Melody's Open Invite Gangbang Ch. 13

*Author's note: Sorry for the delay. I don't get to write on this too often, and when I do I'm not super productive. Inspiration comes in waves. This chapter doesn't get quite as far as I'd intended, as I sometimes get a bit too long-winded. I figured I'd go ahead and break and give it an update. I'll get the rest out when I can. Thanks for reading.*

*Obviously strongly immoral things happen in this story, all of which would be terrible in real life. It's fiction. Don't bother reading it if that bothers you, and don't bother telling me.*

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At first, Melody thought she had really lucked out. Bruce's house was amazing, he had a fully stocked kitchen, and even though he had already laid down the rule that she was not to leave the house unless under his direction and escort, he otherwise seemed to be a very agreeable, even charming man. He alluded to further rules and stipulations of their relationship that would be coming, and would be 100% required for her to adhere to in order to stay under his protection. But for now, he did little more than treat her lavishly and have somewhat forceful, but more or less normal, sex with her about twice a day. She slept in his bed at night and didn't shrink away from cuddling against him.

Was he the kind of guy she would have chosen to be with on her own, had none of this ever happened to her? Probably not. She'd wanted to date guys her own age. His money was nice, obviously, but she'd never been a gold digger. But he was nice. He was kind, in his own way. He listened to her and it felt like he actually cared about what she was saying, about her feelings on things. She felt secure with him. He was older, established. He seemed unflappable. He already knew all about her whole history, something that would send most men running, and he accepted it, even seemed to like it. She knew there had to be a catch, somehow, but for now she couldn't believe her luck.

He had insisted that she not keep her phone or have any access to the internet or the outside world, but this was the only controlling behavior he had exhibited in those first two weeks. He said that it was to insulate her, to give her the sense that their small world was self-contained, that there was nothing to worry about or even consider beyond these walls. It bothered her only for a moment, but she soon came to think he had a point. He said that he could sculpt her, teach her to be comfortable and empowered within her situation and buried predilections. This was just part of that process. He was right. She couldn't undo any of this, as much as she might want to. The best thing would be to try to learn to flourish within it, and Bruce could show her how.

After the second week he showed her another wing of the house she had never seen, completely sealed off on its own behind a metal door, which was a full apartment unto itself, and informed her that from now on these would be her quarters. There was a nice bathroom with a tub and shower, a living room, a bedroom, a small personal gym, and a kitchenette that was fully stocked with high-end food products. He told her she would sleep here, get ready here in the morning, and be here on her own essentially any time he did not require her presence in his part of the house. At first it made her uneasy, like she was a pampered prisoner, but she pushed the uncertainty down. It was still exquisite quarters. She had a large window in her bedroom that let her look out over San Francisco. She wouldn't be locked in. There was a large TV with cable that she could watch, but he still did not want her to use the internet. The living room opened out onto a small, walled in private garden.

She quickly got used to it. Bruce was often gone in the day now anyway, so she had range of the full house to herself. The one exception was his own quarters, which he kept locked.

She began using the treadmills and the other exercise equipment a lot. She'd always just had a naturally fit and slim body without any effort, but it couldn't hurt to stay active. The physical exertion kept her mind off things anyway. It felt better just to focus on anything other than how she was probably the most exposed and humiliated girl on the planet.

In the evenings Bruce would always treat her to an excellent dinner that he himself would cook. He was a skilled chef. Afterward they would sit on the back veranda overlooking the city and drink wine and talk. He seemed genuinely interested in her as a person. He asked her questions about herself, her past, things deeper than surface-level generalities. She found herself slowly opening up to him.

Eventually the topic of the origins of her current reality came up, although he seemed to be in no rush to get to it. She told him the truth. She told him how all of this fell on her like an avalanche out of nowhere. How yes, she had always had very well-hidden fantasies of being dominated, treated like a total slut, exposed, gangraped...but she never in a million years would have dreamed of acting on these shameful fantasies. She'd never even brought them up to her first boyfriend. She'd always just wanted to be classy, pretty, respectable. A lady.

"I know it's hard to believe, but I did not sign up for any of this. No one believes me, and I guess I can't blame them. But I have no idea how I was put in this situation. It's still nearly impossible to believe it has all happened."

Bruce rolled his wine glass back and forth between a thumb and index finger by the stem. He had a contemplative look on his face.

"I believe you," he said. "Your back and forth hesitation and obvious horror that has been evident throughout your journey...it didn't add up. Why would anyone want to do to themselves what has happened to you? Especially a girl like you who seemed to previously have such a promising, budding life ahead of you."

Melody felt tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes. She was glad it was dark on the patio where they were.

Bruce ran a finger through a lock of her hair. He touched the skin on her cheekbone.

"And yet," he continued, "I have to say you played the part of the reckless and willing whore quite well at times as well. Your participation seemed to be rather enthusiastic on occasion. You can see how it's confusing to your fans."

Melody's felt her face flushing red. She downed her wine.

"I understand though. I've known women like you before. Don't be ashamed of it. You can't help it. I may even understand your psyche better than you yourself understand it. You do feel torn about your own natural responses, don't you?"

Melody couldn't look at him. She just nodded.

Bruce filled her glass up again.

"Someone set you up. They knew you'd have no way out. How incredibly cruel, but also..." He tapered off. He looked out over the city below.

"I won't lie to you," he said after a long pause. "Your reluctance, your forced position, your innocence of having been put into this situation, is maybe the main thing that interests me about you. Most of your fans harbor serious doubts about the official story of the origins of your predicament. A compromised, innocent girl being forced to share herself with the world is much more thrilling than a true, shameless whore who truly finds no value in that part of herself which she is giving away. Few people can come right out and admit this, though. Your supposed consent gives them cover to treat you like meat without guilt, with less judgment."

She stared at the ground. It almost felt like he'd slapped her. She hadn't expected him to be so blunt. And yet, the honesty was better than more deception.

"Of course it's terrible what happened to you," he continued, "but it's well too late to fix it. The best option left now is for you to learn to live within it, and thrive. As I've told you before, I can get you there. But you have to trust me, and not begrudge my methods. The alternative, of course, you leaving to try to make your own way in the world, will be much worse."

She was shaking slightly. She was angry at herself for not being able to stop it.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

His eyes hardened. A look she had never seen in him.

"It's not your place to ask me questions."

*

She woke up the next morning in her own bed, naked but tucked in nicely. There was a vase of roses next to her bed. She sat up. She had begun to get woozy last night after a few glasses of wine. Bruce had turned cold toward her out of nowhere, speaking to her in short, commanding sentences. Cold wasn't the right word. That would imply some kind of bitterness. He was above that. He had begun treating her like a dog he was training. After her fourth glass he had suddenly stood up, said "Come," and grabbing her by the collar of her nightie led her brusquely to the master bedroom. He had torn the silk nightie from her and pushed her naked body down into a fuck swing hanging in the corner of the large room. He'd slapped her face, hard, one side and then the other, then pulled her long legs wide open, holding them in place by shoving her feet into the split straps of the swing, and then dropped his pants and immediately sunk his considerable cock all the way into her cunt, the angle of her body in the swing allowing him to hit deep within her. She cried out involuntarily at his sudden roughness. He fucked her hard, his cock just long enough to smash into her cervix over and over, which he did with no regard for her comfort, using the swing to easily pull the whole momentum of her body up and down his shaft. When he'd had enough of her cunt he grabbed his cock by the base, pulled out, and re-situated it at her anus. With a single forceful thrust, his dick already wetted by her juices, he rammed his whole length into her rectum. He'd fucked her like this for a full thirty minutes, his stamina never flagging, switching his cock back and forth between the holes between her legs at will, one hand stuffed deep in her mouth, stretching her lips painfully as he grasped at her wet tongue with his fingers.

She felt between her legs now. She winced. She was sensitive to the touch around both holes. Her vagina and anus had been put through heroic ordeals in the past, so this was nothing new to her, but she was still somewhat amazed by how rough this single man had managed to be. She reflected on her automatic thought process. A "single man," like this was strange. How shameful and unreal that multiple men at once seemed more normal for her now.

She looked over at the roses. There was a note tucked under the vase. She pulled it out and read it.

"You were wonderful last night. I hope you are at peace with the nature of how things might go here. You serve wonderfully. Know that whatever I put you through, you will be given an equivalent treatment of recovery and leisure afterward. I've had a breakfast laid out for you in your living room. I hope you find it satisfactory. If you ever require anything more, please just ask.

-Bruce.

PS. You will be attending a high-society event with me this evening in town. It's a fundraising event I'm expected to be at, but I thought you might like to get out of the house. I have had a few wardrobe options prepared for you to choose from. Take a look in your closet when you're ready. A woman will be sent to do your hair and makeup. We leave at 8."

Melody swung her bare legs out of the bed and stood up. A velvet scarlet robe was hanging on a peg, ready for her. She slipped it onto her nude body and went out of the bedroom.

As promised, a full breakfast was laid out. She had no idea who had come to prepare it. She poured herself a mimosa with the chilled bottle of champagne protruding from a bucket, and nibbled at some of the fruit and a slice of a warm frittata. At least this was much nicer than the usual treatment men gave after using her.

After eating enough to fill herself she went to the closet and looked at the outfits he'd made available for her. There were five different dresses, and five different pairs of heels. They were all brand new, and obviously very expensive. They were all a little more risque than the classic mid-century styles she had always preferred when dolling herself up in the past, but who was she kidding. She was just lucky he hadn't demanded she attend this party naked. And the dresses were very beautiful.

She chose a gold, shimmering sheath dress that tightly hugged her curves and cut off just above her knees. It was open on the sides and the neckline was low cut to down near the belly button, but it was still classy while being provocative. She paired it with black laceup, open toed stilettos. It was certainly a more glamorous look than she'd have ever thought to choose for herself or been able to afford for that matter.

She spent the rest of the day exercising, then stripped down and tried the private sauna adjacent to her gym room. She sipped a cocktail in her private garden for a while. She was starting to think she could get used to this life, de facto slave or not.

Her stylist arrived around 4, a warm and pleasant Japanese woman of about 40. She spoke little English, but was very hospitable and smiled the whole time she worked on Melody. She gave her a warm footbath and face massage before making her up. She gave her a full manicure and pedicure, and finished by painting her fingernails and toenails in a white glossy polish. She did up her hair into an elaborate piled style based on Asian fashions, with two slender sticks pushed through to hold it all together. She gave her mascara and dark red lipstick. Then she put on her outfit. Looking at herself in the mirror, Melody was quietly thrilled at how beautiful and couture she looked. The dress was just tight and sheer enough to suggest much, but actually reveal little. The heels were perfectly designed for her, and showcased her slender ankles and narrow feet, which were now accentuated by a severe arch that made her stand in such a way that the muscles in her legs and ass were subtly exaggerated.

When she was ready, she went upstairs. Bruce was dressed in a fitted suit, and he smiled when he saw her.

"You look more gorgeous than even I anticipated," he said.

A limo with a driver was waiting for them outside, and they hopped in and he took off down the hillsides, heading for the city proper. They sipped champagne on the ride over.

The rest of the night passed in an increasing haze of constant glamour and decadence that was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. The party was in a private mansion. The drinks got to her quickly. She remembered entering the room, full of other beautiful and elegant people, and remembered all of them turning to look at her and Bruce as they entered. Everyone was welcoming, if slightly aloof, and no one asked her anything about who she was or where she'd come from. They just knew she was escorting Bruce, and that must have been enough.

She kept drinking the glasses of champagne or cocktails proffered to her by passing waiters, trying to quell the anxiety and discomfort still inside her, although everything was going fine. Big crowds like this just gave her anxiety now. Once or twice Bruce warned her to slow down on the drinks, as they were quite strong. Occasionally he would briefly leave her to chat with certain people and exchange business cards, but for the most part he stuck by her side and introduced her to everyone as "Melody," with no further elaboration. She assumed he must have been a known bachelor and him showing up with a young unknown date was not strange to these high society types. After a few hours she sank back into a plush lounge chair and watched Bruce laughing and talking with two older gentlemen across the room. She caught some other men ogling her, muttering to each other, but it just seemed like the typical way men would ogle a beautiful woman. They coyly turned away when they saw her notice them. Her head felt very warm and thick, but in a pleasant way. She shut her eyes and just listened to the buzz of the room around her.

The next thing she knew, she was back in her room and it was morning again. She blearily looked around. Had she really gotten that drunk? She didn't even remember coming home. Her head felt rather thick still, and she was a bit nauseous, but it was far from the worst hangover she'd ever had.

She got out of bed and went to her private bathroom. She had fallen asleep completely naked. She wondered if Bruce had fucked her last night. She felt her pussy. It was considerably sore. He must have. She sat down on the toilet and relieved herself. She pissed into the bowl and then felt a cramping rumble in her belly, and with a sudden huge feeling of release, emptied her bowels as well. She tried again to remember more details from last night as she operated the controls next to the toilet and made the bidet spray heated water all over her labia and asshole, spreading them wide with one hand to allow the water to reach everywhere it could. The device was very pleasant, and made her feel far cleaner than just toilet paper ever had.

She showered and then dried off and slipped into one of her silky bathrobes. When she went upstairs she found Bruce sitting at a table in a windowed alcove, having breakfast. A newspaper was open on the table before him and a plate was set up for her across from him. He was glancing at his phone and smiling as he typed something. Then he looked up at her with a warm look in his eyes.

"Good morning," he said. "You seemed to have had a good time last night."

She sat down across from him and a woman she hadn't seen before bustled out of the kitchen and transferred hot food to her plate, followed by a cup of coffee.

"I guess so," Melody said. "I honestly can't remember much after the first few hours. I must have blacked out. I'm so sorry if I did anything to embarrass you."

Bruce's phone buzzed and he took it up and smiled at it again, typed out a response then set it down again. She thought he hadn't even heard her but then he said "Nonsense. You were fine. No one would dare question the choices of any lady accompanying me, in any case. But you were totally out in that cushy armchair. I had to have one of my friends carry you back to the car with me."

Her face flushed red.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her face contorted in a bashful look.

"Again," he grinned at her, the smile just barely extending to his eyes, "nothing to apologize for. My friends would never judge you, or me."

She spent her days in and around the house, but mostly in her own quarters or on the grounds. She kept herself occupied in the gym, or the poolhouse, or reading any of the books from his large selection in his library. With the exception of her lack of access to the internet (a place she decided she was happier not visiting, anyway), her life almost seemed privileged. It was much nicer quarters than she was used to, in any case, and not having to work or worry about being out in public and spotted by a horny, perverted stranger allowed her to relax more than she had in months.

Bruce was often gone during the day, but at night he would always treat her to an excellent dinner, followed invariably by marathon sex in his bedroom. The man had stamina and a sex drive that was fairly amazing for his age. He would often fuck her for two hours, sometimes cumming two or three times before he was satisfied. He was rough with her, hammering away at her pussy or ass or mouth at will, switching whenever he wanted to, and deepthroating her until she retched and tears ran down her face. He would always say terrible things to her while inside her, about what a humiliated, ruined whore she was, and constantly making her repeat to him how many other men had used her holes before him. "One thousand, three hundred and five," repeated numerous times nightly until it was drilled into her brain.