Chapter 17
The bench is freezing against my bare ass, and I can’t feel my dick.
Well—I can feel it. It’s been rock-hard since somewhere around the third slice of pizza, and the silk cord Grant wrapped tight around the base is keeping me from spilling.
I’m leaking, too. Pre-cum has been oozing out of me since the car ride.
There’s probably a fat puddle on the wood right under me, and I genuinely cannot bring myself to care.
The park is pitch-black. Trees, a deserted path, the distant hum of the city bleeding through the treeline. Walker found it on some shady forum and apparently has been sitting on that information waiting for an occasion.
Yeah, well, Saturday night was the occasion.
I was chilling in my room when Walker walked in, Finn trailing right behind him. He said, “Okay, so hear us out,” and I heard them out and was immediately, completely, one hundred percent in.
The part where we got the other guys on board took longer.
Miles looked up from his laptop and threw out an “Absolutely not.” Reid just gave us a lethal bitch face, which from him means the exact same thing.
But Grant showed up at seven-thirty with a six-pack, immediately demanded to know whose twisted idea this was, and the second Walker raised his hand, Grant just said, “Obviously,” and cracked open a beer.
The writing thing was entirely Finn’s brainchild.
He pulled up references on his phone—his hentai references—and then someone found a sharpie.
Walker did most of it, laughing the whole time, while Grant tossed out suggestions and Finn directed the layout like a porn producer.
I stood naked in the middle of the living room while they wrote on my skin, fighting for my fucking life to not pop a full boner before we even stepped out the front door.
Finn snapped a photo of the finished work and turned the screen around to show me.
I went rock-hard immediately. Like, instantly. Because I looked exactly like what I was: a piece of meat meant to be used. Something that existed solely for the room to drain.
FREE USE was written across my collarbones.
HUMAN FUCKTOY ran straight down my sternum in Walker’s heavy block caps.
NOT A PERSON sat dead-center on my pecs, and underneath it, PROPERTY OF THE HOUSE 003.
HANDLE WITH CARE crossed out on my ribs, ACTUALLY DON’T written below it. And over my left pec, a tiny REID’S.
I swiped to the next photo.
COMMUNAL HOLE and CUMDUMP across my abs. USE ALL HOLES ran hip to hip, flanked by ANY HOLE and NO LIMITS.
“Bro,” Finn said, his eyes dropping to my crotch. “He’s already checked out.”
“Holy fuck,” Walker breathed, crowding over Finn’s shoulder. “Dude’s dick is weeping.”
I made a sound that wasn’t words and swiped to the next photo. It’s my back now. HIGH QUALITY FUCKHOLE points an arrow down my spine, right into SPANK ME split across both cheeks. DRILL HERE was inked right above my hole with another one of Finn’s sloppy arrows.
The last photo is a close-up of my face.
DUMB DOLL was written on my forehead with a little dick doodle next to it.
On my cheeks—PISS was crossed out hard, replaced with SPIT HERE and a little arrow, and on the other side CUM HERE pointed straight at my mouth.
FACE FUCK ME was lettered dark and thick right down my throat.
Finn took the phone back. My cock was so swollen it fucking ached.
“Okay,” Grant said, standing up from the couch and crushing his empty beer can. “Let’s roll.”
The second we hit the highway, they started hammering out the rules.
My brain went completely offline somewhere around mile two because the sheer filth of the conversation was enough to short-circuit my system.
They talked about me like I was a piece of plastic riding in the back seat—which only made my dick throb harder—while I just sat between Reid and Miles with my hands in my lap, taking in every word and trying not to blow my load.
Condoms. Every single time. Non-negotiable. That was Miles.
Nobody gets more than one turn. Walker’s rule.
Someone stays with him the entire night. Reid.
He asked me to film it. Man, it’s gonna be a masterpiece. Finn.
I’ll go with him first. Grant, when Miles and Reid started an argument about it.
Then, total silence in the car.
And now here I am, sitting exactly how Grant posed me—legs spread wide, hands resting loose on my thighs, slumped helplessly over the park bench.
The biting night air is doing ungodly things to my nipples.
My cock is so engorged and locked down by the cord that it’s practically a medical emergency at this point.
Grant is sitting right next to me, totally unfazed. His phone is out, his thumb scrolling through some feed, looking completely bored.
Finn is circling us like a vulture, capturing every angle. He’s crouching low, tilting his camera up, the flash cutting through the dark every few seconds. Click. Click. Click.
“Look at that,” he whispers, holding up the screen to show me a preview of my own blank face and dripping cockhead.
My dick twitches against my stomach.
Finn grins. “Yeah, I know you like it.”
Then the first guy shows up. I catch it in my peripheral. The flash catches branches, then a shape, then a man. Broad shoulders, thick chest, and a heavy beard covering half his face.
He closes the distance until he towers right in front of us, looking hesitant. His gaze drags down my body. His nostrils flare.
“Hey,” the guy says, tone cautious. “He drugged?”
“‘Course not, man. He’s our doll,” Grant says, and then leans over me. “Blink twice if you’re a good little fucktoy, doll.”
I blink twice.
The stranger’s breath hitches hard.
“Fuck. He’s a hot piece of meat,” he mutters, reaching out to thumb at my cockhead. Something in my stomach pulls tight in the best way with the words. “Any hole?”
“Yeah,” Grand agrees. “He doesn’t move, though. He doesn’t suck, either. He doesn’t do anything. He’s a cocksleeve. You use him however you want, but you do the work.”
“Works for me.”
“Condoms are mandatory, and you only get one turn,” Grant continues explaining the rules. “He can’t safeword in mode so if I say stop, you stop.”
The guy considers it for half a second. “Yeah, fine.”
“Which hole?”
Another pause. The guy reaches out, tilting my head up, and I let it happen. He looks at my face, and makes a sound low in his throat.
“Mouth.”
He hacks his belt open with one hand, his other tightly gripping my jaw, his thumb forcing its way between my lips to pry them wide.
“Hey, man, I’m filming. That cool?” Finn asks when the guy pulls out a condom.
“Long as you don’t get my face.”
“Bet. We’ll keep you anonymous, big guy.”
The stranger steps right into my space, his fingers bunching into my hair to anchor the back of my head. He tilts my face up and slides deep into my mouth with zero hesitation. My throat instantly clamps around the thick, rubber-covered length.
“Oh fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, that’s good. Look at that throat swallow it like a champ.”
“Right?” Finn says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Best mouth in the city, bro.”
The guy grunts, his hips snapping forward so hard my nose buries into his pubes, and the musky smell of his skin mixed with latex makes me dizzy with arousal. My jaw is stretched to its absolute limit, spit pooling heavily under my tongue because I’m fighting the urge to swallow around his girth.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” the guy breathes, pulling out to slap his dick against my cheek. Spit smears across my skin where SPIT HERE is written, and Grant makes an approving noise. “You’re not even gagging. What the fuck are you, some kinda robot?”
“Nah, bro. He was just born to take cock.”
Then the guy is shoving back in, riding his weight deeper this time, the crown of his dick brutally nudging the entrance to my throat. His grip on my hair tightens, his hips pistoning faster, and the air fills with the wet squelch of my throat taking every single inch.
My brain goes completely white.
This is it.
This is the thing about being a doll.
This guy doesn’t know my name. He doesn’t know a single thing about my life except what’s written on my skin. I’m not Kit to him—I’m the mouth, I’m the hole, I’m FREE USE and NOT A PERSON and DUMB DOLL.
I’m absolutely nothing. And I’m everything.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” The guy’s voice cracks, his balls slapping against my chin. “Gonna cum in this pretty mouth—”
“Yeah, dude. Show everyone what this fucktoy’s good for.”
The stranger’s entire frame tenses, his thrusts turning jagged and uncoordinated, and then he groans, his hips stuttering violently as he pumps his load into the condom, buried deep in my throat.
He pulls out and steps back, breathing hard. The entire session couldn’t have taken more than three minutes. It would be a little disappointing if I hadn’t just spotted a new shape lingering in the shadows not far from us, grabbing his crotch.
The guy who just used me wipes his shaft down before tucking away. He looks at me one last time, shaking his head. “Fucking unreal.” Then he turns and vanishes back into the darkness.
Finn crouches low in front of me, angling the lens to capture the glistening slick on my face.
“You good, doll?”
I blink twice.
He lets out a breathless laugh. “Attaboy.”
Grant’s heavy hand lands on my bare shoulder, squeezing the muscle once. “Next one’s coming.”
And just like that, I’m back to waiting. My cock is aching, my throat is raw, and the taste of latex lingers on my tongue.
I feel incredibly happy.
Yeah, yeah, call me a freak. I genuinely don’t give a single shit.
The second stranger steps out of the shadows, and Grant breaks down the ground rules for him too.
“Ass,” the guy grunts when Grant asks for a choice of holes.
I just stay still like the good little fucktoy I am while the stranger rips open a wrapper and rolls the rubber down his dick—which is short but thick, Jesus fucking Christ. He steps up, grabs my hips, and flips me over.