The Never-Ending Descent

The grand theater of Mammopolis buzzed with an intensity unlike anything before. Marina Tityakova, once a renowned ballerina, knelt on the stage, her body trembling, her mind a blur. The digital counter above blinked 20, but the number felt distant, irrelevant in the haze that consumed her. Her breasts, swollen and slick, jiggled with every shallow breath. Her costume, once shimmering gold and elegant, now hung in tatters, clinging to her sweat-soaked skin.

The stage was a blur of movement and sensation. One man after another, each thrusting into her, each using her body without mercy. She had long since lost track of the faces, her senses overwhelmed by the endless rhythm of flesh against flesh, by the sound of the audience roaring in approval. But now, as the number on the counter ticked upward, her awareness flickered in and out of focus. Every now and then, a man stood out from the sea of bodies, leaving an impression that seared itself into her already overloaded mind.

21, 22.

The next man was different. His hands were rough, his grip forceful as he took her by the hips and pulled her back onto his cock with brutal precision. He wasn’t like Viktor, whose predatory grin she could still feel lingering on her skin, nor was he like the others who had taken their turns so far. This man was larger, his cock thicker, stretching her in ways that made her cry out despite herself. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his impatience, the way he slammed into her with a singular focus. Her breasts bounced heavily with each thrust, her nipples hardening against the air, slick with sweat and cum.

She gasped, her hands gripping the stage floor as her body rocked forward with each thrust. Her mind flickered between the shame of being used so violently and the undeniable pleasure building within her. The crowd cheered louder, sensing her breaking point.

The counter blinked: 25

The man pulled out, and another quickly replaced him, his breath hot on her neck as he thrust into her from behind. This one was gentler, almost playful, his hands sliding up her sides to fondle her breasts as he moved. He whispered something in her ear—something obscene that she couldn’t quite process in the cacophony of sound around her. His fingers twisted her nipples as he fucked her slowly, making her body jerk in response. She moaned, the sound half a sob, half a gasp of pleasure.

The crowd’s roar surged as her body betrayed her once more, her skin flush with arousal. Her breasts, jiggling obscenely, were now the focal point of the spectacle. Men in the front rows reached out, some brushing their fingers against her as if daring to touch what they’d been watching so intently. She could feel their hands grazing her legs, her back, as though they were just part of the scenery now, part of her degradation.

30, 35, 40

The digital counter blinked higher, faster now. It seemed to tick up with every passing second. The numbers were hypnotic, flashing in her periphery, blurring into a rhythm as mechanical as the bodies moving against her. The crowd had grown wild, their voices blending into an indistinguishable hum. Her body responded on autopilot, her legs trembling as she spread them wider, giving easier access to the next man who stepped forward.

This one was slender, his breath shallow as he entered her from behind. His cock was smaller, almost a relief after the punishing stretch of the last few men, but he wasn’t here for ****. Instead, he leaned down, his mouth close to her ear, whispering her name softly as he moved. Marina.

She heard it, and for a moment, something sharp cut through the haze. She tried to turn, to look at him, but his hand gripped her shoulder, keeping her in place as he gently pumped into her. His breath was warm, steady, and Marina’s body tensed, her mind spiraling back to the days when her name had meant something—when she had been a ballerina, admired for her skill and grace, not just her breasts.

But the thought was fleeting. The next man was already behind her, shoving her forward, making her breasts drag against the stage floor as he took her harder, his groans echoing in her ears. Her legs shook beneath her, the muscles burning from the unrelenting strain. The counter climbed higher.

50, 55

Her body had become a machine, responding automatically to the endless stream of men, each one thrusting into her as if she were nothing more than an object. But every now and then, a man would break through the haze—his touch different, his movements deliberate in ways that made her moan louder, made her body jerk in unexpected pleasure.

She felt it then—a sudden wetness between her legs that was different from the cum already spilling out of her. Her body trembled, her mind reeling from the realization that she was coming again, despite everything, despite the humiliation and degradation. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting as a soft, helpless moan escaped her throat.

The audience erupted into frenzied cheers, their voices deafening as they watched her unravel, watched her body betray her completely. She couldn’t stop it now. The pleasure was overwhelming, crashing over her in waves, pulling her deeper into the haze.

70, 80, 90,

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew the number had become absurd, grotesque even. But she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. Each man was just another thrust, another push into the fog of sensation that had consumed her. Her breasts were slick with sweat and cum, her body trembling as she was passed from one man to the next.

She barely registered when the first man took her from the front, pushing her down onto her back. The shift in position sent a fresh wave of sensation through her body as her legs were spread wide, her breasts heaving against the floor as he entered her. His cock filled her quickly, his hands gripping her thighs as he pounded into her with reckless abandon.

Another man came forward, forcing her mouth open, pushing his cock past her lips. She gagged at first, her eyes wide, but soon her body adjusted, her tongue swirling around him as the rhythm of thrusting from both ends sent her spiraling again. Her mind floated in and out, flickering between the reality of her situation and the overwhelming pleasure that consumed her.

100, 110, 120,

The counter flashed higher, becoming a blur of flashing lights in her periphery as her body shook under the weight of countless orgasms. Men had lined up backstage, the stagehands practically dragging them forward as the theater descended into pure chaos. The audience was no longer watching passively—some had left their seats entirely, their eyes glued to Marina as though she were the only thing that mattered in the world.

She lost track of time, lost track of the number. Each man blurred into the next, their hands gripping her, their cocks filling her, her body responding with moans and gasps that sounded foreign to her own ears. But her mind had surrendered, given up on trying to fight the overwhelming flood of sensation.

150, 160, 170,

She could feel her legs trembling uncontrollably now, her muscles twitching as exhaustion set in. Her body was soaked with cum, slick and trembling, her breasts swollen and sore from the constant movement. Yet still, she moaned, her hips moving in time with the next man, the pleasure too powerful to deny.

180, 190,

The final man entered her slowly, deliberately. His grip was firm but not cruel, his thrusts slow and measured as if savoring the last moments. Marina’s eyes fluttered open, her body shuddering as he took his time, his cock filling her completely before pulling out and thrusting in again. She gasped, her body convulsing in one last, helpless orgasm as she gave in completely, her mind dissolving into nothing but sensation.

The counter blinked one last time—200—before the lights above finally faded.

Marina collapsed onto the stage, her body trembling uncontrollably, her breasts heavy and slick with sweat. The final man pulled out of her, leaving her gasping for air, her chest heaving as the sounds of the theater faded into an almost surreal silence. The applause came next, thunderous and wild, the audience on their feet, cheering for what they had witnessed.

Viktor stepped forward, his cock still hard, dripping with precum. He positioned himself above her, his shadow looming as he grinned down at her spent, trembling form. With one last grunt, he came, thick streams of cum splattering across her swollen breasts, her face, her neck. The heat of it sent a final shudder through her body, her lips parting in a breathless, silly giggle as she lay there, soaked and used.

The curtain fell slowly, but the applause didn’t stop. The digital counter blinked, frozen at 200, forever etched in her mind. Marina lay still, her body completely spent, her mind