Hungering like ravenous wolves, like the hunger of lions denied their meat…
Thick rope binds me in the centre of the room. A room with many doors, behind each of which a man waits. In darkness, with only the seductive whisper of a voice saying the most filthy imaginings, haunting him in the darkness. Stirring his appetite not that it needs it, as he’s been stimulated anally three times a day until he’s straining hard in the metal encasement of his cock. Stimulation of body and mind until he’s drooling from cock tip and salivating from the mouth, hungering to free his length and thrust it into warm, wet, tight flesh. Thrust balls deep until he explodes and sates his hunger by using her body.
And there I lie, face up to the bright lights, no escape. The rope binds me spread eagled to a central table, fucking height. There’s more rope between my teeth as a makeshift, rough-hewn gag. It hurts. It’s meant to hurt. Not just the hard, too thick rope sawing against my lips with each attempted movement of my head, but it hurts my pride, shamefully naked and spread to an audience I’m not sure is real or imagined. What would be the purpose of this set up if not for it to be recorded in some way, to be the entertainment of a mystery person, or persons.
The doors are digitally unlocked, their mechanisms echoing like the volley from a firing squad. The men emerge into the sudden brightness, their chastity devices also freed, via electronic release. The unknown hand or hands which control all, no doubt. These men, (for they are men, not the stereotypical submissive type but large, muscled, heavy set men) desperate and hungry, lay eyes first upon the central target. Their pound of flesh. Fresh meat. After so long denied, the realisation that there are more than one of them also present in the room doesn’t really make much of a difference.
They’re here to fuck. Right now, they’ll fuck anything. It will taste like the finest steak, be downed like the sweetest nectar. A naked, spread-eagled, gagged against screams girl, open and quite evidently ready for the onslaught, if the wetness between my legs is anything to go by.
They come, then they maul. Molesting with hands everywhere, quickly followed by mouths. Their hungering makes their hands brutal over my soft skin, and I can feel the burn as the rope chafes and tugs, and the reddening of my skin from their pulls this way and that.
Then comes the eager and previously denied cocks, sating their hunger by thrusting inside. No lube, no care. Just hungry fucking. There’s other men’s hands pinching my breasts, a different man’s hand on each one. Their fingers squeeze around the nipple on each, enjoying finding out how close on the areola and how tightly they need to pinch to elicit a rope muffled squeal and attempted bucking from the table. My hips strain to twist from side to side. I’m not sure if I want to avoid their pinches and scratches and mauling and fucking, or whether the filthy gang-bang from a bunch of horny, hungry men has made me quite high on the illicit pleasure.
There’s hands between my legs even as another, possibly the third of fourth cock by now, is inside my pussy. They don’t care. It’s almost like a blind feasting session from starving animals. A man gnaws on one breast now while I silently scream because the other nipple is being pulled and twisted in excruciating torture. It’s all I can do to feel beyond the sharp pain, to realise that there are fingers feeling where my labia meets his cock. Whoever he is. They’re all a mass now, a pack. One crashing ocean of hungry, fucking men with only one thing on their minds – sating that hunger with raw, hard sex.
The fingers don’t stop there. They’re opening me up underneath, fingers prising my ass open and using the squelching, leaking cum from my pussy to lubricate the entrance open. Ready for a thumb, then two – then I gasp inside as he pulls out and places himself at my asshole and presses. The cum packed inside as lubricant makes him slide in. The cum is a mixture of him and the men who came before. None of them care. I don’t care at this point. They can do what they want. I’m nothing but a vessel, a receptacle for cum and a fuck-toy to be mauled and molested as they wish.
I’ve completely lost my energy to fight back and struggle, even under the rope. Next comes about the eighth explosion of spunk up my pussy. I can’t keep proper count. Time seems to have blinked out of existence and I’m on a loop of penetration and pinches, teeth and hair pulling. My ass is humiliatingly stretched and offers no resistance to any cock wanting to be shoved up there.
The fuckings eventually lessen in urgency, the thrusting becomes more languid and smooth as their hunger wanes to merely an insistent throb.
I don’t know what scares me the most. The fuck session finally coming to an end; or having to face all these guys at the office, 9am sharp tomorrow morning.
– Cara Sutra
This post has been written for Wicked Wednesday, a blog meme run by the gorgeous and talented Rebels Notes. Find out more about Wicked Wednesday here, which has a helpful weekly prompt, and follow Rebels Notes here on Twitter too.