Melody's Open Invite Gangbang Ch. 15

Author's note: Sorry for the delay, and the relatively short length of this chapter. I decided to go ahead and put it out to whet your appetite. I promise I am continuing to work on this story and will eventually bring it to the conclusion I have planned. Thank you for your patience and for reading. As always I appreciate your comments and feedback. Yes, this story is vile and is pure fantasy. Please do not bother reading if you are looking for some cosmic justice.

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Winter came early to the bay that year. It was late November as Melody stood naked and barefoot in front of one of the windows in her suite, watching as a rare snow flurry fell outside. None of it was sticking to the ground, but it was still nice to watch.

She was aware of the cameras on her. She was always aware of them, aware that she never had a moment of privacy. She could feel the eyes of the thousands of viewers who would be watching her doing even this mundane task. There were over 15,000 accounts registered on the site, but an account wasn't even required for viewing the livestream. Bruce had told her that. The live viewership never dropped below 3,000 or so, and could spike as high as 100,000 during her gangbangs or other humiliations. She could feel the cold through the window. She idly touched the barbells piercing her hardened nipples -- new ones that a fan had brought her and Bruce made her wear, that had the little words "cum" and "slut" hanging from the bars on tiny chains on either side of her nipples. Her clit piercing was two little pearls on each end of the piece going vertically through her hood. Aside from the dark red polish on her finger and toenails, she wore nothing else, as was always the case. She hadn't felt clothes on her skin in months, aside from the few times they had had her wear high heels, which strangely only made her feel more naked. Her hair, now dyed a deep red color, like it had been during her first ever gangbang that had started this whole life, hung in voluminous waves around her shoulders and down her back.

She turned away from the window, her eyes flitting over the two different LED counters mounted in every room of her suite: one that showed her the current viewer count (4,112), and one that showed her her lifetime sexual partners count (3,185).

Bruce was giving her a relatively easy day today. They had just gotten back from a short roadtrip. Three days ago he had suddenly appeared in her quarters and told her to come outside, that they were leaving for a little while. She walked out with him then, naked, in her bare feet, bringing nothing with her. She owned and needed little. Outside there had been a luxury motorhome she had never seen. Bruce simply told her they were going on a little trip. One of his assistants was going with them. He had hired part-time helpers to manage her "career" with him. The logistics were getting complicated.

They'd driven toward LA and parked the motorhome in a large parking lot in Santa Clarita. They had drinks while they waited for their guests to arrive. He didn't have to tell her people would be coming; she knew. She didn't know the exact context or details, but she knew they were here for men to fuck her. She could only guess what the purpose of the RV and the travel was.

They'd begun arriving about an hour later. She didn't know how many there would be. Four came at first, average-looking guys probably in their late 30s who accepted drinks from Bruce and looked at her like she was a sexdoll, speaking to Bruce but not saying a word to her. Bruce had simply pointed at their crotches, indicating that she should orally pleasure them while they spoke. She did so as the men made small talk. She took no umbrage from the dehumanizing way they ignored her, just used her mouth like she was an object. She expected nothing else now.

Three more men had showed up while the first four were fucking her. Then five more after them. Eventually there were maybe 20 men in the RV, either fucking her or waiting their turn or cleaning up after they'd finished. The crowd stayed about this size for the next ten hours, but constantly being replaced by new men after those who'd been there a while cycled out. Chris, Bruce's assistance, was busy on the phone, apparently texting the exact location to new men when their turn came up. They kept the thing running like a professional operation. Melody was used to marathon sex with many men. She didn't even ask how long this would last, because she knew it didn't matter and they would probably not tell her anyway. It was just her job to be a whore for these strangers, and she was good at it.

She took three men at all times. Men swapped from hole to hole with callous indifference for her health or comfort. It was common for a dick to come out from deep in her asshole and go straight to her mouth, or her pussy. She was used to that too. She allowed herself to be contorted into every position imaginable, presenting her body parts in the pornish ways she'd learned, to make the best possible pictures for all the men documenting everything with their phones. Men slapped her face as hard as they could, or put their fists in her holes, or sucked on her toes, or ejaculated on her face. She accommodated everything, thanking the men for everything they did to her, fucking them back, getting more and more into her role as the worthless slut as it went on. It was not a role she felt like she was playing anymore. It was what she was. How absurd it would be to argue otherwise. She emptied cum from the condoms of the few men who wore them, sometimes swallowing them whole, knowing thousands of people would be watching her shit them out intact later. Most men didn't wear them. They seemed to like the depravity of it. Men would fuck her doggystyle while 20 different cumshots covered her asscheeks, smacking their crotches into the sticky mess as they pounded into her sloppy cunt, whipping the mix of jizz into a foul batter.

234 new men had fucked her before it was over that first day. By the end of it she was exhausted, panting, covered in sweat and cum and her own squirt. But she was satisfied, riding the high of humiliation and submission she was able to work herself into. It was easier when she gave into pure abandon and pleasure. Bruce had been right about that. Knowing that she could not go any lower, with nothing more to be risked or lost, she could allow herself to get off to her utter debasement and social humiliation. When she was being filmed doing the most profane things, she would look right into the camera, knowing plenty of people from back home were watching her at this very moment, and instead of recoiling from the idea in horror like she used to, she just let the humiliation wash over her, feed her lust. It was far too late to do anything else.

This was the headspace she lived in more often than not now. But still, it was impossible to always suppress that girl who she used to be, who she really still was deep inside. The girl who took pride in her appearance with an understated dignity, dressing well but proper all the time, spending hours doing her hair and makeup and nails, wearing vintage clothing, wanting to present as a classy beauty. The girl who got a dream job straight out of college, after working so hard for those scholarships. The girl who just wanted to marry a steady guy, start a family. That girl would usually pop back up at night, as she lay there trying to fall asleep, silently screaming out that her life had been ruined, stolen, until she had to take sleeping pills just to turn off her mind and shut the voice out. But worse, she would sometimes rise to the surface while Melody was in the middle of being used like a worthless whore, again becoming her internal voice while her face was in the middle of being smooshed into some stranger's warm, droopy balls. Those were the hardest times to get through.

But that first day in the RV that girl had stayed pushed deep down. She had been a perfect whore for them, wanted nothing more than to be their whore. The girl she used to be was being pushed further and further down into oblivion with each passing day.

When the last man had dropped his load in her, claiming his coveted "crown" on the forums that indicated he was one of the men who had fucked their slutqueen and directly added to her growing debasement, Bruce encouraged everyone still hanging around to summon up a second load and drop it directly on Melody's face. It was 21 men, including Bruce and Chris. They each jerked themselves off while Melody, already filthy and covered in a sheen and patches of crusted cum of variously dried amounts collected over the last ten hours, spread her legs on the floor and fisted herself while she awaited their loads, looking up eagerly at the men standing above her tugging themselves. They came up, one or two at a time, and left as much cum as they could muster on her upturned face. By the time they were done her facial features were half obscured by the thick mess, clumpy in some places and smeared transparent in others, but totally covering her face. Several ropes had been shot into her hair, and more dripped down onto her tits, though she did her best to keep it on her face.

When they had finished painting her, Bruce came forward with the camera. He was holding a large cue card, which he told her to read aloud.

"A little promo," he said.

She read it out loud, too exhausted to even jump ahead and see what it said before she spoke it.

"Hey guys, it's your favorite cumwhore, Melody Ann Ainsley." She felt globs of cum sliding down her face as she spoke, confirming this title. "We just drove to LA to let 234 of my biggest fans fuck me raw any way they wanted, but there's plenty more of me to go around...this is the first date of my "Fuck America" tour, where we will be driving around to various parts of the country to let anyone and everyone who has ever wanted to fuck me have their chance. We will be in Sacramento tomorrow for the second date, followed by a bigger tour starting next week. Check the website for dates! I can't wait to get intimately acquainted with each and every one of you!"

She instinctively blew a messy cum kiss at the camera, the full import of the words not even sinking in yet.

"That's right," Bruce said, as the other guys leered over his shoulder at her. "It's time to get down to real business with you. Our ultimate goal is for you to be the biggest whore of all time, isn't it? We've beat around the bush for a long time but that's the ultimate logical conclusion here. So we're going to really start going for it. Literally the biggest whore ever. More confirmed sex partners than any other slut in history. It's an achievable goal for you. Now there's some competition out there of course -- some girls who were sex trafficked fucked around 30,000 men, but they only last a few years, so I know you can top that. You've got your whole life ahead of you, after all. So let's get going and pump those numbers up!"

The next day they went to Sacramento and repeated the experience. Another 252 men fucked her there, bringing her to that number she currently saw displayed on the LED board in her room -- 3,185. It was only after two stops on her "tour". 30 more dates to go in 45 days, starting three days later. She had done some rough math. If an average of 240 guys fucked her at each of those stops, her number would be over 10,000 in just a month and a half from now. It didn't seem possible, but she knew it was. She felt her pussy, feeling how it was already sore from the nearly 500 cocks who had fucked it over the last three days. How would it feel after the tour? And then the presumable tours after that? They wouldn't be done with her after that. She felt that soreness all the time. She was used to it. It was a good kind of soreness at times, a physical reminder of how men used her, and what function she served for them.

She wondered if she was crazy. She could walk out now -- no one would stop her. Surely any sane woman would leave, knowing 7,000 cocks awaited her in her near future. But what would be the point? Would she have any more respect in this world as a woman who had fucked 3,000 men versus one who had fucked 10,000?

She knew she wouldn't have the next three days off before her tour started. Days off didn't exist for her. It was not a job -- it was the nature of her life. Bruce had made that clear, and she knew it was easier for her to accept it. There were men coming over tonight. She didn't know what they had planned, but it didn't matter. She went and took a shower, trying to just relax before being put through her paces that night.

A few hours later she was on all fours, her face submerged deep in a bowl filled entirely with mailed-in fan cum. Bruce kept tons of it stored in freezers, and thawed it as needed. There was never a shortage. He probably had gallons ready to go at any time, and could use it as liberally as he wanted, as it was constantly being replenished. There were 40 men in attendance tonight. Several of them were taking turns fucking her from behind while her face stayed submerged in the jiggling, coagulating bowl of cum. They'd let her come up for a few seconds of air every thirty seconds or so, the cum sliding down her face so that she couldn't even open her eyes, a few strands of her hair hanging limp and slick around her face. She'd greedily gulp down as much air as she could, trying not to inhale the semen from her lips before they'd push her back down again.

Eventually they gave her a snorkel and just kept her under for good, now pushing her head until her face rested sideways on the bottom of the wide bowl, her head and hair nearly completely submerged. She felt each of the 40 men take their turns rutting her from behind for over two hours, her world dark and muted as she kept her eyes shut against the stinging cum that sludged all around her face.

It was treatment she was used to receiving. Her pussy had stayed naturally slick for each of them, only aided by the numerous creampies left behind in her to make the next man enter her soiled cunt all the easier.

It wasn't until she caught sight of the vacuum bed that she became nervous. This was new. She attempted to wipe the cum from her eyes but it barely helped. She held one eye partially open to look at what they were preparing.

It was a large, clear plastic bag of a sort, about the size of a twin mattress. There was an opening in the top for someone to slide in, and a long tube at the other end connected to a pump. A breathing tube stuck out of the clear front about three quarters of the way up.

A guy was dumping a five gallon bucket of cum into the bag. It had to be hundreds of men's jizz. They shook the bag around a few times to ensure that the cum totally coated the interior.

"Before she gets in," Bruce said to the others, "let's put the pussy-wrecker in her."

He was holding a clear plastic cylinder, open on both ends, almost the width of a two-liter bottle.

"We want to make sure her cunt is wide open for any cum that might want to seep in. Would anyone mind warming her hole up?"

Immediately a guy was there. Melody was sitting on the floor. He simply came up and spread her legs wide by the knees. He dunked both of his hands in the bowl of cum that her face had been submerged in, and then slipped the whole slick fist into her pussy with ease. He thrust it in and out, twisting it, sometimes uncurling his fingers inside her to feel the textured walls of her vagina with his fingertips. Soon he slipped the fingers of his second hand in. Melody started panting heavily, bracing for the stretch. She could take most fists with ease now, but a double fisting still took some effort.

"Careful," she muttered to the guy as his second set of fingers slid in past all of his knuckles, but he ignored her entirely. She gasped as his whole fist joined the first. Her pussy hole was stretched tight around both of his wrists. She knew her pussy had built up elasticity and resilience, having taken worse many times before, but she still felt like he was going to tear her in half.

"Have her drink the bowl while she stretches," someone said.

"Of course," said Bruce. "Waste not, want not."

With the fists still doing their best to ruin her cunt, Melody leaned back her head and held her mouth open wide obediently as someone floated the big mixing bowl full of jiggling cum above her face. He began to slowly tilt it forward. She held her tongue out, steeling herself for the thick welter of room temperature congealed semen she knew she'd soon be tasting.

She choked the whole bowl down in about 20 minutes, the guy's hands inside her cunt the whole time. Twice she couldn't stop herself from puking cum all down her chest, but as soon as she was done retching she would tilt her head back again for more.

When she was done they declared her warmed up, and the man pulled his fists out with two wet plops.

"Now hold your hole open for the tube," Bruce said.

Dutifully she hooked her fingers inside her loosened vagina and pulled herself as wide as she could. Bruce finessed one end of the lubricated cylinder into her, letting her pull her fingers out once it had fully breached her. Then, with a single smooth shove, he thrust the cylinder all the way in her, forcing her cunt open wide from the lips all the way to her cervix. She'd had it in before, but the effect was still shocking. It was even larger than the man's two hands, with no contouring for flex -- just every square millimeter of her cunt splayed open as wide as it could go - her fleshy, wrinkled pink interior pushing in on the clear plastic, trying to collapse it but unable to do so.

"Time to get in the bag," Bruce said. He smiled as he gestured her toward the bag, the way a man might gesture someone through a held door. He could see her trepidation.

"You'll be perfectly safe," he assured her. "I wouldn't let anything happen to my cum slut."

They held the end open wide near the floor so she could slide in. Dozens of men stood around holding drinks, watching and chatting with each other with smirks on their faces. Melody awkwardly waddled over as well as she could with the massive intrusion between her legs, then sat before the opening. She tepidly placed one foot in, then the other. She slid down until her ass was resting inside the bag. The semen squished between her toes and up her calves. One of the regular cameramen stood by, capturing the look on her face as more of her body slid into the cumbag. She felt the filth coating every inch of her skin that slid in, could smell the musty stench of it rising up.

'Your stomach is already filled with it, you disgusting slut,' a voice in her head said. 'It might as well coat you outside too. Confirm for them how worthless you are.'

In a sudden urge to make it even more uncomfortable for herself, Melody got on her knees and slid forward so that when she leaned back her lower legs were bent back beside her thighs. Then she pushed herself all the way in the bag.

Bruce stuck the breathing tube in her mouth and then sealed the top of the bag. She was completely encased in the cum now. It saturated her hair, covered her face so that she couldn't open her eyes, and was in between every crevice and crack in her body. She could breathe alright through the tube, but with the bag being sealed she still had a sudden sense of panic, knowing she was at their mercy now and would be sealed in here until they decided to let her out.

The heard a motor turn on and suddenly felt the bag begin to shift around her, all the already sparse spare room in the bag being sucked out. The pump sucked some of the cum out along with the air, but they had put enough extra that she would still be completely coated in it after the pump was finished. She felt the plastic start to hug her all around, conforming to the shape of her body, and then it began to tighten, until she felt like she was being hugged all over, the cum being pressed tight against her skin. Just when she began to worry that this would somehow crush her, the motor shut off, and she was vacuum-sealed tight in place.