Olivia Needs to Obey

This is a noncon about a girl that gets raped by her boss and then develops a seedy relationship with him. I hope you like it. It's a contest story, so please give it a vote.

**************

Two weeks into her internship at Universal Studios, Olivia reluctantly agreed to start sucking cock as part of her daily routine. Asking an intern to suck cock was decadent, even by Hollywood standards. Race, the fifty-something director of photography, had come up with the idea for her.

Olivia was grateful.

She didn't like the idea of servicing the erections of the entire crew, but she knew that if she didn't, Race might have to send her home, and her career in film would be over. Poor Olivia, the dirty little cocksucker.

What could she do

? To succeed at her internship, she needed to learn to suck cock with discretion. Production trailers, the backseats of cars, even a portable toilet could work in a pinch.

Olivia was nineteen, a long-legged beauty with fair skin and small breasts. She liked to pack her big ass into too-tight, skinny-leg jeans.

Sucking that many dicks would ruin the confidence of any young coed.

For Olivia, the task was devastating. Fortunately, Race began taking an active interest in her career. His attention shored up her flagging self-worth. His pep talks inspired her. He encouraged her to be more submissive, more compliant.

All that summer, Olivia swallowed a lot of nasty man cream.

The harder she worked, the better her chance of getting a job after graduation. Not because she was a slutty cocksucker --

any girl could suck cock

-- but because she was an obedient little bitch, fully willing to sacrifice herself to make powerful men at the studio happy.

Every girl dreamed about a Hollywood career.

Olivia was living it!

***

Her first day on the job, Olivia's head throbbed from a booze-filled afternoon of filming in the hot sun. Her physical discomfort couldn't diminish the excitement of being on location for her first Hollywood movie.

She wanted to go home after the crew wrapped, but everyone was meeting at the bar.

"You ride with me," Race said.

Olivia nodded, swallowing hard. Race was one of the most powerful men on the set. The alcohol made it difficult to think, but she pushed herself to say something interesting, something worthy of a film student. She opened her mouth to speak and her mind suddenly blanked.

Race stared at her, his gaze hard to bear.

"I'm... a little tip-

sheee

," she slurred, regretting her words as soon as they were out of her mouth. He was a wiry no-nonsense man with a rugged face. Furrowing his brow, he shrugged. "We're

all

a little tipsy," he said.

She snorted, a great relief sweeping over her.

He acknowledged her school and said his daughter had attended the same one.

Olivia bit her lip and threw her shoulders back, accentuating her tiny boobs. It was her helpless-girl act, and it came to her so naturally, she didn't even realize she was doing it. She'd been relating to men this way since she was twelve or thirteen. She was signaling weakness, inviting Race to come to her rescue. He asked about her classes, then talked about some of the technical challenges

they

would face at this location. Olivia was thrilled to be included in his comments. His attention was exciting, and her nipples rose under her light cotton t-shirt. She didn't bother to hide this development.

"Get your stuff and meet me in the jeep."

She ran to get her backpack from the studio van.

Olivia was pleased to discover the other interns were jealous that Race was taking her to the bar. His attention made her feel special. One of the cameramen joked about the age difference between her and Race. A few of the guys from the lighting team teased her about accidentally giving him a heart attack.

Their implication that Race was wooing her made her pulse race. "Stop, you guys," she said, her laughter betraying her protests. "Stop."

Olivia knew what happened to girls who rode with men alone in cars, but she wasn't worried. Race wasn't going to just rape her. Flinging her backpack over her shoulder, she trotted off to find him. A summer fling with a mature man would be a little slutty, but she allowed herself to think about it. He was old but not unattractive. A forbidden tingle between her legs created a delicious warmth as she climbed into his jeep.

"Buckle up," he said, guiding the jeep off the road.

He drove directly onto the rock that rose up around the set. Olivia feared for her life more than once as the jeep inched and lurched its way up the steep slopes.

Soon they arrived at the top.

Olivia clutched the roll bar, peering out her window into the valley floor below. He shut the jeep off, producing a mirror and powdered drugs.

She didn't do drugs, but she didn't want to appear immature. She mimicked what he did and was soon euphoric. Everything was perfect. The sun was setting, the drugs had perked her up, and the alcohol had removed her inhibitions.

Race unbuttoned his pants, yanked down his fly, and hauled out his cock. "Oh, Race," Olivia said breathlessly. "I didn't know you felt this way about me."

He scoffed.

He took her hand and tugged her toward him, placing her palm directly over his warm cock. He was big and getting even larger. Her breathing grew heavy as he raised her chin and pressed his lips against her mouth. She accepted his tongue, the tingle down below turning into a tiny flame. He broke the kiss, keeping his face close to hers.

"

This

" -- he squeezed the hand holding his cock -- "is everything you need to know about my feelings for you."

She made a breathless snort of laughter. His direct no-nonsense approach fanned the flame between her legs. "Oh, Race," she said, cupping his balls.

"I'm

not

usually this kind of girl."

She wasn't lying.

Her sexual experience included getting finger-banged and long, luxurious necking sessions in the backseats of cars. When the time came, she didn't mind crawling into a boy's lap and grinding away until he filled his underwear with cum.

"I can't believe this," she husked, her eyes meeting his. "My first day on the set, and I'm

already

dating the director of photography."

He snorted, grasping her by the nape of the neck.

Her head was suddenly in his lap, his cock pressed against her cheek. Her breathing echoed in her head. She opened her mouth, and his cock went inside, his musky scent filling her nose. She tried to rise, but he held her head fast. Her awareness sharpened, and her mind went into a hyper-aware state.

Defenseless, isolated, a fat cock stuffed in her mouth -- what could she do?

She began licking and stroking.

It was too scary to think of what was happening as rape, so she rationalized instead. He was the director of photography, and she was nothing, a lowly slut. A parental voice in her head scolded

she should be grateful to suck his cock

. She whimpered to show she didn't mind servicing his prick. Not only was she happy to suck his cock, she enjoyed it. Plenty of students would give anything for an opportunity like this. Soon the wet sounds of her labor filled the jeep. He whispered that she was a good girl, saying it over and over. The sound of his voice soothed her. She liked hearing him say she was a good girl. Good girls were better than sluts. She

was

a good girl. She was sucking him, wasn't she? She wanted to believe she was a good girl even if sucking his cock made her feel like a worthless cunt.

He began humping his hips and chanting suck like a mantra.

She didn't let guys come in her mouth, but she didn't want to upset him. It was crucial that he liked her. If

he

didn't like her, who would?

He grunted, holding her head tightly with both hands.

Hot spray hosed the roof of her mouth. His cum had a powerful taste and a strong musky odor. Something wet trickled down her chin. Blanking her mind, she swallowed everything that squirted from his prick. Soon the jets slowed and then stopped completely. Collecting the last of his musky juice on her tongue, she raised her head, met his eyes, and made a little show of gulping it down.

He laughed, assembling his pants.

A fire blazed between her legs. Her nipples poked out from her shirt and a sheen of perspiration made her forehead and neck glisten. She signaled her desire by panting and squirming her bottom against the seat. He didn't seem to notice. Reversing the vehicle, he navigated onto a dirt road that she didn't even realize was there. Soon they were on a paved road, racing toward the bar. Her hair whipped into her eyes.

At the bar, he stopped in the street. "Hey," he said with a wink. "Have fun tonight."

Her mouth dried up. "You're not coming?"

He shrugged.

"Race," she laughed to hide her rising panic. "Take me with you."

He grunted.

Leaning into the backseat, he grabbed a cold bottle from a cooler and handed it to her. She took the bottle, searching his face for an explanation. He promised to take her out the next day.

"Race," she pouted.

He held up his hand, cutting her off.

She didn't want to surrender her seat, but what choice did she have? To protest, she opened the bottle and drank it right down. Her stomach was empty, except for the big load of cum he'd dumped into her, and the fruity alcoholic beverage she'd just consumed.

She staggered getting out of the jeep.

He roared off.

The bar was dark and noisy.

Her blood alcohol concentration was dangerously high.

A great emptiness opened in her chest, but she fought her way through it. The driving beat of the live band helped. A fifty-something man approached, leaned in, and shouted in her ear.

"You sit with me."

He was the gaffer, a department head just like Race.

He took her by the hand and led her to a small table in the back. Leaning into her personal space, he shouted that he was interested in her. She blinked, dumbfounded. He was overweight and not particularly attractive, but the rape had torn a man-sized hole in her heart. She made a sexy pout, threw her shoulders back, and presented her little boobs.

He laughed.

He took her hand in his, pressing it against his prick.

She didn't pull back. Experience had taught her that studio executives expected her to fondle their cocks. He whisper-shouted vulgar stories about girls who sucked cock. All the women in his stories were gorgeous, willing sluts.

Soon he dropped her hand, lowered his fly, and exposed his cock.

"Put that in your mouth."

She didn't want his cock in her mouth, but she didn't want to disappoint him either. Grabbing his manhood, she scanned the crowded bar.

Something hot and wet ran down her hand.

He was coming.

A sense of urgency consumed her.

She put her head in his lap, opened her mouth, and allowed all the hot, creamy semen to pool on her tongue. Raising her head, she swallowed it right down, regretting it almost immediately. A searing bolt of shame brought tears to her eyes, but it was too late now. Two big loads of department-head cum stewed in her lovely little belly.

He was exuberant, rubbing her thighs and laughing.

He waved over his best boy, a hunky-looking thirty-something man, and invited her to dance with him. She tried to decline, but not very hard. She wanted to get away from the table, and the best boy was an attractive, well-built man.

She needed his help getting onto the dance floor.

The best boy held her close, wedging his thigh between her legs. His attention was like a balm for her ruined self-esteem. The music was fast-paced, but she was too drunk to dance. She wrapped her arms around his neck and ground her cunt into his thigh. Her mind had mostly redacted the humiliation of the rape, but she couldn't shake her feelings of worthlessness and shame. A voice in her head whispered that she was lucky to have the attention of such a good-looking man. Every so often he raised her chin, gave her a passionate soul kiss, then returned her head to his shoulder. Another man showed up, holding a colorful drink. He was the key grip's best boy. His toothy smile was like a cool summer breeze. He passed the drink to his mate, draped her arms over his shoulders, and pressed his hard cock against her thigh. His hands felt good on her ass. Being passed between them seemed right, appropriate for a slut like her. A deliciously dirty fantasy about sucking their cocks took shape in her mind. She rubbed her hungry cunt against their thighs, inhaling their musky scent. They danced her back to the table and put her in the lap of the gaffer.

Her need was excruciating.

The gaffer slipped his hand between her legs, making all the breath rush from her lungs. The direct stimulation of her pussy made her whimper. She would have preferred attention from one of the best boys, but her pussy throbbed with desire, and she could no longer afford to be choosy. Wrapping her arms around the gaffer's neck, she spread her knees to give him better access to her cunt.

Suddenly one of the best boys appeared, directing her attention to a nearby table. A feeling of dread rose in her throat, and she looked where he indicated. A middle-aged man sat ogling her, his cock exposed. This was the key grip, another department head.

A weird calm settled over her.

She turned to the best boy, her stomach sinking. His eyes were clear and bright, his movie-star smile warm and encouraging. A whole new understanding of her situation presented itself to her. All at once, everything was clear.

He wasn't interested in

dating

her.

He was

recruiting

her.

The crew needed a stupid, worthless cunt to suck cock tonight. An amused voice in her head started laughing. She was exactly the kind of girl they were looking for.

The gaffer squeezed her cunt, sending an unwanted burst of sexual pleasure to her core. Groping her sensitive tit flesh, he nibbled on her neck. His hands and lips were building a powerful response in her body, but her mind was still reconciling the latest assault to her pride. Of course, the two best-looking men in the bar wouldn't be interested in dating a slut like her. She was a cocksucker, destined to pleasure cocks tonight. The key grip looked irritated, waving emphatically. Poor Olivia. Her low self-esteem wouldn't allow her to let a department head down. Slipping to her knees, she crawled to the key grip and dutifully put his cock in her mouth.

A small crowd gathered and began cheering her on. Phone cameras blinded her. Someone with a big professional camera on their shoulder thrust the lens into her face.

"Give it to me," she husked, trying out her new role as a slut.

Hot cum splashed on her cheeks and neck.

The boisterous crowd shouted for her attention, asking her to pose. A dull terror settled onto her. This was the start of her new life as a whore. The gaffer invited his best boy to jack off on her face. He obliged, depositing a big nasty load on her forehead. The key grip invited his man to do the same. Cum streamed down her cheeks.

She lowered her head in shame.

Her whole body tingled with anticipation and guilt. She decided to leave but couldn't trust her legs and began softly whimpering instead.

The department heads waved over their crews.

Someone began tugging her t-shirt over her head, and she raised her arms. A man used the shirt to wipe her face. His act reminded her of the way her father would wipe crumbs from her lips as a little girl. Thinking of her father made her feel small. He hadn't approved of her going to film school. He certainly wouldn't approve of all these guys using her like a whore. Someone took her head in his hands and filled her mouth with cock. A crowd of men gathered around, their dicks in hand. A strident voice in her head commanded her to stop the fucking crying.

You made this bed and now you're going to sleep in it.

Retreating inside herself, she allowed the men to have their way. They took turns, giving her tasks to perform.

Look into the camera. Open your mouth. Swallow.

Occasionally a department head would bark out an order. She held her cunt, did what she was told, and waited for them to finish.

At closing time one of the interns helped her to the van.

Olivia sat alone on the bench seat.

The other interns crowded into the front of the vehicle, ignoring her. None of them seemed particularly jealous anymore. The van stopped and the interns got out. Olivia was too drunk to follow. Stretching out onto the seat, she listened to the sounds of the night.

Soon the side door slid back. A young intern with high cheekbones and long thin hair entered the van. She sat at Olivia's feet.

"How's it going?" the girl asked.

Olivia drew herself up on one elbow. Her senses were dulled from alcohol, but her heart soared at being addressed. Her humanity had been recognized.

"We stopped for food," the intern said.

She put her hand on Olivia's shoulder and gently pushed.

Olivia lay back.

The girl began unfastening Olivia's pants.

Olivia tried to think of something to say, but it was hard to organize her mind. Her pants and panties went down her hips. She didn't understand why her clothes were being removed, but she was grateful to have a friend. Her shoe came off, and then her foot was freed from her pant leg. The girl withdrew, and Olivia could hear her talking just outside the van.

Olivia held her bare cunt, sending a warm tingle to her core.

A man suddenly loomed into her field of view.

He looked young and attractive and stank of kitchen grease. Her motor skills were seriously impaired, but she had just enough coordination to roll onto her back, pull her shoulders back, and present her little boobs.

He laughed, spreading her legs.

He sank his cock deep inside her cunt, whispering that she was a hot little number. A delicious fullness satisfied her. This was the feeling she had longed for all night. Wrapping her legs around him, she moaned with relief, grinding her hips against his groin. He fucked her swift and hard, and she went over the top, screaming out in delight.

"Please, please," she begged.

That man left and another man took his place.

He slid his fat cock into her soupy cunt. The second time wasn't as good as the first, but it was still pretty good. He finished and exited the van. Outside she could hear people laughing.

Cum leaked from her cunt.

The interns returned to the van in a festive mood. One of the girls thanked Olivia and a peal of laughter rang out. Someone tossed a sack of food onto the seat beside her.

The van started moving again.

For the rest of the trip home, the interns giggled, thanked Olivia, or both. Sometimes one of the girls would groan,

please, please

, in a false-husky voice, and this would elicit more laughter from the others.

Olivia understood she was being mocked.

She didn't respond.

It was humiliating to know they had heard her orgasm, but her mind would only allow the humiliation to go so far. She focused on discrete bits of information from the stop. The men had smelled like kitchen grease. An intern had taken down her pants.

Those were facts.

Immutable.

Everything else was conjecture.

The idea that she might have paid for the fast food by fucking the kitchen staff was too awful to contemplate. Even more disturbing was the idea that the interns might have negotiated a transaction without her consent. Olivia's mind refused even to consider those things as possibilities.

She blamed herself instead.

Condemnation was a much easier, more logical explanation. Sluts got fucked in vans all the time. Why did she get fucked? Because she was a slut. And the worst part? No finger-banging or cunt grinding had ever felt so good, so satisfying. The memory of that fat cock sliding into her tight pussy was now seared into her brain. She used her cum-encrusted t-shirt to wipe her messy cunt. Digging into the sack, she unwrapped a burger and took a bite.