I never meant for it to go this far, but once I let that first cock slide between my lips in the back room of the bar, the spiral took over. It started slow, just a glance across the crowded floor, his eyes locking on mine like he already knew how my throat would feel. I followed him without a word, heart hammering, and when he pushed me to my knees on the sticky tile, I opened up like I'd been waiting my whole life.
His dick was thick and veined, already leaking when I wrapped my fingers around the base.
I licked the head first, tasting salt and heat, then took him deeper, gagging when he thrust forward without warning. "Yeah, suck it," he growled, hands gripping my hair, and I did, sloppy and eager, spit running down my chin while my own cock strained against my jeans. That first time ended with him flooding my mouth, cum spilling over my tongue as I swallowed every drop, the rush so intense I came untouched, soaking my underwear.
But the spiral didn't stop there. The next night I was back, this time letting two guys take turns. One fucked my face while the other fingered my ass open, stretching me with rough, insistent strokes until I was begging. They bent me over a table, and the bigger one shoved in dry at first, the burn turning to slick pleasure as he pounded deep. I felt every inch, his balls slapping my skin, while the other fed me his load. By the time they switched, my hole was loose and dripping, clenching around the second cock like it needed to be filled again and again.
Weeks blurred into months. I started seeking out the darkest corners, apps leading me to apartments where strangers tied my wrists and used me for hours. One guy had me ride him reverse, watching my ass swallow his shaft on a mirror while he spanked me red. Another chained me to his bed and edged me until I sobbed, only letting me come when his friend joined and they double-teamed my mouth and hole at once. The spiral tightened with every new position, every new load pumped inside me or across my chest, leaving me marked and shaking.
I lost count of the nights I woke up sore, cum still leaking from me, yet craving more. It wasn't just sex anymore; it was the surrender, the way my body opened wider each time, the psychological drop into pure need. Last weekend it peaked at a private party, six men circling me on the floor. They took me in a circle, one after another, my knees bruised, throat raw, ass gaping and used. When the last one finished, painting my face, I lay there panting, the spiral finally quiet for a moment, satisfied but already whispering for the next descent.
