Own This Body

by Reese Gabriel

  “Shall we see how it fits?” I winked, holding out my hand for the dress.

  “No, we shan’t.” The chief held the sexy little cock tease number just out of my reach. “Carlysle, McMahon,” she barked to the two closest men. “Throw this smart-assed whore out on her ear. Better still, drive her into Compton and leave her there for the gang-bangers.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” I cried, but the two aforementioned men were already grabbing me by the arms, lifting me off the ground. Surely she was bluffing? Didn’t they need me for this baiting operation of theirs?

  “Put her in the trunk,” the chief was saying, “you’ll arouse less suspicion from the locals.”

  “No,” I squealed, giving way to full feminine panic. “Let go of me! You can’t do this! Please; I’ll do anything!”

  “Anything?” The chief mocked. “Did you say anything? Well, come here, then, and we’ll talk.”

  I could tell by the way she was looking at me that it was going to be bad. I didn’t have to hear the words to know she intended to break my spirit in one fell swoop. The two men brought me to her now, pushing me down and pinning my arms behind my back.

  “I’ll give you one chance,” she purred, running a finger over my quivering lips. “Convince one of these jokers to fuck you right here in front of everybody and I’ll let you stay.”

  My mouth opened of its own accord. “D—did you say f-f-fuck?” I stammered.

  The chief’s hand was between my legs, her nail scraping my clitoris. “That’s right, sweetheart. You need to have one or more of those pretty orifices stuffed with dick in the next five minutes or that hot little ass of yours is going to be out on the street. Literally.”

  I tried to pull back from her touch. She was far too good at what she was doing and I was going to come any second.

  “Please,” I shuddered, giving in to the flood. “I can’t…”

  “The clock is ticking,” she announced, midway through my forced orgasm. “Five minutes. On your mark, get set, go. And don’t bother trying anything with Reynolds; I’ve got something else for him to do…off-premises.”

  My two handlers released me and I slipped to the floor, unable to stand upright. I was as weak as a kitten, my heart pounding in my chest, my life flashing before my eyes. There they were, all these men, wanting me, hating me, ready to use me while the only one I cared for was walking out, actually leaving on some damned fool errand for the chief, like a lackey, a pathetic lap dog. How I hated the man!

  “Try Rosco,” called out one of the grinning agents, pointing to a sandy-haired, good-looking blond in a Polo shirt. I looked up at Rosco, his face expressionless. Pitifully, I crawled to him, on all fours like a cat.

  “Sorry,” said Rosco, rubbing the top of my head. “You’re not my type.”

  “She’s the wrong sex, you mean!”

  More laughter followed at my expense. I dug my nails into the concrete in futile rage. They’d sent me to a gay agent; their idea of a joke, apparently.

  “Four minutes, slut,” the chief updated me.

  I crawled to the next set of shoes.

  “Can I help you with something?” came an amused male voice, clearly playing to the crowd.

  The words stuck in my throat. “I…I need…I mean…”

  “Spit it out baby; I’m not a mind reader.”

  Head down, in utter despair I produced the statement they were waiting for, verbalizing the humiliating request.

  “You’ll have to speak up,” said another—the obnoxious Petrelli, unless I missed my guess. “He’s a little hard of hearing.”

  “Will you please make love to me?” I repeated more loudly.

  “No one’s going to make love to you, honey pie,” corrected the chief. “What you’re requiring is to be fucked. Say it.”

  “F—fuck me, please,” I told the man, a complete stranger, a gun-toting braggart in a room full of braggarts.

  “Say pretty please.”

  The clock ticked as he continued to make me beg.

  “No,” he finally decided, after making me lick the top of his dusty leather shoe. “I need to save myself for my girlfriend. Sorry.”

  “For your palm more likely,” Petrelli quipped. “Here, bitch,” he unzipped his pants. “Why don’t you give me a little free sample and we’ll see if you and I can do business.”

  Petrelli pulled a thick, uncircumcised cock from his boxers. Seeing a chance for victory, I went for it, my lips ready to gobble.

  “Not so fast,” he yanked my head back in midair. “I told you I wanted a sample. Lick my balls and show me what you got.”

  Petrelli’s testicles were tight and hairy, the odor of unwashed male thick on his ruddy skin. Putting my lips and tongue there or anywhere else on the man was not exactly my idea of a good time. But with less than two minutes left, I had little choice but to wrap my lips round them with as much servility as possible.

  “Lick them clean, baby,” he rasped. “Yeah, that’s the way.”

  As the chief called out the start of the final minute, I was still working, servicing the man’s sweaty hanging balls like his whore. And all for the privilege of having the man deign to fuck me like an animal in some God-forsaken warehouse in full view of a gang of completely uncouth, barbaric alpha males.

  “Okay, baby. I’ll give you a try.” Petrelli’s hand in my hair brought me springing to my feet like a jack in the box. “Run to the car and bend over,” he spun me around, “ass high.”

  There were jeers and taunts from the men. Someone was singing the old rock song “Back Door Man”. It didn’t take a whole lot of imagination to guess which particular orifice the loud mouthed Petrelli planned on stuffing.

  “Thirty seconds!” rasped the chief, her voice driving me to the brink of mayhem.

  “Go, go, go,” the men started chanting as I ran, their hands groping and slapping to encourage my progress.

  Surviving the gauntlet of ass smacks and tit pinches, I made it to the Ferrari, bare feet stinging from the hard, gritty floor. I practically threw myself down over the hood. The metal was still warm against my unclothed breasts.

  “Spread ‘em, baby!” Petrelli ordered, inducing me to increase the distance between my legs. I couldn’t see anything now, but Petrelli was joking with the others, and catcalls rang throughout the hollow building.

  It was the most degrading situation any woman could bear, and yet for some reason it was igniting fires deep in my belly; even though I’d just come minutes before, I was ready again—as if I was destined to never get enough.

  “Fifteen seconds,” the chief informed the company.

  “Fourteen,” the countdown began, several men calling the number at once. “Thirteen.”

  “How about it, baby? This what you want?” It was Petrelli in my ear.

  “Yes,” I hissed, rubbing my body shamelessly up against his hardness. “It is. Fuck me, please.”

  “In the ass,” he coached. “Tell me you want it up there, like a little bitch slut.”

  “Fuck me…in the ass…like a…bitch slut,” I groaned, the words getting my off as much as any physical contact.

  “My pleasure.” Strong hands clamped my hips. Muscled thighs pressed into the backs of my legs. I felt him at my entrance, something cold and slimy on his skin. Ointment or cream of some kind. I gasped as he pushed at me for real.

  “Relax, baby,” he whispered, “it’ll go easier.”

  “Time,” called the chief, just as Petrelli reached the halfway point.

  “Saved by the bell,” cried a man.

  “You mean the cock,” another corrected.

  Petrelli was breathing hard. “Fuck, yeah,” he exclaimed in a guttural growl, his hand pushing down on my back, further flattening my tits. “So tight…so fucking tight.”

  “Hey, Petrelli, don’t wear it out, will ya?”

  “Yeah, save some for us.”

  I shuddered at the words. Somehow the men’s running commentary on my sexual prowess seemed mo
re invasive than the act itself. And yet, it was also a kind of aphrodisiac, as if in being made an object for them I was also becoming more alive, more blatantly sexual.

  “I hope the cunt’s as good.”

  “Nah, it’ll be all stretched out on a whore like that. How else do you think she got all those clients for her phony investment company?”

  The charge was unfair, of course. I’d slept with one or two, and sort of with Jeremy, but I’d hardly built RJ Investments on my back. I’d worked hard, studied the markets, learned the secrets, as well as any man.

  “Nnn…fuck…oh, shit.” Petrelli was pumping me furiously, readying himself for a monster climax. Helpless beneath him I had no choice but to wait…and hope that I was good enough. That they wouldn’t throw me out anyway, or make me suffer some worse government-sponsored torture.

  So much for the privileges of being a taxpayer, I thought glumly as the burly agent ejaculated inside my rectum.

  “Anyone for sloppy seconds?” he smacked my ass as though it were all some harmless game and not an act of rape.

  But had it been rape? I hadn’t resisted. I’d done as I was told and I’d begged for it. I’d laid myself over the car, spread my legs and offered up my ass for penetration. And now here I was wanting more, a chance to come, no matter how shameful, undulating my buttocks all on my own just to prove it. The voices came thick and fast in response.

  “Look at that cunt go! She wants it bad.”

  “Outta my way, then, ‘cause I’m gonna give it to her.”

  “Fuck that shit! I’m next.”

  There were men behind me, jostling for position. It made no difference, so long as I had another cock. “Make me come,” I begged, my voice soft and forlorn. “Force me. Please?”

  “Turn her around so we can get the mouth, too.”

  Down I went now onto all fours so they could have me two at a time, like a rotating station, men pumping and fucking, filling both ends then switching places. I got so dizzy they had to hold me up. Every cock tasted different now, some coated with my own juice, and sometimes with the scent of my own ass. Eventually, one by one and together, they came and then they rested and came again and while I waited, they smoked and laughed and made their plans. Plans for the mission and for my life.

  “Okay, time to pull rank, gentlemen.”

  All eyes turned to their leader, a strange light in her eyes. “Come,” she snapped her fingers in my direction. “You and I need to have a little talk.”

  I shuddered, thinking what that word might really mean. Dreading my fate, I moved to rise to my feet and follow her to the back room.

  “Hold it right there, slut,” she hissed. “Who said you could get up?”

  It took me a moment to catch her meaning. The sadistic female chief intended for me to crawl like a dog, in front of them all, bare-assed naked, covered in cum, thighs slick and sticky with slut juice, my jaws aching from dick, my throat coated in sperm, my mouth thick with the taste of my own pussy and ass.

  “Heel, bitch,” she said as harshly as possible, cowing and compelling me, making me go like an animal to her feet. Turning on stiletto heels, she led the way, sashaying, arrogantly advertising her ripe, clean sexuality before my subjugated self.

  “Did you enjoy that?” she wanted to know as soon as we were alone in the storage room.

  I shook my head “no” deferentially as possible

  “Over here,” she commanded. “Up on your knees, mouth open.”

  The pistol was un-holstered by the time I arrived. Without ceremony, she thrust it between my lips. “Deep throat it,” she ordered. “It’s not loaded, but it damned well could be…if you lie to me again. Got it?”

  I nodded, doing my best to caress the cold, hard barrel, smooth bored, smelling of refined metal, tasting of oil and reeking of death.

  “Did you enjoy being gangbanged by my men?”

  This time I nodded “yes”, deciding not to split hairs about my deep-seated ambivalence.

  “Then it wasn’t rape, was it?”

  Back and forth went my head.

  “You know what happens to pretty little girls like you in prison?”

  I shook my head again, indicating my sincere ignorance.

  “They’re used as sex toys. For the guards, the warden, maybe even male cons at nearby facilities if they want to reward them. Overseas and down in the Americas it’s even better—you’ll get male guards there, in the ‘special prisons’. A slut like you wouldn’t even be issued clothes. A steel collar and a steady supply of birth control pills is all you’ll need. Personally, though, I’d rather see you sold as a sex slave to some flea-bitten brothel or sex club. Put your hands in your cunt, Raven, I want you to enjoy this.”

  I obeyed, making sure not to lose track of what I was doing with the gun.

  “That’s it, get yourself good and lubricated. I’ll be fucking you soon, and I want it to go in easy. You know what percent of the world’s females still live in bondage—chattel to husbands and brothers, locked in brothels, toiling in sweat shops, hunched over in fields, shackled, laboring away night and day at gunpoint, or else cloistered in mansions and fine homes, on their backs for powerful men? Close to half, I’d wager. Think about it, add it all together; girls putting out to keep jobs, spreading to keep boyfriends and husbands happy, sucking and swallowing for little privileges here and there, for peace and quiet…are any of us really free? We live under a shadow, Raven—because as long as we look good to men, as long as they want us, they are going to try to control us. And the prettier we are, the more people will think we’re whores and slaves to some cock, even if we’re not.”

  I nodded, not sure what else to do to end the ordeal. I was going to come if she didn’t stop, dirty as I was, cringing on the floor, being berated by a lunatic sticking a semi-automatic in my mouth.

  “Women like you are the worst,” she continued, slowly unbuttoning her blouse. “Because you radiate submission; you actually encourage the bastards, because you make them think we’re all creaming in our pants to be their pets. And you’re a criminal, too, let’s not forget that. Guilt by association. You let a man fuck and use you and dump his whole sordid mess on your hands. What a stupid, naïve little bitch you are; you should be a slave. It’s all you’re good for.”

  The gun came out. The chief put it on a nearby crate and took off the blouse. Her tits were like weapons; pointed rockets coated in silo missiles of black silk. “You’re not going to see these, bitch,” she cupped them brazenly. “You won’t see much of anything except the floor. Get over that box, now.”

  I looked at her blankly, inciting her wrath all over again.

  “Jeezus,” she muttered, tugging down her pants to reveal black panties, also silk. “You are about the most idiotic cunt I have ever seen. You lay on it, okay? On your belly, ass in the air so I can fuck you.”

  I did as I was told. The wood was unfinished, splinters of it scratching my breasts and stomach. “For what it’s worth,” I prattled, abhorring the silence, the inability to see her. “I always vote for any women candidates on the ballot.”

  It wasn’t worth much at all.

  “Shut the fuck up before I try to clean out your head by shoving it in the toilet!” The chief clamped my ass, kneed my legs apart and pushed into me with the slick, lubricated phallus, which she’d attached to her pelvis.

  “Agghh,” I grunted, the first wave of orgasm coming over me before she’d gotten half way.

  “Stupid cunt,” muttered the chief pushing herself to the hilt. “Stupid ass cunt. I’m going to fuck you till you can’t walk straight.”

  Sometime later, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, I was allowed to leave the room, upright, though still naked.

  ***

  “Hey, look who’s back!” shouted Petrelli, chest puffed out, cock swelling all over again in his trousers.

  “Long time no see,” called another.

  Like sharks chumming for bait, they began circling me. I couldn’t beli
eve they had it in them to go at me again.

  “That’s enough,” called out Reynolds, back in the mix. “She’s had more than her share.”

  “He’s right,” the chief waded in. “We’ve got work to do.”

  Some joking followed, about Reynolds being sweet on me and how he was pussy whipped, but they backed off all the same.

  “Here, cover yourself.” It was Agent Reynolds handing me his jacket.

  Shaking like a leaf, my head lowered meekly, I wrapped it around myself. It felt good, and it smelled like him, too.

  “There’s a bathroom back there,” he pointed. “You can get cleaned up.”

  “Don’t forget this,” the chief smiled handing me the micro dress. “Wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

  Even without the little wink, I’d have picked up on the sarcasm in her voice. She was letting me know she’d fucked me good, like a man and better, and that regardless of Reynolds’ gallantry or the presence of a penis between his legs, I was hers, her little bitch and in her eyes I was still a felon to her, a two bit criminal whore.

  Not wanting to push my luck, I thanked her as humbly as I could and padded past, legs unsteady. She had indeed, as she had promised, fucked me till I couldn’t walk straight. The agents gave me a wide berth though I could see in their eyes they were ready for more. To tell the truth, I had mixed feelings myself. Obviously no woman wants to be the centerpiece of two gangbangs in a row, and I know Reynolds had done me a favor.

  Still, a girl has fantasies. And mine were getting stronger—and darker—by the minute. What was it I was looking for—what could give me more sensation than I’d already had? What could push me further still?

  I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know. There were washcloths in the bathroom and I did my best to clean the scent and fluid of sex from my body. Looking in the mirror, I was stunned by what a mess I was. My hair was soggy and wild, my cheeks were flush and my tits were swollen and straining. My lips were, too. Above and below. Then there was my backside. The swollen opening, penetrated by all those cocks and the chief’s dildo, too, along with the red marks, not entirely faded from Reynolds’ beating, and now, to cap it, the oozing white fluid which my ass—not designed by nature to accommodate lustful advances—could not hold.