Low Enough to Go There

She could feel it, watch it, knew she was in it. That fucking destructive headspace had her again. Squeezing her thighs together - hating herself for doing this but she needed to get out of her own head.

Phil was her go to - sadly. He was a weak man with a life that was slowly unravelling. Ten years since they first fucked - literally the week before she married - and a year since the last blow job she gave him - he was her go to. The shame of sucking him off in his white van - tools around the floor causing a distant nausea. The self-destruction though was stronger. She would do what he wanted again.

She hated being this way. Her marriage was empty, soullness, though she was not sure he had a clue. So focused on work and "providing" her own job was not important and the kids were "her" area - she was as lonely as she had ever been. Lonely, painfully so, yet bizarrely busier than she had ever been in her life. Her work, demanding enough - now almost back to full time, and her kids lives - more than full time, meant she was lost and falling fast.

She knew what he would do.

He would probably be fatter - he had been putting on weight for a few years now - and his high days, of brilliant salesman, were long behind him. Her phone beeped - his cock stared up. Soft - somehow that made it worse. She was driving to visit a grown man, who now house-shared, for sex - that was their deal - and he could not even get hard.

Still her foot rested on the peddle, thighs squeezed, she just wanted out of her own head. She needed it - another day without some sort of release and she would explode. Even if she did not cum with him, he often did not care, she found that masturbating after he used her was as good a way as any as clearing her head. The shame, the self-disgust, it all generated was usually enough to force her to try harder to be a decent human being, wife, mother and just get on with things.

The next text, expecting another cock pic, confused her. "Open to two?! :) "

What the fuck did that mean she wondered as it dawned on her. He had a housemate, he rented a room from a guy, he had promised he would be in on his own.

"Barry is here - sozz - but he is cool. I said you were good news so he is happy for us to use his double bed - my single is not so good - if you blow him"...

Head spinning - indicator flashing she was pulling over to the upcoming layby as the question hit her. He seriously thought she would give oral sex to his fucking house mate. What the actual fuck - is he that deluded. He is a fat fuck with no hope and no life and he expects me - programmer, mother, wife - to just be a common fucking slut.

She could not bring herself to respond. The disassociation, the self-sabotage, was winning - she could feel it. The disgust she felt at herself, the nausea, the shame, was losing - she was going to drive, she was going to arrive at a strangers house and do what the two men wanted her to do. She knew it.

Almost like her fingers were on another arm she watched them type a response. "Do what you like - I don't care!!"

Pulling out, only five minutes away, thighs pressing, cunt the centre of her world she drove. The satnav sparing her the job of thinking where she was going until she noticed the houses around her started to have washing machines, overgrown hedges, rusted cars, bikes rather than flowerbeds and cut lawns. She felt fear sneak in beside the self-sobotage trying to tell her this was a bad idea. Yet the need to get out of her mind overcame all other things in her world and she parked up at the address.

Pulling up behind his white van, she at least new she was at the right address, she looked up the slight incline to the semi detached house she was going to go in. The front door, with one cardboard sheet replacing one of the small windows, telling her everything she worried about was true. This was scummy, horrible place to be, and she was about to get out of her car and walk up the short, overgrown, steps to the front door where two men would sexually use her.

The front door opened. Phil stood there is his usual football shorts and an unironed, stained, green sweatshirt. Clutching at his crotch area he waved and smiled as though she was popping round for tea. She felt the ignition key in her hand, her foot on the accelerator, and stared into space. Decency and drive away - treating herself with some self respect and care pushing her foot onto the accelerator. Her hand though, holding the key, won. It was driving by the shame, the humiliation, the degradation, the opportunity to get out of her own head only twenty feet away in footie shorts and a dirty sweatshirt.

The engine off, she stepped from the car, her skirt - freshly dry cleaned intended to be one she would wear to new clients, giving Phil a reminder of her body underneath. Her blouse, white and formal, smart and at odds with the weeds around her as she steps forward on her short dark blue heels up the overgrown path.

She could only bring her eyes up to look at Phil as she got nearer the front door. He was almost openly massaging his crotch area - he was not mindful of being seen by the street behind her. His face, fatter than it had been last year, now covered in an ill-tended beard, his gut not showing clearly between the sweatshirt and shorts.

She stopped, just about three feet from the front door, some inner voice now screaming loud enough to make her pause. Sure it may be two lazy blow jobs of dirty cocks but what if it was worse - what if they fucked her, hurt her, buggered her (like Phil had done once before against her wishes). What if!!! Stop!!! The voice pleaded, demanded she get in her car, but the self sabotage was running her limbs now.

Stepping forward, Phil's seedy words welcoming her, as his hand now disappeared down the front of his shorts, "You are looking soooo fuckable Suze!!! Good to see you again".

He stepped aside and she stepped into the house, boots and tool bags in the hallway catching her eye just before his first grope of the day as he cupped her arse as she walked by him into the house. Door closed she stood and stared down the hall as he quickly stood behind her cupping her breasts through her blouse. Rubbing his cock, still in shorts or not she was not sure, against her expensive skirt.

While still being hungrily groped from behind the housemate appeared out of the front room in the hallway ahead. She did not look up or catch his eye just stood there being groped as he watched.

Phil was quick to show her off - and she stood, just fucking stood, she could not move - as her skirt was pulled up to show this stranger her panties. She hated herself but disappearing away from her body she started to, at last, get out of her own head. Grateful in a small way, she felt her skirt being bunched around her waist - panties pulled aside for the stranger to look at her.

"Fucking shaved cunt - ya beauty!!", was the first words from this stranger Barry as he walked towards her. His hand cupping her cunt much more firmly than Phil's had - as though to say she was really his.

Groping, almost bruising her cunt, Barry the fat stranger wanted more and quickly - his fingers inside, painfully, quickly. Now she felt her panties, was it Barry or Phil she was not sure, ripped - Phil's cock, more hard than she could remember, at her bottom and this stranger's fingers inside her.

She let it happen.