Company Whore

Author's note: Obviously no woman should be treated like Ingrid is treated in this story. It's just a fantasy and if fantasizing about degradation, coercion, pissing, and outright force don't get you off, this isn't the story for you.

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Mr. Wolburn was a man of his word. When Ingrid emerged from the dive bar, the sun was down, the street lights were on, and her boss's boss was standing on the sidewalk, chiseled face uplit by the glare of the iPhone he was typing on. He looked up when he heard her heels tentatively click toward him, taking in her disheveled appearance. He gave a low whistle.

"Dannng, girl. If you ain't a sight to see," he drawled. "If I didn't already know how hard you got off inside that shithole of a bar, I'd be tempted to feel sorry for you." Ingid looked down, blushing. "But like I said, you're not done yet tonight. Don't get too excited now. Put some lipstick on or something, no one will want to use that mouth looking like that."

Ingrid's stomach dropped and did a backflip, and her pussy and asshole clenched in response. Seconds ago, she was worried that she wouldn't be able to get turned on again tonight, what with the combination of her enormous shame at the gang bang and beating she'd just enjoyed, immediately followed by Mr. Wolburn assfucking her to an enormous orgasm. Her holes were really sore now, and she'd come down off her adrenaline high and was ready to call it a night. But her pussy betrayed her shame and exhaustion, growing damp once again at the thought of getting used more. It's what she was good at, might as well embrace her need to be a useful set of holes.

Using the reflection in a nearby storefront window, Ingrid redrew her lip liner, added some gloss (thank goodness Mr. Smith made her get her lips injected with plumper, it made her look soooo much hotter!), made sure her ridiculously short and tight dress was in place, then popped a mint in her mouth. She quietly waited on the sidewalk with her eyes down sucking on the mint while Mr. Wolburn finished typing on his phone and pocketed it. Gripping her elbow, he steered her down the sidewalk back toward the original bar where she had started her evening. Ingrid was sorry that the street lighting was so good that she couldn't hide her disgusting face in the shadows. She could feel splashes of cum drying on her cheeks and neck, and knew her makeup and hair were a disaster, coated in God knew what.

But before she knew it, they had returned just outside the bar and Ingrid could hear bass thrumming from behind the intimidating-looking bouncer. Right in front of the bouncer, Mr. Wolburn pulled something that clinked out of his messenger bag and held up a thin black leather collar in front of Ingrid's eyes. The clinking was from a golden set of chains that connected the collar to a matching long thin black leather leash.

"Lift your hair, whore," he ordered.

Ingrid blushed, conscious of the bouncer watching, but she moved quickly to comply, sweeping her mussed hair into a high bun and tying it in a messy knot. Her skin erupted in goosebumps as she felt him gently slide the collar around her slim white throat and buckle it in place. He tugged firmly on the leash, pulling her head and shoulders toward his lips. His breath was warm on her ear and she shuddered.

"He who holds this leash, owns you. Got it, bitch?" Her stomach flipped in protest, but Ingrid lowered her gaze and nodded. He relaxed the leash, allowing her to stand back.

The bouncer opened the door for them and Mr. Wolburn tugged on her leash, expecting her to follow him. Ingrid stumbled after him like the bitch she was.

Once past the entrance, Ingrid took a quick look around. They had dimmed the lights and it was much more crowded than when she here earlier in the evening. Instead of a neighborhood bar, now it felt like a nightclub. The large room was hazy with smoke and strobe lights made it hard to see clearly. Loud music dulled the senses, throbbing inside her body and beating in her cunt.

As Mr. Wolburn led the way, weaving through the crowd, Ingrid realized she was nervous, so she kept her head down, eyes on the leash in Mr. Wolburn's right hand guiding her. He stepped around groupings of people, pushing his way through when politeness wasn't enough. As she squeezed past, random fingers grazed her skin, her lower back, her arms, her tits. A couple hands in the crowd were more forward, firmly squeezing her ample ass cheeks. Ingrid was so grateful men still wanted to grope her even with how disgusting she looked.

They stopped at the far end of a mahogany bar, and Ingrid dared to look around. She couldn't tell how many people were in the place, it was packed with sweating bodies, but everyone was definitely way more drunk or high or whatever the inebriation type of choice was for the night. Jackets and ties were off, drinks were sloshed around, and absolutely no one was shocked to see how fucked up she looked.

There were also quite a few more women in the bar than there had been earlier - but they all looked almost as fucked up as Ingrid. She thought that ought to make her feel better, but she weirdly felt a little jealous - what had she missed out on while she was off getting gangbanged by complete strangers at that dive bar?

With her back to the bar, Ingrid gratefully accepted a drink from Mr. Wolburn - she thought it was a gin and tonic, but there was a hint of something unusual in the flavor. Ingrid was incredibly thirsty and drained it in one go, coughing as the alcohol fumes shot up the back of her throat to her nose. Mr. Wolburn glared at her and signaled the bartender with some exasperation, who immediately replaced her empty glass with a full one. She cast her eyes down, put her back to the bar, and sipped this drink more demurely, sneaking peeks around her.

And there in front to her right, a circle of four or five men with their ties loosened, collars unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and drinks in their hands were shouting into each other's ears and throwing their heads back in laughter. On a large raised platform behind them, women in tight dresses were dancing with anyone interested, some of them unabashedly turning their grinding into full on fucking to the music, allowing hands and cocks and objects to slide up their micro skirts and between their legs. Ingrid watched one slut spread her legs as someone fucked her gash with a full beer bottle and then offered the bottle to another slut who eagerly gulped it down. A step to Ingrid's left, a paunchy man in glasses had a college-age girl bent over a table near the bar, her flimsy dress above her waist, her perfect apple ass cheeks on display. Ingrid felt her mouth collect her own drool - which she swallowed along with another sip of her drink - while she watched him spread her ass cheeks with both hands and spit in her crack. Ingrid tried to catch the whore's eye, but the girl just stared blankly ahead, seemingly not aware of where she was or what was happening. The paunchy man stroked his thin long cock a few times while he rubbed his spit into her hole, sliding first one and then two fingers in the girl's ass. She still didn't flinch, and she still didn't move or change expression when he rammed his cock up her ass and started pounding away. The college-age girl just took it, her expression never changing, her body never resisting or encouraging. She might as well have been a doll. Ingrid wondered if she even knew or cared that she was being fucked.

There was a sharp tug at her collar, impatient for her attention. Ingrid tore her eyes from the living fuck doll and snapped her attention back to Mr. Wolburn, who was turned away as he yelled intently in the ear of a man she didn't recognize.

She couldn't hear what Mr. Wolburn was saying, but she watched him shake a guy's hand, pass him her leash, and then simply walk away. Mr. Wolburn didn't even say bye or offer an explanation, he just shouldered past the crowd at the bar and was absorbed into the throbbing crowd. Suddenly remembering how Mr. Wolburn told her that whoever held her leash owned her, Ingrid turned her mascara smeared eyes to her new owner, whose name she didn't know. Her new owner didn't even look in her eyes or introduce himself after looking her up and down; he just grabbed her jaw, forcing her plumped lips open so he could place a thin strip into her mouth that dissolved almost immediately on her tongue. She swallowed the medicinal taste (what was that?!) along with the rest of her drink. Her new owner took the empty glass from Ingrid's hand and then sharply jerked on the leash, forcing her to follow him tottering on her stilettos around the end of the L-shaped bar.

Ingrid's new owner still didn't acknowledge her. He just attached the end of her leash to a carabiner installed on a moveable ball joint welded to the short end of the bar. Her stomach flipped again when he locked the leash in place at both ends with small and decorative padlocks. She had about 6 feet of moveable leash, but otherwise was attached to the bar. And then she was left alone as her new owner walked away.

Ingrid just stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. There wasn't a chair or barstool within reach of her leash (she tried to reach for a stool once, but was horrifically embarrassed to find that the leash and padlocks actually worked). So she swiped under her eyes, trying to smooth out whatever mess was happening there with her mascara and eye makeup. Then she tried to brush any debris and lint off her tight dress, pulling it down and up in all the right places. Ingrid looked around, but no one was paying her any attention. She felt ridiculous. Didn't anyone want her still? Was she too disgusting for anyone to even look at her? She pulled some of her tit flesh up the top of her skimpy dress in order to display the most of her fake DD cleavage she could. Maybe that would get someone's attention again?

Fuck! It felt like she'd been standing there for ages, her feet were starting to hurt, her owner hadn't returned, she couldn't see Mr. Wolburn, and no one was trying to talk with her, let alone grope her. Ingrid was starting to feel abandoned ... and .... and kinda woozy? At one point, she forgot about her collar and leash and tried to walk a few feet away to catch the bartender's attention to get another drink, only to feel the collar bite into her throat and hold her back in place. She felt like a leashed dog. Hell, she was a leashed dog.

After what felt like an eternity of standing there shifting from foot to tired foot, during which she was too focused on her own discomfort and unsteadiness to be able to people watch, she finally spotted her new owner walking back toward her through the crowd. Ingrid was embarrassed to realize she felt the excitement of a dog when its owner returns.

Her owner once again looked her up and down, but this time he frowned. He frowned! What was wrong with her, why didn't he like what he saw? He still didn't speak to her, but instead reached for the top of her tight dress, pulling it down even further and baring each of her silicone flesh bags one at a time, squeezing and pinching each nipple as he did so. Ingrid looked down, dispassionately watching him grope her fake tits. She felt a million miles away, like she was watching someone else get groped. But she liked it. She wanted him to grope that bitch more. The bitch deserved it.

Her owner patted the top of the bar next to her, inviting her to sit. She eagerly - if clumsily - obeyed, hopping on top of the bar, her exposed tits bouncing a bit. Ingrid felt a surge of worshipful gratitude to her owner when she discovered the top of this section of the bar was plushly padded in a soft spongelike material. It felt wonderful to be off her stilettos and she groaned as her weight came off her feet. Then she remembered she needed to look pretty and crossed her long toned legs as elegantly as she could and tried to look as sexy as she could. She reminded herself that this is how men like her, this is what she's good for. She pulled her shoulders back and pushed her tits out, sucked her stomach in, and held her pose for a beat while she looked around. Being slightly above the crowd, Ingrid thought she had the best seat in the bar.

But then her owner forced her to swivel her feet up on top of the bar and pushed her shoulders down, so Ingrid lay back along the length of the bar. Laying on her back felt even more amazing. She was again pleasantly surprised to find a thin pillow waiting to prop up her shoulders and head just a bit. Not noticing all the straps and hinges around her as she relaxed into the cushion, Ingrid closed her eyes and willed her body pliant while her owner adjusted things around her body here and there. Maybe he finally wanted to fuck her!

Then she felt a hinged board close over her body and her eyes snapped open. It had a large padded curve that allowed space for her abdomen at the bottom and two smaller curved spaces spread wider over the top. She couldn't see her body below her navel anymore, blocked as it was by the board.

She felt her owner's hands press her legs back, forcing her knees to either side of her body and into the curved spaces at the top of the board, and he locked another part of the hinged board over the back of her toned thighs, fully enclosing her body in the stock. The device left her ass and pussy holes wide open on one side of the wall, with her knees, legs, feet, tits, arms, mouth, and head on the other side.

Just as Ingrid was reaching down to investigate the locked stock, her owner took hold of her wrists and pulled them straight over her head. She felt cuffs buckled onto her slim wrists and then her hands were locked into place next to her leash.

She wasn't worried when her owner opened his mouth and pointed emphatically to it, wordlessly ordering her to open her pillow lips. And she didn't think twice when he locked a ring gag between her jaws, forcing her mouth obscenely wide open. Ingrid was now fully immobilized and defenseless. This fact dawned on her like a slow motion car crash. She tried to close her mouth, but her tongue just moved around obscenely in her mouth hole and drool puddled; she tried to close her legs, but her feet only hit the top of the stock that held her body; she tried to move her hands to take the ring gag off, but was only able to writhe ineffectively against her bonds; it was at that point she began to panic. Her ass and cunt felt so exposed, open to the air and eyes and fingers and cocks and who knew what else. She couldn't do anything about it, had no choice at all, and had no idea what was going to happen next. She was bound and helpless.

Ingrid's anxiety spiked, her breathing came too fast, her adrenaline pumped hard, and she tried to scream, feeling tears near the surface for the first time. Her owner paused his work squirting an oily lube on her whore holes and took pity on her, stroking her head for a few moments, making shushing noises and calming her like a horse.

He put his lips to her ear and raised his voice enough to be heard over the music. It was the first time he spoke to her. "Bitch, just relax and enjoy it. Don't worry your empty little head, you deserve all of this work I'm doing for you. And if it hurts or makes you feel bad, just tell yourself that you are a filthy whore and men get to do what we want, and you deserve it all, ok?"

He patted her cheek softly, then continued squirting the lube all over her holes and thighs and tits. He looked down and shouted down at her over the music, "Now, bitch, tell me that you deserve it."

Ingrid looked blankly at him. He was joking, right? Her mouth was held open, she couldn't speak!

Quick as a lightning strike, her owner whipped his fingers out and pinched her nipple between his fingers, twisting and pulling hard. "Bitch! I said, tell me you deserve it!"

Ingrid screwed up her face and pulled against her bonds, trying to escape the pain in her tit. She moaned through her gag, trying to enunciate as well as she could that she deserved it. Nothing but drool and shapeless cries came out. She felt ridiculous and so embarrassed. People were beginning to look. But her owner released her nipple and stroked her head again, saying "there's a good girl!" She took a couple slower breaths through her nose and forced her anxiety down. She realized she was going to get fucked like this and felt her pussy and asshole involuntarily clench at the thought. He patted her cheek firmly but gently and then reached over the bar for something.

A moment later, a siren blared in beat with the music and a spotlight shone down on Ingrid stretched and bound on top of the bar. She was blinded by the lighting and squeezed her eyes shut as she felt each nerve ending throughout her body snap to attention, adrenaline coursing through her.

A cheer went up from the men in the bar. Apparently they were anticipating this moment. A beat later, a sultry smooth female voice intoned, "Tonight's Cum Rag Piss Whore is now available for your free use." Applause and cheers rang out briefly and then the music returned to its steady beat.

With the spotlight now strobing over her body, she knew that she was the cum rag piss whore they were talking about. She already knew she was just a cum rag ... but piss whore? That was a hard line for her. Another surge of panicked adrenaline ran through her at the thought of anyone pissing on her and she pulled hard against her bindings again, but they held her firmly in place. The kind of pleasant woozy feeling she felt earlier was now replaced by sheer panic, sobering her quite a bit.

Her owner's face reappeared in her line of sight. He stroked the top of her head again and smirked in her face. Was that supposed to make her feel better?! Then he dropped another of those dissolvable strips into her open mouth and spit directly on top of where it had landed on her tongue to dissolve it. Ingrid turned her face to the side, trying to avoid it, trying to let it fall out of her forced open mouth. But it was no use, the strip had already dissolved. The only thing leaking out of her mouth was his spit and her drool.

The area around her was starting to get more crowded. People had their phones out, taking videos and pictures of her. Faces leered at her with a mixture of laughter, disdain, disgust. Others were looking at her while they jerked off.

She concentrated on breathing in and out through her nose and retreated into her mind as she once again started to feel a bit ... not all there. After being ignored for what felt like ages, she welcomed the first touches she felt on her bare skin. She didn't know what was coming next, and definitely didn't feel completely aware of her surroundings as fingers touched her pussy lips, tugging them apart. Her consciousness faded. Ingrid relaxed into the stock. All she wanted was for someone to want to fuck her; she just wanted to feel like a good girl, like someone wanted her.

Her pussy and mouth drooled in anticipation as strange fingers explored both holes.

Between the lube her owner had squirted on her and her own juices, Ingrid was so slick that the fingers probing her pussy lips slipped off her folds. They returned a moment later, but this time it felt like it was two sets of fingers that slipped inside her cunt, pulling her gape open wide.

At the same time, a man climbed on top of the bar, straddled her chest and neck, and with no warning slid his cock into her wide open mouth. His cock was thin and short - embarrassing really - and Ingrid could do nothing as he plunged his tiny cock through the ring gag into her mouth and then pulled back over and over, rhythmically humping her face. Ingrid thought she might gag as the stranger fucked her mouth, feeling his tiny but rock hard dick slide over her tongue, but to her shame she realized she could take the mouth fucking with no problem. She could taste someone else's pussy on him and tried to concentrate on breathing around his smelly cock whenever she could. She was so focused on the cock in her mouth that she momentarily forgot about her other holes.