Cum is all over my good girl slut prepaid scene

Submitted by Kane Voss

checked into, The Deception Dungeon

I am on my knees on the purple tile floor of The Deception Dungeon and my cock is taped behind me, pressed flat against my perineum, the steel cage digging into the soft flesh where my balls meet my body. The tape is purple. Of course it is. Everything in this room is purple except the ten men standing in a loose semicircle around me, and they are wearing black masks that cover everything but their mouths and their cocks, which are out and hard and already leaking.

I am dressed as a girl slut. The dress is purple silk, short enough that the hem rides up over my hips when I kneel, and the panties are lace and they are pulled down around my thighs because the point is not modesty. The point is that I am displayed. The point is that I paid for this.

Let me be specific about the money, because the money is the only part of this I can still control, and even that is an illusion. The dress cost one hundred seventy-seven thousand dollars. The session tonight cost forty thousand dollars. The ten men cost two thousand dollars each, which is twenty thousand dollars, and the masks were included in the package because Mistress Lynne does not want me to know who they are. She wants me to know that they know who I am. That is the entire architecture of this evening.

I am Kane Voss. I lie. I have lied to every person in my life, including myself, and I am very good at it, and none of that matters right now because my cock is taped behind me and I cannot touch it and I have not come in sixteen months and the ten men are stroking themselves while they look at me.

The first one steps forward. His cock is thick and uncircumcised and he is already close, I can tell by the way his hand moves, fast and desperate, the way men touch themselves when they are not performing for anyone but themselves. He aims at my face. I open my mouth. This is not instinct. This is training. This is what a good girl slut does when a man is about to come on her.

He comes on my face. The first rope hits my cheek, hot and thick, and I feel it slide down toward my jaw. The second rope lands across my lips, and I taste it, salt and bitterness and the specific alkaline tang of a stranger's orgasm. The third rope hits my closed eyelid, and I keep my eye closed because I have learned that getting come in your eye is a particular kind of pain that even I cannot talk my way out of.

The second man steps forward before the first has finished. He is already coming, his cock jerking in his hand, and he aims lower, at my chest, at the purple silk of the dress. The come lands on the fabric and soaks in, darkening the purple to something almost black. I feel the warmth through the silk. I feel it cooling against my skin.

The third man comes on my taped cock. This is the part I cannot prepare for. The tape is tight, and the cage is steel, and when the hot come hits the tape and seeps through to the steel and the steel conducts the heat directly into my trapped, swollen flesh, my whole body jerks. I make a sound. I do not know what the sound is. It is not a word. It is the sound a man makes when his body is trying to orgasm and cannot.

The fourth man comes on my ass. I am bent forward now, my face against the purple tile, my ass raised, and the come lands on my exposed hole and drips down over my taped cock and onto the floor. The fifth man comes on my back, and I feel it run down my spine and pool in the small of my back where the dress has ridden up.

The sixth man is the one who talks. "Look at you," he says, and his voice is muffled by the mask but I can hear the smile in it. "Big shot. Big liar. Look at you now."

I do not know who he is. I have lied to so many people that any of these ten men could be someone I have deceived. That is the point. Mistress Lynne has arranged this so that I will never know. The not-knowing is the punishment. The not-knowing is the payment.

The seventh man comes on my feet. The eighth man comes on my hands, which are bound behind my back, and I feel the come drip down over my wrists and into the tape that binds them. The ninth man comes on the back of my head, and I feel it mat in my hair, which is long now, grown out for exactly this purpose, so that I can feel the come in it for hours afterward.

The tenth man steps forward. He is the one who has been waiting. His cock is the biggest, or maybe I am just exhausted and everything looks bigger when you are on your knees with your cock taped behind you and sixteen months of denied orgasm burning in your balls. He strokes himself slowly. He is not in a hurry. He wants me to watch.

I watch. I am a good girl slut. Good girl sluts watch.

He comes on my face, and this time I keep my eyes open, and the come lands directly in my left eye, and the pain is exactly as bad as I remembered, and I do not close my eye because closing my eye would be a lie, and I am trying, in this moment, to be honest.

The ten men leave. I do not know how they leave. I am still on my knees, covered in come, my cock taped behind me, my dress ruined, my hair matted, my eye burning. The room is quiet. The purple tile is cold under my knees.

Mistress Lynne enters. I do not hear Her come in. She is simply there, standing over me, looking down at me with an expression I cannot read because I have spent my life reading people and She is genuinely unreadable to me.

"You paid forty thousand dollars for this," She says. It is not a question.

"Yes, Mistress Lynne," I say. My voice is hoarse. I do not know why. I have not been screaming. I have not been making any sound at all.

"And you will pay again," She says. "Because you are already planning the next deception. You are already thinking about how to frame this. You are already constructing the story you will tell yourself about what this meant."

She is right. I am. I am already thinking about how to describe this in a way that makes me the hero of it, the man who chose this, the man who paid for this, the man who is in control of his own degradation. I am already lying.

"The cage stays on," She says. "The tape stays on. You will sit in this room for the next hour and think about what you are. And then you will pay the cleaning fee."

I do not ask how much the cleaning fee is. It does not matter. I will pay it. I will pay all of it. I will keep paying until I cannot pay anymore, and then I will find more money, and I will pay that too, because the alternative is admitting that I am exactly what I am, and I have never been able to do that.

The door closes. I am alone. The come is drying on my face. My cock is still taped behind me, still caged, still hard, still denied. Sixteen months. One million dollars. Ten masked men. A purple dress that cost more than most people's houses.

I am Kane Voss. I am a good girl slut. I am exactly what I paid to be.

And I am already planning the next lie.