Pose Ch. 03

"I'll go make it myself," Chris said.

I stopped him and got up. "No. I want do to it." He and the others looked at me flabbergasted, but they also saw how I bit my lip.

"You're ok with it?"

"I know you don't mean it THAT way..." I turned around and presented my ass to him. "Come on..."

He smiled and slapped my ass. "Go make me a sandwich, bitch."

"Yes Sir," I said, giddy. "Anyone else want a sandwich?"

At first only some of them said yes, but as I walked to the kitchen, I heard them rectify and say everyone wanted one. They all wanted one because they all wanted to amplify my humiliation—it wasn't about the sandwiches; it was about dominating me. And so, I spent a few minutes in the kitchen, totally naked, making sandwiches for the men who sat in the living room, clothed and drinking beers. I know, it sounds bad, but it was all "pretend sexism," no more real than when kids pretend to be cops or adults. Our dynamic was completely equal outside of those roleplay sessions, and that's really all they were, roleplay sessions.

In the ways that mattered, when it came to actual power and actual hierarchy, we were completely equal. In fact, no scratch that. We weren't AT ALL equal when it came to what mattered—I was unequivocally their leader when it came to the important things in life. Sure, I liked being sent to the kitchen naked to make them sandwiches—and some people are tortured by whipping in other countries. Still doesn't make consensual whipping for pleasure bad; these two things are worlds apart from one another. The whip might be the same, but it's how it's used that matters. A consensual slap on the face has more in common with a loving kiss than it does with a slap from a fight.

I returned to the living room with a plate of sandwiches in my hand, dutifully serving them to my clothed masters while they eyed my naked body up and down. They gave me even more slaps on the ass, smacking me to congratulate me for my obedience.

"Good bitch."

"Good girl."

Hearing all sixteen of them call me like that felt as good as having all their hands feeling up and fondling my body; it was like a wave of satisfaction washing all over me and making me feel good. My owners were happy with me and it made me happy in turn. I winked at Chris as I served him his sandwich. He caressed my ass lovingly and congratulated me on being such a good girl. After he ate his sandwich, he called to me again.

"Come here," he said, gesturing to his lap.

I giggled, knowing what it meant. By now, I was making out with all of them when they watched TV and played games. I climbed on his lap and straddled him, twining my arms around his neck and pressing my breasts against his face. His hands held my waist, caressed my back, and squeezed my ass and tits while we kissed passionately, tongue and everything. I made out with them and kissed them more passionately and more intimately than I had ever done with any of my ex boyfriends and romantic partners. Why? Because it felt good to do it.

As I said before, I wasn't attracted to most of them, and neither was I repulsed. Most of them were just guys that I felt neither attraction nor repulsion towards, like Chris, but it was the ACT that turned me on. Why was I turned on? Because being nude all the time around platonic guy friends, letting them use my body so liberally... it felt degrading, objectifying and dominating.

THEY didn't turn me on, what turned me on was that complex algorithm of mixing degrading sexual promiscuity with platonic male friends who had no business enjoying me, and that algorithm would play in my head and make me aroused. I wasn't turned on by Chris making out with me because Chris was particularly attractive, I was turned on because Chris had no business making out with me in the first place, and me going so low as to allow that level of intimacy to him and all the others turned me on.

Objectification and humiliation turned me on, it was as simple as that. And no one can argue that making out with every single one of your classmates as their slave while you're nude and they're not isn't objectifying and humiliating. I moved from Chris to Matt, from Matt to Max, and on and on it went. The evening passed and I kept making out and kissing each and everyone one of them. I could tell I was ten times hornier than any of them were.

They groped and kissed me rather calmly, and meanwhile, I was sweating all over the place, constantly breathing hard and dancing against their clothed bodies, gyrating my hips, rubbing my body against their clothes and devouring their lips with the sloppiest, noisiest French kisses you could imagine.

I was sweating so much that every time their hands caressed a part of me, I could feel the palm wiping away a whole layer of sweat covering my body. I wanted their touch, their strength and their domination so bad... Even when I was straddling them and feeling their touch and kiss, even then, it wasn't enough. My body kept begging for more, and I kept desperately gyrating my hips faster and dancing against them as fast as I could, never achieving that total submission to them that I wanted to feel, yet still trying.

My mind was doing this endless loop of an unresolvable dance—begging for more of their touch when there couldn't possibly be more. It made me mad with arousal, and I loved it. I was an animal, a mess of raw, bestial sexuality with the most primal, submissive instincts completely taking hold of me.

A week passed. We were getting closer to the submission date for the photography contest. Many of the boys were returning to me with their pictures, and the mosaic was taking form—even I had gone out and taken pics where I needed. I knew the project would work because it was coming to life in the best of ways. I was now sitting in the empty classroom, one hour after class had ended. And I threw the tennis ball in front of me again for the tenth or hundredth time. Dany again groaned as he failed to capture the ball in time. The ball bounced back towards me and I caught it, throwing it again. Dany snapped a few pics but didn't get the ball perfectly in his composition, again.

"I can't do it Chloe," he complained.

"Yes you can, you just convinced yourself you couldn't. You need to work on your timing, man. You won't be taking pics of still models your entire life; you need to be able to capture a moving subject. In time."

"Chloe..."

"Shut up and do it again."

I threw the ball at the wall something like thirty of forty more times. He kept fucking up and complaining about it, but I was steadfast in keeping at it. Dany needed this exercise to get better at his timing. I was going to send him to take pictures of people riding bikes downtown, but in order for the pics to work, he first had to get the bikes inside the frame... We both hadn't eaten anything for breakfast and were getting hungry, but I acted like nothing was happening. Giving in would have made Dany go soft, and I wasn't going to allow that.

I was a hard mentor, one that didn't give up. The boys liked me mentoring them because I did it the hard way, even if sometimes they complained about it. After another hour, he finally managed to get ten decent pics of the tennis ball flying in front of his lens. I was starving and wanted to scream in joy at the prospect of finally being able to leave, but I had to hide all that—leaders need to look sterner and stronger. I shrugged nonchalantly as if he had achieved nothing special—and if he wanted to get better, he had to treat that as nothing special—and picked up the tennis ball.

"Keep working at it. I want you to go out every day for one week and take pics of moving subjects. EVERY DAY, is that clear, Dany?"

"Yes Chloe." Dany looked tired, but I knew he was grateful for my attitude. Soft, gentle mentors didn't get you anywhere. I on the other hand would help them get better, and they knew it. The road wasn't pleasant, but the end result was worth it.

Another Wednesday came. That evening was a special one: we had guests over in our dorm. When I had first stripped in front of the entire gang, Ethan's friend from one of the neighboring dorms, Ryan, had visited us and found me naked and posing for the boys. It was no big surprise that he had told all his dormmates about it—hell, all the college had probably heard about the rumor now: the one girl in that one dorm is the gang slut. Honestly, I didn't care about the rumor and people knowing. My sexuality was the way it was and I didn't see why I should hide it.

But anyway, we had visitors over: the boys from Ryan's gang were invited over to our dorm. Our dorm was already a testosterone fuelled thing, but now it was WrestleMania-meets-football-game levels of testosterone with how many men there were—about twenty-five to thirty. The visitors would enter the living room, and the first thing they found was me, near the entrance, completely naked and on all fours. (Well, not completely naked, if you count a collar, ankle and wrist cuffs as clothing. The boys had bought them for me—the best gift imaginable.)

They had mounted a dildo on the wall and ordered me to suck it on all fours near the entrance. It was another kink that I wanted to experience—some kind of total degradation that actually went against being the center of attention. The action was in the living room; the boys were watching TV there, having beers, eating pizza, talking, etc. And the one girl in the dorm was kept in a corner, forbidden to participate, forbidden to wear clothes and given the responsibility of slurping and choking on a fake cock, not even a real one.

Ryan's dormmates would enter our dorm one by one and see that image, commenting with surprise on just how much of a total whore I was. Thirty minutes after the first visitors had arrived, they were all in the dorm now, and I was still kept in my corner to worship my fake cock. Some of the guests would sometimes come over and look at me, petting my hair, feeling up my body and slapping my ass for good luck. You had to walk through where I was to go to the kitchen and get yourself a beer or some chips, and so every time one of the boys passed by, I received a good spank and a "Good slut."

I heard two boys walking up to me.

"Her name's Chloe?"

"Yeah," Dany said, "but we just call her bitch, whore, that kind of stuff."

I felt this unfamiliar, rugged hand feeling up my ass. Dany grabbed a fistful of my hair and shoved my throat into the dildo. I gagged and gagged, and the tears welled up in my eyes. I had purposefully put on copious black eyeliner so that the tears would melt them and give me that prostitute look.

"Suck it bitch," Dany said. I moaned, both out of pain and pleasure as he tightened his grip on my hair. His other hand caressed my ass and my back, and I felt like I was his total property.

After a while, they decided I had earned the right to be part of the event. Dany yanked me up to my feet by pulling my hair. He pulled me over to the living room and threw me on my knees. He placed the dildo on the coffee table in front of the TV and told me to give them a good show.

I looked around me—so many guys, all clothed, all manly and strong. I giggled like a crazy girl and threw my mouth on the dildo to suck it. They just sat there and watched me suck on that fake cock like it was my favorite thing in the universe. And you know that? At that moment, I was in that sort of headspace and comfort that it WAS my favorite thing in the universe.

They watched me and kept commenting on my body, on my ass and tits, on my skills at sucking... Openly discussing me in the most objectifying way possible, as if I wasn't even there. And though I was the center of attention, I wasn't part of the discussion. I stayed on my knees, naked and sucking, sucking, sucking.

Days passed. I was sitting in the cafeteria, scolding Ben and Ethan.

"I sent the two of you there as a team, guys, a TEAM!" I was referring to their part of the mosaic: their job was to take pics of the city's museum. The two of them had disagreed and bickered on the angles and framing, however, and they returned to me almost empty handed, with pairs of photos that didn't match in style and feeling.

"Ethan wasn't listening," Ben said.

"No, I wanted to take the pics from a better angle," Ethan retorted, "but Ben didn't give a shit!"

"Enough!" I almost yelled, shutting the two of them up. "Shut the fuck up, guys, NOW." I was angry, and I wasn't hiding it. "The ENTIRE gang is doing their best for this project and I'm putting my fucking soul into it. We have to think as a TEAM. You wasted an entire day by bickering; congratulations, really." They looked down. Both were ashamed, as they should have been. "You know the line, I'm not angry, I'm disappointed... That's me right now." I got up and returned their cameras to them. "You're going back there TODAY. And if you don't manage to do it well and work as a duo this time, you're out of the project. Understood?"

"Yes Chloe," both said.

"Good. Get out of here and do it again."

A few days passed and the little childish feud between the two was resolved—they were back to being buddies now. It was a Sunday. I had been naked and subservient since morning, and it was the middle of the afternoon. Most of the gang wasn't in the room at this hour, and there were only nine boys plus me. The boys were playing the FIFA video game on the PlayStation, competing in duos. And guess what? Now it was Ben and Ethan playing against one another. I knelt below them with my hands cuffed behind my back. I was just there to be there—a hot bare body to be looked at and fondled from time to time.

Since Ben was on one side of the living room and Ethan on the other, they jokingly made "teams." The four boys on Ben's side were now Team Ben, and the five on Ethan's were Team Ethan, and each clamored for their representative to win the virtual soccer game.

"What does the winner win?" Matt asked.

I looked up at them and thought of something. "How about... my mouth?" I raised an eyebrow suggestively. I turned to Ben and Ethan, saying, "Come on, guys! The winner's team gets to be blown by me!"

"Hell yeah!" the guys said. Now they had a good reason to be VERY passionate about the virtual match.

All the STI test results had returned by now. They were all clean, and they weren't having any sex anywhere, as evidenced by the fact that I saw them almost 24h/7, so that meant one thing: I wasn't sucking the dildos anymore.

The boys scored goals for their respective teams, and every time one scored, the other would too. The game was constantly in a draw, and the tension was high because of it.

"Come on!" Brian yelled to Ethan.

I laughed and looked up at him. "You REALLY want me to suck your cock, don't you?"

He petted my hair. "That's because you're good at it."

I rubbed my face against his hardon. "I want it so bad... I want your cock in my mouth, Brian." Then I turned to all the boys. "Hmm... I'm so hungry. Someone fucking win already, I'm starving!"

I loved playing that role, the cock-crazed cockslut who begged to give blowjobs. It was this interesting thing where at first, it was me playing a role and pretending to be a cockslut because it was fun and silly. But then, when I started sucking them, especially when they were many, I would focus on all the small details: how they were fully clothed and how I was fully nude, the feel of the handcuffs on my hands, their grip on my hair, their voices whispering "good girl" and "good slut," and of course, the feel and taste of their cocks... After a while, I would lose myself in the blowjobs and enter the headspace.

Whenever I reached that altered state of consciousness, almost like yoga or something, I wasn't playing the part of a cock worshiper anymore. I actually was worshiping cock, and I actually, genuinely felt that the desperate desire to suck them and feel their hard, warm domination in my mouth. Sure, getting fucked in every hole was probably great to some, but that's not what I was after. I liked being nude and them clothed, the constant humiliation, the domination and the roleplay; I liked those things because of all the mental input they brought me. The physical sensation of their hands on my breasts was arousing, but the mental implications were even more arousing.

I like their hands touching my bare body because of the implications that played in my head—again, that algorithm. Them touching my body symbolized things, and its those symbolic implications that turned me on more than the actual touch itself. Them touching my bare body meant domination, it meant ownership, it made me feel feminine, made them feel more manly, and on and on.

Apply the same concept to the blowjobs. How the hell could I enjoy sucking cocks so much, you ask? Because it's not WHAT the blowjob was that turned me on. It's what it MEANT that did. When I sucked their cocks, I was their bitch. I could be vulnerable, I could be docile, hell, I could be weak. It was a moment where I could rest from responsibility and stress. I had no time for weakness and vulnerability in my social life, and I was fine with that. My submission towards my classmates allowed me to balance out that out.

The game ended, and I noticed the boys' somewhat neutral expression.

"Who won?" I asked, eager to know whose cocks I'd be sucking.

They looked confused. "It's a draw," Ethan said. "I guess no one won."

Draw... "Well that's one way of looking at it..." I answered, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "Or we could say everyone won."

They shared a look and chuckled. "Yeah... that's better," Ben said.

I rolled my eyes and sighed as if I was fed up. "Oh no..." I whispered. "So many cocks..."

I couldn't wait any more, and they could see how restless I was, even though I was handcuffed and on my knees. They rose and opened their zippers, their cocks springing free through the opening. Ethan and Ben had the spots of honor, since the were the two winners, and so they placed themselves right in front of me, and I took both their cocks in my mouth. I tasted and slurped and licked and kissed. My eyes looked up at them.

"Know your place, bitch," Ethan said. "Know your place."

Sometimes, I liked to close my eyes and focus on my inner sensations, but at that moment, I preferred looking up at them. I loved how they towered over me with their hands on my head. Ethan and Ben stood there, clothed and strong, and I worshiped their authority over me with all the passion in my soul. The seven other cocks were quick to join. So, so much cock... I couldn't help but moan because of how happy I was.

The date of the competition neared quickly. There wasn't much time left, only a week and a half in fact. The mosaic was only half done, but that wasn't any source of stress: half of the gang would be taking their photos during the remaining time-frame. I was confident that everything was going smoothly. It was a Monday afternoon, and I was reviewing Harry's photographs. I had sent him to the local car expo. Shining lights, glimmering cars... The photos were supposed to be stellar. But they weren't.

I sighed, selected all the photos on the computer and deleted them. Harry looked at me shocked. "They were that bad?" he asked.

"The lens was wrong. You should've used the wide angle."

"You didn't tell me to use the wide-angle lens!"

"Woah there, settle down with your tone," I groaned. Harry apologized and calmed down. "I told you to bring multiple lenses. Didn't I?" He nodded. "So why didn't you do it?"

Harry made an embarrassed chuckle. "Yeah, I... I forgot it in the dorm. I noticed I had taken only one of the lenses only when I arrived at the car expo." I gave him my sternest disappointed look. "I'll go over there and do it again."