First

It comes as a complete surprise to me how easy it is to ride myself to orgasm. Riding the dildo does most of the job, obviously, but the video also helps. Somehow, I am fascinated by the guy having an ass ride, and the expression on the blonde’s face as he does it. I can’t determine if it is pain or ecstasy. Probably both. But how does that work? How is it possible that the agony of having a cock inserted into a place that was never meant for it, that is too small, that is too sensitive, that is too taboo, generates any arousal at all? Yet the truth is plain on her face, when she subsides into her symphony of pain. It is also a symphony of bouncing. The guy doesn’t spare her, and he rides her to the utmost of his abilities; hard and long thrust deep into her. And the physical response to bouncing in a girl gets triggered. She is taken into a hornification where she loses control of her limbs, and her chest crashes down on the guy beneath her. She can’t maintain a steady blowing rhythm on his dick between her lips. That is not a problem for him; he simply gets up, and starts thrusting into her throat once she fails to maintain the motion of her blow job anymore. Both cocks are skewering her from both ends now, she’s completely powerless, like a leaf in the wind of violent ****, and she is unmistakenly blown away deep into her arousal.

I have never been fucked up the ass myself. I have stuck a few pencils and even a carrot in there when I was just 13 years old, experimenting, but it didn’t really do anything for me, and I stopped. Nothing has entered me there since, but the girl on the screen makes me doubt the wisdom of that decision. There is nothing nice about it, no lover being tender, just two guys having their fun with a **** girl. They aren’t gently leading their girl to the possibility of orgasm, they were hounding her into it with brute ****.

And it certainly is mandatory. I can’t see any any way how she could avoid it, how it could be an option for her to decide whether to come or not. It is inevitable, the guys are forcing her to it without any room for protest. I am 100% sure that there is no acting involved when she comes. Her entire body twitches, and even muffled by the cock riding her mouth, her yelling is heart rendering, her entire face contorted in a grimace.

Her orgasm doesn’t fade quickly, and she keeps helplessly moaning as the shocks of it traverse her, both cocks still ramming into her with undiminished zeal. She looks fantastic, dancing on the top of an ecstasy which she will probably remember her entire life.

It is enough for me as well. The sight of her, and the awakening realization that it is, that it must be, an inherent promise that such an orgasm might be available to me as well, drives me over the edge. It isn’t particularly strong, but the relief I feel is immense. All the hate, and the anger, and the fear, it flows out of me. I suddenly realize who he wants me to be: that girl, on the video screen, but for real.

I admired that girl in the video, and I have projected myself into her, and I have ridden myself to orgasm on that. The orgasm itself was relaxing and comfortable. Maybe this isn’t a choice between two evils at all, maybe I can mold myself into the second option, and stay alive, maybe even find purpose in it.

I look at the mirror without seeing myself. I wonder if someone is behind it, watching me. I am almost certain that he is. Oh my God, I have just ridden myself to orgasm on a pole, while some creep who **** me watched me. The shame! Still I want to show him, to defy him somehow… without further thinking, I look at the mirror, and shout out loud: “One!” Of course, there is no response, still I somehow hope that he is there, that he has heard me.

Somehow my focus shifts to my own image in the mirror. I am kneeling on the floor, slightly sagging, my skin glistening with sweat. My long, loose hair falls in wet strings along my face to my shoulders. The expression on my face is meek and subdued. If I was a man and I wanted to have a sub slut sex toy whatever, this is probably exactly how I wanted her to look. The first step of submission accomplished. I hate myself for it, but at the same time I am proud of it.

I’m painfully aware of the time I have lost. But if you have done one, when you came across that first bridge, roaming into the slutland on the opposite side is so much easier. I stick to the pole I know, the one I know that works. I bend the knees again to have the same dildo rip open my slit. My pussy is more sensitive now, but my mind’s armor is much tougher. I don’t care who watches; he’s seen one, what does the next one matter? You can be debased by riding yourself for his viewing pleasure only once. I have a job to do. I watch the clock again. The red digits say “60:51” now; next to it a new number has appeared. It says 29.