She gets what she doesn't want

She doesn't know how long she's been hanging there. But it feels like hours have passed since her last visit. Her arms are numb again and her feet barely have any feeling. Then footsteps. Not a few, but two. Her heart stops.

"Well, what have we here?" The voice of her first visitor. And behind him - the familiar, malicious laughter of the second.

"Looks like our little bitch has actually been waiting for us," grins the second. Cassie flinches as cold fingers lift her chin. The first guy scrutinizes her face, the tear tracks under the blindfold, the saliva on her chin.

"You were going to throw up?" he asks quietly.

"Do you think that will change anything?" His hand slides to her neck, squeezing gently.

"Everything you spit out..." he whispers, while the second one is already standing behind her, "...you'll swallow again. Every one. Bloody. Drop." Cassie freezes, and at that moment she feels the guy behind her getting hard again.

"And this time," the one in front growls, "you'll learn to love it." Cassie trembles in her bonds as the two men stand in front of her.

"Put her down," the first one orders. The second laughs, grabs the rope - and with a jerk, her wrists are free. Cassie immediately slumps, her muscles weak, her knees giving way.

But before she can fall, two pairs of hands grab her and she is set down on the floor.

"Let's not keep you in ignorance any longer," says one of them. Cassie blinks as the sweat-soaked cloth is torn from her eyes. The bright light stings her eyes after the long period of darkness. At first she only sees blurry outlines, then two figures form in front of her.

"Well, do we look like you imagined?" asks the older one with a wry grin. She flinches instinctively as her eyes adjust to the light. The first man standing closer is perhaps in his mid-thirties, with stringy dark hair that hangs down to his shoulders. His worn parka is dirty, but not completely neglected.

His face is framed by a scruffy beard, but his eyes are surprisingly clear, cold and calculating. Then she sees the second man and has to suppress a gag reflex. He is older, with greasy gray hair creeping out from under a dirty baseball cap. His yellowish teeth are crooked in his mouth as he grins at her.

His breath smells of **** and something foul, even from a distance. His worn tracksuit is covered in dark stains, and as he approaches, the stench of sweat and urine hits her.

When she thinks about having sex with these guys... and even swallowing the spit of one of them... Cassie feels sick.

She looks around in panic. She finds herself in a deserted backyard, surrounded by high, dirty brick walls. There is garbage everywhere: empty bottles, torn plastic bags, a broken shopping cart. An old bicycle rusts in the corner.

She doesn't know this place. But she knows where she was before - on the school bus and was knocked ****.

"Where am I?" asks Cassie.

"You're at our house, princess."

"Exactly," mumbles the younger man - Mike, she learns shortly afterwards - with a wry smile. "Quite cozy here, isn't it?"

Cassie feels her stomach tighten. Her legs tremble slightly, but she remains calm, trying to keep her composure. She needs answers, not ridicule.

"But you haven't said how you find us yet?" Cassie thinks about it: Not only do these guys look disgusting, they also look dangerous. She mustn't upset them under any circumstances.

"You're... beautiful," Cassie whispers. The lie burns like poison on her tongue. Mike laughs, grabs his crotch.

"Beautiful? Then show us. On your knees." Cassie obeys immediately. The concrete is cold and sharp under her knees, but she doesn't move.

("Just keep still. Don't provoke.") The older man spits on the floor in front of her.

"Then let's give you some of our beauty." His laugh sounds like a rusty door hinge.

"Open your mouth, princess." Cassie freezes.

("No. Not that. Please don't.") She thinks, but she opens her lips.

Mike undoes his belt. "And your legs wider. Show us your fuck hole." Her thighs tremble as she forces herself to spread them.

The wind strokes her bare skin with an icy chill.

"Please..." she begins - but then the first jet hits her.

Warm. Biting. Right in the face.

Cassie gags, instinctively closes her eyes. The urine splashes over her cheek, her nose, drips from her chin onto her breasts.

"Open your eyes!" Mike yells. "Watch us mark you!" She pulls her eyelids up - just as the older man starts.

His jet hits her between the breasts and runs down her stomach. The stench is overwhelming.

"You... you look good in gold," grins the older man, suddenly aiming lower. Cassie flinches as the warm stream hits her pubic area.

("Not there! Don't.") She thinks. But she presses her lips together and says nothing. Mike leans forward, grabs her hair.

"Open your mouth, bitch. I want to see you swallow it." She opens her mouth and it immediately fills with hot liquid. Disgusting. Salty. She gags, but Mike holds her head.

"Swallow. Every drop." Cassie obeys. Her throat moves convulsively.

"That's the way to do it," Mike laughs. "A public toilet needs no dignity." The older man steps closer, his cock already half stiff.

"Now say it: thanks for using me."

Cassie's voice breaks. "Th-thank you... for using me."

"For what?"

("Please let it end.") "For... For using me as your toilet."

Mike pats her head like a dog.

"Well done. Maybe you'll learn." But then the older man suddenly steps forward.

"But there's one thing you're forgetting..." He grabs her shoulder, turns her around roughly.

"A real slut also offers service from behind." Cassie feels his stream suddenly running down her back, the urine trickling into her buttocks. Mike pees in her face again from the front, mixed with spit.

"Now you're completely marked," gasps the older man.

"Our property."

Cassie says nothing. She just shivers.