Svenja is feeling insecure

I was kneeling there on the hard, cold floor of the dance floor, my whole body a trembling, sweat-soaked wreck. The transparent dome around my hips felt like a damn prison—hard, unyielding, it **** my bare thighs apart and held my dripping, throbbing pussy and my twitching asshole in plain view for everyone to see. I couldn’t even close my legs properly. The vibrator Florian had sent me this morning—“Wear it for me, baby, so you’ll think of me all day”—was now buzzing louder again. Sara had inserted it back into me, and every client was allowed to pull it out again. It pulsed in time with my racing heartbeat, pressing against my inner walls, milking me without me being able to do anything about it. Or maybe my heart was beating in time with the vibrator. I don’t know. My clit was so swollen that it rubbed against the vibrator’s core with every breath. A long, sticky thread of my own juices hung from my open pussy down to the floor, swaying with every tremor.

My face was burning. Two thick loads of cum from the first two guys were already stuck to me—warm, thick, running in long strands from my forehead over my nose, into my open lips, dripping from my chin onto my bare tits, which hung heavy and shiny in my torn dress. The taste in my mouth was disgustingly sweet, salty, bitter—strangers’ cum mixed with my own spit. I wanted to puke. I wanted to scream.

*Why don’t I just get up? Why don’t I lash out? Why am I letting my own sister push my head down onto the next cock?*

Sara stood right over me, her fingers brutally buried in my hair. Her voice was soft but sharp as a knife against my ear: “Open your mouth, little sister. The next guy paid 300 euros. You’re going to suck him until he cums down your throat. Just like Florian wants. Smile for the guests.”

I loved her. God, I loved her—my big sister, who had always protected me, who had laughed with me, who had always been the strong one. And now this. She grinned as if she were doing me a favor. She was always nice, unlike my best friends who’d been giving me hateful looks these past few days: at the bachelorette party, when she’d pushed my boundaries “just a little.” At the pool party and all day today. Not my sister, though, even though I’d joked that I was getting married before her and that she was an old hag. She’d even arranged this amazing gift with the photographer for me. It was supposed to be my dream wedding. The perfect Svenja. Now she was the one turning me into a blowjob whore in front of the entire wedding party.

The next cock was already out—thick, heavy, with a broad, dark red glans glistening with precum. The guy smelled of sweat, beer, and pure lust. Sara yanked my head forward. My lips opened automatically—my body, that damn traitor, was obeying again. The hot glans pushed between my lips, filling my mouth instantly. The taste exploded: musky, salty, with a hint of the other guys’ cum still clinging to my throat. I felt every thick vein, every pulsation as he slid deeper. My tongue was pressed flat. Then he thrust—hard, all the way down my throat. A loud, wet *GLUUUURK* came out of me, so loud it echoed through the speakers. My throat cramped up, spit shot out of the corners of my mouth in thick, shiny bubbles, ran in long strands down my chin, splashed onto my tits, ran further down my stomach, and pooled beneath the dome.

*Florian… where are you? Why are you doing this to me? I love you. I married you today. I said “I do” at the altar. And now you’re passing me around like a cheap party whore. You were never like this. Never dominant. Never so cruel. What the hell were you thinking?*

He fucked my mouth with hard, rhythmic thrusts. *Smack-smack-gulp-gulp-gulp*. Every thrust stretched my throat, made my eyes water, mascara running in black streams down my cheeks. Beneath the dome, my pussy clenched around the vibrator—a deep, hungry spasm that almost made me come again. I felt a fresh gush of hot pussy juice squirt out of me, slapping loudly against the plastic and running down my thighs in rivulets. My legs were shaking so much I could barely kneel. My asshole clenched empty, helpless, humiliatingly visible to everyone.

*Why can’t I stand up? Because someone’s holding my hips like a vise? No. Because my knees are soft as butter after all those orgasms? No. Because I’ve been conditioned all day—by the boundaries you’ve kept pushing further and further? Maybe. Because I love you both and I’m afraid everything will fall apart if I scream now? Yes. We’re married. He can’t afford a divorce. The house, the company… everything’s on the line. But this… this is too much. The line has been crossed. I can’t live with this. Not like this.*

Sara laughed softly and pushed my head even lower. “Good girl. Look at her, guys—the little bride who always wanted the dream wedding.”

The guy groaned, grabbed my veil like a handle, and came. Hot, thick spurts shot straight down my throat. The taste was overwhelming—salty, sticky, too much. I swallowed convulsively, but it ran out of my nose, oozed from the corners of my mouth, dripped in long, white strands onto my breasts. He pulled back and sprayed the rest over my face—forehead, cheeks, lips. It was warm. It smelled like pure, dirty sex. My pussy exploded again. A small, uncontrollable squirt shot out of me, splashed against the inside of the dome, and ran down in wide streams. I coughed, gasped; tears mixed with the cum.

Sara just wiped my mouth casually—more for show than for cleanliness—and shouted into the crowd: “Next! This little slut is far from done!”

And I knelt there, my face a shiny mask of strangers’ cum, my body trembling, my pussy empty yet still hungry despite it all, and my thoughts raced on.

*Florian must know this. He knows me. He knows I’m not just going to swallow this. What’s his grand plan? Why is he doing this to me, even though he knows I can’t live with it? Maybe… maybe he thinks he’s “freeing” me. That deep down, I need exactly this submissive, horny version of myself that he never got to see, because I was always the good girl Svenja. The sister who wanted to annoy Sara by getting married first. The woman who wanted a perfect wedding. But this isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t an adventure. This is betrayal. And yet… I love him. I love Sara. I can’t just walk away. Not now. Not in front of everyone.*

Sara yanked my head up again. The next cock was waiting. And I couldn’t do anything. Just kneel. Just suck. Just hope that someday the nightmare will end—or that I’ll finally find the courage to end it.