Catharsis

In the morning, Amanda took her parents out to breakfast. You took the opportunity to toss on the shortest skirt you had, a top that showed off your budding breasts, and your most whorish makeup. And you fled, with no wallet, with no phone, the only trace of you the echoing of your heels clicking on tile floor, and then asphalt.

You walked it to Trevor's trailer, emotions broiling inside you. You wanted to cry, to curl up in the fetal position and have a sissy moment. But something equally strong inside you want to just whore it out.

Two hours later, you knocked on the door to Trevor's trailer. He opened the door, at first surprised to see you, then smiling slyly. He tugged up your skirt there in the open, pulling your thong to the side and exposing your caged, pierced remnant.

"Horny for Daddy?" Trevor said, leaning down to kiss you hard. You melted into him.

"Yes Master. But not just you. I want more men," you said firmly. His eyebrows arched again, then he started calling numbers.

Half an hour later, Trevor was buried balls deep in your ass, and Trent was fucking your throat. There were two other men, waiting patiently to tag in.

You weren't sure how many men fucked you that night. It was a catharsis for you, a release of your shame and failure. But not a healing one; instead this was an abyss.

That evening, you walked gingerly, intending to make the miles walk back, your skirt torn, your panties torn, your top torn. Anybody could see your remnant, locked in its steel cage.

You almost made it out of the neighborhood, when a gaunt junkie saw you.

"Hey sexy," he said, seeing your remnant but not batting an eye. "Want to have some fun? I got some stuff on me if you give me some head."

This was a bad choice, you knew. But you were in a bad decision frame of mind.

"Sure, Mister."