Aftermath

"Hello. I'm Yesnia," I tell the stranger that's sitting next to me on the bus. And that's all I tell him. When I ride on buses, I get...tense. Even if this isn't a school bus but a public transportation bus, it still makes me feel...emotions.

I won't say what happened, but it did end up with me being a sex-slave for a homeless camp. Yeah, you read that right. Me. The nerdy, smart girl that has always been a good girl was a sex-slave for everyone inside a homeless camp. This valedictorian who has a full scholarship to her favorite college was a consensual sex-slave where men and women did as they wanted to me.

It's a long story how I got there, but short to say it ended up with me being constantly tied down and repeatedly fucked every single day. And it was by request too. I wasn't held captive or threatened. I wanted it.

There I lived off a poor diet of food scraps and cum, not to mention some water and a lot of liquor. I won't go into the details of my time there, like how once a day I was untied and made to walk around to be shown off to the camp and to get exercise.

It took three weeks for the cops to find me. My parents had called the police the day I went missing when I didn't come home. From that, they manage to flip one of the Goth Goons that started my descent. The Goth Goons were a group from school that kidnapped me to go on a school bus to a school function, where they molested me on the back street of the bus for hours.

From there they started looking around where they said they left me tied up. The cops then started combing the streets, back alleys, abandon building and more for me. They just didn't count on me being tied up as a sex object for the homeless.

Anyway, I was found. The cops raided the camp and found me, tied spreadeagle and naked, with a freaking beer bottle halfway inside my womanhood as when they raided the camp, some guy was having fun fucking me like that. I remember that too. It was scary but damn hot. Soon I was untied, covered up and taken away.

Therapy. Tons of therapy is what I remember happening next. Months of therapy. After I was returned home, everything felt mixed together, you know? And I felt that I really wanted to be used like they used me, where I was made into a sex object. But I was told that NO, that's not what I wanted. I was just confused by the situation.

I took the semester off from college to deal with my issues and try to get back to normal, which I think I did. To get back to being a now 19-year-old girl. I mean, I don't seem to act any different than I did before it all happened. Sure, I feel different, but that's to be expected. I mean...who wouldn't change after the hundreds of intense orgasms in just a few weeks?

"Oh really?" I respond to the stranger that sits next to me as she tells me about...something. I then notice that it's not a he, but a she talking. I'm not really paying attention. I never do when I'm on a bus. Just like I never sit towards the back anymore. Just brings back too many confusing memories, which is why I ride it every day in hopes of getting over it.

"So sorry, but this is my spot," I tell the woman with a smile as the bus comes to a stop and she's still talking. I get up and off along with the few other people. To get to college I take 2 separate public buses as I think it's better to take public transportation than be just another car on the road.

I walk down the somewhat busy sidewalk in my black slacks and button down dark blue shirt. I've given up wearing the clothes I used to use in hopes of feeling like a different person than I was. I used to love comic tshirts and blue jeans, but now that I'm changed, I look more professional. More adult-like. The girl that had all that stuff happened to was my version 1. I'm version 2.

I walk by myself, making sure to be on the look-out for anyone that might mean me harm. These days I carry not just pepper spray but a small measuring tape on my keys. A female cop once showed me this really cool move to do with measuring tape if you are being attacked, how you can wrap it around the bad guy's arm and neck and he'll basically choke himself getting out of it.

It may be crazy, but I often think about what happened to the homeless guys when the cops raided the camp. I know that the Goth Goons all went to jail. What they did was just the start of the reasons, but they turned on each other, and each got pinched for something, from drug possession all the way to illegal downloads. But the homeless guys? They didn't do anything wrong, you know? Afterall, I told them to do it.

I know I at the time I wasn't thinking clearly as I had been through trauma of what the Goth Goons did, but the homeless guys were not at fault. They did nothing wrong. Again, I told them they could do it. That they could take me to camp, tie me up, fuck me raw, etc, etc.

Now that I think about it, I never even knew any of their names. Hell, I never really even saw them as I had to wear a blindfold most of the time when I was a captive. I did remember a few of them based on the way they fuck-maybe I shouldn't say too much on that topic.

Hopefully they didn't get arrested or charged. I was never asked to testify, so I would hope they didn't, but that doesn't mean much these days. It's just...they were an okay group of guys. After all, they could have done so much worse to me, from beating me to even killing me, and they never did. They fed me, cared for me, even would put band-aids if someone got too aggressive.

I take a deep breath and stop that line of thinking. I'm just reasoning out how I believe what happened, happened for a reason, again. That's what my therapist tells me when I have such thoughts. That it's not normal to want to be a sex slave while I have a bright future ahead of me. After all, I already have 3 patents based on experiments.

"Hey, hey, hey!" I hear someone call out. Since I don't really know anyone in this part of town, I know they aren't talking to me so I don't even look about. Also, I know this is a trick that criminals use, as if you turn to look, people around will think you and the person are friends and not pay attention.

"Nerd-Nerdy Knockers," that voice then calls out. Hearing that term makes my blood run cold and my feet stop. The world sort of goes hazy as I hear that horrible term, which brings back so many horribly memoires. Nerdy Knockers is what the Goth Goons made me call my own breasts. It's what I called them for a very long time.

Stunned and terrified, I slowly turn, fully expecting to see one of the evil Goth Goons with a knife behind me. But no. No Goth Goons at all. In fact, I don't see anyone. There's just people walking to and fro, none even looking at me. They just walk past me, annoyed that I'm not moving.

Confused, I wonder if I'm starting to hear things from the trauma. Shaking my head some to get the cobwebs out, I turn around until I hear that name called again. This time I know it's not in my head. Looking around again, I try to see who in the world could be saying that. That's when I spot them.

There's an alley way nearby between the pizza place next to me and the dry cleaners next door. A small alleyway with the opening being the width of 10 or so feet. It's the sort of thing you see all the time and block out, like seeing the cracks on the concrete. Only at the lip of this alley, there are 2 homeless guys standing as if hanging out, both looking right at me.

For a moment I don't move as I'm not sure what's going on. How would they know that name? These two aren't Goth Goons as they are far too old. These two guys have to be in their 40s at least. And where it all happened was in a completely different city.

"H-How do you know that name?" I ask as I step to the side out of the walking crowd and closer to them. As I walk, everything seems to become dream-like, as if I'm entering a dream world.

"It is you!" The guy on the right exclaims. It's very clear they are both homeless, but at least they look clean. Well, their clothes look clean as they both wear old tshirts and jeans. Their hair and facial hair are grown out much like most homeless guys, but it looks clean as well.

"What do you mean, it's me?" I demand, getting more concerned. My heart has started to pound and a tickle of sweat forms on my brow. Overall, I get a very worried vibe from them, as if something bad is about to happen. The same bad thing that I knew would come get me one day.

"From the camp. Where we used you. I remember you because, well, your birthmark. On your right arm," the guy on the right tells me. His tone seems to be one of a friend seeing a long-lost friend, wanting to catch up. But that just can't be. That happened in a different city!

I do look at my arm and see the birthmark he refers to. But that doesn't mean anything. Right? He could have just seen it and is playing a con-man's game with me.

"And as for the name, well, in more than one drunken state, you told people to call your boobs that," he explains and both do a little laugh.

Horror strikes me. It falls on me like a ton of bricks. Right after hearing this, I remember. I remember having to bounce on someone's cock and feeling my breasts heavily bounce. And as they did and others remarked, I would yell at them to call them my Nerdy Knockers.

"Are you here to come back?" The homeless guy on the right asks, making me open my mouth in shock. I wasn't expecting such a question. Nor for it to be that freaking blunt. After all, why would he think so? How could he think so? After all that happened? After all the news stories and whatnot?

"I..." I begin, so stunned that I can't answer. I know I need to say no then walk off, but I am still caught off guard by all this. I can't believe this is happening. I mean, these two guys...did they fuck me? Did they fuck me while I was a sex-slave, and now are looking at me as I am a normal person? Not knowing if people fucked you is by far the biggest mind fuck ever, well, maybe not for ladies that sell themselves.

How is this happening? Where I was a sex-slave, wasn't even close to here. It was clear across town. How in the world did this guy pick me out of the crowd like this? How did he find me? How is this happening?

"Ah, bro, you forgot. Remember how she likes to be treated," the other guy says in a much lower voice. This guy is on the left and is much shorter. He looks to be older but something about him seems, well, meaner.

The one on the left looks at him a bit confused, as do I. I don't get what he means by how I like to be treated, nor does the other guy. But then the shorter guy reaches out and grabs my hair. Just reaches out to grab a handful of it and hold it tight.

"Come on ya dumb bitch," the short man says as if talking to a pet as he pulls my hair. My hands go to my hair in shock and I actively do try to pull back. But again, I'm so stunned this is happening that I sort of let him pull me deeper into the alley. I know I could truly fight and get away, but this all seems so unbelievable and dream-like, that I can't believe it's happening.

I'm dragged into the alley by the guy, with his friend following behind. But as quick as this happens, once we are in the alley, he lets go. Once free, I stand up straight and stare at the pair of them, shocked. I'm even more shocked that no one from the sidewalk has done anything. That the scene just happened and no one seems to notice.

"You do want to be a sex-slave, right? You kept saying how you loved it," The first guy asks, as if it's not a big thing at all. That it's like asking if you want to dance to the next song at the club. Or if you want to go get some coffee.

I don't say anything as I still feel like this is a dream. That I will wake up any moment in my bed, or maybe the tub surrounded by the nice warm bubbles.

Do I want to be a sex-slave? Well, no. I'm a good girl. A college girl. A girl with a bright future in front of her. The girl that was in that camp was a sex-slave, letting any and everyone use her tits, pussy and ass. She's gone. A part of me did love that, but that's not me any longer.

"Strip bitch," the shorter guy orders, not waiting a response. He looks at me with an intense look, as if he already knows that I was going to say yes. He looks expectantly.

"Strip and put the clothes in that dumpster. Hell, you look stupid with clothes on, anyway," he adds and nudges his friend. Something about the way he says this makes my face flush. I know they must have seen me naked, but the thought of getting naked in front of them again is very embarrassing for some reason. Maybe it is because of the age difference, maybe it is because they are homeless. Maybe it is because this is INSANE.

Yet, I look down to see me stepping out of my shoes. Then I step on my sock to pull my foot from it. I do this till I am completely barefoot in this alley, as if I did it on automatic pilot or something. To make this even more outlandish, I hear the loud clung-clang noise my shoes make as I throw them into the big dumpster to the side.

I just took off my shoes. Why? Why did I just do that?

"For the shirt, rip it open. Make the buttons fly so you can't wear it again," the shorter guy orders with a smirk as he is loving this. As if he has some secret mind control power, my hands go to my shirt, where each hand grabs a side. And then, with a hard pull from both, my shirt is ripped open with all the buttons flying everywhere.

I slide the shirt off my shoulders, leaving me in just my white bra. Both stare at my cleavage, having a look of 'there you are, where'd you go?' on their faces. But as they look, I toss the remains of my top into the dumpster.

Now I unbutton my slacks, to which they fall to the ground once past my hips. They plop down simply, as if giving up themselves, leaving me in my purple panties. I step out and use my foot to those my slacks into the dumpster. If I may say so, I manage to make it look rather graceful.

To this I stop, as I know if I go any further, that'll be it. I will no longer be the smart college girl with a bright future, but the sex-slave for the homeless who was recaptured.

This is the turning point.

"What, you shy? Not like we ain't see your tits and cunt. Hell, we often look at the videos we have of you fucking," the shorter guy says and that does it. That makes the horrible choice for me.

Not saying anything as deep inside I convince myself that this isn't really happening, I reach behind me and unclasp my bra. It slides down easily, which I toss it into the dumpster, my overly large nerdy knockers clearly seen by the two, and anyone that might look down the alley. In a familiar feeling, they jiggle about, even with my breathing.

I then push my panties down, where they fall to my feet, exposing my shaved womanhood once again. This time I only step out of them, but don't throw them away. I just leave them on the ground as if they are symbolic. What it is supposed to symbolize, I have no clue.

I'm naked now. Or should I say, again? Naked with every part of my young body showing to these older, gross homeless men.

"Turn around, put your hands behind your head," the shorter guy says, truly enjoying his role of being the slave-leader or whatever the term would be.

Naked and feeling pathetic, I do as he says, turning around at once, where I put both hands behind my head. In a way, doing this feels like going home. I remember doing this so many times before while a sex-slave. I recall how helpless it made me feel. How scared. How aroused.

I hear him fiddling with something, but what it is, I don't know. He stays behind me, so it could be anything. It does increase my fear but at the moment, I'm still trying to get over the fact that I'm naked in a freaking alley.

Suddenly, something comes over my head. It catches me off guard and I try to back up, only to back into him. Despite being short, he feels very solid and I don't move him. With it closer, I can see now that it is a belt. He's trying to put a belt around my neck.

"Stop moving. Put your elbows up...higher," he says, annoyed. I'm not sure why, but I do as he says, even if worried he might be trying to kill me. I lift my elbows all the way until they are pointing at the sky as my hands sink to the base of my neck. Here he proceeds in tightening the belt around my neck. Only with my hands the way they are, pressed against the lower part of my neck, he has basically trapped them. He's bound my hands behind my head to my neck.

"Hey buddy, check this out," the shorter guy says as he grabs me by the hips and turns me around so I'm facing his friend. I do turn as I try to move my hands, but can't. Also, in what is insanely scary and extremely arousing, it feels like someone is choking me.

I realize that I'm facing more than his friend at the moment as the lip of the alley is right there, maybe 8 or so feet away. I'm naked and tied up like a whore for them, and anyone that wants to look down this alley. Surely someone caught a glimpse in the corner of their eyes.

"Miss these big fat boobies?" The shorter guy says in a high-pitched voice which is supposed to be me as she moves my hips left and right to make my breasts jiggle. The guy in front sees this and laughs, his smile growing as my tits jiggle and bounce all over the place.

"Can't believe we got you back," the guy in front of me says while watching my bare breasts jiggle and shake. I'm back, aren't I? I'm a sex-slave again. But this isn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be normal, go to college, become rich.

Yet as the short guy turns me back around via my hips to face down the alley, I can feel how this doesn't feel real. It doesn't click that I'm a sex-slave again. The dream-like quality still hasn't faded and it makes me wonder if I've actually been drugged or something.

He slaps my bare ass hard, causing a loud clap sound and tells me to walk. I feel his handprint stinging on my ass, even each and every finger. It stings a very familiar humiliating sting, making me sink back into that owned feeling.

So, naked, hands tied in this embarrassing way, I walk down the alley. I walk away from the clothes I threw away that showed how much I've matured. I walk away from the sidewalk where I was a normal person to everyone. And most importantly, I walk away from the life I had.

In my daze I walk slowly, feeling how my bare breasts jiggle with each step. Since what happened, my breasts did increase in size, believe it or not. Not that they needed to be any larger. I was told it was due to the extreme increase of hormones and in time they would shrink back down. But as I walk like this, feeling how comically large they are by their jiggling, I have a feeling they will never get any smaller.

Every couple of moments I'm smacked on the ass which makes me yelp or the short guy shakes me again to make my breasts jiggle so they can laugh. But for the most part, they talk about how they can't believe their luck. How they got the sex-slave back in a completely different city. A sex-slave that was a million in one chance of getting the first time, but to find her again seemed impossible.

We go all the way down the alley, where there's a small space behind the building to the left. Going into this passage, they lead me into a covered area that looks to be an storage lot or something. I would say it's about the size of a small house in size with a metal roof overhead and metal poles to keep it standing.

"Look what we found!" The short guy calls out. At first I think he calls this to darkness as I don't see anything else. But once my eyes adjust, I see there's a small camp here. Tents and other improved shelters litter the space, along with maybe 25-20 people.

To his call, people turn to look, and then the exclamations start. Many call out surprised phrases while some just look confused. A few look extremely excited while others look very wary.