The Starlet Contest

Mariah tries not to think about how dirty the place is—cold and damp against her back, as he prods her pussy, positioning his plum between her moistening labia. Swiftly, he presses forward, pushing into her. She tightens her legs around his lower back and pulls him in deeper—faster. Cramped, and obviously nervous, he suddenly freezes—worried and unsure of himself. So, after only the briefest of pauses, Mariah flexes and tilts her hips; hanging from his neck, she begins hopping her bottom on his erection. It isn't much, but it's enough to kick-start him back into action. He starts frenetically pumping—rushing toward ejaculation.

Moving mechanically, Mariah concludes he's really not very good. "In fact," she thinks, "when it comes to actual fucking, this guy's a bit of a dud—downright disappointing! I mean, he's not very big, and not really very hard, either. Gawd! I really know how to pick 'em!" Furthermore, he now seems kind of stunned—zoning out. Taking the bull by the horns, Mariah bounces on his prick, forcing him into a decent rhythm. Eventually, the situational tension is imperceptibly translated into sexual tension. As he begins to accelerate, Mariah is pleasantly surprised to feel, within her, a tingle of arousal, something well beyond the pragmatism of "Let's just get the job done." As she continues to bounce, she wills the tingle to build toward climax. She still has to over-act the mild orgasm to get him to eventually cum, but, at least it doesn't take too long.

They hear voices outside the building, and have just managed to finish up and uncouple as two guys enter, eying them suspiciously. After dispassionately straightening her clothes, and gathering her cameras Mariah hustles Marcus out, mouthing a few platitudes. Marcus is obviously super-pleased with himself. As they leave the park, Maria gently but firmly discourages any further interaction between herself and Marcus. "We don't want to raise any suspicions, eh?" Although, she suddenly has the sinking feeling that Marcus is going to be difficult down the road. "Shit!" she hisses under her breath, as she returns to the office—feeling oddly flat.

Although the raw footage is okay—and certainly enough to work with—Mariah feels almost disappointed as she submits her finished entry.

But despite all that, Mariah, somehow, continues deluding herself that it is all just fun. She rationalizes with herself that all the videos are just going in her virtual portfolio, steadfastly ignoring any red-flag feelings; instead, she just keeps her mind's eye on the ball, as it were—on the million-euro prize. She has faithfully submitted all the video clips—all the evidence they've required of her. And, of course, she continues to receive encouragement with each submission. "Your chances are continually improving as the field is steadily dwindling—as others fail to make the grade—fail to meet the challenges!"

Looking back at all the encouragement and explanation given thus far, Mariah suddenly suspects that the writers are probably not English-speaking. There have been many little tells—grammatical and syntactical errors—ESL errors. It makes her wonder just where the whole thing comes from. "Not that that makes any difference at this stage of the game," she realizes.

Talk about outrageous! The eighteenth challenge just about makes her eyes water and her head swirl. The directions are simple: 'Take a selfie of yourself (Duh! Who else would a selfie be of?) getting a facial in a public place. "Geez!" she gasps as she re-reads it. "Surely a lot of people will draw the line here! Surely we must be getting near the end!"

Mariah immediately dismisses Garth or Marcus as possible donors; still she doesn't think a random pick-up is a good idea in this instance. After mulling it about for a while she comes up with a probable candidate.

Dredging up an old phone number Mariah cold-calls Brad, a guy she once dated. He's more than a little surprised to hear from her, and more than a little intrigued when she gives him a brief explanation of her situation. "Well," she asks, not beating about the bush, "can you see your way clear to 'participate', for old times' sake?"

He barely pauses before cheerfully agreeing, and they quickly work out the details. Mariah meets him that very evening, at another inner-city park, well away from work. She figures she's had a couple closes calls—no need to press her luck.

They exchange a surprisingly brief bit of small-talk before walking together into the shadowy interior of the wooded park. Mariah outlines the challenge, as she hands him her camera.

They find their way into a small grassy clearing, just off the trail in this urban woodland. Mariah positions her bemused assistant for the best light angle, then crouching before him, and holding her phone aloft, she begins to fondle him through his pants, muttering lewd remarks. She fumbles with his fly front with her free hand, until he reaches in with his own free hand to help—each of them holding a camera—and together they free his stiffening member. Brad points himself and waggles his, indeed, impressive schlong in her face, throwing in the odd stroke. Mariah even smiles as memories of their albeit brief relationship come flooding back. She leans in and smoothly takes him into her mouth, sucking energetically, to hasten the process, while checking on the selfie framing. Brad's camera, held aloft, offers a sort of oblique POV of their union.

They are both rather pleased, for, perhaps, different reasons, at how quickly Brad's cock comes to full attention. Pulling off him, Mariah begins to stroke him in earnest, but she is momentarily confused, when he pulls her hand off his quivering and jolting dick, placing it against his now exposed nipple, before dropping his own free hand to take up jerk-off duty on himself. The imminence of his crisis becomes obvious. Holding her phone, checking its aim, while persistently twiddling Brad's sensitive nipple, Mariah closes her eyes and raises her face just as Brad grunts and jerks and sprays volley after volley of cum all over Mariah's face—splashing into her hair and dripping in strings off her chin and onto the front of her blouse.

Mariah remains still and crouched, as Brad shakes the last of the oozing jism from the tip of his softening prick onto her nose. She furtively glances about, then, seeing no witnesses, slurps his glistening cock, still vibrating, into her mouth. She sucks his dick clean before letting it drop from her lips, then she casually lifts her own blouse to clean her face.

While they re-comport themselves, Brad asks about other challenges. Mariah tells him they just come one at a time. "Well, hey, if you need help for the next challenge—or challenges—just give me a call!" Mariah shrugs, without comment, as he goes on, "And I know a few guys, a few of my good friends, who would also love to assist you." He winks at her before adding, "They've always had the hots for you—even before we broke up." Reluctant at first, but, in the interest of expediency, Mariah takes a couple cell numbers just in case.

While not actually accepting the offer, she says, non-committal-like, "Thanks, Brad, for being a good sport in this. I'll call you..." She leaves that thought hanging as they take their leave of one another. That evening, Mariah is pleasantly surprised. While the focus of the session was for selfie video, she is impressed with the great POV footage Brad got, and is able to weave much of it into her submission.

Once again, the next challenge seems pretty straight forward—yet, perhaps, deceptively so. 'Have someone take an objective, third-person video of you fucking outdoors, in sight of pedestrian and/or car traffic.' Mariah spends some time considering possibilities, but in the end, she presses Lacey into service once more, and Lacey is delighted. Mariah decides on the park across town—the one she was at last time. It is bigger—more wooded; furthermore, she is less likely to be recognized there.

They set up in the gloaming, back off the path in an empty picnic area—Lacey positioning herself inconspicuously at the edge of the woods. Waiting, like a vulture, Mariah rises from her picnic table bench to approach possible candidates with her proposal. She manages, on only her third try, to hook an unsuspecting young hunk into "...being in a low-budget porn flick!"—explaining very little—really, only the presence of Lacey.

Mariah pulls her mark by his shirt lapels, holding him in an aggressive lip-lock as she hops up on the end of a picnic table. Letting go of his shirt, she rips open her blouse and bares her braless boobs. Then, leaning back on her arms, she raises legs straight up in vee. Her skimpy skirt falls open on her tummy, and with no panties to contend with, she reveals her already dampening pussy. Taking a moment to admire the sight, the new subject lowers his pants and steps to the end of table, between her thighs.

Grabbing her by the legs, the anonymous cocksman levers her bottom to the table's edge. Aiming his sceptre with one hand, he swiftly, almost violently, stabs into her folds, pushing inexorably until his balls swing against her ass and his pubes scrub her clit

He waits for a beat, his shaft fully sheathed before beginning to stroke in and out. Holding her ankles up high, he starts to pump them like an elliptical machine in the gym. Steadily increasing his intensity, he is soon pounding her mercilessly, smacking his thighs on her buttocks and chafing her butt on the wooden table-top. Mariah surprises them both—them all, including Lacey—by cumming intensely.

Unexpectedly, her stud pulls out, just for a moment, aggressively swiveling her around, flattening her tits on the table, and allowing her toes to drop to the ground. Then forcefully reenters her doggie-style, hammering her relentlessly. The intense, frantic pounding quickly brings on his climax. Pulling back—almost all the way out, he pauses for just an instant, then with a final, vicious thrust he rams himself hard against her splayed quim. With an inarticulate grunt, his twitching, jerking cock commences spewing its load of hot jism into her quivering cunt—still pulsing in the echoes of her own orgasm. But before he is done, he abruptly pulls out to spray the last few volleys onto her flipped up skirt lying in the small of her back.

Hardly pausing, he pulls her skirt down and wipes himself on it, before zipping up and walking away. And as he does, he turns toward Lacey, saying directly to the camera, "What a fucking slut!" before disappearing into the dusk.

Mariah just lies there, trembling and stunned. She asks herself what just happened. She can't believe how erotic it was—how incredibly hot—especially for such a brief anonymous interaction! Talk about your zipless fuck!

She allows Lacey to accompany her home, ostensibly to review and edit and compile the contest submission. However, still in some kind of post-orgasmic fog, Mariah ends up giving in to Lacey's persistent and pestering advances, engaging in sapphic sex—or at least submitting, without protest, to Lacey's lesbian caresses. "I'm probably going to regret this," she thinks to herself, as Lacey kisses and licks and prods, carrying her on gentle waves towards another climax. "But what the fuck!"

It seems like no time at all before the next email arrives. "This'll be the twentieth, by my count. We must be getting close to done, by now!" Mariah mutters to herself, opening and scanning the text. Simply put, challenge number twenty calls for anal intercourse—the term 'sodomy' rises unbidden into her awareness—to be performed in a public place. Re-reading the directive, 'Take it up the ass somewhere where there is a chance of getting caught; with video proof from the partner's POV,' Mariah muses, "They seem to have this thing about doing it in public!"

Although loathe to do it, she, once again, presses, Brad, the former 'boyfriend', into service. An upside to that is that he doesn't need much explanation, nor take much convincing. Together they decide to do it in the fading dusk at the beach in the back of one of his friends' old van—parked under a tree in a corner of the parking lot, with the doors open.

Mariah furnishes Brad with her GoPro to wear on his head, for POV footage. She decides she'll hold her phone aloft, in front of her, at least as much as she can, to get some selfie angles—accent scenes for the submission. Once they're parked, and've gone over the plan, Mariah casually drops her yoga pants, and lifts her sweatshirt. Opening the rear doors, she leans into the back of the van.

Looking over her shoulder at Brad, as he opens his pants and drops them, she implores him to be gentle; use lots of lube. It's not like she's never done this before, but once, a year ago, hardly counts as experienced. Still, she knew it could be done. And Brad does slather her up with KY to start, but he is loathe to interrupt himself once his rut has begun. Mariah tries her best to keep eye contact with her selfie-screen, although with the initial onset, she loses focus repeatedly, grimacing and grunting, twisting and gasping, trying to relieve the pain and pressure. She won't allow herself to cry, though; a silly pride thing. Furthermore, she realizes what expression she does manage to capture on her own face will undoubtedly make good copy.

Despite all that, Mariah is surprised. Fairly quickly, the expected discomfort shifts, morphing into something resembling delight. Leaning into the back of van, with her feet on the ground and her elbows on the filthy carpet, Mariah's thighs get smacked repeatedly against the bumper—"That's gonna bruise."—as Brad pounds viciously, lifting her to her toes with each stroke. Yet the sensual transition continues, curiouser and curiouser, through intrigue into an electrically charged arousal. Watching her own face wash over with excitement, she discovers that she is rocking back on her free arm, pushing aggressively and forcefully back against her stiff intruder.

For his part, Brad leans in from time to time, covering her back as he roughly squeezes and mauls her tits, hanging free below her lifted top. He is not gentle; she is not quiet. She can feel an odd, intense stimulation glowing, flaring in her fundament. Bucking her hips, she is soon frantically fucking back. She can feel the rising temperature of their juncture as Brad's truncheon begins to judder and jolt. Finally, he bellows his release, spraying her bowel with volumes of jism, as she concentrates on the novel sensations arcing through her bottom, trying to trigger an orgasm that really just needs a few moments more. "Don't stop!" she shouts, screwing her ass back against him.

But Brad has seen headlights swinging into the parking lot. He pulls out so suddenly Mariah feels he's almost disemboweled her. Semen seems to be pouring from her throbbing anus as she scrambles to pull up her pants—and pull down her top. They manage to get decent just before a police patrol car cruises by.

Brad insists on coming back to her apartment to view the raw footage from the GoPro. Although he's not particularly interested in doing anything about her aborted orgasm, he demands she give him a blowjob to get her memory stick back and to actually get rid of him. With disgust, Mariah realizes, too late, what the slime on his dick is. He hadn't even wiped himself yet.

Mariah spends the night editing her entry, as the novel sensations glittering in her rectum linger, and finally gets it submitted in the early hours of morning.

It is but a few days later that yet another challenge arrives. "This's gotta be the twenty-first friggin' challenge! Cripes!" The directions are clear enough, she is to be the centre of an outdoor gangbang: 'You are to fuck—be fucked by—three or more men, al fresco.' As it's hardly different from the other recent challenges, Mariah gets right to the nitty-gritty details.

Getting out some of the cell numbers Brad had given her, she tries to recall who each of them was. She can vaguely remember them, but is able to select three of the least offensive of the bunch. When she calls them and explains her requests, they, to a man, enthusiastically agree to help her out. It seems Brad has already told them a little of his own experience.

She takes them, this time, to the wilder, more wooded end of the bigger park. Her suitors follow her like puppy-dogs off the beaten track, and into the gloaming, to a grass-covered clearing, well away from the trails. Mariah spreads a blanket on the grass and, with a bit of help, sets up three cameras on tripods around it. Inasmuch as evening is falling, Mariah begins to disrobe immediately, then lies down on her back on the blanket and looks up at her studs expectantly.

For all the erotic tension in the air, the action starts slowly. One of the fellows—Mariah isn't quite sure of his name—drops his pants and lowers himself tentatively between her splayed thighs. She feels the release of her own juices as he inserts himself into her slit, then, with increasing authority, shoves his still growing erection in the rest of the way—balls-deep, as it were. Lifting her legs to hook over his lower back, Mariah begins rocking her hips to meet his thrusts. He is embarrassed by the quickness with which he cums—bellowing out his ejaculation, with a "Christ! Oh, Christ!" Pulling out, he mutters an apology for cumming so soon. Mariah quietly observes, "S'okay. Gets the first one out of the way," as the next fellow, slides smoothly into her welcoming quim, and begins to pound her right away. Almost immediately upon establishing a rhythm, Mariah's head is turned and pulled towards the third available prick, which bounces against her lips. Before she knows it, she is actively sucking the prick in preparation, while heaving her hips to meet the current penetration.

Then, during that, only the second fornication, as it were, Mariah is unceremoniously flipped over and dropped onto her hands and knees. As much as she tries, she is unable to keep her felatist in her mouth during the process. Still, as soon as she lands, she slurps the bobbing erection back in, forcing it back down her throat, while she is being stabbed by the returning cock in her cunt.

From then on, it seems she is constantly DP'd, double-penetrated—spitted mouth and pussy. Not only does she do it all without complaint or protest, she is fully active and involved. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks about how good this will all look on screen.

Inevitably, someone inadvertently pokes Mariah's butt while searching for her cunt. Memories of last week's anal experience flare up like fireworks behind her eyes. Pulling herself momentarily off the dick sawing between her lips, she looks over her shoulder. "Give it to me up the dirt chute," she mutters, then reiterates in a somewhat more assertive voice, "I mean, shove that fucker up my ass!"

As the eager cock pushes firmly against her brown eye, she rocks back on her knees until he pops through her sphincter. It is like a switch being thrown. Suddenly her bottom is on fire, and the slow, steady insinuation of man-meat acts like a rheostat, turning up the energy, churning up the overwhelming sensation. As her butt-fucker penetrates deeper and deeper, Mariah becomes increasingly noisy, gasping and moaning around whatever cock is stuffed in her face.

Soon, Mariah is inundated with a previously unexperienced depth of arousal—overwhelmed by the erotic intensity, and when the guy behind her finally lays his hips against her buttocks, his twitching dick probing as deep as it can go, Mariah is ambushed by a powerful orgasm that, but for the support of the spitting penises, would have flattened her.

While there were only three guys to start, Mariah becomes vaguely aware that her party is growing. Indeed, they have been joined by two curious passers-by, who have surreptitiously bushwhacked into the clearing to investigate the noise. But, unable to even care, at this point, Mariah has simply become a slut for stimulation. The fivesome—forming a sort of loose brotherhood—becomes increasingly crude, treating her like shit; yet—and she can't understand this—her body responds to the shoddy treatment with an unprecedented intensity and arousal. In fact, it's rapidly becoming all too much to take in. Nevertheless, Mariah luxuriates in the flood of erotic stimuli. Every change in position, every long-stroked insertion, every stabbing penetration, every twisted nipple and squeezed tit inflames her senses, igniting a carnal excitement that continually dazzles her. She can feel herself losing sight of the purpose, getting muddled in her direction. Fortunately, the cameras, though long-forgotten, faithfully record her 'ordeal', her ongoing degradation, until the failing light becomes too dim.