Melody's Open Invite Gangbang

Melody faded in and out of consciousness, her mind uncertain, exhausted upon the face of the mountain of her humiliation, her destruction. She didn't know how long she laid there, tied immobile upon a mattress on the floor of her empty apartment, her legs held spread for whoever cared to enter and take her.

Eventually someone did come, somewhere in the night following Daniel's abandonment of her. She heard them fumbling with the combination lock outside her door, the solution to which Daniel had posted publicly online. At first she hoped it was someone coming to rescue her, and then she hoped it wasn't. Her mind warped now beyond hope of rescue. Prisoner of the endless desire for submission now blossomed within her.

When she saw two men, shadowy figures in the night, standing within her doorway, evidently eyeing her and the situation appraisingly, she felt her now well-traveled pussy lubricating itself, apparently hungry for more dick.

"Holy shit," one of them said. "It is fuckin' real."

The lights flicked on, momentarily blinding her. They stood staring at her, naked, hairless, a destroyed vessel awaiting their pleasure.

They took her, roughly, quickly, not even bothering to speak to her, as if she weren't even a person. They came in her, took some pictures, perhaps sent a few texts, and left.

She had more visitors in the night, and then several the next day, usually spaced apart several hours, giving her time to sleep haltingly. Due to either stress or lack materials, she didn't have to use the bathroom, luckily. A few of her visitors did bring food, the only thing she'd had to eat apart from cum in over two days now, but never much at all. They felt no responsibility for this situation. No one freed her or even gave her a break from her restraints, and none asked her for elaboration on her predicament. They already either knew or didn't care, just thinking her some sexual freak pushing the norms of society. But she was, wasn't she?

Some more sunrises and sunsets. Men came and went sporadically, at unpredictable intervals, so that she could never get a full block of uninterrupted sleep without being awoken by a dick making its way into her just as she was about to enter REM sleep. The vast majority were strangers, she thought, both normal looking men and those who looked like this was probably the only way they'd ever fuck a woman. As a rule they seemed to treat her brutally, or at least completely carelessly, as if they thought she deserved to be punished for being such a whore. Instead of releasing her, someone in fact added another layer of bondage, stuffing a large ball gag in her mouth and fastening it tightly behind her head.

"Whores like you shouldn't be heard."

When he departed he just left the gag on her, leaving her to awkwardly slide her tongue around the giant intrusion in her mouth, trying to find a comfortable place for it to rest, struggling to swallow the spit building up in her mouth. She could only imagine how sore her jaw would be when this finally came off.

On the third night she heard a group of guys enter, maybe six, more than had come at once so far. It was too dark to make out their faces, but one of them snickered and said "Hey Melody" in a voice that she knew she recognized but couldn't quite place. Great. Probably some guys she'd gone to school with, here to cash in on the open season on her cunt. Hearing the way they laughed, she knew they had to be some of the athlete douches she'd never gotten along with, who'd always been dicks to her. It didn't make a difference which ones. And now every crude joke they'd made at her expense, that had made her feel so self-conscious or hurt as a younger girl, was about to be proven justified.

She felt the same power dynamics of high school come rushing back, but now with the obvious addition of her tied up on the ground for their free usage. Here to torment her again, over four years after they'd graduated. But now they could do literally whatever they wanted with her. She felt a surge of helpless rage course through her, a natural initial desire to defend herself from these meatheads, but she quickly realized it was turning into lust. Her body was buzzing at the idea of being helpless at the hands of these particular assholes. Why shouldn't they get to wreck her pussy if they wanted to? She had no right to stop anyone.

"Finally putting out, eh?" They laughed again as they began to loosen their belts.

The first guy got on the mattress with her and got down to his knees, running his hands all over her naked body. She shivered, tingles running up and down her at his touch, unable to move at all. His fingers ran between her legs.

"Fucking dripping for it already, holy shit."

The others copped a feel of her seeping gash, making crude comments about her cunt and her obviously whorish nature. She moaned around the ball gag.

The six of them tortured her for the next two hours, enacting prolonged bouts of sadistic foreplay before even fucking her. This was the first and probably only time in their lives they were going to get a chance to do whatever they wanted to a girl with no repercussions. They weren't going to waste it. The fact that it was that shy girl they'd delighted in bullying and harassing in high school just made it that much better for them. Finally doing what they'd wished they'd been able to do back in the hallways between classes, just ripping down her panties and demolishing her right in front of all of her whooping classmates.

Melody had all this running through her head as the first guy started things off by shoving as many of the fingers on his right hand as he could up her cunt, adding the others as quickly as possible until his whole fist was in her. She gave a muted scream behind the gag, tears leaping unbidden to her eyes.

"Turn on a light, I want to get a good look at this."

A light came on. Yep, it was all of them. She couldn't believe these guys still hung out together. The guy slowly pumping his fist in her was a notorious asshole named Bradley McCain, the worst of her old tormentors. She guessed it was fitting that he should finally get to use her. His actions were probably largely responsible for the humiliation complex she had now, that had led her into this whole mess. Bradley used to spread rumors about Melody being a slut, blowing and fucking him and his friends on the football team. It wasn't true, but a lot of people believed him, and it crushed her self-esteem and confidence in the already emotionally raw days of high school for a sensitive young girl. And still, she had found herself rubbing herself to pillow-smothered orgasm in her bedroom night after night, imagining herself doing all those things her classmates thought she did. On her knees beneath the bleachers, sucking the dicks of a line of boys that wrapped around the block. How she'd feel her panties flood with wetness when certain boys in the hallway would give her that expectant look, and she'd have to go to the bathroom to dry herself up with toilet paper. She was a good girl, and she hated the injustice of these lies. But still, every night, she'd rub herself to a toe-curling, bed-wetting orgasm imagining herself being the slut they so obviously wanted her to be.

All these thoughts, these teenage humiliations and implanted kinks, came rushing back to her, as Bradley forcefully stretched her pussy as far as it would go, testing its newly developed limits. His arm filled her as much as any novelty monster-sized dildo she'd ever seen videos of online. Her cunt lips were squeezing him halfway down his forearm. His knuckles were pressed flush against the spongy flesh of her cervix, and even that he forced to shift back and accommodate his intrusion, freely testing the limits of the female form.

"Look at how deep this fuckin' bitch's cunt goes!"

She was finally doing it for them. Melody Ann Ainsley, giving her cunt to half the football team. True at last. Is this what you want of me? There is nothing you can't have. She poured grool from her battered vagina, feeling a strange sort of noumonic fulfillment in being so completely used by this person she'd so long hated, as if the very level of her hatred enhanced her resultant degraded ecstasy.

The other guys wanted to fist her as well, this being a somewhat rare thing to get to do. They fisted her pussy, her asshole, sometimes both at once. One of them had an open hand in her pussy, another an open hand in her rectum, and they jokingly tried to "high-five" each other inside of her, pressing their palms together through the thin barrier separating her two holes. Melody just let her head loll back and moaned in agonized debasement, drool running out of the corners of her mouth around the gag.

Eventually they fucked her in her loosened, sloppy cunt, making comments about how they could barely even feel anything in her cavern. They came though, three of them pulling out to dump their loads on her face, just leaving it there to dry, and three emptying their balls in her pussy. Before they left, Bradley took an empty wine bottle that was lying on the floor and stuffed it big end first into her vagina, forcing it in until it was about 7 or 8 inches deep.

"Seal the good stuff in," he said with a wink, "and hopefully keep that slutty pussy loose for you. Would be a shame for that thing to tighten back up too much. Guys who fuck you should be able to really feel what a slut you are."

He took a marker and wrote "please return bottle to cunt when done" right below her belly button.

Finally, they found a pillow and put it under her ass, propping it up, ensuring that all the cum inside of her would drip deeper into her, settling over the entrance to her womb. As if the cum that had been resting inside of her for days now wasn't already enough to ensure she was knocked up now.

They stood surveying their handiwork before heading out: Melody, face covered in three huge loads worth of rapidly drying cum, a huge bottle sticking partially out of her like champagne from an ice bucket, legs spread, body written on, awaiting her next fuck. They took some pictures on their phones and left, guffawing.

She laid there for three more days, taking an average of 15 guys a day. Now each seemed to find enjoyment in taking up the marker lying next to her and adding degrading writing to her body. They seemed to think they were supposed to add something. Within 48 hours of Bradley and co's visit, she was covered head to toe in "sluts" and "cumwhores" and everything in between in the handwriting of 30 different men. Literally every surface of her body they used as a canvas, from the soles of her feet to the skin of her face, where among other things was drawn the crude image of an ejaculating dick, spanning her whole visage like some bawdy hieroglyph. Someone removed the gag so they could fuck her mouth, and did not put it back, but everyone followed the instruction to return the wine bottle to her pussy after taking their use of it. In fact, she was so loose now that many chose to fuck her asshole instead.

Finally, on the seventh day of being tied to the mattress, providence set her free. Some good samaritan finally entered, having been led there by an advertisement for her that was taped up in the stall of a men's public restroom, a picture of her lying as she was with her legs spread, her name and address listed beneath it. Not knowing any backstory and assuming her to be the victim of some sex trafficker, he had come to let her go. When he entered he found the shaved woman, her hair just beginning to cover her scalp again in a thin blonde fuzz, tied for the fucking, covered everywhere in graffiti and crusted cum, a few filled up, used condoms draped across her face.

He cut the cords, gingerly removed the bottle from between her red, stretched pussy lips, and helped her to her feet. She stood on wobbling legs, and would have collapsed had he not supported her. He asked her if she wanted him to call the police. She declined. She was so disoriented and confused about the nature of what had happened to her by this point, that she wasn't even certain a crime had been committed. She was so sleep deprived and dehydrated that she almost couldn't remember how it had all started.

He wrapped her in a towel and took her to his own house, allowing her to shower. He was an older man, kindly looking, and he seemed to live alone. She expected him at any moment to push her face down into his crotch, but he never did. She seemed to have forgotten that men had the capability to be decent.

She relived the events of the past week plus in her head as she stood in the shower, letting the blazing hot water sear her skin. Her mind couldn't yet wrap around the fullness of what had happened, the consequences that awaited her. She had been halfway out of it the whole time, but still she knew that another 94 men had fucked her in the week she was tied to the mattress. For some reason this number she could keep track of, as if the numerical value of her downfall was the only thing of importance left to her. With the 179 who had fucked her in the first day, when Daniel was still orchestrating things, this brought her total number of sexual partners in the last eight days to 273. The number didn't even make sense. Nine days ago she had had a grand total of exactly one man inside her vagina. 273. Most of them unprotected.

She thought of how long she had been filled with obscene amounts of cum. Surely she was pregnant. It was too late even for a Plan B pill. An embryo was probably already growing in her womb at this very moment, feeding off the nutrients of her body. Planted there by god knows who. She wondered if it was possible to become pregnant with more than one man's child at once. It would seem strange, after all she'd been through, to become fertilized by only one single sperm.

But not just that. Surely she had diseases now. It was almost impossible that she didn't. Who knows what forms of microbial virus had taken root inside of her. At the very least, she had to now be infected with at least 15 different strains of HPV. Statistically, anything less was impossible. She just hoped her immune system was strong enough to stave off any diseases manifesting. She felt between her legs. Her pussy was still stretched enough that it hung open slightly on its own, and she could easily put three fingers inside and feel around inside of it. She increased the temperature of the water even further, but she knew there was nothing she could do now to wash away the filth inside of her.

Next her mind wandered to the incredible amount of HD footage that had been taken of her. She could only imagine how far it had already gotten on the web. How many people had seen it. People she knew. Where could she go? Who would help her? No one she knew had even bothered to come to her rescue after her address was posted online for anyone to come fuck her while she was tied up helpless. They thought she was some extreme deviant who wanted all of this to happen, all of them to see this. Why would they help her now? She thought of her empty apartment, her empty bank account. She sat down on the floor of the shower, her bald head in her hands.

She looked at herself in the mirror when she got out. The permanent marker had barely faded. It would take several more showers before that would come off. Her body still bore all the marks of her shame.

She eats the food the man offers her, sitting there looking like the vandalized stall of a dive bar bathroom as he watches. He asks her questions, tepidly, carefully. She answers in monosyllables, staring off at nothing like some shell-shocked prisoner of war. He does not press further. The facts of her life pass through her mind like some ticker tape reel of film, removed, on the far side of a vast gulf. She feels separated from her origins and has no opinion on it.

She stays with this man for three days, and on the morning of the fourth she is gone before the sun rises, wearing some of the cheap clothes he bought for her and carrying nothing else at all. She walks the two miles to the highway on foot, even though he would have driven her. It seemed more fitting to slink away in the night. She appreciated what the man had done, but felt a strange guilt whenever she faced him, as if she had something awful to him by entering his home.

It had been long enough now that her eyebrows had grown back more or less to normal, and her hair had come back enough to be the length of a buzz cut. The writing had finally washed away, and if a stranger saw her they might just take her for some punk type. Bold fashion, choices, sure, but no longer some obvious sexual deviant. Still, standing on the side of the highway with her thumb held out, she can't help but feel like every passing car holds people who know exactly who she is and exactly what she has done.

She makes it east as far as Minneapolis, hitchhiking her way there, her only plan being to get as far away from the places where anyone knew her as possible. She speeds her way by giving head a couple times, the types of men most eager to pick up a lone girl on the side of the road being the same kind most likely to expect a favor in return. No one seemed to know about the videos, or the things she'd said in them, though. She'd been worried that every person on the street would know, but now she was beginning to realize that was probably irrational. It's not like every person out there was up to date with every single porn video on the web. She hadn't had the inclination to look it up yet, or to search for her name. She was terrified to. Part of her hoped that by some miracle it would have all just disappeared.

She stayed in a halfway house in Minneapolis for a few weeks. She never got her next period. Finally, nearly a full month after her gangbang, she took a pregnancy test. Knowing that it was too late to take any kind of emergency contraception anyway, she hadn't been in a particular rush. The test just confirmed what she already knew had to be true. Pregnant, by god knows who. And of course. 273 men had taken her over the course of a week, the majority of them unprotected...the majority of those depositing their seed right into her womb. Their faces were all a meaningless blur, but she knew the number. She would never forget that number. 273 men who used you. Got off in your disposable, trashed holes. What else are you good for now? Isn't this what you've wanted? Ever since you were a hormonal, conflicted high-schooler racked with confusion and humiliation and guilty lust, masturbating in bed to the idea of the false opinion your peers had of you? That the skinny, shy awkward girl from third period is actually super easy. Did you hear she blew half the football team after the game last month? That she let them all run a train on her after they won against Lincoln last Friday? Fuck no I wouldn't date her, she's used up. Yes, you know they say this. The unfairness of it, and the late night tears, but still the incessant urge to reach those nimble fingers down the front of your panties when you think of it. And now just a few years later it's all true, but worse. You have become who they wanted you to be.

The knowledge that some stranger's baby was growing inside of her filled her with that familiar brew of confliction. She felt dirty, powerless, yet deliriously turned on by it. She wouldn't even have any clue who to give a paternity test to if she had the inclination. The fetus could be white, black, belonging to someone she knew, someone she didn't. She had no way of knowing. It could be twins. She let it stew in her for another couple weeks, going to sleep every night meditating on the idea of this forced creature growing in her, feeding off of the nutrients of her body. She would rub herself to orgasm thinking of it, thinking of how used she was, and then would feel disgusted with herself afterward but do it again the very next night. Finally, six weeks after the gangbang, the defining event of her life, she got an abortion pill from a clinic and ended this terrible odyssey.