If you count being arrested for prostitution, then yes it can

You'd never noticed how many men were in the theatre, but as they get started on you it seems endless. Most of them opt for your asshole, trying the forbidden fruit their girlfriends and wives would never let them have. The impatient go for your mouth, while others sneer at either option and dive into your pussy.

Each man thrusts a twenty between your hands and the seats, making the pile grow. At first you endure, hoping they'll stop or you'll be rescued. The errant wish that Jacob would come back and save you leads to imagining the disgust on his face at the sight of his girlfriend being used by all these men. No, not just used, paid.

Jacob Wright, son of the mayor - boyfriend to a hooker.

The thought, degrading as it is, sends you catapulting over the edge, and even though you've finally run out fluids to eject from your bladder you find yourself writhing in orgasm with no other stimulation than a dick in your throat, another jammed roughly up your ass, and hands yanking your hair and nipples. After that you make no more objections to them paying you or using you, and even though not a one of them makes the effort to make it good for you your traitorous brain sends message after message to your body.

Cum. Cum. Cum.

It won't be until later that you find out how many men you've fucked, how many paid you to use you. Co-incidentally the movie ends at the same time as the last man, and avoiding each others eyes the men shuffle out with guilty expressions, leaving you to try and collect yourself as you lie across the seats, both thankful and sorry that it has finally ended.

Groaning you straighten, grimacing at the feel of liquids sloshing out of your gaping holes, the same liquid that coats your mouth and covers your face.

"God I need to clean up," you say hoarsely, your throat barely able to make the words.

"That'll have to wait," a voice says, and you whirl toward the voice.

Another... customer? you wonder.

A man stands out of reach and away from the messy results of your gangbang, something held up in his hand like...

"Is that..." you gulp, "a badge?"

"That's right," he nods. "We had a tip that a prostitute was working this theatre, so we set up some cameras in the theatre to catch it. Unfortunately we had a technical glitch on the first of your customers, but we managed to film the rest."

"Police?" you ask faintly.

"That's right. You're under arrest for 13 acts of prostitution. Jerry...." he nods to you. No not to you, to someone else you realize as someone yanks your hands behind you and cold metal circles your wrists.

"But... I'm not a hooker. Really!" you protest, as they hustle you down the aisle. "Can't... can't we work something out? Is this a joke? Are you... actors?"