The following story (and the subsequent stories I'm going to write about Emily) are completely fictitious. There's no real Emily, or is she based on anyone I know. She is just, in my mind, the quintessential slut that inhabits my most perverted fantasies. All of the stories in the "Emily, The Good Time Girl" series are written from her perspective, mostly because I have always loved stories about sluts written from their perspective.
Some might find Emily exaggerated in a lot of ways, but she is and always was a fantasy and isn't supposed to be more than that.
-EB
*
I am a slut.
I use the word to describe myself not in a derogatory way but as a title to be proud of. Nothing makes me happier than to take cock, multiple cocks in every hole, especially my mouth. I'm not happy until I am on my back or on my knees receiving hard male meat.
I do what I do because, quite honestly, I believe that I am God's gift to men. I do not think that he would have made me look the way I do or gift me with my libido, my deep throat ability or my complete lack of shame if I wasn't. I was put on this earth to please men, I was built for sex, and I take pride in the fact that I am a complete slut.
I wasn't always that way, though. My parents were strict Irish Catholics who instilled in me at a very young age that my body was shameful. As a girl I developed much earlier than the rest of the girls, which not only I noticed but so did the boys. They leered at me through my conservative Catholic schoolgirl outfit, eying my round firm breasts and long, slender legs. To be honest, I loved the attention that the boys gave me but I was always told that such feelings were dirty, so they stayed in the back of my mind as I forced them down.
I was a virgin until I was 21 when I married Mark, a pre-arranged marriage that my parents forced me into. Mark was cute enough, I suppose, but he was seriously buttoned down and far too interested in his career. I think through our marriage he always thought of me more as a trophy than as a wife. When I lost my virginity to him on our wedding night, tie sex seemed forced and very rigid, with no real variation. I thought that, now that I was married that I could release those feelings I'd kept inside for years. Mark had other ideas, however, and refused my requests to change it up, especially oral and anal sex, which he considered a sin. Still, I was happy, or at least I told myself that I was, at the time. Mark had a good job as an accountant making good money, and I was teaching Kindergarten and was actually really looking forward to a career.
It's amazing how a moment of weakness, of sheer terror and desperation, can turn into the epiphany that will change your life forever.
It turned out that my goody two-shoes husband wasn't so goody two-shoes after all. For years (apparently 2 years before I married him), he'd been embezzling money from his accounting firm. Steve, one of my husband's co workers, found out about it, and blackmailed us with his findings. Instead of money or favors, however, Steve wanted something else.
Steve had seen me at an office mixer and decided that he wanted to arrange a little party. I was to arrive at his house, delivered by my husband, at 8 PM that Saturday night, dressed in what he described merely as "something slutty." Once there I was to have sex with not only him but six of his friends, while the entire encounter was filmed. "I want her from 8 to noon the next day, anything goes." That's what he said over the phone.
Mark and I were both mortified at this thought. We discussed the situation and we argued and fought, but after a couple of days we both reached the conclusion that we had no choice; if we didn't comply, Mark would lose his job or worse we could both be in a lot of legal trouble.
So it was decided. The day before I went shopping for clothes to wear to the little event. None of what I had now would really fit the bill. I ended up with my final outfit - a body-hugging low cut baseball shirt that clung to my body and breasts, exposing my cleavage visibly. The shirt was short at the midriff too, exposing my bellybutton and waist. For a bottom was a tiny, tiny white skirt that barely covered my ass at all, and on my feet was a pair of spiky acrylic 6 inch heels that clicked on the mall tiles as I walked. I didn't wear a bra but I wore a pair of lace panties I got at the lingerie shop. As I looked at myself in the mirror apply the candy red lipstick to my lips, my mind tried to force itself to think that I looked terrible and undignified, but I knew that I looked hot. Hot as hell. I loved how the top showed off the full breasts I'd had hidden for so long, and how the skirt and heels accentuated my legs as well. I teased my blond hair a bit so it flowed down my shoulder and pouted into the mirror.
My husband escorted me into the car. He didn't look at me or talk to me on the entire car trip. He had a look of disgust in his face like I was some kind of disgusting whore. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, if it wasn't for his criminal exploits I wasn't going to be gang-fucked by 7 strangers.
When we pulled up, I was nervous. I got out of the car and my knees knocked together and I began to sweat. I took a step and the sound of my spiky heel hitting the asphalt echoed in my brain as if a train ran into a building. Steve was waiting there for me in the front yard, grinning at me and eying me up and down, pursing his lips and mouthing "damn" to himself.
Steve was a damn nice looking guy, very muscular upper body, with medium length black hair and a tanned complexion, certainly not what you'd expect from an accountant.. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just a pair of jeans. As soon as I walked to him, he put his arm around my waist forcefully and pulled me towards him.
"God damn," he exclaimed, his right hand automatically cupping my left breast, squeezing it firmly through the tight baseball shirt. "No bra. What a good little whore." His touch was very very rough, motivated completely by lust. At first I recoiled from his touch, but his other arm pulled me closer, sliding under my skirt and grabbing my ass. He hooked one finger into my panties. "What the fuck kind of dumb bitch wears panties to a gang bang?" he said, laughing. He lead me inside, hand still on my ass. I could hear the sound of my heels clicking on the linoleum tile as he led me into the living room.
The living room spanned out widely, at the far end was a large entertainment center, across from it was a spacious fireplace. In the middle of the room was a round couch flanked on both sides by reclining chairs, filled with guys in various states of undress.. In the middle of the chairs was a glass coffee table, which a large punchbowl full of condoms, and a jar of K-Y next to it. My hear swam in both terror and excitement, as I tried desperately to ignore my hardening nipples and burning pussy.
A wave of hoots and hollers came from the group as they all hastily got up to approach me, one of them holding a video camera. All of them eyed me with savage, animal lust, especially the camera guy, who panned slowly from my feet to my face, taking time to linger on my breasts, one of which was completely covered by Steve's hand as he held me from behind. By now I was more turned on than scared, with Steve's rough touch and the leering of the men. I was reminded of how the boys looked at me in high school and how much I loved the attention.
The camera panned into my face. "What's your name, slut?", the camera guy asked.
"E-Emily", I managed to stammer, my speech slurred by lust rather than fear.
"And what are you here for?", he asked me again.
By this point all of the guys were whipping their cocks out, ready to fuck the shit out of me. I'd never seen so many hard cocks in my life and I would have touched myself had Steve not pinned my arms back behind me. I got bolder with the camera, pouting into it.
"My name is Emily, and I'm here to be gang banged."
