Chapter 33: The Main Event: Live Feed
The water stopped. The silence that followed was a physical thing, a thick wool pressed into her ears. Lina’s hands were efficient, drying her with a rough towel that abraded her sensitive skin. Mary didn’t help. She let her body be moved, limbs lifted and adjusted. The hollow ache between her legs was a constant thrum, a baseline of wrongness her nerves had accepted as normal.
“Sit up.”
She sat on the edge of the now-dry chair. Lina produced electric clippers. The buzz filled the room. Without ceremony, Lina began at her pubic bone, shaving away the sparse, dark curls. Mary watched the hair fall onto the towel in tiny, damp clumps. The clippers moved to her underarms, then down the inside of her thighs. The vibration was strange against her skin. When it was done, Lina wiped her down with an antiseptic-smelling wipe. The cool air on her completely bare sex felt alien, like she was a mannequin.
“Spread your legs. Wider.”
Lina took a tube of clear, viscous lubricant. She squeezed a generous amount onto her fingers and smeared it over Mary’s labia, pushing a thick glob inside her cunt. The cold gel made her flinch. More lubricant was applied around her asshole, fingers working it in with a clinical twist. Then Lina produced the plug. It was silicone, black, with a flared base and a pronounced bulb. The surface was slick with more lube.
“Breathe out.”
Mary exhaled. The bulb pushed against her tight ring of muscle, persistent and unyielding. It hurt, a blunt, stretching burn that made her gasp. Then it popped past the resistance and settled inside her, a firm, full presence that made her feel impossibly stuffed. A low, continuous vibration began within it, a subtle hum that made her clench around it instinctively.
“That stays in. It’s remote-activated. The audience likes the preview.”
They didn’t dress her. They led her, naked and slick, to the center of the room. The gynecological chair was gone. In its place was a large, circular platform bed, lit from above by a ring of cold white LEDs. The velvet walls seemed to recede into shadow. Cameras on articulated arms hung silently from the ceiling like metal insects.
Figures emerged from the dark periphery. The Clarendon group—the woman and the three men—stood to one side, observing. Behind them, more shapes resolved: a dozen men, maybe more, all shapes and sizes, some dressed, some already shirtless. Their collective breath created a low murmur. The smell of anticipation was sharp, a blend of cologne, sweat, and bleach.
Marcus approached her. He held a simple black blindfold. “This isn’t about what you see,” he said, his voice quiet in her ear. “It’s about what they feel. Be good.” He tied the blindfold. The world vanished into scratchy black cloth.
Hands guided her onto the platform. The surface was cool, leather-like. They positioned her on her back, her head at the edge. The vibrations from the plug intensified slightly, a tease. A speaker crackled to life somewhere above.
“Feed is live in three… two… one.”
A soft tone sounded. The murmur from the men grew louder, more excited.
The first touch was a hand on her inner thigh, rough and warm. She jerked. A cock, already hard, nudged against her lips. It smelled of soap and skin. She opened her mouth. It pushed in, thick and insistent, hitting the back of her throat immediately. She gagged, saliva leaking from the corners of her mouth.
At the same time, another man positioned himself between her lubricated legs. She felt the broad, spongy head of his cock press against her opening. He didn’t ask. He shoved forward in one steady, deep thrust, filling her aching cunt with a brutal stretch. A raw, guttural cry was muffled by the cock in her mouth.
They set a rhythm. The man in her cunt fucked her with slow, deep rolls of his hips, each stroke dragging against her sensitized walls. The one in her mouth used her face, holding her head still as he pistoned into her throat. She choked, tears soaking the blindfold. The vibrating plug hummed incessantly in her ass.
The first man came in her mouth with a grunt, pulsing heat down her throat. He pulled out, and she gasped for air, only to have another cock replace his immediately. The man in her cunt pulled out, his place taken by someone new, slightly thicker, who entered her with a hard, slapping sound of wet flesh.
It became a rotation. A blur of bodies, scents, and sizes. Cocks in her mouth, cocks in her cunt. They used her like a communal fleshlight, grunting instructions to each other. “Hold her legs up.” “Tilt her head.” “She’s tight as hell.”
Her body was a vessel for their releases. One came on her stomach, hot stripes across her skin. Another pulled out of her cunt and finished on her breasts. The third in her mouth made her swallow again. The plug’s vibration shifted patterns, sometimes a steady buzz, sometimes a series of frantic pulses that made her rectum clench and spasm.
“Let’s get two in there,” a voice said—Marcus’s voice, close by, directing. “Show the premium viewers what she’s made of.”
The man in her cunt withdrew. Hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider. She felt two cockheads pressing against her single, well-used opening. “Easy now,” someone muttered.
They pushed.
A scream, shredded and primal, tore from her. It was an impossible, splitting fullness, a searing stretch that felt like it would crack her pelvis. They lodged themselves just inside, then, with a coordinated grunt, shoved deeper. She was impaled, split open on two thick lengths, their pubic bones grinding against her labia. The sensation was beyond pain, a catastrophic invasion that short-circuited her brain. The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles.
They fucked her in a ragged, brutal tandem, their rhythms clashing, each thrust a seismic shock through her body. Her screams were constant, broken sounds. A third man straddled her face, feeding his cock into her already strained mouth, fucking her throat in time with the violation below.
She lost time. Consciousness frayed at the edges, a gray static closing in. The only realities were the pounding, splitting fullness and the roar of the men.
Eventually, they came. One, then the other, pumping their cum deep inside her already flooded cunt. They pulled out with a wet, sucking sound. She felt a hot, messy trickle immediately begin to leak from her.
“Flip her.”
Hands rolled her onto her stomach. The blindfold was soaked with tears and sweat. The plug was readjusted, pushed deeper by the movement. Her cheek was pressed into the cool platform. A new man mounted her from behind, his cock finding her ass this time, pushing past the vibrating plug with a furious, grunting effort. The pain was bright and sharp. He held her hips and slammed into her, his balls slapping against her swollen labia. Another man knelt by her head, feeding her his cock from the side. She bit down once, weakly, and a hand smacked the side of her head, hard. Stars flashed behind the blindfold.
It went on. And on. Bodies switching places. Cum leaking from her cunt, from her ass. Her skin was sticky with it, salty on her lips. The sounds degraded into animal noises: their groans and slaps, her own whimpering, the hum of the cameras.
Finally, the last man. He stood over her as she lay trembling on her stomach. He jerked himself off, his breath coming in sharp hitches, and then a final, warm splatter painted stripes across her back and the back of her thighs.
Silence, except for the heavy breathing of spent men and the low electronic hum of the room.
Footsteps. Lina’s hands, practical and cool, on her wrist, checking her pulse. A finger lifted an eyelid behind the blindfold, a penlight flashing.
“She’s alive. Pupils reactive. Vital signs elevated but stable.” Lina’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Good for another round after a saline drip and fifteen minutes.”
A hand, Marcus’s, rubbed cum into her back in a slow, possessive circle. “Told you she was a natural,” he said to someone. The pride in his voice was the most terrifying thing she’d heard all night.
The feed cut to black. The white lights above the platform dimmed. The men began to disperse, their low conversations fading as they exited through hidden doors. Mary did not move. She lay in the cooling pool of her own degradation, the plug still humming its silent song inside her, a placeholder for what was yet to come.