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You never knew what insanity you would be greeted with when you tuned into her perpetual livestream. Yesterday he'd locked himself in the bathroom long enough to pull the stream up on his phone. At that time she was restrained on a series of horizontal poles that left her wrists bound behind her back, with her bent knees draped over and tied to another pole that left her in a sort of suspended sitting motion, her crotch completely exposed below her and unable to be shut. Her pussy had been pumped until it was huge and red and swollen - her distended, inflated labia hanging down the size of a soda can. Guys were coming up and fisting the squirting, leaking mess, sliding in easily. It looked like some plastic sex toy, outsized and strange on her slender body. Some guys would slap it and watch it bounce around like rubber. It would have looked strange on anyone, but especially on her. This kind of treatment was usually reserved for the most over-the-hill, drugged up old porn stars. Not for the beautiful girl next door like Melody.
Not to the girl he'd met. They had been in highschool. He was friends with her for a while before they started dating. They were both a bit weird, had a tight but small circle of friends but outside of that were basically rejects. She always wore oversized hoodies and never spoke in class. She liked cats and video games and anime. She was loud and gregarious at times when just in the presence of friends, but outside of that she didn't want to be noticed. He knew she was insecure. It wasn't until their first year of college that she began dressing like a woman instead of a girl, finding that she could wear dresses and heels and makeup and still look conservative and unassuming. It was around then that he realized how beautiful she really was, beautiful to any man and not just sheltered weirdos like him.
They dated for four years. From junior year in highschool to junior year in college. They took each other's virginity. It wasn't until their third year of dating that that happened, and sex was only infrequent after that. She seemed to have hang ups and guilt about it. She had never sent him a nude and he had known better than to ask. They broke up on good terms, with lots of crying and sorrow on both sides, but they knew they had to go different ways. They had remained friends afterward. She became somewhat less shy and more outgoing after that, but she had never seemed to change much from the core person he'd always known. He knew that she had very briefly dated a couple other guys after him, but never quite long enough to be considered a couple, and he was sure she wasn't sleeping with any of them. He felt an embarrassing, and never spoken, pride in having been the only man up to that point who she had trusted enough to sleep with, to open herself up to like that.
So when, about six months after he had last spoken to her, the first news of her extreme sexual exploits came to light, it had been so shocking and surreal. He didn't believe it until he saw the footage himself. Melody getting fucked in every hole in some motel room, by a line of men that ran out the doorway and out of sight. Bathing in their cum. Drinking pints of their hot piss. It was the most filthy thing he'd ever seen, from anyone, let alone from someone he had thought had never allowed any other man into her pants other than him.
He was married by then, but he still felt strangely betrayed. That was a place only he had had privileged access to. How was it being given away to anyone and everyone? He at first thought it was rape, then he saw the story. He saw her supposed video arranging it. He wondered if she was a sociopath who had fooled him this whole time. Maybe she was secretly fucking dozens of guys the whole time they were dating.
But he knew that wasn't true. It didn't add up. She would have been the world's greatest actress. She spent nearly all of her time with him. It wouldn't have been possible. Neither, though, was this pivot.
Later he had seen the speculation that she had been set up. That the initial consent video was a deepfake. With a growing sense of dread and guilt he realized that this was the most likely explanation. But with that guilt came a growing arousal over the whole situation. It awakened something in him. Her confirmation of the set up at one point in a weepy confessional video only sealed it. She hadn't betrayed him. She had been trapped into this. That quiet, insecure girl he had known for so long, who had waited three years before she was comfortable letting her boyfriend have sex with her, was now being forced to expose and share herself with everyone she knew, with the whole world essentially. He knew it was wrong, but it became incredibly hot to him. And some part of her obviously enjoyed it too. Why had she allowed herself to be used over and over again, sometimes seeming to participate enthusiastically, if she didn't want it? At least that was how everyone in the discussion forums of her online seemed to justify it.
Of course he felt a sense of humiliation from it himself too. Anyone with a web connection could pull up well lit gynecology videos showing every tiny detail of that place only he had had any sense of before. Her reputation obviously changed. People who barely noticed her before suddenly couldn't quit talking about how they had gone to school with the Internet's most famous amateur pornstar. People who liked or respected her before now thought of her as the whore who shamed their school. And he, of course, was known as the only guy she'd dated in highschool. It was like proxy humiliation for him. His wife had become irrationally angry with him, as if he'd had something to do with it.
"I'm who you chose after THAT?" she had shouted one time. "Did you think I was a whore too?"
She went about in shame for a while too, connected to the notorious slut Melody Ainsley. It had gotten a little better over time, but it was still a very sore topic. He knew she would flip shit if she ever found out he watched Melody's content. Consumed it obsessively, in fact.
He'd consumed every video he could find of her, some of them multiple times. It was the only porn he jerked off to. You couldn't just go back to regular porn after finding that your ex girlfriend, the first girl you'd had a serious relationship with, was starring in the most degrading and high quality version of any variety of porn you could think of. Just searching "Melody" on any porn site would pull up dozens and dozens of results of her now. Most videos had millions of views. It sickened and thrilled him at once, but over time the shock had worn off, and it was only dark, corrosive lust he felt.
He'd seen her hung from the ceiling numerous times, hogtied and floating, or standing with her wrists restrained behind her back, her ponytail connected by rope to the ceiling, positioned such that she could only avoid the intense tugging pain on her scalp when she stood up on the balls of her perpetually bare feet. They would frequently vote to have her kept like this for hours at a time, all while a livestreamed audio commentary feed from premium users poured into her room through speakers, so they could speak directly to her and antagonize or dote on her or whatever they felt like doing. Always while she was restrained, various forms of casual torture were being applied to all of her erogenous zones. Buttplugs with flanges the size of beer cans usually kept her rectum continuously stretched, while vacuum cups with powerful suction were applied to her breasts, her labia, and her mouth. Her lips would be sucked into the clear cups until they swelled up and completely filled them, leaving the skin around her mouth bright red when they were removed, with her looking like the victim of a botched plastic surgery, with lipstick applied by a child. Her pussy transformed into a giant comedic dangling fleshlight. Her modest breasts suctioned until they turned purple and filled the cups, seeming too small at first to fill them up but then doing it, the skin on her tits stretching and almost looking ready to tear. Her punished pierced nipples inflated and sucked another two inches outward until they plugged the actual tubes. They did this enough times that her body began producing milk again, a latent ability of her past pregnancy. The milk would be slurped down the tubes and collected into bottles, which were then sold online so people far and wide could drink of her nutrients, absorbing a part of her into themselves.
He had seen her give herself, if you could call it that, to over 600 new men just in the last few months, on top of the already staggering number she had before coming to live with this man. Her "number", the total number of unique men she had had sex with, which was obsessed over on her forums and used as a kind of point system for how slutty and ruined she was, was at 2,480 at the moment. Most of those additions came in bursts, at the semi regular gangbangs that this man Bruce arranged for her. He left a phone number by which anyone could reach him on the forums. It was established that anyone who wanted to fuck her (which was of course all of them) could call him to arrange a time and place. Thus far he had been somewhat selective, as he had only allowed a few hundred out of several thousand requests, but everyone knew he would open it up to greater numbers soon, until everyone had their turn. They knew he had to pace it, to degrade her at his pace until she was so broken she was willing to do absolutely anything. They all knew that the goal was her maximum possible ruination as a woman, a transformation into the biggest slut of all time. Why wouldn't he let every last guy on the forums take a turn in her eventually?
He'd seen her restrained at the bottom of a bathtub, her wrists and ankles bound, with goggles strapped over her eyes and her nostrils clamped shut. The 90 men who had just fucked her took turns pissing on her until the tub was three-quarters full, completely submerging her. A snorkel in her mouth allowed her to breathe. Hollow cylinders stuffed into her pussy and rectum left them gaping open so that the piss could flood inside of her, surrounding her from within and without. They left her in there overnight. He wondered if she managed to sleep at all or just stared up with her goggles through ripples of yellow, fetid liquid for all those hours. When they finally let her out in the morning she was shivering and they examined the pads of her fingers and toes, which had absorbed enough piss to prune up.
He'd seen her brush her teeth every morning using a different fan's cum as toothpaste. Bruce allowed anyone and everyone to mail in as much of their cum as they wanted to, and he kept it refrigerated or frozen until it was time to put it to use. He clearly put all of it to use. Melody must have gone through a quart or more of it a day in some fashion. When she brushed her teeth every morning she would announce to the camera in her bathroom mirror: "Today I'm using _____'s cum. Thank you for letting me use your cum!" Always announcing at least the first name of the sender so they would know their produce was being put to good use. At first she was exceedingly awkward and unnatural when making these proclamations, but with time it seemed to come to her more and more naturally. When she broke one of Bruce's many rules on accident, she would be allowed to eat nothing but cum or "cum-oatmeal", mixed to a 50/50 ratio, for three days. Sometimes she would be made to go to bed while wearing a clear plastic mask with nostril holes, the interior of which was coated in the semen of many men. She would sleep with the cum squished to her face all night, soaking into her pores, and when she took it off in the morning it would always be nearly glued to her face, and would peel off with an audible sound. It would form a dried, flaky crust all over her face which she would then stoically wash off, except on those punishment days where Bruce would make her keep it there all day. When, a month ago, Bruce had finally allowed her to wear shoes at times, they would always be closed-toe high heels filled with cum. You could sometimes hear the cum squishing under her soles and between her toes as she walked.
He'd seen the change in her. It was intentional, methodical. And it was happening. She was being conditioned, broken down into wanting to be nothing more than a set of holes, around the clock. She was frequently made to do humiliating self-narrated anatomy videos, holding the camera herself as she moved it around her various body parts and told everyone, with a separate mic close up to her mouth, how many men had used them, how she wanted everyone to see them, wanted everyone who'd ever known her to be as familiar with her asshole as they were with her face. At first these were painfully awkward for him to listen to, as you could hear the hesitation and lack of conviction in her voice, like she was reading poorly from a script. But over time she had gotten used to it. Her tone had changed. He remembered recently seeing her spreading her shaved twat wide, two fingers in an inverted peace sign holding her butterfly-wing labia open wide, the camera so close that they filled nearly the whole shot. The rippled ring of her birthing canal, the sensitive inside of her body, glistening wet and pink and exposed.
"I'm used up, guys," she said with real resignation to this fact, her voice hot and close. "I'm really, really used up."
And she was. You could literally see the difference in her vagina. People loved to make side by side comparison shots of her pussy a few years ago and how it looked now. It was subtle, but there was a definite wear and tear that was becoming evident. It was a common myth that more sex made a woman's labia more pronounced. This was not true, as evidenced by the same general size of her labia when she'd only had sex with one man and now, nearly two and a half thousand dicks later. But the lips looked more battered now, and the gape of her actual hole had certainly increased. This was by design.
For the past few months Bruce had had her methodically stretching and resizing, presumably permanently, her holes. Both of them. The rest of her body was kept fit with a good diet and plenty of exercise, but her handlers seemed to want her holes to be transformed and wrecked. "People should be able to tell when they fuck you, just by feel, that you are a different kind of slut," Bruce had said to her one day. He had introduced a stretching regimen after that. Her holes were regularly filled with implements of increasingly bigger sizes, often kept in while she slept. Her vagina and sphincter became very stressed muscles, regularly subjected to micro-tears that allowed them to more easily reach greater stretches, then allowed to heal to this new normal, and then strained again to another, further normal. After these few months, her crotch was already visibly different looking from the outside. It was still the early days, but Eric had a feeling they would continue with this until Melody's fuckholes were well and truly sloppy and haggard, permanently ruined.
Bruce had recently told her, on camera of course, that any extreme insertion videos that could be located online of girls with similar body types, she would eventually be expected to match or surpass. "If there's multiple videos of a girl doing it, that means it's humanly possible. We will train your holes, slowly and safely, to be capable of all of this. There must be no type of sexual act that you are not the best at."
Eric thought of the various absurd penetrations he had seen online, amateur girls taking dildos 8 inches wide and two feet long up their asses effortlessly, or three fists stretching their vagina at once. Melody had already been subjected to things approaching this level, but to think that she would be made to go further than all of them (and he had no doubt she would) had him cumming hard. How far she had fallen. The least likely girl on the planet.
Already her asshole could fairly easily be made to stretch wider than a softball, looking like a great puckered crater with a ridged rim as she pushed out grapefruit-sized spheres, sometimes four at a time in succession, so many that the furthest one back had to be deep in her intestines starting out. He remembered recently seeing her laying on her side, legs together with ass facing the camera, pushing her great rosebud in and out past her sphincter easily. It really looked like a large red rose blooming, dripping thick trails of lube and assjuice from its center.
Inconceivable that it was Melody, for anyone who had known her before. He knew others agreed. He had seen a former classmate commenting on the forums: "In highschool this girl was one of the most shy people I knew. She always wore a one piece swimsuit if people were swimming, and never even wore open-toe shoes anywhere. She was the kind that would rather melt into the floor than have to speak in front of the whole class, and now here she is spreading her browneye to the world, unable to hide how fucking soaked it gets her. I know it's fucked up to say, but if she really was framed into this, or whatever happened, that only makes it hotter. It's more than just staring into a pussy when she spreads that thing for the camera. It's staring into her soul."
He was right, of course. Everyone thought it. Seeing her at the end of a long day, sitting before the camera with her legs spread wide, her well-fucked pussy just gaping open slightly on its own, covered in sweat or cum, her hair plastered in long wild strands across the skin of her face, it was impossible to believe it was Melody Ann Ainsley. He would stare at her exposed cunt, in awe that an average of five new men a day really used it raw, sometimes as many as a hundred or more.
Even for those online who hadn't known her in real life, the main thrill and fascination for nearly everyone was the fact that you could track, or had witnessed live, this girl's whole journey from innocent, introverted awkwardness to THIS. She was the most depraved whore ever. She had done more shameful things than probably anyone ever, and had them documented and disseminated more as well. Everyone she had ever known knew. That was what was so great about it. Her entire existence had been reduced to being the most fucked up jerk-off fodder on the internet, and nothing else except the memory of her old life to contrast with it. You can find porn anywhere on the internet, but not the complete timeline of ruin for a reluctant super-whore. They knew she couldn't do anything about it, either. The most exposed, humiliated person of all time. Unable to hide that this fact also utterly completes her sexually. A dripping mess, squirting and orgasming with wild howls all the time at her own debasement, which in turn made her more humiliated, and then more aroused. A never-ending cycle.
Now he watched her with all the orifices on her face spread by those ridiculous implements, a gooey and unanimous layer of mixed cum coating her face. Her back had 42 tallies on it now. He reviewed the days' archive to see what had happened to her earlier that day, when he couldn't watch live. After her breakfast of cum-oatmeal, Bruce has appeared and said "Today is going to be a facefucking day. Get your makeup on."
Usually the days, or parts of them, would have themes like this. He could see the now subtle look of trepidation briefly cross her face. He knew she wasn't looking forward to a day of constant gagging and retching and vomiting, struggling for breath.
They had her meticulously do her own makeup in the recording mirror, slathering on a lot of it but with all the skill she could muster. It took her an hour. Just for them to be able to ruin it with the cocks and cum and her sweat and upchuck and tears. Decorating her face to the best of her ability, just for people to use it as a living fleshlight. She applied a thick coating of foundation all over. She did her eyebrows, carefully applied eyeliner and then thick mascara on her long eyelashes. Silver eyeshadow over her lids. Dark red blush on her cheeks, and then dark red lipstick. It was more makeup than she would have ever chosen to wear, but that's how Bruce wanted it.
