Chapter 6: Nerd Gangbang Initiation
The door did not clang this time. It sighed open on well-oiled hinges, revealing not another lone shadow, but a cluster of them. They shuffled in, a group of five, their movements a symphony of awkwardness. The electronic lock thudded shut, trapping them all in the blue-tinged gloom.
They were boys. Not men like the soldiers who sometimes came, nor the aggressive fraternity types. These were Jungs. Die Nerds sind 19 Jahre alt, maybe 20. She could see it in the poorly fitted band t-shirts, the frames of their glasses, the way they stood close together for courage. Their complexions bore the ghost of teenage acne, and their eyes were wide behind the lenses, drinking in the sight of her: a woman in torn, stained latex, kneeling on a mattress, the very image of corrupted authority.
One, with frizzy red hair and a patchy beard, cleared his throat. “We… we pooled our money.” His voice cracked. He held out a fistful of crumpled bills, mostly twenties and tens. “Is it enough? For all of us?”
Christina looked at the money, then at their faces. Virgins. Or close enough. A different kind of exhaustion settled over her, colder than the physical ache. This would be a performance of patience, of guidance. She nodded, the motion stiff. “It’s enough. Put it there.” She pointed to the shelf.
They did, moving as one anxious organism. The redhead was the spokesman. “I’m Felix. That’s Timo, Sebastian, Leo, and Jonas.” He pointed to each in turn. A tall, skeletal boy; a short, round-faced one; one with severe black hair and tense shoulders; and finally, a lanky boy who couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Rules,” Christina said, her Sergeant Major voice cutting through the hum of the lights. It made them straighten. “You do what I say. You don’t hurt me. You come where I tell you to. Understood?”
Nods all around. “Yeah. Absolutely,” Felix said.
“Okay.” She shifted on her knees, the latex sticking unpleasantly to her skin. “Felix. You first. Come here.”
He approached, his steps hesitant. He smelled of cheap deodorant and nervous sweat. She reached for the button of his jeans, her fingers efficient. He flinched, then stood rigid as she pulled his zipper down. He was wearing cartoon-themed boxers. She tugged them down, freeing his cock. It was half-hard, uncut, and neat. He trembled.
“Relax,” she murmured, a monotone instruction. She leaned forward and took him into her mouth. He gasped, a sharp, startled sound. She worked him slowly, without passion, using her tongue to coax him to full hardness. He was thick in her mouth, and his hands fluttered at his sides before one settled, gingerly, on the top of her head. “Oh… oh God,” he whispered.
He didn’t last. Within a minute, his hips gave a shallow, involuntary jerk and he came with a choked-off moan. She swallowed, the taste mild, almost bland compared to the others. He pulled back, his face a mask of astonishment and shame. “Sorry, I… that was too fast.”
“It’s fine,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Timo. You’re next.”
She repeated the process. Timo, the skeletal one, was longer but thinner. He whimpered as she took him in, his bony fingers gripping her shoulders. He lasted a little longer, his climax a quiet, trembling affair.
By the time she took the third one, Sebastian, into her mouth, a change was happening in the room. The initial terror was fading, replaced by a giddy, aggressive curiosity. They had paid. They were in a secret room with a fuckable woman. Their confidence, fragile and new, began to sprout.
“My turn for her pussy,” Leo, the one with severe black hair, announced. His voice was tighter, hotter than the others. “I didn’t save up for just a blowjob.”
Christina released Sebastian, who stumbled back, dazed. She looked at Leo. “Lie down on the mattress.”
He did, hastily shoving his jeans and underwear down to his ankles. His erection stood straight up, eager. Christina straddled him, guiding him inside her. She was so wet from the earlier violations it was effortless. She rode him with a steady, practiced rhythm, her eyes on the ceiling. He stared up at her, his mouth open, his hands clutching at her latex-covered hips.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” he panted. “You’re a real slut, aren’t you? Taking all of us.”
“Yes,” she said, because it was the answer he wanted. She clenched her internal muscles, a trick that made his eyes roll back. He came with a grunt, bucking beneath her.
Before she could dismount, Jonas, the lanky, quiet one, was there. His shyness had vanished, burned away by watching his friends. “I want her ass,” he said, his voice low and surprisingly firm. “I paid. I want her ass.”
Felix, now emboldened, nodded. “Yeah, Jonas hasn’t had a turn yet. Give him the ass.”
Christina moved off Leo. She got on her hands and knees on the mattress, presenting herself to Jonas. She heard the rustle of his clothes, then the cold drizzle of lube as he poured it over her backside. His fingers, clumsy and rough, smeared it between her cheeks. He pressed against her. He was bigger than he looked.
“Just push,” she instructed, her face turned to the side on the mattress. “Don’t be gentle. It’s easier if you just push.”
He did. The initial breach was a sharp, familiar sting that bloomed into a deep, full ache as he sank into her. He let out a long, shuddering sigh. “Holy shit. It’s so tight. Holy shit.” He began to fuck her, his hips slapping against her in an uneven rhythm. The other boys crowded around, watching, their hands on their own cocks, jerking off to the sight.
“Look at him go,” Timo snickered, his earlier shyness gone.
“Yeah, fuck that ass, Jonas!” Felix cheered.
Jonas’s pace grew frantic. His breathing became ragged sobs of pleasure. He grabbed handfuls of her hair, using it for leverage as he drilled into her. “You like that, you whore?” he spat, parroting language he’d heard elsewhere. “You like my cock in your shithole?”
Christina closed her eyes. She felt him swell, pulse, and then flood her with his release. He collapsed on her back, heavy and panting.
He wasn’t done. None of them were. The blowjobs had been just appetizers. They took turns now, a rotating assembly line of gratification. Felix, hard again, fucked her mouth while Sebastian took her pussy from behind. Then they switched. Leo wanted her ass now that Jonas had broken it in. Timo, emboldened, demanded she suck him clean after he’d been in her cunt.
They became a single, many-handed entity, groping her breasts through the latex, slapping her ass, pinching her nipples. Their dialogue devolved into a stream of filth.
“Spread your legs wider, bitch!”
“Suck it deeper!”
“Yeah, take my fucking load!”
“Her tits are amazing, feel them!”
“I’m gonna come on her face!”
And they did. When they had all spent themselves inside her various orifices, they made her kneel in the center of the mattress. They stood around her, their soft, spent cocks in their hands, and jerked themselves until each produced a final, weak spurt to add to the mess coating her skin and hair. It painted streaks in her tangled black hair, dripped from her chin onto her breasts, and pooled in the hollow of her throat.
Finally, they were spent. Silence returned, broken only by their heavy breathing. They looked at each other, then at her, a broken doll gleaming under the blue LEDs. The reality of what they’d done seemed to settle back onto their shoulders, mingling with the satiation.
Felix, the redhead, bent and awkwardly picked up his cartoon boxers. “We should… we should go.”
They dressed quickly, avoiding each other’s eyes. As they filed towards the door, Jonas, the last one, paused. He looked back at her. For a second, she saw it in his eyes—a flicker of something that wasn’t lust or cruelty. It might have been pity, or horror, or a dawning understanding of a transaction that went far deeper than money. But then Felix shoved him from behind. “Come on, man.”
The door sighed shut. The lock thudded.
Christina didn’t move from her knees. The cooling semen on her skin felt like a second, vile garment. The camera’s light winked. Somewhere, Brandt had his footage: Hauptfeldwebel Christina serviciert fünf 19-jährige Physikstudenten. The perfect humiliation, complete and verified.
She looked at the shelf. The money was still there. They hadn’t stolen it back. It was a small, meaningless victory in a room that held no victories at all. Slowly, mechanically, she began the long process of cleaning not just the physical residue, but the echoing, hollow feeling that these boys, these children, had just used her as their shared gateway into a darker world, and in doing so, had somehow made her own world feel smaller, and infinitely more empty.
The cold antiseptic wipe scraped over her cheek, smearing the drying streaks into a greyish paste. She worked without thought, each swipe a mechanical erasure of a specific boy’s presence, a reverse baptism. The hollow feeling, however, had no surface to clean. It was a void where her pride had been, echoing with their adolescent grunts and the camera’s silent, blinking judgment.
A new, familiar sound cut through the silence: a soft shuffling from the other side of the left-most hole in the wall. Then a single, crisp 50-euro note slid through the opening, fluttering to the concrete like a leaf.
Her body went rigid. The money from the students still lay on the shelf. This was different. This was the old currency, the original transaction. SIE MUSS WIEDER ANS GLORY HOLE. DER ABEND IST NOCH NICHT ZU ENDE. The unspoken rule of the room settled on her shoulders, heavier than any field pack. The night owned her until the owner decided it was over.
She stared at the note. Refusal wasn’t an option. Options had evaporated weeks ago, sealed away with her uniform in a locker that felt like it belonged to another person. She let the soiled wipe fall from her fingers. She did not crawl. She walked on stiff legs to the wall, her bare feet silent on the cold floor, and knelt once more on the padded rest.
A cock was already presented through the hole, thick and impatient. It smelled faintly of soap and tobacco. No words were exchanged here; this was pure, anonymous utility. She took it into her mouth, the act now as routine as brushing her teeth. She worked it with a professional detachment, her tongue circling the shaft, her head bobbing in a practiced rhythm. The man on the other side groaned, a low, appreciative rumble. His hands slapped against the wall on his side.
He came quickly, with a series of sharp thrusts and a stifled curse. She swallowed, the warmth a transient sensation in her numb throat. He withdrew. Before she could even sit back, another cock, thinner and longer, nudged at her lips from the center hole. A different client. The assembly line was restarting.
This one lasted longer. He fucked her face with a slow, deep persistence, his pelvis tapping a steady rhythm against the partition. She could hear his heavy breathing, the creak of his shoes. She focused on the grain of the wood in front of her eyes, on the splinters, on anything but the sensation. He finally pulled out and spent himself across her collarbone with a sigh, the hot fluid dripping down between her breasts.
The right hole was next. This man was aggressive. He gripped the back of her head through the opening, his fingers tangling painfully in her hair, and used her mouth like a fleshlight, pounding without rhythm or care. “Suck it, you stupid cunt,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and close. She gagged, tears springing to her eyes from the force. He came with a guttural shout, flooding her mouth before he shoved her away.
She slumped against the wall, coughing, spit and semen dripping from her chin. The blue LED light hummed. The camera witnessed it all. Another fifty-euro note fluttered from the left hole. The demand was clear.Continue.
She turned her head, presenting her cheek to the opening. A new cock slid out, stroking itself against her skin. “Lick it,” a younger voice commanded. She extended her tongue, lapping at the shaft. He guided himself back into her mouth. This was the dance. Mouth, hand, sometimes just her face as a canvas. The parade of anonymous, hungry flesh was endless. The specifics blurred: the taste of one man’s pre-cum, the vein pattern on another, the sting of a rough pubic hair against her lips.
Hours dissolved into a wet, rhythmic torture. Her knees ached. Her jaw was a solid block of pain. The matrix of holes in the wall became the entirety of her world, each one a airlock to a fragment of someone else’s release. She existed only as a set of warm, willing orifices in the gloom.
Finally, a long pause stretched from all three holes. The silence felt thick, expectant. She waited, staring at the wood grain, her body humming with exhaustion. Then, from the left hole, a hand appeared. It was a large, clean hand, a gold signet ring on the pinky. It held not a fifty, but a single, folded hundred-euro note. It waved it slowly, a deliberate gesture.The rule. A hundred means they come in.
She stared at the folded note between the fingers. The ring gleamed dully under the blue lights. Her body screamed for rest, for the hollow silence of her own bathroom, for the numbness to become complete. But the rules were the only structure left. She reached up, her fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion and spent adrenaline, and took the bill. The hand withdrew.
The electronic lock disengaged with a solid clunk.
Christina pushed herself to her feet, her joints protesting, the dried residue on her skin cracking. She walked to the steel door, each step feeling like a mile. She grasped the cold handle, took a breath that smelled of sex and antiseptic, and pulled it open.
Dort stand ein indischer Student. He filled the doorway, his broad shoulders almost touching the frame. Typischer Informatiker, she thought absently, the assessment automatic. About 175cm, but easily 150kg. Perhaps 22 years old. He wore a loose graphic t-shirt stretched over a substantial stomach, and cargo pants. His round, soft-featured face was shiny with nervous sweat, and his dark eyes darted from her to the room behind her and back again. A faint, familiar scent of sharp, spicy food clung to his clothes.
“I… I have the money. The hundred,” he said, his German precise but accented. He held up another folded hundred-euro note, as if needing to prove his legitimacy.
“Come in,” she said, her voice a flat, used-up thing. She stepped aside.
He shuffled past her, his movements awkward, his gaze taking in the room—the stained mattress, the tripod with its winking light, the shelves with their clinical bins. He seemed profoundly out of place, a visitor to a zoo of which he’d only read the most sensational pamphlets.
“Close the door,” she instructed.
He did, the lock re-engaging with a final sound. The silence pooled around them, thicker now with his tangible anxiety. She saw his eyes fix on the mess glistening on her body, the streaks in her hair, the sheen on the latex. He swallowed hard.
“What… what do I do?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Christina walked to the center of the room, near the mattress, and turned to face him. The Sergeant Major protocol took over, a script for degradation. “You paid for full access. You can do what you want. Within the rules on the wall.” She nodded toward the laminated sheet. “Do you want my mouth, my pussy, or my ass first?”
His face flushed a deep red. “I… I have not… I mean, with a woman…” He trailed off, his courage faltering.
“It’s fine,” she said, the impatience fraying her tone. “Just tell me.”
“Your mouth,” he blurted out. “Please.”
She nodded and sank to her knees on the hard floor, not the mattress. She wanted the cold concrete under her. She looked up at him. “Take it out.”
His hands fumbled with his belt, his thick fingers clumsy. After a moment, he freed his cock. It was already fully erect, thick and uncut, standing proudly from a thatch of dark, coarse hair. He was well-endowed, a surprising contrast to his soft physique. He took a shuffling step forward until the tip brushed her lips.
She opened her mouth and took him in. He was clean, tasting of soap and skin. The moment her lips closed around him, his whole body tensed. A sharp, stifled gasp escaped him.
“Oh,” he moaned. “Oh, Gott.”
She began to move, establishing a slow, shallow rhythm. He placed a tentative hand on her head, his touch surprisingly gentle. For maybe thirty seconds, she worked him, feeling him grow impossibly harder in her mouth. His breathing became ragged, desperate.
“I’m… I’m going to… I can’t…” he warned, his voice tight with panic.
She didn’t stop. She sucked him deeper, applying pressure with her tongue.
With a choked, almost pained cry, his hips jerked forward. A hot, salty burst flooded her tongue as he came, his entire body shuddering. He pumped into her mouth three, four times, spending himself completely. He sagged, his hand falling from her head, and pulled out with a soft, wet sound.
“I am sorry,” he breathed, mortified. “That was too fast. I am so sorry.” He looked down at himself. His cock, slick with her saliva and his own release, remained utterly, defiantly hard. It hadn’t softened in the slightest.
He stared at it, then looked at her, confusion and a dawning, eager hope on his face. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out another hundred-euro note, crumpled and damp with his sweat. “Again? I can… it is still… I can pay again.”
Christina looked from the money to his rigid, persistent erection. A flicker of something unexpected passed through her—not interest, but a bleak curiosity. This was outside the script. She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
He handed her the money, his hand shaking. She tucked it under the mattress’s edge with the others. “Lie down,” she said, gesturing to the stained foam.
He obeyed, lowering his considerable weight onto it, his cock standing straight up against his belly. Christina wiped her mouth and crawled over him. She positioned herself above, guiding him inside her with one hand. She was swollen, overused, but slick enough from the night’s violations.
He felt different. Thicker, fuller than the students. He filled her in a way that was less about violence and more about sheer, undeniable presence. As she sank down onto him, she let out an involuntary, sharp sigh.
“Is it… is it okay?” he asked, his eyes wide.
“Yes,” she said, and began to move. She started a slow, grinding ride, her tired muscles protesting. But as she moved, a faint, traitorous sensation began to stir, a low heat sparking deep in her core. It had been so long since it was about sensation and not just endurance. His hands came up to her hips, not to control or slam her down, but to follow her rhythm, his touch almost reverent.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “So hot. I cannot believe this.”
His words, so naive and earnest, didn’t disgust her. They were just data. But his cock, still rock-hard, was hitting a spot inside her that the frantic, angry poundings of the others had missed. She adjusted her angle, tilting her pelvis, and a jolt of electric pleasure shot through her. A small gasp escaped her lips.
This seemed to embolden him. He began to meet her thrusts, his hips rising from the mattress. His breathing grew heavier, more purposeful. “Fuck,” he groaned, losing his polite vocabulary. “Your cunt is so good. So tight around my cock.”
Christina closed her eyes. She focused on the feeling, on the building pressure that had nothing to do with submission or payment. It was purely physiological, a animal response she had thought extinguished. Her pace quickened. The wet, slapping sounds of their joining filled the room. She rode him with a growing desperation, chasing that spark, that release.
“Yes, yes, like that,” he chanted, his hands gripping her hips tighter now, helping her move. “Come on my cock. Please. Come for me.”
And she did. It broke over her violently, a crashing wave of sensation that tore a raw, ragged cry from her throat. Her body clenched around him, spasming uncontrollably, her back arching. It was a heftiger Orgasmus, overwhelming in its intensity, stripping away the numbness and leaving pure, shuddering feeling in its wake.
He gasped, feeling her contractions. “Oh, shit!” His own control shattered. He thrust up into her wildly, his own orgasm triggering, pumping his release deep inside her in hot, pulsing streams.
She collapsed forward onto his broad chest, her body spent, her mind blanketed by a static haze of exhausted release. They lay there, sticky and panting, for a long minute. The blue LED light hummed. The camera watched
He left without another word, the door closing softly behind him.
Für seine 22 Jahre war er wirklich gut!