#camera.

pulling out your camera, you take pictures of my pretty cunt gripping your fingers while you adjust your hard dick in your pants. you use the wetness of my cunt to lube up my asshole, playing with the tight ring of muscle. you lose yourself for a while, stretching the hole gently, almost forgetting your camera entirely. it’s not until you’ve inserted a plug that you remember, snapping an image of the little jewel between my cheeks. you massage it with your middle finger, and the stimulation makes me moan into the pillows

at a certain point, you just can’t hold out anymore, and you pull out your cock and stroke it by my face, slicking the head with precum before sliding it along my parted lips. you groan and grip harder, cum dripping on my cheek before you force my jaw open and push it all the way into my throat. both hands grip my face as you fuck my mouth mercilessly, one thumb against my bottom lip to feel your wet dick slip in and out

I cry when you pull out of my cunt, tremble and sob as your fingers play with the rim of my gaping hole, pinching and stretching and fucking in so easily. You’re gonna keep me open, you tell me, and you shove a beer can into my cunt. 

It hurts, but it’s also cool against my overheated flesh. I can feel the beer inside it sloshing around against the thin aluminum sides. 

You pull up my briefs to keep it in place and help me stand. It’s painful, and I can’t walk without waddling around. It’s embarrassing enough with just you there. When your friends start to show up, I can barely meet their eyes. 

You don’t need me to meet their eyes. You turn me around, bend me over whatever’s closest — the kitchen table, the arm of the sofa — pull down my pants and show them the can. They laugh, tapping the top of it, fucking it in and out of me in short, shallow thrusts. My cheeks burn. Tears well in my eyes. 

When all of your friends have arrived, you take me out to the back patio, strip me down, and lay me out on the rough concrete. They tower over me, leering and laughing, drinks in their hands that I should have made but I couldn’t because my hands were so shaky and I could stand up straight enough to reach the liquor cabinet. 

You’re here. Down on your knees with me. You push the beer can back inside me when my pussy tried to force it out. You laugh at me, too, but there’s pride in your eyes when you do. Then you start fucking me. 

The beer sloshes inside the can as you shove it in me, pull it out, and shove it in again. It hurts. It feels so good. My body doesn’t know what to do with it. 

Your friends are still talking and laughing. Somebody has a phone aimed at me, filming. Another crouches down and works my clit. 

Tears spill over. You fuck me harder. Faster. I’m so wet, so needy. You fuck me with this huge thing and I can’t help but love it. Love you for hurting me so exquisitely. 

When I feel my orgasm getting close, I ask, beg you to let me come. You smile, tip my hips up, and say, “yes.” 

The new angle hurts more, feels strange, but doesn’t stop the pleasure. 

When I come, you stop fucking me and I’m confused for a moment at what your hands are doing, until I hear hiss-pop of the can opening. Until I feel the explosion of it, beer and foam spilling over me, over you, over the ground. It’s like I’m squirting, like I’m ejaculating. It covers me. Spattering my chest, dripping from my thighs, pooling on my belly. I understand, now, why you brought us outside. 

It smells like beer. Everything smells like beer. You lick some of it off me. You pull the can out and I scream and you pour the rest of the beer all over me, face and body and cunt. 

You’re covered in it, too. My come. 

You leave me there, lying in the puddle of it, your friends taking pictures and videos. The one whose fingers were on my clit has the same fingers in their mouth, tasting me. 

My cunt feels so empty now. After being so full for so long, it gapes open like it was made to be stretched wide and needs something hard to clench around. Like it’s ruined. It will never be the same again. 

By a week or two in, he spread me out over every possible surface in his house, bent me over to eat me out from behind, tied me up in difficult positions so he can hear me scream as I come. And that’s all he asks of me: to let myself react. He’s taken such good care of me, and he doesn’t hurt me like others might, doesn’t fuck me for his own pleasure, or lend me out to his friends. He just wants to taste my pleasure, to hear it and feel it and see it.

He’s angry when I don’t come, and even though I cry and apologize, he leaves me alone in my crate for days. Then he’s all soft and sorry and he eats me out a dozen times in five hours.

Sometimes he uses his fingers or toys, but always tongue. Always his mouth on me. And he films it every time. Takes pictures before and after, too. My pussy lips red and swollen dripping with his saliva and my arousal.  

I’m blindfolded and walked into the room that is our studio. I know the setup is usually three cameras and a mic wherever my head will be. Sometimes I’m laid out on my back, knees spread wide. Other times ass up face down for so long my thighs tremble. One time I was bent over a desk, but I assume that was thematic to match the curved-body stapler I was fucked with.

The objects are always safe, like the lightbulb replica made of play-safe glass, and the rolling pin which had been stainless steel rather than the old wooden one in the kitchen.

The filming has already started whenever we enter the room, and the chat ping ping pings away. Cash machine sounds as tips roll in, the bell chime for new subscribers. My owner responds to the comments, sometimes reading them out to me while my cunt pulses, drips, stretches.

I’m allowed to try and guess what the object is, but so often they all feel the same: smooth, cold, hard, vaguely cylindrical. The egg beater had been pretty easy though.

When whatever it is has been fucked all the way in, my owner makes me come on it, fucking it in and out, circling my clit, helping me along with a vibrator. Whatever it takes to make me clench down on this hard, unforgiving object, the thing shoved into my cunt like it’s the only thing my cunt is good for.

The comments always come faster the closer I get. The tips, too. Sometimes my owner reads them out, sometimes not. But I always come.

At the end, my blindfold comes off and I watch the bottle or utensil or tool as it slides from my pussy. I watch the cameras click off one by one. I watch my owner clean my juices off the handle or body, and then that thing, whatever it is, takes its place back in our home.