#group x reader

Two hundred crowns. The standard pay for escorting a caravan the three days it took to get from Tannerton to Kingsport. It's not what you'd get going from a wealthier city, but nobody's really going to risk life and limb to raid a covered wagon of tanned hides. All in all, an easy source of drinking money for a jobbing mercenary. Three long, uninteresting days of sitting on the back of a wagon as the stink of the tanneries faded and the salt air of the coast blew in. Normally all you'd have to do was look capable in case you passed anyone on the road, maybe scare off a scavenging animal or two.

This run was strange though. You kept seeing tracks on the road, not the usual cattle tracks or cartwheels, it looked like dozens of people had been crossing the road at strange angles.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

It wasn't until it happened that you realised precisely how wrong.

A volley of arrows peppered the cart. The mule got hit through the neck, gone before you got to it. At least he didn't suffer. The trader who hired you wasn't quite so lucky. Gurgling, rattling last breaths racking his body after he made the awful mistake of yanking the arrow out of his chest. Poor fucker never stood a chance. The arrows were short and stout, flint tips and roughly flighted with whatever feathers the fletcher had lying around. You knew enough to realise who would've fired these. Goblins. Maybe a dozen of them.

Once upon a time, you were an adventurer. A small-time local hero. You’d dealt with goblins enough to know their tactics. A volley of arrows to stop their quarry short, then they'd descend on you. With any luck, they didn't have a hobgoblin leading them, or worse. There's a chance you'd make it out, but only if you made the right move.

You hit the ground, scrambling under the stopped cart moments before the next volley landed in the dirt. They'd be looking for movement now, drawing a little closer before deciding whether to nail you to the floor or leave you be before raiding the cart. It was a grim satisfaction that overcame you when you heard them babbling to one another, eleven of them. Goblins aren't shy, and aren't good at the whole “disguising their numbers” thing. Still, eleven goblins versus one of you. Your best bet was to hang tight and let them raid the cart, with any luck they'd be so busy fighting over their spoils they wouldn't notice you. If they did, well, at least it'd be quick.

They swarmed the cart, tearing off the cover and arguing amongst themselves. Leathers like this weren't worth an awful lot to a bandit, maybe twenty crowns to a square foot, but to a goblin tribe this was the difference between spending a winter warm and dry, or freezing to death. You didn't blame them, but that didn't mean they wouldn't murder you stone dead of you were caught.

The furore of grunting staccato grew to a crescendo. They weren't paying attention to the now-empty cart.

Cut and run time.

Again, that was the plan. Whatever god held your fates today really hated you making those.

The goblins heard you. You hadn't made it five yards before they were chasing, swords drawn, squabbles abandoned. You spun, weapon raised. You’d had the good sense to put on your brigandine this morning, it might save your life now even if it was a little tight on your tits. Buckler in one hand, clip-pointed sabre in the other, you roared your challenge.

“Come now, mangy curs! First one to try it gets cut to ribbons! I have space on my wall for a goblin skin!” You didn't even own a wall, hell you'd drank so much of the last job’s pay you weren't sure where you were going to shack up until the next job blew into town. They didn't need to know that. Only that your steel was sharp, and that you had enough bravado to match theirs. Goblins respond well to threats.

Again. You and plans. Someone had an axe to grind.

Three came at you at once. Not the toughest fight you've seen, but not nothing. The first poked at you with what you're sure he thought of as a spear. A deft move to deflect. The swish of steel. A spray of black blood. One less of them.

The next ducked under your off-hand, not counting on the dirk clenched in your fist behind the strapped-on buckler. An old highland trick you picked up. Another one dropped. Two more joined in. Then another three. Without a clear leader they aren't tactical, but they know enough. Namely, they know that if you're surrounded, you're dead.

So you backed off. Gave ground. Moved defensively, slashing at flankers. Clever footwork and quick swordplay is great, until you're backed up against a ditch on the roadside.

You spot an opening. The road towards Kingsport. There's a break in their line. Sure you'll need to get past the cart, but it's the best plan you've got. Switching to a reverse grip so you don't skewer yourself, you ran.

Again with the P-word.

Your break for freedom was short-lived. You forgot the goblin propensity for traps. That gap wasn't open, it was strewn with snaring wires, hidden just well enough to not be noticeable unless you were checking which of course you weren't. The first sent you stumbling, the next few had you sprawled on the dirt. You had just enough time to roll and make out one lifting a blowpipe to his thin lips before a thorn pierced your skin and the world went dark

You woke up. Much to your surprise. Goblins aren’t prone to taking prisoners. A foul taste lingered in the back of your throat. Had you vomited while you were out? Your limbs felt numb, not the “recently drugged” kind of numb, numb like you’d slept on all of them at the same time and now you’d need to wait for the feeling to return to your extremities. An experimental wriggle before you opened your eyes. Bound tight. A deep breath, and your eyes flicked open.

Ah. Fuck. That’s really not good.

You weren’t just bound. The last of the grogginess from the knockout dart left you, only a lingering headache to tell you that no, this wasn’t just a nightmare. You were suspended a couple of feet from the dirt floor, tied to a rough wooden frame. Your tits hung down, nipples pointed at the dirt floor, already damp with fluids. You were in a tent, which was a minor plus, but suddenly the awful taste in your mouth made a lot more sense. Goblins don’t generally take prisoners, with some exceptions. This was one of them: not a captive held for ransom, a broodmother. You tugged at your binds, shifting this way and that, hearing the frame creaking even as the ropes held fast. You were at risk of tiring yourself out, but from here what other options did you have?

For all you rag on them, goblins make a damn good rope, and tie an even better knot. The frame creaked as it shifted this way and that, but the ropes held firm. Of course, you weren’t counting on the tent being guarded. You certainly weren’t expecting to be loud enough to alert them to your plan.

Plan. Yeah, that’s where you went wrong. Making another one of those.

Two goblins entered the tent. You froze when you saw them, pale grey skin, wide heads, sharp gapped teeth, and those ubiquitous red-on-red eyes. They stood about half as tall as a man, the frame keeping you a couple of inches below their crotch-height, just to make sure everyone could reach you.

Fucking ingenuitive bastards

One took a place behind you, the other in front. Hides moved from between their loins to reveal their cocks, a touch above average if they were on a human, but for a creature 3 foot tall they were comical, dangling to their knees. Neither of them took long to get ready, in a few moments of them comin into the tent they were rock-hard, one menacing your face, the other poised between your tied-open legs, You knew better than to scream. You’re probably the centrepiece of the camp, and nobody's coming either way.

Maybe they knew that. Maybe they didn't. They probably didn't care either way.

The one in front tugged your hair back, forcing you to look down the shaft of his cock, slapping your cheek with it. You held your mouth closed, teeth clenched. You couldn't stop him, but you didn't have to make it easy. The one behind you wasn't so inconvenienced. His fingers rubbed against you, stimulating your cunt despite your best efforts to ignore him. You could feel it working, your juices beginning to flow as thin fingers proved and massaged. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt his cockhead part your lips, the slightly spongy tip pressing into you. You wriggled in your bonds, failing to dislodge him as he thrust in.

His cock felt bigger than it looked, filling you with an unnatural warmth as he buried the full length inside you. He used your hole with quick thrusts, gibbering and calling out to the rest of the tribe. He wasn't intere in your enjoyment, you were just a warm hole to fuck. Of course, you knew he wouldn't hold back, feeling his balls slap against your clit as he gripped your hips. He thrust as quickly as he could, the meaningless chattering turning into a wordless howl as he drew close to his peak, then a gasping, grunting wail when he finally burst. You felt him depositing his load into you, before pulling out. The other guard scurried behind you, swapping places with him before anyone else had chance to enter.

You could smell yourself on the still semi-hard cock in front of you, though this one was a little cleverer than his friend, pinching your nose until you were forced to open your mouth, then ramming himself in. The combination of your slick and the dregs of his spunk made you gag.

The guard behind you was no better than the one in front. Already open and slick with cum you were easy for him to shove himself into. Quick thrusts and grasping hands, the same rough, selfish fuck, similar jittering speech as he did, muttering interspersed with yelps as your cunt clenched reflexively against him. Then he, too squirted his spunk into your womb before yanking himself free.

More goblins entered the tent. The whole tribe was here, at least all the men.

One by one, they took turns on your cunt, then cleaned their cocks in your mouth, before rejoining the crowd of hooting, gibbering goblins, cocks in their hands, waiting their turn. You could barely feel your cunt, tingling and sore from overuse, dripping globs of mixed-up goblin cum. Your mouth tasted like a whorehouse floor, the cum of a whole tribe mingling on your tongue.

An older goblin entered the tent. This one was female, naked and wrinkled, tattooed in geometric patterns, she carried a bowl. You could smell that bowl from here. A burning, acrid smell that made you yearn for the shit-stink of the tanneries. You knew what it was. It was for you.

Goblins aren't renowned for their magical learning. Their wizards can throw fire or lightning pretty reliably, but that's the limit. Their wise-women though held a mastery of alchemy envied the world over, at least in their field. You were meant to be given this draft as soon as you woke. No goblin alchemist could turn lead into gold or mix black powder from charcoal and sulphur, they wouldn't care to. What they were exceptionally good at though, is turning stubborn women into cock-crazy sluts.

The bowl came to your lips. The ammonia-stink of the mixture made you flinch, the involuntary gasp making it all too easy for her to tip it down your throat. The potion acted fast. You retched, but nothing came out. Your vision blurred a moment. Then your cunt started to hurt. Then your throat. They ached to be filled, burned for it. Like a thousand inches all stacked on top of each other. You needed it.

Your eyes darted between the goblins, wild. They descended upon you once more.

It was different now, though they acted the same as before. Now every thrust of goblin-cock made you quiver with delight. Your mouth hung open, obedient tongue lolling out, inviting them in. You felt a pressure in your belly, your womb becoming fertile from the potion. You realised between the shuddering firecracker orgasms, you were pregnant already. In a month, you'd deliver a brood of infant goblins, then this would all happen again.

This is your life now, drugs, cocks, and birth. No longer a mercenary, no longer a person, a communal fuck-toy to be used time and time again by the tribe until you outlived your purpose.

It hurt.

Once you were able to change your form, be whatever you pleased. Flow with the rivers, nestle in the dirt, run with the animals, you could even masquerade as one of them. A real person. Now, dried up and alone, you were stuck here, amongst the burned out ruins of your old life.

They had come in the night, bearing torches and oil. Raiders driving the townsfolk from the village where you plied your trade. The citizens didn’t look for you. Maybe they thought you’d escaped? It was true, you could be anything you pleased when you had enough of their essence to sustain you, but the flames. The heat. No, as soon as the bordello where you lived and worked began to burn it was too late. You felt your moisture escaping, your body hardening, your mind retreating to the fist-sized mass of hear-jelly that lay at your core. Now it was only a matter of time until the last of you dries up and you pass to whatever lies next.

“What are we even here for?”

A voice? It had to be. A man’s voice. It sounded faint, muffled. Coming from outside, definitely. You tried to call out for help, too weak to even muster that.

“Anything valuable, Cawl. Anything at all that we can return to the refugees.”

Another voice! Another man. Older, with a scholarly accent. You redoubled your efforts, willing yourself to cry out

“The place is cinders. There’s nothing left but ashes”

A third? They were talking about searching the place. You could hardly believe your luck.

“Valuable ashes, at least to us” the older man spoke again “People aren’t expecting their gold and silver back, but getting a child’s toy? Or even just word that someone may be alive or dead. Closure and hope, that is what we are being paid for. Quite handsomely, I may add”

Some grumbles from the third man, but you heard them split up. It was only a matter of time.

It felt like hours passed, though it may have only been minutes. The village is small, little more than an inn, a smithy, few houses, and your home, all situated at a crossroad. No matter who it was, travel through this part of the country took you by here. In happier times that meant a steady flow of traffic, enough to eke out a living for the humans fixing gear and putting travellers up for the night. Now people skirted around the burned-out remains. Until today.

A banging on the door. Someone throwing their shoulder into the ruined wood, over and over. The weight of him shook the walls, a huge assailant smashing against stout timber. The door held firm, likely propped by some debris that had fallen against it. Then came the axe blows. Rhythmic chopping as your rescuer hacked his way in. Whatever he was using, it made light work of the blocked door. Loud, heavy whacks making way into splintering, into silence.

Heavy footfalls. The only sound, loud in the sudden stillness after his violent entry. He worked methodically, moving room to room. It wasn’t long until he found you.

“What have we here?” He was a minotaur. Thickly built, lazily holding an axe the size of a man in one hand. He looked at you, little more than a stain on the floor, before reaching out and gently plucking your core from the midst of your desiccated matrix “A slime core. Still alive too. Here you are, have a drink.”

The minotaur, Cawl, emptied his waterskin over you. Greedily, you took in the water, surface becoming slick and shiny once more. It wasn’t enough for the long term, but right now this hulking copper-brown mercenary had saved your life.

He checked the other rooms, taking combs, charred keepsakes, even a letter one of the other women had stashed in her room, half burned away by the flames that had ravaged your home. Before long, you were being presented to another man, bearded and bedecked in robes. A wizard? It seemed likely.

“Some trinkets, and this.” He turned you over, still wet and glowing faintly

“Ah, a slime core. The refugees had asked me to look out for one, though I never asked why. Well done, Cawl. You just earned our bonus”

“I’d better, Mel, you know how I hate these kinds of jobs.”

The third man returned, tall and lanky, obviously a wood elf. “Three houses searched, not one measly gold piece amongst them. Why the fuck do I bother? Did find this though” He tossed a doll at the wizard, Mel?

The wizard caught it. “Everything salvageable is worth its weight in gold to these people. At any rate, we’re done here. Look what Cawl turned up”

The sensation of being tossed through the air would have made your stomach lurch, if you had one. As it was, you just felt yourself leaving a wizened pair of hands, then long rough digits envelop you

“Slime core. Neat, probably worth a few silver to an alchemist”

“Or a few gold to the refugees, Ven, we’ll be eating out on this one for days”

The ranger clapped the wizard on the shoulder “Melzar the Grandiloquent. You absolute dog, you’ve held out on me. Right. Let’s get the fuck out of here, place gives me the creeps”

With that they left, chatting amongst themselves as you were bounced in a pack. Melzar kept you with him, occasionally checking to make sure you were still where he left you. Within an hour, you were in a ring of tents. Familiar voices around you. Your friends were here.

They sent the adventurers to get you back!

Melzar produced you from his saddlebags, showing you to one of the villagers. The smith, Rod, the man who had found you on the road and first taken you in, “Is this the slime core you wanted? It was in a whorehouse”

Rod took you in his hands, sandpaper textured and armoured in callouses from years of metalworking “Aye, this is it. ‘S a little worse for wear, but we’ll get it back on its feet in no time. You want to help out? Sure it’ll be very grateful”

The adventurers frowned, looking at one another. Cawl spoke “You want to revive it? Slimes are no laughing matter, man.”

Rod laughed “It’s tame, don’t worry. Why do you think it worked where it did? No. Never went hungry on our watch.”

He was already carrying you off, the adventurers in tow. Men either side of him noticing you in his hands and peeling off to follow. Before long, every man who had escaped the attack on the village was following Rod out of the camp and into the forest. Rod spoke first, addressing Cawl “You ever fed a slime before?”

“No. Just like I’ve never fed a vampire, or a siren”

Rod chuckled “Doesn’t need to be blood. It just needs water, and a little protein” He cinched down his trousers, his hand massaging his cock “Sure, a feral slime’ll take whatever it gets, blood bone and flesh. This one has other tastes.”

He was hard now, rubbing himself off over you. His hand working over his shaft as he angled himself at your core. You waited in anticipation, imagining opening your mouth for him like you had a hundred times before.

It wasn’t long before he was panting, wrenching his cock as the tip tapped against the surface of your core. The dense material had a little give, the surface forming a divot where he pressed against you.

At last, thick, white cum flowed into you. Greedy for more, you absorbed it, swiftly repurposing his essence, paler slime flowing out of you to cover his tip, gently sucking on it, drinking him down.

Then another man replaced him. He didn’t last as long as the smith, the little slime you could bring to bear stimulating the sensitive parts of his shaft, flowing between the tip and his foreskin, teasing the hole. Eager. Greedy. You drove him onwards, his panting getting quicker and quicker until he too released. Your slime turned white for a moment, clouded with his orgasm before it too was absorbed into you, converted into more of yourself.

Over and over, a man would take you in his hand and bring himself off over you. Again and again you would drink in his essence, familiar and welcome, growing a little more each time. Still too weak to take a form. A mass of hungry, needy slick, surrounding a fist-sized self.

It wasn’t long until the men of the town sat around, spent and smiling stupidly. You were still small, maybe only double or triple the size you were when the minotaur first found you.

The minotaur now looking at you. He had seen everything that had happened. He wore no armour, a simple loincloth covering his modesty. The same simple loincloth now utterly failing to cover much of anything. Because of you, despite himself, this monster of a man was sitting at half mast, fully descended from the sheath at his crotch, dangling some inches below where the whitish cloth ended. He hesitated, an eight-foot tall warrior looking almost afraid of a slime still smaller than an average housecat. A glance at the smith, who nodded, making a lewd gesture with his hands

“Try it, you’ll figure out why it was the favourite right sharpish”

Cawl’s brow furrowed, still unsure.

You saw Melzar, the wizard muttering something you couldn’t hear, before a flash of light flew from him to Cawl. At once, the minotaur’s demeanour changed. Gone was the indecision, replaced by a frothing at his mouth and a wild-eyed stare.

Cawl grabbed you, holding you next to his throbbing cock. Every pulse got it bigger, already longer and thicker than any of the villagers who had fed you today. Your form spread across it, taking in the rising heat of his manhood. Those thick, rough fingers that saved your life before now struggled to grip onto you, some primal need to hold onto the thing fucking him. You’d give him what he wanted next time. Right now you were so hungry. You could almost taste him already as you pulsed around his manhood. Cool slime flowing and coiling around hot minotaur flesh, pressing your core to the flare, easing your way around his balls to massage them, feeling the weight as you squeezed and kneaded at them. He was leaking, long rippling strokes earning you a steady trickle of precum. The starter before the main event.

He was close. You could feel it. Heavy lidded eyes stared down at you. Both hands on your core, the only part of you he could grip as the rest massaged and coaxed. Grunting breath blowing clouds of hot steam over you even in the balmy air.

At last. A howl of relief. Thick, potent cum flowing into you. Every pulse was as much as a normal man could produce. His throbbing member kept going, jet after jet spurting into you, the sheer volume of his seed painting your body a shade paler as his eyes crossed.

Melzar was chanting again, as his friend’s overstimulated cock started to finally run dry. Again, flashes of light flew from the cackling wizard, this time landing on every man in the clearing. Each one looked at you, eyes filled with the same feral, primal need.

You hung off Zanri’s arm. Even as he spoke to others in the hotel that had become your more permanent home. People didn’t normally spend much time here, just enough to have a handful of pamphlets thrust into your hands and finding an apartment somewhere else in Hell. There again, most newcomers didn’t fill their days fucking the orientation officer.

He finished speaking with a new arrival, giving them the usual rundown: yes, this is Hell; no, you’re probably not evil; no, nobody’s going to torture you, at least not unless you ask them nicely. The moment you two were relatively alone, you were tugging him towards a maintenance closet

“Come on, Zan, I’m bored~” You gave him your best puppy-dog eyes, trying to convince him to follow you “Nobody’s gonna care if we slip off for some fun”

Zanri raised his eyebrows, grey steel fibres glinting against the deep red of his skin “Already? I’m surprised you’re not still worn out from last time” his hand settled on your waist, lips next to your ear “Much more of this and you’re gonna get me into trouble”

He looked around. Nobody was paying the two of you any attention, the crowd of newly arrived damned all standing around sipping their drinks and leafing through the sheafs of garish job advertisements. There was at least a moment of respite you could share, but who knows how long it would last? Zanri waved over another demon, icy-white skinned, lines of illegible text shimmering over his body. “Hey, Shg’shthg, right? Give me a hand with this one”

The blue-shite demon with the unpronounceable name looked you up and down “She giving you trouble?” His voice was like an icy lake cracking in the winter, all strange reverberation and fathomless depths

Zanri smiled down at you, vicious fangs bristled in his mouth, “No trouble, but my little pet is a little… Insatiable today.” He stroked your face “I need to see to the newcomers, or at least pretend to.”

Shg’shthg stepped closer, “And you wanted a hand seeing to her needs? A pretty little thing like that? I can do that”

You could feel yourself blushing. Still clinging to Zanri’s arm as he bartered you like a slab of meat. The hunger in Shg’shthg’s eyes as he stared at you, not even trying to hide how he was undressing you in his mind. Nobody had asked you what you thought about this arrangement. You weren’t sure if you wanted them to.

You gazed at Zanri, tugging his arm again. Then at Shg’shthg, basking in his carnivorous glare. Looking between the two demons, unable to quite find the words, feeling the deep redness spread across your pale cheeks.

“Eager, aren't you? Yes. I’ll help you, Zanri” Shg’shthg took you by the shoulder, two-inch long claws pressing into the soft meat. They wouldn't break the skin, not unless he wanted them to, but that didn't mean they weren't razor-sharp against you.

Together the demons guided you to the closet, Zanri looking around before slipping in and closing the door. They seemed even bigger in here, tall and muscular, each inhuman in different ways. Their scents mingled in the small space, gasoline and tobacco smoke, cut with hot metal and the electric ozone scent.

The attentions of the two fiends reduced your dress to ribbons, claws shearing through the thin fabric turning the already revealing garment into a pile of rags on the floor. You stood naked before them, before Zanri bent you over.

One arm held you to him, the other slipping his cock over his waistband. The rapidly-hardening rod slapping against your ass as Shg’shthg unzipped his flies. His member thicker at the base, tapering to a pointed tip, already leaking a droplet of precum.

He made your mouth water.

You lined Zanri up, nestling his tip at the opening of your cunt, the equine flare pressing gently against your dripping hole. Mouth open, you looked up at Shg'shthg, holding your tongue out expectantly. He tasted of bitter almonds, the drop of liquid on your tongue making you sigh.

“Fuck you've got her well trained, haven't you?” Again, Shg'shthg wasn't talking to you. He wasn't even acknowledging you as another person in the room. You were there as a convenient hole to fuck.

You whined, shaking your hips a little. The demons either side of you got the hint. You were there to get fucked, not be kept waiting.

Zanri gripped your hips, your well-slicked hole welcoming the familiar thickness. His hips pushed you forward, the pale demon’s cock slipping into your mouth. Shg’shthg took your shoulders in his hands, hips moving gently at first then gaining speed. Together the demons passed you between them, alternating which one hilted in you. One moment Zanri’s flare butted up against your cervix, the next Shg’shthg’s tip passed your tonsils. Each one chased their own pleasure, aware of the moans and gasps escaping you, only caring about getting themselves off with your eager holes.

By the time you could feel the familiar pressure building in your belly, Zanri was already grunting. Your cunt pulsing around him as he tried to force himself ever deeper, only succeeding in driving Shg’shthg further down your throat. Both demons were getting close, two sets of hands gripping you, fingers sinking into your soft body. You know you’ll have bruises where they're grabbing you. That's part of the fun.

Shg'shthg came first. Thick, bitter cum exploded into your mouth. You couldn't swallow it all, it filled your throat, washing out of your mouth, forcing its way up and out of your nose. He came like a firehose, every pulse shooting more than the last into you, streaming from your face.

Your gurgling sent Zanri over the edge, and you were filled from the other side. Your throbbing cunt swallowed his load, your womb filling in a heartbeat before beginning to stretch, your body struggling to accept as much of his seed as it could. Cum streamed from your mouth and nose, it ran in streams down your legs, mingling in a puddle below you.

Zanri pulled out, leaving your cunt to clench around the space he left “I’ve gotta get back to work.” He slapped your ass, shaking a little more from you “Keep her company for me until I come back”

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.

You sat on the lawn. Humming cicadas filled the thick, early evening air. Something tall, cold, and very alcoholic in your hand. It might have a name, you don't know it. What's important is it's keeping the worst of the heat off. An identical house to yours stood across the road. An identical lawn out front, flanked by yet more carbon copies. Wooden-framed detached properties each with their own quarter acre of lawn to mow and maintain upon pain of a rat-faced septuagenarian inspecting your garden with a ruler.

Your own little slice of Suburban hell, nestled amongst thousands of others.

Something changed in the buzzing around you. A deep, basal note rumbling from the sky. You looked up from your book, the sky was as cloudless as it had been all week. Clear and inky blue in the fading daylight. It definitely wasn't thunder. Neither was it the wind whipping your hair around your head. You stood. A gale whirling around you without stirring a single blade of grass. The air becoming charged, every hair on your arms and head standing on end.

The rumble became a roar. Whirling winds howled around you.

A flash. A bang.

Gone was the summer heat, the fading daylight, the grass underfoot. You fell through blackness. Perfect dark after the evening light. Not even stars to orient yourself. Just the stomach-turning weightlessness of freefall.

Until it wasn't. You landed like a feather, a cold stone room lit by flickering torches. You looked around, masked men stared at you from the edges of the room. A chalk sigil decorated the ground where you stood, extinguished candles spaced around the rim.

“Wait.” You'd never been into occultism, but you're not quite that dense “Have I been summoned? Like with a spell or some shit?”

One of the men, the one with the most ornate mask, decorated with horn and ivy, stopped forward “Behold! The first supplicant chosen by the Great Virgil!” He gestured to a statue behind you, a woman rendered in gold, one hand buried in her breast, the other buried between her legs. Some plumbing kept a thin flow of liquid dripping from the intricately modelled labia, her propped-up leg exposing them to the viewer.

Pretty gauche, all told.

You couldn't stop the laugh. A short, half-choked snort as you turned back to the man. “Alright. Fun’s over. I have no idea how you pulled off the special effects but I'm not buying it. How the hell are you planning on getting her past the censors either? Not exactly daytime TV” you gestured to the statue.

Nobody else seemed amused. The men took a step forward. Four of them in total, including Mr. Fancy Mask.

Fancy Mask spoke again “In this, the turn of the seasons, we ask Virgil for prosperity. We ask Virgil for a strong harvest. We ask Virgil that our seeds find root, and that the ground be fertile.” He raised his hands. A staff appeared in one, levelled to point directly at you. “We take this offering, in thy name. Let the ceremony begin!” His arms raised again.

The men dove on you.

They wrestled you to the ground, kicking over candles to clatter on the ground, tearing at your clothes and pinning your limbs to the cold, hard tiles. You tried to wrench your limbs away from them, straining muscles burning with exertion.

It was no use. One on each side, holding you down, spreading your limbs over the circle on the ground. Chalk dust staining their robes, only their eyes visible under the masks, flicking between your face, and the still-standing cultist looming over you. His robes parted in the front, revealing the lower half of his torso and the lack of any underwear. He fell upon you, his body weighing you down. Holding his cock in one hand, propping himself up with the other, he thrusted against you.

Without any preparation, he wasn’t making much progress. You were dry as a bone, and being held down wasn’t doing anything for you. That didn’t do anything to curb his enthusiasm, and before long his panting turned to grunting, the head of his cock rubbing between your folds without penetrating. He held himself against you for a moment, hips shaking. Hot cum painted your entrance, thick and sticky, barely getting inside.

He stayed a moment, whispering something under his breath. Then he switched places with another cultist, holding down your ankle while the next man took position. The next one pushed against you, using the slick load of cum to bury himself inside. You grit your teeth, struggling anew against the weight of the men.

Above you, overseeing it all, the statue stood.

Clamping a hand over your mouth, the man violated you. Burying himself in your cunt, staring into your eyes. Cold blue eyes, the only part of his face you could see, twisted with desire and intent. His movements were forceful, driving into you with little regard to your comfort. Hips slapping against yours. Cock driving into the soft flesh of your cunt, the little lubrication provided by the first man not doing much to ease the friction. Again, his heavy breathing became hinged with vocalisations, wordless expressions of proximity. The thrusting became erratic, faster and rougher before he hilted himself in you. You could feel his manhood twitching inside you, warmth spreading from the tip as he left his seed in you.

Again, muttered words before he pulled out and switched places. Again, another man taking you. The lubrication of his fellow’s cum making it easy to slide into your stretched-out hole. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, so deep it made you gag. Every sound of discomfort or strain that escaped you made him throb inside you. Every whine or sob is greeted by a stinging slap across your face.

By the time he was done, you were covered in bruises. Your body ached from exertion. By the time they let go you didn't have the energy to struggle any more. The man in the fancy mask said something, you didn't hear what.

The statue stared down at you. Hand buried almost to her wrist inside herself. Glistening. Wet. Golden. Serene.

#############################################

He shook the marker, making sure it was ready. The clacking sound filled the room. Your husband guided you to where you’d be spending the next couple of hours: a pillory. The holes for your wrists and neck were cushioned, and a thick yoga mat was on the floor next to it. It wasn’t meant to hurt, but it was absolutely designed to hold you in place. You settled into it, guiding him on the perfect height to set you so you were kneeling comfortably with just a little arch at your back. The lock clicked shut. You didn’t need it, but it helped the fantasy. You were going to be exactly where you wanted for the next few hours.

“Any requests?” The lid came off the marker.

“Rhys, you’re meant to be all domineering” You giggled “You don’t put someone in a pillory then ask if they’ve got requests”

“Fine, I’ll just mark you up like a piece of meat then. How about that?”

You bit your lip as he snarled the words into your ear “Fuck, that’s more like it… Why don’t you just take me before anyone else gets here?”

His turn to laugh, a low chuckle “Now now, it’s bad form to enjoy the party favours too much before anyone else can. Besides, who’s to say I don’t just want to watch everyone else have their fun with you?” He slapped your ass, grabbing a handful of the meat as he did. The impact drew a sharp moan from you “Good girl.”

He stalked to your front, kneeling down to get on a level with your face “Now hold still”

You did, staying perfectly in place as you felt the marker trace lines on your cheeks. When you opened your eyes, Rhys was holding a mirror up. You could make out the words, flipped in your reflection ‘FREE USE’

“I love it. Now just the rest of me”

Your husband grinned that wicked grin of his, then disappeared behind you. Over and over again the marker kissed your skin, leaving remarks and instructions. Rhys read some out as he wrote “Use me… Fuck hole… ooh, bareback slut… what else…”

Damn you loved that goofball. Every time the pen touched your skin, you felt goosebumps, you’d made sure it was a waterproof one, you wanted the marks to last the night, and getting it off in the morning sounded like a problem for future you. Not that you really needed to. Working for your husband meant you got all the work from home time you wanted. Some would call winning all your arguments with blowjobs demeaning, but those people are idiots.

The doorbell chimed while he was writing. A few more moments and the lid went back on the pen, and it went into your hand. You’d also insisted people keep score. If you’re going to be the night’s entertainment, you wanted to know how good of a job you did. Almost as an afterthought, Rhys pulled a mask over your face, preening your hair into position to hide the elastic. It wasn’t precisely to hide who you were, all of tonight’s guests were close friends of you both, but it did feel a little strange to be without one at one of these parties.

You could hear Owain in the hall “Blaidd! Good to see you again, I brought wine!”

Damn it, Owain always had the best wine, and you’re going to be too busy to have any. You pouted at nobody in particular, then realised what you were doing and started giggling again.

One by one, people arrived. Some bore food or refreshments, some simply came as they were. You didn’t mind either way, though you were grateful a few members of the guest list had independently brought paper towels. Some arrived in couples, some in groups, some by themselves. Men, women, lupines, equines, baseliners, even a cervid, though the woman holding his leash made it clear he wouldn’t be engaging in much of the festivities. You could feel them staring at you as they mingled. You hadn’t been the centrepiece of one of these for a long time, not since before you and Rhys got married. Last time you were doing it for money, a lifechanging amount, this time it was sheer love of the game and a cheap padlock.

“Welcome, friends!” Rhys always liked to give a little speech at the start of these, he says it was to whet the appetite, you just reckon he likes attention. “You can all see the delectable main course, I’m sure,” That made you blush “Now we’re all here, I’d just like to go over a couple of her requests. Last time she was the main course, there was a rule about not penetrating her. That is, as I am sure you can all see, not the case this time.”

You spread your thighs a little, showing yourself off to illustrate his point

“Secondly, the astute amongst you will notice the marker in her hand. She has specially requested you use it. To keep score, as it were. Tally marks are preferred, but there’s plenty of space to be used up, so if any.., Decoration springs to mind, do feel free”

He paused, as though to wait for questions. Nobody had any, you could almost feel the twenty plus pairs of eyes on you, every man in the room wanted his share. Tuxedo pants are pretty poor at hiding an erection at the best of times, and nobody in here felt any need to hide.

“Now. Without further ado…” The pause hung in the room like a leaden weight “Begin”

Your intuition was dead-on. Two lines formed immediately, one for your face, one for your rear.

Last time, you lost track of how many people you serviced. This time, every single one used that marker. Some scrawled new notes on you, further words of encouragement, one carefully traced cuts of meat onto your flanks, as though you were a diagram in a butcher’s shop. Most simply left a tally mark, then rejoined one of the lines. Every touch of the pen thrilled you. Before long, you could feel them struggle to find space, the pen exploring different parts of your skin as your thighs filled, then your calves, then the soles of your feet. Every so often, someone would whisper into your ear, sometimes telling you how beautiful you looked with so much art adorning your body, occasionally a check-in to make sure you were still game which of course you were.

By the time people were starting to get tired, you were a mess. You could feel yourself having been stretched out, dripping a mixture of cum from every hole, makeup smeared and reapplied with marker pen. Rhys offered to let you out, but you shook your head so he settled by helping you with some wine and nibbles while you stayed immobile and inviting.

Eventually, the night ended, as all things do. The shower took off the layer of gunk you’d accumulated, leaving the pen underneath. You could pick out Rhys’ handwriting, inviting people to use your holes, arrows pointing at your ass and pussy, but it was the sheer number of different hands that had written on you which took your breath away. Someone had even drawn a poll on your back for people to vote on which was better between your mouth, cunt or ass. You were quite pleased that the score was very close. One had written the words ‘raw only’ across your thighs, of course from how fully you felt, they were probably one of the first. You smiled to yourself.