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You are hit with a realization that rocks you to the core. Abigail isn't the ditsy doormat she pretends to be, nor is she the ravenous bottom bully, or sadly even the sweet, sarcastic shy girl. She's all of these illusions, and none of them. She is a complex, conflicted, self contradiction with intricately layered trauma response and her own people pleasing personality in there as well. She's a whole damn person, and one that is still growing up. You remind yourself to cut her some slack, and realize you could use the same grace for yourself.

You've been trying so hard to save Abigail from herself, or more accurately been trying so hard to save yourself vicariously through her, but she isn't the one that needs saving. Maybe you aren't either. Maybe most of your problems...the fear and self reproach and the twisted tangle of desire and disgust and shame and sexuality aren't even YOUR problems. You watch Abigail grinning giddily as a reform school dropout fills her ass while Father Time Served slaps her breasts and savagely suckles them. She is having the time of her life. Why can't you just enjoy the things you actually enjoy and set boundaries for the things that are actually toxic?

Sure, this isn't the ideal environment to explore your boundaries. You get the feeling that there version of **** play is where you pretend they **** you, and they **** you. That said, if that's what you actually want, and you can make your way out in one piece without infecting anyone else? Then isn't the healthy thing to do is to enjoy yourself, blow off some steam, and reflect on exorcising demons versus feeding them afterwards?

You blow a kiss to Abigail and she looks pleasantly surprised to see you get into the spirit of your filthy field trip. She looks even more surprised when you turn to the nearest neanderthal and plunge your tongue past the gaps in his teeth to tickle his tonsils. That's all the invitation they need. The dental care deprived deviant has you lifted up on a table within moments, your head spinning and body burning as you feel the aggresively amorous attention of your audience. Hands grab, grope, pinch, prod, poke, spank, squeeze, and stroke your supple skin. Before you know it, your clothes are in a pile on the floor, and the crowd is in a pile on you.

You catch Abby's eye through a crown of cocks. You can see a recognition in her eyes and a perverse look of pride that you aren't sure if is meant for you finally letting go for once or for her for 'helping' you get to this point. You decide to take it as a compliment either way, sucking the shafts surrounding you fast and hard and stroking the rest. You can feel their need throbbing palpably in your palm and twitching on your tongue. Soon, a coronation of cum cascades gloriously into the air, every arch of thick seed catching the lights and looking almost angelic as it coats you in a shell of spent lust.

It's strange ..these aren't the studs you are used to. You are used to bastards like Brad...incurious cowards afraid to kiss a Bimboi for fear of mockery and sullen, surly 'studs' that are just too stupid to imagine anything but being a brute. These are outcasts as well. They clearly all have their fair share of sexual shrapnel too, but they are survivors...warriors even. They seem too wild to fit in any of the square pegs you still seem to try to fit everyone, including yourself, into.

The filthy, few toothed fella even returns your kiss after he coats your face with his cum. He doesn't shift or shrink or anything else even after swapping spit and spunk with you. When he's finished cleaning your face, he is pulled away and face first onto another cock. You look around and see a slew of studs sucking and fucking each other while they wait in the long lines surrounding you and Abigail. It's mind blowing...you always thought in terms of man and woman...bottom and top, even despite all the evidence questioning that. These are all men. Some are more dominant, others more submissive. Some like dudes, others chicks, some are fine with a fella until they get a filly, some are clearly more into the waiting wankers than the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and some clearly don't have much preference either way.

A second cock is shoved in your ass, and in a feat of remarkable coordination, a third cock is crammed in and you have another eureka moment. You are not a woman because you like dudes. You are not gay based on some weird one drop rule. You could fuck every dude here, and by the end of the night, you may, but you still wouldn't be gay, because even if you were a dude, you are also into ladies...in fact, you'd say you are almost exclusively into ladies and always have been, but the baggage of your occasional interest in a slab of muscle with a thick shaft so dominated your fears that it warped your worldview. You are finally starting to figure out what you are, and it isn't a sickness. It's society that's sick and trying to poison you. The bimbug might not be a cure, but until that arrives, you'll take the treatment.

You are administered 500 ccs of cum from multiple injection sites as you bliss out, only instead of going blank, you feel extremely present in the moment. You wave a pinky at Abigail while she smiles around several shaft and she gives you one of her patented winks. At least, you think she does...it's hard to say with her eyes half glued with guy goo. Your eyes are a little less caked, but even through the slime you feel like you can see clearer than ever. You see a sea of humanity at it's rawest, all teeth and claws and ravenous hunger. But you also see hands clasping tight as a high five turns into something more...the gentle, almost imperceptible motion of huge himbo rustling the hair of a hunk giving him head...even the short squeeze one of the sadist gives you between searing slaps seems to say, 'We're all having fun here.' And you are, some of the most fun you've had in your life.

You realize as you make your way to Abigail and as you make out around the members sliding inbetween your lips, that you weren't wrong to want this. You just wanted it from the wrong brutes. You can't believe that of all places, The Studded Belt is where you found kinfolk, but you will take them where you find them. These ruddy, raucous, roughnecks have shown you more tenderness than the world at large has, and they fucked you silly and pounded some sense in you to boot. You shoot a wink over to Abby as the tide of toughies pulls you away to possesively pound your puckers. You smile...it's going to be a long...HARD night, and this time, you'll get to relish every minute of it....