Secret Message, Part 6
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Her first thought upon regaining consciousness was that she was sucking on her thumb, as she had done as a child. There was something in her mouth, and it felt so good to suck on it.
But her whole body was moving, back and forth, and a moment later she realised what was happening. It was a dick in her mouth - a dick attached to a burly tradesman, who had adjusted his work pants to release a large, stiff cock and stuff it into Kathy’s mouth.
There was another cock in her pussy - a second tradesman, who had been happily fucking her unconscious body. Once again, Kathy was being raped by men whose names she didn’t even know - and the response from her traitorous body, once it realised this, was to loudly and visibly orgasm.
The feeling of Kathy moaning uncontrollably around a mouthful of his cock must have been too much for the first man, as she shuddered, and Kathy felt her mouth suddenly fill with his cum, which she swallowed eagerly. A moment later, the other man came too, and spurted his cum into her cunt. Kathy couldn’t even remember how many loads of sperm her womb had received in the past 24 hours - and almost all of it from men she didn’t even know. She truly was a slut.
As they pulled out, the men looked a little nervous. They had just raped an unconscious woman - even if she had invited them to do so via the note on her door. Would she complain? Would she call the police?
It occurred to Kathy that if they thought they could get in trouble, it was possible the men might try to silence her - so she enthusiastically thanked them as soon as her mouth was free of cock, doing her best to sound like being raped in her sleep was her fondest desire and most persistent fantasy, until she was sure both men were comfortable with what they had done to her.
Afterwards, they showed her their work. True to her instructions, her house now had no doors. No front door, no back door, no bedroom door, no toilet door, no bathroom door. There was literally nothing to stop people (or animals) wandering in off the street and exploring any part of her house they chose to. Kathy could do nothing to protect her privacy, or herself, in any part of her house.
She thanked them for their work, and paid them, and they left, apparently very satisfied with the interaction.
And then Kathy turned to her phone, and entered the eight secret message, which she had learned in her trance.
“BE WET. ALWAYS.”
It was less of a commandment than a statement of truth. She *was* wet - without stimulation. Her cunt throbbed. She wanted the tradesmen to return, and fuck her again, and cum on her, or in her, and make her pretty.
There was a little loop playing in the back of her mind now - sexy thoughts, slutty thoughts, disgusting thoughts. It was like part of her mind was now devoted full-time to remembering her rapes, to imagining new ones, to thinking about how to please her pussy, and that constant cycle of thoughts was producing erotic energy between her thighs, like a generator, constantly sparking with lust.
The app told her what she’d won - and she almost threw her phone away in horror. It was a hardcore porn modelling contract. She would be the “Fuckdoll of the Month” on the “Big-Titted Bitches” website, and be paid to take part in a photo shoot where she was violently fucked by several men (and also women). The photos would be publicly displayed on the internet, under her real name, and soon become the top result for Google searches for her name.
Her first photo shoot would be exactly a week after her breast augmentation.
She had to stop this. She had to get out of this loop. Soon it would be too late. She would be a big-titted brainless bimbo forever, unless she found the last two secret messages quickly.
“You’re a stupid little cunt,” said her boss’ voice in her ear. And then her own voice replied: “Yes, sir, I’m a stupid little cunt.”
She shivered - and then jumped, as she realised she was masturbating. Her hand was rubbing her cunt eagerly, entirely of its own accord, driven by the pulsing need of her cunt. She snatched her hand away - but then, slowly, returned it. It felt good to masturbate and, really, what was wrong with feeling good?
But she couldn’t go back into the loop now. She had to go to her father’s house for dinner - a dinner where she would see her “Uncle” Trevor, who had confessed yesterday that he wanted to rape her, and who she had encouraged in that fantasy.
She looked at her phone - and saw that she had a number of text messages.
The first few were from various men that she knew, most of whom she hadn’t talked to recently. They all said the same thing - “ring me”. She realised they had to be generated by the app. The app wanted to hear more male voices in her life, so it could learn them. She should ignore the messages - and yet, she couldn’t. The messages purported to come from men, and men knew best, and she wanted to obey.
She rang each of the men. One was a friend from her school days. One was a former co-worker. One was the GP she had been seeing since she was a young girl.
Each conversation went the same way. The man was initially surprised to hear from Kathy, and didn’t know why she was calling. And then, after about thirty seconds of conversation, they would tell Kathy that she was a slut, and ask her to send them a picture of her naked body.
Kathy obeyed, every time, sending them nude photos that showed the tradesman’s cum still leaking from her violated twat.
The last set of messages were from her Uncle Trevor. There were three of them. They read:
* Send me a photo of you naked.
* Ask me to rape you.
* Ask me to hurt you.
She felt like crying again. She had had a *good* relationship with Trevor, ever since she was little. And now she was turning herself into his sexual fantasy, his sex toy.
But there was no possibility of refusing. Men knew best. She wanted to obey. And the worst part was, she didn’t even know if this was the app, or if it was really her uncle asking for these things.
She sent him the nude picture. And she messaged him. “I want you to rape me. I want you to hurt me.”
Then she dressed for dinner.
The outfit was simple. Her highest heels, because they made her the most vulnerable. No panties or bra, because going without underwear made her more vulnerable. A short pleated skirt, and a tight white top that hugged the shape of her tits.
She looked like a whore. But she looked right. Men would want to fuck her, and then she wouldn’t be worthless. It didn’t matter that those men were her father and her uncle. She had realised with sick despair that if her own father *didn’t* want to fuck her, she would feel insecure and anxious and disgusting - which is exactly how she would feel if he *did* want to fuck her, too. It was a no-win scenario.
There was no longer any front door to close or lock, so she simply left the house and got into her car. As soon as she was in the driver’s seat, she spread her legs and began masturbating. She thought she could probably drive and masturbate at the same time, and she felt better when she was rubbing her pussy.
After a moment’s though, she uncinched her skirt and removed it, placing it on the passenger’s seat. It would be easier to finger her pussy with the skirt out of the way, and nobody would be able to see her lap while she was driving.
With that, she started the car and set out, one hand on the wheel and the other between her legs.
Another message appeared on her phone as she drove. She glanced at it briefly. It was from her father. “Make sure you’re on time, honey,” it said. She felt relieved that it wasn’t a request for more nudes.
As she neared her father’s house, she lowered the driver’s window. The night air was cool and pleasant, and she enjoyed the feel of the wind on her face as she drove.
But then, without warning, there was a blur of colour across her face briefly. She initially wasn’t sure what it was, and then, with horror, she realised - it was her skirt. It had lifted off the passenger seat, and been blown out the window!
She pulled over immediately - but then realised her predicament. She was on the edge of a busy road. The skirt could be anywhere in the last half-kilometre of highway - and she was naked from the waist down. She hadn’t brought a replacement. Her pussy and ass would be on full display to passers-by as she searched for her missing clothes.
And there was another problem. Her father had told her not to be late. It was hardly an ultimatum - and yet, men knew best, and she wanted to obey. If she searched for the skirt she would be late. If she went home to get another one, she would be late.
She whimpered. She had no choices.
She started the car again, and drove to her father’s house. And she masturbated as she drove.
There were two cars in the driveway at her father’s place - her father’s, and an Audi that presumably belonged to Uncle Trevor.
She pulled up, and made a quick search of her car to confirm there was nothing that could cover her naked pussy. But there was not even an emergency blanket. She was out of luck.
“Come inside, and show me your pussy, honey,” said her father’s voice in her ear, and she jumped. She hadn’t even realised she still had the headphones in her ear. Hurriedly, she took them out. It would be hard enough explaining her nudity, without having to also explain why she was wearing the headphones.
When she took them out, it felt like she’d gone deaf. Everything was so silent. She hadn’t realised how accustomed she had become to the constant hum of static and half-heard voices in her ears. Without it, the silence was oppressive - even frightening. She wanted to put the headphones back in immediately - but she resisted the temptation.
Instead, she got out of her car, and awkwardly crossed to her father’s front door. This wasn’t the house she’d grown up in - her father had moved after her mother passed away - but it was still a strange place to be nude from the waist down. (Was there any *good* place to be nude from the waist down, she wondered?)
She stopped on the porch, and rang the doorbell.
Her father opened it. Tall, bald, bespectacled, and fit for his age - under other circumstances, he would have been a reassuring sight for Kathy.
But instead, she watched his eyes run down her body, from her face, to her tight top (with her erect nipples making little bumps in the fabric) to her naked, wet pussy. And she saw his expression turn from a smile into alarm and disgust.
“Kathy!” he said. “What happened? Where’s your skirt?”
“I… ah, had a little accident on the way here,” blushed Kathy. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” said her father, still stunned. He pulled back and let her into the house.
Uncle Trevor was there - dark-haired, bearded, well-dressed - and his eyes were on her from the moment she appeared. On her tits. On her pussy.
Her father was heading for the laundry. “Ah, let me find you something to cover yourself with,” he mumbled, blushing.
But Kathy had seen her uncle’s gaze, and seen the lust in his eyes, and the tent in the front of his pants. She was acutely aware of just how much he wanted to rape her right now, as she stood there baring her pussy to him.
And it made her feel good. She was only worth something when men wanted to fuck her. And Trevor wanted to fuck her *so much* that she couldn’t help but feel warm and proud.
And so she said words that, in the past, she would never have expected to say to her father.
“No, it’s all right, dad,” she called out. “Don’t bother. Everyone’s already seen everything there is to see now.”
And her father might still have come back with something to wrap around her waist, except that Trevor supported her.
“She’s right, Alan,” he said. “She’s just going to feel more awkward having to wear some towel or something. We’re all friends here. She’ll be fine.”
And he smiled at Kathy - and then, while her father was still out of sight, down the corridor, he stepped forward, and put his arm around her waist, and kissed her on the lips.
And Kathy kissed her uncle back, feeling his tongue in her mouth, and his stiff cock pressing through his pants against her wet, naked pussy.
And she knew without a doubt that her uncle would violently rape her before the night was over.
And the worst bit was, she couldn’t pretend to herself that she didn’t want it to happen.
(TO BE CONTINUED)