The Loan

She was his slut. He always told her and she didn't object.

She was his bitch. He did make it clear making her wear that leather collar with steel rings to put a leash on. She said nothing on it.

She was his whore. He did make it clear lending her to his friends. She did not object on it either.

She was used to be used..

Getting out in a simple coat, heels, makeup. Napkins, towels and soap in a simple bag.

Being introduced, being told what to do, and letting them choose where to introduce themselves.

Welcoming their need and urge, and enjoying their relief.

She did waited for them to call him back and bring her home, knowing he would call her names for all the smell and look she would have.

He would use her like that, right there, maybe in a park spot before coming home, or in the bathroom of a gas station before she could ever wash their stench.

Marking his territory, setting himself over the coat of the smell and juices she had on.

They usually greeted her while she was dropping the coat.

After all, they explored her body with their eyes and hands.

They told her what they were going to do, and she was used not to deny.

They usually waited for their turns in the main room as the bed creacked

The moans and noises made them join her harder each time. She did know that, as she did know the smell difference when she emerged from the serving room, where all of their fluids came out, inside or over her.

She got out only to go to the bathroom, and put the coat back on only when he came to bring her home, to her duty and his will.

It was different that time. They greeted but she didn't join the bedroom.

She was guided to her knees, as they circled around her.

She looked at them as they guided her head and hands, and hips.

She moved as they made her do, with their fingers, all of their eleven ones.

She seldom talked, as she was not requested to, nor she was able to.

She was loud though, as she sometimes had to feel without knowing in advance what was coming for her.

She felt them together, joining themselves in the tiny spaces they filled and the paths they found in and over her body.

They seldom met but came so close in the flesh walls they pointed at.

Like they were swordfighting inside her, spears hard like steel, only warmer and thicker.

They were lithesome enough to bend when required to explore her recesses, feeling them where she didn't even think they could.

She didn't understand if they were talking, as her head was spinning as her body was spinned. She just felt them coming, and going, and sliding through the surrendered places they craved for with their hands and mouths and more.

She felt when they found their peaks though. She heard that in her ears and her body, and the vibrations they sent down her spine and flesh. The flow of warmth expanding inside her afterwards was usually brief, when she felt someone else taking the place where the previous Man slipped out, so easily each time.

She breathed and gasped for air, but she didn't only got that.

She waved her hand for a grip, and she obtained the right ones each time.

She shaked her hips and her breasts and each time she felt them wrapped and held, and she came to know it was how they find their way inside her.

She didn't notice if someone was not there: they could have paused from time to time. She did not, but didn't notice it until they told her to raise.

She did feel her legs weak, so they helped her up and put her coat on. She didn't even use the napkins or whatever. She felt herself burning and had some trouble sitting in the car's seat.

He did not talk nor helped her. He didn't even use her, until he was in the garage.

He explained that she was part of a loan. Each time she went for his friends, they sliced some from what he owed them.

They sliced a bigger one for that day, and asked her if she was up for it another time.

She didn't even think to say no. Her head got up and down itself.

That time, he didn't use her for himself.