The cocks pumped in and out of her as she squealed in terror and delight. Three cocks, one for each hole. She used to be a lesbian. Maybe she still was, and all this was just forced pageantry. She couldn't tell anymore. She didn't care anymore.
What did her feelings matter, after all? She was just a toy to be used. All that mattered was how she was perceived. All that mattered was the pleasure that her appearance gave these men, or the last men or the next men. The pleasure her body gave them. The pleasure her perceived pleasure gave them. Or her perceived pain. It was all the same.
She was there for men. These men, the last men, the next men. The men who had done this to her, but for them no more then any other men.
She used to have a name. What was it? She couldn't remember and she didn't want to remember. She was just a slut now, a cumdump, a fucktoy.
The cocks pumped in and out of her in a strange, disconnected rhythm. One of them was mauling at her tits. She didn't know which one. She couldn't see past the crotch buried in her face. Probably the one in her pussy. That would make the most sense.
The one in her pussy came. Would she get pregnant? Could she still get pregnant? That would probably be inconvenient.
She moaned in pleasure, moaned in pain. What was the difference anymore? Was she even capable of feeling either?
The one in her asshole came too. He grunted as he did, grabbing her waist. They left.
The man in her mouth lasted longer. He had her to himself for what feels like forever. Pulling her hair, pumping in and out. Would he pump it down her throat or let it out all over her face or her tits?
He pulled out and painted her face. She licked her lips, getting some of it into her mouth. Then he left.
He left her to her thoughts, or he would have, if she still had thoughts. Thoughts were for men.
She was just here to be a set of holes.
Not to think, not to feel.
Just to be fucked.
In her ass, in her throat, in her pussy.
She used to be a lesbian.
Why was that the one thing she remembered?