Saying it out loud, articulating it like that, made it seem so much more real and obscene.
"That's right. You're fucking disgusting, aren't you? What's wrong with you? What kind of girl lets herself get fucked by one tenth that number of guys?" The guy speaking came inside of her not ten seconds after finishing this sentence.
They took their own pictures and videos, par for the course, and left her panting and raw and broken as dawn broke. Her clothes lay in a scattered heaps nearby and she lay naked and with legs spread, several loads of cum leaking from her open vagina. It burned when she shut her legs. She had orgasmed maybe twenty times during the course of her gangbang, and hated herself for not being able to hide it from them.
This story repeated itself in a dozen variations over the coming months. She would stay at a job until something like this happened, and then switch. When it happened too many times at back to back jobs she would move apartments. She hopped around the greater LA area. She wore her hoodies and sunglasses into the summer months. It only worked sometimes. She would get raped once a week on average. She was at 1,124 by August.
She got tired of moving. What difference did it make? They found her often enough. It was common knowledge now that she was somewhere in the LA area. If she went somewhere else they'd catch up to her there. She couldn't run from it forever. But what was even the alternative?
She got fired from two separate jobs for being late multiple times. It was always because she was getting fucked on her way to work. A couple times she missed a shift altogether because some guy had briefly kidnapped her to his apartment to service him and a couple buddies.
She started practicing kegels. The more she could control her vaginal muscles, the faster she could make men cum from fucking her. The sooner they came, the sooner they were likely to leave her alone. Most guys came to their senses and let her go after they shot their load. She got into the habit of bringing extra work shirts with her in a backpack for when her first one got cum on it during her walk to work.
1,155 by November. Her 27th birthday came and went, celebrated or acknowledged only on her fan forums. She spent the night getting her ass fucked by a big black dude who barely even spoke to her. She started just taking guys to her apartment when they recognized her on the street on her way home from work. It was better than getting fucked outside in an alley, and it barely mattered if she was at risk of having her current address posted. Her roommates probably took her for a prostitute. If only they knew the real story. She was far worse than a prostitute. They barely spoke to her except when it came time to discuss rent or utilities.
Twice a week on average now someone got to come back to her room with her and fuck her. Sometimes they wouldn't leave afterward, and she'd wake up in the morning and see the random who had gotten to help himself to her the night before in full light, and she would feel the shame and disgust all over again. Many times they would take her again in the morning, drilling away at her and leaving her with another pussy full of cum before she went to work.
Her life was just shame, anxiety, arousal, isolation. These were the only things she ever felt. She tried to imagine how her life could continue like this. She constantly felt like her legs were spread, like a crowd of people were looking right into what should be the most private part of her. While working, while walking down the street. At any given second she knew that thousands of people around the world were jerking off to videos of her being fucked and used in the worst ways possible, sharing and commenting, or examining the most minute details of her body, all over. All of them knowing her name, her birth date, where she went to high school. It sent that little electric jolt to her groin every time she thought about it. She continued operating and behaving like a normal person whenever she could, simply because she didn't know how else to act. But what was really the point of dressing modestly or conducting herself with any dignity when anyone in the world, any of her coworkers, could just go home right after work and look up pictures of her gaped cunt? She knew some of them knew. One time she had walked into the office and caught three of her male coworkers watching a video of her farting cum out of her asshole right there on the computer. She just turned and left, but she came back the next day because they had never bothered her about it, and she needed money badly. No one brought it up, but she could barely bring herself to speak to those three guys now without turning red in the face. She started looking for another job as soon as she could.
She viewed the forums more and more, driven by some dark and irresistible compulsion. She would read a few threads every night before orgasming and then exiting out in horror. The worst posts (and the ones that made her cum the hardest) were by people who had known her in high school or before.
"I always knew she was a closet whore," was a common refrain. "Great to see her finally spreading her holes for all the world to see, like she was always meant to."
She tried to guess who was saying these things about her. Probably people who had been nice to her in person. Or older people who had authority over her. She resented it and got off hard from it. She was, of course, always a good girl in school. She was quiet, never dressed provocatively or brought attention to herself. She usually had worn big hoodies and tried to sink into them, become invisible. Her extremely shy nature was precisely why her most explosive fantasies, even back then, always involved being forced to expose herself, to be a slut. Because the idea terrified her so much. And of course, perhaps by fate, it was now the constant reality she lived in. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, with no expression on her face. What would that shy teenager in an oversized anime sweatshirt, the one who would turn beat red if a teacher called on her in class, think if she could see herself just ten years later. The whore of the fucking century. A host of porn sites dedicated solely to her.
