Blackpink Smuts

All groups and soloists are listed in alphabetical order.

✦ Longer Obscene Stories (+2000 words)

1. Aespa - Karina: "Karina’s Studio Cum Dump" 2. Blackpink - Rosé: "BlackedPink: Rosé’s Ultimate Betrayal" 3. Kiss Of Life - Natty: The Alley and the Whore 4. Blackpink - Jisoo: Open to the Public

✦ Shorter Obscene Stories (-2000 words)

Blackpink - Lisa: Used. Dirty. Perfectly Happy Blackpink - Lisa: The Bar Slut Blackpink - Rosé: Sucking dick, but cumming in pussy

✦ Interaction

I interact whenever possible, whether through private or anonymous messages; you're always welcome!

Just click on the "interaction" tag to see my interactions.

✦ Requests

They're active! But hey, it's not automatic, okay? There are days when I'm full of my own ideas and want to post what I've already imagined, there are days when I'm uninspired, there are days when I'm busy… In short, several factors. What I promise from the bottom of my heart is: nothing will be ignored. I will always respond to you, whether with a "yes, I will write," "it won't happen," or "maybe in the future." You deserve this respect.

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Jennie just opened her mouth naturally and let it fill with saliva, then she looked back at Liam's face and smiled maliciously. She moved even closer, the smell of that sweaty cock rising to her nostrils. She then placed her hand on his shoulder and moved it down to his chest, and from his chest to his abdomen, stopping at the edge of his t-shirt.

The first touch she got back came from Gabriel. His huge hand found her waist – the exposed part between her short blouse and high-waisted pants – with a hesitation that lasted less than a second.

Gabriel's fingers squeezed the soft skin over her hip bone. Jennie felt the calluses on his fingertips, the rough texture of someone who grabs an iron bar every day. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

Gabriel and Kwame, the other dancer, stood up just enough to also pull their pants down. Jennie looked at one, then the other. Each one was different. Liam was the longest, with a gentle curve to the left. Gabriel was the thickest, thick veins snaking along his length like ropes under the skin. Kwame was the darkest, almost black, contrasting violently with the pale palm of her hand when she touched him.

She spent a few seconds with each one. Groping. Comparing. Feeling the weight, the temperature, the velvety texture that hid the hardness beneath.

"Turn around," she ordered.

The three repositioned themselves, forming a triangle around her.

Jennie felt the air around her become warmer and more charged as the three tall, muscular bodies closed into a triangle around her. The three were already naked from the waist down, semi-hard, sweaty cocks hanging heavy between their legs, free and exposed. The strong, masculine smell rose straight to her nose, making her even wetter.

Gabriel, behind her, didn't waste any time. His enormous hands slid over the exposed skin of her waist, squeezing the soft flesh with brute force as he pulled her blouse up. His thick fingers brushed against her ribs, going up to grab her breasts over the thin fabric of her bra. He squeezed hard, kneading the soft little mounds as if they were dough, making Jennie moan loudly.

"Ah, fuck… squeeze harder," she whispered, her voice whiny and full of lust, pushing her ass back against his thick cock.

Liam, in front, shoved both hands under her blouse, pulling it up along with Gabriel. They took the piece off in one go, along with the bra, leaving Jennie's small, perky breasts bare, the delicate necklace with colorful pendants swinging between them. Liam grabbed one breast with his whole hand, squeezing and pinching her nipple.

Kwame, to the side, shoved his large hand inside her pants, grabbing her ass possessively, his rough fingers digging into the flesh. He pulled her pants down along with Liam, revealing the thin white panties. The piece barely covered anything, the thin strap marking Jennie's delicate hips.

While they took off her clothes, Jennie didn't stay still. Her right hand wrapped around Gabriel's thick, veiny cock, squeezing hungrily and masturbating slowly, feeling him harden in her palm. Her left hand alternated between Liam's long, curved cock and Kwame's very dark, heavy cock, squeezing their sweaty balls, weighing them, caressing them, pulling the skin with animal desire.

"Wow… you guys are so hot and sweaty… I love it," she murmured, biting her lower lip as she slowly ground her hips between the brutal hands groping her.

They left her just in her panties. Jennie's small, perfect body glistened with excitement, her pale skin contrasting with the large, dark hands that didn't stop squeezing, squeezing, and marking her.

Gabriel and Kwame started spanking her ass hard. The sound echoed as their large palms slapped the small buttocks, making the soft flesh tremble and turn red. Jennie moaned louder, pushing her ass out even more.

"Yeah… hit me harder!" she demanded, her voice hoarse with pleasure. Then she started to grind. Slowly at first, then faster and dirtier, bumping her little ass against the hard cocks that brushed against her. The thin panties were already soaked, outlining the shape of her swollen little pussy. She ground deliciously, bouncing her ass against their thighs, feeling the three heavy cocks hitting and sliding between her cheeks while their hands kept squeezing her breasts, waist, thighs, and neck.

Jennie was in paradise, smiling with half-closed eyes, moaning shamelessly every time a hand squeezed harder or a slap burned on her skin, but she still wanted more. So she stopped suddenly, looked up with those bright, malicious little eyes, licking her lips.

"Did you guys drink enough water today?" she asked, her voice sweet and naughty, running her hand over her flat stomach. "I'm really thirsty…"

The three smiled, their cocks already throbbing harder just from understanding what she wanted. "We're always well hydrated for you," Gabriel replied, squeezing his thick cock in his hand.

"We drank all day thinking about you," Liam completed, with a hungry smile.

"You can drink it all, princess," Kwame added, his voice deep.

Jennie smiled, satisfied, biting her lower lip. She knelt down slowly on the floor, her small, perfect body lowering until she was on her knees between them. The delicate necklace swung between her bare breasts as she looked up, her eyes full of lust.

"So start… all three together," she ordered, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue, naughtily.

The three exchanged glances. Liam took a deep breath, relaxed his abdominal muscles, and Jennie saw the exact moment his body went from excitement to release. The tip of his cock trembled, and the liquid began to flow – first a thin stream, then a strong, hot jet. The jet shot straight onto Jennie's face, hitting her outstretched tongue. She moaned loudly, closing her eyes in pleasure as the hot liquid ran down her mouth, chin, and neck.

"Hmmm… delicious… hotter than I imagined," she thought, swallowing some and opening her mouth wider.

Gabriel aimed at her breasts, releasing a thick, powerful jet that wet her pink nipples, making them glisten. The hot pee ran down her belly, soaking her thin panties until it dripped onto the floor. Kwame aimed lower, hitting directly at her little pussy covered by the panties, the strong jet pressing the fabric against her swollen clitoris.

Jennie trembled with lust, moaning non-stop. She grabbed the cocks with her hands, directing the jets where she wanted them: sometimes in her mouth, sometimes in her hair, sometimes rubbing the hot liquid onto her own breasts while she ground on the floor, feeling their pee running all over her small body.

"Yeah… soak me completely… I love being your little slut," she whispered between moans, opening her mouth wider to receive another strong jet from Liam, swallowing part of what fell on her tongue with evident pleasure.

The three continued, hot, strong jets covering her entirely: face, chest, belly, thighs, and soaked panties. Jennie was gleaming, wet and dirty with their pee, but with the biggest, naughtiest smile on her face, eyes half-closed in pure delight.

The last jet ceased, leaving Jennie still kneeling on the floor, her small body completely wet and glistening with the three men's hot pee running down her body and face. The thin fabric was practically transparent, glued to her swollen little pussy. She took a deep breath, her eyes shining with pure lust, and looked at the three semi-hard, heavy cocks swinging in front of her face.

"Now I want all these cocks deep in my throat," she said, her voice already hoarse from the pee she had swallowed. "Let's see how much of each one I can swallow."

She started alternating between Liam and Gabriel. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, her lips stretched to the limit around Gabriel's absurdly thick cock. She went down slowly, forcing centimeter by centimeter, feeling the thick veins scraping against her tongue and throat. When she got as deep as she could, she gagged hard, but kept dominant eye contact, her eyes fixed on his while thick saliva ran from the corners of her mouth in long, sticky strings.

"Gluck… gluck… hnnngh!" the wet sounds echoed as she went up and down, swallowing almost two-thirds of that monster.

Without giving herself time to breathe properly, she pulled Gabriel's cock out with an obscene sound and immediately swallowed Liam's, the long, curved one. She pushed her head forward on her own, forcing his curve down her throat. Saliva gushed abundantly, dripping in cascades onto her bare breasts, running down her belly, and soaking her panties even more. Her chin was already covered in a thick, shiny layer of drool and precum.

Jennie's throat began to visibly swell, irritated and red. Every time she forced it deeper, a gag reflex made her body tremble, but she smiled with her eyes, loving the feeling of being destroyed.

"Fuck… you guys are so thick… my throat is already burning," she murmured hoarsely, her voice failing, before returning to sucking the two alternately, each time wetter and noisier.

Then she focused on Kwame. She held the darkest, heaviest cock with both hands, looked up with a challenging smile, and swallowed it all at once. Her neck distended obscenely, a thick bulge appearing on her delicate skin as she kept the entire cock inside, without pausing. Tears streamed down her face, snot ran from her nose, but she didn't take it out. Liam and Gabriel rubbed their hard, drooling cocks on her face, slapping her cheeks, forehead, and eyes, spreading more saliva and precum.

When she finally pulled away to breathe, Jennie coughed violently, hoarse, thick saliva gushing from her mouth. Her voice barely came out:

"Push deeper, fuck! I don't want pity… fill my throat to the limit," she demanded, dominating even though she was almost voiceless.

She continued alternating between the three in quick, brutal rounds. The men now held her head firmly, fingers intertwined in her hair as they pushed. Jennie moaned loudly even with her mouth full – vibrant, dominant moans that made the cocks throb inside her. She tested each one: who went deepest, who lasted longer. Her throat was severely dilated, tonsils swollen, neck sore. Every time she took a cock out, she coughed hard, her breathing difficult, drool running uncontrollably.

"Who can go deepest?" she asked hoarsely, almost inaudible, between rounds. "I want to feel all of you in my stomach…"

In the end, her face was a complete mess: swollen lips, sore jaw, red marks around her mouth, irritated, half-closed eyes. She pulled the three cocks very close, tongue out.

The three masturbated quickly over her, cocks throbbing very close to her destroyed face. Thick, heavy jets exploded one after another, non-stop. Liam shot straight onto her outstretched tongue and the back of her throat. Gabriel covered her eyes, forehead, and hair with long, powerful jets. Kwame painted her entire breasts, descending in thick, white layers that ran down her nipples and belly. They continued cumming, jet after jet, until Jennie's face, hair, neck, and chest were completely drenched in hot, viscous semen.

When they finished, Jennie was unrecognizable. Thick, sticky layers of cum covered almost her entire face, gluing her eyelashes together, running down her nose and chin, tangling in her black hair, and shining on her breasts. Her eyes were irritated and partially stuck shut, her breathing heavy and difficult because of the mucus and semen clogging her airways. The skin of her face and neck looked stretched and shiny, her lips and jaw swollen, red marks from suction and pressure visible everywhere. She could barely swallow, coughing hoarsely and intermittently with each attempt, her small body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure.

Still, Jennie slowly ran her fingers over her destroyed face, scooped up a good amount of that thick cum, and calmly licked it all, savoring the strong taste while looking at the three. A satisfied smile formed on her swollen lips, her voice almost destroyed:

A black log, veiny, with a swollen head, over 25 centimeters of pure dick, as thick as an energy drink can. He thrust with brutal force, a violent stroke, punching deep into Jisoo's tight little pussy, stretching her pink walls to the point of screaming, opening her up completely.

HOLY FUCK — Jisoo felt that big black cock tearing her apart from the inside. The pink walls of her cunt stretched, stretched, nearly tearing, as she tried to scream but no air came out. The swollen head of that COCK forced its way in, opening a path where nothing should fit, and Jisoo felt every vein sliding against her wet channel, every one of those 25 centimeters claiming territory.

His cock would pull out almost entirely — only the thick, big head staying inside — and then slam back in with everything, POUNDING, opening her little cunt like she was a rubber doll. Jisoo felt his heavy balls slapping against her clit with every thrust, that wet, obscene sound of FLESH SLAPPING FLESH echoing across the entire pool area. Sweat dripped from his back onto hers, dripping, running down between her bouncing tits, dripping down to her cunt which was already flowing like a waterfall.

— Be grateful I'm not fucking your asshole — he snarled, delivering a thrust so deep his cock hit straight against her cervix, making Jisoo's entire body tremble. — I'll save that for later.

Each thrust was brutal, the wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping flesh echoing through the pool area. His cock would pull out almost entirely, glistening with her juices, only to slam back in completely, opening her up like a rubber doll. Jisoo felt every centimeter: the thick head forcing its way in, the pulsing veins scraping against her sensitive inner walls, the entire length invading all the way to the depths, pressing against spots she didn't even know existed. The pressure was insane, as if he were rearranging her internal organs.

— FUCK, WHAT A COCK — Jisoo moaned, her voice coming out broken, almost a sob. — IT'S TEARING EVERYTHING APART, GODDAMN IT. IT'S OPENING MY CUNT SO WIDE JUST BECAUSE IT'S SO THICK. I'M NEVER GONNA BE THE SAME. WHEN I GO BACK TO KOREA, I'M GONNA PUT MY FINGER INSIDE AND IT'S GONNA BE LOOSE.

A violent squirt exploded out of her at that same instant. The hot, clear jet shot out in an arc, spraying far from the pool's edge and soaking the deck. Two voyeurs approached — a couple, friends of the man, both white and curious. They laughed loudly, their eyes gleaming with excitement.

— Damn, look at this little slut! — shouted the male voyeur. — She's one of the members of BLACKPINK! She's here turning into a human fountain just because a black cock is destroying her. How shameful, Jisoo! Your whole fandom worships you like a princess, and you're on all fours like a bitch in heat.

Jisoo turned her face, her cheeks red with humiliation, but her cunt clenched even tighter around the cock that was pounding her mercilessly. Their words burned, but made something inside her melt.

— Y-yes… I'm a bitch… — she murmured, her voice coming out hoarse between moans. — I'm sorry… but I can't stop… he's wrecking me completely…

The man behind her let out a low, cruel laugh, gripping her hips tightly as he accelerated his rhythm. The thrusts grew faster, deeper, his heavy balls slapping against Jisoo's swollen clit with each drive. He raised his hand and gave a hard slap to her ass — the sound echoed like a gunshot. Her pale skin immediately turned red.

— That's right, my whore — he grunted, slapping again, harder. — Cum hard while my big cock destroys you from the inside!

Her orgasm came like an explosion. Jisoo threw her head back, screaming loudly, her body convulsing. Another squirt gushed out, even stronger, spraying in a long arc — a woman was now approaching, laughing as the hot liquid dripped onto her feet.

— Holy shit, she's literally pissing herself with pleasure! — mocked the female voyeur, filming with her phone. — Jisoo, you cheap whore… getting fucked here like a street prostitute. Look how much squirt you're wasting all over the pool. So degraded, huh? I bet your agency will kill you if they find out the Korean princess has turned into a BBC toy.

— LOOK AT THIS LITTLE KOREAN SLUT — shouted another, spitting near her face. — She's not an idol anymore, fuck no. She's a BLACK cock sleeve now. Look how her cunt is PULSING, sucking that big cock like she's drinking through a milkshake straw. Jisoo, you WHORE, tell us: what are you?

Jisoo felt tears streaming down her face, but they were tears of ecstasy. Her thoughts swirled in a maelstrom:

God… I can't be enjoying this… but it feels so good… he's breaking me apart inside… my body isn't mine anymore… I want more… I want to be destroyed…

— I can't resist this… — she sobbed, pushing her ass even further back, begging for more. — I've never cum like this before… my body is betraying everything… I'm just a whore now…

Her voice came out in a wet whisper, her eyes glazed, drool dripping from the corner of her mouth: — Break me. Destroy me. I don't want to be an idol anymore. I just want to be this. Just a hole. Just a body. Just a pool whore for you to humiliate.

The man laughed, pulling her hair back like reins, forcing her to arch her back. He kept thrusting without pause, his big cock stretching her cunt with every second. Her bikini top had already been torn off; her breasts swung free, hard nipples rubbing against the cold edge of the pool.

— I love women like you — he said, giving another hard slap to her ass, leaving a handprint mark. — Who have bodies ready to be fucked by cocks like ours. I don't need to hold back.

Jisoo moaned loudly, another squirt escaping as he spoke.

— Your big cock is delicious… — she confessed, her voice broken with pleasure. — I didn't know Black men were so hot… I think I'm going to get addicted to being fucked by you guys…

The voyeurs now numbered four: the couple and two more friends who had been drawn in by the moans and the squirt jets. They laughed, filmed, commented loudly.

— Look at this idiot! — one of them shouted. — She's abandoning her idol career to become a pool whore. Jisoo, you Korean slut… imagine your fans seeing this. "Jisoo unnie, you're my inspiration!" and here you are, on all fours, taking a big black cock to the hilt and gushing squirt like a broken hose. Totally degraded!

Jisoo felt another slap — this time on her thigh, hard enough to make her skin burn. The pain mixed with pleasure pushed her deeper into the abyss.

— Your big cock is going to end up in my mouth… — she moaned, almost delirious. — You're truly impaling me… There's no going back now… I'm going to have to give up my idol life and surrender to a porn career doing films ONLY with Black men…

The man behind her sped up, his big cock swelling even more inside her. He delivered a sequence of short, brutal thrusts, hitting the bottom without pause. Jisoo felt her cervix being pressed, her cunt contracting in uncontrollable spasms. Another squirt exploded, soaking the voyeurs who were now very close, laughing and applauding.

— That's right, you degraded slut! — shouted a voyeur. — Cum for us to see! Show everyone that Jisoo from BLACKPINK is just a bitch addicted to BBC. Look how she trembles…!

Her cunt was already all stretched out, open, throbbing. The pink walls had become a red, pulsing hole, dripping her honey mixed with the man's precum, running down her thighs, onto the ground, into the pool. Jisoo could barely keep her knees in place — they trembled like green branches. The bite mark on her arm was visible, turning purple. Her face was completely smeared with tears, saliva, sweat, and pool water.

Jisoo whimpered, her entire body shaking. Her thoughts were pure chaos now:

I'm theirs… I'm not an idol anymore… I'm just a body to be used… every thrust breaks me more… I love being humiliated… I love the squirt coming out like this… I want everyone to see… I want more cocks… I want my asshole wrecked later…

— Harder… — she begged, her voice hoarse from so much moaning. — Beat me more… insult me… make me cum until I can't take it anymore… I'm your whore now…

The man laughed, pulling his cock almost all the way out only to slam it back in completely, making squirt spray in a long jet that hit a voyeur's face. He delivered more slaps — on her ass, her thighs, her back — marking her pale skin with redness.

— Just look at you, Jisoo — provoked another voyeur, bringing his phone closer. — Wet, sweaty, full of Black cum… Pool, squirt, sweat… you're destroyed. Tell us: how many Black cocks are you going to take today?

Jisoo, her eyes glazed with pleasure, replied between sobs of orgasm:

— All of them… as many as you want… I'm not Jisoo from BLACKPINK anymore… I'm just a wet hole for BBC… degrade me more… break me… I love this…

The cold early evening wind swept across the terrace of the Grand Palais, carrying the elegant murmur of the event. Down below, flashes still exploded against the illuminated facade. "Chanel Day" brought together journalists, photographers, and people too powerful to admit they were there just to look.

Jennie moved away from the crowd a little, to a more private spot. She climbed to the terrace, resting her hand on the stone balustrade, looking out at the gray city stretching beyond the rooftops of Paris. She wore a blue knit set fitted to her body, with small textured shorts in the same palette and sheer black stockings that elongated her legs even further. The delicate belt marked her waist, and everything about her seemed calculated to look effortless. Elegant, light… dangerous.

For the cameras, she was just the global ambassador of the brand.

For one specific man in that building, she was something far more interesting.

"Enjoying the view?" a male voice said behind her.

She turned slowly.

The man was tall, with an impeccable posture inside a dark, tailored suit. Dark hair combed back, eyes too attentive for someone who should just be socializing. He didn't seem like an ordinary guest. He seemed like someone used to entering places where no one dared to stop him.

"I don't recall being introduced," she replied, polite but cautious.

The man smiled faintly. It wasn't a gentle smile. It was the kind of smile that already knew the end of the conversation.

"Formal introductions would be… unnecessary."

He took something small from his jacket pocket. A cell phone. He tapped the screen.

She heard the sound of a video starting.

A few seconds were enough.

Her smile disappeared.

"Where did you get that?" her voice came out low.

"Interesting places have interesting cameras," he replied calmly. "Hotel rooms, backstage, private elevators… sometimes people forget they might be being watched."

The silence between them grew heavy.

"What do you want?" she asked.

He stepped closer.

"Nothing that will ruin your night, if you like what I think you like," he said, almost gently. "Actually, I just need a few minutes of your attention."

She crossed her arms, trying to regain her composure.

"Here?" her voice came out higher than she would have liked, a mix of defiance and nervousness.

"No," he replied, with the same unsettling calm. "There's a service door…"

He took a step towards her, reducing the space between them to inches.

"First, we're going for a walk. You'll go back to the event as if nothing happened. You'll mingle, smile for the photographers, accept the compliments. You'll be the perfect Jennie for another forty-five minutes."

She frowned, confused.

"Why?"

"Because there are still too many important people circulating there. Because your manager is in the main hall. Because the building's security does rounds in the service corridors every half hour," he explained, like someone teaching something obvious to a child. "Do you really want someone to see us going down to the basement together?"

Her silence was the answer.

"Exactly. So will you go down now? No. You'll go back to the party. You'll be seen. And when I send a message, you'll find a way to disappear long enough without raising suspicion."

He handed her a phone — not hers, another one, simple and black.

"Alone. No SIM. When I call, you come."

Jennie looked at the device in her palm, then at him.

"And if I don't come?"

He smiled again, that smile that already knew the end of the conversation.

"You will come."

He turned and disappeared, leaving through the service door, leaving her alone on the terrace with the cold Paris wind and an anonymous phone in her hand.

Forty-seven minutes later, the phone vibrated.

A single word on the screen:

"NOW"

Jennie was in the main hall, surrounded by journalists and flashes. The blue set still impeccable, the smile still in place. She excused herself with a light touch on the arm of the Chanel executive she was talking to — "I need to touch up my makeup, be right back" — and glided out of the main hall.

The back corridor was empty. She knew the way to the service door — she had used that route before, at other events, to escape harassment or meet more discreet fans. But never to go down.

The metal door creaked as she pushed it open.

The corridor behind her was narrow, dimly lit, smelling of mildew and cleaning products. She passed identical doors — staff bathrooms, cleaning supply closets, electrical rooms. Her heels echoed on the concrete floor, and she slowed her step at every corner, checking she was alone.

At the end of the corridor, a double metal door led to the service stairs. She descended.

Two floors. Three. Four. The temperature dropped with each level, and the sound of the party upstairs was now just a memory. On the fifth basement level, the stairs ended in an antechamber lit by a single flickering bulb.

A rusty sign announced in French: "SOUS-SOL — ACCÈS INTERDIT".

She pushed the door open.

The corridor was long, lined with rusty metal doors, some ajar, revealing glimpses of absolute darkness. Exposed pipes ran along the ceiling, dripping at irregular intervals. The floor was rough cement, stained by decades of moisture and neglect.

She walked. Twenty steps. Fifty. A hundred. The corridor seemed endless, punctuated only by the hum of the weak bulbs that barely managed to dispel the gloom.

After a bend, the space opened into a larger area — what seemed to have been a central storage depot. Stacked crates, furniture covered by aged tarps, an old wooden table in the center. And there, sitting on the edge of the table, was him.

"Punctual," he commented, looking at his watch. "I like that."

Jennie stopped a few meters away, her arms crossed over her chest, the blue shorts and fine stockings looking even more absurd in that setting of industrial decay.

"We're here," she said.

He stood up slowly. "The perfect place for a first time, don't you think?"

She turned, her dark eyes flashing between fear and defiance.

"First time? Do you really think this will be a first time for anything?"

He laughed softly, a humorless sound.

"Not with you, Jennie. I know very well you're not a virgin anymore. But with you… here… like this?" He paused, his eyes slowly traversing her body. "This is a first time. And you know it."

Before she could respond, he advanced.

His hand gripped her wrist with a speed that surprised her, spinning her and pushing her against the cold concrete wall. The impact stole her breath for a second, and when she tried to react, it was already too late. Her body was pressed against the rough surface, his hands holding her arms behind her back firmly.

"Quiet," his voice was calm, but there was an authority there that admitted no argument.

She felt his hands exploring her wrists, and for a moment she imagined he would use his own tie — but no. Instead, his hands went down to her waist, finding the belt. It was a thin chain of golden links, with a small ring fastening the ends. With a dry movement, he pulled, and the belt came apart.

"This is more suitable," he murmured, running the chain through his fingers.

Before she understood what was happening, he had already wrapped the chain around her wrists, pulling them behind her back. The metal was cold against her skin, the fine links biting lightly as he tightened it. It wasn't uncomfortable — yet — but the sensation of being bound by something so delicate yet so firm was disconcerting.

Jennie tried to pull her arms, but the chain held. Her wrists were now tied together behind her back, her shoulders pulled back in a position that thrust her breasts forward, arching her back.

"Like this is better," he commented, appreciating the view. "But there's still something missing."

His fingers found the hem of the blue sweater, the fine knit that molded her torso. Instead of tearing it, he pulled the fabric up, slowly revealing her skin. The sweater rose, uncovering her abdomen, the curve of her waist, the base of her breasts covered by the black lace bra. When the fabric reached her neck, he secured it there, using the neckline itself as an improvised halter.

"Lift your arms," he ordered.

She couldn't. They were tied.

He laughed softly, satisfied with his own reasoning.

"Right. So let's do it differently."

With his free hand, he took one end of the bunched-up sweater at her neck and pulled up, using the fabric to guide her face. The gesture forced Jennie to tilt her head back, fully exposing her neck.

"Cute little sweater," he commented, his voice calm, almost casual. "Chanel, right? Must cost a fortune."

Before she could answer, he brought his other hand to the inner pocket of his jacket. When his hand returned, it held a small silver pocket knife. The blade reflected the dim light of the basement as he opened it with a dry click.

Jennie held her breath.

He brought the blade close to the stretched fabric near her shoulder, sliding the cold metal against the blue knit. He didn't cut — yet. Just let the knife tip trace a slow path over her shoulder, down her arm, in a movement that was more threat than action.

"Breathe," he murmured, feeling her body tense. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to… take this off."

With a quick motion, he thrust the blade tip under the fabric, close to the collar, and pulled up. The sound of the tear was sharp, clear, echoing in the silence of the basement. The fine knit gave way like paper, splitting from the neck to the hem in a clean cut.

The blue sweater parted in two, the halves falling from Jennie's shoulders and sliding down her body until they pooled at her feet.

She was now only in a black bra, blue shorts, fine stockings, and heels. Her skin goosebumped from the cold basement air. Her breasts rising and falling with her accelerated breath.

"Better," he said, putting the knife back in his pocket. "This makes it easier."

He stepped back, analyzing the result.

Jennie was motionless against the wall, her wrists tied behind her back by the golden chain of her own belt. Her breasts, still covered by the lace bra, were thrust fully forward by the position of her shoulders. The blue shorts still covered her intimate parts, but the position of her legs, slightly apart to maintain balance, left little to the imagination. The fine stockings shimmered under the weak light, the high heels keeping her calves perfectly defined.

"Perfect. Turn around," he said. "Exactly as I imagined. It's an even better view up close."

"You son of a bitch," Jennie spat the words, turning her body again to face him. "When I get out of this shit, you're going to…"

"You won't get out," he interrupted, approaching again. "Not now, at least. It depends on how you behave."

"I like your bra," he commented, his fingers tracing the edge of the lace. "But it's going to get in the way."

In a quick movement, he approached and unclasped the bra at her back, holding her close, then pulled the straps, dropping the bra. Jennie's breasts were completely exposed, her brown nipples already hard — from the cold, from fear, from the excitement she refused to admit.

"Look at that," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the sight. "The global ambassador of Chanel, naked in a basement, with her little tits out. What a beautiful photo that would make."

"You won't…" she tried, but her voice failed when he pinched one of her nipples, pulling hard.

The moan that escaped was involuntary, too loud for the empty space.

"I won't what?" he teased, pinching again, now with a twisting motion. "I won't make you moan? Because it seems like I'm already on the right track."

Jennie bit her lip, trying to control her breathing, but her body betrayed her efforts. Her nipples were hypersensitive, her skin goosebumped, and between her legs an uncomfortable dampness was beginning to form.

He moved away for a moment, just to observe. The image was exactly what he had always imagined: Jennie tied, half-naked, vulnerable. The blue shorts still covered her intimate parts, but not for long.

His hands found the waistband of the shorts, pulling down with a brisk motion. The fabric slid down her thighs, over the fine stockings, pooling at her ankles. But when the shorts fell, they revealed panties.

They were tiny. A triangle of translucent black lace, with details of bows on the sides, threads so thin they barely covered what was necessary. The lace allowed glimpses of the brown skin underneath, the dark hairs appearing at the edges and sides, the strings holding the set were thin as twine, ready to give way at the slightest pull.

"Look at that," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the sight. "The Chanel princess wears slut panties. Appropriate."

She didn't respond, just held her breath as she felt his eyes burning her skin.

He didn't remove them immediately. Instead, his hands traveled up her thighs, slowly, feeling the texture of the fine stockings, the transition to bare skin at the top of her thighs, until they found the lace. His fingers traced the edge of the panties, following the path of the lace over her skin, feeling the heat radiating from there.

"So small," he murmured, almost to himself. "Barely covers anything."

His fingers slid over the lace, pressing lightly against the fabric, feeling the contour of her lips beneath. Jennie moaned softly when the pressure found her clit through the lace, a shiver running down her spine.

"Already wet," he stated, feeling the moisture seeping through the fabric. "The panties are already soaked and I've barely touched you."

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled the side of the panties, moving the fabric aside. The lace yielded, finally revealing Jennie's cunt completely exposed. Her lips were swollen, moist, the dark trimmed hairs framing the sight.

"Like this," he murmured, his voice thicker. "Like this I can see properly."

But he didn't go straight for the cunt.

Instead, his hands traveled up to Jennie's buttocks, gripping each curve with an almost religious devotion. His fingers sank into the soft flesh, squeezing, spreading, exploring as if he needed to memorize every inch.

"Jennie's ass," he murmured, his voice choked. "My God, Jennie's ass."

Jennie felt his hands roaming every curve, his thumbs tracing the contour where the buttocks met her thighs, his fingers squeezing the flesh with a mix of admiration and possession. He lowered his face, approaching so close she felt his warm breath on her skin.

"I always imagined," he continued, his voice muffled by the proximity. "I always imagined what it would be like. To see it up close. To touch."

His nose brushed her skin, slowly descending down the cleft between her buttocks. Jennie shuddered, her toes curling inside her heels. She felt it when he reached the center, when the tip of his nose pressed against the tight little hole of her ass.

"Here," he murmured, his voice full of admiration. "Jennie's little asshole."

His fingers spread her buttocks further, completely exposing her anus. It was small, dark, with the thinner skin around it forming a tight bud. He was still for a moment, just looking, as if contemplating a work of art.

"So tight," he whispered. "So perfect."

Then he sniffed.

Jennie felt his nose press directly against the little hole, felt him inhale deeply, felt the warm air against her hypersensitive skin. A moan escaped her, a mix of shame and excitement.

"It smells…" he murmured, his voice muffled. "It smells so… Jennie. Sweat, sex, perfume. It's the smell of your ass, Jennie. The smell of your little asshole."

His tongue came next.

It was an electric shock that ran through Jennie's body from her heels to the nape of her neck. The warm, wet tongue pressed against the tight little hole, in a slow movement that swept the surface, tasting. Jennie screamed, a sharp sound that echoed in the empty basement, her wrists pulling at the restraints with force.

"That's it," he murmured between licks. "That's it, Jennie. What taste is this? Is it your ass, Jennie? Is it the taste of your little asshole?"

She couldn't answer. She just moaned, her forehead resting on the cold concrete, her whole body trembling as his tongue explored that place no one had ever touched like that. He licked in slow circles, the tip of his tongue pressing, trying to penetrate that tight little hole, feeling the resistance, the heat, the unmistakable taste of sweaty skin and sex.

"So good," he murmured, his voice drunk with desire. "So good, Jennie. You have no idea how long I've imagined this."

His tongue delved deeper, managing to penetrate a few millimeters into that minuscule space. Jennie felt a pang of completely new pleasure, a strange sensation that made her legs buckle. She heard her own voice asking — asking for what, she didn't know — as his tongue continued its slow, depraved work.

He licked until he was satisfied, until he felt he had tasted every inch of that sweaty little hole. Only then did he pull back, panting, his lips shining with her saliva and fluids.

"Now," he said, his voice hoarse, "let's see the cunt."

His hands gripped her buttocks, spreading them further, completely exposing the view of her cunt from behind. Her lips were swollen, dripping, the moisture forming thin threads that ran down her thighs.

"Wet," he stated, his voice full of satisfaction. "Little princess Jennie is wet. Who would have thought."

"It's just… natural lubrication," she tried, her voice failing, still shaken by what had just happened. "It doesn't mean anything."

He laughed, turning her to face him. He knelt, positioned lower, his face inches from her exposed cunt.

"Of course not, darling."

His finger slid through the slit, feeling the heat, the moisture, the texture of the swollen lips. Jennie held her breath when the tip of his finger found her clit, pressing lightly, making slow circles.

"Is this also natural lubrication?" he teased, feeling her body tremble. "This tremor? This breathing?"

"Stop…" she asked, but the word came out without conviction.

He didn't stop. On the contrary, he intensified the movement, his fingers now exploring deeper, finding the entrance, sliding inside with ease given the lubrication. Jennie moaned loudly, her wrists instinctively pulling at the restraints, her body responding even against her will.

"Delicious cunt," he murmured, his fingers moving inside her, feeling the walls clench around him. "So tight… so hot…"

He withdrew his fingers abruptly, ignoring the moan of protest that escaped her. He brought the moist fingers to his nose, smelling deeply, his eyes half-closed with pleasure.

"Smell of Jennie," he murmured. "Smell of slut Jennie."

Then he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking slowly, tasting.

She watched, hypnotized, as he licked his own fingers, his eyes fixed on her the whole time.

"Tasty," he said simply. "You're tasty even in taste."

Jennie heard the sound of the belt being opened, of pants being lowered, and knew what would come next.

He turned her back around, pressed her face against the concrete and arched her ass, the tip of his penis pressing against her entrance from behind, hot and pulsating. But before he could advance, Jennie forced her head to the side, looking at him over her shoulder with a narrowed eye.

"Is that it?" her voice came out hoarse, but with deliberate venom. "So much talk, so much threat, and at the moment of truth you're just playing at rubbing the entrance?"

He stopped, surprised.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me," she continued, her tone of provocation increasing. "Seems like the video isn't the only thing that doesn't get hard. Or are you going to tell me that trembling in your hand is from excitement?"

His face darkened.

"You little slut…"

"That's it, talk louder," she laughed, a sound punctuated by her position. "Maybe then you can keep the rhythm for more than thirty seconds."

There was no warning.

His hand grabbed her hair violently, pulling her head back in a movement that tore a scream from her. At the same instant, his other hand guided his penis to her entrance and he penetrated her with a thrust so brutal that Jennie felt the air expelled from her lungs in a sharp moan.

"Is this what you wanted?" his voice was a growl against her ear. "You wanted it harder? You wanted to feel it?"

She couldn't answer. She just moaned, her toes curling inside her heels as he began to move in a relentless rhythm. Each thrust was deeper than the last, slamming her body against the concrete wall, her breasts swinging violently, her nipples brushing against the rough surface.

"Is this how you like it?" he grunted, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. "Being fucked like a bitch in heat?"

"Yes…" the word escaped her before she could think, mixed with a moan. "Yes… like that…"

He laughed, triumphant, but didn't slow the rhythm. On the contrary, he accelerated further, the thrusts so fast and deep that Jennie felt his penis hit the bottom of her uterus with each drive.

"I knew it. I knew this is what you were. A slut that needs to be tamed."

Suddenly, he stopped. He withdrew completely, ignoring her moan of protest, and spun her by the arm. Jennie staggered, her eyes wide, and before she could understand what was happening, he pushed her towards the wooden table in the center of the basement.

"Lie down," he ordered.

She obeyed, without thinking, lying on her back on the cold, dusty surface. He wasted no time. He pushed her legs up, opening her completely, her thighs pressed against her chest, and penetrated her again in a single brutal movement.

Jennie screamed.

The new position was even deeper. She felt every inch of him inside her, felt his penis hit places that hurt and gave pleasure at the same time. Tears began to flow from the corners of her eyes, mixing with the dust on the table.

"Cry," he ordered, his breathing heavy. "Cry, you slut. You asked for it."

"I… didn't…" she tried to say, but the words died in a moan as he thrust even deeper.

"You did ask. You wanted it harder, didn't you? Then take it."

Her whole body hurt — her wrists marked by the chain, her breasts scratched by the concrete, and now that unbearable pressure inside her.

"Stop," she asked, her voice faltering, punctuated by sobs. "Stop, it hurts…"

"It won't stop," he replied, the thrusts maintaining the brutal rhythm. "Not until you learn."

She felt it when he came for the first time. The hot jet filled her inside, and for a moment he stopped, panting, still buried inside her. Jennie thought it was over, that she would finally get a rest.

But he didn't pull out.

He stayed there, inside her, feeling his own pulses slow, and when she thought he would withdraw, he began to move again.

"No," she moaned, her eyes wide. "Not again, I can't take it…"

"You can."

The thrusts resumed, now even more brutal, lubricated by his own cum. The sound was obscene — wet smacks that echoed through the empty basement. Jennie was openly crying, the sobs mixing with moans, her whole body trembling under the impact of each drive.

He turned her on her side, then on her stomach, then on her back again, alternating positions as if testing which would make her suffer more. In each one, the penetration was deep, violent, relentless. Jennie lost track of time, of space, of herself. There was only the pain, the confused pleasure, and the tears that wouldn't stop flowing.

When he came for the second time, still inside her, Jennie felt her whole body contract in an orgasm she didn't ask for and couldn't control. Her inner walls tightened around his penis, sucking every drop, and she screamed — a sharp, prolonged sound that echoed off the basement walls.

He was still for long seconds, panting, still buried inside her.

Then, slowly, he pulled out.

Jennie felt the immediate emptiness, followed by the warm sensation of cum dripping from inside her, forming a puddle on the wooden table. She had no strength to move. She just lay there, on her back, her eyes fixed on the dark ceiling, her body sore and marked.

But he wasn't finished yet.

"Get up," he ordered.

She couldn't. Her body wouldn't respond.

He pulled her by the hair, forcing her to kneel on the floor. Jennie staggered, her legs open, cum running down her thighs in thick strands. He held her face with one hand, and with the other began to masturbate rapidly, his eyes fixed on her swollen lips.

"Open."

She obeyed, too weak to resist. Her mouth open, her tongue out, her eyes still brimming.

He came on her face.

The hot cum hit her cheek, her lips, her closed eyes. Part of it entered her mouth, running over her tongue, mixing with her tears. She tasted it — salty, thick, hot.

When he stopped, she was still for a moment. Then, slowly, she licked her lips, tasting.

His eyes watched her, waiting.

"It's actually tasty," she murmured, her voice hoarse, faltering, but with a trace of that earlier venom. "For someone who can't do anything else."

He laughed, a low, humorless sound.

He knelt in front of her, untied the golden chain that still bound her wrists. Jennie felt her arms fall, numb, her wrists marked by red grooves where the links had pressed.

He stood up, adjusted his pants, and without looking back, walked towards the stairs.

"Wait," her voice came out weak. "What about the video?"

He stopped, without turning.

"What video?"

And then he climbed the stairs, leaving her alone in the basement.

Jennie sat on the edge of the table for a long time. Her body ached in places she didn't even know could ache. Her wrists throbbed, her scratched breasts burned, and between her legs a dull, deep pain pulsed with every heartbeat. Cum dripped slowly, hitting the concrete floor at regular intervals.

She tried to stand, and her legs failed. She fell to her knees on the cold floor, her hands braced on the concrete for balance. She stayed there for a moment, panting, feeling the hot tears run down her dirty face, mixing with the dried cum.

When she finally managed to stand, she staggered to the corner where her shorts were still crumpled. She dressed with slow, painful movements — the shorts sliding up her marked thighs, the bra barely covering her scratched breasts, the remains of the sweater she wrapped around her body like an improvised shawl.

Her stockings were torn at the knees. The high heels, miraculously, were still on her feet.

She looked at the stairs. At the dim light at the top. At the path back.

Her body screamed.

Jennie wiped her face with the back of her hand, tasting the cum on her lips.

"Son of a bitch," she murmured, without anger, almost as an observation.

And she began to climb.

Each step was agony. The muscles in her legs trembled, her cunt hurt with every step, and cum ran down her thighs, wetting her shorts, leaving a damp trail on each step. She stopped halfway up the stairs, leaning against the wall, and cried — silent sobs that shook her shoulders.

But she continued.

When she reached the terrace door, she stopped. She adjusted the remains of the sweater around her body, ran her hand through her disheveled hair, wiped her face once more.

Inside, the music was still playing. The flashes were still exploding. People were still smiling.

Jennie took a deep breath, feeling the pain in every fiber of her body.

Then she opened the door.

Lisa's voice echoed in her mind, a mix of encouragement and provocation. And she, made of confidence and a desire to please, believed it. The plug was a gift, a secret between them to heat up the night before the event. But the size... It was too big. Lisa said yes, that she could take it. And she, confident, tried.

Now, hours later, the discomfort had turned into an undeniable urgency. The silicone object, once a promise of pleasure, was a throbbing nuisance that made her walk strangely, clenching with every step. She needed to take it out. She needed a private place, and fast.

"Is anyone there…?" she murmured, looking at the empty hallway, feeling exposed. The guilt, directed internally at Lisa, mixed with a hint of frustration.

Silence.

Finally, she spotted a side door slightly ajar. Relieved, she leaned against the wood, took a deep breath, and with a nervous smile on her lips, murmured:

"Great… Perfect. No one needs to know."

She disappeared into the room, closing the door carefully.

The darkness of the room swallowed her alive. It was an expensive hotel suite, with velvet curtains letting in the city's neon light, but Rosé could barely make out the shapes of the furniture. She was blind with lust and anger. Without turning on a light, to avoid being seen from the street, she groped her way forward, legs weak, flesh throbbing. She found an armchair and threw herself into it with her back to the door.

With a brusque movement, she lifted the hem of her dress to her waist, revealing the bare, damp skin of her thighs. There were no panties in the way. She bit her lip hard, almost drawing blood, to keep from moaning out loud. She reached for the wide base of the silicone plug. It was buried too deep inside her, stretching her ass.

"Damn you, Lisa…" she whispered in a mix of pleasure and hate, as she tried to pull the object out.

Her body's resistance was intense. Each pull sent an electric jolt from her spine to the pit of her stomach. She pulled harder, her fingers slipping on the metal base, focused on the dirty task, feeling the inner walls contracting to hold the intruder in. Finally, with a wet, obscene pop that echoed in the room's silence, the plug slid out, large, obscene, covered in lubricant and her own honey.

Rosé let out a trembling sigh, of relief and shame, holding the dirty toy in her shaking hand. Her body relaxed for a second, but her mind didn't.

She turned her face to the side, as if Lisa could see her through the phone on the nightstand.

"Are you happy now, you crazy woman?" Rosé began, her voice still faltering. "Look at the state I'm in. I look like I've been beaten. You have no idea how big this thing you bought for me is. My God, Lisa, I'm wet like a whore, dripping, shaking... and it's all your fault!"

She got up from the armchair, feeling the liquid run down her thigh. She went to the balcony, pressing the plug against her chest, looking at the city down below.

"'It'll be fun,' you said. 'You'll feel full,' you said." Rosé mimicked her friend's voice with acidic mockery. "I feel like a degenerate! I spent the whole party feeling this thing fucking me from the inside with every step I took, imagining your hand putting it in me. Was that what you wanted, you pervert? For me to be like this? Sweaty and thinking of you? Because it worked, fuck. Now tell me, what do I do with this filthy thing that was stuck up my ass?"

"You say that, but your little asshole is all open and your pussy is dripping."

The deep, unfamiliar voice came from the shadows, behind her.

Rosé's heart leaped and raced, a terrified gallop echoing in her ears. She froze, the plug still in her hand, her dress hiked up. Pure ice ran through her veins, replacing the warmth of relief. Slowly, with rigid movements of pure panic, she turned.

A man was leaning against the doorframe leading to the room, poorly lit, but with a defined silhouette. She couldn't see his expression, but she saw, with terrifying clarity, what he held in his hand.

A cell phone. The tiny screen light was on, pointed in her direction.

Recording.

The air seemed to vanish. Caught. Someone saw her. Someone saw her in that moment of extreme vulnerability, removing an intimate object. And worse, he had recorded everything. The thought of Lisa, of the guilt she felt, evaporated, replaced by raw fear. Who was he? What would he do with those images? The hand holding the plug trembled, and she dropped it onto the soft carpet, soundless.

She was trapped.

Rosé stepped back, her back hitting the cold glass of the balcony. Her body, once relaxed by relief, was now taut as a violin string.

"Who are you?" her voice came out a terrified whisper. "What do you want?"

The man stepped forward, the phone light illuminating his face for an instant. Max. The event security guard. She recognized him now — always watching her from afar with a look she preferred to ignore.

"You want to know what I want?" Max put the phone in his pocket and his hands went to his belt. When his jeans came down, he revealed an erection already hard, throbbing, grotesquely large against the dim light. "The moment is perfect. You're already open, wet, asking for it. You were complaining about the plug, but a real dick is what you need."

Disgust and fear mixed in Rosé's stomach.

"No." The word came out firm, despite the tremor. "Absolutely not. If you come near me, I'll scream. I'll tell everyone that—"

He didn't let her finish. Max took the phone out of his pocket again, spinning it in his hand so she could see the screen. The video started playing.

Rosé saw her own image — the silhouette bent over the armchair, the dress hiked up, the plug being slowly pulled from her body. The angle was perfect, capturing every sordid detail. You could see the skin of her thighs, the movement of her fingers, the way she arched her back when the object finally came out.

"If you scream, this video ends up in the security guards' group. Then on leak sites. Then in the press." His voice was calm, methodical. "Kpop star filmed masturbating in hotel room'. Nice title, don't you think?"

The air left Rosé's lungs. She looked at the city down below, at the lights that kept blinking, indifferent to her personal nightmare. There was no way out.

Max put the phone away and advanced. This time, she didn't retreat. Her body was paralyzed, but not with fear — with pure resignation.

"Turn around." The order was dry. "Stick out that little white ass of yours."

With mechanical movements, as if she were no longer her own, Rosé obeyed. She turned her back to him, placed her hands on the cold glass of the balcony, arched her back and stuck out her hips. The lime-green dress was crumpled, hiked up to her waist, completely revealing the pale skin of her buttocks. Between them, her little hole still gaping, wet, throbbing from the recent occupation of the plug.

She heard him suck in air from behind.

"Fuck, what a sight... Open like a flower waiting to be fucked."

Rosé squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears starting to fall. She didn't want this. She didn't want to be there. But her traitorous body responded otherwise — her wetness ran down her thigh, an uncontrollable physical reaction to the humiliation and danger.

His hand grabbed her waist with brute force. She felt the hot, wet tip of his glans graze her entrance, lightly at first, then pressing harder. He was positioning himself, rubbing the thick head of his dick against that still-open little hole, wetting it with the natural lubrication that flowed.

"You can scream now," he whispered near her ear.

And then he thrust in.

It wasn't gradual. It wasn't gentle. It was a single, violent thrust that buried the entire length of his penis inside her at once. The scream Rosé let out was primal, animalistic, a sound she didn't even know she could make. Her vision blurred with pain and shock. She felt as if she were being torn in half, the too-thick member forcing its way through the inner walls that were still adjusted to the plug.

Tears flowed uncontrollably as he began to move. Each thrust was a punch to the stomach, a stab that shot up her spine and exploded in her brain.

But then something changed.

The pain began to transform. The nerve endings, hyper-stimulated by the plug and now by the friction, began to send different signals. An absurd pressure began to grow in the pit of her stomach, hot, uncontrollable. Rosé tried to hold back, tried to resist, but her body no longer obeyed.

The orgasm came like a destructive wave.

She squirted with a violence that frightened her. The liquid gushed out, running down her legs, soaking the carpet, as she screamed — not in pain now, but from a pleasure so intense it hurt. Her eyes rolled back, her mind going blank for a second. Her legs gave way, but he held her by the waist, continuing to fuck her.

"That's right, fuck," he grunted behind her, his thrusts getting faster. "Come like that, give me that ass."

Rosé felt her head spin. With each thrust, closer to total collapse. The room spun, the city lights blurred, the glass fogged with her panting breath. She no longer knew where the pain ended and the pleasure began. It was all mixed into one thing, an overwhelming sensation of being completely filled.

Suddenly, he stopped. The rough hands pulled her back, turning her around to face him. Before she could process the change, he lifted her into the air as if she weighed nothing, holding firmly onto her white buttocks. Her back hit the balcony glass, cold against her hot skin, and he impaled her again.

The new position was even deeper. The different angle allowed him to enter places no plug had ever reached. Rosé felt the tip hit somewhere inside her, a sensitive spot that made her vision whiten.

"I can't take it anymore," she moaned, her voice failing, her nails digging into his shoulders without meaning to hurt. "I can't take it... my head... I'm losing it..."

Her mind was truly going. Thoughts dissolved with each thrust, replaced only by pure sensation. She no longer knew who she was, where she was, why she was there. Only the rhythm, the depth, the sound of bodies slapping together existed.

The second orgasm came without warning, tearing from her a long, high-pitched moon, almost a cry. Her whole body clenched, her legs squeezing his waist, and she squirted again — now onto him, onto both of them, running down their glued-together bodies.

Max grunted, his thrusts losing rhythm, becoming erratic, desperate. With a low roar, he buried himself deep and she felt the hot spurt inside her. He came in waves, filling her, the liquid running out around his still-buried dick.

They stayed like that for a moment, only panting breaths breaking the room's silence. Rosé let her head fall back, her eyes glassy on the ceiling, completely empty. Her body hung in his arms like a ragdoll.

Finally, he put her down. Her legs gave way immediately and she fell to her knees on the carpet, trying to catch her breath. She felt the thick liquid running down her thigh, leaking out of her, dirtying everything.

Max crouched down beside her. With a calm movement, he picked up the silicone plug from the floor. It wasn't dirty at all, still covered in lubricant.

"Lift your ass."

She obeyed without thinking, her body responding before her mind. She arched her back on her knees, presenting her ass to him. She felt the tip of the plug press against her entrance — now sore, throbbing, leaking cum — and push inside.

The moan she let out was of exhaustion and total surrender. The plug entered easily now, sliding until it settled deeply. She felt the weight, the familiar pressure, and something inside her calmed down.

"Better leave it there," Max's voice came calmly, almost paternal, as he stood up and fixed his clothes. "That way you won't be leaking all through the party."

Rosé remained on her knees, on all fours on the carpet, the plug secure inside her, her body marked, her mind silent. The city lights kept blinking outside, indifferent.

The room door opened and closed. She was alone again.

She climbed up slowly, her knees touching the sun-warmed wood.

For a moment, she brought her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the brightness.

"Wow..." she murmured with an amused smile. "I think the sun is trying to blind me today."

When she lowered her hand, she saw him there.

Standing still near the edge of the platform.

Watching.

Lisa tilted her head slightly to the side, studying him with a look that mixed curiosity and amusement. She moved forward a few inches on her knees across the wood, drawing closer.

"So..." she said, drawing out her voice a little, "you just stood there this whole time?"

He crossed his arms.

"Maybe."

She let out a low laugh.

"Maybe?" she repeated. "That sounds like the answer of someone who got caught looking."

She rested one hand on the deck, leaning her body slightly forward as she stared at him.

"Don't worry..." she continued with a smirk. "I don't usually charge admission."

The wind passed again, making the bikini strings flutter.

He still wasn't saying much, which seemed to amuse Lisa even more.

"You know..." she said, moving a little closer on her knees, "this place is dangerous."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Dangerous?"

Lisa nodded slowly.

"Yes." She looked at the sea behind her for an instant and then returned her gaze to him. "The water is beautiful... the sun is strong... and sometimes someone interesting appears, watching."

She rested her chin on her hand, pretending to think.

"Then you start wondering if you should get out of the water... or keep provoking a little."

She looked up at him from below.

"What do you think I should do?"

The silence between them grew heavier than before.

Lisa broke into a slow smile.

"Careful..." she said in a playful tone. "If you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you want me to stay here."

The silence between them grew even denser, charged with something beyond the sea breeze and the afternoon heat. Lisa held his gaze for a few seconds, her dark eyes shining with a mix of challenge and curiosity. Then, unhurriedly, she stood up, water streaming down her body, forming little rivulets that disappeared into the deck's wood.

She took a step toward him. Then another.

When she stopped, she was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, a temperature different from the sun's, denser, more dangerous. Lisa tilted her head back to look at him — he was tall, much taller than her, and the height difference made her feel small in a way that, surprisingly, didn't bother her.

"You're quiet, huh?" she murmured, a lazy smile playing on her lips. "I like that. I like a man who observes before he acts."

Her hand rose slowly, her fingers finding the fabric of the shorts he was wearing. Lisa bit her lower lip as her palm slid over the surface, feeling the volume beneath the cloth. Her eyes widened slightly.

"Wow..." the word escaped in a breath, almost involuntary. "That is... you're..."

She squeezed gently, confirming the sensation. The shorts hid nothing — or rather, they hid a lot, but what they hid was enormous. Lisa felt her own body respond, a heat rising from her belly, a dampness beginning to form between her thighs.

"Is that for real?" she laughed, a sound both nervous and excited. "You're not hiding a torpedo in there, are you?"

With a slow, deliberate movement, she slipped her fingers inside the waistband of his shorts and pulled down. The fabric slid down his thighs, pooling at his ankles, and the penis emerged before her — enormous, thick, dark, already partially erect and growing by the second under her fixed gaze.

Lisa held her breath.

"My God..." she murmured, her eyes fixed on that sight. "Look at that..."

She stood still for a long moment, just observing. The penis was darker than the rest of his skin, a deep brown that contrasted with the pale palm of her hand when she wrapped it around him, feeling the weight, the texture, the heat.

"It's so thick," she whispered, almost to herself. "So... perfect."

Her fingers could barely meet around the circumference. Lisa squeezed lightly, feeling the pulse, the blood rushing beneath the thin skin, the member hardening even more under her touch.

"And it's going to grow more?" she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. "It's going to get even bigger?"

The answer came in the form of a stronger pulse in her hand.

Lisa smiled, a slow smile.

She knelt on the deck's wood, kneeling before him like someone preparing for a ritual. The position made her feel even smaller, even more vulnerable — and that excited her more than she expected.

With her free hand, she guided the penis to her face, letting the tip rest against her cheek. The weight was real, the temperature warm, and Lisa closed her eyes for a second, feeling.

Then she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"You think this fits?" she asked, her voice sweet, almost innocent, completely dissonant from the situation. "In my mouth? You think I can?"

She didn't wait for an answer.

She brought the tip to her lips, kissing it lightly first, like testing the water's temperature. Then she opened her mouth and tried to envelop the head.

She couldn't.

The head was too thick, occupying all the space, pressing against the roof of her mouth and her cheeks at the same time. Lisa tried to go down a little more and choked, pulling back with teary eyes.

"Sorry," she laughed, embarrassed, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "Sorry, it's just... I've never sucked one this big before. I swear."

She looked at the penis, at the size, at the thickness, and then at him.

"You're going to have to teach me," she murmured, her voice lower. "Or at least be patient."

She leaned in again, this time slower. She licked the tip first, in slow circles, tasting it — salty, warm, masculine. Then she tried again to envelop it with her lips, but only managed the head.

"Like this?" she asked, her voice muffled, her eyes seeking his. "Is it good like this?"

She began to move, a clumsy back-and-forth motion that barely covered two centimeters of the member. Saliva ran down her chin, dripping onto her neck, falling on the deck. Lisa didn't care. She was focused, determined to learn, to discover how to please that man.

Her free hand held the base, massaging what her mouth couldn't reach, while her tongue explored the head in increasingly daring circles.

"Show me," she pleaded, taking her mouth away for an instant, her breath ragged. "Show me how you like it. Teach me."

Lisa leaned in again, but now her eyes didn't stray from that sight before her. The penis seemed even bigger up close, the veins running across the dark surface like maps of a territory she had barely begun to explore. She ran her tongue slowly along the side, feeling every ridge, every texture, her eyes half-closed in a mix of concentration and ecstasy.

"It's so big," she murmured against his skin, her lips brushing the shaft.

Her hand slid down, finding his balls. They were heavy, full, and Lisa cupped them carefully, feeling the weight, the heat. She lowered her face, burying her nose in the wrinkled skin, inhaling deeply.

The smell was strong — sweat, masculinity, that dense, animal odor rising from skin after a day in the sun. Lisa's eyes rolled back, her mouth opening in a muffled moan.

"My God," she whispered, her voice drunk with desire. "That smell... you smell so... so manly..."

Her tongue found its way, licking his balls with the same devotion she had given the penis. She tasted them, feeling the salty flavor of the skin, the sweat accumulated in the folds. Each lick was slow, deliberate, as if she were savoring a rare delicacy.

"I love this," she confessed, her voice muffled against his skin. "I love big dicks. Love it. I'm a slutty whore who loves big dicks, you know?"

She laughed, a drunken sound, as she continued licking, now alternating between his balls and the base of his penis. The hand not holding his balls massaged the shaft, feeling the thickness, the hardness.

"Look at this," she murmured, looking at her own fist that could barely close around the circumference. "My hand doesn't close. It doesn't close, can you believe it? And I'm going to have to put this in my mouth. In my throat."

She looked at him, her eyes shining with a mix of challenge and adoration.

"You're going to see me choke, huh? You're going to see little Lisa all drooly trying to swallow this trophy."

Before he could answer, she turned her face and began to move her tongue upward. She passed over his balls again, licking every inch, went up the base, up the shaft, and when she reached behind his balls, she found the way.

The rimjob.

Lisa pressed her face into that space, her tongue finding the sensitive skin between his balls and his ass. She licked there with the same devotion, feeling the smell even more concentrated, the taste even stronger. Her eyes rolled back again, a long, obscene moan escaping against his skin.

"That's it..." she murmured, her voice muffled. "Yes, that's it... what a taste... what a smell..."

Her tongue explored every fold, every inch of that sweaty perineum, while her hand continued to massage his penis in a slow, firm rhythm. She was lost, completely lost in that task, in the smell, in the taste, in the size of what she had before her.

"I could stay here all day," she confessed, her voice breaking. "All day licking you. Smelling you."

She licked deeper, the tip of her tongue brushing his asshole for an instant, and the moan that escaped her was almost a cry of pleasure.

"I want everything," she whispered. "I want your taste, your smell, your dick, your cum. I want everything inside me."

She finally pulled away, breathless, her face shining with her own saliva, her eyes glazed. She looked at the erect penis before her, pulsating, covered in the moisture she had left.

"Now," she said, her voice hoarse, "now I'm going to try again."

She opened her mouth as wide as she could and went down.

This time it was deeper. The head passed, the shaft began to enter, and Lisa felt the penis filling every space, pushing her tongue down, pressing against the roof of her mouth. She tried to relax her throat, tried to let it pass, but when it hit the back, she choked.

She pulled away coughing, eyes watering, saliva running down her chin in thick strands.

"Sorry," she laughed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Sorry, it's just too big. Too much. But I want it. I want it so much."

She went down again, determined.

This time she managed a little more. The head entered, the shaft slid, and she felt the taste get stronger, more concentrated. The smell of his body, the sweat, the excitement, everything mixed into an intoxicating perfume that made her want more.

Her eyes rolled back as his head hit the back of her throat. She felt the gag reflex but pushed, forced it, wanted more. Her free hand massaged his balls, feeling them contract, prepare.

When she finally pulled away to breathe, the penis was covered in saliva, gleaming under the afternoon light. Lisa looked at him with half-closed eyes, her mouth half-open, her breath ragged.

"I want your cum," she said simply. "I want it all. I want to fill my mouth. I want to swallow every drop."

She went down again, but now in a faster, more desperate rhythm. His head hit the back of her throat with each thrust, and Lisa tasted the pre-cum starting to appear — salty, slightly bitter, addictive.

"That's it," she murmured against his penis, her voice vibrating on his skin. "That's it, cum, cum in the whore's mouth, fill this slutty mouth..."

She felt when he started to pulse. The balls contracted in her hand, his whole body tensed, and then the first jet hit the back of her throat.

Lisa moaned, a muffled, happy sound, as the hot semen ran over her tongue, filled her mouth, went down her throat in an endless flow. It was a lot. More than she expected. More than any man had ever given.

Her eyes rolled back, her hands holding tight to her thighs, as she tried to swallow, tried to handle it all. But it was too much. The semen ran from the corners of her mouth, dripping onto the deck, running down her chin, mixing with saliva.

She choked.

But she didn't stop.

Even coughing, even with teary eyes, she kept her mouth on his penis, sucking every drop, licking the tip while the last jets still came out. When he finally stopped pulsing, Lisa slowly pulled away, her mouth full, her cheeks puffed.

She looked at him, eyes still watering, face dirty with cum and saliva, and opened her mouth to show.

Then she swallowed.

Slowly, deliberately, feeling each warm gulp go down her throat. When she finished, she licked her lips, cleaning the excess with her tongue.

"Mmm," she murmured, her voice hoarse. "Tasty. So tasty."

She looked around.

Hundreds of them. Hundreds of fans. Men of all ages, nationalities, types. Some had eyes wide with disbelief, others had already lost any shred of modesty and had their hands busy on their own bodies, preparing for what they knew was coming. The air was thick, heavy with testosterone and anticipation.

Jisoo felt a familiar, moist warmth bloom between her legs. Just thinking about all those men, all those cocks, all those bodies ready to dedicate themselves to a single purpose — filling her fertile vagina with their semen — she could already feel the dampness wanting to run down her thigh, soaking the most intimate part of her panties. Her mind wandered for an instant, imagining the sensation of each one of them, one after the other, depositing inside her the proof of their devotion. Her uterus, fertile and hungry, seemed to pulse in anticipation, a deep vibration that echoed from her pelvis to her throat.

She brought a hand to her neckline, in a slow, theatrical gesture, and her eyes scanned the crowd with a gleam of defiance.

— Did you all come to see me? — she asked, her voice sweet and soft, but amplified by the microphones strategically positioned throughout the hall.

An affirmative roar shook the venue.

— And did you come prepared? — she continued, a mischievous smile playing on her lips painted a soft pink.

Another roar, louder, more animalistic. The sound of hundreds of male voices in unison, all dedicated to her, sent a shiver down Jisoo's spine. She felt her nipples harden under the thin fabric of her dress, rubbing provocatively against the silk.

Jisoo walked a few steps, the short dress swaying around her thighs, until she reached the exact center of the hall. There, solitary and contrasting with the coldness of the environment, was a black leather sofa. Wide, soft, perfectly positioned under the main spotlight. She ran her hand over the upholstery, feeling the cold texture under her fingers, imagining what it would be like to feel that same cold contrasting with the heat that would soon emanate from her body.

She sat on the edge for a moment, just to take in the view. Then, with the slowness of someone who knows exactly the effect they cause, she lay back on the sofa, the cold leather against the warm skin of her back. The dress, in that position, seemed designed for that moment. The pink silk spread around her like a puddle of dream, while she, in a fluid and deliberate motion, took off the black safety shorts she wore underneath, revealing the smooth, soft skin of her thighs.

And then, Jisoo opened her legs.

Slowly. Widely. An invitation so explicit that even the most restrained among those present felt the air escape their lungs. The sight was impossible to look away from: Jisoo's pussy, completely on display, the lips already moist and slightly parted, glistening under the light like a flower about to be plucked. Her panties, tiny and made of pink lace, had been pushed aside with a casual motion, revealing the moisture that already flowed, forming small shiny veins that ran down her slit and were lost in the shadow between her buttocks.

— Come — she commanded, her voice now deeper, huskier, echoing through the speakers with an authority that made every word vibrate in the spines of those present. — Come, all of you. But come ready. I want to see every hand busy, every cock hard, ready to cum inside me. I don't want anyone wasting time. You have two minutes. Two minutes inside this hungry cunt. If you go over, I'll pull away and call the next one. Understood?

Murmurs of agreement spread like fire. The sound of zippers opening, of belts being loosened, filled the air. Jisoo smiled, satisfied, as the first fan approached, his penis erect and pulsating in his hand.

— That's it — she murmured, her legs even wider, her arms stretched out along her body in a posture of offering. — Come on. Fill this whore. Fill her until she overflows.

The first man was young, maybe in his early twenties, with eyes wide with pure ecstasy as he approached. His penis, average in size but impressively thick, pulsed with an almost painful urgency. He knelt between Jisoo's legs, his hands trembling as they held the base while guiding the tip to her moist entrance. Even before penetrating, Jisoo felt the heat radiating from the member, a promise of fullness that made her sex clench in anticipation.

When the tip finally brushed her swollen lips, they both let out a moan. She was hot. Not just warm, but hot like an oven, as if her entire body were on fire just in anticipation of that moment. Soft, incredibly soft, the inner walls already contracting gently even before full penetration. And tight. Despite the excitement that made her sex flow like a spring, Jisoo's internal musculature was firm, trained, capable of enveloping every inch of a penis like a glove of warm velvet.

The man penetrated her with a clumsy thrust, haste taking over his movements. Jisoo felt the head of the penis forcing its way in, opening a path through the slippery moisture, and a deep moan escaped her lips. The sensation was overwhelming — the sudden fullness, the stretching of the inner walls, the heat of the strange member inside her. She arched her back involuntarily, her breasts straining against the dress, her hardened nipples rubbing against the silk.

— Slow down — she commanded, although her voice came out more as a breathless whisper. — Like that... yes... feel how tight I am? Feel how tight your whore is just for you?

The man grunted in response, his glazed eyes fixed on the point where his body connected with hers. He began to move in a frenzied, desperate rhythm, the thrusts fast and shallow, aware of the limited time but unable to control the urgency that took over every fiber of his being.

Jisoo closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the sensations. With each thrust, the head of the penis brushed against specific points inside her, firing small shocks of pleasure that went up her spine. She felt every vein, every pulse of the member inside her, as if she could read the man's body through the intimate contact. The sound was obscene — the wet smack of penetration, his ragged breathing, her own muffled moans.

But her eyes soon opened, looking for the next ones in line. There were dozens of them waiting, each with an erect penis in hand, some already masturbating slowly as they watched, others with their eyes fixed on her as if she were the very incarnation of desire. Jisoo counted mentally, planning, imagining what it would be like to feel each one of them.

— Faster — she commanded the man above her, feeling him approaching climax by the way his penis pulsed more intensely inside her. — Almost out of time. Cum. Cum inside me. Fill this cunt with your milk.

The man obeyed with an animal grunt, his entire body trembling in uncontrollable spasms. Jisoo felt the first spurt of hot semen hit the back of her uterus, a sensation of liquid heat that spread through her insides like honey. Another spurt, stronger, and another, until she felt the thick liquid filling every empty space, running down the inner walls, accumulating inside her like a warm offering.

When he pulled out, panting, his penis still pulsing and dripping the remnants of semen, Jisoo pulled him into a wet, deep kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth, mixing saliva with the taste of exertion, while one of her hands went down to guide the next man into position.

— Next — she announced, her voice firm, though slightly thick with pleasure, while her legs remained open, her cunt dripping a mixture of her own moisture and the first fan's sperm. The white liquid ran down her slit, flowed through her opening and was lost in the darkness between her buttocks, staining the black leather of the sofa.

The second was already approaching, an older man, with a graying beard and hungry eyes. His penis was longer, thinner, and he guided it to Jisoo's entrance with a calm that contrasted with the first man's haste. When he penetrated her, Jisoo felt the difference immediately — more length, reaching points the first hadn't, brushing against the back of her uterus in a way that made her eyes roll back.

— Ah, yes... — she moaned, her hands gripping the arms of the sofa. — Like that... deeper... hit right there...

The man began to move in a measured rhythm, long, deep thrusts that made Jisoo's entire body rock on the sofa. With each drive, the head of his penis compressed against her cervix, a delicious pressure bordering on pain, sending waves of pleasure spreading through her pelvis. She felt every inch of him sliding inside her, the inner walls contracting around the member as if wanting to suck every drop of pleasure he could offer.

Her free hand went down to her own clitoris, her fingers finding the small swollen bud and beginning to massage in circles to the rhythm of the thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming — the deep filling, the pressure on her clitoris, the heat of his body over hers. Jisoo felt the orgasm begin to form at the base of her spine, a slow and powerful wave rising towards the peak.

— I'm going to cum — she murmured, her eyes half-closed, her breathing increasingly ragged. — I'm going to cum on this cock... keep going... don't stop...

The man obeyed, the thrusts becoming faster, more urgent. Jisoo felt the orgasm explode like a supernova, the waves of pleasure shaking her body in uncontrollable spasms. Her inner walls contracted violently around his penis, squeezing, massaging, sucking with an intensity that made the man moan loudly.

— Fuck... — he grunted, his body trembling as the orgasm hit him in response to her contractions.

Jisoo felt the hot semen spurt inside her, mixing with what was already there, accumulating, filling. It was a sensation of absolute fullness, as if every empty space inside her was being filled with the proof of those men's devotion. When he pulled out, panting, she pulled him into the ritual kiss, her tongue meeting his in a wet, saliva-filled duel.

— Next.

The cycle repeated in a hypnotic cadence. The third was younger, almost a teenager, and came in less than a minute, so intense was his excitement. The fourth was huge, so thick that Jisoo felt the inner walls stretch to the limit, a pleasurable pain that made her moan louder than before. The fifth brought a flutter in her stomach when their eyes met — he was Korean, like her, and there was something familiar in his gaze that excited her even more.

With each new man, new sensations. Some cocks were curved, brushing against specific points that made Jisoo arch her back. Others were straight and long, reaching depths that seemed to touch her soul. Some were hot, almost burning, others had normal body temperature, but all, without exception, left a little of themselves inside her, a liquid and warm offering.

The line seemed endless. Men of all colors, ages, sizes. Jisoo lost track of time, of numbers. There was only the repeated sensation of being filled, emptied, filled again. Her body had become a receptacle, a temple for the devotion of those men. With each new penetration, she felt the sperm of the previous ones being pushed deeper, mixing with the new one, forming a hot, slippery cocktail inside her.

The leather sofa was starting to get stained, slippery. The air around acquired a dense, animal smell of sex and sweat and semen. Jisoo's pink dress was crumpled, stained, hiked up to her waist, but she didn't care. Her hair, once perfectly styled, was plastered to her forehead and neck with sweat. Her makeup was running, but her eyes kept the same hungry gleam as when it all began.

At a certain point, after the twentieth or thirtieth man — she had lost count — Jisoo felt something different.

— Enough of this position — she announced, as she stood up.

Sperm ran down her thighs in thick, white strands, forming small puddles on the dark leather of the sofa as she moved. Every step she took towards the coffee table left a wet trail on the floor, an obscene trace of her own depravity. Jisoo felt the liquid running down the inside of her thighs, viscous and warm, dripping onto her ankles and wetting the edge of the heeled boots she still wore.

She was exhausted. The muscles in her legs trembled slightly; keeping them open for so long for dozens of men had required an effort that was now taking its toll. A dull, deep pain throbbed in her lower abdomen, and her intimate area burned with every movement — the prolonged friction had left its mark, the sensitive skin swollen, irritated to the point where any contact, even with the air, was a hypersensitive sensation between pleasure and discomfort.

But she didn't show it. Jisoo was an artist, and this was her most important performance.

Upon reaching the table, she placed a hand on the cold surface to steady herself. With the other, she picked up the bottle of wine that was on the silver tray. A full-bodied red, dark as blood. She didn't bother looking for an appropriate glass; instead, she picked up a huge glass, almost a bowl of thin glass, and filled it to the brim with a slow, calculated gesture.

The men around watched in hypnotized silence. Some still held their erect penises in their hands, others had already cum more than once and were just waiting for the command to continue. The air was thick, heavy with the smell of sex, sweat, and expensive perfume.

Jisoo brought the glass to her lips and drank. Quenching her voracious thirst, the wine ran from the corners of her mouth, dripping onto her neck, staining the pale skin of her chest purple. She felt the alcohol burn her throat and spread warmth through her empty stomach, a temporary relief from the fatigue that weighed on every fiber of her body. Dehydration was starting to set in. Her mouth was dry despite the wine, her tongue heavy, her lips chapped.

When the glass was empty, Jisoo let it fall onto the carpet. The glass didn't break, just rolled silently on the thick wool.

Then, with slow and theatrical movements, she began to take off what was left of the dress.

The garment, once impeccable, was unrecognizable. Stained with wine, sperm, sweat, crumpled beyond any recovery. She pulled the fabric over her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper of ruined silk. She was completely naked, except for the boots, high-heeled, with a long shaft that went up to mid-calf.

She turned slowly, showing herself to the silent audience. The red marks on her hips, the moisture that still flowed endlessly between her legs, dripping onto the floor at regular intervals. Each drop that fell left a small white explosion.

— Now — she said, her voice firmer after the wine, although the fatigue was evident in her half-closed eyes —, come. But I want you lying down, I'm going to ride.

The men obeyed as if controlled by invisible strings. The first lay back on the sofa, his erect penis pointing at the ceiling. Jisoo approached slowly, feeling every muscle in her legs protest, every intimate fiber burn in protest. She ignored it. She climbed on top of him, positioned herself, and descended.

The moan that escaped was one of pure pain. The irritation was such that the penetration, even with all the accumulated lubrication, burned like fire. But Jisoo continued. She went all the way down, feeling the penis fill the space already so used, so mistreated, and began to ride.

The movement was different now. Slower, more deliberate, each descent an exercise in control over her own exhaustion. The muscles in her thighs burned, her abdomen ached, her cunt throbbed in its own rhythm that mixed pain and pleasure into an unbearable symphony.

She rode that man until he came, and then she got up without a kiss of thanks, without a glance. The sperm immediately flowed out of her, dripping onto the man's chest before he could move. Jisoo was already heading to the next one, lying on the carpet, waiting his turn.

Another one. Two more. Five more. She lost count after the twentieth — or thirtieth — man. The wine helped her float above the pain, above the intense fatigue that made every movement a negotiation with her own body. The dehydration had left her mouth pasty, her lips cracked. The micro-lesions caused by the relentless friction made each penetration a double-edged sword: the pleasure still existed, but it came accompanied by a sharp stab of burning that made her squeeze her eyes shut.

Semen flowed endlessly from her cunt. It didn't matter how many times she wiped herself with her hand, it didn't matter how many times she dried it on her thighs — the next cum, the next man, the next hot spurt restarted the cycle. Her belly was stained, her thighs covered with white strands that dried and stuck to her skin, the carpet around marked by puddles that were already starting to harden.

That's when something changed.

The man now penetrating her was particularly large. Jisoo felt the difference the moment she descended onto him — a greater stretch, a deeper filling that seemed to reach untouched places until then. She was riding slowly, saving her remaining strength, when on a deeper descent she felt something extraordinary.

Each thrust made her lower abdomen bulge outwards.

She looked down, incredulous, and saw. The skin of her abdomen, stretched, moved with each drive as if his penis was so deep inside it could be seen through her. A ghostly protuberance that rose and fell in her lower belly, the shape of his member outlined under her skin like an obscene relief.

Jisoo's eyes filled with tears.

It wasn't pain — or not just pain. It was such intense sensory overload that her brain no longer knew how to process it. The extreme fatigue, dehydration, burning, muscle fatigue, all of this added to the surreal vision of her own body being molded from within, and something inside her broke.

— That's it... — she whispered, her voice faltering, thick with emotion. — Like that... fuck this mistreated little cunt...

Tears flowed freely now, mixing with the sweat and dried wine on her face. She didn't wipe them away. She let them fall, let them drip onto the chest of the man below her, let them get lost in the mess of fluids that covered them both.

The man grunted, his hands rising to grip her hips hard enough to leave purple marks on top of the existing ones. He began to push from below, meeting her rhythm, deepening the thrusts even more. Each one made Jisoo gasp, made the protuberance in her belly outline itself more sharply, made more tears roll down.

— Fuck me — she repeated, now in a louder moan. — Fuck me all the way, fuck...

The thrusts were brutal, deep, fast. Jisoo felt every muscle in her abdomen contract with each drive, felt the air being pushed out of her lungs with the force of penetration. Her breasts swung freely, her hardened and sore nipples brushing the air, her skin marked by bites and pinches from previous men. The orgasm, when it came, was so intense that Jisoo for a moment lost track of where she was. The world around dissolved into a white mist of pleasure, leaving only the sensation of the penis inside her, the violent contractions of her uterus, the scream that escaped her throat without her being able to control it — a high-pitched, prolonged, almost painful sound that echoed off the walls of the room and made the waiting men tremble with excitement.

The man came right after, the semen spurting with such force that Jisoo felt every hot beat against the back of her uterus. It was as if he was trying to mark every inch of her with his liquid, fill every empty space with his essence. The heat spread inside, and Jisoo felt the excess flow out immediately, dripping onto his body, onto the carpet, forming another puddle in the endless collection. When he pulled out, panting, Jisoo didn't even have the strength to pull him into the ritual kiss. Her body simply collapsed to the side, rolling on the dirty carpet, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Sperm flowed from her cunt in pulses rhythmically with her heartbeats, each contraction of the uterus pushing more liquid out, forming a continuous thread that ran down her groin and was lost on the stained skin of her thigh.

She reached out a hand, in a weak gesture, and he understood. He leaned down and kissed her, a wet and deep kiss, while the next man already positioned himself, waiting only for Jisoo to find the strength to once again open her legs and receive him.

The rhythm continued, hypnotic. Jisoo alternated positions whenever a muscle threatened a cramp: on all fours, lying on her side with one leg raised, sitting on one man's lap while another waited his turn. Each new position brought a different angle, a new sensation, and she marveled at how many men still remained. The room was packed and now there weren't even twenty men left properly, she had already fucked the rest who had left. How had she managed that?

Then, while she was riding a fan, grinding slowly to prolong the pleasure, Jisoo felt a change in the air.

The looks.

There was something different in the room. A new tension. She raised her head, her dark hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, and saw a man approaching. He wasn't next in line. He was another. And he wasn't looking into her eyes — he was looking at the exact point where the man's penis disappeared inside her with each descent.

— Wait — Jisoo's voice came out higher than intended. — What are you doing? It's still his turn.

The man didn't answer. He just kept approaching, his eyes fixed on that hypnotic vision. The man she was riding, below her, seemed to hesitate for a moment, but kept moving his hips in slow waves, pushing up with each of her descents.

— I asked something — Jisoo tried to harden her voice, but fatigue made it tremble. — You can't... wait, this isn't...

The man was now so close she felt the heat of his body against her back. A large hand landed on her hip, and Jisoo felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

She felt fear.

It was only a second, a quick flash that contracted her stomach. It was too new, too different, she had no control over it. Until then, everything had followed the rhythm she had set — one at a time, her choosing positions, her commanding. Now someone dared to break the rules.

— No — she said, but the word came out weak. — I didn't authorize this.

The man behind her leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. His voice was low, calm, almost a loving whisper.

— You can take it — he murmured. — You can take anything. You've taken so much tonight... so many men... so many cocks... why not one more? At the same time?

Jisoo trembled. The fear was still there, but something else was starting to mix. A warm curiosity, a forbidden excitement.

— Two at the same time? — she repeated, incredulous. — In the same...?

— In your tight cunt — he completed, his voice still in her ear, warm and moist. — Both. Together. You can do it. I bet you can.

His hand on her hip squeezed gently, a gesture that was almost a caress. At the same time, his other hand slid over Jisoo's belly, going down slowly until it found her clitoris. She moaned loudly at the contact, her body responding before her mind could process it.

— Just imagine — he continued, his fingers making slow circles on that small sensitive sphere. — Both inside. Filling you completely. You'll feel so full... so complete...

— But... — Jisoo tried to argue, but her voice died in a moan when his fingers pressed the right spot.

— Just let me try — he whispered, and now she felt the tip of his penis pressing against her back, warm and moist. — If it hurts, if it doesn't fit, we stop. I'll stop right away. But let me try.

Jisoo bit her lip, her eyes half-closed. Inside, the first man's penis continued its rhythmic movement, each thrust reminding her how full she already was. But the idea... the idea was electrifying.

She was a whore, after all. A true whore. And true whores weren't afraid of new things.

— You're crazy — she laughed, a hoarse laugh, punctuated by a moan when his fingers pressed her clitoris again. — You're fucking crazy. It won't fit.

— It will — he insisted, the tip of his penis now sliding along the slit between her buttocks, finding the already occupied entrance. — It will fit, yes. You'll see. You'll love it.

— And if I don't love it? — she teased, her head falling back, resting on his shoulder.

— Then you tell me to stop — he replied simply. — And I'll stop. But let me try first.

Jisoo felt his tip pressing against her entrance, next to the penis that was already inside. The sensation was strange, almost frightening — there was no space, no way. But he pressed, and something gave way.

— Ouch — she moaned, her hands digging into the shoulders of the man below. — Ouch, that's...

— That's it — he encouraged, his voice calm. — Relax. Just relax. Let it in.

The tip entered. Then another centimeter. Jisoo felt every fiber of her vagina being stretched beyond what she thought possible. The pain was sharp at first, a burn that made her eyes fill with tears. But then the man below her continued his movement, slow and rhythmic, and the pain began to transform into something more complex.

— It fits... — she murmured, incredulous. — It's fitting...

— Of course it fits — the man behind whispered, advancing a little more. — Your cunt was made for this. Made to be filled.

The man below her, silent until then, finally spoke, his voice muffled by the effort of staying still while the others adjusted.

— You're so tight — he moaned. — So hot... so perfect...

Jisoo laughed, a sound half-drunk with pleasure.

— Shut up and keep fucking — she commanded. — Both of you. I want to feel it.

The man below began to move again, slow and deep thrusts. The man behind synchronized his movements, entering and exiting in the opposite rhythm — when one entered, the other left, creating a constant sensation of fullness and emptiness that left Jisoo breathless.

— Like this? — the man behind asked, his voice polite, almost solicitous, in complete contrast to the obscenity of the act. — Do you like it like this, ma'am?

— Faster — she commanded, her voice faltering. — Faster, you idiots. Don't make me repeat myself.

Both obeyed.

The rhythm accelerated, the thrusts becoming deeper, more brutal. Jisoo felt both penises inside her, felt when they touched each other in there, rubbing against each other through the thin wall of her flesh. The sensation was overwhelming — a sensory overload that made her eyes roll back, her mouth open in a continuous moan that wouldn't stop.

— Like that — she moaned, the words coming out broken. — Like that, like that, like that... I'm going to cum... I'm going to cum again...

— Cum, ma'am — the man behind murmured, his hands squeezing her hips hard. — Cum on our cocks. Show how much of a whore you are.

The orgasm came like a giant wave, knocking down all the remaining barriers. Jisoo screamed, a high-pitched, prolonged sound, while the contractions of her vagina squeezed both penises with a violence that made both men moan loudly. She felt when they came too, almost at the same time, the heat of both spurts filling her completely, running over the edges, dripping onto the man below and the floor.

When the wave passed, Jisoo lay still for long seconds, just breathing. The two men inside her were also still, panting, waiting.

She laughed. A low, satisfied laugh.

— You motherfuckers — she murmured, her voice affectionate despite the words. — You were right. It fit.

She detached herself from them with a languid movement, staggering to the sofa, where she sat with her legs open, showing the fluids flowing endlessly. Semen dripped from her vagina at regular intervals, forming a growing puddle on the dark leather of the upholstery. She felt the burning, the micro-lesions, the extreme fatigue, but none of that mattered now.

She looked at the remaining men in the room, all still hard, all still waiting.

— Next — Jisoo commanded, barely catching her breath, her voice thick but firm. She pointed to the two closest men. — You two. Two at a time. In the cunt. Nonstop.

The chosen men exchanged quick glances and approached, kneeling before her like devotees before an altar. Jisoo just opened her legs wider, offering herself, and closed her eyes as she felt the first stabs of another double penetration.

— And don't you dare cum before I tell you to — she added, her voice a whisper of command. — I decide.

And as the next ones approached, she murmured to herself, her eyes shining with deep satisfaction:

— What a whore... what a woman...

And so it went.

The hall turned into a ballet of bodies, a symphony of moans and wet smacks. Always two men at a time, one in each hole, fucking Jisoo with a religious devotion. When one came, he was immediately replaced by another, already hard, already ready. The wet kisses multiplied, Jisoo receiving each cum with a sealing of lips that was almost a blessing.

Time lost all meaning. There was only the rhythm: penetrate, fuck, cum, kiss, replace. Penetrate, fuck, cum, kiss, replace. An endless conveyor belt of pleasure and semen.

When the last man finally came, when no one was left in line, when all the fans present had deposited their offering inside Jisoo's body, a heavy silence fell over the hall.

Jisoo remained lying on her back on the leather sofa, completely still, her legs still open at a relaxed angle. Her breathing was shallow, irregular. The pink dress was unrecognizable, soaked, stained, crumpled.

Her belly was visibly distended. A small mound had formed where it was once flat, the uterus overflowing with sperm. When she tried to move her legs, a thick, white stream ran down the sofa, forming a puddle on the floor. More came out with every small movement, as if her body could no longer retain everything it had received.

She brought a trembling hand to her own belly, feeling the weight, the warmth, the fullness. A weak, exhausted, but deeply satisfied smile played on her lips.

— Thank you... — she whispered, her voice almost inaudible, her eyes scanning the crowd of men who were now recomposing themselves, getting dressed, looking at her with a mixture of adoration and fatigue. — Thank you all...

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the last drops escape, feeling the uterus pulse, full, satisfied, fertile.

Before her, sitting on the edge of the bed, a man watched. The minimalist elegance of the dress, which hours earlier on the red carpet had seemed like a declaration of indifferent superiority, now revealed itself in every curve accentuated by her position.

She moved her hand to unbuckle his belt.

The gesture was slow, deliberate — her fingers finding the metal, feeling the weight of the buckle before pressing the mechanism. The dry click echoed in the silence of the room.

Rosé followed each step with her eyes fixed on her own work, her lips parted. First the leather gave way, then the loop. She pulled the end of the belt carefully, freeing it completely from the first keeper, then the second. The sound of leather sliding against leather was a rough whisper.

With the belt loose, she lifted her eyes to his face for an instant — just long enough to see the barely disguised expression of surprise, control slipping through a crack — before returning her attention to what mattered.

Her fingers found the button of his trousers, then the zipper. She pulled slowly, tooth by tooth, deliberate. The opening widened and his penis emerged, erect and thick, so close to her face that its shadow seemed to cover everything for a moment.

She didn't look away, but brought her hands to her mouth, a silly little smile forming behind her fingers. Her eyes, painted black, were wide. Saliva began to pool under her tongue, a physical reaction she already knew well.

— Are you going to stand there with your mouth open, or are you going to start sucking? — his voice cut through the daze.

Her little smile widened, a flash of defiance in her eyes before she leaned forward. Rosé was great at sucking dicks. She loved it, actually. That act was a stage where she reigned supreme. But that one... that one seemed like too much even for her.

She licked the tip with her flat tongue first, tasting the saltiness of the skin. Then, in a slow motion, she enveloped it with her lips, taking only the head inside, savoring it. She massaged the base with one hand while feeling the member fill every space, pushing her tongue down. Rosé closed her eyes for an instant, feeling exactly like a toy. And that turned her on in an almost absurd way.

— Fuck — he murmured, his fingers diving into her platinum hair, feeling the texture of the cool strands as her head moved.

His other hand slid down her back, found the opening in the dress and plunged inside, feeling the warmth of her bare skin. Then it went down the front and with a quick movement, he pulled the neckline down, freeing her breasts. Rosé's small tits emerged, her nipples large.

He held one between his thumb and forefinger. Then, he pulled.

The tug was sharp, strong enough to wrench a loud, muffled moan from her. Rosé took the penis out of her mouth with a pop, a thread of saliva still connecting her lips to its tip.

— Ah! Fuck... — she panted, her eyes welling up, but the smile still on her lips. — That hurts, fuck.

— Oh, yeah? — he pulled again, now with less force, a back-and-forth motion that made her eyes roll back.

Rosé's breath came in short gasps. She felt the controlled pain on her nipples and the absence of the penis in her mouth, which now pulsed just inches from her face. She looked at him, then at the member, and tilted her head in a mute gesture. He let her go, giving her cheek a light pat.

She smiled, satisfied, and dove back in. This time, she went deeper, faster, taking her free hand to massage her own private parts over the dress, feeling the thin fabric crumple against her moisture.

Time seemed distorted. His heavy breathing, her muffled moans, the sound of suction. Saliva ran down Rosé's chin, staining the immaculate collar of the white dress. She massaged his penis with her mouth to the limit, feeling the pulse increase.

She felt his hand tighten in her hair, the precursor to the pull that would come. But before he could do it, Rosé took the initiative.

She took the penis out of her mouth deliberately, with a purposely wet pop, and lifted her face to look at him. Swollen lips, chin shiny with saliva, dark, dilated eyes fixed on his.

— Not in my mouth — her voice came out low, but firm. — I want to feel it down here.

She got up by herself.

Her legs, still numb from the time spent kneeling, threatened to give way, but she steadied herself, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder just to keep her balance. She didn't need him to pull her up. Rosé walked around the bed with slow, deliberate steps, making sure he saw her — the crumpled white dress, the platinum hair in disarray, the walk of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

She stopped in front of the bed. Facing him, Rosé leaned forward slowly, placing her hands on the mattress first, letting him see the curve of her back under the fabric. Then, in a fluid motion, she climbed onto the bed — one knee, then the other — positioning herself on all fours in the center of the mattress.

Only then, unhurriedly, she brought her own hands to the hem of the dress.

Rosé lifted the fabric slowly, inch by inch, revealing first the back of her thighs, then her buttocks, finally her pussy completely exposed, wet, her swollen lips glistening in the dim light.

With the dress already bunched at her waist, Rosé deliberately arched her back, sticking her ass out for him at an angle that offered every inch of herself, her dark, tight little asshole. She buried her face sideways in the pillow, her blonde hair spread over the sheet, and waited.

Rosé felt his gaze burn her exposed skin. She wasn't wearing panties to events like this, Rosé's pussy was completely on display, her lips swollen and shiny. Moisture ran down the inside of her thighs, forming veins that glistened in the half-light. She was so wet you could see the amber light reflecting on her damp skin.

He whistled, low.

— Well, look at that.

Rosé buried her face in the sheet, biting the fabric to stifle a moan. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but instead of closing her legs, instinctively, she arched her back. An invitation.

He needed nothing more.

He brushed aside the blonde strands falling over her back. He leaned in for a second, just to run his tongue down her spine, tasting the salt of her sweaty skin. Rosé shuddered. But there was no time for more caresses.

He entered her with a single thrust.

The moan Rosé let out was high-pitched, a sound that mixed surprise and pleasure. Her hands grabbed the sheets so hard her knuckles turned white. She was hot, wet, and incredibly tight. He felt every millimeter of her clench around his penis.

— Like that... — Rosé whispered, her voice thick, her eyes rolling back as he remained motionless inside her. — Please, like that...

He began to move.

First slowly, deep thrusts that made her body slide forward on the mattress with each drive. Rosé's eyes were half-closed, her mouth open, a thread of saliva still dripping onto the sheet. The white dress, hitched up and crumpled at her waist, contrasted with the obscenity of the scene.

He quickened the pace, his hands holding firmly onto her hips, his nails marking her skin. The sound was the slapping of bodies meeting, ragged breathing, the small moans escaping Rosé with each deeper thrust.

— You like that, you little slut?

— Yes... — her voice came out in a thread. — Yes, yes...

He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her sweaty back, and wrapped an arm around her neck, pulling her back towards him. The new position made him go in even deeper, at a different angle that tore a sharp cry from Rosé. She felt his tip hit a place that seemed to make her legs tremble.

— That... Fuck, it's so deep! — she said, her head thrown back against his shoulder. — Please, more...

He obeyed. The thrusts became faster, more brutal. His free hand slid to the front, finding Rosé's swollen clit. She screamed when he began to massage it in circles, in time with the penetrations. The room was filled only with primal sounds: the slapping of bodies, the increasingly loud moans, the light bites on the skin of her neck.

— Are you going to cum?

— I'm going to... oh, God, I'm going to...

She felt every inch of him inside her, filling her in a way that made her lose track of where her body ended and his began. It was intense, animalistic fucking. The orgasm began to form at the base of her spine, rising slow and inevitable. Rosé squeezed her eyes shut tight, her mouth open in a silent moan, as her legs began to tremble.

When the orgasm finally hit her, it was like a shock. She screamed, a high, prolonged sound, as her body contracted in violent spasms around his penis. He felt every contraction, every squeeze.

— Fuck... — he roared, digging his nails into her hips.

They stayed like that for long seconds, motionless, just breathing. Rosé felt the heat of the semen running inside her, mixed with her own moisture. He pulled out of her with a slow movement, and she felt the immediate emptiness.

She let herself fall face down on the bed, her face buried in the pillow, the white dress still crumpled at her waist. Her breathing was panting, irregular. Saliva still ran from the corner of her mouth, mixed with smeared lipstick.

She lay there, feeling her own body pulse. After a while, she heard the sound of the faucet in the bathroom. The sound of water.

Rosé turned her head sideways on the pillow and looked at the ceiling. The white dress was irretrievably ruined — stains of saliva, of semen, of sweat. She thought, for a second, about the next event, next month. About the dress she hadn't chosen yet.

Her boyfriend walked beside her, hands in his pockets, but his gaze fixed on that crevice between her breasts, on that promise of soft flesh he so loved to share. A dirty half-smile played on his lips, mixing provocation with that sickening lust of one who knows the night will still bear fruit.

"You still have that recording?" she asked, her voice soft as if ordering a coffee, but her eye gleaming with naughtiness.

He pretended not to understand, just to provoke.

"What recording, love?"

Natty turned her head slowly, her eyebrow arched in a mix of mockery and lust. Her full lips, painted red, parted slightly.

"The one from last time. When you caught me giving my pussy to that guy on the street near the bar. You filming it all like the loving little cuckold you are."

Her tone was so casual it seemed absurd. As if she were commenting on the price of bread. But the words, heavy with lewdness, hung in the warm night air.

He let out a hoarse laugh, his cock hardening inside his pants just from remembering.

"You talk about it like it's a graduation memory, you little slut."

"And isn't it?" she retorted, pressing her bag against her body, but her nipple already hard, marking the thin fabric of the dress. "You seemed more interested in filming every spurt than in pulling me out of there. Drooling over your phone while I swallowed cum."

The silence that followed was dense, charged with lust.

They turned the corner. The yellowish light of the streetlamp drew shadows, highlighting the volume of Natty's huge breasts, her slender waist, the hips men loved to grab.

"I kept it, yes," he confessed finally, his voice thick. "I jerk off watching you give your little pussy to strangers. Watching how you moaned, how you begged for more cum."

Natty bit her lip, feeling her panties soak through. But she maintained her elegant, almost mocking posture.

"I thought you'd deleted it, you naughty cuckold."

"You wanted me to delete it? Lose the image of your cunt leaking milk?"

She shrugged, her breasts bouncing with the movement.

"No. Just wanted to know if you still get hard seeing your wife get fucked by others."

He stopped suddenly, pulling her by the arm. The look they exchanged was dirty, laden with sick desire. He squeezed her arm, feeling her soft skin.

"I get hard watching how you look at the camera when you realize I'm filming. How you shake your ass more, how you ask for 'more cum, more milk' just because you know I'm watching."

Natty held his gaze, her heart beating fast, her cunt pulsing empty. Then she turned her face, resuming the walk, but her ass swaying more now, provoking.

"So keep it safe. Because today I want to update the phone's memory."

The conversation returned to mundane matters afterwards, but the air between them was already thick with lewdness. It was about exhibitionism, about the thrill of being seen, of being used, of having a docile cuckold filming everything. And on that silent street, under the warm light of the lampposts, they were exactly where they wanted to be: a few steps from the tobacco shop and the group of black men that would change the night.

Some four or five, maybe more. It was hard to count in the gloom. Large bodies, a heavy presence. Some with caps, others with chains around their necks, all with that energy of those who dominate the sidewalk just by existing.

Natty's boyfriend slowed his pace, his eyes fixed on the group. He felt his cock harden instantly, his imagination already projecting scenes. He glanced at Natty, who was also observing the men with a familiar gleam in her eyes.

"See those over there?" he murmured, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah."

"You guys got a joint, pal?" the boyfriend called out, already approaching with the greatest naturalness, as if he were just another pedestrian.

The men turned slowly. Eyes scanned the couple, but lingered on Natty. On the generous neckline. On the huge breasts that seemed about to burst from the dress. On the thick thighs. On the shapely ass.

One of them, the tallest, with a full beard, smiled mockingly.

"We do, yeah. Come here."

He already pulled a fat joint from his pocket, lighting it with the dexterity of someone who does it every night. The sweet smoke filled the air.

The boyfriend pulled Natty by the arm, bringing her close to the group. She ended up right in the middle of them, her body surrounded by those large men, feeling the heat emanating from their skin, the smell of expensive perfume mixed with sweat and smoke.

"Here" — the bearded one offered the joint first to Natty. "The lady always first."

Natty took the cigarette with two fingers, brought it to her lips, and took a long drag, her eyes fixed on the man in front of her. She held the smoke, then released it slowly, her gaze heavy with lust.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice honeyed.

The joint passed from hand to hand. Natty's boyfriend smoked too, but his eyes never left her, the way the men watched her, how some no longer even bothered to hide their gaze dropping to her breasts, her legs.

"Your girl is hot, huh, bro," commented one of them, shorter, with his cap turned backwards. His hand, large and heavy, was dangerously close to Natty's ass.

The boyfriend smiled, that docile cuckold smile Natty knew so well.

"Yeah. She likes to dress up."

"Dress up is an understatement" — another man joined the conversation, this one with an open white shirt showing his chest. "With a body like that, she might as well walk around naked."

The others laughed, a deep, complicit laugh.

Natty felt the heat rise between her legs. The night breeze touched her skin, but inside she burned. The joint went around once more, and she took another drag, longer now, feeling her mind float.

"You guys live around here?" asked the bearded one.

"Not too far," the boyfriend replied. "But the night is good for walking."

"It is, yeah," agreed the bearded man, his eyes glued to Natty's breasts. "Especially when the path has a view like this."

Natty smiled, a slow, provocative smile. She leaned her body slightly forward as she passed the joint, offering their eyes the deep valley between her breasts.

"You like the view?" she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.

The men exchanged glances. The air grew thicker. The bearded one laughed, shaking his head.

"This one's naughty, huh."

"More than you can imagine," the boyfriend replied, his hand sliding down Natty's back, stopping at the curve of her waist, fingers teasing her skin.

The joint finished. The bearded one stubbed the end out on the ground, but no one made a move to leave. The group remained there, the men now openly staring at Natty, measuring every curve, every volume.

"Going home?" asked one of them, the one with the cap.

"We could go," the boyfriend replied, but his tone said there was no hurry at all.

"Or you could stay a while longer," suggested the bearded one. "The night is young. And we were bored until you showed up."

Natty bit her lower lip, feeling her boyfriend's gaze burning into her. He squeezed her waist, a small gesture, but one that said everything: "you decide, but I want you to say yes."

"Stay where?" she asked, too innocent for the lewdness shining in her eyes.

The bearded man gestured with his chin towards the alley next to the tobacco shop. Dark. Narrow. Perfect.

"It's quieter over there. We can talk better, smoke another one… get to know the new friends better."

Natty's heart raced. Her cunt pulsed hard, soaking her panties. She looked at her boyfriend, then at the men, then at the dark alley.

"You guys want to get to know me better?" her voice came out slower.

The bearded man stepped closer. Now he was close enough for Natty to feel the heat of his large body, the smell of tobacco and sweat.

"We do, yeah. Especially if you're as hot as you look."

Natty didn't answer with words. She just smiled, that slutty smile of one who knew exactly what was about to happen. She slowly ran her hand over her own neck, descending to the neckline, her fingers teasing her own skin.

The boyfriend watched everything, his cock throbbing in his pants, his breath short. This was it. Exactly what he wanted. To see the desire in those men's eyes, to know that in minutes they would have what he had at home.

"So let's go," said Natty, her voice firm, her eyes fixed on the bearded man. "Show me this alley."

They had barely set foot at the mouth of the alley when hands began devouring Natty from all sides, as if she were a feast and they had been starving for days. The darkness swallowed the group, but one could make out the silhouettes of the large men surrounding her figure, huge hands exploring every inch of that body that already offered itself, trembling with lust.

Thick fingers buried themselves in Natty's enormous breasts, squeezing, kneading, as if wanting to extract milk from that soft flesh. Her breasts spilled out of the neckline, and mouths took turns biting the already hard nipples, hot tongues licking the tips while she moaned softly, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed with pleasure.

"Fuck, what delicious tits," grumbled one of them, his mouth full of breast, sucking eagerly like a hungry baby.

"Suck it, yeah, lick those tits, they're yours now."

Even larger hands grabbed her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, spreading the buttocks, feeling the heat emanating from there. One of them squeezed so hard his nails marked the skin, and Natty gasped, mixing pain and pleasure in a single moan.

"Nice ass, huh, little slut," another man commented, slapping it, the sounds echoing in the narrow alley. Natty's buttock rippled with the impact, red under her tanned skin.

"Hit it more, hit that slut's ass!"

Agile fingers slid between her legs, finding her soaked panties, a useless cloth that no longer hid anything. A man, perhaps the bearded one, pushed the fabric aside and plunged two fingers deep into her cunt, feeling the hot walls immediately contracting around him.

"See that, cuckold?" he showed his fingers covered in dripping honey, shining in the darkness. "Your girl's already leaking. Can't handle a finger without drooling all over."

"Look how wet I get for them, cuckold. Pay attention and learn" – Natty agreed.

The boyfriend watched everything from the corner of the alley, one hand already on his hard cock inside his pants, jerking off slowly while recording with his cell phone. His eyes gleamed with sick lust, his mouth dry, his heart racing.

Natty felt more fingers invading her from behind, one of them circling her asshole, pressing against the tight entrance. She moaned louder, instinctively grinding against those hands, wanting more, always more.

"Look at that, her little asshole is begging," laughed one of the men, running his pussy-wet finger over her anus, feeling the opening contract.

"Fuck her already," another encouraged. "She didn't come here to talk."

Hands violently pulled Natty's dress off, removing the thin fabric from her body as if it were paper. Her huge breasts sprang free, swaying heavily, and two men immediately leaned in to suck them, one on each nipple, while two others held her by the arms, immobilizing her against the damp alley wall.

"What delicious tits," one of them repeated between sucks, his mouth full, drooling on her chest.

Natty felt the orgasm approaching dangerously with just that barrage of stimuli. The hands roaming every curve, the fingers shoved inside her, the mouths sucking her breasts, the slaps on her ass, the name-calling, the men's deep laughter.

"Gonna cum already, little slut?" teased the bearded man, feeling her cunt contract around his fingers. "Wait up, this here is just the beginning."

He pulled his fingers out of her.

"Don't take them out, fuck! I was about to cum, you son of a bitch." Natty moaned in frustration, her body trembling, begging for more.

But before she could complain, they were already turning her back to the wall, one of the men kneeling between her legs, pulling her soaked panties down.

"I'm gonna lick this whole pussy before I stick my dick in," he declared, his tongue already diving deep into that wet flesh.

Natty screamed when she felt the hot tongue invade her pussy, sucking eagerly, while another man positioned himself and pulled her by the neck, making Natty lean her body forward as he unsheathed a huge, black cock.

"Get ready, slut, I want your mouth on my dick," he ordered, slapping the thick glans on her lips. "Suck it like you sucked that joint."

Natty opened her mouth immediately, placed her hands on his thigh, and hungrily swallowed the entire cock in a deep throat that drew a moan from the man. Her tongue worked the shaft while downstairs another man's tongue devoured her pussy, his fingers spread apart, separating her large labia to better lick her clitoris.

"Fuck, what a greedy girl," someone commented, but she no longer knew who.

The sounds were disgusting, obscene, beautiful. Wet sucking, choked moans, slaps on flesh, heavy breathing. The entire alley stank of sex, of sweat, of raw lust.

The boyfriend filmed everything from an angle that captured the pussy being licked, her mouth stuffed with cock, her breasts swaying. His hand jerked off nonstop, his own ass trembling with the desire to participate, but he knew his place.

Natty felt the first orgasm explode when the tongue on her clitoris sped up, her body shaking, the moans choked on the cock she was sucking. She came hard, the fluids running down the beard of the man licking her, who just laughed and kept sucking, wanting more.

"That's it, cum on my face, little slut," he ordered against her pulsing cunt. "I want it all."

When the cock came out of her mouth for her to breathe, Natty was drooling, her eyes teary with pleasure, her body marked with fingers, her cunt throbbing.

"More," she asked, her voice hoarse, almost a whisper. "I want more. Much more."

The men laughed, those deep laughs of those who would spend the whole night there.

"Easy, hot stuff," the bearded one approached, his huge cock already in his hand, pointing at her. "The night's just beginning. And you're gonna take it until morning."

Natty smiled, a satisfied slut's smile, and turned to face the wall, offering her arched ass, her hands resting on the damp bricks.

"Then start," she challenged, grinding her hips. "Fill me with cum. All of yours."

The bearded man didn't need to hear it twice. He positioned the head of his cock at the entrance of her slippery pussy and sank all the way in one go, his balls slapping against her clitoris with every violent thrust. She clung to the damp bricks, her nails chipping in an attempt to hold on as she was impaled without mercy.

"Take it, little slut," he grunted, spitting on her back, the saliva running down her spine as he pounded deep. "Take this black cock. Is this what you wanted, you bitch?"

"Yes, yes, YES!" Natty screamed, her body shaking with every impact, her huge breasts swinging like crazy pendulums.

The other men watched, jerking off, cursing. One of them approached with his cell phone on, filming close-up the huge cock entering and exiting Natty's wrecked pussy, her swollen lips, the red flesh appearing with each thrust.

"Film that asshole too," ordered another. "I want to see her take it there too."

The bearded man spat in his own hand and rubbed it on Natty's asshole, his finger entering unceremoniously, forcing the tight passage. She moaned louder, a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Not like that," she whimpered.

"Yes, like that, fuck," he replied, pushing his finger deeper. "You're gonna shut up and take it. Weren't you the one who asked for more?"

He pulled his cock out of her pussy and spat on the entrance to her ass, rubbing the glans on the spot, threatening to enter. Natty held her breath, her body tense.

"Relax that asshole or I'll tear you apart," his voice was deep, with no negotiation.

She tried to relax, but when the head of the cock began to enter, she felt as if she were being split in two. She screamed, a high-pitched scream that was soon muffled by the bearded man's huge hand. He kept pushing, centimeter by centimeter, forcing the narrow passage, until the entire cock disappeared inside her.

"Fuck, what a tight asshole," he moaned, his eyes rolling back. "Too delicious."

The slaps started coming, hard, marking Natty's ass red. Each thrust in her ass was accompanied by a slap that made the flesh ripple.

"Take it, take it, take it," he chanted, the swear words coming out with his heavy breath.

The boyfriend filmed everything from a privileged angle, his cock in his hand jerking off nonstop. When Natty's eyes met the camera, he saw tears mixed with lust, her makeup running, drool running from the corner of her mouth.

"Look at the camera, little slut," he ordered. "Look how much of a whore you are. Look how you love getting your asshole wrecked."

Natty obeyed, her eyes fixed on the lens, her mouth open in a continuous moan as the bearded man destroyed her ass.

"Tell the camera," another man commanded, bringing his cock close to her mouth. "Tell them you're our whore."

"I'm a whore," she moaned, her voice failing. "Your whore."

"Louder, fuck!"

"I'M A WHORE!" she screamed, and the sound reverberated in the alley.

The bearded man squeezed her breasts hard, his fingers marking the white flesh, pulling her nipples as if they would come off. The pain made Natty scream, but the cock in her ass didn't stop, each time deeper, faster.

"I'm gonna cum in this delicious asshole," he warned. "You want milk in your ass, little slut?"

"Yes, I want milk in my ass," she begged, already shameless.

"Ask for it like the whore you are."

"Please, cum in my ass," she whimpered, her ass arched, her body sweaty. "Fill me with cum, make me your whore."

The bearded man grunted, his hands clawed into her hips, and buried himself as deep as he could, cumming deep inside Natty's ass. She felt the hot jet filling her insides, her body trembling in a violent orgasm that made her legs lose their strength.

They did not let her fall. Immediately, another man assumed the position, pulling his cock out and thrusting it into her slick, honeyed cunt.

"Put your fucking ass on my dick," he demanded, and Natty felt the liquid trickling from her buttocks as he penetrated her.

This man was even more brutal. He grabbed Natty's hair, yanking her head back as he fucked her, forcing her to arch her spine into an uncomfortable position.

"Just look at you," he licked her face. "Full of cum, all fucked out, and you still want more. You disgusting little slut."

"Hit her," someone suggested. "Show her who's in charge."

The man obeyed. His large hand came down hard on Natty's face, cracking against her cheek. She saw stars, tasted blood in her mouth, but her cunt clenched even tighter around his cock.

"You liked that, you masochist?" he laughed, hitting her again, on the other side.

"Yeah, I liked it," she replied, her voice faltering. "Hit me more."

"Fuck," the man laughed, incredulous. "This chick is sick."

But he hit her again. And again. Until Natty's face was red, swollen, but the whore's smile still lingered on her lips.

Her boyfriend filmed every slap, every spit, every tear. His cock pulsed in his hand, ready to explode, but he held back, he wanted more, he wanted everything.

When the second man came inside Natty's cunt, pushing her head against the wall as he emptied his balls, another was already waiting. This one was smaller, but more violent. He grabbed Natty by the throat, squeezing lightly, just so she could feel the pressure, and shoved his cock into her mouth.

"Suck this shit," he ordered. "Clean up all the cum."

Natty sucked, the taste of imaginary condom, of sweaty cock, of others' cunt and ass. Her tongue licked the glans, ran along the shaft, while he squeezed her neck.

"Deeper, for fuck's sake," he forced her head down, and the cock went all the way into her throat, making Natty's eyes bulge as she gagged, almost vomiting.

"Yeah, like that," he moaned. "Like that, you disgusting little slut."

The other men approached, surrounding her. Hands grabbed her breasts, pinched her nipples hard, pulled her hair. She was a toy, an object, and she loved every second.

The bearded man, now recovered, approached with his cock still slick from ass and cunt.

"Run your tongue here," he ordered, rubbing his dirty glans on her lips. "Lick it like the whore you are."

Natty licked, tasting the strong flavor of sex, of cum, of ass. Her tongue passed over the glans, cleaning the fluids, while she looked up into his eyes, submissive.

"Swallow it," he commanded, spitting into her mouth. "All of it."

She swallowed. The saliva, the residual cum, the spit. All of it.

The boyfriend was filming, his cock ready to burst, when the bearded man looked at him.

"Hey, cuckold," he called. "Come here."

The boyfriend approached, his cell phone still filming, his hard cock in his hand.

"Wanna join?" the bearded man asked, with a cruel smile.

"I... I just like to watch," he replied, his voice trembling.

"Watch?" the bearded man laughed. "Then watch this."

He pulled the boyfriend by the arm and knelt him in front of Natty, who had her mouth full of another cock.

"Open her mouth," he ordered. "I want to see you kiss your slut after she's sucked us off."

The boyfriend hesitated, but obeyed. He held Natty's swollen face in both hands and brought his lips close. When her mouth met his, he tasted cum, sweat, everything. And he got harder than ever.

"Kiss her, cuckold," the men laughed. "Drink the rest of the cum we left behind."

They kissed, a dirty, wet kiss, full of fluids. And when they parted, Natty smiled at him, that complicit smile.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Now, enough of this nonsense," the bearded man interrupted. "Turn this whore over on all fours again. The night is long, and we haven't all come yet."

Natty obeyed, turning around, offering her ass, marked with handprints, her gaping, ravaged asshole, which pulsed, spurting torrents of hot, thick cum that ran down its edges, forming puddles of liquid desire. Her cunt, completely soaked, overflowed rivers of vaginal honey, streaming down her legs in an uncontrollable flow of pure lust, dripping incessantly in a wet spectacle of endless lewdness.

The men positioned themselves, one in front, one behind, ready to use both holes at the same time.

The night wore on, and Natty had completely lost all sense of time, of space, of who she was. In the darkness of the alley, she was just a body with holes, a whore at the service of those huge men who took turns without rest.

They were in both holes now. One enormous cock buried in her cunt, another in her ass, their movements synchronized in a brutal rhythm that made Natty sway like a ragdoll. Her hands no longer held onto anything; her arms hung limply as the men held her by the hips, using her without mercy.

"Take it, take it, take it," the one underneath, in her cunt, grunted, each thrust making her breasts bounce violently.

The one behind spat on Natty's back, the saliva running hot down her spine as he pounded her already fucked-out ass, full of cum, loose from being used so much.

"This ass is done for," he laughed, slapping it and making the liquid spill. "It's a swimming pool of milk in here."

Natty just moaned, incomprehensible sounds, her mouth drooling onto the ground of dirt and cigarette butts. The boyfriend filmed from a corner, his cock in his hand, having come into his own hand minutes ago while watching his wife be used like never before. But he was hard again. He couldn't stop watching.

The one in front and the one behind began to speed up, their movements meeting inside Natty's body, the heads of their cocks touching through the thin wall separating cunt and ass. She felt a wave of pleasure so violent she thought she would faint.

"Yes, YES, MOOOORE!" she screamed, her voice already hoarse from moaning.

"Cum, you little whore," the one behind ordered, squeezing her neck. "Cum on these cocks."

The orgasm came like an earthquake, shaking Natty's entire body, her legs buckling, her screams echoing in the alley. She contracted completely around the cocks, tightening, sucking, and both men grunted simultaneously, coming inside her, filling those already overflowing holes even more.

Cum ran down Natty's thighs, forming puddles on the ground. It mixed with the dirt, with the grime, with the sweat. She fell to her knees, the men pulling out of her with a wet sound, their cocks dripping.

Natty remained there for a moment, her face on the ground, but her ass still raised, open. She was panting, her body ached, her holes throbbed, her face was dirty with dried tears, saliva, and cum. The men around laughed, commented, jerked off preparing for another round, spectators and executioners simultaneously, they maintained a semicircular formation, their silhouettes outlined by the flickering light of a distant streetlamp.

"Just look at this whore," one of them pointed, his dirty finger directed at the prostrate figure. "All fucked out and she still wants more."

Natty's once upright posture had succumbed to muscular exhaustion and sensory saturation. Her body, marked by fluids of diverse origins, trembled in involuntary spasms.

A moan, primitive and animal, escaped her parted lips as her legs, in a visible state of motor failure, obeyed the command. She rose, staggering, a puppet whose strings had been handed over to those strangers. The men, in an almost choreographed movement, closed the circle. The boyfriend, a few steps away, kept his mobile device raised, its lenses capturing every detail of that morbid spectacle—his wife, transmuted into an object, beautiful in her complete dissolution.

"You know what this whore deserves now?" the bearded man's voice, deep and modulated, resonated against the concrete walls.

Complicit laughter filled the night silence. Some, more experienced in the dynamics of those rituals, already foresaw the outcome.

"She deserves to be washed," he completed, a cruel smile expanding beneath his facial hair. "But not with water."

The circle, previously loose, tightened. Natty, with a slow movement of her neck, swept her gaze over the exposed anatomies before her—erect cocks, pointed at her like silent accusations.

"Open your mouth," the order was unison, though uttered by only one voice.

She obeyed. Her tongue, in an almost decorative gesture, extended beyond her lips. Her eyes, fixed on the bearded man, carried an expression that transcended mere submission—there was an absolute surrender there, a complete erasure of her own will.

"First the face," he determined, positioning himself.

The hot liquid hit her forehead in an arc, running in rivulets down her glabella, curving around her nostrils, invading her eye sockets. She closed her eyelids, feeling the viscous substance run over her face, the pungent odor impregnating her respiratory tract. When the stream reached her mouth, she opened it wider, swallowing, accepting, integrating that liquid into her own organism.

"Yeah, fuck yeah," another man approached, directing his jet at her breasts. The heat hit her nipples, ran down her abdomen, forming ephemeral deltas on her sweaty skin.

Natty felt each drop as a mark, an indelible signature on her body. More men joined the ritual, their jets crossing in the air, hitting her back, her buttocks, her lower limbs. In those instants, she was a living altar for that cult of degradation, a statue being baptized by fountains of urine.

The bearded man, with an imperative movement, grabbed her by the nape, forcing her head back, exposing her throat.

"Open that whore mouth wide," he ordered, introducing his member between her lips and urinating directly into her pharynx.

Natty swallowed. Choked. But she swallowed. The liquid went down, hot, dense, with a pronounced taste, impregnating every tissue of her throat. When he pulled away, she coughed, but another was already positioning himself, another jet, another dose to be ingested.

The boyfriend filmed, his member pulsing in sync with the scenes he captured. He saw when they urinated in her eyes, in her hair, on her breasts.

"Now on the ground," the bearded man's voice sounded like a verdict. "Lie down there."

Natty obeyed, letting herself fall onto the ground impregnated with debris and previously spilled fluids. She lay on her back, arms open in a crucifix, offering herself completely. The men, in a circle, urinated simultaneously, their jets converging on that outstretched body, covering every inch of her skin with a uniform layer of urine.

She felt the multiple heat hitting her face, her belly, her breasts, her vulva. She opened her mouth, collecting as much as she could, letting the excess run from the corners of her lips. When the last jets ceased, her appearance was unrecognizable: her hair matted into clumps, her skin shining under the layer of urine, her orifices exuding an abject mixture of semen and liquid excrement.

The men laughed, applauded, lit cigarettes.

The bearded man knelt beside her, his hand cupping her face.

Natty raised her eyes, red, her face swollen. And then, slowly, her cracked lips curved into a smile.

"Thank you," the whisper escaped, audible only to those closest.

He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Sick. But hot."

He rose, addressing the group:

"It's over. You can take this bitch back home."

The boyfriend approached, helping Natty to her feet. She staggered, her legs threatening to give way, her body in a state of maximum alert. He supported her by the waist, feeling the moisture still running from her skin, the pungent odor emanating from her.

"Let's go, love," he murmured, his eyes shining with a mixture of distorted affection and contained excitement. "I'll clean you up at home."

She laughed, a fragile laugh, but loaded with subtext.

"Clean me up?" her voice, now a hoarse whisper, carried irony. "Are you going to piss on me again?"

The look they exchanged was dense, laden with implicit understandings, with unverbalized agreements.

"I am," he replied, the conviction evident in his voice. "But first I want to see you sprawled in the bathroom, all pissed on. All our little whore."