"This body wants to be used." The words hung in the air. I sat demurely on the concrete table of the skate park with my knees together, my hands in my lap, and my eyes lowered.
Of course, my small breasts remained on display. My jacket and blouse hung open. My bra lost some time ago when these six men had violently used my pussy and my head as a semen dump. There was nothing demure about me this evening. Tonight I was giving in to my addiction. Ever since I hit thirty and still single I have become more and more addicted to violent, dangerous sex.
In the real world I am a respectable, professional woman with a good job and a happy life.
In my secret world I spend many evenings masturbating. I love my body. I love to caress my small breasts, to tease my neck with my fingers. I luxuriate in the bath paying great attention to my legs as my hands roam up to my centre. I love my pussy, my kitty cat. I stroke it often, sometimes in the bath, sometimes in the living room of my condo—I leave the curtains open, but the lights off. That's usually the extent of my daring.
I also love to read erotic fiction. Many of my masturbation sessions begin with reading a few stories. Of course by the end I need both hands and the laptop is long forgotten, although the images of the stories remain vivid as I orgasm.
I love to read about women who give up control. When I come, I usually fantasize about being taken roughly by many men, by dirty men. I like the idea of being degraded, used. I have so much control over people in my real life that I enjoy giving up that control in my fantasies.
And, in the last couple of years, I have started to give up that control in the real world too.
I call it my addiction.
Once or twice a year I leave my comfortable condo behind and head out to degrade myself in the real world. I do it when my desire to be used gets so strong that I can't function anymore. I can't focus. I can't concentrate on anything except for the fire between my legs. When my desire is strong I am in a constant state of arousal. This causes me to masturbate constantly, and of course when I masturbate I think about going out into the real world and being used. The cycle builds until I find myself out there, getting fucked around by strangers.
And it has to be strangers. And it has to be dangerous. I tried picking up some guy in a bar and bringing him back to my place, but it was so unsatisfying, and besides I couldn't take all the small talk. I needed to be ridden. I needed to be a thing, an object whose purpose is to service. The risk of disease and of physical harm was all part of it. Once I started my journey I didn't stop until I hit bottom. Sometimes I wake up naked in some back alley. Sometimes I find myself alone in a hotel room. At the end I am always hurting, scared, and alone.
I take this journey not for the destination, but for the voyage. I can't describe how alive I feel in the early stages, when the danger is just around the bend. At that point I feel more alive than any other time. And it begins, when the first cock enters my body, I suffer it all for that sweet moment.
I am addicted to it.
"This body needs to be used" I said.
"Really" said the leader "you need more of what we just gave you?"
I nod without looking up.
"What more do you want?"
I look up.
"Well?"
"Anything" I whisper.
"Anything?"
Again I nod looking down that the leader's shoes.
There was a pause. I could see the guys shuffling their feet. The leader spoke up "Do you have any rules?"
I thought about this for a moment and then held up one finger.
"One rule?"
I nodded.
"What is it?"
Once again I felt the rush of adrenaline. I knew this last fucking was only a prelude. I knew the next word that I spoke would push me much further down.
I looked up, "Obey" I said.
"Well then, this gets even more interesting" the leader said. "Stand up and cover yourself up. Put your shoes on."
I stood up and pulled my blouse and jacket together as best as I could. I smoothed down my skirt and slipped my pumps back on.
"Good girl. Now turn around, spread your cheeks apart and jam a finger up your ass."
I slowly turned around. My ears were ringing as I bent forward, my heart beating faster, and pulled my butt apart. There was enough slime that my finger slid right in to my ass. I held it there waiting.
"Okay, you can stand up. I was just testing you" the leader chuckled. "Follow me." The leader turned and headed back up the path I came down before all this started. I followed. The other five guys fell in behind me. One of them grabbed my ass. His finger pushed its way easily into my pussy. Then he slid his fingers into my ass. I didn't stop walking, but I didn't resist at all either. The fingers slid out.
We walked out of the park and into the subdivision. The guys all carried their skateboards. I thought they were a bit old to be skateboarding, but that was of no matter. We came upon a small, new bungalow. It was as cookie cutter as all the rest of the houses in the subdivision. Inside it was nice, but messy.
"Take your shoes off and go kneel in the centre of the living room" the leader said without much emotion. I complied.
The guys all shuffled into the kitchen. They came into the living room each with a beer in hand and lunged casually on the couches. All eyes were on me. It was quiet.
"I want to tell you just what you've gotten yourself into my pretty" the leader said. "Our little gang here is an informal divorce club. We were all buds growing up. We are all successful, but we all fucked up when we got married. Over the last couple of years we went in together and bought this house and the bungalow next door. The six of us live here cheaply—we are all paying for our mistakes. We made a pact that none of us would get girlfriends until our divorces were paid for. We all decided to take a break." The leader received nods of approval from the gang.
