She can't escape, and knows she has to win.

"Slut's asking for it already!" One of the men shouted and many others laughed.

Tiffany heard it and, damn her body, liked it. What looked to be thirty men were here, wanting to fuck her, ready to fuck her, needing to fuck her. And damnit. She felt the same. Her body was on fire; her muscles, charged with adrenaline, felt light. Her heart, pounded in her chest with exertion and fluttered with anticipation. Her hands gripped the rope railing, gliding over it like she would a cock. Her pussy was dripping with arousal and aching for a hard shaft to fill it.

God she wanted to just give in, let loose, be a whore. She could be such a good one too, she knew it. She could suck a cock so good she'd make it blow in three seconds flat. She could jack a cock with her tits until it'd shoot pints. She could ride a cock so hard it'd never go soft. She knew she could do all of those things. She could be the wildest, nastiest, filthiest slut any of them could ever imagine. And she would be that.

She regarded the engagement ring on her left hand and smiled sadly. She loved Mark with everything that she was; more than anything she wanted to be his wife. It was there, standing on that bridge, thirty men approaching her, ready to fuck her that she resolved, 'Come hell or high water Mark, I am going to be your wife.'

But she had to win ten million dollars.

Tiffany kissed her ring and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Resolved, she regarded the men at the end of the bridge she had started down, then at the end she'd been hoping to go. They were closing on her slowly, savoring these last few moments. Tiffany smiled, gave them a smoldering look, shook her bare ass invitingly, and then asked.

"Who's first?"