Sanctuaire Ch 03

All characters in this story are 18 or older, and the author does not in any way condone non-consensual sex. This one contains the usual coercion and non-con anal you'd expect from me. If such content is not your kink or offends you, please do not read this story. This is an erotic fiction story not meant as a sort of political or societal protest. I write entertainment in a specific kink, never meant to happen in reality and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Many thanks to Psylent for providing feedback and editing this story, as well as writing encouragement.

My initiation had finished with all 8 trainers cycling through my asshole as I lay on the ground holding my raw ass open for them as my insides took beating after beating. The pain had been daunting, my breathing difficult, but the constant orgasms that caused me to convulse endlessly on the floor somehow made it all worth it.

Part of me knew they were using me for my holes, nothing but an anal fucktoy, but my body felt like it was coming away on top, reaping more orgasms than I thought possible. All these chiseled (and occasionally nice) men wanted to fuck me, and I couldn't help but feel pride in that as I braved their anal train. They didn't make love to me, caress me like a shy lover; these men fucked me,

hard

, like they couldn't stop themselves when they saw my fresh gape.

I had grunted into the carpet as I lay there, the semen on my cheek sticking to the carpet from the rough gangbang I'd endured earlier. Eventually they all crowded around me as Robert continued to hammer into my ass, choking me from behind as I trembled and quivered beneath him in an unending orgasm. I smiled up at them, eager to please them as they showed me so much appreciation, dumping load after load on my face, in my mouth, in my hair. As my body and the room settled down, I was left to collect myself, Robert helping me to my feet, bubbling with excitement.

"Angela, you did great!" he exclaimed, "Just a real go-getter, you know?! We're all so proud of you!"

I grinned back at him, scooping cum into my mouth to clean off my face and licking my fingers suggestively.

"You know, I have you to thank for it," I playfully smacked his muscular arm. He'd spent unending hours with me over the last 7 days: stretching me out with toys, roughly hammering into me, improving my deepthroat abilities, all outside of initiation so that each evening I could take it in stride. The sheer number and size of toys that had been inside me (sometimes all at once) was mind-blowing, and they had definitely made each night's initiation less painful and more enjoyable. And for all his work with me, I had been rewarded with constant orgasms, sometimes from toys, sometimes from his dirty-talk, and sometimes just good old-fashioned rough fucking.

Sweat and semen coating my face, I knelt on the carpeted floor as Robert unlocked the symbolic locks on my stilettos and replaced them with sexier silver ones. I felt relief, I felt horny, I felt proud of myself. All around me, men were clapping, hooting and hollering at me for completing my "initiation" at Sanctuaire. Even the other girls, mostly used as fluffers for my initiation ceremony, were clapping and beaming at me.

"So, ready for the tattoo?" Robert asked eagerly, scooping me up into his arms. I'd noticed it a few days back, all of the tanned women on the island had a small tattoo on their left rib cage: an 'S' in fancy old English calligraphy. It was sexy against their bronze skin, and Robert had promised I could get one if I passed initiation.

"Yes!" I giggled excitedly in his giant embrace as he carried me towards another office, "Should I clean my face off?"

"Nah, Angela," he dismissed, "You look so sexy with it on your face, plus you know it's good for you. The more you get used to it, the less it'll make you uncomfortable."

I nodded; he was right of course. I'd spent a lot of time wearing cum on my face, breasts, and legs, feeling it dry on me as I went about my business. It still stung when it hit my eyes, but outside of that I was pretty used to wearing cum. It reminded me of the sexual attention I captivated wherever I went throughout the resort.

We arrived in a clean white room where a man sat on a laptop, his large frame covered in tattoos.

"Right on time!" he smiled at the two of us, "Number forty-seven, right?"

"Yep!" Robert said as he set me down onto a large, cushy ottoman. He set me down face down so I naturally settled into the prostrate position I'd been fucked in so many times before, resulting in both men chuckling with satisfaction.

"Wow, she's a quick learner. And quite the looker," the tattoo artist said as he pulled up a stool next to me.

I beamed at them, wiggling my ass for them as I pressed my breasts into the soft cushion. The walls had mirrors all around them, and I could see Robert walking around me, discussing my body and the tattoo with the artist. As the man brought the stencil close to my face, I realized it in fact did have a smaller number forty-seven alongside the 'S', something I hadn't noticed before.

Then it clicked: all the girls I'd seen did have numbers, they'd just been too small or I'd been too distracted by debauchery to care. All the girls were numbered, and apparently, I was to be forty-seven. I cringed in realization:

it wasn't a mysterious tattoo that signified the completion of my initiation! It was closer to a marking of livestock, like a brand on a whore or slave. God was I in over my head!

"Umm, what does the number mean?" I asked quietly, suddenly apprehensive of the implication, but unable to deny a stirring in my groin.

"It just makes it easier to keep track of all the whores," Robert said nonchalantly. Sensing my apprehension, he caressed my shoulder and neck as I lay beneath his grip.

"I... I don't know if I want to be a whore," I whimpered quietly, clearer thoughts piercing my brain as the man swabbed my left ribcage with alcohol.

"Look at yourself, Angela," Robert said firmly, "You already are one."

He was right,

again

. In the mirror I could see myself on all fours, my ass on display and ready for its next patron, my face still covered in cum from my proud gangbang. Just catching a glance of myself in the submissive position, wearing my white and gold collar, long white heels and matching stockings made me wet. I still had on my white g-string that covered nothing, making me look cheap like a stripper and declaring my sexual proclivity. I felt Robert's fingers massaging my snatch as his other hand firmly held my neck to the cushion.

"You know you're a whore," he said as his fingers slipped into my slick pussy, eliciting an involuntary moan from me, "and... you enjoy it."

A distant part of my mind screamed with resentment at being called a 'whore' so casually. But I knew I was already getting used to it. It came with the free-use territory; it wasn't anything to get upset about. It was just a word.

As he said it, the other man latched a large ring from the cushion to my collar, locking me in place. I hadn't noticed the ring before, but now I had no choice in the position, my ass in the air.

God he was right. Why was I so turned on right now?

My brain complained within, not wanting to undergo this brand-new act of submission, to become another numbered sex doll on this foreign island. But Robert's voice and my own horniness controlled me, the warnings and protests in my mind fading before they could exit my mouth.

The buzzing needle dug into my flesh and I whimpered pathetically. My body was on fire from the subjugation and sensations coursing through me, even while my brain screamed at the concept. It knew what the tattoo meant:

I belonged to

Sanctuaire

now. It was like wearing a license to be raped. Forever.

But part of me had already accepted it, a small price to pay for the never-ending orgasms and sexual attention I received.

Free-use, as they called it.

I don't know how much time passed, but Robert's light touches in and around my slit combining with the light pain of the needle made me zone out. Suddenly it was done, the other man unlocking my collar from the ottoman, and Robert lifting me up by my mound and collar.

"Beautiful," he commented approvingly, "You know, Angela, I'm such a lucky guy to turn out such a gorgeous girl!"

I flushed with pride at the compliment, ignoring the "turned out" implication. I wasn't

really

a turned-out whore, I thought to myself, I just enjoyed sex and exploring my sexual limits.

Well, technically Robert and the other trainers explored them for me,

I winced.

"Let's see a spin," Robert commanded and I promptly complied. The spinning, the seductive dancing and stripping had become second nature to me over the past week.

"You look great, baby!" Robert murmured, and I beamed at him. I was excited to get back to my apartment, maybe he'd stay with me tonight to congratulate me for completing initiation.

Maybe he'd even fuck my pussy!

He traced his fingers over the tattoo, causing the sensitive area to tingle. I turned to leave, but his hand rose up to my shoulder and he pressed down, the meaning of which I knew immediately.

"Aren't you going to thank Nathan for his nice work on you?" he said as the tattoo artist put away his equipment.

In the back of my head, I wondered why I should be grateful for a tattoo that branded me as a whore, as a sexual slave to this island, but my body knew better, and I quickly sank to my knees while fishing out Nathan's semi-hard cock. It didn't smell great but it was nowhere as huge as Robert's, so it was easy to envelope his entire cock on the first try.

I'd noticed the island's visitors were almost always easier to blow, the trainers clearly chosen for their huge endowment and never-ending stamina. I made quick work of Nathan, allowing him to fuck my face as I maintained the correct posture, my small chest thrust out invitingly while I grabbed my heels. Another load of cum landed on my face which I swallowed before finally getting back to my condo.

After spending a lust-filled but exhausting night with me, Robert accompanied me to Dr. Kenamura for my breast enhancement surgery the following morning. It was over before I felt it start, my breasts covered in a tiny crop top, the most clothing I'd been permitted in 7 days. For that matter, it was the most clothing I ever saw on any of the island's women. I woke up from surgery with a heavy black collar on, of which Robert informed me signaled my recent breast augmentation. I would have to take a few days off from strenuous activity, sex included. While wearing the black collar, I was off-limits to the inhabitants.

Unfortunately, I found myself hornier than ever after surgery, lusting for every cock I saw striding past my condo. Robert had graciously supplied me with a slew of toys, large and small to keep me company. I spent most of my time tanning with a butt plug in and a Lovense vibrator, cumming again and again to my own rhythm on the beach. With the exception of my collar, it was nice to get an even tan as I healed up.

And did I heal quickly. I met with Dr. Kenamura or his assistants every other day for treatments, some sort of gel that was placed on and around my breasts, speeding up my recovery and ensuring they would look as natural as Sarah's. I was also put on a liquid diet; a shake that tasted like berries and was supposed to assist in the healing. By the time a week was up, I felt no pain in my breasts and could jump up and down without consequence.

My black collar was swapped for a silver and white one, of which Robert wouldn't tell me the meaning. It did mean that I could have sex again, and did he put me through my paces as we reacquainted physically. Unfortunately, I had the dumbest luck remembering when to ask him.

"It's just a collar," Robert had said dismissively as he tried to ease his lubricated fingers through my straining sphincter. My attention had to focus on relaxing and trying to enjoy the penetration after not having a human touch me sexually for such a long period of time, so the conversation ended there. Grunting, whimpering, and quiet sobbing filled the rest of the evening instead as he made me cum again and again after my temporary celibacy.

Once my breasts healed, Robert brought me to a 'modeling' photoshoot on the island since it was such a nice locale. I giggled with excitement at the prospect, eager to document my new sex appeal and body as I learned to manage my new tits.

He had me dress in my usual sexy (but more formal) outfit, white stockings and lingerie clinging to my now tanned figure. I was a pro in stilettos now, easily making my way around the resort, rising and falling to my knees now with ease and without question.

Robert and the photographer had me pretend I was some sort of runway model, snapping pictures and egging me on as I struck pose after pose to the backdrop of the beautiful ocean. Some of the other trainers showed up during the photoshoot, hooting and hollering at me as the requested poses became more and more suggestive. It was exhilarating: being at the center of attention while also at my hottest and most confident.

The photographer had me do the usual poses; kneeling while holding my heels (my new tits thrust out), bending over and spreading my legs, laying prostrate bottoms up. Those morphed into some of my dancing poses and eventually I was holding my pussy open for the camera or licking my nipples. It was when the trainers joined the shoot, me clutching their legs while their huge cocks hung by my face that I realized I was doing less of a modeling shoot and more of a porno.

That's why it didn't surprise me when the photographer asked one of the trainers to penetrate me, and from there the photoshoot kind of devolved into a gangbang. The shy side of me wasn't comfortable capturing my double penetration on camera, but the horny side of me reveled in this new line I'd crossed. Click went the camera as men tried to push more meat into me from below as I held cocks in my hands and mouth. It was such a fun evening considering I'd been without the usual action due to the boob job, and they made sure I was fully satisfied, keeping my holes airtight for what seemed like hours and leaving me in a heap of sweat, cum, and saliva as the photographer wrapped up the last shots for a 'catalog' as I'd heard him call it.

After that night, Robert would often introduce me to new gentlemen, often mentioning they'd traveled to Sanctuaire specifically to see me. I was quite flattered, and always made sure they felt welcome to the island, taking them on tours and satisfying their sexual desires. Sometimes I would be joined by another Sanctuaire girl, and my sexual preferences were challenged those nights. After licking a few pussies, I came to realize that while I might not necessarily be "bi," I did love to make people happy.

Usually there were parties when new faces were visiting the island, most of which devolved into orgies, but occasionally I was selected for "special entertainment" as Robert informed me. My beauty and popularity at the resort had apparently earned me the privilege of participating in important corporate retreats that occasionally were hosted at Sanctuaire.

This meant wearing a specific outfit or dress for the event, but today seemed to be a secretary-like version of my initiation uniform. Tall black heels with matching stockings, and a shred of pleated grey fabric that was supposed to be a skirt, covering nothing as soon as I moved. A thin gold chain adorned my bare midriff, and my new breasts were captured tightly in a black strappy cupless bra. My neck had my silver and white collar, and my hair was tied in a high bun to complete the "secretary" image.

I was surprised to see several other girls dressed similarly when I arrived at one of the resort's conference rooms, but the time passed chatting as we waited to enter. When the trainer finally let us in, we were instructed to crawl under the table and service the men at the table. It was fun, adding a little mischief, trying to be quiet and not disrupt their important meeting, while also taking pleasure in the groans our patron made. My chosen client settled back in his office chair as I approached from below the table, crawling on my hands and needs. It was easy enough to unzip his slacks and bring forth his limp meat, slipping the average size cock into my mouth.

It didn't take long from the time I enveloped his cock to feel his grip on the back of my head forcing me down as I fellated him.

They always like to feel in control

I mused as I deepthroated him, eagerly lapping at his balls. I didn't mind playing the part of an office slut; it was kind of a like a little game I was special or hot enough to participate in. But, it was crowded under the large conference table with the other office whores.

Like many other nights, there were also nightly bashes for the island visitors, where all of the girls would get dressed up in sequined dresses and clubwear. We'd party with the clientele, strip for them, dance with them or other girls, everything to spur the visitors towards inevitable sex. And it always did, whether it was a blowbang, a gangbang, an anal train, or some more private intimate one-on-ones.

Mornings would be tanning and chatting with the other girls, afternoons I'd work out or assist a visiting retreat, and evenings I'd party until my back and orifices were blown out. My life was fun, stress-free, and full of free-use sex as intended.

In the morning, after my shower and accompanying enema, I felt refreshed and ready to take on the day. I was still getting used to the evacuant, but having it installed in the shower definitely removed most of the discomfort and made me feel squeaky clean throughout the day. It had only been three weeks here on Sanctuaire, and my body felt weird if I didn't have my daily cleaning. My predominantly liquid diet made my routine sodomy a non-issue to the point where I felt weird if I didn't have something stuffed up my ass.

As I toweled off, I admired my physique in the mirror. I'd never been

this

tan or fit in my life, and I had to admit: like most of the guys on the island I encountered,

I would fuck myself

. My new breasts were still tender but completely healed, without a detectable scar whatsoever. I had to admit, Dr. Kenamura was amazing at what he did. My breasts appeared natural and pliable still, but were a few sizes larger (D's) than god gave me. They accented my toned body well, giving me a little curvature to my thin frame, but weren't obnoxiously large like some of the other women here.

I had to look perfect today, I thought, as I slipped on my thong and stockings. I knew Robert liked white, but that wasn't a surprise; all the men on the island liked us in white, enticed by the pure contrast against our dark tans. The y-back micro thong barely covered my labia, following the curvature of my butt closely before diving between my cheeks, again barely covering my now-veteran starfish. I applied jeweled nipple clamps tassels that matched my new belly button piercing, knowing they'd elicit a positive response from Robert. I didn't mind the way they made me feel anymore, the intermittent pain eventually transforming to a tingling sensation that made my nipples super sensitive. I draped a thin golden chain around my waist and finished by putting on 4-inch white stilettos. I did the final touches hastily, something in the back of my mind telling me I had to act fast.

Initially I'd been a bit quizzical about the clothing we were expected to wear, the vast but skimpy wardrobes contained in our apartments.