Side For Sins

Oh, you don't do anal ever? Don't like it? You're scared? You'd rather have everyone rail your pussy than your little asshole?

Too bad, because no one turns down a free fuck ever, especially when it comes from a cheap whore.

I’d fuck you like that, shoving your face down into the cushions so you could scream and beg as I forced my big fat cock into your tight little asshole and reamed it open. Then the next guy, shoving it in with just my come to slick you up. Then the next guy. Then the next. Stretching you out and filling you up with come.

We’d get you all fucked up, your asshole red and stretched and sloppy and painful. But that’s not enough. So I’d grab a bottle of beer and shove the neck of it into your hole. I’d fuck you with it, back and forth, making you squirm as the beer chugged into your rectum. Would you cry even harder as you felt it filling you up? Gurgling into your guts?

I’d fill you up so deep you were crying from the pain and cramping. Three beers, four– however many it takes to push you from drunk to trashed. Three guys holding you head down, ass up so you couldn’t get the bottle out of your asshole– all while other men fucked your whore mouth, of course.

No booze down your throat. It’s faster to get you drunk by making you take it through your bowels. And more painful. And humiliating.

When your colon was bloated full of booze, I’d push the last bottle deep. Shove that swelling bottleneck against your hole– stretch it wider and wider– force it in, in all the way, splitting you wide open. Make you scream and fight the massive stretch.

Your hole would gape, abused and red, when I pulled it out. Then I’d flip it around and force it in big end first.

I’d make you take the whole thick, hard bottle, all the way down until your poor hole closed tight around the narrowing neck, desperate not to be stretched so far. It would sit like steel inside you, thick and rigid and filling your whole rectum. And it would stay stuck in you, knotted like a dog, plugging the booze inside your bloated guts.

We’d flip you over and rape your pussy. Maybe we’d rub your clit, but only by accident, when some guy was grinding hard on you with his cock jammed in balls deep. You’d cry and squirm and struggle, trying to beg but unable to talk while gagging on dick. Getting raped on both ends by drunk horny men just using you as a fleshlight to bounce between their aching cocks.

You would be fucking tight, crammed full by the pressure of the beer in your colon and the bottle plugging you up. No matter how many massive cocks pounded you into a dripping mess, you’d stay tight. When your bladder filled up from your earlier drinks, you’d get even tighter. Even more desperate for release.

And it would get worse and worse, the booze sloshing back and forth inside you as you get endlessly dicked. The nausea and dizziness and slurring and weakness increasing as the alcohol soaks in.

We’d give you something else to drink, too. After I had face-fucked you for the third time, I’d hold my cock down your throat. Let my bladder release and loose all that beer piss directly down your esophagus. Pour it right into your stomach, feeling your throat convulsing and gagging around my dick the whole time.

We’d make you drink piss and cum until your stomach was fit to burst, until you couldn’t take it anymore. Until every thrust of a cockhead down your throat made you heave and gag up sick. You’d be so drunk that you’d be incoherent, eyes rolling, drooling and dripping cum.

I’d drag you to the bathroom, toss you in the tub and pull out the bottle plugging your ass. Let you lie there quivering and pissing and moaning in relief.