A room comes with a cost - Part 3 - Sexgeschichten

A room comes with a cost - Part 3

... curling inside me like he owned the fit. Hated how my body arched into it, gushing like a broken faucet, the flood soaking his jeans as if to mark him back. But god... the stretch, the fullness, the way they'd edged me to the brink and held me there, trembling and pleading. It was wrong. Filthy. And mine now, branded deep.

I pulled my hand away, fisting the sheets instead, breath coming in shaky bursts. No more tonight. Not after that. The clock on my nightstand blinked 9:17... late, but sleep? A joke. I grabbed my phone on the pillow.

Anna:

Uniform pic? Spill the tea... did the bros "supervise"?

I laughed... bitter, watery, the sound cracking in the quiet. Yeah. If only she knew.

Fingers hovered over the keys, rebellion flickering: Nightmare. Spanked bare, edged till I begged. Came twice. Kill me.*

But I deleted it, thumbing a half-truth instead:

Rules suck. Diner uniform = slutty skirt, bare legs. Tips? $5. Creeps everywhere.

Her reply pinged instant:

Oof, hot mess. Xoxo. Bare legs in that skirt? Bet the truckers creamed. Flirt next time... tips = freedom. Call tomorrow?

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering, the glow blurring through fresh tears. Freedom. Yeah, right. Tips wouldn't buy me out of the log, the rules, the way Mike's fingers had felt... thick, commanding, wringing me dry like I was his to fix. Call tomorrow? What would I even say?

Hey, Anna, got spanked bare-assed over stepdad's knee tonight. Came gushing while gagged on my ...

... own soaked panties. Boys took turns fingering me to the edge, then over. Hot? Or hell? She'd laugh... or worse… would get horny in a twisted excitement, her ENF kink lighting up... but I'd shatter saying it aloud. The mix of hate and heat she loved? It's winning. Eating me alive.

Maybe

I typed back, fingers sluggish.

Diner shift today. Save me from creeps?

No details. Not yet. The phone slipped from my hand, clattering to the nightstand, screen dimming to black. The room spun slow, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled secrets. My body hummed... wrecked, sated in the worst way, every nerve raw from the overload. Ass a bonfire, pussy a tender bruise, thighs sticky where Steven's wipe hadn't reached. I peeled off the tank last, the cotton whispering against my skin like a lover's breath, leaving me bare under the sheets. Cool fabric kissed the handprints, the slick remnants, a small mercy in the chaos.

Sleep clawed in, heavy and inevitable, pulling me under before the guilt could settle full. Dreams fractured: Mike's lap, endless, his thumb circling eternal; the boys' hands, alternating swats and strokes; Vic's office twirl, skirt flaring to the Dawn Patrol's whistles. And woven through... the vid, looping silent: Me, gagged and glistening, begging. *Shorry... pwease...* My hips bucked in the dark, chasing ghosts, a soft whimper escaping as the first tendrils of unconsciousness dragged me down. Exhausted. Broken. But tomorrow? Another chore day. Another ...