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Kattie's New Life Begins. Chapter 1 Kattie's New Life Begins. Chapter 1 [Continued from "Kattie's Abduction Fantasy", a must read before this one.] Kattie faded in and out of consciousness, her mind uncertain, exhausted upon facing the mountain of her humiliation, her destruction. She didn't know how long she laid there, tied immobile upon a mattress of her empty apartment, her legs held spread for whoever cared to enter and take her. Eventually someone did come, sometime following Daniel's abandonment of her. She heard them fumbling with the combination lock outside her door, the solution to which Daniel had posted publicly online. At first she hoped it was someone coming to rescue her, and then she hoped it wasn't. Her mind warped now beyond hope of rescue. Prisoner of the endless desire for submission now blossomed within her. When she saw two men, shadowy figures, standing within her doorway, evidently eyeing her and the situation appraisingly, she felt her now well-traveled pussy lubricating itself, apparently hungry for more dick. "Holy shit," one of them said. "It is fuckin' real." The lights flicked on, momentarily blinding her. They stood staring at her, naked, hairless, a destroyed vessel awaiting their pleasure. She hoarsely begged, "please water". Kattie was very dehydrated. They took her, roughly, quickly, not even bothering to speak to her, as if she weren't even a person. They came in her, took some pictures, perhaps sent a few texts, and as they were about to leave one took pity on her, straddled her head, placed his dick in her mouth and began to urinate. "life giving piss" he chuckled and then left. She had more visitors in the night, and then several the next day, usually spaced apart several hours, giving her time to sleep haltingly. Due to either stress or lack of input, she didn't have to use the bathroom, luckily. A few of her visitors did bring food, the only thing she'd had to eat apart from cum in over two days now, but never much at all. They felt no responsibility for this situation. No one freed her or even gave her a break from her restraints, and none asked her for elaboration on her predicament. They already either knew or didn't care, just thinking her some sexual freak pushing the norms of society. But she was, wasn't she? Another sunrise and sunset. Now there was a mess in her bed. Men came and went sporadically, at unpredictable intervals, so that she could never get a full block of uninterrupted sleep without being awoken by a dick making its way into her just as she was about to enter REM sleep. The vast majority were strangers, she thought, both normal looking men and those who looked like this was probably the only way they'd ever fuck a woman. As a rule they seemed to treat her brutally, or at least completely carelessly, as if they thought she deserved to be punished for being such a . Instead of releasing her, someone in fact added another layer of bondage, stuffing a large ball gag in her mouth and fastening it tightly behind her head. "Whores like you shouldn't be heard." When he departed he just left the gag on her, leaving her to awkwardly slide her tongue around the giant intrusion in her mouth, trying to find a comfortable place for it to rest, struggling to swallow the spit building up in her mouth. She could only imagine how sore her jaw would be when this finally came off. On the third night she heard a group of guys enter, maybe six, more than had come at once so far. It was too dark to make out their faces, but one of them snickered and said "Hey Kattie" in a voice that she knew she recognized but couldn't quite place. Great. Probably some guys she'd gone to school with, here to cash in on the open season on her cunt. Hearing the way they laughed, she knew they had to be some of the athlete douches she'd never gotten along with, who'd always been dicks to her. It didn't make a difference which ones. And now every crude joke they'd made at her expense, that had made her feel so self-conscious or hurt as a younger girl, was about to be proven justified. She felt the same power dynamics of high school come rushing back, but now with the obvious addition of her tied up on the ground for their free usage. Here to torment her again, over four years after they'd graduated. But now they could do literally whatever they wanted with her. She felt a surge of helpless rage course through her, a natural initial desire to defend herself from these meatheads, but she quickly realized it was turning into lust. Her body was buzzing at the idea of being helpless at the hands of these particular assholes. Why shouldn't they get to wreck her pussy if they wanted to? She had no right to stop anyone. "Finally putting out, eh?" They laughed again as they began to loosen their belts. The first guy got on the mattress with her and got down to his knees, running his hands all over her naked body. She shivered, tingles running up and down her at his touch, unable to move at all. His fingers ran between her legs. "Fucking dripping for it already, holy shit." The others copped a feel of her seeping gash, making crude comments about her cunt and her obviously whorish nature. She moaned around the ball gag. The six of them tortured her for the next two hours, enacting prolonged bouts of sadistic foreplay before even fucking her. This was the first and probably only time in their lives they were going to get a chance to do whatever they wanted to a girl with no repercussions. They weren't going to waste it. The fact that it was that shy girl they'd delighted in bullying and harassing in high school just made it that much better for them. Finally doing what they'd wished they'd been able to do back in the hallways between classes, just ripping down her panties and demolishing her right in front of all of her whooping classmates. Kattie had all this running through her head as the first guy started things off by shoving as many of the fingers on his right hand as he could up her cunt, adding the others as quickly as possible until his whole fist was in her. She gave a muted scream behind the gag, tears leaping unbidden to her eyes. "Turn on a light, I want to get a good look at this." A light came on. Yep, it was all of them. She couldn't believe these guys still hung out together. The guy slowly pumping his fist in her was a notorious asshole named Bradley McCain, the worst of her old tormentors. She guessed it was fitting that he should finally get to use her. His actions were probably largely responsible for the humiliation complex she had now, that had led her into this whole mess. Bradley used to spread rumors about Kattie being a slut, blowing and fucking him and his friends on the football team. It wasn't true, but a lot of people believed him, and it crushed her self-esteem and confidence in the already emotionally raw days of high school for a sensitive young girl. And still, she had found herself rubbing herself to pillow-smothered orgasm in her bedroom night after night, imagining herself doing all those things her classmates thought she did. On her knees beneath the bleachers, sucking the dicks of a line of boys that wrapped around the block. How she'd feel her panties flood with wetness when certain boys in the hallway would give her that expectant look, and she'd have to go to the bathroom to dry herself up with toilet paper. She was a good girl, and she hated the injustice of these lies. But still, every night, she'd rub herself to a toe-curling, bed-wetting orgasm imagining herself being the slut they so obviously wanted her to be. All these thoughts, these teenage humiliations and implanted kinks, came rushing back to her, as Bradley forcefully stretched her pussy as far as it would go, testing its newly developed limits. His arm filled her as much as any novelty monster-sized dildo she'd ever seen videos of online. Her cunt lips were squeezing him halfway down his forearm. His knuckles were pressed flush against the spongy flesh of her cervix, and even that he forced to shift back and accommodate his intrusion, freely testing the limits of the female form. "Look at how deep this fuckin' bitch's cunt goes!" She was finally doing it for them. Kattie Duval, giving her cunt to half the football team. True at last. Is this what you want of me? There is nothing you can't have. She poured grool from her battered vagina, feeling a strange sort of noumonic fulfillment in being so completely used by this person she'd so long hated, as if the very level of her hatred enhanced her resultant degraded ecstasy. The other guys wanted to fist her as well, this being a somewhat rare thing to get to do. They fisted her pussy, her asshole, sometimes both at once. One of them had an open hand in her pussy, another an open hand in her rectum, and they jokingly tried to "high-five" each other inside of her, pressing their palms together through the thin barrier separating her two holes. Kattie just let her head loll back and moaned in agonized debasement, drool running out of the corners of her mouth around the gag. Eventually they fucked her in her loosened, sloppy cunt, making comments about how they could barely even feel anything in her cavern. They came though, three of them pulling out to dump their loads on her face, just leaving it there to dry, and three emptying their balls in her pussy. Before they left, Bradley took an empty wine bottle that was lying on the floor and stuffed it big end first into her vagina, forcing it in until it was about 7 or 8 inches deep. "Seal the good stuff in," he said with a wink, "and hopefully keep that slutty pussy loose for you. Would be a shame for that thing to tighten back up too much. Guys who fuck you should be able to really feel what a slut you are." He took a marker and wrote "please return bottle to cunt when done" right below her belly button. Finally, they found a pillow and put it under her ass, getting out of the mess below, propping it up, ensuring that all the cum inside of her would drip deeper into her, settling over the entrance to her womb. As if the cum that had been resting inside of her for days now wasn't already enough to ensure she was knocked up now. They stood surveying their handiwork before heading out: Kattie, face covered in three huge loads worth of rapidly drying cum, a huge bottle sticking partially out of her like champagne from an ice bucket, legs spread, body written on, awaiting her next fuck. They took some pictures on their phones, poured a half used bottle of water down her throat and left, guffawing. She laid there for three more days, taking an average of 15 guys a day. Now each seemed to find enjoyment in taking up the marker lying next to her and adding degrading writing to her body. They seemed to think they were supposed to add something. Within 48 hours of Bradley and co's visit, she was covered head to toe in "sluts" and "cum whores" and everything in between in the handwriting of many different men. Literally every surface of her body they used as a canvas, from the soles of her feet to the skin of her face, where among other things was drawn the crude image of an ejaculating dick, spanning her whole visage like some bawdy hieroglyph. Someone removed the gag so they could fuck her mouth, and did not put it back, but everyone followed the instruction to return the wine bottle to her pussy after taking their use of it. In fact, she was so loose now that many chose to fuck her asshole instead. Finally, on the seventh day of being tied to the mattress, providence set her free. Some good samaritan finally entered, having been led there by an advertisement for her that was taped up in the stall of a men's public restroom, a picture of her lying as she was with her legs spread, her name and address listed beneath it. Not knowing any backstory and assuming her to be the victim of some sex trafficker, he had come to let her go. When he entered he found the shaved woman, her hair just beginning to cover her scalp again in a thin blonde fuzz, tied for the fucking, covered everywhere in graffiti and crusted cum, a few filled up, used condoms draped across her face. He cut the cords, gingerly removed the bottle from between her red, stretched pussy lips, and helped her to her feet. She stood on wobbling legs, and would have collapsed had he not supported her. He asked her if she wanted him to call the police. She declined. She was so disoriented and confused about the nature of what had happened to her by this point, that she wasn't even certain a crime had been committed. She was so sleep deprived and dehydrated that she almost couldn't remember how it had all started. He wrapped her in a towel and took her to his own house, allowing her to shower. He was an older man, kindly looking, and he seemed to live alone. She expected him at any moment to push her face down into his crotch, but he never did. She seemed to have forgotten that men had the capability to be decent. She relived the events of the past week plus in her head as she stood in the shower, letting the blazing hot water sear her skin. Her mind couldn't yet wrap around the fullness of what had happened, the consequences that awaited her. She had been halfway out of it the whole time, but still she knew that another 94 men had fucked her in the week she was tied to the mattress. For some reason this number she could keep track of, as if the numerical value of her downfall was the only thing of importance left to her. With the 179 who had fucked her in the first day, when Daniel was still orchestrating things, this brought her total number of sexual partners in the last eight days to 273. The number didn't even make sense. Nine days ago she had had a grand total of exactly one man inside her vagina. 273. Most of them unprotected. She thought of how long she had been filled with obscene amounts of cum. Surely she was pregnant. It was too late even for a Plan B pill. An embryo was probably already growing in her womb at this very moment, feeding off the nutrients of her body. Planted there by god knows who. She wondered if it was possible to become pregnant with more than one man's at once. It would seem strange, after all she'd been through, to become fertilized by only one single sperm. But not just that. Surely she had diseases now. It was almost impossible that she didn't. Who knows what forms of microbial virus had taken root inside of her. At the very least, she had to now be infected with at least 15 different strains of HPV. Statistically, anything less was impossible. She just hoped her immune system was strong enough to stave off any diseases manifesting. She felt between her legs. Her pussy was still stretched enough that it hung open slightly on its own, and she could easily put three fingers inside and feel around inside of it. She increased the temperature of the water even further, but she knew there was nothing she could do now to wash away the filth inside of her. Next her mind wandered to the incredible amount of HD footage that had been taken of her. She could only imagine how far it had already gotten on the web. How many people had seen it. People she knew. Where could she go? Who would help her? No one she knew had even bothered to come to her rescue after her address was posted online for anyone to come fuck her while she was tied up helpless. They thought she was some extreme deviant who wanted all of this to happen, all of them to see this. Why would they help her now? She thought of her empty apartment, her empty bank account. She sat down on the floor of the shower, her bald head in her hands. She looked at herself in the mirror when she got out. The permanent marker had barely faded. It would take several more showers before that would come off. Her body still bore all the marks of her shame. She eats the food the man offers her, sitting there looking like the vandalized stall of a dive bar bathroom as he watches. He asks her questions, tepidly, carefully. She answers in monosyllables, staring off at nothing like some shell-shocked prisoner of war. He does not press further. The facts of her life pass through her mind like some ticker tape reel of film, removed, on the far side of a vast gulf. She feels separated from her origins and has no opinion on it. She stays with this man for three days, and on the morning of the fourth she is gone before the sun rises, wearing some of the cheap clothes he bought for her and carrying nothing else at all. She walks the two miles to the highway on foot, even though he would have driven her. It seemed more fitting to slink away in the night. She appreciated what the man had done, but felt a strange guilt whenever she faced him, as if she had something awful to him by entering his home. It had been long enough now that her eyebrows had grown back more or less to normal, and her hair had come back enough to be the length of a buzz cut. The writing had finally washed away, and if a stranger saw her they might just take her for some punk type. Bold fashion, choices, sure, but no longer some obvious sexual deviant. Still, standing on the side of the highway with her thumb held out, she can't help but feel like every passing car holds people who know exactly who she is and exactly what she has done. She makes it east as far as Minneapolis, hitchhiking her way there, her only plan being to get as far away from the places where anyone knew her as possible. She speeds her way by giving head a couple times, the types of men most eager to pick up a lone girl on the side of the road being the same kind most likely to expect a favor in return. No one seemed to know about the videos, or the things she'd said in them, though. She'd been worried that every person on the street would know, but now she was beginning to realize that was probably irrational. It's not like every person out there was up to date with every single porn video on the web. She hadn't had the inclination to look it up yet, or to search for her name. She was terrified to. Part of her hoped that by some miracle it would have all just disappeared. She stayed in a halfway house in Minneapolis for a few weeks. She never got her next period. Finally, nearly a full month after her gangbang, she took a pregnancy test. Knowing that it was too late to take any kind of emergency contraception anyway, she hadn't been in a particular rush. The test just confirmed what she already knew had to be true. Pregnant, by god knows who. And of course. 273 men had taken her over the course of a week, the majority of them unprotected...the majority of those depositing their seed right into her womb. Their faces were all a meaningless blur, but she knew the number. She would never forget that number. 273 men who used you. Got off in your disposable, trashed holes. What else are you good for now? Isn't this what you've wanted? Ever since you were a hormonal, conflicted high-schooler racked with confusion and humiliation and guilty lust, masturbating in bed to the idea of the false opinion your peers had of you? That the skinny, shy awkward girl from third period is actually super easy. Did you hear she blew half the football team after the game last month? That she let them all run a train on her after they won against Lincoln last Friday? Fuck no I wouldn't date her, she's used up. Yes, you know they say this. The unfairness of it, and the late night tears, but still the incessant urge to reach those nimble fingers down the front of your panties when you think of it. And now just a few years later it's all true, but worse. You have become who they wanted you to be. The knowledge that some stranger's baby was growing inside of her filled her with that familiar brew of confliction. She felt dirty, powerless, yet deliriously turned on by it. She wouldn't even have any clue who to give a paternity test to if she had the inclination. The fetus could be white, black, belonging to someone she knew, someone she didn't. She had no way of knowing. It could be twins. She let it stew in her for another couple weeks, going to sleep every night meditating on the idea of this forced creature growing in her, feeding off of the nutrients of her body. She would rub herself to orgasm thinking of it, thinking of how used she was, and then would feel disgusted with herself afterward but do it again the very next night. Finally, six weeks after the gangbang, the defining event of her life, she went to Planned Parenthood. They had an opening and her abortion was complete, ending this terrible odyssey. For the next several months she moves eastward, slowly, hitching from town to town, staying where it's convenient. Still having no money, she uses her body to ease her way. The one tool she has left, decreased in value though it may be. Perfect strangers will let you stay with them for a night or more if you fuck them. Men 274 - 280 get her as far east as Philadelphia, those in the first few weeks commenting tepidly on the looseness of her still-healing pussy, evidently too surprised and dismayed to be couth about it. Her hair is long enough now to dye, and she has recovered enough emotionally from her experience to redevelop a survival instinct. She dyes her pixie cut hair black, and goes by another name. Whitney, yes, nice to meet you. She comes partially out of the shell of self-destruction that she had gone into to preserve her sanity. No longer simply apathetic to her fate, she begins to bargain with herself, perhaps just some other coping mechanism. But still, she thinks perhaps she can continue her life in some form after all. 280 isn't such an unforgivable number, is it? 281 if you count her first boyfriend. Surely there are a handful of open-minded, sex-positive women in most cities across the country who have had as many partners. Maybe most guys wouldn't want to date her but, she wasn't completely without precedent was she? Still no one had confronted her in public, although for a while she second guessed every lingering look someone gave her. She allowed herself to consider the possibility of her life continuing, albeit in a very different way and setting. She had not spoken to anyone she used to know since the incident. No one had tried to contact her. After three months in Philadelphia she had landed a minimum wage, fast food gig in some shitty establishment, under her new assumed name. A place that paid under the table, no paperwork needed. She shared an apartment with two roommates, both girls. She finally worked up the courage to Google the phrase "Kattie Duval." The entire first page of Google was nothing but links to various porn websites. She clicked to the 10th page. Still results about her. She searched just "Kattie." Just as many results. Page after page of things like, "Cali girl slut Kattie Duval swallows 60 strangers loads," "Humiliation Kattie Duval brutal triple penetration," "Kattie Duval pussy inspection," and on and on in a hundred variations. Her heart racing, she clicked on. Yep, that was her alright. In crystal clear HD. This one video had 120,876 views, but it was just one of dozens and dozens. She guessed they had taken 12 or more hours of footage. There would be plenty of ways for people to split it up. In the comments, people were sharing all of her contact info. Well, her old contact info. She flicked through some of the still images, close up detail shots of various parts of her body. She was sickened by how detailed it was, how well-lit. She exited quickly and slammed the laptop shut, unable to look any longer. She was mortified, but she noticed in a sudden moment of frustration that her panties were soaked. She crawled into her bed and rubbed herself to a series of orgasms, feeling filthy for it, but unable to stop. As if it were irresistible. Thinking of all those shockingly graphic, shockingly detailed images of her, so many with her face in them, proving undoubtedly that they were all of her. Thinking of how Micky from choir practice could be examining the microscopic bumps in the skin of her labia at this very moment, whacking off and thinking of how surprised he was that Kattie of all people had turned out to be such a shameful, humiliated porn star. Probably getting second-hand embarrassment for her. This scenario mirrored a thousand times over with others she knew, millions upon millions of times over around the globe. She imagined what her new roommates would think if they saw the search results for her real name. That they were living with such a scandalous . Seeing proof that her name, all of her info, such an exhaustive record of video footage of every detail of her body, of the unspeakable acts she had done, was all out there on the web for anyone and everyone to see, was enough to send her over the edge. None of it could ever be undone. It was there forever. She hated it, but she was addicted to the humiliation. It gave a thrill like nothing else on this earth could. And she hated that that pleasure outweighed the self-hatred, outweighed everything. She still didn't fully understand what had happened to her or why, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow her fault. She wondered for the umpteenth time what had possessed her to announce several times on camera that she would fuck any and every person who wanted her, that they didn't have to ask and didn't have to take no for an answer. It was so stupid, so reckless, yet so incredibly hot. That was why she'd done it, in that moment. She knew there was the standing chance of being taken at any time. A chance that someone would find her and sell her into sex trafficking for the rest of her life. She rubbed herself until her sheets were soaked, telling herself under her breath over and over what a dumb she was. Still, when she wasn't masturbating she was terrified of the idea of actually being found out, and she managed to make herself believe that with her new name and her new hair and her new location that she was more or less safe. Maybe someone would recognize her, but hopefully they would be uncertain, and tell themselves they were crazy. Maybe she would be able to hide this event forever, her former life forever, and just let it be her deepest, darkest secret as she struggled to make a new life from scratch. It would only take a few more weeks for her to receive a harsh reality check. She had been working at her shitty fast food job for about two months when it happened. She hated working there, feeling like a again as she put on the same black work uniform as everyone else, with the same dumb visor, getting belittled by asshole customers all the time, but at least it was a job. Everyone she worked with either was some idiot teenage , or a burn-out asshole. She hated almost all of them. But still, she grinned and bore it, knowing she had precious few other options, being unable to present any kind of resume or personal history of any kind to a prospective employer. So she put up with the demeaning rules, the disrespectful customers, and the shitty coworkers who were always either being dicks to her or crudely hitting on her. She was well aware that she was a lot more attractive than most girls they were used to working with. It was late on an otherwise normal shitty Thursday night when the thing she'd been dreading happened. She was scheduled to close that night with Pete and Mike, two 30-something stoners who always fucked with her. She was in the back, cutting up some produce in preparation for the next day, while the 6' 2", 300 pound Pete stood behind her washing dishes. "Pull the sign," he shouted out into the dining room at Mike. Mike turned the light off and locked the door. Kattie kept chopping the vegetables, not noticing for a while that Pete had stopped spraying water and was just standing there staring at her, grinning. "Sooo...." he began, awkwardly. "Your name isn't really Whitney, is it?" Kattie paused for a moment, a sudden flush of heat rushing through her cheeks. "It's Kattie, isn't it?" Kattie kept looking down at the task before her, the panic rising up in her. She didn't know what to do or say, so she just kept chopping. Pete chuckled. "Yeah, I thought so. I was jerking off last night, you know, as I do, and I came across this video. I'd seen it before, but I'd never connected the dots. But last night I fucking realized -- you're that fucking crazy slutty chick!" Kattie was just frozen. She had stopped chopping. She heard Mike enter the back room as well. "I always knew you looked familiar," Pete continued, "but I could never place it. That's fucking crazy. I see those videos everywhere! Mike, did you know she's a fucking porn star?" Mike stood with the mop bucket, staring at them with his mouth open. "Say what?" "Look at this shit. Tell me this isn't her!" He pulled out his phone and typed something. Soon Kattie knew they were watching her do god knows what. "Holy shit. It is her!" She could tell he had clicked to another video. She heard her own voice saying "I have no worth now except making men cum. I will fuck anyone and everyone who wants it for the rest of my life. Don't let me tell you no. This pussy is yours." "Well fuck," Mike said. "Well, answer us you little slut. Tell me this isn't you!" Pete grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. She kept her eyes to the ground. They could see that her face was flushed red, but they didn't know if it was from shame or horniness. Hating herself, she felt that familiar feeling of dampness growing in her panties. She wasn't remotely attracted to these men, so why, WHY, was she dripping at the idea of them sexually exploiting her? "Come on, speak! Is this you?" Kattie nodded, a minuscule thing. She still didn't look at them. "I thought so. I guess it's our lucky day." He began unbuckling his belt. "Do we have to do this here?" Kattie asked meekly. "Where else we gonna do it? My girlfriend's home and you know I can't afford a hotel. Nah, this'll work fine. The camera's don't go back here." Before she knew it, she was on her knees in this rundown, dead end sandwich shop, sucking her burnout second-shift manager's dick in her dumb work outfit, while Mike the troglodyte looked on. Two guys who would normally never have been able to have a shot with a girl as attractive as her. But Kattie just felt like the girl who didn't get to say no. Pete fucked her face hard, treating her throat like a vagina, making her retch and fight to let it past her gag reflex, dark tears of mascara running down her cheeks, mixed with the real tears of her sorrow. She should have known this would happen. It had to. Why was her god damn pussy so wet from this? They certainly made their shot worth it. For the next hour Kattie found herself contorted 50 different ways to satisfy the various fantasies of these two slobs. Kattie lay on her back on the steel table, wearing just her black work shirt now - her pants, underwear, shoes and socks having already been ripped off by Pete. She spread her legs wide as Pete hammered his somewhat short but thick cock into her bald pussy where it hung just off the end of the table. He leaned over her, his hands supporting the back of her head, drawing her face slightly closer up to his. "So you just can't help but give this pussy away to everyone you meet, huh?" he breathed down into her face as he thrust. "I bet it's just compulsive for you. Lucky for me our paths crossed." Kattie felt a surge flash through her groin. She hated that her body responded so fully to this degradation. Pete let Mike take a turn before he even climaxed, just moving aside for the time being while he continued stroking himself, looking around the cramped hallway of a room for who knows what. "I'm not gonna take the same hole as you right after you, dude," he said. He licked his hand and wiped it on the head of his dick, then stepped forward. Kattie felt his cockhead pressing against her asshole, trying to force an opening. Luckily, the ample amount of pussy juice trickling down her taint and into her ass crack provided him enough lubrication to get in her without ripping her up. She held her ass cheeks apart to just allow him easier entry, her ankles raised up and resting on his shoulders. Pete walked around behind him, filming on his cellphone. "This is going online," he said. "This is fucking nuts. We got a real party girl here, everybody." He got in close to her face, contorted from the ass fucking she was receiving. "This is afterhours shit in Philly. Tell everybody your name. Your real name." Kattie looked into the camera. Deja vu. "Kattie Duval," she said meekly. "Kattie Duval," Pete repeated. "Famous webslut. Back for more. Made it all the way out here to Philadelphia to party with us." Mike stuck a finger inside her vacant pussy as he continued hammering at her asshole, pressing it into the inner upper flesh of her vagina in a come hither motion. She suddenly began gushing hot squirt out, drenching his shirt. They continued for the next hour, swapping out and taking turns. The concept of not sharing a hole was quickly discarded, as they both wanted to experience everything her body had to offer. Both ended up cumming on their second turns, just leaving their dicks in and releasing their loads inside of her pussy, just like they'd seen footage of so many other men doing to her, but were both ready to go a second time by the time their next turn came. When they'd finally both cum a second time, they decided they still weren't done with her, and were now going to incorporate various objects in aid of their assault on her body. She was now squatting barefoot on the kitchen floor, still wearing just her shirt, perched on the balls of her feet above the biggest cucumber the two could find, positioning it at the entrance to her vagina at their direction. She slowly sunk her weight down onto it, feeling all 12 inches slowly stretch her out. Her pussy had more or less returned to normal from the prolonged stretching of the wine bottle, but evidently she had retained some elasticity from it. Still, it was initially an overwhelming feeling sliding the huge phallic vegetable inside of herself. Soon she had the whole thing in, holding the bottom of it tight between her feet as she raised her bottom up and down, fucking herself with it, feeling herself grow wetter by the moment as she looked into the camera and performed this ridiculous act for yet another online audience. "You like being humiliated, right?" Pete asked boorishly, holding a bottle of Crisco which he then opened and suddenly upended over her head, spilling the oil all in her hair. Kattie paused for a moment from fucking herself, a flash of anger going through her. But then she looked up again at the camera through the oil-drenched bangs hanging in front of her eyes and decided it made no difference anyway. Let her be their little thing to toy with. By the time they were finally done with her she had fucked almost every insertable vegetable in the store, and had a mess of mayo and oil coiffed up in her hair. They let her put her clothes and shoes back on, but she walked out wearing their third loads on her face, walking quickly, ignoring the baffled looks of passersby, and wiping the semen off her face with her shirt once she was out of site of the restaurant. That night she showered, rushing in past the questions of her roommates, ignoring them. She sat in there for an hour, her mind racing, her finger drawn irresistibly to her clit. Later, when she thought her roommates had gone to sleep, she grabbed one of their laptops that had been left out in the living room and took it to her bedroom. She flicked on the webcam, her tear-streaked face just lit by the light of the monitor in the dark room. "My name is Kattie Duval," she began, speaking somewhat quietly so as not to wake her roommates. "You may have seen videos of me online. You may have seen me saying things, requesting certain things. I want you to know that's not who I really am. I didn't want to do that. I just want to be left alone. I'm not really the type of girl you think I am." She reviewed the video, embarrassed how pathetic it was but seeing no other option. She knew no one would believe her, no one would care. But she had to try. She couldn't go through life like this. The next morning she was gone again, taking the meager possessions she had accrued in a backpack and taking the first Greyhound out of Philadelphia. Time to be a different person again. She leaned her head against the window, wondering if she was escaping anything, or just heading to another inevitable scene of humiliation. Wondering if her life was not doomed to flit from degradation to degradation forever. She moves from place to place again over the next few months, always looking over her shoulder, always second guessing every interaction. By the time she makes it to Boston and attempts to tentatively settle down again, she is beginning to allow herself some hope. No one has said anything to her since leaving Philly, no one has propositioned her for sex. She begins to wonder if perhaps she can escape it after all. A year and a half after the gangbang, after she has lived in Boston for several months and begun to build an existence she is cautiously optimistic about, her hair has grown out again to a normal length, just past her shoulders, and she has let it go back to her natural color, a wavy, perpetually messy dirty blonde. She knew it was strange to go in disguise as her natural look, but in all the explicit pictures and videos she had had the dyed red hair, so this might be just as effective as any color. Besides, she wanted to feel like herself again. Her old self. Still, a new name was necessary, and so she went by Garden Perry. Her grandma had called her Garden sometimes as a , and so she felt she could still identify with it, and not feel like a total impostor. For the past few months now she's had a job as the clerk in a small boutique shop that sold vintage dresses and clothing. It certainly wasn't as high paying as the career she'd lost, but she enjoyed the work and the couple other people she worked with, and felt safe that her real identity wouldn't be pried into. It was a small enough place that she hadn't had to present any documents proving her name in order to be hired. She walked to and from work to her studio apartment every day, and she wore sundresses and made friends and slowly regained the idea that she could have dignity. It was around this time that she began dating Kevin. She was apprehensive at first, worried about what would happen if he found out about her past, about who she really was. She wad worried about getting emotionally close to someone only to have them leave her, as they inevitably would if they knew the truth about her. But, she told herself, she would have to face this risk no matter what. She couldn't go through life alone. She had never felt more isolated in her life than in the past 18 months, and she yearned for companionship. Kevin was nice, he was polite to her and made her feel special and loved, something she'd written off as a possibility. He seemed completely, blissfully unaware that she was anything but a cute, reserved girl who moved into town a few months ago and was just struggling to get through her 20s, like everyone else he knew. He took her on dates and doted over her. She still had the nagging worry of being outed, but this slowly faded a little with time. She was allowing herself to heal. Once she managed to get a prescription for anxiety medication, things became even better. Her fears seemed more remote by the day. If passersby gave her pointed, lingering looks from time to time, she was now able to tell herself that it was nothing. Despite the submissive, self-destructive side of her psyche that was coaxed out of her so shamefully to the world, she really just wanted above everything else to be a normal, monogamous person, who could give her love to one person and not feel like gutter trash. But still, that other side existed, like she was some perverse Jekyl and Hyde, and she would on occasion be reduced to a sputtering, dripping mess as she recalled what was done to her, having her autonomy completely stripped away and thrown to the wind. She would give into it at times, rubbing herself raw while thinking of the incredibly dangerous trove of material of her that was on the Internet, perpetually dangling over her head and threatening to ruin her life all over again, but logically she didn't want that. The vast majority of the time it terrified her. But why was it also the only thing that could completely push her over the edge, into a series of body-wracking, mattress-drenching orgasms when she let herself dwell on it? But it was only while rubbing herself in bed that it excited her. Most of the time it terrified her, as it should, and she was ashamed of herself and scared of herself for sometimes letting herself be turned on by it. Slowly, the wholesome side of her personality won out, and these filthy desires were repressed more and more, stowed back into the dark recesses of her mind where they belonged. She seemed to be maybe getting away from it all. When she was with Kevin, it was so easy to forget that it had happened, or that it could ever come back. She walked down the street proudly, hand in hand with him, taking pride in herself and her appearance, now no longer really wondering if people recognized her. Wrapped in the soothing embrace of her medication, she convinced herself that she was safe, that she really was protected now as if by a mask. But the reality of the world was different than the perception she allowed herself to believe, and it held fates for her so at odds with her desire of a safe, monogamous life that if she had known what was in store for her, she would have just collapsed in defeat. One night, after they'd been dating for about three months, Kevin dropped Kattie off at her apartment after a nice dinner, kissing her goodbye like he always did. "Goodnight, Garden," he said, with that perfectly trained smile. She flashed him another sly grin as she held her head out around the half closed door, then gave him a kissy face in the air and shut the door. She plopped down happily on her couch, letting herself imagine their future life together. She knew she was getting ahead of herself, but she just had a feeling about him. She saw them getting married, having together, letting the run around in the fenced-off backyard of their newly purchased home in the suburbs. Normal. Happy. Kevin walked back to his own apartment a few blocks away, feeling his cock slightly swell as he let his imagination roam, the way he always did when they had parted ways for the night. When he got in he went straight to his computer, like he did every night, and typed "Kattie Duval" into the private browser. Countless pages of results, countless instances of documentation, of discussion. He navigated to his favorite site about her, one of the fan-made websites dedicated entirely to Kattie. To sharing her pictures and videos, to finding pictures and info about her old life, about where she might be now. The Philadelphia incident had excited them so, getting new material like that. The subsequent video she posted of her crying had whipped them into an increased furor over her, not diminished it. They loved that she wanted to back out, as they saw. That she regretted what she did. But they wouldn't let her escape. Not in a million years. He stroked off to one of his favorite clips of his girlfriend, the one of her getting double ass-fucked while the guy on top also had a hand in her pussy and his other hand jammed into her throat, both sets of her lips straining to accommodate his hands. So crude, so completely at odds with the image of the dainty, demure girl she had presented herself to him as for months now. If only all these guys online knew the information and power he was patiently sitting on. He'd been jacking off to her footage and her story ever since it had first happened. Compulsively trawling all the various forums and discussions about it, fascinated and turned on by the sheer depravity, by the strangeness of it. A girl that hot shouldn't be having this stuff happen to her. And she thought he didn't even know. When he'd first met her, at the small birthday party of a mutual friend, someone who also worked at the dress shop, he'd almost fainted. He couldn't believe it. And here she was, with a somewhat different look, but still obviously her, calling herself Garden. Obviously trying to act like it wasn't a thing. No one else present seemed to know. He managed to pull himself to play it cool and act normal, and to his continued astonishment he had succeeded in wooing her. So now they'd been dating for months, her never revealing anything, him acting like he truly didn't know. He wanted to bide his time. Figure out how to play this to maximum effect. He couldn't believe his luck. He climaxed to the scene of her bukkake, as he usually did, imagining adding this load to the pile already accrued there on his sweet girlfriend's face. Her ID glued to her forehead by cum, the stricken, bottomed-out . He threw away the paper towel with his cum, pondering for the millionth time how exactly to play this situation in the end. Whatever he did, he knew that by the time he was done with her, Kattie would no longer be able to delude herself into thinking she was safe. She would know that she had no other options, that she was destined to become the biggest, most used-up slut of all time. Her descent was only just beginning. |
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Wow……that’s just immense…..how the hell have you had time to go to work? lol..How can i put it in context?..if Katties Abduction was The Hobbit….then this has the potential to be The Lord of the Rings…. She really doesn’t know what’s about to hit her does she?…i’m hooked….and i’m guessing i’m not going to be the only one….. Well done Kattie…
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Nice, very nice. Something in mind amongst others
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AH, like the scene from "The Godfather Part III" ; 'Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in. When they come... they come at what you love...' WOW! This is something you MIGHT want to consider getting published, KattieD, you never know, could make you some money!
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live it
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A wonderful continuation to her story.. Now I've got to wonder where will it end! Gonna be intresting to find out what Kevin does with his new found information!
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She may not recover from this Kevin episode. Quite the hellish loop within which she's caught.
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I agree Kev is a nice guy.. or is he?? Time will tell!!!
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Is Kevin a keeper? or is he going to keep her?
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sensing your hesitation, holding your hand, leading you, safely but firmly
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