Throat

Toppy texts me links to porn videos. The first one was so gross, I had to shut it down. I kept seeing the image of the woman lying upside down on the couch, her mouth open and drooling as a cock slammed her throat over and over. A guy with tattooed inner arms slapping her face. Tears. Vomit. Snot. Disgusting. I was outraged. I fucked myself to that image.

He keeps sending the videos and I keep looking at them. Now I’m stroking myself as I watch a guy headlocking a woman. She can’t breathe. He’s calling her names: slut, whore, stupid cunt. I have a huge orgasm. Imagine myself in this scenario. Fuck, I’d probably die of claustrophobia.

What’s his purpose? Why is he sending these to me? He doesn’t say anything. Just sends links to increasingly violent and repulsive videos. Fuck, it’s making me hot.

I walk down the street and see a man, wonder what it would be like if he just forced me to kneel right there on the street, unzipped his pants,  grabbed my nostrils so my mouth opened. Made me take his cock deep. He gives me a knowing leer. I walk quickly on.

In my bedroom at home, I slap my face. I look at the red handprints in the bathroom mirror. I wish for a much harder slap. I stare at men’s large hands on the bus. My cunt is soaked, thinking about how strong they look. How much damage they could do. How he could make me do anything he wants.

Toppy sends me a video of a bunch of guys taking turns throat fucking some chick. She has to spit the drool and vomit into a red dog dish in between cocks. She’s wearing a dog collar. A guy wraps his hand around her neck. It’s so awful I want to look away but I can’t. Another guy spits right into her mouth. My cunt goes crazy. I’m writhing on my chair, grinding my hips against the leather. Another guy calls her a dumb fuck and slaps her tits. I go to bed, remove my clothes, grab my vibrator and rub my clit until I’ve spewed cunt juice all over the bed.

This happens over a period of about two weeks. An onslaught of awful videos, girls being abused. In some of them, they interview the women, well-known porn actresses. They talk about how much they love being demolished by a big cock. Mascara runs down their faces. Their lips are bruised.

In the next video a woman is wearing a cowbell. Every time she is slapped or throat fucked, the cowbell rings. The guy, whose face you never see, tells her he wants to hear that cowbell ring. He wants to hear her moo. He pinches her nipples hard when she doesn’t do what he says. He makes fun of her when she doesn’t do it right. Calls her a heifer. I ache. What kind of a fucked up slut am I? I yearn to be treated this way.

I ask men on line hook up sites to send me photos of their cocks, the bigger the better. So that I can imagine choking on these cocks. Imagine them slapping my face with their dicks. I don’t meet though. I’m too fucking scared. If they like this kind of thing, they could really hurt me. I tremble in arousal and fear. Eventually arousal wins.

I fuck myself all hours of the day and night, desperate for it. I think of begging Toppy to set something up. I want to be nothing but a throat to be fucked. I want to be slapped. Mocked. Laughed at. I want to be degraded.

Toppy keeps sending me videos. A woman is made to mop up her own drool and vomit with her long blonde hair. She wrings it out into the red dog dish. A man sticks his boot on her head while she is on all fours on her hands and knees, being fucked by another man from behind.

I feel so terrible about myself. What kind of woman wants this kind of treatment. Or gets off to seeing this sort of thing. It’s shameful. And Toppy hasn’t said one word to me, but I’ve figured out what he’s doing. This is training for me. He knows eventually I’ll beg him to set something up. Beg to be throat fucked. To be nothing but a throat.

I buy an eight inch dildo from the sex shop, not too wide, so I can take it in. I relax my throat. I take a deep breath. I slide the dildo into my mouth, taking it deeper and deeper until I gag. I try it again. My eyes are watering. I imagine a guy is yelling at me to swallow his cock.  My throat’s starting to feel sore, but I keep going. I can feel the dildo pushing into my esophagus. Take a look in the mirror. The dick distorts my face. I look so ugly. I imagine a man telling me what a fucking ugly bitch I am.

I part my legs. I’m so turned on. The dildo is soaked with my spit. I push it into my cunt and hump myself against the bathroom cupboard, holding the dick with one hand and squeezing a nipple with the other. I stop and walk  into the bedroom, lie on the bed on my stomach and hump the bed with the dildo inside my cunt.

When I’m done coming, I text Toppy: I’m ready. That’s all I need to write. I know he’ll set something up. I receive a smiley face in return. 

Neglect

I haven’t heard from Toppy in weeks. He’s done this before. I send him e-mails. He doesn’t respond. I send him text messages. He doesn’t respond. He knows this is what I hate the most. Neglect. To be treated as if I don’t exist. I am invisible at work. I don’t really have friends. I hang around the dark corners of bars, drinking Guinness and trying not to draw attention to myself.

I’m a regular. But I don’t make conversation with the bartender. Usually. For some reason tonight he insists on talking to me. He’s handsome, not particularly tall, probably mid-twenties. I always enjoy watching him when he’s not looking. His hair is blond-gold. He has peach fuzz over his face. I think about how lovely it would be to rub myself over that fuzz: first my face, then my breasts, then lower down.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m  a fool to imagine he’s attracted to me. I’m wearing my office clothes still. I see no point in adding to the laundry pile. I hear him chatting up some dish who looks about his age, maybe a bit younger. I drink my dark beer and return to my book. I’ve developed a crush on James Joyce. I’m reading Ulysses for the third time. The man is magic with language. I lose myself. When my beer is gone, I order another, then another.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough,” the bartender says.

I look up, surprised. I haven’t been counting. But it hasn’t really been that many. I’ve just lost track of time. The bar is empty.

“It’s past last call, hon. Shall I call you a cab?”

I explain that I live just down the street. I drop Ulysses.

The bartender picks it up.

“One of my favourites too. I start reading it every year on June 16.”

I blush.

“You know, you’ve got a very pretty face when you blush,” he says.

I’m a little tipsy but not enough to have lost my inhibitions completely unfortunately. I down the last bit of foam in my pint and scramble to leave.

“Hey, if you wait for me to close, I can walk you. I live nearby too.”

He gives me a wink. He’s so gorgeous.

“Ok,” I say as I fumble with my wallet.

“It’s on the house, love. You’ve been here so often, your tips have been great. I’ll let you have a few on me.”

I clear my throat.

“Gosh that’s so sweet of you.”

There’s a pause as he looks into my eyes.

Fuck, I want this man. What a fool I am. Of course he would never be interested in a woman my age, a clerk, a spinster, a book nerd. He has no idea what a slut I am if ordered to be so and I have no intention of revealing that part of myself to this boy. He’s beautiful. A golden idol. Just for once, I pray to some imaginary god in the sky. Let me have this boy. Let me have this moment.

It’s pouring outside when we leave. I slip on the stupid cobblestones. My neighbourhood is being gentrified. There are even old fashioned lamp posts, for heaven’s sake. He catches me. We turn towards each other. And we kiss. As the rain falls.

We barely make it to my apartment. We keep kissing every few feet. His name is Jay, he tells me in between kisses. He’s a grad student. Another kiss. He’s studying comparative literature. I unlock the door.

Obviously we have to take off all our clothes. They’re wet.

We are still standing in the tiny corridor with my old shoes, a neglected umbrella and junk mail. I manage to steer us over to the bed.

We kiss and we kiss and we kiss and we kiss. Until my lips are sore.

He lies on his back. I caress him gently with fingertips, palm, cupped hand.

I lick his neck. I rub my face over his. I drown in his beauty. I am aroused by the roughness of his cheek against my body. He kisses me all over.

I run my fingers through his golden hair. I kiss down his body until I am between his legs. I stroke his cock with my tongue. Soft, wet caresses along the shaft, around the rim of the head of his cock, around & around. I lick his balls.

Wrap my hands around his cock while I take it in my mouth to make it wet and hard.

I taste the salt of his precum. I rub my face all over his cock. I can’t get enough of his gorgeous cock. Not overly large. Just right. I can fit the entire head in my mouth. This makes him groan. His balls tighten beneath my fingers as I squeeze gently.

I keep licking and stroking while his cock is in my mouth. He comes with a moan. I swallow every drop. We kiss again. I love that he isn’t shy about tasting himself on my lips.

He asks me to lie on my back. He licks my nipples, turning them into stiff little points of desire. He cups my breasts, kisses the side of my neck until he gives me goosebumps, He makes me cry out. He puts his lips against my lower lips, dips his tongue into my cunt which is already so wet for him,

He places a finger on my clit, and asks me what I like. I have a hard time answering at first, but  he insists. I ask him to be slow & gentle.  He scoops the wetness from my cunt and slides it onto my clit. Over and over again. He puts his face over my cunt, slips his tongue inside. Two fingers frame my clit. I can feel it swelling. I’m soaking the bed.

He fucks me gently with his tongue and fingers until I come. He kisses me.

I can taste myself on him. We take a break. I’m so fucking happy. He tells me I’m beautiful. There’s a light in my eyes. His are brown and sparkling. I want him again. He’s hard. Again.

I lie on top of him on the bed and stare into those dark, intense eyes.

Ever so slowly, I take him inside me. He knows what to do. He just lies there, letting me find the right rhythm. My clit is rubbing against his pubic hairs. It feels so good. I lift myself up and back down. Up. And. Down. Up. Again. And. Down. It feels so fucking good. I come and gush all over his cock. I slump against him. He kisses me, then has me turn over onto my back.

He enters me again. I’m wet with his cum. Soon he’s coming inside me. He falls asleep in my arms. I can’t even remember the last time a man has fallen asleep with me like this. I hear the rain and I let myself fall, fall into a deep sleep, for the first time in ages.

When I wake up, he is gone. We didn’t exchange cell phone numbers. I wait a day. Feel like an idiot because I feel hurt. There’s an emptiness in the pit of my stomach that feels like hunger, but it isn’t. We hadn’t made any promises in words. But the way he touched me. The way he kissed. And then to fall asleep with me like that. As though he trusted me.  It just felt like more than a fuck.

Another day goes by. I can still smell him on my sheets. I think of going back to the bar, but I’m too fucking embarrassed. And ashamed in a  way that doesn’t satisfy me. I don’t like being tricked into being used. But did he use me? We both had fun. Why am I like this? Why do I need the beautiful ones to be romantic, to be tender with me? Why do I let my heart get involved?

I wait until the weekend then I go to the bar, but he’s not there. I tentatively ask the server at the bar if she’s seen Jay, but she shakes her head. A regular overhears. She says he quit. These boys come and go, sweetheart, she says. I turn beet red. I stumble out of the bar. What a fool I am to think that someone as beautiful as that, as sweet as that would want more than a couple of fucks, one night with the lonely, desperate older woman.

My cell phone beeps. There’s a text from Toppy. There’s a new man he wants me to go see. I’m to be ready in half an hour. Why the fuck not?

School Girl

The elderly lady looks at me derisively from her seat across from me on the city bus. I don’t blame her. This skirt is way too short for a woman my age. Toppy has me in a Catholic school girl outfit: plaid skirt, white blouse, no bra—because young girls don’t require them--cotton knee-high socks and flat black shoes. I feel like a fool, but I’m also turned on. The whole get up sends me into little girl mode. I’m ready to please my daddy any way he desires.

I am to ride public transit all day. Staying on the same bus. Letting whatever happen, happen. The bus driver of the number two bus, a grizzly old guy with a grey beard, gives me a long leer as I drop my fare and have to stoop down to pick the coins up off the floor. I can feel the air hit my ass. I know he can see my thin, cotton underwear. It’s torn a bit near the ass, but it’s the only pair of white underwear I own. My face turns beet red as I make my way down the aisle, crowded with business men and bureaucrats on their way to work. I am to sit in the back of the bus, facing sideways, to spread my legs and let the riders have a peak between my legs. As the bus grows increasingly packed, a man bumps against my face, his bulging crotch at eye level. He winks and adjusts his package.

I give up my seat for a pregnant woman. I am now standing sandwiched between two men. One leans into me. I can smell his breath, the stench of whiskey at seven am. And garlic. His pudgy fingers graze my ass. The other man, the one in front of me, turns so we are face to face. He lurches into me, pressing his cock against me. I want to move but I can’t. In the crowd, no one can see what he’s doing. The man behind me is satisfied with fondling my ass. I’m both turned on and disgusted. Being disgusted with myself turns me on. Can you understand that?

His hand is on his crotch. He reaches over and grabs my hand. He nods. I undo the zipper. He’s not wearing underwear. He presses my hand against his hard cock. I wrap my fingers around the shaft and give him a few hard tugs. The feel of his cock hardening in my hand sends a bolt of electricity straight to my cunt . He slides his fingers along my thin blouse and gives one of my nipples a hard twist, hard enough to make me cry out in pain and cause my cunt to gush.

One by one the passengers get off. Eventually I am alone with the bus driver.

He calls me up to the front of the bus. I hesitate and he tells me to move quickly.  His voice is very commanding. There’s no room for argument. He smirks as he stares at my tits, my naked legs, my short skirt. I know you’ve been fucking passengers in the back, you little whore, he tells me.  He says it’s his turn. Are you going to be a good little girl for your daddy, honey? I nod. All I want to do is please my daddy, so big and handsome. I can see the grey hair peeking out of his shirt.

He pulls the bus over to an empty street near a construction zone and an abandoned old building. He walks with me to the back of the bus. He tells me to open my mouth. Slips his thumb inside. Orders me to suck. Daddy’s going to teach you how to please him, little girl. Are you going to behave? I’m sucking hard on his thumb. I nod. Lick it now. C’mon baby, make your daddy happy. I keep licking and sucking.

On your knees, you little slut, he says. I kneel on the dirty floor of the bus. He opens his fly and takes out a thick and uncut cock. I know what I have to do, what I am always dying to do anytime I see a cock. I take it in my mouth. There’s precum pooled in the foreskin. He brings out a cell phone and takes photos of his dick sliding in and out of my mouth. He slaps me with his cock and takes more photos of the precum sliming my face and his big cock pressed against my cheek. He makes me suck the cum out of him. He’s still hard.  A fucking randy old man. He tells me to bend over. He lifts my little plaid skirt. You have a fine ass, young lady. Much too sexy for a little girl. I’ll have to punish you for that. He pulls down my underwear. He spanks me until I can feel the sting of red burn across each cheek. My cunt juice slides down my thighs. I cry out as his cock forces its way into my tight brown hole. No condom. No lube. He dryfucks my ass until it is wet with his cum. He slaps it again after he withdraws and tells me to get off his fucking bus.

Toppy texts me later with a smiley face. I guess the driver was in on it all along and has sent him the photos. I go to bed and fuck myself, thinking about what a fucking whore I’ve become, waiting for Toppy’s next command.