#ear slime

It had been days since the nightmare.

You didn't realise at first, what the strange aching in your head was. It started soon after that strange dream, the one where you went to the lake, and met the pale figure. It scared you, but you couldn't figure out why at the time.

Now, you know. Every time you got that earache, disturbing thoughts flowed into your head. It started as just the urge to flirt with people, making you a little more outgoing, a little cheekier. The more you gave in, gave it what it wanted, the worse it got. Now you were having to bite your tongue to not proposition anything with a pulse and a cock. Every time you see a man now your head starts to throb and your pulse races.

It's exhausting.

You needed to go to work. You couldn't be late again. You stood in the cold, wearing a lot less than you'd want to be in this weather. The pain in your head got worse if you covered up much more than you already were. You never used to wear a knee-length shirt and no underwear, you used to wear jeans everywhere. Now you can't even look at a pair of jeans without getting a headache.

The bus stop was quiet. You were alone with your thoughts, listening to music through tinny, too-quiet earphones. If you didn't get this bus, you'd be late. If you were late again, you'd get the sack. You shuddered. With Bailey's ever increasing demands hanging over you, that's simply not an option.

It was right on time. Seven forty-five, dawn's light just about starting to colour the sky above. A silent prayer moved your lips. That the bus might be quiet. Empty. At least that you could hold on. Resist the desires you could already feel building in your bosom.

The bus wasn't empty.

You'd seen it busier, but not by much.

The bus stopped at your outstretched hand. The doors hissed and you stepped aboard, flashing a forged bus pass at the driver. He didn't care. Nobody in this town cared, not really. Something was rotten here, it had been for years. Maybe centuries.

You picked your way through the bus. Eyes followed you, half a dozen men suddenly paying very close attention to you. Maybe three or four other women, each one pointedly not looking, simply glad that they were no longer at the top of the menu. By the time you found a seat your head was killing you.

Pain radiated from the right side of your head. A flurry of images accompanying it. You pictured every one of the men staring at you, imagining each and every one of them in increasing stages of undress. Your hand strayed downwards, lifting the hem of your skirt, brushing against the skin of your exposed thighs as they spread apart. The headache was less if you didn't resist. If you let it happen. By the time your hand touched your already dripping quim, the ringing in your ear was almost gone. When the first finger slipped in, the aurora in your vision faded. By the time the second joined it, the pain had almost left you.

You were whining. The schlick-schlick-schlick of your fingers toying with your spread pussy only made you feel higher. The pain was gone, replaced with a lightheaded buzz. You could feel yourself clenching around your fingers, gripping upwards at your g-spot, thumb rolling over your clit.

The buzz heightened as you came. The pain was just a memory now, fading away in the afterglow of your orgasm. The urges wouldn't let you stop. Your hand was down there now. Giving it what it wanted. It had no intention of ever letting go. You hadn't noticed yourself making eye contact with a large man. The shaking orgasms rippling up your body making your eyes twitch, coaxing out soft moans.

The pain came back. Just having your fingers down there wasn't enough. You needed more to satisfy it. Your lips mimed the words

“Rape me”

He got up. Stepping into the seat next to you. His hand replaced yours. Two fingers slipped into your ready cunt, exploring you as your fingers slipped into your mouth, filling your senses with the sweet taste of your arousal.

More of the men had noticed. They gathered around, one standing in the aisle, cock out and rapidly hardening. You shifted in your seat, climbing onto the large man, one hand pressing his cock against your unprepared asshole. It was going to hurt. It would hurt more if you fought.

Legs open, you forced your hips down. The man behind you grunted. You whined. You’d never taken anything up your ass before. His cock stretched your hole, filling you up as you sank him into your depths. Your legs were still open. The slim man in front of you didn't waste time, plunging his unprotected member into your cunt. A tall man stood behind you, grabbing your head. His cock rammed into your mouth, going straight to the back of your throat.

The three men fucked you. They didn't care you were getting off. They couldn't feel the euphoric high spilling through your mind. The thing in your head approved. Every hole sealed, each hand filled. You'd have wrapped your legs around the thin one, were he not holding your legs apart by the ankles.

When one finished, another took his place. You were passed between them, a giggling, moaning, whining slab of fuckmeat. You couldn't help it, it wasn't your fault it just felt so good, right? It couldn't be your fault your holes were so inviting to them, right?

The bus stopped. People filed out, leaving you leaking and twitching on a seat. The driver grabbed you by the shoulder, prompting a questioning whine

“Time to get off.”

You let him lead you into the bus station. You sat on a metal seat, ice-cold against your bare thighs. The pain bringing some spark of lucidity back to you.

Something was in your waistband, tucked between your skin and the fine cotton of the skirt. A card.

[You have talent. Come to this address. Ask for me.

- Briar]

You know the address. An old warehouse not far from here. Everyone knew it was now. You were already late to your old job. They'd never take you back.

You decided. You’d work for Briar, selling your body to strangers.