It was so hard for Lela to think straight when she was so wet. She didn’t even want to be wet, but she had met a man in a bar – God, she didn’t even know his name – what kind of slut was she? And he had been handsome and commanding and she had gone home with him because she wanted to fuck him… but instead of fucking her, he told her to strip naked, and masturbate, and then he had made her keep masturbating, right at the edge of orgasm, without letting her cum, until nothing mattered but her stupid, slutty, needy cunt, and she was willing to do anything if only her fuckhole could have what it wanted.
First had been the photoshoot – her completely nude, her giant slutty fuckmelons bare. She had blushed, to be photographed like that, only her face was already so red from arousal that no one could tell. Then she had watched, moaning with humiliation but still masturbating, as he had the sluttiest and most humiliating of the photos printed onto the front of dozens of Christmas cards. She had a sense of terror, knowing that what was about to happen would change her life, but she had needed to cum so badly, so she just kept fingering her pussy and whining sluttily.
Then he had her hand-address each card to a friend, family member or workmate. He had had her write a personalised invitation to rape her into each one, to sign it with a kiss from her lipsticked lips, and then to smear a little of her cunt juices on the front so it would smell like her pussy.
Then he had sent her to post them. She had staggered naked down the street, her fingers still desperately fucking her cunt, oblivious to the stares of the public, mewling needily, and upon reaching the postbox she had desperately stuffed the whorish cards that revealed her true nature into the post hatch.
Only then, with the hatch closed and the cards out of reach, had she orgasmed, as she had been told she was allowed to. She had gasped and spasmed and collapsed to her knees, squirting her fuck juices in public. And even as she orgasmed, the awareness of what she had just done rushed into her, and she tried to climb back to her feet and claw at the postbox to retrieve the cards.
She couldn’t of course. And the shame of what she had done, and what was about to happen when her friends and family received the cards, was too much for her to bear. She needed to go back to her slutty place where it didn’t matter. Crying, she began to masturbate again, knowing that she was masturbating to thoughts of her own degradation, and not caring…
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