brain drained

"Good girl, Jade. Good little slut."

Jade's inner voice echoes the praise she hears from the grimy walls around her. She is kneeling on a cold, linoleum floor that smells of bleach and stale tobacco. Her world has shrunk to the size of a wooden partition. She is positioned in front of a single, rectangular opening at waist height—a gloryhole in the dimly lit 'Service Station' of the Red District.

A year ago, Jade would have been horrified. A year ago, she would have been fighting in the streets, screaming about the injustice of the 'Natural Order Act.' But that Jade died somewhere between the fiftieth and hundredth cock. Now, she doesn't even remember what 'protest' means. The only thing that matters is the next sound: the rustle of denim, the click of a belt, the heavy footsteps approaching the hole.

"Here comes another one," Jade whines to herself, her voice a high, airy giggle that carries no intelligence. Her hips give an eager, practiced twitch.

Her body has been perfectly maintained for this purpose. Her skin is tanned, her breasts are swollen and impossibly soft, and her lips are perpetually swollen from constant sucking. She wears nothing but a tiny, transparent apron that does nothing to hide the shameless bulge between her thighs. Her eyes are glassy, fixed on the hole with the desperate intensity of a predator—or a parasite.

Thump. The sound of a heavy boot hitting the floor on the other side of the partition.

Jade's pupils dilate instantly. Her mouth waters. She licks her lips with a wet, slurping sound, her tongue darting out to taste the air.

"Please be big," she whispers against the wood, her breath fogging the surface. "Please be hard. Jade needs to be filled."

A thick, dark cock thrusts through the hole, already fully erect and pulsing with heat. Jade's reaction is instantaneous and animalistic. She doesn't hesitate; she doesn't ask; she simply launches herself forward. Her mouth opens impossibly wide, her jaw unhinging with the practiced ease of someone who has spent months perfecting the art of being a human sheath.

Schlorp.

The sound of her taking him in echoes off the tiles. She wraps her hands around the base of the shaft, her fingers digging into the flesh, and begins to work with a frantic, mindless rhythm. She isn't just sucking; she is worshipping. She pushes herself to the limit, taking the cock so deep that her eyes roll back into her head, leaving only the whites visible beneath her lashes.

"Mmmph! Gggghh-hnnn!" she gurgles around the intrusion.

On the other side, the man growls in approval, his hips beginning to thrust forward with increasing aggression. Jade meets every thrust with equal desperation, her throat pulsing around him, her entire body vibrating with the simple, ecstatic pleasure of being used as a tool. The old Jade would have called this degradation; the new Jade calls it 'home.'