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“I said, get over to the bed.”
“How can I move over to the bed? I can’t see anything.”
“And that’s why we’re helping you, little girl,” the new guy says.
I take just a few steps forward until my knees bump a soft mattress. The guys turn me around and with a small push, I am sitting.
The one who was playing with my nipple pulls open the top of my wrap dress and pushes down the lace cups of my bra. Cool air flows over my bare breasts, and my nipple hardens as a result. I want to shrink back, unaccustomed as I am to being bare chested in front of anyone, much less strange men, but I fight the urge.
“Look at those pretty little tits,” someone says from across the room.
My thoughts are whipping around between guilt and pleasure, and I am dizzy because of it. I also like that they are admiring my breasts. I want them to like them. I want them to like all of me.
That will give me power.
Hands reach under my thighs where I am sitting and yank me to the very edge of the bed, almost to the point where I am barely still sitting on it and think I’m about to fall off. Then, someone reaches under my wrap dress, ripping my panties off so fast I barely know what’s happening.
I hear a zipper open, and I flip-flop between being petrified and thrilled.
I am such a bad girl.
“Open them,” someone growls.
I move my head toward the sound, as if I might see the person making the request. But of course, I can’t.
“Open them?” I repeat in a weak voice.
Like, open my thighs? So they can see my… everything?
I can’t do that. I can’t let these men drool over my most private parts. And now that they’re shaved, there is no hiding. Anything. They may have already seen me, but that doesn’t mean I am comfortable with it.
Regardless, I spread my knees apart. Just a little. Because the drop of moisture running out of me is proof that I like this.
“More.”
I acquiesce another inch or two until one of the guys plants his hands on my knees and shoves them open, as far as they go, until it actually hurts, pushing up against the limits of my flexibility. The movement throws me onto my back, on top of my restrained hands, which is awfully uncomfortable. No one seems to care.
I’m lying back with my behind basically hanging off the edge of a bed, with the hands of two men holding me so far open that everything between my legs, including what is dripping out of me and running toward the crack of my butt, is on view.
Again, fear, humiliation, and exhilaration run through me so fast it hurts my head. I want to screamhelp. But exactly what kind of help I need, I’m not exactly sure.
Do I want rescuing?
Or do I want relief!
Could they be the same thing?
“Look at that pretty cunt, boys, right there before us.”
Oh my god.
A finger drags up my slit, and I shiver.
“Are you a whore, little girl?” someone asks, his hand pressing on my forehead, pushing me back into the bed.
I squirm, trying to get comfortable lying on my tied hands.
“I… I don’t… know,” I stumble.
