Ella's Locker Room

So, uh, just a heads-up: this story is essentially an amalgamation of other stories I read a long time ago. I mashed them up and tried to remake it with the sole intent to practice my writing skills. Honestly, it's less about the plot and more about my, like, "poetry" or whatever. Enjoy! Or don't. Either way, here it is.

PART 1 HUNGRY TEAM MEETS HOT MODEL

CHAPTER 1

Ella walked steady, her steps light. The stadium rose in the distance, a great and hulking thing against the sky, its floodlights skeletal in the afternoon glare. She kept her pace even. She was not one to be late. But she was not familiar with this place either, and unfamiliarity had a way of turning time against a person.

Inside, the air smelled of sweat and damp concrete. A security guard sat slouched on a plastic chair, a man whose spirit had long since fled the body that bore it. He lifted a hand, slow and indifferent, giving her directions, and she found the Men Locker Room easy enough.

At the door she paused, reading the warning stenciled in block letters, stark and unforgiving:

"LION'S LOCKER ROOM--KEEP OUT!" A second sign hung below it, curling at the edges, the black marker scrawled in a hurried hand: "Room closed to everyone except main roster players, coaches (and guests today!)"

"Guess that means me," she murmured.

The Georgia Lions. That was their name. She'd only seen them play once, the soo revered American Football. Ella wans't a fan, and couldn't understand a thing about it. The football she knew back from England was an entire differently sport, fast and deft, a thing of precision and fluid motion, with players trying to guide and kick a ball with only their feet--a game of strategy, endurance but mostly skill, where a single man could turn the tide in any match.

But this other football was something else entirely, with men in armor colliding like beasts, a thing both primitive and calculated. There was a ball too, altought it didn't had the shape of a ball. Ella couldn't undestand the game--it had seemed absurd to her at first, laughable even, this great spectacle of violence where no real blows were thrown. And yet there was something in it. Something that held people to watch, waiting for the next crash of bodies, the next struggle for that oval-shaped ball.

And the men are fucking hot, too, Ella pictured them. The broad shoulders, the thick arms, the legs like carved stone. Built for impact, for force, for domination. She thought about what else might be broad and thick, and heat licked up her spine. Get a hold of yourself, girl! She shook her head, the ghost of a laugh escaping her lips. Then she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The place was empty for now, but it was almost time. Any minute now and thee players woud come filing in, sweat-slick and spent from practice, their bodies worn down from their training.

She had a reason for being here: a photo shoot. That explained the cheerleader's uniform, the heels, the careful touch of makeup, and why she was standing at the threshold of the Lions' locker room, alone.

In retrospect, it was one of those things that felt inevitable, a kind of narrative foregone conclusion--the way certain people just seem to glide through life on a track greased by some unspoken yet universally acknowledged law of human desirability. Ella'd done modeling before--bikini spreads, fashion shoots, the kind of ephemeral, mostly regional gigs that weren't exactly Vogue, but still paid in real money and got her name into the sort of databases that mattered. And sure, she was well aware that the true professionals, the Victoria's Secret angels and international runway queens, existed in a different stratosphere, but they were aging out, softening around the edges, getting that slightly desperate look that happens when you realize your expiration date is creeping up faster than you ever thought possible.

Ella, on the other hand, was was still in the golden zone--fresh, luminous and rare, in that window of time where everything about her seemed impossibly crisp and high-definition. Her face and her red hair had that unfair mix of angelic symmetry and something more carnal, with big, beautiful and 100% natural breasts and a nice ass that had made many horny boys wet their underwear over the years.

In other words, she was fricking hot, and she was aware of that.

So when the call went out for a model to shoot with the Lions, she didn't have to apply. The job found her. Or rather, some unseen collective decision had been made that Ella was the kind of girl who should be in front of the camera, and the machinery of the world simply adjusted itself accordingly.

Since she was alone, she went to explore the Lions "Cave". At first glance, it was like any other locker room, which is to say it was exactly like every other locker room Ella had ever stepped into--well, women locker room, at least! It was basically a long hallway, dim and narrow, the kind of transitional space that existed only to funnel people from one place to another, no need for decoration or embellishment beyond the purely utilitarian. To her right, the showers. To her left, the toilets. Ceramic tile, off-white with hairline cracks like veins of something old and buried. Sinks arranged in a row, their porcelain dulled to a permanent matte, faucets polished not by care but by sheer volume of use, a slow erosion of metal against countless hands. The lockers, lined up in obedient formation, their dented doors bearing the scars of years of careless force. Like everything in that campus, it was the kind of place where things lasted, not because they were meant to, but because no one cared enough to replace them.

And then the smell hit her.

Not gradually, not creeping in at the edges like an afterthought, but all at once, like stepping into a wall of humidity after hours in air conditioning. Thick. Dense. Clinging to everything--the tile, the benches, the air itself, curling into her nose, settling in the back of her throat. Sweat. Musk. The kind of deep, bodily scent that couldn't be scrubbed away no matter how many industrial-strength cleaning solutions were dumped on the floor after practice.

The distilled essence of exertion, of men.

Something about it felt raw. Unfiltered. Primal in a way that sidestepped logic entirely, hitting some ancient, reptilian part of her brain that didn't care about hygiene or civility or the fact that she was standing, alone, in an empty room where a dozen or more men would soon be stripping off their gear.

Big bodies, slick with sweat, jerseys peeled away to reveal muscle gone tight with exertion...

The thick press of veins over forearms, the ridges of abdominals that flexed and hardened with every movement, the weight of exhaustion settling deep into thighs built for speed and power...

Flacid cocks in the open, all big and thick, just waiting for the right stimulation...

Ella shivered. Pull yourself together, girl! Her fingers clenched into fists, her pulse thrumming at the base of her throat. She scowled at herself. That was not the time, not the place. The last thing she needed in her life was to get her panties wet during a photo shoot.

She moved toward one of the wooden benches in the middle of the room. Sitting down, she smoothed her tiny pleated skirt over her legs, but it was futile--the skirt was too short, so damn short that barely grazed her thighs, its hem riding up as she settled, and the snug white panties underneath did nothing to erase the acute sense of exposure. There was no denying it: her long legs were on full display, the stretch of them impossible to ignore, and the tight tank top clung to her chest was more or less forcing attention to the curves beneath.

This wasn't just an outfit, it was a statement, an undeniable provocation to the alpha males. Every angle of it was designed to accentuate: the skirt, short enough to tease without quite revealing, the top, perfectly snug, practically sculpting her torso. The white pom-poms she clutched in her hands--absurd in their exuberance--felt almost too innocent for the tightness of the rest of the uniform.

Ella caught her reflection in one of the mirrors, just a quick glance at herself. She had done just enough with the makeup, a soft hand on her features, never overdone, and had left her hair it loose, spilling down her shoulders exactly as they'd asked.

Her sex appeal was blatant, almost overkill.

Yeah, she smiled, this was going to be fun...

A few minutes passed in the kind of slow, stretched-out way that time moves when you're alone in a space meant for bodies. The stillness of it started to press in, the air heavy with that post-practice musk of sweat baked into tile and fabric-softener-resistant polyester.

And then she heard noise, the disjointed echoes of cleats clattering against tile, the overlapping cadence of male voices--some sharp with laughter, others low and murmuring, a symphony of casual confidence.

Right on time, she thought. I was getting bored...

The door swung open and they were there.

The Georgia Lions. Not the whole team--just the ones that mattered. The starting lineup. The chosen ones. Their smell followed and hit her nose in seconds, the odor of sweat, sun and exertion, that distinct post-practice mixture of fabric and skin and testosterone, clinging to them as naturally as their jerseys.

The men stopped chatting as soon as they saw her.

"Wow, look at this hot babe! Waiting for us in the men's locker room!"

A voice landed sharp and immediate, cutting through the layered noise like a thrown knife, making the others laughed. That was Bill, the quarterback, and the only one whose name she knew.

Ella just shrugged, unbothered.

"Hey, guys," she said, her voice casual and light, "Name's Ella. Here to take some pictures with you guys," Her eyes danced from one guy to the next. "So, where's your coach?"

That line makes no sense.

Ella opened her mouth, about to shoot something back--probably something sarcastic or biting--but then the moment turned. There was a subtle shift, a kind of collective energy in the room, as the men began to close in around her.

She felt small suddenly, surrounded by so many large, sweaty players. And they were indeed large, each one with massive broad shoulders and thick necks--bodies built for power. Some were tall, others shorter, but all of them looked like they could crush her with a single hand trying. The lightest had to be at least a hundred and ninety pounds, the heaviest pushing three hundred. Four were white, five black, and the last two looked Latino. They were rough, burly, and exuded a raw, physical energy that made the air feel heavier.

There were eleven of them in total.

But the coach and her photographer were missing.

Something was off.

"Where..." Ella clutched the pom-poms tighter, her knuckles whitening. "Where did you say he was, again?"

Bill stepped forward, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. His grin was wide, almost predatory.

"Not important" Bill said, his voice dropping slightly, "So, you're the one they sent to cheer us on, huh?"

Ella forced a smile, though her heart was pounding. "Something like that," she said, her voice steady despite the nerves.

The room felt smaller now, the walls closing in. The men were close, too close, their presence overwhelming. The others snickered and chuckled at Bill's comment, their laughter low and rough. The players closed in around Ella, their thick thighs and bulging crotches suddenly alarmingly close to her face. She quickly stood up, her discomfort palpable. The air felt heavier now, charged with something she couldn't quite name.

"Now, boys, behave yourselves!" Ella said, her British accent sharp, her tone admonishing. She tried to sound confident, but her voice wavered slightly. "The coach will be here any moment now!"

"But we haven't done anything..." one of the players behind her said, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

"Yet!" another added, his tone sly.

The group erupted into another round of snickers, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls. Ella crossed her arms beneath her chest, her posture stiff, her expression icy. She was trying to appear stern, but inside, she was shaken. Still, she held her ground, her chin lifted, her gaze sharp. Her usual icy demeanor came off as more arrogant than authoritative, but she didn't care. She needed to regain control.

Then, suddenly, a hand snuck up underneath her short skirt, groping her. Ella gasped, slapping it away and spinning around quickly. Her face flushed with anger and embarrassment, but she couldn't tell who had done it. The players around her wore identical smirks, their eyes glinting with mischief.

"Hey, stop that!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the room. She scanned the group, her finger pointing accusingly at the five or six players closest to her. "Who was that?!"

Before she could react, hands grabbed her from behind--rough, calloused hands, strong and unyielding. It happened so fast she didn't have time to react. One moment she was standing tall, the next she was pinned, immobilized. She could see the two men gripping her arms, their fingers digging into her skin, but behind her was a blur of bodies, too many to count. She twisted, trying to break free, but their strength was overwhelming. Ella opened her mouth to speak, to protest, to demand they stop--but before she could get a word out, more hands reached beneath her skirt. Fingers groped, squeezed, and played with her defenseless ass.

"I said stop! Guys, let me go!" she shouted, her voice cracking with a mix of anger and fear. But her words only seemed to fuel them. More hands reached for her, slipping beneath her skirt, groping, exploring. She felt fingers slide under the edge of her panties, cold and invasive against her skin.

"Stop!" Ella squealed. She twisted and squirmed, trying to break free, but the brutish hands holding her were impossibly strong. These men were athletes, their bodies honed for power and endurance, and she was no match for them. She realized, with a sinking feeling, just how utterly helpless she was, surrounded by these towering, muscular figures.

Then Bill leaned in, resting his chin on her slim shoulder so he could look at her from behind. He was massive--a broad-shouldered man with a confident swagger that matched his reputation. Bill was the star quarterback, the one everyone said was destined for the pros. His presence was overwhelming, his breath hot against her neck.

Ella's eyes widened as she felt fingers pinching her rear end, then sliding lower, toying with her most intimate area. Her breath hitched, her body stiffening in shock. Bill laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a chill down her spine.

"Stop that, Bill!"Ella shrieked, her voice high-pitched and desperate. "Stop, just stop! Take your fingers out of my ass!"

Bill grinned, his face a picture of mock innocence. "What are you talking about, babe? I'm not doing anything!"

Ella's breath hitched as the quarterback raised his hands, showing her his palms like some kind of twisted proof of innocence. "See?" he said, his tone light, almost playful, as if this were all some harmless game. But it wasn't. Not to her.

Before she could respond, she felt more hands--rough and insistent--creeping up between her ass cheeks. At least two, maybe three players were groping her now, their fingers probing, exploring, taking advantage of her helplessness. Her body shuddered involuntarily, a mix of disgust and unwanted sensation coursing through her.

"Oh God! Whoever's doing that--please stop it!" she pleaded, her voice trembling. She twisted her body, trying to break free, but it was useless. Their hands were everywhere, their strength overwhelming. She was trapped.

"Jesus, guys, what a view!" Bill's voice cut through the chaos, his tone dripping with admiration. He was standing close, too close, his eyes locked on her chest. Ella's tank top was flimsy, tight, and she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts--full, real, and impossible to ignore--were on full display. Bill didn't hesitate. He reached down, his hands closing over her, squeezing and fondling her as if she were some kind of trophy.

"Nooooooooooooooo!" Ella screamed, her voice raw with despair. She thrashed, trying to pull away, but Bill's grip was firm as he manhandled her big tits.

The team closed in tighter. A couple of the men in front of the redhead reached under her skirt, grappling for her. Ella let out a faint, helpless cry, but no one paid it any mind. The air was thick, heavy. She was alone in the crowd.

The locker room was thick with the smell of sweat and cheap cologne. Bill stood there, his hand firm on Ella, his fingers working with a practiced ease. She squirmed, her breath quick, her face flushed.

"Nice rack, Bill?" one of the guys asked, his grin wide, his eyes locked on Ella.

Bill didn't look up. His grip tightened on her, his fingers pinching hard. She gasped, her body jerking slightly. "Dude," he said, his voice low, steady, "best I've ever had my hands on."

The others murmured, their voices low but eager. One of them laughed, sharp and loud. "Fucking rights, look at the rack on this chick!" one player yelled.

"First time I saw her on campus, I knew I had to grab a hold of those puppies!" joined in another player.

"First night after I saw her on campus I jacked off--and imaged spraying my load over those sweet boobies!" another player chimed in.

Suddenly there was a a loud rip as Bill tore apart the thin fabric of Ella's tank.

"NO!" she screamed as her breasts spilled free, heavy and full, swaying slightly as they were exposed to the cool air. The men around stared in lust at the redhead's stupendous set of tits, which were large like melons and--best of all--completely natural. Her skin flushed red, her nipples already stiff, betraying her fear or something else--she couldn't tell.

"Please, Bill!" Her voice cracked, desperate. Her wrists were pinned, held tight by one of the others. She couldn't move, couldn't cover herself. She bit her lip, hard, trying to steady herself, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her shame. "Stop it!"

Bill laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Finally," he said, his voice loud, triumphant. "The Ice Queen melts. All semester, every guy here's tried to get with you. And you shut every one of us down. Now it's our turn."

The quarterback went back to playing with her magnificent breasts. His hands were rough, calloused from years of football, but they moved with a kind of practiced ease. He grabbed her breasts, squeezing hard, testing their weight. They were heavy, fuller than he'd imagined, and he couldn't help but grin. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, teasing them, twisting until she gasped, her body twisting too, trying to pull away. But there was nowhere to go. The others cheered, their voices loud, urging him on.

One by one, the players joined in. Hands everywhere, grabbing, groping, pinching. Ella's breath came in short, sharp gasps as they took turns, each one eager to feel her, to claim their piece of her.

The hands on her upper body were rough, but they were nothing compared to what was happening below. Beneath her skirt, fingers moved with a kind of savage freedom, exploring her most intimate places. They rubbed her clit, pushed into her slick, tight hole, and played with her asshole. Ella's mind struggled to keep up. One thick finger pushed deep inside her, only to be replaced by another, then another. The rhythm was relentless, each movement sending shockwaves through her body. The sensations were overwhelming, a chaotic mix of pleasure and violation that she couldn't escape.

She heard the sound of fabric tearing, felt the cool air on her skin as her panties were ripped away. They hung in tatters at her thighs, then fell to the ground, useless. The shirt was gone, the panties destroyed. Eleven men surrounded her, their breath hot, their hands eager. Where was the coach? Where was the photographer? The questions flickered in her mind, but there were no answers. Only the hands, the fingers, the relentless invasion.

Ella felt her arms go loose. The hands that had held her wrists were gone, now busy with the redhead. She twisted and fought against the eleven men, her body tense, her breath short, but it was useless. Even one of them could have taken her down and she knew. Eleven of them together made it impossible. Thick fingers pushed into her, deep and unrelenting, moving with a crude rhythm. Others groped and pinched her nipples, their hands cruel and unyielding. Some of them got tired of her cries and shoved their fingers into her mouth, forcing her to taste herself.

"Jesus, Franklin, you feel these tits?" one of them said.

"Hell yeah," Franklin replied. "They're perfect. Can't wait to wrap them around my big dick!"

"Nah, man, I get to titty-fuck this bitch first!"

"Can't wait to feel her. Look at how tight she is@ My fingers can barely move. Imagine what it'll be like with my cock."

Another man laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Yeah, we're gonna wreck her today. Think you can take all of us, you little slut? Eleven honking boners just for you?!"

Ella tried to speak, to push back, but the fingers in her mouth muffled her words. All that came out were strained, angry grunts, which only brought more chuckles directed back at her.

She felt the rough hands tear at her mini-skirt, the fabric giving way with a sharp rip. It fell to the ground, ruined. The redhead let out a low, desperate moan, her voice trembling. They had stripped her of everything but her socks and sneakers! Her mind raced, panic setting in as she thought of how she would make it back to her apartment like this. Her blue eyes, wide with fear, darted around, searching for an escape that wasn't there. Her young body, strong and defiant, twisted and fought against the hands that held her.

But the fight was useless. The football team was too strong, too many. Her struggles only seemed to fuel them, their laughter rough and cruel. They moved with a renewed hunger, their hands rough and unrelenting. She felt their fingers, calloused and unyielding, pushing into her, moving fast and without mercy.

She was pinned against a locker, her legs forced apart, a large hand moving in and out of her with relentless speed. She tried to push hand away, but it was no use.

"Stop! Ahh!" Ella cried and moaned, her eyes staring at the fingers going in and out of her pussy. "I said... AAhh! Ahh!"

The men held her there until her protests turned to uncontrollable moans.

"You like that, don't you, you slut?" one of them growled, his voice thick with desire. He was Hispanic, his eyes dark and wild, his body towering over her like a predator. "Shit, baby! We're gonna fuck you so good!"

Another voice, deep and booming, joined in. "You're sweet little pussy's gonna get pounded by our huge dicks. You're only gonna want to fuck football players from now on!" He was a big black man, his muscles taut beneath his clothes, his confidence as unshakable as his grip on her. He gestured to the bulge in his pants, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

Alarmed, Ella's eyes dropped, and she saw it: thick, hard, straining against the fabric of their shorts. Every man, every player, rigid and unyielding. She squirmed, but there was no escape. Her gaze darted, wild, like a cornered animal, taking in the swollen outlines, the undeniable truth of their arousal. The room felt heavy, the air thick with tension. Things were moving too fast, too far.

For a moment, just a moment, they forgot her mouth. Her voice broke free, raw and desperate. "Please... no! God, no! Stop! I don't want--!"

The words were cut short as rough fingers shoved back into her mouth. The men laughed, harsh and unfeeling. They enjoyed her fear, the way she struggled to stifle her cries. Ella's moans escaped anyway, raw and desperate.

"Shut the fuck up, you snooty cunt," Bill's voice cut through and his hand came down hard on the young woman's ass, the sound of the slap echoing off the tiled walls and making her yelp. He leaned in closer, his face twisted with mockery. "Oh, I'm Ella," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he mimicked a bad English accent. "The hot little tramp from jolly old England! I talk in this sexy English acento and like to tease all the guys on campus, but I won't give it up! I'm the biggest little cock-tease exchange student this side of Chattanooga!"

The men laughed, a rough, ugly sound. All the men laughed at Bill's horrible rendition of an English accent, but the consensus was clear on everyone's faces: this uptight British bitch that had turned them all down was due for a comeuppance. It was payback time, and they were going to do a lot more than simply cop a feel!

The men turned Ella on her back and went to explore her ass. With no warning, they shoved their fingers on her ass. Ella let out a gut-churning, muffled screech, despite having three thick fingers shoved past her lips as well, gagging her, very muscle taut, her hands clawing at the air. The players before had teased her before but this was diferente. This was deep, and going deeper.

"Good golly, Miss Molly! You gotta feel this. Her asshole--tight as a vice. Can't even get a second finger in."

"Let me try, Dylan!" the player next to the first man said. His finger replaced his friend's, and he pushed it hard up Ella's resisting anal-sphincter until he was knuckle deep. Ella moaned and almost rolled her eyes. "Sweet baby Jesus! You're right! This slut is tight!"

"Fuck, with this ass she can join the team! This bitch can be our tight end!"

"Ha ha! Our sweet little British tight-end!"

More jokes and more fingers came. They took turns, each man forcing his fingers into her, one after the other, relentless and unyielding. Ella's body jerked and twisted, but there was no escape. She was trapped, her cries muffled by the fingers thrust into her mouth. And she felt each finger going deep in her ass, to the point that her skin was glistening under the dim light, slick with sweat. Her breasts heaved with each labored breath, her nipples hard and taut. The men spun her around and took turns fingerfucking her in all her three orifices.

Ella couldn't hold back her moans any longer. Too many hands on her body, too many finger inside her - Two fingers, three fingers, sometimes even four orr five of them buried deep, twisting and turning without mercy! Her pussy was soaked, a mess of slickness and convulsions. Her ass was no better, clenched tight but forced open by their relentless assault. She breathed heavily and stop fighting, mindlessly sucking away on whoever's fingers were thrust between her lips. Her body was a map of their desire, every inch of her skin marked by their touch.

The team grew tired of teasing. They pushed the redhead onto her knees. She knelt there, docile, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop what was coming. Ella bit her lower lip, a small, almost cute gesture, and watched as the eleven football players undressed quickly, their movements sharp and urgent. Despite her awful situation, she couldn't help but notice their bodies--hard, defined, muscles taut under the dim light.

But it wasn't their bodies that held her attention. It was their cocks--thick, heavy, and ridiculously large! Each one seemed bigger than the last. The white players had pink, flesh-colored cocks. The Hispanics, lighter brown. The black players, massive and dark. The smallest of them was still at least eight inches, a length that would have been more than enough for her on any other day. But here, now, it was almost absurd. They were all huge--and she couldn't look away!

Ella felt pussy slick, dripping with a feverish wetness that pulsed with every heartbeat. It wasn't just the rough fingers that had been inside her, working her with a savage intensity--it was the thought of them, all of them, standing around her in a tight circle, their cocks hard and ready, their eyes burning with desire. She could feel the weight of their stares, the heat of their bodies, and it made her ache in ways she hadn't allowed herself to feel in months. She hadn't meant to be cold with the boys on campus, to push them all away. She wasn't that kind of girl. But there was a man back home, someone she loved, and she had tried to stay true. She had fought to keep her desires locked down, to ignore the way her body ached for the touch of another. It hadn't been easy. The past few months had been a grind, a war between her mind and her flesh. But now, here, in this room, with these hung men, all that resistance had fallen apart.

The football players had been relentless, their hands and fingers exploring her with a hunger that matched her own. They had taken turns, each one adding to the fire that burned inside her. And there was more to come. She could feel it in the air, in the way they moved, in the way they looked at her. Her pussy clenched at the thought, a fresh wave of wetness spilling out of her. She was soaked, her thighs slick with it, and the scent of her arousal filled the room.

Ella's mind raced, her thoughts a jumble of lust and guilt and need. She wanted this. She wanted them. And yet, a part of her still clung to the idea of loyalty, to the man she had left behind. But that part was small, growing smaller with every passing second. Her body was on fire, her pussy throbbing with a need that couldn't be ignored. She was horny, so fucking horny!

But there is still a difference, a clear and sharp one, between primitive desire and logical reasoning. The kind of difference that cuts through the fog of want and lays things bare. Her pussy was wet, but her mind, cold and calculating, told her to get out. To leave and not look back. It wasn't a suggestion--it was a command.

Ella's mind was a storm of wild, untamed thoughts, but they were cut short by the sharp crack of flesh against flesh. A loud smack echoed, and her cheek stung. Ella blinked, trying to understand what happened, until it sunk on her: she was slapped by a cock! The force of it snapped her back to the present, to the raw, unfiltered reality of where she was and what was happening.

"Time to work, bitch!" the guy that slapped said, grabbing her head and rubbing his cock and balls all over her face before she could react in any way. Around her, seven or eight men stood, their erections jutting out, swinging wildly as they tried to hit her face. The space was cramped, chaotic, and thick with the heat of bodies. Behind her, hands groped and squeezed her breasts, rough and demanding. Two men dropped to their knees, their fingers and mouths seeking the warmth between her legs.

Ella's voice broke, raw and desperate. "Oh, God, please stop that!" she cried out, her words slicing through the room. "Stop it!" Her face contorted, twisting left and right, but there was no escape. No refuge. The men loomed over her, their bodies thick and unyielding, their laughter harsh and unrelenting. They swung their cocks at her, one after the other, heavy and unmerciful, battering her face without pause. The men laughed harder, their voices booming, mocking her misery.

Behind her, two more men worked with brutal efficiency, their thick fingers driving into her, relentless and unforgiving. She gasped, her body trembling, and made to open her mouth to moan.

As soon as she did, a cock was swiftly stuffed inside her mouth!

Ella froze, stunned, as the cock filled her mouth. It happened fast--too fast. Her eyes fluttered open while the man, whoever it was, palmed the back of her head and began to thrust past her lips, he toungue tasting salt, sweat and precum.

She glared up at him, her eyes sharp enough to cut glass. If looks could kill, he'd have been dead ten times over. But her anger was useless and almost ridiculous. The guy just smiled back to her as he pushed deeper, forcing his manhood to the back of her throat. Ella gagged, her body fighting against the intrusion, but he didn't stop. He just kept going, relentless, his rhythm unbroken. Soon her jaw was stretched wide open and somehow her molester was able to cram his big dick all the way to the back of her throat, battering it ruthlessly.

"Yeah, that's how I liked, cunt!" said the guy, starting to facefuck her.

Ella let out a low, broken sound, a whimper that escaped her lips as she tried to make sense of the raw, unrelenting truth of her situation. Her body tensed, her mind struggled, but there was no escape, no pause. The man drove into her with a force that left no room for thought, only the harsh rhythm of his movements. And then, just as suddenly as it began, he withdrew, leaving her gasping, her lungs desperate for air. But there was no time to recover. Another man stepped forward--a towering figure, his presence as imposing as his size. His hands gripped her head, firm and unyielding.

"Listen to me, go eas--" Her words were cut short as the man thrust the rigid pole back between her lips. He drove his cock hard and unrelenting, each thrust hitting the back of her throat, deep and unforgiving. He kept at it, facefucking her with a rhythm that was brutal and efficient, and she gagged, the sound raw and choked. It only seemed to spur him on, pushing harder, deeper.

Minutes passed like hours before he finally let her pull away. She gasped, her lungs clawing for air. "Too rough--" she started, but her words were silenced. A black man grabbed her head, turned it sharply, and shoved his cock into her mouth.

"No talking," he said, his voice low and firm, plunging his cock deep into her throat and pulling her head in close. "Just sucking."

Ella's eyes stayed fixed on his shaft, his length pressing deep, forcing her to take all of him. Ella kept looking to his shaft, kind of impressive of herself while being forced to take all his nine inches in length. Her ended face buried in his pubes, her nose pressed into the coarse hair, the weight of him heavy against her chin. He held her there, firm, unyielding, until her body shuddered. She tried to pull back, to free herself, but his grip was iron. He didn't let her go. Instead, he stepped back, dragging her with him, his massive cock buried on her mouth. Ella had no choice but to move forwards, getting on all fours. Satifised with her new position, the guy started to facefuck her with such speed that Ella thought she was going to be sick.

GLURP! GLUG! GLURP! GLURP! GLUG! GLURP!

After a chorus of gagging, he pulled his cock out of her mouth.

Ella coughed. "Jezz..." her voice cracked, weak and pleading. "Guys, please, just... take it easy with me..."

But they didn't listen. They never did. Hands, rough and impatient, grabbed her head. She sucked in a sharp breath, filling her lungs before the next dick was shoved in her mouth. Hard. Relentless. She choked. Her eyes watered. Her mouth was stretched, forced open again and again. The sounds were harsh--grunts, gasps, the wet slap of flesh against flesh. Ella's world narrowed to the rhythm of it, the relentless push and pull.

It was only the beginning. She knew that now.

Eleven cocks. One after the other. No pause. No mercy. Ella's jaw ached, her throat burned. But she endured. She had to. The cocks came in all shapes, all sizes. Thick. Long. Dark. Uncut. Cut. Bulbous heads. Narrow shafts. Some curved, some straight. But none of them small, as having a big dick was a technical requirement for the players.

And none of them gentle.

The Georgia Tide Lions played hard. They took what they wanted, fast and fierce, like they were on the field. They lived hard and, when it came to sex, they didn't bother with slow or tender either. There were lions, after all, and Ella was their prey tonight, on the receiving end of the most fast and furious oral fucking on her life. The players crammed as much cock as they could inside the redhead's small mouth.

GLURP!! GLUG!! GLURP!!

The sounds were raw and wet. Gagging. Choking. The kind of noise that comes when there's no room left to breathe. Ella's throat stretched more and more, forced open by the sheer force of them, each player trying going deeper bit-by-bit so that they could stuff even more cock into her. They facefucked her so hard that she couldn't even see who was who, her sight limited to a blur of balls and dicks.

GLURP!! GLUG!! GLURP!! GLURP!! GLURP!!

Ella felt the weight of it, the raw, unrelenting force. The taste was bitter, sharp, and unclean, a mix of sweat and something else she didn't want to name. It clung to her tongue, her throat, as if it would never leave. She wondered how many hours they had spent preparing for this, how many times they had practiced before forcing themselves into her mouth. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts slick with spit, gleaming under the harsh light. The saliva spilled from. The facefucking went on relentless, the men driving into her like they were scoring a touchdown.

GLURP!!! GLUG!!! GLURP!!! GLURP!!! GLUG!! GLURP!! GLURP!!

They took turns, one after the other, and when each man had finished with her mouth at least three times, Ella's mind began to drift, lost in the haze of it all. It was relentless, one cock after another, no pause, no mercy--it got to a point that she grew accustomed to their the thickness of most of the erections, the way they filled her mouth, the vulgar pulse and throb of each one cock--though it never eased the choke or the struggle for air. She sucked when she had to, gagged often, and gasped for breath when they allowed it. Mostly, she breathed through her nose, frantic and uneven, her moans low and muffled.

The wet, urgent sounds of her mouth working, the slick, rhythmic noise of flesh meeting flesh created an extremely sordid atmosphere within the locker room. There was no mistaking what was happening there--this was sex, bare, primitive, stripped of pretense, stripped of love, stripped of anything but the need and the hunger of eleven men trying to fuck the brains out of a redhead.

As the men got more horny, the foced Ella to jack them off too. She didn't hesitate, Her fingers wrapped around whatever dock was within reach, stroking, pulling, her rhythm steady--most players even "helped" by gripping her hands and making sure she gave them a frenzied handjob.

The air was heavy, charged. The players had tasted her mouth, felt her hands, but that wasn't enough. They wanted more. She could see it in their eyes, feel it in the way they leaned closer, their breath hot and uneven. This was just the beginning. The real game was about to start.

CHAPTER 2

Bill moved ahead, his steps deliberate, and raised a hand to halt his teammates. Cocks were pulled from her mouth and hands, and Ella was lifted to her feet. She stood unsteadily, her body trembling, saliva dripping from her mouth and falling onto her breasts.

Ella was not sure what would happen next. The urge to finger herself was strong, almost overwhelming, and she almost did it right there in fron of everyone, her hands dropping to her wet pussy. At last moment, however, she took hold of herself and move her hands to simply cover her pussy from the men. Truth be told, se didn't even knew where to look--uncapable of face the players, he eyes went gazing from one hard dick to another. Even with Bill--despite everything, her eyes locked on his erect dick and didn't leet go.

Bill smirked and leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "You alright, doll?"

Ella flinched. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "Yes," she said, barely above a whisper. "Please, Bill... I-I-I've learned my lesson, okay? Just... just let me go. Let's end this here, okay?"

Her eyes were wide, pleading, Bill grinned, a slow, easy smile that didn't reach his eyes. His hands slid around her waist, firm but not unkind.

"Yeah," he said, his voice low. "Of course."

For a moment, Ella's fear gave way to relief. She almot threw her arms around him "Oh, thank you," she breathed, her voice cracking.

"But first..." Bill said, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Ella stiffened. "But first?" she asked, her voice small, the dread creeping back in.

Bill moved with purpose. He grabbed Ella and pulled her close, pressing her body tight against his. His erection bobbed beneath her slippery slit. His friends, standing nearby, also acted quickly. They lifted Ella, who let out a yelp, holding her steady for a moment, giving Bill the chance to slide his arms beneath her thighs, his hands gripping her backside, fingers digging into her flesh.

"Bill!" Ella let out a low, trembling sound.

"We're all worked up for you, Ella," Bill said, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on her. His grin was wide, his gaze lingering on her body, exposed and vulnerable in his grasp. "You're not going anywhere until we're done with you. You can't leave us like this."

"Oh, God,,." Ella whimpered. "Please, don't--Aah!!!" Her plea broke into a sharp cry, raw and unfiltered, as she felt the pressure of Bill's cockhead was nudging against the entrance of the her pussy lip. It was thick and hard, and as Bill eased her down, it felt like it was splitting her open. Ella's cunt was tight, and she clung to his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin. He held her weight in his arms, strong and steady, and there was no stopping it now. She sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch, until she was seated fully on him, his length buried deep inside her.

"Oh, my fucking God! Bill!" Ella screamed. Her face was a picture of raw feeling. Her pussy quivered, stretched and full in a way she'd never known. Her eyes were wide, glazed with lust, her mouth slack. Low, guttural groans escaped her, unbidden. Bill's cock--nine inches of hard, unyielding flesh--filled her completely, stretching her in ways she couldn't have imagined. She felt every inch of him, and it was overwhelming, primal, and real.

Bill's grin was sharp, cruel. "Damn, you've got a tight little pussy," he said, his voice low and rough. "Don't worry, we'll fix that for you. Call it a public service."

With that said, and the accompanying barrage of laughter, Bill lifted the redhead atop his dick as if she weighed nothing. Ella's body, delicate and trembling, was no match for his strength. He held her there for a moment, suspended, before letting her drop back on his cock. She fell hard, impaled on him, the force of it driving a cry from her lips.

"AAAAH!!!" Ella clenched her teeth. "AH! UUUHN! UH, UH, UH!"

The sound of skin meeting skin was sharp, relentless, filling the locker room. As Bill's body moved against Ella's, unyielding, the wails of a young woman getting sexualy demolished became music.

"UH! OH! OOoooOOH FUCK!! FUCK, FUCK, FUUUUCK!!" Ella moaned every time she sunk on his Bill's big dick. "OH GOD!! NO!! GOD, NO!! FUCKING GOD!!

"Loving my big dick, aren't you, bitch?!" Bill mocked, making her bounced like a doll on his lap.

"FUCK YOU, BILL!" Ella snarled, holding her face and bitting her lips, trying to hold back a tortured scream.

"Say that again!" Bill went on to, impaling his nine-inches of cock on her at each trust. "I. Dare. You!"

Ella just clenched her teeth, hard, as he drove into her.

Every time he thrust, it was like a lightning bolt tearing through her wet pussy, sharp and electric. She felt it deep, raw, and unrelenting. It was wild, untamed, and it left no room for thought--only feeling. It was madness, pure and simple. There was no fight left in her now. Her head fell forward, and the sound that came from her was raw, unfiltered. She liked it. Her legs trembled, and Bill took that as his cue. He slammed into her harder, faster, and her eyes rolled back.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"Yeah!!!! Cum for me, slut!"

Ella was acutely aware of her body, every sensation sharp and unrelenting. She fought it, clenched her teeth, held her breath, but the wave came anyway, unstoppable. When it broke, she opened mouth and started screaming in pure ecstasy.

"OHHHHHhhH! FUCKING. BIG!! SOOoooo...! GOOOD! P! HUH! HUH!! HUUUGH!!

The men around them roared, a chorus of approval, their voices sharp and hungry for their turn. Bill looked to Ella voice, and he drove into her harder, his rhythm punishing, unyielding. Ella's cries grew louder, but he didn't care if she found pleasure or pain. It didn't matter to him when she came, her body tightening around him, because his goal wasn't her satisfaction. He wanted to see her break, to see her unravel beneath him.

He fucked her for several minutes until his arms started to go tired. When he was done, spent and slick with sweat, he just passed her off to the next man without a word. Ella looked up to new guy and found determined eyes. Something felt broken inside her. The man started to fuck the same way that Bill did--standing up--so all she could do was wrap her legs and arms around the man and hold on for dear life while he gripped her luscious ass and moved her up and down on his swollen member.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Ella's moans filled the room again, but the sound was distant now, almost hollow.

The game went on.

Ella was passed from one teammate to the next, and it wans't long before she she was a mewling, incoherent mess--no longer herself, just a trembling, whimpering figure lost in the chaos. Its not like she wanst trying to resist, though, as the voice of reason echoed deep in Ella's mind, a faint whisper urging her to resist, to hold on, to not let them see how good they were at breaking her. But with every thrust, every hard cock driving into her, that voice grew quieter, drowned out by the raw, primal need to fuck. Her wet pussy took over, and she started to cum, hard.

Despite her resistence, the redhead reached an orgasm at least five times, her body writhing uncontrollably. The men showed no sign of stopping, however, as none of them had cum yet--it was a game to them, a brutal contest, each one trying to make her scream louder than the last.

They took turns driving into her with a savage intensity, indifferent to her cries, her pleas, her despair. When the last of them was done, she was handed once more to Bill. He didn't hold back. He slammed into her with a force that made her body arch and her voice break into a shriek of pure, raw ecstasy.

"HUUUUUUuuuuuugghhhhhhh...!!!" she squealed passionately as her orgasm hit like far more intense than the first time he was inside her, and her muscles clenched so tightly around him that his body was forced out of hers, the sheer intensity of it sending her flying backward. Ella bounced off Bill, her body limp--she was lucky that two guys caught her before she could hit the ground. They held her there, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body still trembling from the aftershocks.

The two men let Ella go, and she dropped to the ground like a sack of grain. Her legs were useless, shaking too hard to hold her up. She lay there, trembling, her body hot and slick with sweat. Her skin was flushed, red as fire, and her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Ella could feel the wetness between her legs, a sticky mess pooling beneath her. It ran down her thighs, soaking into the floor. Her mind was foggy, but she knew why she felt this way. Eleven men had taken her, one after the other, and now her body was wrecked, trembling with the aftershocks.

"Holy shit," she muttered, her words slurred and heavy. "I've never... never cum so hard in my life!"

She didn't notice the grin on her face, wide and unguarded. It was the kind of grin that comes unbidden. It made her look wild, slutty, and far more fuckable. The guys around let her stand there for a moment, her breath shallow, her eyes wide, before they picked her up off of the ground for the next round.

Ella didn't even seem to register what was happening until she was pressed her against the cold metal of the locker. She made her bent forward, her body yielding, her ass exposed and she didn't fight, didn't scream--not yet. Then they spread her legs, and Ella kinda of awake to her surroundings. It was late already, however--one of the big Hispanic players was already fucking her from behind.

Ella looked back to her. She opened her mouth to say something, but was unsure of what--she just stood there, her body trembling, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, watching his body collide against her beautfull ass, every thrust forcing a soft grunt out of her lips.

"Fucking Christ!" the Hispanic player told his teammates. "This cooze's cunt is even tighter now!"

Ella got fucked even harsher than before, but it wasn't long before a sharp, guttural cry tore from her throat--a sound that only a bitch cumming like crazy could make.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"Ah! Uhn! Ahhh!"

The players formed a rough line and took turns drilling the redhead's pussy with a force that left her breathless. Ella's face was pressed against the cold metal of the lockers, her hands flat against the surface, fingers splayed. Some gripped her breasts, the flesh spilling through their fingers as they moved. Others explored her ass, fingers probing, invading, leaving her no room to escape.

Ella could nothing but endure--she was immobilized, not just by their strength but by the waves of ecstasy that rolled over her body. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, and her muscles tensed and relaxed in a rhythm that was beyond her control. She could fell her pussy stretched to its limits, her small frame struggling to accommodate them. It didn't take long for Ella to begin experiencing wave after wave of gut-wrenching orgasms that took place every few minutes.

Whether the dick was eight-inches, nine-inches or some rare ten-inches long--Ella's snatch had no choice but to take in and accept every inch that was offered. Whatever its size, that cock buried itself deeply within her cunt. And the players themselves didn't care if she had just cum or not--if Ella's pussy was spewing out her fiery juices, they crammed their thick erections into her regardless, ignoring her pleas of respite. Some guys fucked her so hard that her feet actually came off the floor.

Ella didn't know for how long they fucked her that way, only that, as time went flying, the voice of reason inside her had almost faded completly, and the strong tingling emanating from her body started to take over, stemming from the intense pleasure she was receiving, each orgasm crushing her mind. The wickedness of feeling every nasty inch from the multiple giant dicks that rammed into her, the filthy stench of the men's locker room clinging to her nostrils, the sensation of nearly a dozen rock-hard and sweat masculine bodies pressed against her lone nubile form drowned Ella's senses to the sinful immorality of her situation.

At that point Ella just snapped and stopped fighting her base instincts. She gave into her own lecherous desires. Gone was the voice of reason and it helped that every orgasm felt better than the last one, so she was less ashamed to be frankly with herself. Even the monstrous erections--that penetrated her so deeply and stretched her out so fully--felt less painful, and instead more gratifying. She realized that big dicks were something that she could get used to, that perhaps her boyfriend back in England wouldn't be able to satisfy her any longer.

She just couldn't resist their big cocks.

"UNGH!! OH YEAH!! FUCK ME!! AAAHHH!!! FUCK ME!! OH GOD!! OHHHHH!! YESSS, JUST LIKE THAT!! USE ME LIKE A LITTLE BRITISH WHORE!! HARDER, MOTHERFUCKER! UUUNNNGGHH!! OH SHIT, YOUR COCK IS SO FUCKING HUUUUGGE!!" she wailed out teasingly, not holding back any longer and urging her ass up to meet his rapid stroking. "FUCK ME WITH THAT BIG. AMAZING. BLACK. COCK!! OHHHHHHH!!! FUCK MY TINY. LITTLE. CUNNY!!"

"Holy fuck!" cried the man whose shaft was pumping into Ella, caught off guard by her change in attitude.

Not only was the girl simply stunning, her mouth spewed out a litany of naughty words that would make an army sergeant blush! He didn't mind, however, as it only served to increase his desire. Slapping her ass, the black football player grunted loudly as he pistoned in and out of that incredibly sweet pussy even harder than before, and placing his thumb over Ella's anal-sphincter.

"YES, YES, YES!!! AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Her brain and tongue could not collaborate to form more words. Her head bounced with each thrust that seemed to fill her entire body.

He slapped her ass. "WHO'S THE BITCH IN HEAT!?" snarled the man as he vigorously stuffed the girl with his cock. "C'mon--SAY IT! WHO WANTS COCK?! You want it, bitch, don't you!? You want this big fat cock stuffed up your little pussy!! Say you want it!!"

He kept on yelling and slapping her over and over, until Ella couldn't take it anymore.

She burst out, "I'M A THE BITCH, I'M A THE BITCH, I'M A THE BITCH! FUCK! FUCK ME MORE!! UNGH!! The words flew from her lips and she thrust back against the big black cock invading her tight channel like a wild animal.

Ella speared herself on him as his cock stretched into her depth, squirming into her cervix and thrusting into her womb. "FUCK ME HARDER! HARDER! I WANT GIANT COCK!! I NEED IT! MORE, MORE! HARDER! UNGH!! I'M YOUR SLUT!! YES!! YES!! YES!! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Ella's body bucked uncontrollably, mouth hung open and eyes rolling back into her head, as she sprayed a shot of her sweet pussy juice right into the man's big cock.

"HOLY SHIT!" the man fucking her pulled back as another strong, hard squirt of clear cum followed the first one and sprayed all over the floor. The entire team just watched as Ella's body continued to buck and writhe as she squirted five more times from her pussy like a goddamn sprinkler.

Ella's legs gave out, and she fell hard, her body no longer hers to control. The madness of her orgasm had taken her, and she was lost in it, her mind blank, her muscles twisted and useless. Her long legs, once strong and sure, were tangled and weak, trembling as the waves of pleasure rolled through her. She lay there, stunned, her body shaking, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. It had been her first time, her first squirt, and it had hit her like a freight train. She thought it was over, but it wasn't. Not even close.

Then she felt them. The presence of men, their shadows looming over her. She looked up, her vision blurred, and saw them. Big, thick cocks in their hands, stroking slowly, waiting. She tried to speak, to tell them to just finish, to leave her alone, but the words caught in her throat.

One of them moved. A Hispanic guy, tall and lean, stepped forward. He didn't say a word. He just grabbed her legs, forcing them up and apart until they were pinned to the floor on either side of her head. Having her body stretched in away she was not used to, Ella cried out, a sharp, desperate sound, but he didn't stop. He pushed his cock long and hard into her, driving deep into her already spent body. She screamed, her voice breaking, but he didn't care. He held her legs tight, his grip unyielding, and fucked her with a brutal, relentless rhythm.

"Aaaaaah! No, wait! Mothefucker, just let me rest!"

The man ignored her. His hands gripped her legs, hard, and he pushed himself into her without hesitation. Ella tried to speak, her voice breaking, her eyes rolling back, but the words came out fragmented, lost in the rhythm of his thrusts. He didn't stop. He didn't slow. Her protests turned to cries, sharp and loud, filling the room as he drove into her, over and over, until the sound of her voice become horny moans.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"Ahn, ahn, aaaah! Mothefucker! Uhn! Uhn, Uhn, Uhn, Uhn!" Ella cold feel that same heat growing on her pussy again.

"C'mon, bitch!" he said, going full speed. "Do it again!"

Ella's breath came in short, sharp gasps, her body taut like a wire stretched to its limit. Her teeth clenched, a low, guttural sound escaping her throat, raw and unfiltered. "Fuuuuuuck," she hissed, the word cutting through the stillness, sharp as a blade.

Her mind splintered, fractured under the weight of sensation, the relentless pressure building inside her, unyielding and consuming. Her eyes darted, wild and unfocused, taking in the figures around her. Men, football players, their faces shadowed, their hands jerking off cocks.

Big. Massive. Tasty. Cocks.

Just waiting to fuck her again.

Ella was honest with herself: she loved the vulgar sex, loved being roughed up, and loved being taken against her will. She didn't dwell on those thoughts--couldn't dwell on them--and what that could ultimately mean for her. Instead, the gorgeous Brit surrendered herself to those scandalous cravings, indecent and degrading as they were.

She cried out as if she was being murdered, her voice sharp and raw, as her body tensed and then released. Clear liquid shot from her pussy, uncontrolled, splashing on the man's cock, balls and the floor.

The Hispanic man grinned, his teeth white against his dark skin, and he pulled from her, so everyone could see was she squirted again.

Ella's legs trembled, her muscles tight and then loose, as the orgasms tore through her. She squirted again a third time, the liquid arcing through the air, soaking the floor, everything. The guys roared their aproval and the Hispanic stepped back, still grinning produly. He left her there on the floor her body still shaking, her eyes glazed over, her mouth open in a silent scream.

She was still there, still trembling and not totally recovered from her orgams, when the next man stepped forward. He didn't wait, didn't ask. He just took her, his cock slamming into her, hard and fast. She cried out again, pleading for a moment.

The man fucked her brains out, and then she squirted once more, the liquid pouring out of her if her pussy was a broken faucet.

Another man stepped up, and then another. It was a competition now, a game: who could make her squirt, how much she could squirt, and how long.

They're fucking me to death, Ella thought, as each men took their turn on her. They fucked her in the cold floor until either she squirted of they got tired. Not all of them managed--she wans't a fucking hydrant--but she couldn't deny that they did manage to make her orgasm several times, to the point that she lost control of her bladder and pissed herself. Ella, however, was too lost on her orgasms to noticed that.

Bill was the last to try to make her squirt on the floor, and he actually managed. As he got off her and another guy aproached, Ella sudenlly bluterd out, "Bill, let me ride you!"

The men laughed, loud and cruel. Bill sat on the benach and the others brought her to him, made her squat, made her mount him. They jeered, their voices cutting through the air like knives. They called her names--whore, cunt, skank, slut, bitch--words that hung in the room like smoke. Ella didn't flinch. She was past that. She knew how terribly real everything was that was happening to her and had already been fucked to the point of exhaustion, but since there was nothing she could do to end it, she should a least try to enjoy everything.

She reached down, her fingers soft and pale, and wrapped them around his hard thick. She guided him to her pussy, the tip easily sliding through her wetness. Ella sank onto him, slow at first, then faster, her body moving with a rhythm that was all her own. She moaned, low and deep, her voice carrying the weight of her pleasure. Her thighs tightened, her body rising and falling, taking him in, all of him, again and again.

"Damn, you do love my big dick, uh?" Bill slapped her ass, the sound sharp and sudden, and then his hands were on her breasts, squeezing, kneading, claiming her. She cried out, her voice raw, her words tumbling out in a frenzy.

"Yes, Bill, I fucking do!" Ella rose up, his cock nearly slipping out of her, then slammed back down, taking him deep, so deep. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her skin slick with sweat. "You're a son-of-a-bitch, but a son-of-a-bitch with BIG. THICK. MARVELOUS. COCK!" Ella bounced with each word, her voice breaking. "Harder! Uhn! Don't stop! Ahh! More! Give me more! Fuck me, Bill. FUCK ME!"

Her body tightened, her muscles clenching around him as she came, her cries echoing in the room. She shuddered, her movements slowing but not stopping, her pleasure spilling over, consuming her.

"I'm coming," she gasped, her voice barely a whisper now. "I'm cumming, Bill. Oh God, Bill, I'M CUMMING ON YOU BIG DICK."

And then she was still, her body spent, her breath ragged, her heart pounding. Bill slapped her ass one more time, and then she was yanked of him to ride the others.

Ella rode them hard and fast, her body moving with primal lust. Her hips swung left, then right, driving herself down onto each thick, rigid cock. She took every inch, her pace unyielding, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. Eleven men. Eleven cocks. Eleven rides. By the time she reached the last man, her cunt was slick and frothy, dripping with her own juices, pooling beneath her on the floor. She came again and again, her body convulsing, her cries sharp and guttural, filling the room with the sound of her pleasure.

Some grabbed her and she sunk on another dick. She rode eleven players once, now she would again, and again, and then they would fuck her in another position, and so on...

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Up and down. Up and down. Ella's ass bounced, her body writhing, her movements almost like a dance. She bit her lower lip, wild and lustful, her eyes glazed with pleasure. The men responded in kind, their own grunts mingling with her moans. They were lost in it, consumed by the heat of her, the way she took them, the way she moved her ass, her dump expression every time she was filled with cock.

"Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, God! Keep going! You guys are so fucking good at this!"

Ella came again, her body shuddering, her juices spilling out, coating the cocks that pistoned in and out of her. She rode them until her legs burned, until her muscles screamed, but she didn't stop.

An hour passed, maybe more. The men showed no sign of slowing, their cocks still hard, still demanding. Ella had lost count the number of times she had spewed her cum onto the engorged cocks that repeatedly rammed into her convulsing pussy. He body was slick with sweat, her movements slower now. She was getting tired and the men bored, so they when their positioned her for more harsh doggy-style fucking.

"Can't you guys just cum yet?!" she sighed, as player shoved his dick in her. A dozen thrusts later and she was moaning once more, her complains totally erased from her mind.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"Fuck! Yeah! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck! Your dick is so big, I love it!"

The next guy shoved her against a locker and went to fuck her pussy while shoving four fingers in her ass. Ella went crazy. She lost her voice while cumming. The man fucking her didn't like her silence, and hand came down hard on her skin, the sound echoing off the walls. His grip on her was rough, unyielding.

"Who's the biggest slut in the room?" he demanded, his voice low and harsh. He spanked her again, the force of it making her gasp. His fingers dug into her flesh, leaving marks. "Say it! Who wants to get fucked stupid all night? Who's the team slut?"

"I am, I am, I am!" Ella cried. She moved her hips, arching her back, pushing herself toward him, wanting more, needing it. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, and she let out a sharp cry. His hand came down again, harder this time, and she felt the sting of it deep inside her. He thrust harder, deeper, and she could feel him everywhere, filling her, owning her. He shoved his dicks back on her ass and she moaned

"God, I'm going to cum!"

"Then cum, you fucking bitch!"

He trusted his finger and cock so fast that Ella almost went limb. Her body tightened, coiled like a spring, and then it broke. She screamed, a raw, primal sound that tore through the room. "THAT'S IT!" she snarled, her voice wild, untamed. Her body shook as she came, her release hot and uncontrollable. "I AM CUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMING!"

Suddenly, a loud, commanding voice rang out in the locker room. "What the HELL is going on?!"

CHAPTER 3

The room went still. Twelve heads turned, sharp and sudden, toward the sound that had cut through the heat of the locker room. All eleven players and Ella froze, except for her convulsing pussy and the cock throbbing between her legs.

There he stood. Head Coach Charlie Daniels, a mountain of a man, fifty-five years old, black as midnight, with a belly that spoke of too many beers and a head of hair more salt than pepper. He loomed in the center of the room, his presence heavy, unshakable. Beside him Ella saw her photographer, Old Joe, camera in hand, silent, watching.

Coach Daniels' voice cut through the room like a whip. "What the hell are you doing!? What's going on here!?" The players stood still, like deer caught in the harsh glare of headlights, frozen and unsure. "Do I have to repeat myself?!" Coach Daniels yelled at them. His hands shot into the air, swinging wildly.

The room felt heavy, charged with tension, as if the air itself was holding its breath. No one moved. No one spoke. No one moved. Not the players, definelty not Ella, and neither coach or the photographer standing next to him. It was as if everyone was waiting for something, even thought no one knew what.

Ella locked eyes with Old Joe, her photographer. The old man stood there, his camera hanging from his neck, a tripod in one hand and a bag in the other. He was pale, his hair thinning, with a gray beard that clung to his face like moss on a weathered stone. Old Joe was nearly as tall as the coach but way more fat. To Ella, he had always seemed decent, a quiet man who did his work without complaint. But now his gaze was fixed on her like a hawk, and Ella was acutely aware of her undignified position--with her face and tits smashed against a locker, and a big black cock stuck really far up her pussy. Her body, slender and fragile, was pushed to its limits, slick with sweat and the unmistakable evidence of what had transpired. Her long hair clung to her skin, damp and tangled, plastered to her forehead and the curve of her back.

She looked exactly what she was--a girl gangbanged by a bunch of hung football players.

Charlie Daniels was harder to read. He stared at the redhead's naked body still attached to a player, and showed no metion. His face was a mask, carved out of stone. Was he angry? Shocked? It was hard to tell. But there was something in his eyes, something deeper. Disappointment, maybe. The man had been the head coach of Georgia Tide's football team for nearly twenty years. He was a fucking legend, second only to the college president in power and influence. When he spoke, people listened. When he commanded, people moved. His players feared him, respected him, would have run through hell for him. Even Ella, who didn't care much for football, knew that.

And now, Ella could feel the weight of his gaze on her body, heavy and unrelenting. Even thought she was the "victim", she couldn't deny a feeling of shame, as if she had done something wrong.

"Boys!" Coach Daniels called once more, this time on a more friendly tone. "Boys, do I really have do ask again? What the hell are you doing with this young woman here!? What the fuck are you doing!?"

The room was heavy with sweat and shame. The air clung to the walls like a wet towel. Ella enve caught in the corner of her eye that some dicks in the room were starting to go soft--all but the one still inside her, of course. That's when the voice of reason came back, low and quiet, whispering in her ear that this madness was about to end. It was coming, she could feel it. She almost called for help, but instead she just waited, still and silent, afraid that if she spoke something, she might scare away the hope of getting out of there.

One of the Hispanic players broke the silence, his voice low and hesitant, like a man trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. "Sir, this... This isn't what it looks like..."

"WHAT!?" Daniels roared back to him, his veins bulging like ropes under his skin. "Dom, do you take me for a fool!?" He turned to his quarterback, Bill, who was staring at the floor like it held the answers to all his problems. "Bill, are you guys all fucking this girl, taking turns!?"

Bill looked up, his face pale, his eyes hollow. "Coach Daniels, sir, we..." he started, his voice barely above a whisper, "Sir, we were just having a little fun..."

"Answer the goddamn question!!" Daniels barked, his voice like a gunshot.

"Y-yes, sir!" Bill stammered, his voice breaking. All the bravado was gone now, stripped away like a cheap suit. "W-we were taking turns fucking the model..."

Ella, still beding over, her body trembling with a big cock still inside her felt the weight of reason and hope fall on her like a crack of light in a dark room. Thank God, she thought, it's over, finally...

Daniels' face twisted, his rage boiling over.

"Goddamn! GodDAMN!" he bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder. The locker room seemed to shrink under the weight of his fury, the walls closing in, the air thick with regret and anger. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white, veins bulging like ropes under his skin. He was a man unhinged, a storm contained only by the thin veneer of his will.

The coach started pacing back and forth before the stunned onlookers, who were too afraid to move or even speak. They waited in silence--and bated breath--for what would happen next. Ella tried to push off the guy behind her, but the man hold her still.

Ella's mind raced. The fuck? She shoved him again, harder this time. The man didn't flinch. Instead, he gave her deliberate thrust, so sudden and hard that Ella almost let out a little yelp. Her eyes locked onto his face, but he wasn't even looking at her. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, on the coach, as if nothing had happened. Dude, just get off me, she thought, trying to push him again, Can't you see playtime's over, you idiot...?

"Guys, guys, guys!" Daniels' voice cut through the tension, loud but less angry now, more controlled. "What have I been telling you all year? Huh? You've got to work together! TEAMWORK! That's the mantra. That's what wins games!"

"Teamwork!" the players echoed, their voices a rough chorus. They glanced at each other, nodding slowly, the message sinking in.

Wait, what? Ella stopped struggling and blinked, her confusion sharp and sudden. What is going on?

Daniels halted his pacing and jabbed a finger toward Ella, his voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade. "Look at you guys," he said, his eyes hard. "All of you, taking turns? One after the other? Like she's some prize to be passed around? But where's the team, Huh? Where's the goddamn team?" He turned his head, his jaw tight, and barked, "Stewie! Bring her over here. To the bench. Now."

"What? No!" Ella's voice cut through the air. "Wait a second!" she said, her words quick, her eyes flashing. "Coach, you gotta help me! Those guys are raping me--EeK!!"

The big black player whose dick was still inside inside pussy--that was Stewie, by the way--spanked her ass. "No talking back to the coach!" he said, then went to spank her a dozen more times, making her squeal.

Once he was satisfied, Stewie, grabbed Ella just above the knees and pulled her feet off the floor, his cock still buried on her pussy. Stewie forced her legs into a V, making Ella fall into his torso. With no hesitation, he stood up straight with Ella's ankles still in hand, and began to walk very slow. He wanted everyone, specially the coach and the photographer, to see the black cock slammed deep into her clutching cunt.

"God, please..." Ella moaned, unable to do anything but stretch her arms backwards and hold Stewie neck to avoid fall on the floor.

Stewie finally settled her onto the bench in the middle of the locker room. She was on top of the bench, on her hands and knees, doggystyle. Before the entire football team and now with their coach and her photographer watching. Ella looked up to the men around--all dicks were hard again! She looked back to the coach towering before her, incredulous.

This isn't happening, this can't be real...

"Excelent!" the coach said, his eyes savoring her naked body, "You can keep the good work, Stewie."

"Yes, sir!" Stewie imediatly held on tight and started fucking Ella again, who had a stunned look of surprise on her face.

No, no, no, no, Ella thought, her body shaking with each thrust. This can't be happening...

She just stared at the coach, the little voice in her head refusing to believe. Surely, this had to be some cruel joke. Her eyes begged for help, for mercy. The coach remained silent, arms crossed, watching her get fucked on all fours like a whore.

"Please... ahh!" Ella pleaded, then looking over at the photographer. "Joe! Ughnghu-ugnghh...! Please-uhn, uhn uhnn! Sooooohh! So-o-meone...! OH! God, fuck! Ahn, Uhn, Aaaahn!"

None of the men moved and their inaction hurt Ella more than that forced gangbang (so far!). There she was, being ravaged by a dozen horny young men, and instead of helping, instead of doing something... Ella closed her eyes in denial, refusing to believe it was real. She sobbed in defeat, her head going down, her long red hair hiding her face. Stewie increased his pace, and soon she stopped sobbing and start to moan like a pornstar.

That whole situation was madness, and she might have convinced herself it was just a dream or a hallucination if not for her body jumping each thrust from Stewie, his cock sending jolts of electric shocks through her body--stronger, faster, deeper with every motion...

"Lets us see your face, girl," demanded Coach Daniels.

When Ella didn't comply, Stewie pulled her hair back, forcing her to lift her head and exposing her aroused slut face to the older men. Stewie then went on spanking and fucking her aggressively. "Listen to the coach, your dump whore!" He warned.

"OHHHH-OH-oOHHH-AIHHHHHHUHHHHH!" Ella gave her only answer. The harder he fucked her, the louder she moaned,. "OH, FUCK! I'M GETTING CLOSE!"

Coach Daniels stood there, his grin sharp, predatory, watching the redhead getting lost in her own climax. He waited a little longer befoire moving closer, her angelic frozen in an expression of pure animal lust. His voice went loud and commanding. "Very well, boys. Now get that through your heads," he said. Then, without warning, his hands shot out, rough and deliberate, grabbing Ella's nipples between his fingers. He twisted them hard, the kind of twist that made her body jerk and her expression of lust be imediatly replace by surprise and pain, her voice breaking into a sharp, piercing scream.

"AAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Ella's voice hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. She would have jumped away if it weren't for Stewie holding her in place and going Terminator mode on her pussy, totally unfazed.

Coach Daniels didn't flinch either. He stood there, his grip unyielding, his voice steady. "See?" he said to his players, almost casually. "Even this filly agrees with me! Tell me, how are these magnificent, incredibly impressive milky udders NOT being played with all the time? What is wrong with you guys?" He squezed her tits one last time and then backed off. "Adams, Esterez. FRONT AND CENTER!"

Two players stepped forward, their movements quick. They stood on either side of the redhead, their eyes darting between her and the coach. Daniels didn't wait. He pointed at her chest, his gesture sharp, final. "What are you waiting for!?" Coach Daniles barked, his voice like a whip crack. "PLAY with those splendid titties!"

"YES SIR!"

The two men moved with deliberate roughness, their hands taking hold of her nipples. They twisted and pulled, their movements sharp and unrelenting, while Stewie drove into her with a rhythm that was both brutal and efficient. They were not gentle, but Ella's body responded to heir roughness. The pleasure began to flood again, and the expression on the redhead's face was fulled with more desire than ever.

A few more minutes later and Coach Daniels stepped in again, his voice sharp, his hands firm. He slapped the player's hands away from the girl's chest and pulled her upright, her back straight. Stewie understood. He gripped Ella's arms and pulled them, holding her steady, his rhythm unbroken, driving into her from behind.

Ella was now kneeling on the bench with her huge breasts far more visible and acessible for everyone to see and touch.

"This position is even better, boys!" the coach man said, rather lewdly, rough. "Easier to see. Easier to reach." He held her breasts firmly and pressed them together, the flesh yielding under his grip, and leaned in. His mouth found her nipples, hard and eager, and he took them in with a hunger that was primal, unapologetic. The sound of the coach lips and tongue working was loud, wet, and deliberate, echoinging along with the pounding she was still received from behind, all while eleven of his players and one photographer watched.

Ella just stared with a certain amount of awe as her nipples dissapeared inside the older man's mouth. Couch Daniels was a giant and her titties, althought voluptuous, seemed so small in his mouth and hands. Not to say, he was way older than everybodi else there - save it from Old Joe, of course. She never imagined that she would one day on her life be explored for a guy old enough to be her dad. Behind her, Stewie's rhythm was relentless, each thrust driving her forward. The estimulation from being caught between the two forces was putting her on the edge of another orgasms.

"Oh, God, guys! Coach!" Ella cried out at the height of her maddening pleasure. "I... I'M CUMMING!"

"Damn, this bitch is on fire!" said Stewie, pounding the shaking girl non-stop.

Ella's orgasm slowed and Coach Daniels stepped back. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He looked at Ella, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Amazing," he said. "This it the one, boys, a Grade A+ piece of white ass. Top-tier. And those udders--Christ, what a pair." He turned sharply to Adams and Esterez, who stood nearby. "Your turn," he barked. "Don't dawdle. There's a line behind you, and we've got a schedule to keep. Move it." The words hung in the air, cold and unyielding, as the two men stepped forward, their shadows falling across her like a curtain.

Ella wasn't sure if she could be angry anymore. The anger had burned hot, then cold, and now it just sat there, heavy in her chest. Nevrtheless, she had expected better from Coach Daniels. He was supposed to be a man of respect, a veteran on campus, someone who commanded authority. He was supossed to see a girl getting gangfucked by a bunch of wolfs and save her, for God's sake!

But he didn't. He was just an old man with dirty hands and a leer that made her skin crawl.

And now he had let his team run wild, unchecked. Worse, he had encouraged them. Taught them how to be better at it--how to corner her, how to touch her, how to make her feel small. And then he had done it himself with no warning and no hesitation. Saying that it was completely and utterly humiliating would be an understatement.

The redhead didn't linger on her anger, however, as the estimulation in her body kept increasing. The two boys at her sides worked hungrily, their mouths fastened to her breasts, sucking hard at her nipples, pink and stiff from the heat of their mouths. Stewie was fucking her feverishly from behind. It was absurd, almost laughable, how much she felt, all thanks of two boys munching her tits and a third fucking her like a beast.

"Next!" Coach Daniels barked, his voice cutting through the haze. His hands clapped once, sharp and final, and the team moved like a machine, well-oiled and precise. Stewie thrusted one final time and let her go.

Before Ella could even feel emptiness of her cunt a new cock drove into her, hard and deep, filling the void. A new set of hands and mouths were on her tits, too, sucking at her nipples with a hunger that matched the ones before. She twisted, her body caught in their grip, her moans spilling out so louder now that wondered how the sound didn't carry beyond the locker room, how no one in the hallways outside could hear them.

"Oh my GOD!" she cried out, as the new guy fucking her gave everything he had, wild, utterly bestial, and without relent. "OH yeah!! AAAAHHH!! HOLY SHIT!!"

A few minutes later, the coach barked, "Next!"

The girl had no time to catch her breath. The team moved fast, too fast. Seconds slipped away like water through fingers. An old old out, a new one in. Coach Daniels shouted the orders, sharp and clear. He did it often, every five, ten or fifteen minutes, making sure that every guy got their turn of her pussy and tits They moved with a fierce, unyielding hunger, each one gripping her body, feeling the weight of her, the softness of her breasts in their hands. They also fucked her hard, intentionally rough, so hard that she went from moan, to scream, to cum, to cry and moan again in endless loop. When they pulled away, the men gleamed with sweat, their chests heaving, muscles tight and quivering like they'd run for miles.

My God, I have become a fucking cardio machine, Ella thought, seeing pulling of her and shinning with sweat. The next player took his place and jammed his fat cock up her pussy without ceremony. She moaned and gasped with the intrusion. Her legs had almost given out by that point, her endurance being tested, but her pleasure grew despite the friction and exhaustion. She offered her breasts to whoever wanted to fondle them pushed back against the cocks that stabbed her pussy.

SNAP!

What? Don't tell me...

Ella turned her head and her heart sank as she noticed Old Joe, the photographer, hunched behind his tripod, the camera clicking relentlessly. His weathered hands moved with practiced ease, capturing every moment. The look on the young model's face was priceless--a mixture of shock, despair, and sexual ecstasy--as she was by chance in the middle of a rather nasty orgasm.

"Joe? un-un-UNN! What--Ahh! What are you...?!" Ella tried to protest, but the pleasure prevented her from doing more than uttering stuttered breathes of mirth as she had her buttcheeks crushed by the hips up of a black guy, droplets rolling down her face and onto her tits currently getting sucked. She was on the verge an orgasm and couldn't go back even if she wanted. "Uhn! Ohn! Ahn! Stop! Don't take more pictur--AHHH!"

Old Joe didn't stopped. He snapped more pictures just as her eyes rolled inside her skull. The heat of the moment had taken her, and now Old Joe's lens had frozen it forever: Ella, cumming like a bitch in heat while getting fucked by an entire football team.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, her mind raced. Ella wondered if Old Joe had photos of her getting fucked by all eleven players. With a queasy feeling in her stomach, the redhead also wondered what would happen if those pictures got out into the public.

"Next!"

While she was still pleading for Joe to stop, another guy got behind her. It was Bill.

"Hey, man, mind to turn her to the camera?" Old Joe said, making Ella's jaw drop.

"Yeah, sure," Bill said.

"No, wait!" Ella pleaded as her body was turn around, her face and tits facing Old Joe's camera. She pleaded with the old photographer. "Joe, please!"

"Hey, you two horny monsters, leave her tits alone for a moment?" Old Joe said to the two guys fondling her breasts. "Good! Hid, push her back down and raise her ass more. Ella, eyes in the camera, ok?"

"What? No, I..." Ella got her back pushed down on the bench and her ass lifted by Bill, while the two guys grabbing her tits moved to her sides. "Joe! Don't! Turn off you camera, Joe! Don't take picutres of me that way--Ahh!"

With the girl still talking to the photographer, Bill spread her legs and unceremoniously slid his entire cock into her aching cunt. Ella made a stunned face by the sudden intrusion, arching her back, biting her lower lip. Old Joe snapped pictures of every second.

"J-J-J-Joooe--Ah, Ahh! Stop!" Her words came in gasps, her head jerking forward with every thrust from Bill. She turned her face away, trying to hide, to escape the moment.

"Smile for the camera, please..." Old Joe's voice was calm, almost detached. Ella didn't obey. She kept her face turned, her eyes shut tight, trying to hide herserf. Bill's hand moved quickly, gripping her head. His fingers dug into her hair as he made her look straight into the lens.

Her eyes met the camera, wide and unblinking. She wasn't "smilling", thougth, so Bill concentraded on fuck her brains out until she had a better expression on her face.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Old Joe kept on, each thrust of Bill into Ella's pussy captured in its own frame. Bill was putting on a show, laying down a series of thrusts so malevolent that Her breasts swung wildly, her torso trembling under the assault. His hips slammed against her with sharp, echoing smacks, his cock plunging deep, curving into the heat of her.

"Joe, Ahh! Bill, wait! J-J-J-Jooooe! You... Uhh!" Ella's cries broke into gasps, a mix of shame and raw pleasure as the quarterback hammered into her. "NooOoOoOoo p-p-p-pictureeees, please, JoooOOOE! Uuuhn, Aaahn! N-NOoo-uh...!!!!" Her voice cracked, lost in the chaos of it all.

"Nice," Old Joe seemed very focused on his work. "Can you make her cum, kid?"

"Damn right I can," Bill said. He let go of Ella's head, gripped her shoulders, and drove into her like a machine. The sound of skin against skin filled the room.

SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP!

"AAAHhhGOOooooODDDD!!!" A squeal burst from Ella's lips, her body having no answer to the sheer delight being forced through her in front of the camera. True, her eyes were pleading for Old Joe to stop with the pictures, but the only thing her body ached was for another release, hungering for the cock inside her.

"JOE, DON'T! BILL, STOP! UHN! MOTHERFUCKER JOOOE! UHN! OH, MY GOD!" Ella moaned, her voice breaking, and then she was lost in it, her mind blank, her world reduced to the rhythm of Bill's thrusts. Her hips moved now, meeting his, her lips bitten red as the pressure built inside her.

Close, so close, and there was no stopping it.

Coach Daniels watched from the corner, his voice cutting through the noise. "Her hands are free," he said, nodding to the men who were supposed to be holding her nipples.

"Yes, sir!"

The two men stood beside her, their cocks hard and ready. Normally, they would have taken her hands, guided her fingers to their shafts, but Ella, despite the horror of the camera, was already lost in lust. She reached for them herself, her hands moving with a frantic urgency. She jerked them off like a woman possessed, her moans low and guttural, her head rolling back and forth.

"Ella, eyes on the camera," Old Joe called.

She turned her face toward the lens, and in that moment, Ella came. She came hard, her body shuddering, her voice breaking into a wild, unrestrained scream, her pussy squirting all over Bill's cock.

"F-F-F-FUCK, CUUUMIIING!" she screamed out wildly.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

The camera clicked rapidly, capturing every second. He got what he needed--Ella's wide eyes, her hands jerking off two men, her hips grinding against the quaterback that was destroying her cunt clutched.

Old Joe glanced at Coach Daniels, giving him a quick thumbs-up.

"Next!" the coach barked.

Bill stepped forward, delivering a sharp slap to Ella's ass before releasing her. The redhead stumbled, her body still trembling, as the next trio moved in to take their turn.

Oh, God, what will become of me? Ella thought, as another man pushed himself into her. The Brit knew the pictures would be raw, vulgar, and unsparing. She looked at Old Joe taking more pictures and tried to imagine a way to grab those images.

Pictures of a young woman, small and willing, taking cock after cock, fat and thick, and seeming to want more. Ella shivered. She thought of the campus, her friends, her boyfriend, her mom and sister back in England. Strangers too, thousands of them, staring at the images, touching themselves to her. She had to find a way to get those pictures no matter what.

But later, because right now, per Coach Daniels instruction, one of the other black players came forward and rubbed his big cock in her face. She knew what they expected from her. Her throat tightened a little, but she opened her mouth wide and let him thrust anyway.

"Yes, little bitch, take it," the black men spoke, "Get a good taste of teamwork!"

Ella wrapped her arms around the man's waist, her fingers digging into the taut muscles of his back. She leaned forward, taking him into her mouth, her jaw straining as she worked. Saliva pooled at the corners of her lips, dripping down her chin, and she started to fell hot, flushed and light headed as the big dicks now assaulted both her front and back.

It was kinda impressive how sync they were. Two men, one in front, one behind, but moving with a rhythm so sync that was almost mechanical. Their hands gripped her like iron, holding her steady as they drove into her. Ella had heard of spit-roast, but up until a few hours ago she never dreamed she'd be the girl in the middle. Talking about teamwork, uh?

"Next!"

More cocks appeared, hungry and eager. Coach Daniels gave his instructions, and and now Ella was taking on four boys at once - one on her pussy, one with her mouth and the other two with her hands. Spit mixed with pre-cum slopped down over Ella's tacky cheeks as the boys took turns spearing their cocks into her wet warm mouth. Some guys actually let her suck them a little before facefucking her. Ella bobbed her head up and down, licked their shafts with her tongue and even rubbed her own face against their balls.

"Next!!" yelled coach Daniels everytime.

More dicks get inside her. At one time Ella was servicing seven at once. A cock buried in her cunt, three surrounding her face, two filling her hands, and one straddling her chest fucking between her firm, creamy tits.

"Next!"

Ella was riding the guys while giving a titfuck.

"Next!"

Ella was piledrived by Stewie until she squirted all over herself.

"Next!"

They fucked her in a wheelbarrow, position, with her hands on the floor, while the men held her legs in the air.

"Next!"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"Next!"

GLURP! GLURP! GLURP!

"Next!"

"Ahh! Uhnn! Soo good!"

"Next!"

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!"

"Next!"

"Aaaah! Ahh! Ah, Uhnn, Uhnn, Uhnn, UUUUuuuuUUhnn!"

"Next!"

"I'm cumming, you bunch of motherfuckeeeEEERS!"

"Next!"

Ella took them all, every last one, without complaint. Her mouth, her pussy--they used her as they pleased, and she begged for more, though the words were muffled, choked by the thick cock filling her throat. Her body moved with a desperate rhythm, her ass swaying, her back arching, her muscles tightening as another wave of pleasure tore through her. The orgasm was long, brutal, leaving her trembling, but there was no mercy. They didn't stop. They didn't care. Her pleas for rest were swallowed by the sounds of flesh on flesh, the grunts of men lost in their own hunger.

"I SAID NEXT!"

It all became a blur to the young damsel in distress. She didn't dare to record how many times their thick, engorged members stretched her lips and throat, digging as deep as they could go, large hairy nutsacks slapped against her wet chin repeatedly. She also lost track of many times she had monstrously throbbing fuck-sticks slamming into her from behind, going so powerfully so that it made her nubile ass-cheeks ripple delectably.

She knew nothing but the raw, unrelenting pleasure of being taken over and over by hung men.

"Aaaaggghh! Oh, fuck, yeah!," Ella moaned, her eyes rolling back once again from the pure, blinding ecstasy. "Yyyeeessss! You guys are soo good at that! Ahh, Ah, Uhn!"

Some of the men moved around to her front, shoving their cocks into her face, rough and demanding. "Clean it up, you little slut! You think I'm done with you?!"

Ella obeyed, her tongue working over their salty skin, swirling around the swollen tips, her lips brushing against their balls. She rubbed her face against them, took them deep, gagging but never stopping, trying acutally make them cum in her mouth. It was raw, it was filthy, and it was all they wanted.

Out of the corner of her eye, the girl noticed Old Joe, crouched low, his camera steady, snapping more shots of the mess she was in. Close-ups. Too close. She winced, her body stiffening, but there was no stopping it. It was not like she could get off the man on top of her and smash the camera into pieces.

I must take care of this later, she told herself.

The camera clicked and clicked, relentless, capturing every damn detail as she moaned and rode each men like a pro.

"OK, TIME OUT!" Coach Daniels yelled, his voice sharp and commanding. "Time for a new streategy."

The team halted abruptly and went toward the coach. The athletes moved swiftly to where the coach stood, forming a tight circle. Even the guy that was taking Ella from behind just dropped her on the floor to listen, and for the first time in hours, Ella found herself emptied of big dicks, her gaping pussy slowly closing, and feeling dizzy in the afterglow of her own pleasure.

Coach Daniels spoke to his players, his voice low and urgent, as if they were in the final minutes of a tight game. Ella stood where they had left her, exhausted and frightened, her body still humming from their rough touch. She couldn't catch the words, her mind too agitated to focus. She took the moment calm and check herself, looking for bruises, for any sign of damage.

The coach's eyes flicked toward her, cold and sharp, like a blade cutting through the air. His gaze was brief, but it left her skin crawling, a chill running down her spine. Coach Daniels turned back to his men, but Ella felt stripped bare, like a deer caught in the open, frozen under the weight of their presence. Whatever was coming next, it couldn't be good. Her body still bore the marks of what had just happened--her chest rose and fell heavily, her breath ragged, her skin slick with sweat and spit, hers and theirs, dripping down her curves. Between her legs, she was a mess, trembling and wet, her juices mixing with the remnants of the team's release. Her thighs stuck together, clammy and uncomfortable.

Her blue eyes darted around the room, searching for a way out, but there was none. The team stood between her and the door, a wall of muscle and hunger. She knew there was no slipping past them, no easy escape--the only way was by fucking her way ou.

The coach clapped his hands, sharp and commanding, and the team turned as one, their voices rising in a loud, raucous cheer. "HOOOYAAAAHHH!!"

Oh, God, Ella braced herself, her body tense, her mind racing.

The eleven men moved toward her with a purpose that was sharp and unrelenting. Their strides were deliberate, their bodies taut with the kind of strength that comes from years of training. Under different circumstances, Ella might have found the sight of them something to admire, even desire--their muscles rippling, their bodies honed to perfection. But this was not that moment, since all of them had big dicks aimed at her like a weapon.

Ella knew that things were truly going to get out of hand!

Bill lay on his back on the wooden bench, his body taut, his erection rigid, pointing straight up toward the ceiling. His teammates grabbed Ella by arms and legs and lifted her from the ground,, her body tense but unresisting.

"Ow, guys...!" she gasped, her voice trembling, caught somewhere between shock and something else. Her red hair fell in messy waves, and her eyes widened as she was brought to Bill and positioned above hard cock hard in a reverse cowgirl.

"Want me to ride you again, Bill?" Ella sighted, looking down. "Fine, I will do it..."

Bill just grinned.

Old Joe moved his camera for a better spot for what was coming next, crouching low. His lens focused intently on the quarterback's glistening skin, the curve of his balls, the hard line of his cock and Ella's ass hovering above it. The light caught the sheen of sweat, making everything look raw and real.

The men who held her spread her legs wide, crude and unflinching, exposing her completely for the photographer. Her body was bare, vulnerable, and there was no hiding from what was coming. Ella glanced up and saw Old Joe, his camera clicking relentlessly, capturing every moment. Her face burned with shame, the heat rising in her cheeks as she realized the depth of her humiliation. She really needed to take hould of that camera, otherwise this would be remembered. This would follow her her entire live.

The players dropped her on Bill.

His dickhead was pressed up against her asshole.

Ella's eyes widened.

"O-o-o-ow! Wait, wait, wait!" she cried out, her voice sharp with panic. "Stop! Time out! Time out! Don't! Wrong hole, wrong hole!"

"Wait!" she cried, her voice breaking. "Please! No! I've never--not in the ass! Oh God, it's too big! It won't fit! Please, no! NO!"

Her pleas fell on deaf ears. The boys held her steady, their hands firm on her hips, and began to lower her onto Bill's cock. Slowly. Relentlessly.

"Wait! Please!! No!! I-I-I-I've never... I've never had anyone fuck me in the ass before! Oh god!! Ahn! UUUhn!" Ella felt the tip pressing against her tight ring of muscle, and she gasped, her cries cutting off as the first inch of him breached her.

The worst thing was that she tried to resist. Her anus was clamped tight, but eventually had to yield to the irresistible power of that rigid cock, and Bill's dickhead slipped inside her with an audible POP.

"UuughhhUUUUUUUUHHHHHH! Fuck, nooo!" Ella whimpered in agony as her virgin ass was penetrated and stretched. Her body tensed, her back arching, but there was no escape. "It... it hurts, it hurts!"

To their credit, the guys did lowered Ella down slowly in order to ease her into it, while Bill held onto her hips as well. However, to Ella it didn't seem to make any difference--the pressure was unbearable, she certain that she was about to pass out from the agony caused. Her sphincter stretched wider and wider--stretching beyond belief--and then the alarming, intense sensation of a scorching, rock-hard pole invading virgin territory.

"That's huuuuuge!!" Ella croaked. "Ooohhhh! Please, not there! Mmghhh-mgh-mgh!"

Slowly but steadily her voluptuous ass was lowered inch by torturous inch onto Bill's dick. The descent felt eternal, each inch a slow, deliberate surrender to the obscene intrusion. The stretch was absurd, almost laughable, but her body adapted, as bodies do, to the demands placed upon it.

When her thighs finally met the base of him, she exhaled sharply, her lungs emptying as if she'd been holding her breath for hours. Her eyes fluttered open--she hadn't even realized they'd been closed. Looking down, she saw it: Bill's cock was buried entirely inside her, her ass swallowing what she'd sworn could never fit. The men who had held her in place stepped back, marveled with that lewd event.

"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!" Ella clenched her teeth. "It's inside me...! I can't believe it, it's really inside my ass!"

The pain was sharp and unrelenting, a constant throbbing that shot through her like a hot blade. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one a struggle against the big pole pressing down on her ass. She didn't move. Couldn't move. The fear that any movement could tear her ass apart kept her frozen.

"This material is gold!" Old Joe grinned, his camera still snapping pictures of her pain. "Come on, darling! Milky this cock with this nice ass of yours," he said, his voice rough and careless.

Ella winced at his cruelty, so casual it cut deeper than the act itself. She wondered how he would feel with a thick shaft buried in him, stretching him wide. Bill grabbed her asscheeks, marveled with his privileged sight.

"My dick is not going anywhere, doll," he said.

Ella could barely thinking of something to say. She could scarcely bring herself to believe what was happening She just got a big dick balls deep in her ass! And it throbbing inside her, almost burning.

She knew she wasn't going anywhere until he got cum on her.

"Alright," she muttered, mostly to assure herself. "Come on Ella, y-y-you got this... I got this..."

She set her feet firm on the bench, one on either side of Bill, her hands gripping his thighs for balance, and pushed herself up, the motion slow and deliberate. Her teeth clenched and Ella almost cried out in pain. The sensation was as if she got not a dick but a fucking blade inside her. She moved with a grim determination, her body working against the pain, against the violation, against the raw, unrelenting truth of it.

Bill shuddered beneath her, his breath catching as she rose and then sank back down, taking him deep again. "Holy fuck," he groaned, his words slipping out in a breathless rush. "That's a tight little hole you got there, girl."

"Let's see how long continues that way!"

"Ha! Ha!"

The men laughed and joked how they would make Ella gape.

Ella paid them no mind. Not the jokes, not the stares, not even Old Joe snapping perfect pictures of her legs spreads and a dick in her asshole. She ignored it all--everything that wasn't her ass rising and falling on that massive cock and the sharp jolts of pain with every thrust. The world outside didn't exist. There was only the rhythm, the ache, the raw, unrelenting grind of flesh against flesh. Her focus was absolute, her body moving with a purpose that drowned out the noise, the laughter and the crude comments.

SLAP...! SLAP...! SLAP...!

Her cheeks burned, but she stayed focused, moving up and down with deliberate care, but also going deep, taking his full size at each stroke. Ella bit her bottom lip hard, hard enough to leave marks. Her eyes were closed, her mind sharp, fully fixed on the task. The weight of Bill beneath her was heavy, his size almost too much, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. She rose her ass and sunk back again and again.

It was a strange sight, almost unreal. Ella, the girl who'd once walked across campus like she owned it, her nose in the air, her eyes cold and dismissive, was now here, riding the star quarterback like her life depended on it. Her hair stuck to her forehead, her body glistening under the harsh light. There was nothing elegant about it, nothing refined. It was raw, primal, and ugly in its honesty.

She was fucking him

In the ass.

In the reverse-cowgirl position.

And she was starting to go faster.

Her ass was beginning to acclimate to the intrusion and the pain receded gradually, one thrust at time. Every time she bounced, her whimpers slowy became soft moans. The pain was fading--quicker than she expected, one must say--and as it ebbed, something else rose in its place, a kind of pleasure Ella had never known. Her mouth hung open in a low moan somewhere between the growing pleasure and the declining pain. Her breath steamed out as her body grew warm, wet, and alive once more.

Oh, God, Ella thought, her hips rising and falling, guiding him back to that same spot, causing a jolt of electricity. It was a feeling different than her pussy--more intense, more addictive. A whimper escaped her lips when his cock shoved inside her ass again, sharp and unbidden. It was deep, deeper than anything she'd felt before. Another lightning bolt crashed through her, relentless and raw.

Oh, God, Oh, God....!

It was as if a part of her was waking up, a part that had been asleep for her entire life. Ella hesitaded for a second, the realization hitting her as hard as the pleasure did.

I think... I think I like getting fucked in the ass.

Thrilled by that uncovering, she moved faster now, chasing that feeling, each thrust breaking her apart and putting her back together all at once. Ella rose and fell on Bill's swollen cock with a fierce, unyielding rhythm. Her movements were more anxious than before, fueled by those new uncovered feelings.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" Ella moaned every time her ass was filled.

Her excitement didn't go unnoticed. Seeing that she had already gotten used to his size, Bill grapped her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh as he thrust upwards. Ella let out a high-pitched scream as her ass slid along the length of his thick cock in a flash, again and again.

SLAP. SLAP. SLAP. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAPSLAPSLAPLSLAPSLAP!

"Ahh! Ohh! God! Bill...! You! Fucking! Big COOCK!"

"Are you linking, doll?!" Bill provoked. "Come on, say it that you liked!"

"I-I-I think I... Ahh!"

"Didn't hear!"

"Ahhh! Ahn! Uhhn!"

Ella couldn't speak, just enjoy as her tight tunnel was to the shape of his dick. She he could feel the shape of it down to its minute details. she clung to Bill's wrists for balance and bounced madly. Sweat glistened on her body, slick and shining under the dim light, her hair sticking to her forehead in damp strands. Each thrust drew another cry from her lips, each one sharper, more desperate than the last. Bill own breath coming in harsh grunts as he pushed her to the edge.

The crowd around them watched, their eyes fixed on the two of them, cheering not only their approval, but also promissing to destroy the redhead ass.

"Fuck yeah!"

"Flip this little bitch over!"

"Make her squeal!"

The men whistled and cheered as Ella was impaled. Old Joe's camera clicked relentlessly, capturing every moment, every detail. The way her were rolling, her mouth open in a scream of pleasure, the cock drilling her asshole...

"AGGGHHHHHpmmhmh oooohhhhhmpphhphhh!" Ella couldn't help screaming as Bill's monster sawed in and out of her.

The quarterback's dick was a blur as he manically smacked his hips up to her butt at tremendous pace, grunting loudly again as Ella bounced up and down like a sock puppet being controlled by his cock. She pushed back down with his thrusts to assist his invasion of her body, vision blurred through jizz and tears as he forced her into multiple orgasms.

"BILL, YOU MOTHERFUCKER, FUCK MY ASS HARDER! UHUUHNHUH! SON OF A BITCH! YES, OH! AHAAHAAAAH! FUCKING GOD, YEAH! FUCK THIS ASSHOLE! FUCK MY ASS, FUCK MY ASS! HARDER! I SAID HARDER, YOU MOTHERTUCKER! YEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!"

The rest of the crowd was loving her reactions.

"Damn, the bitch really love in ass!"

"Next time we start by there!"

"Bill, hurry up! You're not the only who wants a piece!

The camera kept clicking, capturing it all, frame by frame.

"Perfect!! Absolutely perfect!!" Old Joe yelled out enthusiastically. "You can really see that huge cock stretching out your tiny asshole, babe!"

She glared at him, her lips tight, but no words came--only a louder moan, raw and unfiltered. Anger burned in her, but it was drowned by the weight of sensation, leaving her powerless, her mouth hanging open in a ceaseless, guttural cry. Inside, she winced at her own abandon, at the shamelessness of it all. She felt laid bare, every inch of her exposed--her cunt, her ass, her breasts, her face--all of it on display, flawless and humiliating. And the photographer, that bastard, was capturing every second of it, his lens devouring her shame.

Bill wanted the photographer to capture it all. Every raw, unfiltered moment. He gripped Ella's hair hard, his other hand digging into her hip. His voice was low, guttural, commanding. "Squirt for me, bitch! Take it, you slutty little cunt!" he growled into her ear, his breath hot and ragged.

His cock pistoned into her ass like a machine, unrelenting, unforgiving. Ella's voice broke, a high-pitched whimper escaping her lips as he hit just that spot.

"Oh my God! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck me! I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!" Her words spilled out in a desperate chant, her body trembling as she rode him faster, harder, her ass tightening around him, trying to pull every last drop from him. She could fell ger climax aproaching and it was intense--not a wave of pleasure, but a fucking tsunami.

SLAP!

"Aaaaggghh..."

SLAP! SLAP!

"OooooOOOOhHHhhh...!"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"AH! AH! AH!" Ella was close...

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"FUCKING YESSS, MOTHERFUCKER!" Ella was so close....

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUuUUCK!"

Almost there...

"Hey, dude, take a picture of this!"

All of sudden, Bill grabbed Ella by the ankles. She gasped, her body arching involuntarily as he lifted her legs up toward her head, locking her into a full-nelson. He then lifted her entire body until she almost popped out his cock. For a moment, she hung there, suspended, her body taut and trembling.

"HOORAY!"

He dropped her back onto his cock with all his strength, filling her completely. Ella squealed wildly at this sudden intrusion. Her eyes went wide. He began doing the same again and again.

Touchdow.

"OHMYFUCKINGGAWD!!!!!"

Ella let out a delicious girlish scream that echoed off the tiled walls of the locker room. She arched her back, her body convulsing, shaking as if possessed by the supernatural, and her pussy exploded--her hot juices gushed from her cunt in a wide arc, once, twice, three times, four times! Each shot was a release of flood that arched and splashed hard against the men standing before her, pooling on the floor.

The room was alive with noise, a raw, primal energy that filled the air. Feet pounded the floor, fists shot up, and voices roared, sharp and wild. Ella's orgasm seemed to go on forever. She squirted again, and again, her muscles clenching, releasing.

And then she started to pee--a long and continuous stream of hot, golden liquid shot forth, hitting the ground in a steady arc. The crowd screamed louder, their voices crashing over her, but she barely heard them, reliving herself with no control and shame--or conscious.

Her body went slack, collapsing onto Bill, her vision blurring, the world spinning fast and loose. She was close to passing out, everything fading into a dizzy, weightless haze. She let herself rest for a moment, emptying her bladder on top of him, until the world came back to her in fragments--the sound of her own breathing, the dampness on her skin, the weight of what had just happened settling over her like a heavy blanket. She blinked, her mind clawing its way back to clarity, piece by piece, until the full weight of it hit her.

I squirted...

Being fucked in the ass...

In front of everyone...

Wait, did I just peed?

She couldn't believe herself. The boys around her were howling with excitement.

"Now, THAT was amazing," Old Joe yelled, snaping more pictures.

CHAPTER 4

Ella's breath came in ragged gasps, her body still trembling from the intensity of what she'd just experienced.

"Next!" she heard the coach bark.

Before she could fully recover, strong hands gripped her waist, pulling her away from Bill and settling her onto another lap.

"You're mine now, little bitch," the black underneath her murmured, his voice deep and rough, his dickhead touching her gaping entrance. "Brace yourself for a BBC in the ass!"

With a single, deliberate thrust, he filled her completely, stretching her in the most delicious way. Ella gasped, felling a single sharp pain due to his roughness, but no more than that. Bill really did a number with her asshole, stretching her to the point that her current fucker fit her almost perfectly, as though they were made for each other.

"Ride me, bitch," the player ordered, slapping her butt.

Ella rode him the same way she did with Bill, driven by a hunger she couldn't control. That black was equally anxious to fuck her ass, rutting like an animal, with less grace and pantience than Bill, but still making her wail in ecstasy.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"Oh, fuck, yeees..." she cried out, her voice breaking, her ass bouncing with each impact. "So... fucking... good!"

"Enjoying yourself, slut?" the man, barked, his hand came down on her again, the sharp sting making her gasp. "Tell us!" he growled, his voice low and commanding, "Say it how much you a dick on your ass!"

Ella trembled. "I-I love--"

SPANK!

She cried out, the sound a mix of pleasure and surrender.

"Louder!" he demanded, his palm connecting with her skin once more, "Come on!"

"I-I-I-I-I FUCKING LOVE IT!" she finally burst out, her voice shaking but fierce. "I LOVE IT, I JUST LOVE IT! I LOVE YOUR BIG FUCKING COCKS IN MY ASS! I WANT MORE! I NEED MORE! FUCK ME HARDER! HARDER!!!"

To show just how unflinchingly honest she was, Ella moved with a raw, unfiltered desire that left no room for pretense. Her hips rolled and ground against him with a savage rhythm. Then, with a boldness that made his breath hitch, she planted her feet firmly on his thighs and began to bounce like a mad woman, her butt crashing so hard on his lap that it was actually hurting the man,

"That's more likely, bitch!" he rasped. His thrusts matched her rhythm, each one driving her higher, pushing her toward that edge she so desperately wanted to fall over.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"YeaaaAAAaAAaah!" Ella's cries grew louder, more frantic, her body trembling as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her. "Yes, yes, yes," she chanted, her voice breaking as she clung to him, her world narrowing to the feel of his body against hers, the way he filled her so completely. "Aahh.... Oooh! R-r-rigt there, right... there.. Ah! Yes! Yes! Fuck this ass, you fucking dog! More, give me--Ahh! More!! F-f-f-f-fuckmyasshole! F-F-F-uck... YyeahhhHhh!"

It was clear, unmistakable, that something within Ella had fractured, a brittle snap echoing in the hollows of her mind. Just moments before, the mere thought of getting fucked in the ass would have repulsed her, stirred a visceral rejection. But now, it was all she desired, a hunger that clawed at her from the inside, raw and insistent. It wasn't that her inner voice of reason had merely quieted--it had abandoned her entirely, packed its bags, left the building, and filed for divorce. Reason was gone, a distant memory, a relic of a life she no longer recognized.

She was beyond caring now, adrift in a world of sex diving headlong, or rather, ass-first, into the void, consumed by the singular need: to keep going, to keep fucking. The world outside was ceasing to exist and there was only this: the relentless, animal drive to have a dick stretching her asshole.

And the guys love it.

"Hey, make her squirt again!" a voice cut through the haze, sharp and demanding. Ella heard it, but it felt distant, like a radio left on in another room.

"You think this idiot can even do it?" another voice chimed in, dripping with mockery.

"Shit, if he can, I'll make her squirt twice," a third voice snorted, the tone laced with a crude confidence.

"Wanna bet? Whoever makes her squirt the most wins," the first voice shot back, the words hanging in the air like a challenge, a game stripped of any pretense of humanity.

The man beneath her responded to the taunts by driving his hips upward, harder and faster. His cock pistoned into her, each thrust a calculated act of domination. Ella's body jerked with the force of it, her ass slamming down onto him, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing in the room.

"Ohmygod!" she gasped, thrilled. "Yes, yes, yes!" The words spilled out of her,, teetering on the an incoming orgasm.

"Damn, the bitch really loves getting ass-fucked!"

Ella ignored them. The heat in her body was rising again, a relentless, pulsating wave that grew with each thrust, each brutal collision of flesh. Nothing else mattered now--not the crowd, not the noise, not the absurdity of it all. There was only this: the big black cock ramming her assholed and the raw, unyielding need to cum, to be shattered by it, to feel it tear through her like a storm.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

The sound was rhythmic, like a metronome marking the passage of time in this strange, depraved ritual. "Oh fuck yes!" she shuddered, her voice breaking as she glanced over her shoulder. "Fuck me harder!" she demanded, arching her back, her moans rising in pitch as he obeyed, driving the bitch with a force that bordered on violence. And then, without thought, without hesitation, she did the only thing that made sense: her hand moved between her legs, fingers working furiously on her wet pussy, desperately, as if trying to claw her way to some distant, elusive release.

The world around her blurred into a cacophony of sound--cheers, slaps, groans--all merging into a single, oppressive hum. She wasn't sure if she was still screaming, if her voice had given out, or if it had been swallowed by the noise. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

"GOTTA CUM, GOTTA CUM!!!" she cried, her body trembling. Through the haze, she spotted Old Joe, his camera raised, capturing every moment of her degradation. A vile thought crept into her mind, whispered by some dark, unnameable part of herself. "Joe!" she called out. "You fat old son-of-a-bitch! Take a picture of my British wet pussy, mothefucker!"

Old Joe did exactly as expected, his gnarled hands gripping the camera the way only a professional can. He captured Ella in all her depravity, her legs splayed wide, offering to his lens a clear vision of her ass, stretched and filled with cock and her pussy, exposed and glistening. Ella spread her lips for his camera and he snapped more pictures of the sex crazy slut. Old Joe took more pictures as she arched her back, her body contorting in a massive orgasm.

And then it happened.

"Ohmygod! AAAAHHHHHH!" Her voice shattered the air, a guttural cry that seemed to come from some primal place deep within her. Her eyes rolled back, white and vacant, as her body convulsed and t torrent of fluid erupted from her pussy, a violent, almost surreal comical geyser that arced through the air, aimed directly at the camera. Old Joe, his reflexes dulled by age and disbelief, barely managed to leap aside as the stream hit its mark, drenching his equipment in a deluge of her release. The camera hit the floor with a sickening crack, its lens fogged and dripping.

"Holy fucking mother of God!" he barked, more out of reflex than genuine shock.

The football team, a chorus of gawking spectators, erupted into a cacophony of awe and vulgar encouragement. Ella thrashed and jerked, her movements erratic, almost seizure-like, her pleasure indistinguishable from agony--three more gushes followed and then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. She collapsed atop the black man, her chest rising and falling in ragged, shallow breaths, feeling very good--both from her orgasm and from her little payback.

"Damn, he actually did!" someone muttered, the words hanging in the air like a cheap afterthought.

"Looks like we lost some money, alright..." another voice chimed in, tinged with a mix of amusement and resignation.

"Well, to be fair, this slut is a fucking sex machine," a third added, his tone laced with a crude admiration that bordered on disbelief.

"A broken hydrant, you mean..." someone else added.

"Let's see if I can do it..." said another teammate, his voice dripping with a predatory curiosity. He grabbed Ella, her body limp and lightheaded, her mind a fog of sensation and surrender. She found herself pushed down onto him, another thick cock forcing its way into her ass, stretching her beyond what she thought possible. "I think she'll squirt twice!" he declared, his voice a mix of bravado and anticipation.

Ella was dragged through the gauntlet, an unrelenting parade of flesh and force. One by one, the entire starting lineup of the Georgia Tide's football team took their turn, each one pushing her further into a state of abject submission. Her ass, already stretched and torn, was forced to accommodate cock after cock, each one thicker, harder, more demanding than the last, and she was eager to let then have. Her tiny chute, never meant to endure such abuse, was spread wider than it had ever been, her body reduced to a joyful vessel for their collective gratification.

And every minute or so, another orgasm ripped through her, each one more intense than the last. Her cunt gushed several times, her ass churned, and her mind. But soon, even her body began to fail her. The strength to bounce, to move, to participate in her own degradation, left her. It was no longer up to her--it was up to whoever was inside her to move her up and down their shaft, to use her as they saw fit.

The fire within Ella had not yet burned out, not even close. In fact, when the next Hispanic player approached to make her ride him again, Ella was already so utterly intoxicated by the haze of anal sex that she didn't wait to be plunged for him--instead, she lunged forward, bending herself, her body moving with a kind of feral urgency, and dove her open mouth onto his cock without hesitation.

"Whoa!" the guy exclaimed, caught between shock and a kind of perverse admiration as Ella's lips closed around him, her mouth swallowing his length in an instant. Her blue eyes locked onto his, glinting with hunger, "Mmmmm," she hummed, her tongue working with precision around his shaft.

"Need to be faster in the game, son," Coach Daniels barked, his voice cutting through the haze like a dull blade. "Otherwise, the opponent will outrun you!"

The player, his breath already ragged, grabbed a fistful of Ella's hair, not to pull her away but to guide her, to assert control. Ella gripped his waist and her head went bobbing the a rhythm that was both desperate and deliberate, her throat emitting wet, obscene sounds, as she took him deeper, faster, her body moving with an almost mechanical efficiency.

GLURP! GLURP! GLURP!

"Oh, you goddamn bitch," the young man groaned. "Fine, you asked for it!"

His other hand found her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he began to thrust, his hips moving in time with her movements. Ella's gaze never wavered, even as he pushed deeper, the tip of him brushing against the back of her throat, threatening to breach it. Since she didn't kneel to suck him and was standing of her feet, her body was already bent at a lustful angle, her ass into the air, an open invitation to anyone who cared to take it. She spread her legs wider, her hands gripping her own cheeks, pulling them apart to fully expose her asshole to the room.

"FuHmmPuckmmehh!" she tried to say, the words garbled, muffled by the cock filling her mouth. She went futher and actully pointed a finger to her asshole.

"Look there, the opponent left an opening!" The coach's voice bummed. "You, what are you waiting for? Go fuck that ass!"

Ella felt the penetration a second later. She was anally spit-roasted and loving it. She glanced to the other around and made a sign with her hands to let her stroke them. This time, the coach didn't have to say anything--two guys aproached from each side and she wrapped her hand around their more cocks.

"Damn, we really broke the bitch," said one the guys she was jerking off.

"We have to call her more times!"

For the next ten minutes, Ella found herself sucking, masturbating, and assfucking four big cocks at once. It was a moment both overwhelming and oddly meditative, like spinning in the center of a kaleidoscope, watching the world fragment and reassemble around her in patterns of skin and sweat and sound.

"Next!"

Ella barely registered the coach's voice, only the cocks dislodging from her body. Four other horny players came and fucked her in the same way. The circle around her tightened, a perimeter of sweating, pulsating flesh, gradually reducing her existence to a rhythmic, utilitarian mechanism. She eagerly sucked and stroke any cock on her reach, crying out with pleasure as men after men drilled its cock up her ass.

She didn't even bothered to look at their faces. It was all blurred, merging into an indistinct parade of tensed muscles and glassy eyes, each taking possession of her with the same effortless certainty with which one shakes a cigarette from a pack. Time dissolved. What mattered was the sequence.

Then a voice cut through the haze, sharper, more familiar. "You still owe me a ride, bitch."

It was eleventh player. Smiling without humor, he found a spot in the floor that wasn't drenched with her juices to lay down and lifted her effortlessly on his lap. Ella gasped, her body adjusting instinctively to the new position. She reached down and guided the shaft to her asshole. He slammed his dick into her--more than enough to push her to the edge of orgasm,

Yes! Yessss! Yes!" she cried again and again, her breasts shuddering and her anal walls tightened more than any vise grip ever could. Her tired legs moving as she bounced against the man.

Bill stood before her again, in that way he always did. His gaze was locked on her dripping pussy. Ella looked up at him. She wondered what he was thinking, though it was pretty obvious.

"If you want my pussy... Ahh!" Ella snarled while riding the other guy. "Then fucking do it! Uhnn!"

Bill moved closer and hooked his arms behind her knees, pulling her legs up and apart. Then he pointed his massive piece of man-meat straight at the her defenseless pussy. Ella felt her heart leapt into her throat a second before he plunged his cock inside, all the way down to the hilt, groaning at the satisfying tautness that gripped his erection.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

The sound that escaped Ella's throat was less a scream and more a kind of primal exhalation. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, reflected a kind of surreal disbelief, as though she were both participant and observer in this moment--her first double penetration ever!

She could feel the two cocks moving inside her, their trajectories intersecting in a way that was almost geometric, their heat and pressure separated only by the thinnest membrane of tissue. It was, in a word, overwhelming.

"My God! Bill!" she managed to gasp, though the words felt inadequate, like trying to describe a hurricane by talking about the wind. The men start to move, their massive bodies almost smashing her.

SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP!

The sound of skin meeting skin was almost a rhythmic grotesque parody of a metronome, each impact reverberating through her body like a shockwave. Ella's face flushed, a deep crimson that spread from her cheeks down to her neck, and her movements became increasingly erratic, as though her body were trying to escape the intensity of the sensation even as it craved more. The friction--relentless, unyielding--reached a kind of critical mass, and Ella felt herself unraveling, her body convulsing in another orgasm.

"Ohohoo! Motherfuckers!" Ella trashed between them. "Go harder. GIVE ME MORE COCK!"

SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP!

The waves of pleasure coming from her pussy and asshole drove Ella insane. An endless array of cries, whimpers, squeals, and screams came out of her mouth, the incoherent ramblings of a woman on the verge of being unmade.

"YES! OH, YOU BIG WONDERFUL STUDS! MOTHERFUCKER, DO IT! DO ME GOOD! SO GOOD! OH! OH! YES, OH! OH! FUCK ME! WANTBIGCOCKS! BREAK ME, BREAK MY PUSSY, BREAK MY ASS! MORE! YES! OOOoooOHhhh! GAAAAHHHHHHH! BIIiiiiIIG! F-F-F-FuuuuUCKING! DICK IN MY ASS! SOOOOHhhhGOOoooOD! AH, AH, AAAH! Fuck this BITCH IN HEAT!! YES!! I AM a BITCH!! I NEED SEX!!! I NEED MOooOoOORE--AAAAaaaAAaaAHhhhhh! OH MY GOD!! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUCK!"

"Someone shut her mouth!" the coach ordered.

A player stepped forward he shoved himself into her mouth. Ella, for her part, took him in, her response immediate, almost reflexive, as if this were just another part of the script, another line in the dialogue she'd long since memorized. He saw her eyes rolling back as she reached another orgasm, and her mouth actually became a vaccum cleaner.

And it wasn't just her. The boys were close, too. You could see it in their faces, the way their expressions flickered between desperation and relief, like they were trying to outrun something but also desperate to arrive. Their movements were frantic now, less rhythm and organized than spasms, and they sounded like dogs and apes, each diving in their world as their aproached the first release of the day.

"YehmCuhmfohrmehhh!" Ella screamed--or tried to, at least, as the guy in her mouth grabbed her head now, his fingers tangling in her hair, his thrusts going all the way to the back of her throat. The guy in her ass went for long and deep thrusts, and Bill went to trash her pussy as if he was trying to fuck her womb.

They pushed harder, out of control. Ella would be screaming if she'd had the air for it.

Then the men started cumming.

"TOUCHDOWN!!" The rest of the team cheered.

The one behind Ella was the first to finish, his body tensing in that universal, almost comically predictable way that signaled the inevitable. His release was sudden, almost violent, a hot, wet eruption that seemed to surprise even him, and Ella felt it as a distant pressure, a warmth spreading through her. Bill followed suit, cum spurting from his cock like a geyser. The sheer quantity of it all--the fluids, the sounds, the smells--was overwhelming, and Ella's body responded with spasms. her mind struggling to keep up with the sheer volume of sensation--she got a orgasm just for being filled.

She was still in that post-orgasmic haze when the guy fucking her mouth shot his own load--it was equaly sudden and massive, flooding her mouth. Her breathing, still ragged from her own climax, hitched as she choked on the sheer volume of it. Ella's head jerked back instinctively, a primal recoil, but his hand was there, firm and unyielding, holding her in place.

"Drink it all, come on," he said, his voice a low, almost performative growl, as the second surge of thick, opaque fluid arced into the back of her throat. Ella's eyes, wide and glassy, brimmed with tears. Her throat contracted in rapid, involuntary pulses, the muscles working with a kind of despair.

GLUG, GLUG, GLUG!

The taste was sharp and metallic, a saline bitterness that coated her tongue and clung to the roof of her mouth. She drank as much as she could, until her jaw ached, the excess escaping in rivulets from the corners of her mouth, carving wet trails down her chin, and finally collecting in a shallow, glistening pool on her chest.

"Damn, that was good" the man said, when it was over, his voice tinged with something like awe. He pulled his cock out of Ella's mouth, thick strings of spit and cum still attached from her mouth to her cock, and patted her head before backing off, almost absently, the way you might pat a dog after it's fetched a stick or rolled over on command. He withdrew himself from Ella's mouth, the viscous threads of saliva and semen stretching briefly between his dick and her lips before breaking, and patted her head while stepping back, almost absently, like rewarding a dog for performing a trick.

Bill exhaled sharply as he also withdrew himself from her pussy. "First load of the night, doll," he smirked. The guy on her ass shoved her up and Ella stood up with trembling legs, with cum spilling out of her holes and dripping on the floor

She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and, in an nothing move, liked her own palm. Her eyes swept over the remaing men around, their excitement palpable, almost vibrating in the air around her, their loving the grime-streaked spectacle she'd become.

"So...?" Ella paused, and her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Next?".

"HOORAY!"

The cheer erupted, and Ella felt herself lifted--no, wrenched--off the ground, by two players. She was lowered onto one, the other positioning himself behind her--they pumped into her as one single entity, streching her two points of entry.

SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP!

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah... Oh, god yes yes yes!" Ella moaned, her sweet cunt and asshole clenching around their dicks."Uhhh! Oh, God, yes, yeEES, YES! That's it, babe, FUCK YOUR LITTLE BITCH! FILL ME WITH CUM!

It was over in what felt like both an eternity and no time at all. Ten minutes? Less? More? The men finished inside her, their bodies shuddering in a way that seemed almost ritualistic. Ella felt the hot, liquid proof of their release flooding her It was another massive load, and she couldn't help but wonder if this was the norm here--if, perhaps, it was another unspoken prerequisite for joining the team: not just big dicks, but reservoirs of cum that seemed almost comically excessive.

They left, and almost immediately, two more players took their place. The next hours--or was it minutes?--blurred into a montage of bodies, hands, mouths, cocks, a relentless cycle of penetration and massive cumshots. Someone shoved himself into her mouth, and she gagged reflexively, slurping and sucking and trying to milk every drop of cum.

She was, by now, a thing reduced to its most basic functions: to receive, to endure, to swallow. The men, too, seemed less like individuals and more like components of a larger machine, their goal singular and unrelenting. They had stuffed her with cocks, now they would fill her with their cum until she drowned.

Snap!

Can't believe, Ella's head turned a little, her mouth, still sucking a guy. Old Joe had fixed his camera. The camera's shutter clicked again, taking a picture of Ella's eyes widened in surprise, all the while having her head bobbing on some big dick. Old Joe smiled vengefully and took another picture of her face.

Fuck!

Snap!

"Good, Ella, hold the posture!" he said, low and deliberate, each word a calculated intrusion

"Mmf! Mmmph!" Ella protest, or at least tried to, doing her best with a cock impaled on her mouth.

"Stop that!" The man behind her--his breath hot and labored, his hands gripping her hips with a kind of impersonal urgency--slapped her ass, the sound sharp and flat in the cramped, overheated room. Ella flinched, a high-pitched gasp escaping her stuffed mouth. She didn't fight anymore. She couldn't.

She felt the shame burning on her cheeks every time she heard the click of Old Joe's camera, and did her best to ignore it, since each click was a reminder, a tiny flashbulb explosion that seemed to echo in her skull, amplifying the dread that coiled in her stomach: What if someone saw these? What if everyone saw these? The thought was a live wire, sparking and fraying at the edges of her mind. She tried to push it away, to focus on the immediate, the physical--the salty taste of the dick in her mouth or the jolts of eletricity of the cocks in her holes. She sucked hard and bounced harder.

"Spread those hips wide for us, Ella..." Old Joe voice was calm, almost clinical, and it cut through the haze like a scalpel. Ella hesitated, her body stiffening for a fraction of a second before she obeyed, not necessarily being sure why.

Old Joe watched her through the lens, his lips curling into a faint, self-satisfied smile. Just last week, this same girl--this same stuck-up little bitch--had refused to take her top off for some no-name magazine, acting like she was too good for it. And now? Now she was spread wide open, taking it from all sides. He adjusted the focus, zooming in on the details: the way her holes stretched to accommodate the big dicks, the way her skin glistened under the harsh studio lights. He pulled back, framing the shot to include the three men--their faces smug, their bodies taut with exertion--and Ella, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth slack. He focused on her face so that it was clear who was being serviced.

"That's it, Ella, take them. All the way. Balls deep!" There was a strange, almost performative quality to his tone, as if he were narrating a scene professional photo shot necession and not... that.

Ella worked her body and mouth so that all three shafts disappeared into her, with only their hairy balls visible. "Good girl!" Old Joe was already thinking ahead, calculating the value of the images being captured, the way they might circulate, the reactions they might provoke. He exactly who to call, and couldn't help but feel a perverse pride in how well it had all come together: the bitch got her lesson, and was still going to make a lot of money.

Snap, snap, snap!

SLAP, SLAP, SLAP!

As the fucking continued, even being treated so terribly by her own photographer no longer worried the redhead. It wasn't that she was numb or past caring, exactly. it was just another for to deal. How people would react? Would they see her as a slut? A victim? A willing participant? The labels flitted through her mind, insubstantial and meaningless, and she realized with a kind of detached clarity that it didn't matter.

She could see those images going viral in the internet, the idea of the entire world seeing her naked, spread, fucked...

"O- MMPH...! MY G-. MMMHMPF!"

Her mouth, still occupied, muffled the sound of Ella reaching a orgasm, and it didn't take long for the others to follow. The two men inside her came almost simultaneously. Seeing his conrades filling the redhead seemed to trigger something in the third man, how blew his load down her throat, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he held her in place to swallow. Ella gulped frantically, savoring the last drops of cum going down her throat.

All three athletes withdrew from the girl, pulling out their well-used shafts. Those were the last guys left to cum. It was over.

Fucking finally, she thought, cathing her breath.

Only for Bill to step up with two of his buddies.

"Bill, what are you--Eek!" Ella squelaed as one the guys grabbed the hair. "Hey, stop! You have your fun! Bill, just let me go! I'm tired, I-I can't anymore!"

Despite her protests, she found herself turned and repositioned, her body folding into an arrangement that felt both absurd and inevitable. On all fours now, with Bill standing, his cock rubbing her lips, getting hard again. Bill's smile. "Ever heard about the rule of three, doll?"

"The rule of wh--" she began, but the question as he feed her with his cock. Ella was stunned as he fucked once again her mouth with a kind of ferocity that felt almost impersonal. She couldn't even attempt to suck, just to keep her mouth open. Her hands moved instinctively to his legs, not to push him away but to steady herself, to anchor her body against the force of his movements.

The others guys wasted no time to fuck her from behind. The one on the left--a black and gigantic guy--was already aligning his cock with her asshole. Meanwhile, the one on the right--Hispanic, his face a mask of concentration--was aiming for her pussy.

"Whtfuuuu?" Ellad managed to moan, the sound less a word than a guttural expulsion of disbelief and dread, as both men drove into her simultaneously. Those guys were hung enough so that they could stand shoulder to shoulder and still penetrate her from behind! She might have marveled at this if not for the suffocating reality of her terror: they're fucking her again!

No fucking way, she though. This is never going to end...

Her body was numb, her mind was tired, but there was still this heat in her pussy and ass, a fire that refused to be extinguished, even as the rest of her felt like it was dissolving into the ether. So it wasn't surprising, not really, when her eyes rolled back as the guys began to fuck her for good, their cocks sliding into her with an ease that felt almost clinical, leaving behind a slick, glistening trail that seemed to mock her idea of stop. Ella's moans were swallowed by Bill's thickness, the weight of him in her mouth, the taste of salt and skin and something faintly metallic. She sucked obediently, her tongue working in small, desperate circles, trying to match the pace, trying to keep up.

Bill's voice was a guttural, almost performative growl, "Yeah, that's right, bitch!" His hips pistoned as if trying to break Ella's jaw. "I'm going to fucking cum in yout face!!!"

He suddenly pulled out and grunted and, with a visible throb, blasted Ella's face. The first spurt hit her cheek with a wet slap, a punctuation mark to the sentence of the act. Her eyes, wide and reflexive, snapped shut, but not fast enough to avoid the second cumshot, which arced across her forehead, the delicate curve of her eyelashes, and her nose. The sensation was immediate and visceral: warmth that quickly cooled into something sticky and alien, a substance that seemed to carry with it the weight of something far heavier than its physical mass. Her mouth was still hanging open, so Bill shoved inside once again and blasted his final jizz down her throat.

Ella gulped his cum while, behind her, the two men began to slap her ass.

"Take this black dick!" said the one stretching her ass.

"Do you like it?" said the other. "Shake this booty, bitch, come on!!!"

The slaps against her ass were percussive, each one landing with a wet crack that echoed in the room like a metronome keeping time for some grotesque symphony. She didn't like the spank, but her ass locing the black dick. She let go Bill's cock to moan, closing her eyes and even letting a smile appear on her face for a moment. Her ass had been red for a while from all the fucking. Were they slapping her until it turned purple?

"I told you to shake it," the Hispanic man said, and this time he slapped her hard enough to make her scream in pain.

"You son of a bitch!" Ella glared at the guy, but began to shake her ass the way he wanted. "Happy now, huh? At least fuck me properly, or this big and tasty dick is just for show?" she spat the words. The guy smiled and began to pound her pussy with everything he had. "THAT'S IT, SHOW ME YOU'RE A MAN! FUCK ME ALL THE WAY. SONS OF BITCHES! DON'T STOP, NO! AHHHHHH... YES... DON'T STOP... FUCK YOUR WHITE BITCH! THAT'S IT, PUTS IT DEEPER."

Ella was close to cum again and her head tilted toward the ceiling, which was, for some reason, textured in a way that reminded her of the stucco in her childhood dentist's office. The thought flickered and died as another wave of sensation began to build, low and insistent, like the hum of a distant appliance you can't quite place but can't ignore either. She still had her face covered with Bill's cum--it pooled at the ridge of her brow, then seeped into her eyes, the sting sharp and immediate. She blinked, her vision blurring, and wiped at her face with the palm of her hand, the heavy scent of fresh sperm permeating her nostrils.

She put her head down and wiped her face.

And then she saw: more cocks ponting to her, because of course there were more cocks, because this was the kind of situation where the cocks just kept coming, with heavy balls, swollen with the promise of more cum to spilled on round 2.

Ella sighed.

"Again? For fuck sak-- GLUH! GLUHHG--GLUH! GLUHGH...."

Someone--it hardly mattered who--pushed himself into her mouth, and Ella, her eyes glazed with something between resignation and a kind of hollow detachment, did not protest. Why do I even bother? Ella thought, forced to bob her head from one cock to another, not allowed a single moment's rest. She gagged, choked and her eyes watered as they stretched and used her mouth as a toy. Her tongue, pink and wet, moved in small, automatic circles around the heads of their cocks, her lips stretched obscenely around their shafts.

Spit pooled and escaped the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin in thick, glistening strands, as the players facefucked her with a kind of frenzied urgency, as if they were racing against some invisible clock, stopping only when they came, firing load after load down her throat. She swallowed what she could, but there was no time, no pause, no moment to catch her breath before another cock was shoved into her mouth, the next man even more aggressive, even more desperate to finish. Her hands moved almost reflexively, grabbing two cocks at once, stroking them with a rhythm that felt less like participation and more like survival. Her hair, once a vibrant red, now tangled and damp with sweat, was yanked and pulled, wrapped around cocks as if it were just a towel for them to use.

The two cocks behind her keeping tore her pussy and ass with no mercy. Ella could feel herself being split, not just physically--though that was undeniable, her body stretched and strained in ways that seemed almost anatomical in their extremity--but also psychically, as though the act itself were carving her into pieces, redistributing her sense of self into something fragmented, something less coherent. As the guy she was sucking pulled of to cum on her face, a cry escaped her lips,"OH, YES! YESSSSS! YOU FUCKING DOGS! TEAR MY ASS APART! CUM INSIDE ME! COME ON! FUCK ME MORE! MORE DICKS! I'M CUMMING!

The man she was sucking wanked itself and suddenly spattered her face and open mouth. The guys she was jerking off followed next, splashing their load on her forehead and hair. As soon as they finished, they were pushed aside for three more and Ella didn't even flinched when they fire up their canons on her face and tities, their releases overlapping in a way that felt almost choreographed.

More cocks aproached and were shoved in her mouth and hands. She had only so many holes and hands available, but the men are too hungry. She felt the hot, sticky spatter of cum against her back, the small of her spine striped with burning streaks of jism as some guys choose to jerk off on top of her. Someone was stroking himself against her armpit. From time to time whoever was facefucking her would pull off to allow her to be blasted for at least three dicks at the same time, splashed her head from all directions.

Ella barely had time to take cum off her eyes before she was either facefucked again or splashed with more cum. She became a canvas, a passive recipient of their cum. Her hair, her hands, her arms, her breasts, her back, even the hollows beneath her arms--everything was slicked and streaked with male fluids.

Behind her, the hispanic snarled. "Do you still want cum, bitch?! Then fucking take it!"

And then, with a force that seemed to blur the line between passion and violence, he and his black fella drove themselves into her again, deeper this time, so deep that Ella's body convulsed involuntarily, her scream tearing through the space like a siren. Her hands, which had been working on the other cocks, fell away, and for a moment it seemed like she might collapse entirely, her balance betraying her as the ground beneath her feet felt less like solid earth and more like something shifting, unstable.

"Let's fill the bitch up," the black player declared.

They both pulled out of her then, and the sudden absence was almost as jarring as the penetration had been. And then, with a kind of synchronized inevitability, they were back inside her, firing their load.

"Oh, God!" Ella could feel their filling her up, one load after another, until it felt like there was no space left and it started to spill out of her, thick and viscous, running down her thighs and pooling beneath her. They pulled out of her holes, still cumming profusely, and aimed their big guns to her her butt, her back and finally her hair, their cum hitting her in long, arcing ropes that seemed almost absurd in their abundance.

When it was over and they released her from their grip, Ella toppled onto her side, her body refusing to cooperate with her brain's vague, half-formed desire to get up, to move, to do something. Her legs felt like turned to jelly, the muscles knotted and unresponsive. She lay there on her back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Her mind, usually so sharp, so analytical, felt foggy, like it was struggling to process not just the physical sensations but the weight of it all, the sheer thereness of it.

If there is a God, she thought, I really could use some help.

She caught her breath, maybe for thirty seconds, maybe less. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes she saw seven guys standing above her, their cocks erect. It was, objectively, a sight--seven erect penises hovering above her body, arranged in a kind of crude geometry, a circle of intent. In another context, another life, maybe one where she wasn't here, wasn't this, she might have found it almost fascinating, even erotic. She might have licked her lips, taken a mental snapshot, saved it for later.

But this wasn't that life, and the thought flickered and died almost as soon as it formed.

This is never going to end, is it? she thought. This bunch of horny motherfuckers...!

"On your knees, bitch," one of them said, his voice flat, almost bored, like he was ordering a sandwich.

"You fuckers," she said, her voice low, almost a growl. "You want to cum on me, huh?"

There was a pause, a beat, and then, with a kind of resigned fury, she found the strength to move and get on her knees. She opened her arms, tilted her head back, and made what she imagined was her best "cum slut" face. If she couldn't dodge the volley, she might as well welcome it.

"Come on," she said, her mouth wide open, tongue out, the words almost a challenge of a convict facing her firing squad. "Come on then, cum on your little British whore!"

The men smirked and didn't dissapointed--they angled themselves downward and began to ejaculate onto her small frame almost instantly. Thick ropes painted her entire head and torso,. The men shouted things, their voices overlapping, calling her a slut, bitch, whore and whatsover. The semen pooled in the hollows of her collarbone, dripped down the curve of her back, clung to the backs of her thighs. They shot more cum into her hair and open mouth, her trembling and overworked legs, her thighs, her crotch and asscheeks.

"Yeah, that's it, give me every last drop!" the young woman squealed out, her tone a strange amalgamation of enthusiasm and desperation to get that over once and for all, her cum-covered face unrecognizable as the men finished jerking themselves of.

The seven cocks, now spent and slack, retreated with a final, almost ceremonial slurp. The men step back, their collective breath heavy and labored, as if the room itself had exhaled. Ella, her face a glistening mosaic of fluids, ran her fingers over her skin, scooping up what she could, though the sheer volume made the effort feel futile.

She noticed the floor beneath her was not just wet but saturated with cum, a shallow, viscous pool that seemed to stretch out in every direction, a topography of aftermath. She stood, her legs unsteady, the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

Before she could fully process it, a figure--Stewie, maybe, though in the haze it was hard to be sure--moved toward her and easily lifted her up off the ground.

"Hey!" Ella shouted, her voice a sharp, involuntary reflex, like the yelp of a dog whose tail has been stepped on. Her arms, acting wrapped around him to avoid falling on the ground.

Stewie held her aloft as if she weighed nothing. His hands gripped her ass with a kind of utilitarian firmness, adjusting for better leverage, and in one fluid motion he guided his cock into her ass. Ella yelp again, her legs dangling useless in the air as she impaled again and again.

"Holy shit!" he gasped, his voice a ragged whisper in her ear. "How this ass is still so tight?"

He pushed deeper, the entirety of his length disappearing into her ass.

"Goddam--Ahhh!" Ella let a high-pitched moan under the furious assault. Her voice, when it came back, was fragmented, breathless, each word punctuated by the rhythm of his thrusts. "Oh... my... God...! Jeez... how.... are.... you.... still... hard?! ahh, Uhnn!"

Stewie's answer was to thrust back into Ella even harder, making her wail in ecstasy. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his skin, while three more players approached to fuck her again!

From that point forward, she made a conscious effort--or perhaps it was more of a reflex, a kind of mental flinch--to stop thinking altogether. She became, instead, a vessel, a receptacle, a hollowed-out space for the use of anyone who could still muster the physiological response required to occupy her. Her body was manipulated with a kind of casual brutality, twisted and repositioned as though it were an inanimate object, a rag doll with no will of its own. Men moved in and out of her, their cocks invading whichever orifice was most convenient at the moment, a chaotic ballet of flesh and friction.

They would fuck her, cum on her, and then they would pass her ahead to next guy in line. They would breath a little and rejoin the fray when they were ready again, hoping to cum at least three more times on the bitch.

Teamwork.

"That's it, Ella!" said Bill, as he slammed his cock into her ass with a growl. "Welcome to the Lions, bitch!"

"Oh, yes, yes, yyyeeeESSSSS!" Ella squealed, going delirous.

Then she passed out.

PART 2 THE GOD, THE DEVIL AND THE SLUT

CHAPTER 5

Hours had slipped away, unmeasured and unmarked, and by the time they were done, the team had reduced the beautiful model to a broken, unconscious form--her body a canvas of fluids and exhaustion. Cum, viscous and pearlescent, had pooled in the hollows of her, spilling from her asshole, her cunt and her slack mouth. Her once vibrant hair was now a tangled mess, and her slender frame was now a patchwork of drying semen, as though she had been dipped in some perverse, metallic pain. Around her, the floor bore witness to their excess, puddles of spent desire pooling like stagnant water.

When Ella came to, it was to the sound of footsteps--not approaching, but receding. She lifted her head, which felt both too heavy and weirdly detached. Her vision was blurry but sharp enough to catch the men leaving the locker room with a casual indifference, as though the scene they left behind was nothing more than a forgotten dream. She couldn't tell how long she had been out, but it was long enough for them to tidy themselves up, to slip back into their clothes, to reclaim some semblance of normalcy.

And they were just... leaving. Just like that, as if the redhead sprawled on the floor, her body a testament to their collective hunger, was nothing more than an afterthought.

Ella watched them go, her silence heavy, her thoughts a tangled mess. A few paused to snap pictures with their phones, capturing her degradation for posterity. One or two waved, a mockery of farewell.

Most didn't even glance back, and it was the thing that stuck in her, that lodged itself in her chest like a splinter: the indifference, the sheer banality of their exit, as if what had happened was nothing, as if she was nothing.

A towel, she thought, absurdly. They could have at least given me a towel.

But even as the thought formed, she pushed it away, because what did it matter? It was over. Done. And maybe that was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that ever mattered: that it was over.

She wiped the cum from her face, blinking slowly, as if the act of opening her eyes required some kind of existential recalibration. They were really leaving, weren't they? Like, actually leaving? Not just regrouping in the hallway for a quick huddle and a Gatorade before charging back in for another round, right? It was over? Really over?

Thank God.

She stayed on the floor, motionless, playing dead, her skin sticking to the cold, filthy floor. in a defensive crouch against the possibility that at any moment another cock would materialize, like some grotesque jack-in-the-box, and plunge into her again. Her body ached, every muscle screaming in protest, but she didn't dare move. Not yet. She watched them go, one by one, their laughter echoing in the hollow in the hallway.

The last one to leave was Bill. Of course it was Bill. He paused at the door, his silhouette framed by the harsh light of the hallway, and turned to look at her. His eyes--and this was the part she'd think about later, in the shower, while scrubbing her skin raw and maybe fapping herself--still had that gleam of lust.

He gave her a thumbs-up.

A fucking thumbs-up.

Like she'd just aced a math test or helped him move a couch or something. It didn't even feel like he'd been fucking her for hours.

"See you around," he said, casual as anything, like it was perfectly normal to address a naked girl lying on a locker room floor, her body still trembling from what he'd done to it.

And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, and she was once more alone in the locker room.

"Fuck you," she muttered, long after he was gone, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words felt inadequate, a feeble protest against what that had been done to her. But what else was there to say? What words could possibly capture the enormity of it all? Ella closed her eyes. She didn't know what to think, didn't know what to feel, didn't know what to do. Her body hurt in ways she didn't have words for. Sex--or whatever this was, whatever they'd done to her--had taken on a new meaning, a meaning she couldn't quite articulate yet but that felt heavy and dark and irreversible,

Should she cry? Laugh? Both? Neither? Should she go home and pretend this never happened? Call the cops and try to explain, try to make them understand? Should she go to the pharmacy and buy painkillers, and while she was at it, maybe a morning-after pill, or two, or three, because who even knew how many she'd need after something like this?

It is something to think about later, very later...

Ella rose slowly, her body trembling, her movements deliberate yet unsteady, as if the weight of the world had settled into her bones. On all fours, she crawled toward the bench. When she finally pulled herself up, her legs quivered beneath her, betraying the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. She collapsed onto the bench, her breath ragged, her body still trembling, a living, breathing monument to had been done, or what she had allowed--though the semantics of agency here felt slippery, hard to pin down.

She looked at herself. Her body was painted with the remnants of a dozen men's juices--a grotesque masterpiece of cum and sweat, specialy her pussy and asshole, in special, were leaking out a non-stop creamy mixture of white, gooey jism that clung to her thighs and pooled beneath her seat.

And yet, even now, there was something about her that was undeniably hot. Her body, even in its current state, was a kind of argument for itself, a proof of concept that transcended the mess, the sweat and the smell of sex that clung to her like a second skin. There was no arguing her sex appeal, and it was no wonder Old Joe kept taking pictures.

Where is Old Joe, anyway? Ella looked around, her eyes scanning the room with a kind of desperate hope that quickly curdled into something darker. Had he left too? Just like that?

"Well, fuck him, too," she muttered, shrugging. She was too tired, too shaken, too everything to really think about it, to parse the implications or the emotional fallout or whatever. Her gaze fixed on the door, the door that led out of this nightmare and back into the world, the world where people wore clothes and didn't find themselves naked and fucked up in places they had no business being. She wiped her chin, self-consciously, hyperaware of her nakedness, of the way her skin felt too exposed, too vulnerable, like it was screaming out for cover, for shelter, for something.

She wanted to leave immediately, to bolt out of there and never look back, but her body wasn't cooperating. She needed to catch her breath first, to steady herself, to figure out how the hell she was going to get off campus and back to her apartment in the suburbs--bare naked in the middle of the night. The logistics of it all were almost comical, or would have been if they weren't so horrifying. How does one even begin to navigate that kind of situation? Do you just... walk? Do you run? Do you try to find a towel, a curtain, a garbage bag, anything to cover yourself? Do you call someone? And if you do, who? And what do you say? "Hey, yeah, so I'm currently naked in the men's locker room on campus, and I'm really fucked up, and I need you to come get me, but also please don't ask any questions"?

It's not a bad idea, she told herself. But who would I call? Wait, where's my phone?

She was about to go looking when she heard it then--the sound of someone behind her. Not just someone, but presence. Ella imediatly felt tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up like soldiers at attention. She turned, her body moving as if through some thick, invisible medium, afraid to ending facing a monster out of horror story...

And there they were: Old Joe and Coach Daniels.

And Coach Daniels was taking off his clothes.

Ella's face went pale. "No..." she muttered, the word barely more than a breath, a tiny, fragile thing that seemed to dissolve in the air as soon as it left her lips, the last gasp of a drowning soul.

"I put the rest to lift some weight, but they will get here soon," Coach Daniels glanced at his watch. He then stopped before Ella, making sure that his crotch was practically glued to her face. "Guess I better get my turn," he said, "before the new boys get their hands on you, I mean..."

What.

The.

Fuck?!

Ella's mind was racing now, a frantic, panicked blur of thoughts and images and half-formed sentences that all seemed to collapse into each other like cars in a pileup. "No, no, no, no, wait, wait..." she stammered, her voice trembling, her eyes searching his face for something, anything--a flicker of compassion, a shred of humanity, hell, even a hint of rationality. But there was nothing. Just hunger. Savagery. Determination. And something else, something darker, something she couldn't quite name but that made her skin crawl all the same.

She swallowed hard as he started unbuckling his belt before her eyes, the metal clinking softly, Her throat was dry, her mouth tasting like copper and fear. "Look," she said, her voice shaky but desperate, "I'm all messy. Can't you at least let me clean up first?" She gestured to her body, her face and her hands--every inch plastered with cum.

But Coach Daniels didn't pause. Didn't recoil. Didn't even blink. Instead, his hands moved in a blur, fast and precise, like the claws of some predator that had done this a thousand times before. He grabbed her wrists, his grip tight, unyielding, and it felt less like being held by a person and more like being caught by a beast, something primal and relentless and utterly devoid of mercy. Ella's breath was caught in her throat, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her temples, and for a moment, just a moment, she wondered if this was how it felt to be prey.

"Please, don't do this!" Ella screamed, the words tearing out of her throat like something alive, something desperate to escape the suffocating reality of the moment.

Coach Daniels didn't say a word.

He didn't even flinch.

He just held her by the wrists, his grip firm and unyielding, like manacles forged from something colder and harder than metal. She fought, thrashed against him, but it wasn't just that she was weaker than him--she was too tired, too bone-deep exhausted, to fight in any real way for very long. And eventually, she just... stopped. Spent. Defeated. Reduced to staring up at him, her eyes wide and wet and pleading, like some wounded thing that knows it's been cornered but can't quite stop hoping, against all reason, that the predator might suddenly, inexplicably, show mercy.

Coach Daniels gave a step back, dragging her off the bench with a force that sent her knees buckling onto the hard, unyielding floor.

"Ouch!" Ella cried out. "Daniels, pleas--"

"It's Coach Daniels for you, slut." he cut her off, his voice low and dripping with something that wasn't quite anger but something worse, something colder. "And you're going to find out why."

His hands guided hers to his jeans, and for a moment--just a moment--she thought about resisting again. But the thought was fleeting, almost laughable in its futility. He was bigger than her. Stronger. And she was so, so tired. Not just from this, but from everything that had come before. And now this. This man. This moment.

What was one more cock after eleven, she tould herself, trying to find some confort on the inevitability of the situation. Ella brought her attention to his crotch and sighed. Easy, Ella, best to let him have his way so you can go home...

Thing is: when it rains, it pours. And when it pours, you get wet. That's just how it works.

And this was the thing, the thing that would haunt her later, when she tried to make sense of it all later.

"Gonna tell you a secret, slut," Coach Daniels said, his voice low and gravelly, the kind of voice that seems to vibrate in your chest, the kind that makes you feel like you're already complicit in whatever's coming next. He made her wrap her fingers to the waistband of his jeans. "You bitches are all the same. You whine, you cry, you act like you're above it all, but deep down? You're just waiting for someone to show you something real. Something big. And then--poof--all that resistance just melts away. Like it was never even there. Here..."

With her hands holding his waistband, he began to pull down his pants--just enough, just so--and there it was. Or rather, the shape of it. The idea of it. Because what began to reveal itself to Ella as the fabric slid lower, wasn't just a dick. It was a thing. A monstruous thing, something that none of the eleven players from Georgia Lions were blessed--or cursed--to have.

And Ella froze.

"What...?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, like the sound you make when you're trying to convince yourself you're still dreaming. Her eyes were locked on the shape of the thing, as more and more of it came into view.

Nah, there's no way, she told herself, despite the true standing only a few inches from her face.

It was hypnotic, in a way. She wasn't seeing everything, but what she was seeing made it clear that the coach's coack was heavy, thick and massive in a way that seemed almost obscene, like it wasn't just a body part but a statement, a manifesto, a physical embodiment of something she couldn't understand yet. Her cheeks flushed. Her nipples hardened. Her breath caught in her throat. And she hated herself for it, hated the way her body betrayed her, hated the way she couldn't look away.

Hated the fact that she was getting aroused.

She stopped struggling. Just like that. Her body went still, her muscles slack, and she swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. She was aware, in a distant, almost clinical way, that there was something terribly wrong with her. She was sore. She was tired. She had just endured--no, survive--a gangbang, for God's sake. And yet. And yet. Here she was, staring at Coach Daniels' crotch.

She wanted to see it.

That was the worst part. Despite everything--despite the pain, the exhaustion, the sheer fucking absurdity of it all--she wanted to see it. And that realization, more than anything else, made her feel like she was falling, like the ground had disappeared beneath her feet and there was nothing left to hold on to. Coach Daniels just said that bitches just need to see a real big cock to get on their kness, and here was she literaly proving he was right.

Coach Daniels release her.

Ella blinked, suprised and looked up to him. The coach folded his hands over his chest and just looked back at her, awating--Ella couldn't tell what, exactly. She was still holding his jeans. Kneeling there, her hands frozen in place, she looked to his crotch and hen back at him. His face was stone. Impenetrable. A face that didn't so much express authority as it did become authority, a face that seemed to exist in a dimension where questions like why and what now didn't so much go unanswered as they just evaporated, irrelevant.

Her eyes flicked down. The bulge. Of course. It was there, unavoidable, a kind of physical punctuation to whatever unspoken sentence they were in the middle of. And then the questions came, not one at a time but all at once, a cacophony of internal voices overlapping, competing for attention: What kind of game was this? Was he giving her a choice? Could she just let go? Her hands didn't move. They stayed there, gripping his waistband, the fabric rough against her palms.

And then there was the wetness, the kind of physiological betrayal that felt less like arousal and more like a symptom, a sign that her body didn't give a shit about her counscious and just want to get fucked.

Why? The word echoed, a single syllable ricocheting around the hollows of her skull. Why, why, why?

It wasn't just a question; it was a refrain, a mantra, a plea. Her fingers tightened. Her lip found its way between her teeth. Her eyes locked onto the bulge, as if staring at it long enough might make it yield some kind of answer, some kind of meaning.

And then, in a moment that felt less like a decision and more like a surrender, Ella threw caution--and hope, and maybe even dignity--into the void.

Screw it, just show me your big cock!

She pulled his pants down

"HOLYSHIT," she said.

Or maybe she didn't say it. Maybe it just echoed in her head, a kind of internal exclamation point to the external reality now before her as the monster lurched in the open. Because there it was. A monster. A thing. A cock, yes, but also something else, something that seemed to defy the very category of cock, a word that suddenly felt inadequate, even childish. It was 12" inches, maybe more, and thicker than a soda can, the kind of thickness that didn't just suggest but demanded recalibration of whatever mental image she'd previously associated with the word dick. The head was purple, rounded, almost cartoonish in its proportions, and the balls--each the size of a fist--hung there with a kind of gravitational inevitability. It was shaved, completely bare, which only made the veins more pronounced, the folds more lurid, the whole thing more... clinical, somehow. And it throbbed. Not just a pulse, but a kind of rhythmic, almost sentient throb, as if it were alive, as if it had its own agenda, its own malignant intentions.

Ella stared. She couldn't not stare. It was there, in front of her, a fact, a reality, a thing that had entered her world and now demanded to be reckoned with. She stammered, "I, I..."--the words collapsing in her throat, her eyes wide and unblinking, locked onto the thing before her, this... object, this entity, this dark, veined, and improbably massive presence that seemed to defy the laws of anatomy and perhaps even physics. Her mind raced, a frantic, almost clinical inventory of its dimensions--the girth, the length, the way it seemed to pulse with a life of its own, growing harder, darker, more menacing with each passing second.

The monster began inflating before her very eyes.

"No, no," she exclaimed, still not believing as it got rock hard before her. "that can't be... Coach, you're fucking enormous!"

Snap!

Old Joe was there, of course, because Old Joe was always there, his camera clicking. The flash popped, freezing the moment in a burst of light that made Ella flinch, her red hair catching the glare like a flame. Coach Daniels loomed above her, his height exaggerated by her position on the floor, her knees tucked under her, her body folded into itself as if trying to disappear. His cock--the cock--was right there, suspended above her head, its tip pointing skyward, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch and warp in the dim light. Ella's face was a study in disbelief, her expression caught somewhere between awe and terror, her lips parted, her eyes wide, like a pornstar in the throes of a performance, except this wasn't a performance, this was real, and the reality of it was so overwhelming that she couldn't look away, couldn't stop staring at this thing that defied all reason, this thing that was now fully erect, fully present, fully alive.

And it wasn't just the size of it, it was the way it seemed to dominate the space, the way it seemed to reduce everything else to insignificance. Ella had been fucked by a dozen hung men, but this... this was something else entirely. This was a cock that didn't just exist in the world but seemed to reshape the world around it, a cock that demanded attention, that demanded submission, that demanded worship. And Ella found herself not just utterly transfixed, but aroused like a true bitch in heat, her cunt dripping wet, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Its so big, so... yummy...

Coach Daniels, for his part, was enjoying the show. He loved this part, loved the way Ella's face contorted in shock and disbelief, loved the way her eyes widened, the way her lips trembled, the way her body seemed to shrink in on itself as if trying to escape the reality of what was happening. He loved the power of it, to mentally ruin another innocent girl just by shoving it on her face--it made him feel like a god, like a predator, like a force of nature.

His players had broken her once, but he, oh, he was going to do far more than that. He was going to turn her to dust and rebuild her into his personal plaything, his personal slut. And he could see it in her eyes, in the way she stared up at him, in the way her body trembled, in the way her voice cracked when she spoke. She was already his now. Completely. Totally. Irrevocably.

Ella watched as the cock swung lazily in the air, its movement almost casual, almost bored, as if it were simply waiting for the right moment to strike. Her eyes followed it. "Soo big..."

She had no doubt now: she was trapped in something that wasn't quite a dream, though it wasn't not a dream either--it was more like one of those recursive, self-consuming nightmares where the logic of the thing folds in on itself, where the horror isn't just the event but the fact that the event feels both inevitable and impossible at the same time. The idea that she was about to fuck that was so cosmically incongruous with her sense of self, her physical dimensions, her entire ontology, that her brain kept short-circuiting, trying to reconcile the irreconcilable.

Her body, still trembling from the gangbang--a word that felt both too clinical and too vulgar to capture the sheer, soul-annihilating weight of what had happened--was a mess of exhaustion and residual trauma, her holes still leaking cum. She was beaten, hollowed out, and conscious enough to understand, with a clarity that felt almost cruel, that the coach's cock--this monstrous, veiny, pendulous thing--could literally kill her. Not metaphorically, not hyperbolically, but actually end her life.

And yet...

Her eyes, almost against her will, flicked to the glistening globs of pre-cum that were now oozing from the tip of the coach's cock, which swung like some grotesque pendulum, marking time in a way that felt both obscene and inevitable. Her mouth, betraying her, watered. Her tongue, betraying her further, darted out to wet her lips.

"So?" the coach said, his voice a mix of boredom and menace, like this was just another Tuesday for him, like he wasn't holding the literal possibility of her death in his hands. "What are you going to do now?"

"I--I--I--" Ella stammered, her voice a fragile, broken thing, barely audible over the white noise of her own panic. She looked at him, then back at the dick, then back at him and back at the dick again, her mind a swirling vortex of fear and resignation and something else--something dark and hungry and shameful.

She knew exactly what she was going to do.

"Fuck it," she whispered, the words escaping her lips she jumped and engulfed his cockhead with her mouth.

CHAPTER 6

Or at least Ella tried, though the first attempt was like trying to shove a clenched fist into a space that defied the laws of physics and anatomy both. She tried again, her jaw stretching to its limit, a hinge pushed to the brink of its max tolerance, and the effort was palpable--not just in the way her body moved, but in the way her entire being seemed to vibrate with the strain of it. Her breasts, unbound and unapologetic, bounced with a rhythm that felt almost independent of her, as if they were entities unto themselves, her nipples hard and pink, little sentinels of arousal. Her hair, damp and disheveled, flopped over her face in a way that was both chaotic and oddly poetic.

Her lips made this wet, almost comical pop as they broke contact, a sound that seemed to echo in the room, or maybe just in her head. And then she was back at it, her mouth working with a kind of desperate determination, slurping and gurgling. Her hands moved up and down the shaft with a kind of reverence, as if she was a blind woman trying to memorize its contours--the smoothness of the skin, the ridges of veins that pulsed with a life of their own. And then there was the heat, this sudden, insistent warmth between her legs that she couldn't ignore, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

GLURP! GLUG! GLURP! GLURP! GLUG! GLURP!

For a suspended moment, the locker room was a vacuum of sound, save for the wet, rhythmic acoustics of Ella's mouth working with fervor, a slurping that seemed almost industrial in its intensity, like a high-powered suction device designed for some obscure, unspeakable purpose. Her movements were deliberate, performative, her ass jerking and twerking for the benefit of the coach, who stood there, a figure of authority and ambiguity, his presence both looming and oddly passive.

Snap! Snap!

"Damn, she looks happier now," Old Joe muttered. His camera whirred softly, a mechanical witness to the scene. Ella's eyes flicked toward him briefly, a flicker of something--recognition? Resignation?--before she shrugged, a gesture so casual it felt almost surreal in the context. Her attention returned to the coach's cock, her lips parting to taste the salt of his sweat, the faint tang of pre-cum, the flavors mingling in a way that was both intimate and disturbingly impersonal.

Her lips parted with an audible pop, and she began to trace the length of his cock with her tongue. She kissed her way down, past the wiry thatch of his pubic hair, to the heavy, pendulous weight of his balls, the smell of them pungent and primal, a scent that bypassed thought and went straight to some deeper, more animal part of her brain. She pressed her face into them, inhaling deeply, her tongue darting out to taste, to explore, her hands moving in a frantic rhythm, jerking him off with a speed that felt less like passion and more like desperation.

"Coach," she murmured, her voice muffled against his flesh, the musk of him filling her nostrils, a scent that was both repulsive and intoxicating. "Oh my god, it's so big, it's so... so..." Her words trailed off,

Her tongue moved with a kind of desperate precision. Saliva pooled and dripped, a messy but necessary lubricant for the act, which felt less like an act and more like a kind of surrender. Her lips, soft and plush and pink in a way that seemed almost cartoonishly exaggerated, met his cockhead in a kiss before she wrapped her mouth around it, her tongue venturing into the small, dark aperture at the tip, probing, exploring, as if seeking some hidden truth buried deep within the flesh. The taste of him--thick, salty, pungent--flooded her mouth, and she swallowed it down with a gulp that felt like both an act of submission and a kind of communion.

Coach Daniels loomed above her, his expression a mix of amusement and something darker, something colder. His hands were clasped behind his back. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost clinical, but there was an edge to it that made the words feel less like a statement and more like a command. "Just to be clear," he said, his tone devoid of warmth, "this is your new god. And you will live to worship."

"Yes," Ella moaned, the word slipping out almost instantly, and then she was moving again, her lips stretching around him, taking him deeper, her body moving in a rhythm that felt less like a choice and more like a compulsion. It was as if she were trying to lose herself in the act, to dissolve into it completely, to become nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure. And maybe, in that moment, she did.

At a distance that felt less like physical space and more like some kind of metaphysical rift, Ella heard the click of Old Joe's camera. The sound was sharp, intrusive, a reminder of the possible ramifications of everything that happened in the locker room.

Old Joe, hunched and wheezing, snapped another picture. He coughed, a wet, phlegmy sound, and muttered something to the coach, "She's a mess, Are you taking her like that? Don't you think she could use a shower?"

The coach chuckled. "Oh, she's going to take a shower, alright," he said, his voice dripping with a kind of performative menace. "What do you think, bitch? A shower would be nice, huh? And a drink, too. You squirted all over the locker room so many times... Best to... hydrate yourself as soon as possible."

Ella, her lips still wrapped around the coach's impossibly large cock, managed a muffled "Yes.." before sliding her mouth lower.

"Yes what?" Coach Daniels barked, his voice sharp, cutting through the haze. He thrust his hips forward, driving his cock deeper into Ella's mouth. Ella gagged, the sound guttural and raw, but the coach didn't stop. He push harder and deeper.

"Yesmmhpfcoachmhsir!" Ella managed to choke out, her voice strained but obedient, her hand moving in tandem with her mouth.

"Good," the coach said, his voice low, almost a growl. "Because I really need to relieve myself."

Ella stopped, pulling back just enough to glance up at him, her eyes wide and questioning. "Wdhuwdt?" she mumbled around the cock still filling her mouth, the words slurred and almost incomprehensible. The coach didn't answer. Instead, he just thrust his hips forward again, harder this time, the motion sharp and punishing. Ella gagged, the sound raw and desperate, but the coach didn't seem to care. Ella had such beautiful lips, despite being frosted with cum from eleven men.

Nothing that he couldn't fix.

Ella's eyes were wide as his cock was thrust into her mouth, gagging her, over and over. Her head yanked back and forth, her body reduced to a thing, a vessel, a receptacle. It was wonder why Bill and his friend facefucked her that way before.

With a coach like that....

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. He pulled himself out of her mouth, the absence of him somehow more violating than the presence had been.

"Here," the coach said, "hold on tight to the 'hose' and enjoy your shower." He guided her hands back to his massive shaft. "You better wash yourself, got it? And make sure you stay hydrated, too."

Ella froze. Not the kind of freeze where you're deciding what to do next, but the kind where your brain just... stops. Like a system overload. "Wait... You serious?"

She flinched backward, her body instinctively recoiling. No way, she thought, her heart sinking in her chest. He really wants to --?

SMACK!

She blinked, dazed, her mind struggling to reconcile what had just happened with any kind of reality that made sense. The side of her face was burning--she felt like was hit by a rock or a brick.

SMACK!

Ella was hit again in the face, on the other side, and she realized with a sense of horror and amazement that she had just been slapped by the trainer's giant cock, the absurd, almost comical violence of the act making it seem far more surreal than painful.

"I didn't hear you!" the coach screamed, his voice breaking through the fog in her brain like a siren. "Do you want to take a shower, or do you want me to throw you out in the hallway, covered in cum?"

SMACK!

Her head spun again with the next blow.

"I, I-I-I..." she stammered, the words catching in her throat, each one a struggle, like trying to cough up something lodged deep inside her. "What?"

"You think I'm kidding? I'm sure I've made this clear enough,"Coach Daniels grabbed her head and dragged down, below his pillar and toward his giant balls. "This," he said, his voice now a kind of guttural growl as he rubbed her face against his balls, "is your god now, you bitch."

"Hmmmpf!!!" Ella tried to pull off, but he held her in place.

"You think my boys fucked you good?" he continued. "You ain't seen nothing. I'm going to destroy your pussy. I'm going to massacre your asshole. Did you like sucking this big dick? Get used to it. Whether you like it or not, tonight I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name. You're going to scream in pain, and you're going to love it. I'm going to reshape your insides so that only my cock can satisfy you, and for now on, I'm going to fuck you every day and night, and you'll be lucky to even dress something. Hell, you'll be lucky to walk upright. Your life from now on is going to be all about spreading your asscheeks for me and screaming to get fucked. Your boyfriend? It's over. Your friends? Over. Model? Forget it, only Dogf***rt. I'll record a video of you shaking your ass on my dick and send it to your mother, and then I'll fuck you and your mother."

Coach Daniels released her head and Ella pushed herself away from his sack, gulping for air.

"Now, grab my cock, cuz I've holding all day," Coach Danils ordered. "Otherwise, I'll make sure Joe's pictures go viral--and I'm still going to fuck you."

Ella was taken back by his words. She didn't know what to say, what to think, or how to react. She looked at him, unsure of how serious he was, and then at Old Joe--who was still taking pictures --, waiting for some kind of sign of... Well, he hadn't helped her so far, but clearly someone wouldn't let Coach Daniels treat her like that and leave it at that.

Right?

The look in the coach's eyes wasn't just serious--it was tectonic, like the weight of some vast, unspoken thing had shifted behind his pupils and was now bearing down on her with the force of a collapsing star. Serious didn't even begin to cover it. Ella couldn't parse how much of what Coach Daniels was saying was just the bravado of a horny man or a real a genuine threat that would metastasize into something far worse than she could imagine. But she knew this: if word got out, if even a whisper of what happened in that locker room escaped into the world, it would be better to die. Right there. Right then. Better to just stop existing than to let that happen.

"Screw it," the coach said, impatient, his voice low and jagged, like gravel under a boot. He moved toward her, and the space between them collapsed in a way that felt inevitable, like gravity. "I will take you outside and fuck you in front of the rest of the team." He reached out for her. "Your photos will be posted tomorrow, by the way."

"Wait, no, wait--!" The words came out in a kind of choked staccato, half-gasp, half-plea, as Ella stumbled backward, getting away from his grip. "No, no, no! Wait! I'll--I'll be good, I'll take the shower, I swear--"

The Coach paused, his hand hovering in the air like it was part of some grotesque pantomime. "You what?" he demanded, jerking off slowly, offering his cock to her.

"I'll take the shower, Coach... sir," Ella said again. "I... I'll be a good slut."

She swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet room, and then she was moving, crawling toward him on hands and knees. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and half-thoughts. This isn't me, this isn't me, this isn't me. But it was her, wasn't it? It was her hands on the floor, her knees scraping against the rough surface, her mouth opening, closing, opening again. And then she was there, in front of him, and her mouth was on his monster cock. Putting on her best slutty face, she bobbed her head up and down, strands of drool wobbling from her chin. She gave him her best I'm-sorry-blowjob.

GLURP! GLURP! GLURP! GLURP!

She pulled away with a loud slup. "Wash me all over, Coach," she begged, her voice trembling in a way that could've been performative or genuine or both. Her tongue worked the shaft with a kind of desperate fervor, like a dog trying to lick peanut butter off the roof of its mouth

"Give me a golden shower, Coach, sir!" Ella's words spilled out in a rush. " I love this big hose of yours. I'll do anything you want. I want you to fuck my ass hard. I want to feel this thick, unyielding rod of yours splitting me open. I want to dance on this monster while you obliterate me all night, coach! I want you to feed me your cum, to fill every part of me with what you have in those BIG. HAIRY. BALLS. I want you to make me your bitch." She paused, her face brushing against his big black monster cock "But first I'd like to take a shower. Coach, sir!"

GLURP! GLURP!

Ella kept sucking the cock, her eyes flicking up intermittently to gauge Coach Daniels' reaction. That giant of a man just stood there, hands on his hips, his posture radiating authority. He watched her work his pole in a dispair to please him.

GLURP! GLUG! GLURP!

Coach Daniels let her sucking off for a time, smiling at himself. That redhead slut was gangbanged by his best players, and yet here she was, still defiant, still present. Good, he thought. Nobody likes to fuck brainless bimbos all the time, I far more fun to smash strong girls....

"Okay, bitch," he said finally, his voice cutting through the wet, rhythmic noise like a knife. He pulled her mouth away from his cock, the movement abrupt but not ungentle. "Then get ready for your shower. Hold it tight," he added, handing to her his "hose".

Ella took his cock on her hands, stroking slowly, awaiting.

She couldn't believe it. Not the thing itself, not the fact of it, not the her-ness of it, the Ella-ness, the way her mind kept looping back to the sheer ontological wrongness of the situation, like a scratched CD skipping over the same jagged groove. Just a few hours ago she had been a person, a respectable person, a person with a boyfriend, a person with a life, a person who did not do this, who did not ask for this, who did not, for instance, find herself kneeling in a locker room that smelled of sweat and ammonia and something faintly metallic, covered with a dozen men's fluids holding in her hand a cock so improbably large it seemed less like a part of a human body and more like a prosthetic, a prop, something designed by a team of engineers with too much time and too little shame.

And yet here she was, jerking it, stroking it, her fingers moving as if she was professional whore, like she'd been doing this forever, like this was who she was now, who she'd always been, who she'd always been meant to be. And the coach was just standing over her, his breath coming in shallow, wet gasps.

He's going to piss on me, she thought. He's going to piss on me, he's going to piss on me. Oh, my God, he's going to piss on me and I'm letting he do it! I ASKED him to do it, and I'm going to thank him... God. What was my problem? What is wrong with me?

She tried to tell herself that this was the right thing, the smart thing, the only thing. That it was better than the alternative, which was--what? Being dragged naked into the hallway? Being humiliated even more in front of strangers? Being worse than this? Because she knew, she knew, that this man was capable of it. He was capable of anything. He was the kind of person who didn't just take what he wanted--he made people give it to him. He made people ask for it. And the worst part, the part that made her want to scream, or cry, or maybe just disappear, was that it was working. Bill and the others, they'd fucked her, sure, they'd used her, they'd taken what they wanted, and even making her enjoy in the end. But he coach, he wanted her to love it from very beginning.

And what about all that talk, that incessant, almost performative chatter about she being, like, essentially a sex slave to the old man?

He's the worst of them all, she thought, not for the first time. He's dangerous, I should stop, I need to stop and just run...

She glanced quickly at the open door. She should run. Maybe he would catch her, maybe he wouldn't, and even if she did, she would be naked in the stadium hallway, on campus--and yet, it was the most logical thing to do at that moment. Just fucking go, she scolded herself. But then her eyes drifted back to the cock on her hands--her small and pale hands against it, looking almost absurd, like a child trying to grip a baseball bat.

God, I can't stop. What the fuck is happening to me? What did they do to me?

There was, of course, no real way to quantify the psychic toll--if that's even the right phrase, and it probably isn't--of being gangbanged by eleven guys. The physical aftermath was easier to catalog, but what about her mind? How to explain that, despite all of it--or maybe because of it--she was now soaking wet for a cock that would do far worse than Bill and his boys did?

Maybe I really am a slut crazy for big cocks, in the end...

"Here you go, Ella!" Coach Daniels barked, his voice cutting through the haze like a foghorn. "Make sure to clean your entire body! And keep your mouth open--gotta stay hydrated!"

The coach's grunt was low and guttural. His cock jerked slightly in Ella's hands, the piss slit widening as if it were a tiny, grotesque mouth preparing to speak. The smell hit her first, acrid and ammoniac, but no amount of olfactory foreshadowing could have prepared her for the sheer hydraulic force of the first stream, which struck her forehead with the precision and power of a firehose. The piss cascaded over her, drenching her hair, flattening her once-lustrous red curls into a sodden, clinging mess. It was in her mouth before she could close it.

The taste...

It was not just bad.

It was worse than bad.

A flavor that seemed to bypass her tongue and go straight to some primal part of her brain that screamed "wrong, wrong, wrong!"

"Ah, for fuck's sake," she snarled, her voice a mix of rage and resignation, her eyes stinging as the piss splashed into them. Breathing was impossible; the stream had found its way up her nose, a sensation so violating it made her gag. She was drowning, but not in water--in something far more intimate, far more degrading.

And yet, there was a perverse silver lining: the piss was at least washing away the dried cum on her face, a small mercy that felt almost cruelly ironic.

"Oh, don't let go of the 'hose' or else," the coach said, his grin wide and almost boyish. "The water tank's limited."

Ella, realized with horro that even as he stood there, pissing on her, it was she who would have to do the laborious, intimate, degrading work of soaking it all her body with his piss. Her mind raced, a frantic, disjointed monologue of disbelief and self-reproach. How the fuck did I let this happen? How I could be that dump? But even as the questions swirled in her head, her hands moved his cock, redirecting the stream onto her breasts, the piss forming a golden river that flowed through her cleavage, warm and oddly silky. She moved it lower, between her legs, where it washed away the sticky remnants of earlier violations, the gummy clots of cum dissolving under the relentless flow.

"Don't forget your back," the coach said, his tone casual, almost helpful, as if he were giving her tips on how to wash a car.

Ella said nothing. What was there to say? She turned her body, presenting her ass to the stream, the piss splashing into the crack with a precision that felt almost deliberate.

"That's it. Much better, isn't it? Keep going."

Holy shit, how is he still pissing? Ella guided the cock--his cock, which was, let's be honest, less a human appendage at this point and more like some kind of industrial-grade hose--and redirected the stream onto against her legs, and her sides. She also "washed" her hands and her feet, the she let it splashed against her belly, the liquid pooling and dripping in ways that felt both grotesque and weirdly mesmerizing, until every inch of her body was now glistening with golden.

"There's still a lot of cum in your hair," Coach Daniels said, his voice calm, almost clinical, like he was giving instructions on how to properly load a dishwasher. "Wash it more. Don't worry, there's plenty of water."

Plenty of water, right. Ella closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and let the stream hit her again, the piss warm and oddly soothing in a way that made her feel deeply conflicted about her own capacity for self-delusion. The force of the stream didn't weaken. If anything, it seemed to gain momentum, as if the coach was some kind of human fire hydrant, which, okay, was both impressive and vaguely terrifying.

What a horse.

"Fuck, that's so cool," Old Joe muttered from somewhere in the middle distance, his voice low and reverent, like he was witnessing some kind of miracle of modern engineering. As always, he was snapping pictures--Ella, on her knees, holding the cock like it was a tool, a utensil to take a shower a thing.

It's little kinda hot, she told herself, and then immediately hated herself for thinking it, because of course it wasn't hot, it was disgusting... except, well, it was hot, in a way that felt less about the act itself and more about the sheer absurdity of it, the way it pushed against the boundaries of what she thought she was capable of, what she thought anyone was capable of.

So, it was hot.

And it wasn't.

Quit overthinking, Ella. You're just confusing yourself.

Inner conflicts aside, it was undeniable that she was stroking the coach's cock all the he was pissing, as if trying to pump the piss out of him, jerking him off in a way that was either unconscious or so deeply ingrained in her muscle memory that it didn't even register as a choice anymore.

Regardless, the piss indeed washed away the crusted cum from her body, the mess of it dissolving into something almost clean, almost pure, and for a moment she looked like some kind of mythical creature, a water nymph or something, except instead of rising from the sea, she was rising from a pool of urea and ammonia.

"Good girl," he said, the pressure from his fire hose finally subsiding to a few drops falling from his cockhead. "Good slut."

Ella's hands were still trembling while holding his cock. He pushed his hands aside and patted her head, the gesture almost paternal if not for the way his fingers lingered, the way the wetness from her hair seeped into his palm. She stared up at him, her eyes burning, her vision blurring at the edges, but expectating to hear that she did."

"Alright, bitch, time for your drink," Coach Daniels, pushing his coack against her lips. "Open your mouth."

Ella almost fainted.

She hesitated, and then, very slowly, she opened her mouth, wide. Her eyes watered, partly from urine on her face, partly from the shame of herself.

I'm can't believe I'm really doing this, she closed her eyes, awaiting for the splash.

Instead, she was taken back when Coach Daniels shoved his massive shaft on her mouth. Her jaws were stretched to the limit, roughly accomodating his dick. In a instant, she could fell the cock hitting the back of her throat. It was all so sudden that Ella's body protest with the invasion, convulsing. Merciless, the coach grabbed her hair bob her head back and forth, as hard as he could, the tongue forcely tasting drips of urine.

GLURP! GLURP! GLURP! GLURP!

It was, by any metric--physical, emotional, even existential--the most brutal facefuck Ella had endured thus far. Coach Daniels, a man whose physicality seemed almost parodic in its excess, loomed over her with a presence that transcended mere size. He was not just larger than the players, not just stronger, but also faster, in a way that you didn't expect a man of that size to be. Ella, her red hair matted and clinging to her forehead like some tragic emblem of her vulnerability, coughed and spluttered, her sounds a fragmented symphony of distress--squeals, gags, choked half-breaths--as the coach drove himself into her with a force that felt less like passion and more like annihilation.

When he finally withdrew, the absence of him was almost as violent as the presence had been. She gasped, the air rushing into her lungs not just as oxygen but as a kind of metaphysical reprieve, a reminder that she was, against all odds, still alive. Her chest heaved, each breath a ragged affirmation of her continued existence, her body trembling not just from the physical shock but from the sheer, overwhelming weight of what had just happened--a weight that seemed to press down on her not just from above but from within, as if the experience had rewritten something fundamental in her, something she wouldn't fully understand until much later, if ever.

There was almost no time at all to recover--no time to recalibrate, to reassemble the fragments of composure that had been so violently scattered--before he was pistoning himself into her mouth again, his hands anchoring the back of her head with a grip that felt less like control and more like ownership. Coach Daniels, whose relentlessness was less a personality trait and more a force of nature, was full pyscho mode. His cock, thick and unyielding, could not fully enter her throat, but the half that did was more than enough to make her gag, to make her eyes water, to make her wonder, in some distant, detached part of her mind, how exactly she had ended up here, in this moment, with this man, in this room that smelled faintly of sweat and disinfectant.

And to make her pussy so wet from the rough treatment that her juices were running down her thighs.

He thrust in and out with a single-minded determination that suggested he was less interested in her pleasure--or even her presence--than in the sheer physicality of the act itself. And then, as if deciding that the current arrangement was insufficient, he pushed deeper in the bitch little mouth, cutting off her air entirely. Ella's eyes bulged, her cheeks hollowed, and her nails dug into his thighs, which were as hard and unyielding as the rest of him. He chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating through her skull, and she realized, with a kind of detached horror, that her suffering was not incidental to his enjoyment--it was the point.

"Fuck, that's it," he said, his voice thick with something that might have been admiration or contempt or both. He pulled out, she gasped for air, her lungs burning, her throat raw. Saliva flew in every direction, thin strands of it still connecting her mouth to his cock like some grotesque tether. He pressed the tip of his cock against her lips. She opened her mouth wide, trying to get ahead of his attack. He put his cock between her lips, but to her surprise didn't fuck her.

"Drink every drop, bitch," he commanded.

Oh, fuck, he's doing it...

She tried to respond, but all that came out was a series of muffled sounds, half-formed words that dissolved into squeals and whimpers. A toast to your health," Coach Daniels said, smirking, and then he was pissing down her throat. Ella's body went rigid, the hot, golden liquid hitting the back of her mouth with a force that felt almost tidal. Ella's body went rigids. Against every fiber of her being, against the deep-seated taboos that had been etched into her psyche since childhood, she found herself compelled to do the one thing she could do in that excruciating moment: to swallow.

GULP!

GULP, GULP!

Too much...

GULP, GULP, GULP!

GULP-GULP-GULP-GULP-GULP--

Too much!

Ella couldn't keep up with the sheer relentless flow of it--it was too much. She wasn't drinking anymore. That was over. Now she was drowning. How can he possibly pee that much? The question wasn't just in her head; it was in her throat, her chest, her stomach, which rebelled, convulsed, sent everything back up in a series of wet, sputtering coughs, spilling everything. She thrashed. She trembled. The coach didn't seem to care, holding her in place.

"I'm going to brake your prissy little ass," the coach said with a smirk, and then he started to trust his piss canon in and out of the redhead mouth. His heavy balls slapped against her face as he fucked and pissed in her mouth at the same time. "And you're going to love it!"

Ella was thrashing and twisting loudly, emitting deep pleading mewls that she hoped the coach would pick up on and stopped. Instead, he continued both trusting and emptying his bladder inside her tortured throat. She felt the urge to puke. She couldn't breath, her mouth tasted bitter and there was a massive black meat fucking her throat and cutting all the air.

And yet, for some reason, her battered pussy was squirming and her clit was buzzing with excitement.

"That's it," Coach Daniels hissed. "Swallow everything your god gives you..."

The moment stretched, elastic and interminable, a kind of temporal distortion where seconds bled into minutes or maybe hours. And then, finally, with a wet, almost comical pop, it was over. He withdrew himself, and Ella gasped, the air rushing into her lungs in ragged, uneven gulps, as if her body had forgotten how to breathe on its own. The taste--sharp, acrid, unmistakable--lingered in her mouth, and she could feel it, warm and slick, dripping down her chin. Her hands, white-knuckled and trembling, clung to Coach Daniels legs for stability, though her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.

Oh, how much it was? The sheer volume of it--two gallons? three?--threatened to rise back up, bile and shame mingling in her throat. She was shaking now, a full-body tremor, feeling violated in a way she didn't yet fully understand.

This guy is a monster, she thought, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach, which felt bloated and foreign, like it belonged to someone else. The burp that escaped her was involuntary, a guttural expulsion that carried with it the unmistakable tang of him--urine, yes, but also something else, something sour and metallic. Or a horse, she thought, almost hysterically. Definitely a horse.

"Still thirsty?" the coach asked, his grin wide and predatory, his tone dripping with a kind of faux concern that made her skin crawl. He gestured toward himself, offering, taunting. "Do you want some more?"

Ella's glare was sharp, her voice a low, venomous hiss. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing--Eek!" But the words caught in her throat, morphing into a startled squeak as Daniels shoved her backward, her balance giving way as she landed hard on her tailbone. Before she could process what was happening--before she could even begin to formulate a coherent thought--his cock was on mouth again!

"I gave you a drink," he declared, pumping his meat. "Now I'm going to feed you."

Ella tried to pull away, her fist connecting with his belly. His abdomen was a wall, unyielding, and the futility of it all--the futility of her, of this, of everything--was almost funny, except it wasn't. The coach just kept going, his rhythm accelerating, a goddamn sex machine, and Ella's vision blurred, her world narrowing to the sensation of his body moving against hers, or rather through hers, her mouth a ruined thing, her jaw aching, her chin slick with saliva that pooled on the floor beneath her.

GLURP! GLURP! GLURP! GLURP!

This guy is a demon, Ella but the thought was less a coherent statement and more a fragment, a shard of something larger that she couldn't quite grasp because her mind was spinning, her body was spinning, the room was spinning, and Coach Daniels was still there, still moving, still relentless, his cock hitting the back of her throat with a precision that felt almost surgical, each thrust a reminder of her powerlessness, each gag and cough and splutter a kind of punctuation mark in a sentence she hadn't agreed to write.

Old Joe, who was standing somewhere in the periphery of her awareness, said something, "Damn, you sure you're not a pornstar?" he joked, taking more pictures.

Ella gave him the finger. Both men laughed, their laughter a kind of soundtrack to her humiliation. Ella wasn't laughing, wasn't even close to laughing, because this wasn't funny, but mostly because was almost passing out from the lack of oxigen.

The coach finally let her up for air and pushed her off his cock.

"Coach, you're going to kill me--" Her voice was cut off again, his hand in her hair, pulling her back down, her head bobbing in a rhythm that wasn't hers, that would never be hers, and she looked up at him, her eyes meeting his for a moment,

The white rehead looked so fucking hot with a big black dick on her mouth that his answer to her pleas was to increased his pace. Ella lose sight of him. Her world became a blur, shapes and colors blending together.

GLURP! GLURP! GLURP! GLURP! GLURP! GLURP! GLURP! GLURP!

After a chorus of gagging, the coach pulled his cock out. Ella imediatly took in long, deep breaths, not knowing when she would have the chance again.

"Coach, take it easy--" she was silenced again as Coach Daniels rammed his cock into her mouth again, this time so deep that she tought he was going to open a new hole in her throat.

Another minute of intense facefucking and then he grinned, "Here, bitch... here is you fucking dinner!"

Ella had about two-quarters of black dick stuffed down between her lips when the man exploded. The eruption was less a release than a violation of physics, a geyser of viscous fluid that threatened to dislodge her from him entirely. His hands, though, those large, calloused hands that had spent years gripping whistles and clipboards, held her in place. The sensation was overwhelming, a flood of warmth that filled her throat, her stomach, her sinuses, until she was choking on it, with semen spilled from her nostrils, her body rebelling against such insanity.

And he kept cumming, and cumming, a relentless tide that seemed less like a biological function and more like a god-like punishment. She tried to manage the excess, her throat working in frantic, audible gulps, but it was too much. The stuff--thick, opaque, and somehow alive in its viscosity--easily overflow, dripping down her chin.

Coach Daniels suddnely pulled away, grinning with a kind of manic pride, Ella doubled over, coughing, sputtering, her body expelling what it couldn't contain. She was about to clean her nose when she looked up at him--his hand was moving again, jerking off his cock, pointing it at her face. She froze. No way, there is more...?

"And here's your fucking dessert," he said, his voice a mix of triumph and something darker, something that made Ella's stomach twist even as she remained still in place.

What unfolded before her eyes wasn't so much an ejaculation as it was a kind of grotesque theater, a spectacle of excess that seemed to mock the very boundaries of human physiology. It was as if some primal floodgate had been breached, unleashing a torrent that defied any semblance of restraint. Ella stood there, transfixed, her mind struggling to process the sheer volume of it all--the massive, dark shaft jerking as if it had a mind of its own, each spasm sending another thick rope of cum arcing through the air, splattering across her face in streaks that layered one over the other until her skin was glazed, unrecognizable. And still it kept coming, Coach Daniels' body seemingly locked in a feedback loop of exertion, his balls tightening and releasing in rapid, almost violent succession, each contraction firing off another shot before the last had even finished its trajectory. The cum landed everywhere--her breasts, her stomach, the final spurts landing with a wet slap just above her pussy.

Ella didn't move. She couldn't. She just sat there, stunned, her jaw dropped, her mind struggling to reconcile the reality of what was happening. It was too much, too vivid, too grotesque, and yet it was real.

"Swallow, you fucking slut," he said

Ella was still trying to understand how all of that was possible when he forced the twitching cock past her lips and into her mouth. It wasn't until the first wave hit her throat that she snapped back into herself, her eyes widening, her mouth once again gradually filled, forcing her to swallow big mouthfuls of the tickiest semen she had ever tasted in life.

GULP1 GULP! GULP1 GULP! GULP1 GULP! GULP1 GULP! GULP1 GULP!

After what felt like the ninth or tenth--or maybe eleventh, who's counting, really?--thick, viscous surge of his release into her mouth, Coach Daniels's orgasm began its slow, almost reluctant retreat. His hands, heavy and damp with sweat, stayed planted on her head, as if he needed something to keep him from floating away in the post-climactic haze. His breathing, ragged and uneven, filled the room.

"Goddman, I needed that," the coach chuntered as his body emptied, heaving in their wake a silence where only his breathing could be heard, the air thick with the scent of his massive release, a pungent, almost oppressive aroma that seemed to expand to fill every corner of the space.

Ella just stood there, sitting on the floor, her mouth still glued to his cock, the monster still throbbing with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Once it was clear that it was over, she slowly dislodge herself from him, the monster slidding out of her mouth with pop, leaving a mix of saliva, cum and piss dangling from her lips to the the purple helmet. Ella fell back onto her ass and began to cough and breathe in, trying to calm down.

She looked at herself, covered with chunks of thick cum that seemed more like glue. "Oh, my God... Oh, my God!" Ella couldn't believe it, and shew didn't know about what to thing about that mess. She ran her tongue over her lips slowly, tasting his jizz. Now that she was not drowing in cum--and piss!--she noticed that Coach Daniels tasted lightly sweet and very creamy. She ran her hand over her belly, suddenly very conscious that this guy alone had made her swallow more cum than the entire football team.

"Coach, what really are y--the fuck, how are you still that hard?"

Coach Daniels stood there, arms folded, his grin less a grin and more a kind of tectonic shift in the landscape of his face--a smirk that seemed to acknowledge, with a weirdly casual arrogance, the sheer improbability of the situation. He let her gaze as much as she wanted to his still rock-like hard cock, a monster that defied physics, biology, and maybe even metaphysics, because how could he still be hard after flooding her with his cum? Ella's mind, in a desperate attempt to self-soothe, tried to frame the whole thing as a joke, a prank, a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation or bad sushi. Maybe she was still cold the floor after the gangbang - hell, maybe everything was just a dream.

But the joke wasn't funny, the hallucination wasn't dissolving and the thing was still there, jutting out like a middle finger to the laws of nature. She gulped hard. How much cum does he still have in his balls? Is there a limit? Was this man some kind of biological anomaly, a freak of nature with reservoirs of semen stored up like a squirrel hoarding acorns for winter? And what did he want from her? To drain him? To empty him? Was that even possible?

Coach Daniels, hands on hips, just waved his cum-stained sopping dicktoward her. Ella knew what he wanted and smirked, finding despite everything a little funny that the man could emanated such a commanding presence while fully naked.

She moved toward him on all fours and then put her mouth to work on cleaning his cock. First, the drips, the easier targets, the ones that pooled and threatened to slide away, then the stickier stuff glued to his skin. Her tongue became something else entirely--a tool, a solvent, a thing that could dissolve boundaries, if only for a moment. Her lips, rosy and full, moved with a kind of practiced grace. She worked until her mouth was full of his gooey jism.

"Show me," Coach Daniels said. He withdrew himself from her, and she opened her mouth, wide, like a child at a dentist's appointment. Inside, the evidence: a swirling, frothy mass of white. She gargled it, briefly, the sound grotesque and oddly musical, and then she swallowed.

"Good," he said, his voice low, then his eyes traced the contours of her face and body, the sheen of his own release still clinging to her skin. "You need another shower," he added.

Ella felt her heart miss a beat.

CHAPTER 7

Damn it! Ella exhaled, a sigh that was less breath and more the sound of a soul buckling under the weight of its own resignation. Her hand moved toward his cock, bracing herself for yet another round of that soul-crushing hose bath

But then--swat!--Coach Daniels' hand struck hers away, sharp and dismissive, like she was a dog reaching for a forbidden scrap. "Come on, follow," he barked, and before she could process the words, his fingers were tangled in her hair, yanking her forward with a force that made her scalp scream.

"Hold On--!" but the word hung there, unfinished, swallowed by the weight of her own powerlessness. She stumbled, caught off guard, her body betraying her as she spun on the floor and was made to crawl on all fours beside him like a pet, her knees scraping against the floor.

In the periphery of her humiliation, was Old Joe, his camera clicking away, the sound of it like some grotesque metronome keeping time with her shame. Click. Her ass, jiggling with every forced movement. Click. Her tits, swaying like some cruel parody of freedom. Click. Click. Click. Each snapshot a frozen moment of her animalistic crawl, each one a tiny theft of whatever dignity she had left.

"Shake you ass a little," called Old Joe.

This is getting ridiculous, Ella said to herself as she comply with his wishes.

The showers came into view: a gauntlet of chrome showerheads jutting from the tile like blunt metallic beaks, no curtains, no partitions, no semblance of privacy, just the cold, wet geometry of exposure. Coach Daniels steered Ella to the farthest showerhead, his grip on her waist firm. He hoisted her up, the movement both perfunctory and invasive, and then the command, delivered in a tone that brooked no resistance: "Turn around. Lean against the wall."

Ella obeyed, pressing herself flat against the cold, tiled wall. Well, at least its a real shower, Ella tried to be positive, feeling her cunt begining to get hot despite her predicament. Jesus, am I really this much of a slut? She turned her head back to him and glanced down to his massive spear, something designed for a single, brutal purpose. She bit her lip and spread her legs spread apart almost involuntarily, her ass shaking in this rhythm that felt both performative and instinctual. Her pussy was wet, her asshole--her messy, sore and overused asshole--blinking to him.

Yeah, she was that slutty, alright, and she wanted to be fucked. Right. Now.

The coach just stood there, his gaze fixed on her disheveled silhouette, his expression unreadable.

"So?" Ella cooed out in a sensual voice. "Come on, fuck me already, coach, sir..." The words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate, "Aren't you going to fuck my fat ass with your BIG! BLACK! COCK!?"

Coach Daniels smirked.

"Oh, I will," he said. He stepped closer, the space between them collapsing in a way that felt inevitable, like gravity. His cock, heavy and insistent, rested on the curve of her ass, and Ella responded by grinding against it, her movements slow and deliberate. The monster was hot again her butt, and she moaned of anticipation.

"But first," the coach he reached past her, his arm brushing against her skin, and turned the shower on.

Ella screamed.

The water in the shower was freezing cold, and she would have jumped away like a wildcat if it weren't for Coach Daniels's heavy hands on her neck and waist.

"Don't you fucking move!" he barked, his voice this jagged thing, all edges and no give, his hands like vices pinning her in place, and Ella--who was all gooseflesh and chattering teetha who wanted nothing more than to fold herself into a tight, shivering ball--could only shiver as the cold water hammered down on her back, her head, her hair plastered to her skull in wet ropes, sluicing down her neck and her shoulders, turning her whole body in a shuddering, soaked mess.

She tried to distract herself from the cold by looking at the floor, watching the cum drip from her body and being carried to the nearest drain, but the cold was a living thing, a sharp-toothed entity that gnawed at Ella's skin, her bones, her very sense of self.

"It's freezing!" she whimpered, the words escaping in a puff of visible breath, fragile and immediate, like a plea to some indifferent universe.

"Shut the fuck up," Coach Daniels said. His right hand let gor her hip was plunged into her with a suddenness that made her gasp. The sensation was electric, a jolt that seemed to short-circuit her nervous system. "Don't move an inch, do you hear me?" he said, his voice low, almost conversational, as if he were instructing her on proper form during a drill.

C-C-Coach--Uuuuhn! Ah!" Her voice fractured, the syllables collapsing under the weight of the cold, the friction, the sheer overwhelm of it all. His fingers worked with a relentless efficiency, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the tiled enclosure, echoing off the walls like some grotesque percussion, Ella's body arching and shuddering, her knees buckling as another wave of sensation--part pleasure, part violation, part something she couldn't articulate--rippled through her.

"Ohmygodcoach!" Her back arched.

Don't you dare move," he growled, his hand coming down hard on her ass, the slap sharp and stinging, a punctuation mark to his command. Ella squealed, the sound high-pitched and involuntary, and for a moment, the cold receded, replaced by the burn of his handprint. She stayed as she was, bent and trembling, her hands pressed against the wall, the tiles slick and unyielding beneath her palms. The cold water rained down, relentless, and her body seemed to exist in two distinct planes: the icy assault from above and the heat pooling between her legs, a heat that felt less like desire and more like a biological inevitability, a natural reaction from a whore.

His fingers moved with a kind of brutal expertise, finding rhythms and angles that made her gasp, that made her legs spread wider, that made her hips rock back and forth as if of their own volition. The sensations were too much, a cacophony of inputs--the cold, the heat, the slap, the friction--that her brain couldn't process, couldn't reconcile. Her breath came in short, hot bursts, fogging the air in front of her, and her teeth chattered, a staccato counterpoint to the wet sounds of his fingers.

Her body was a world of contradictions: shivering from the cold, yet slick with sweat; rigid with tension, yet yielding to his touch. She was trapped, not just by his hands or the cold or the tiled walls, but by the sheer intensity of it all.

And then, there it was--his other hand, exploring her body. It found her chest, paused, then cupped her breast with a weight that felt both foreign and inevitable. His hand drifted upward, tracing the contours of her neck, her jawline, until it reached her mouth. Coach Daniels offered a finger, not tentatively, but with a kind of detached authority, as if this were just another drill, another exercise in control. Ella took it into her mouth, her lips wrapping around it with a practiced ease that surprised even her, her face contorting into what she hoped read as slutty. Her mouth worked the finger as if it was a cock, while her hips, as if operating on some ancient, pre-programmed algorithm, began to rock back and forth against the hand on her pussy.

She was drowned out by the rising tide of sensations. She didn't want it to stop. She couldn't. She was close--so close...

However, before anything could happen, he slid his finger off her.

"Nooo," the redhead managed to moan. Then he spanked her. Hard. The sound was sharp, almost clinical, and the pain was immediate, radiating out in concentric waves that made her squeal. Her ass wobbled, the flesh still reverberating from the impact, and before she could even process it, he did it again. And again. Each slap was harder than the last, a crescendo of stinging precision that left her jumping, moaning, and--though she wouldn't admit it, not even to herself--craving more. The rhythm was almost mathematical in its relentlessness, each strike a variable in an equation she couldn't solve but didn't want to escape. And Ella, caught in the feedback loop of pain and pleasure, could only respond in kind: jumping, moaning, and surrendering to the inexorable logic of the moment.

SLAP!

"UUUUHHhnn!"

SLAP!

"HHHOHHH!!"

SLAP!

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

SLAP!

"Uhhn! Again!"

SLAP!

"AGAIN!

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"AAAAAH, THAT'S IT! HIT YOUR BITCH HARDER!"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"FUUUUUCK!"

Her orgasm arrived not as a wave but as a sudden, almost violent rupture, a seismic spasm that tore through her body with a kind of electric ferocity, leaving her toes curled and her cunt pulsing in rhythmic, almost algorithmic contractions. She squirt. The sound of her release--a wet, audible splat--echoed in the shower room, a sound so visceral and unignorable that it seemed to hang in the air like a physical object, demanding acknowledgment. For a moment, her mind went entirely blank, a white static void, and she swayed precariously, saved only by the reflexive press of her palms against the wall. And then, as if the orgasm had unlocked some deeper, more primal floodgate, she felt it--the warm, unmistakable rush of urine spilling out and pooling on the floor beneath her.

She stared down at the spreading puddle, her breath still ragged, her thoughts a tangled mess of disbelief and something like awe. Jesus, I'm really fucked up in head, she thought. To cum just from having her ass slapped, to lose control so completely that her body seemed to bypass her brain entirely, to become a kind of involuntary machine, spilling fluids she hadn't even known were part of the equation--it was humiliating, sure, but also weirdly illuminating. Ella stood there, trembling both from her orgasm and her cold shower, and realized with a kind of dazed clarity that there were still vast, uncharted territories inside her, whole continents of desire and response she hadn't even begun to map.

The thing about desire--real, unvarnished desire--is how it strips you down to something almost preverbal, a kind of animal hum vibrating in the marrow of your bones. Ella could feel it now, a low-frequency thrum that seemed to emanate from the very core of her, as Coach Daniels' hands moved over her, his palms rough and warm against the smooth, yielding flesh of her ass. His touch was proprietary, almost clinical, like he was assessing her, measuring her worth in some unspoken currency of need and submission.

"You want my cock, bitch?" His voice was low, a gravelly rumble that wasn't so much a question as a statement, a declaration of power while rubbing his monster again between her asscheeks.

"Yes," she hissed, twerking her ass. "Just give to me already.,,"

"Then prove to me that you deserve it," he said, his voice a kind of predatory purr. He pulled her close, his cock sliding under her crotch. Ella closed her thighs around his shaft instinctively. Biting her lip, she began to rub her wet pussy all along the black shaft.

"Beg," he said, and the word wasn't just a word--it was a command, a demand, a thing that hung there, heavy and unignorable. "That's what you want, isn't it? You little slut. Beg me to give you more. Beg me to feed you, to let you milk me. Go on."

"Oh, fuck, Yes, coach!" Ella's voice was a high, keening thing, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, somewhere raw and unguarded. "Oh, I want it," she moaned, the words spilling out in a rush. "I want you to fuck me good, I want you to give me more, more of your thick, yummy cum, please, I need it, I need--"

Coach Daniels moved fast, grabbing Ella's breasts like they were his to manipulate. His back arched slightly, a subtle flex of lumbar musculature, and Ella felt herself lifted, just a few inches, but enough to make her gasp. The leverage point, the fulcrum of this absurd physics experiment, was his erection, rigid and unyielding, pressing up between her legs. Her toes barely grazed the ground, the balls of her feet brushing the floor like she was some kind of grotesque ballerina in a pornographic pas de deux.

Ella's mind, already a carnival of conflicting impulses, registered the surrealness of the moment: she was, quite literally, perched on the base of coach's shaft, her weight distributed between his cock and the faintest suggestion of her toes. It was ridiculous, almost comical, except for the way his fingers were now plucking at her nipples, stretching them with a kind of clinical detachment that made her shudder. His hands moved roughly, kneading her breasts like dough, and Ella hissed, a sound that was equal parts pain and pleasure. Her own hand found its way back to his dickhead, her fingers wrapping around it with a kind of automatic urgency. She began to stroke him, and as she did, a strange thought occurred to her: in this position, with his cock pressed so insistently against her, it almost felt like she was stroking herself. The idea was perverse, and odd fetish, but it also sparked something in her, a flicker of curiosity that quickly flared into something hotter, more insistent.

Her mind, ever the unreliable narrator, began to spin out a fantasy: a lone redhead in the men's locker room, steam rising from the showers, her hand moving furiously over her own massive cock, cum erupting in violent spurts, painting world around. The image was vivid, almost cinematic, and Ella felt a strange thrill at the thought. Damn, she thought, this is nuts... and so fucking hot. There was a part of her, a part she didn't entirely like, that understood why boys might find this act so compelling. It wans't just about getting a orgasm, but also about the the way it reduced everything around them nothing--the worlds was theirs canvas to splash with cum as long as their balls could endure.

The coach's hands were still on her breasts, his fingers pinching her nipples hard enough to make her gasp. The fantasy of the redhead jerking off dissolved, replaced by the memory--still fresh, still surreal--of the coach's cock spurting what felt like a gallon of cum on her mouth, face and body. Ella bit her lip, her mind racing. Ella hissed, her voice catching in her throat, and before she could stop herself, the words were out: "I want to see you cum, coach!"

She didn't wait for a response. Her hands were already moving, gripping his cock with a kind of desperate urgency, stroking him faster, harder, her voice slipping into a register she didn't even recognize, low and breathy and dripping with lust. "You came so much on me! Do it again! Pleeease, coach," she moaned, "I want to see you cum again sooo much! Please, please, let this little bitch use this god to cumshot all over the place."

Behind her, the coach grunted, his hands still squeezing her breasts, his voice a low growl. "You want to make me cum, bitch? Then work for it."

Ella smiled and struck a pose, arching of her back, while deliberate offering the dick between her legs to the world, a parody of the way the men jerk off. Her were locked down on her god, coach's dick. Hre cunt was burning withsuch intense lust that her juices were dripping onto his cock, lubricating it and making it easier to jerk off, her hands moving fast, almost frantic, as if speed could somehow bridge the gap between fantasy and reality.

Coach Daniels huffed like a bull. One of his hands dropped to her ass, groping, squeezing, and then--oh, God, yes!--his finger was inside her, fingerfucking her asshole with a kind of brutal efficiency that made her moan. "Cum for me, coach, cum for me," she said, her voice a kind of desperate chant, "Ooooooh, I want your--thick!--cock!--yummy!--juice!--flying all over the place so bad!"

"HHOhhh Lord, slut..." the coach groaned, doubling over slightly, his body wracked with waves of sensation, his fingers--now two--shoving deeper into her ass, his voice low and guttural, "Keep going... fucking bitch..."

And then, cutting through the haze of sweat and lust and the faint metallic tang of sex, Ella heard it: the unmistakable snap of a camera. She turned her head, her body still moving, still performing, and there he was--Old Joe, his camera raised, his finger clicking away, capturing her in a series of increasingly compromising positions. Jeez, still taking pictures? Come on, she thought, though the protest was distant, almost abstract--by this point, Old Joe must have taken hundreds, maybe thousands of pictures--pictures of her being gangbanged, ass-fucked, DP'ed, getting a bukkake, worshipping a monster cock, drinking piss--each one a potential grenade, a bomb big enough to ruin her life forever.

Oh well...

Ella turned to the camera and smiled, a beautiful, perfect, almost angelic smile. She kept one hand jerking non-stop the coach and started to shif her body into a series of exaggerated poses: a wave, a peace sign, the other giving a thumbs-up, the last one with her hand pointing to the cock between her legs and making rock 'n' roll face

"That's it, Ella, damn, girl!" Old Joe called out, his voice tinged with a kind of perverse admiration. "Keep stroking that cock. Goddamn, we should have done this since day one..."

And Ella, because what else could she do, kept going, her body a kind of living, breathing contradiction, a mix of defiance and surrender, her smile fixed, her hands moving, the cold water running on her back, her cunt on fire, her asshole stretched, her life--her self--reduced to a series of snapshots, each one more damning than the last.

But, if she couldn't stop the photo session, she could at least try to look good in it.

Coach Daniels grunted again--a sound that was less a vocalization than a kind of atmospheric event, like the low rumble of a storm system gathering itself somewhere just over the horizon. Another finger, thick and calloused from years of gripping footballs and clipboards and maybe pressed into her asshole. Ella writhed, breath hitching, and she could feel the slow, deliberate stretch of his fingers inside her. He was breathing like a animal behind her, and Ella knew she was getting closer to making Daniels climax, breathing heavy on her neck.

Ella's mind got spinning off into a kind of meta-commentary on the situation. Okay, so here I am, she thought, giving what might be the most technically proficient handjob of my life, which is saying something because, let's be honest, I've given a lot of handjobs. And pussy. And ass. And head. Jesus, how many orifices do I even have at this point? She giggled, a little hysterically, and then immediately felt a pang of self-consciousness. God, I'm so fucked up in the head right now. But hey, if life gives you lemons, make lemonade. If it gives you dicks, make them cum...

"Give it to me, coach!" she demanded, her voice a little too loud, a little too sharp, like she was trying to drown out the voice in her head. Her hands, which were unable from touching each other, tightened around his cock, which was now throbbing in a way that felt almost alive, like it had its own pulse, its own agenda. She started jerking him off with manic intensity, her arms burning with the effort, her mind racing. "Show your power, coach!" she shouted, her voice rising to a near-shriek. "GIVE! ME! MILK!"

By that point his big cock was not only throbbing but shaking, vibrating with a kind of desperate energy, like a machine that was about to overheat. Ella could feel her own body responding, her belly tightening, her legs trembling, her juices flowing in a way that felt almost embarrassingly copious.

"That's it, bitch, milk me..." Coach Daniels growled like a bear might make if it could talk. He pulled his fingers out of her ass, and she let out a little purr of contentment--God, why do I keep making these noises? I sound like a cat in heat--, which she immediately tried to stifle. The coach wrapped his arms around her belly, holding her tightly, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. "Gunna cum soon," he muttered. "Get on with it, slut. Take your prize."

Coach Daniels, his jaw clenched tight enough to grind enamel into dust, let out a guttural howl, his teeth.

"YESSS!" Ella chanted, her voice a shrill, felling the pressure building in him, his dick about to explode on her hands. "Cum for this little bitch! CUM! CUM! CUM! CUM! CUM! CUM! CUUUUUUUUUM!"

Her words, repetitive and insistent, seemed to hang in the air, each syllable a hammer strike against the fragile veneer of whatever decorum might have once existed in the room. And then, with a force that felt almost seismic, Coach Daniels pulled the redhead closer, his body convulsing in a way that was less human and more animalistic, a raw, unfiltered expression of something that defied language.

He was cumming.

Ella watched, her eyes wide with a kind of awe that bordered on reverence, as the moment unfolded: a geyser of thick, white fluid that arced through the air with a kind of grotesque majesty. It hit the wall with a wet, slapping sound, the impact leaving a splatter pattern that seemed almost artistic in its chaos.

"Yeahhhhh!" Ella exhaled, her voice a mix of triumph and something darker, something that felt almost like possession. Her hands continued to move, pumping the his meat hose. "Give me everything, coach! Cum for your bitch!"

She kept working at it, her small hands wrapped around his dick like she was trying to wrestle something alive. The cum--and there was so much of it, an almost absurd volume--shot out in these thick, ropey arcs, like some kind of high-velocity projectile, hitting the wall with a wet, resonant splat before beginning its slow, gravity-driven descent. The sheer force of it was staggering. Every time she thought she had a handle on it, it would buck or twitch, and she'd have to adjust her grip, her fingers slipping slightly as she tried to aim the thing, which was, let's be honest, basically impossible.

And yet, despite everything, it remained rigid, unyielding, as if the laws of biology had been temporarily suspended. Ella stared at it, half in awe, half in something like dread. What the hell is this thing? she thought. What kind of--?

"Playtime's over, bitch."

The voice cut through the air like a knife, sharp and sudden, and before she could process what was happening, she was upside down, the world tilting violently on its axis. Her stomach lurched, and she let out a startled yelp, her hands flailing instinctively for something to grab onto.

"Wait, what are you--?" she managed, blinking rapidly, her brain struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in circumstances. One moment, she'd been perched on the base of the couch's dick, her hands busy, her focus laser-sharp on the task at hand--or, more accurately, in hand--and the next, she was airborne, her body untethered, spinning like some sad, limp ragdoll caught in a cosmic dryer, and ending with her, inverted 69 position, her legs flailing like a cartoon character, her hair cascading toward the floor, her head tilted downward, fancing...

SPLLLURT.

The sound was wet, visceral, unmistakable. She felt it before she saw it--a warm, sticky deluge hitting her square in the face. She blinked, her vision momentarily obscured, and when she finally managed to clear her eyes, she saw it: his dick was still going, still spurting and now, with no one to hold it, it had angled itself upward--pointing directly at her upside-down face.

Shit.

"Did you want cum? Did you want milk?" Coach Daniels grinned and winked. "Then take it... bitch."

"Wait--"

Ella was stupid enough to open her mouth to protest and Coach Daniels wasted no time: he hammered her face on his dick. His gushing cock was shoved straight into her mouth, ballooning her cheeks with cum. Ella swallowed quickly, not wanting to choke for a third time.

She knew there would be more, but she didn't expect what happened next: the coach started to sink her deeper onto his cock! Ella tried to fight it, her legs flailing in the air in desperation, in real fear that her jaw would break from the effort. There was no way she could deeptroath that mammoth. It wasn't that she didn't want to--it was anatomically impossible!

She was aware, in a distant, almost clinical way--like a scientist observing an experiment through a pane of safety glass--that, theoretically speaking, at this angle, it might be possible for her to take the entirety of his shaft into her throat, as if his dick were some kind of grotesque, flesh-colored gastric tube, designed feed her more cum. But theoretically speaking was a phrase that belonged to books, films and erotic websites, not the real life. Here, in this moment, Ella's entire soul was screaming--not metaphorically, not hyperbolically, but in a raw, primal way--that this was wrong, that the sheer, monstrous size of him made what was happening not just painful but physically impossible, a violation of the basic rules of human biology.

And yet, it was happening.

To the redhead's dismay, Coach Daniels carried on, relentless, forcing her to take him deeper, inch by inch, as if her body were nothing more than a sheath, a vessel, a thing to be used. Tears rolled down, messy tears of someone who has been pushed far beyond their limits. Her legs trashed in the air. Her fists, small and relentless, hammered against his beer belly. To add injury, his dick shot another inside her, and what didn't end in her stomach was raining down from her lips around his shaft.

It didn't take long before she felt the tip of him nudging insistently at the tight, unyielding entrance to her throat, a place that was never meant to accommodate something like this. He paused there, as if savoring the moment as his cock twitched again and again, sending more thick and violent surges of cum straight into her stomach. Then he kept going, feeding more of himself into her, as if her body were an endless void, a black hole that could somehow contain him

Ella's fleshy muscles expanded grotesquely as the fat, unrelenting cock slid deeper, partly down her esophagus, a place where no such thing should ever go. She whimpered--a small, pathetic sound--and gulped reflexively as her gag reflex triggered, her last attempt to expel the invader. But he didn't care. The monster didn't care and just kept going, inch by obscene inch. Her neck stretched in a way that was almost cartoonish, each forward motion of his hips forcing her body to accommodate him in ways that felt less like sex and more like torture. The bulbous head of his cock swelled against the tender walls of her esophagus, pressing insistently against the narrow entrance to her stomach, a place that was never meant to be touched, let alone invaded like this. Ella was seeing sparks now--not metaphorically, but actual, flickering bursts of light in her vision, as if her brain were short-circuiting under the strain. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in air, desperate for oxygen.

She felt his cock was twitching again, but this time the coach didn't stop. With one final, brutal thrust, he forced the entirety of his 12" inches into her, her nose smashing against his balls, her head fully impaled, her body stretched to its absolute limit.

"Milk me, your fucking bitch!" the coach let out a gravelly roar. Ella eyes bulged as he released his remanaing cum straight down her esophagus and into her stomach--no swallowing required!--each surge a grotesque violation of boundaries she hadn't realized were so porous.

She shuddered as he pumped a small oncean, her body responding in ways that felt almost autonomic, as though her nervous system had been hijacked by some external force. The sensation of being filled, of her stomach distending ever so slightly under the sheer volume of it, was alien and perverse. Her mind, meanwhile, had retreated to a distant, foggy outpost, where thoughts flickered weakly and died before they could fully form. She could think of nothing. She could do nothing. And yet, the coach seemed inexhaustible, a humanoid cum pump that seemed to go for ages..

When his fingers--thick, calloused, and unrelenting--found their way to her pussy and asshole, the intrusion was almost secondary to the surreal detachment she felt. Her body, however, betrayed her. Despite the discomfort, the violation, the sheer wrongness of it all, her pussy was slick, her asshole clenching and unclenching as though begging for more. The dual assault of his cock in her throat--or better, in her belly-- and his fingers probing and stroking with a kind of frenetic urgency created a feedback loop of sensation that short-circuited her ability to process what was happening. Ella shook as she quickly climaxed, less a release than a surrender, a seismic spasm that left her trembling and hollow.

Coach Daniels snarled as the last pumps of his cum boiled into Ella's flooded fuckthroat. With a grunt, he lifed her up, allowing the huge black trunk to slide out of her cum-basted mouth, body and soul. He easily spun her, like a toy, and put her back on her feet under the cold shower. Ella's body, now free from the weight of him, crumpled almost immediately, her legs folding beneath her as though the bones had been replaced with jelly. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, staring at nothing in particula. There was a kind of shock there, but it wasn't the kind of shock that comes from surprise--it was deeper than that, more existential, of someone who has been pushed far beyond the limits.

"Ok," the coach said behind her, his voice dripping with anticipation. "Time to fuck the shit of you."

CHAPTER 8

By then, Ella was almost to numb to fell cold shower water sluicing over her. Her left hand drifted to her belly, swollen and tender with cum, while the other pressed into the hinge of her jaw, working the muscles there as if checking for fractures, for some essential piece of herself that might've gone missing. She shivered, not just from the water but from the aftershock of it all, the kind of shiver that starts deep in the marrow and works its way out. There was a faint, almost metallic taste of trauma in the back of her throat, the kind that doesn't so much announce itself as linger, like a shadow you can't quite shake, even under the fluorescent glare of the bathroom light.

I'm going to the therapy after this, a lot...

Deepthroating a 12" inch cock and drinking a galon of cum, upside down.

Definitely not her finest moment.

"Get up, bitch. Hands on the wall."

The command hung in the air like. She wasn't exactly thrilled to comply but the alternative, the possibility of him escalating, of things getting more, was enough to make her move. And despite everyhing, she still wanted to get fucked. Ella wiped the cum off her face and got up, "You know, Coach," she started, "I have a name you can use--!"

SPANK!

He spanked her ass hard enough to send her stumbling into the wall still smeared with the remnants of his earlier release. Ella bit her lip, hard, but didn't make a sound. Instead, she glared at him. the coach just stood there, watching, waiting to see how she would answer to his slap.

Ella's eyes sparked with defiance, but her gazer drifted downward lingering on his penis, which was still erect. It was like a third character in the room, a kind of grotesque punctuation mark to the whole scene. Despite the soreness in her mouth, the sting on her ass, the general wrongness of it all, she could feel the heat between her legs, a response that felt both automatic and deeply unfair. She dragged her gaze back up to his face, her own expression unreadable.

"Ouch," she finally said, her voice dripping with a kind of performative sultriness that didn't quite reach her eyes. She touched the spot where his hand had left its mark, then spanked herself lightly. "Think you can keep going, Coach?" She twerked her hips. "Or was my deepthroat too much for you?"

Coach Daniels smirked, a small, tight expression that didn't reach his eyes. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that," he said, his voice low and measured. He pointed toward the center of the showers, his gesture sharp and deliberate. "You know what? Get out of the water before you get sick. Take that booty of yours and get on all fours over there." he pointed to the bench "Crawl."

"Yes, coach, sir!" Ella glanced to his cock and swallowed hard, her heart racing.

Fucking finally!

Ella lowered herself onto all fours, her body moving with a deliberate, almost primal grace, crawling back to the bench, to excited to be ashamed. There, she arranged herself in a posture that was pure lust, with her body arched, her ass lifted high, a vulgar offering that swayed, hypnotic, her wetness glistening, her holes exposed, vulnerable and hungry.

The air aroud her was thick with anticipation. "Come on, coach," she said as he positioned himself behind her. "Enough with the games. Fuck me like a man, if you dare..."

Coach Daniels' hands gripped her hips, firm and commanding, his body pressing against hers. His cock, thick and insistent, pressed against her, the heat of it undeniable. Ella's breath hitched, a soft whimper escaping her lips as she felt the sheer magnitude of him, the promise of what was to come.

"Mmmmmmm," she moaned, a sound that seemed to rise from the depths of her being, raw and unfiltered, as she felt the weight of him, the sheer magnitude of what was about to consume her. Her body was a mix of fear and anticipation, a kind of visceral, animal awareness that this was happening, that she had asked for it, that she had wanted it, even if the wanting was complicated, layered, fraught with contradictions.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice low and steady, as he pulled her hair back, forcing her to lift her face, to meet his gaze. "Keep your eyes on the god who's going to fuck the shit out of you."

"Yes," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes locked on his. "Please, do it now, coach. Destroy my little pussy."

"It won't be little for too long," he said, his voice low and deliberate. He aligned himself with her and pushed,. Ella--her breath already shallow, her body taut like a wire--let out a sound that was less a whine and more a kind of involuntary emission, a noise that seemed to come from somewhere primal, pre-linguistic. Her back arched, a reflex as old as the species itself, as the first contact was made, the tip of him pressing against the threshold of her.

"Yessss," she hissed, the word elongating into something almost serpentine, a sound that was less about affirmation and more about surrender. "Give me this... this monster cock, Coach--AAAHHH!!!" The exclamation was sudden, a punctuation mark that seemed to hang in the air, vibrating with a kind of raw, unfiltered urgency.

And then, with a motion that was both shocking in its suddenness and almost excruciating in its deliberateness, he moved forward, his hips driving him into her, the fat, scalding heat of him breaching her in a way that felt less like an act of intimacy and more like an act of conquest. Ella's response was immediate: a stifled cry that seemed to catch in her throat, a sound that was equal parts pleasure and pain, a kind of somatic paradox that left her trembling.

"UUUgghhn...!!" she squealed, the sound escaping her in a burst of something that felt almost involuntary, as if her body were speaking a language her mind couldn't fully comprehend. Coach Daniels continued, his movements measured, almost clinical, as if he were conducting an experiment, testing the limits of her capacity to accommodate him. Her wetness made the almost penetration smoother.

Almost.

Not enough.

"OhmyGoood," Ella gasped, her eyes widening as the sharpness of the pain cut through the haze of her arousal. The coach watched her expressions as her pussy stretched around his cock. "Ohfuckohshitohfuck..." The words tumbled out of her in a cascade, a stream-of-consciousness litany that felt less like language and more like a series of vocalized spasms.

Inside her, her muscles fluttered, a kind of involuntary clenching that was equal parts pleasure and alarm, a physiological response that seemed to underscore the duality of the moment.

He is so big, the thought lodged itself in her mind, a kind of cognitive feedback loop that she couldn't escape. It wasn't just his size--though that was certainly the main factor--but the way his size seemed to rewrite the narrative of her own body, rendering her previous experiences almost irrelevant. The dozen or so players she'd been with, each of them generously endowed in their own right, now seemed like mere preludes to this moment, as if they had been practice runs for something she would never be fully prepared until she experienced for herself. Hell, in the face of Coach Daniels' monster cock, Ella might as well have been a virgin, her body relearning itself in real time, recalibrating its understanding of what it meant to be filled, to be stretched, to be occupied.

To be fucked.

"Fuck, Such a tight fucking pussy!" Coach Daniels growled. He pressed deeper, feeling her body open around him, feeling the way her muscles clenched and released, like trying to decide whether to push him out or pull him in. "Going all the way in, bitch!

"Call me Ella--Oh! Oh! Oh!" Her cries spilled from her lips, each one a melody of pleasure and pain, her full mouth forming a perfect "O" as he filled her inch by inch. She struggled to breathe, the air catching in her lungs as if her body had forgotten how to perform even the most basic of functions. She felt herself rip open--not literally, though the sensation was so vivid, so visceral, that it might as well have been--her body yielding to him in a way that felt less like surrender and more like annihilation. Her facer might bee turned toward him, but she hadn't truly seen him in what felt like hours, her vision blurred just like her rational thoughts consumed by the raw, overwhelming sensations coursing through her--pain and pleasure colliding, a fiery storm that left her trembling, her body yielding to his relentless rhythm as he claimed her, inch by torturously exquisite inch.

"So... big...!" Ella face flushed, eyes wide open but seeing nothing, the mouth agape, drool trickling down her chin.

"You tight sluts, always making the same stupid faces," His grin was a thing of practiced menace, the kind of expression that came naturally after years living his own personal mythology. He slid deeper, the motion slow and deliberate, was savoring not just the physical sensation but the idea of it, the narrative of conquest it represented. His cock was halfway there, and he wouldn't stop, pressing against the elastic limits of her body with a kind of inevitability, like a piston in a machine designed for a very specific, very brutal purpose: to go balls deep in white pussies.

"Might be the tightest cunt I've ever broken in!"

Ella's response was wordless, a physical articulation of something she couldn't--or wouldn't--put into language and that ended with her spreading her legs wider, her body trembling not just from pleasure but from the sheer overwhelmingness of it all. Suddenly, it was too much, and her orgasm hit her like a wave, a surge of sensation that started deep inside her and radiated outward, a shuddering, electric current that left her trembling and breathless.

For a moment, time seemed to stretch and warp, seconds feeling like hours, hours like seconds, until she was pulled back to the present by the sharp, insistent collision of his hips against hers, the final, brutal confirmation that he was fully inside her, balls deep.

"Oh, my god, you feel so good inside me," she hissed, the words slipping out before she could stop them, a raw, unfiltered of her lust. "Why the fuck are you so big?"

Coach Daniels positioned himself atop her with a kind of grim athleticism. His hands, clamped down on her shoulders and leaned in close, his breath hot and damp against her ear, "You forgot to say 'coach.'"

And then, with this line hanging in the air for a moment, and not whitout deliberate cruelty, he pulled almost his entire cock out of her, leaving just the barest tip of himself inside. Ella gasped as just that single movement was more than enough to put her over the edge. And then he drove himself back into her with a single, brutal stroke that seemed to bypass pleasure and go spiritual.

"Aaahahghhahaahh!!" She threw back her head and wailed with animal pleasure, her eyes rolling back until only the whites were visible, her lower lip trembling like it was trying to form words but couldn't quite manage it. Her toes curled, her legs twitched.

And they barely started.

Like the Georgia Tide Lions players before him, Coach Daniels didn't fucked her gently. The similarities ended there, though, as he was wilder and bigger--in every sense--and was almost artistic in his brutality. He attacked Ella's pussy with a kind of merciless precision that made her body tremble not just with pleasure or pain but with something deeper, something existential. Each strike was a punctuation mark in a sentence she couldn't quite read but could feel in her bones. And he wasn't just maintaining his pace; he was accelerating, as if the act itself were feeding him, fueling some internal engine that burned hotter and faster with every passing second. It was like watching a man who'd been training for this moment his entire life, who'd honed his body and mind for the singular purpose of rewriting Ella's reality through the sheer, unyielding force of his dick.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"OOHHHhhmyyyyYYGOoOoOoOOD..." Ella screamed, her voice breaking into fragments of syllables that might have been words if they hadn't been drowned out by the sheer intensity of the experience. Her mind, already frayed at the edges, was now a kaleidoscope of frenzied emotions--fear, desire, shame, ecstasy, pain, pleasure--all swirling together in a chaotic soup that defied comprehension. Her arms gave out entirely, and her soft breasts and face collapsed onto the bench, the cold metal pressing into her skin.

Coach Daniels, for his part, didn't miss a beat. He let go of her shoulders and grabbed her hips instead, lifting her ass for a better angle of his thrusts. And then he was slamming into her again, harder now, deeper, as if he. The sound of flesh meeting flesh grew louder, more insistent, a relentless percussion that seemed to echo off the walls of the gym and into the darkest corners of Ella's psyche.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!!

"UGH! UGH UGH! UGH!!"

Ella started to moan loudly every time she felt her depths being reshaped. She whined for more, her body used mercilessly by the big cock, reaching a bliss, strained as orgasm after orgasm overtook every part of her. Her contribution was minimal considering the animal ferocity of the coach's lust. His cock moved heavily inside her, the thick muscles of his haunches tensing with each surge of his hips.

"Yes," the coach growled feverishly. "Take all of my cock. Take it all!"

His hand came down on her buttocks everytime he smashed her, with a rhythmic intensity that was almost musical.

SPANK! SLAP! SPANK! SLAP!

Each impact seemed to reverberate not just through her body but through the room itself, the sound bouncing off the sterile walls of the locker room like a metronome keeping time for some grotesque symphony

SPANK! SLAP! SPANK! SLAP! SPANK! SLAP! SPANK! SLAP!

"HUHHHHhhhhhh..." Ella was cumming once more. The strong rhythmic pounding from Coach Daniels seemed to have her in a constant state of frenzied bliss.

SPANK! SLAP! SPANK! SLAP! SPANK! SLAP! SPANK! SLAP!

"MOoootTHEeeERFuuuOOOUUoUouOCKER!"

He slid his monster out of her, inch by giant inch, until only the head remained. Coach Daniels gritted his teeth and thrust, his powerful muscles hammering his entire cock back, filling her up to the brim. Ella let out a delightful girlish squeal that reverberated across the locker room. Her back arched and her toes curled as shockwave rippled through body, mind and soul.

"SONOFABICH! I AM CuuuuuuuUuUOoooOUUUOUUMMINNG!"

Ella saw stars as her pussy clenched, released, and sent a spray of her slick, sweet squirt arcing onto the coach's scrotum and thighs. Coach Daniels spanked her more, making her squeal, and keep going on his dick-assault.

"SAY MY NAME, BITCH!" he snarled. "SAY YOUR GOD'S NAME!"

"D-D-D-DaaanielsOhhuhuhuuuuu!" Ella was howling, drowling in a cry of mad pleasure.

"LOUDER, BITCH!" Coach Daniels barked, his hand tightening in her hair.

"DANIELS!" Ella blurted out in a rare moment of clarity. "COACH DANIELS, COACH-FUCKING-DANIELS! Aaaaaah! FUCK ME, COACH! PLEASE, FUCK MEeeEeeEEEEEeee! FUCK ME, MOTHERFUCKER! HARDER! SAID H-H-H-AAArdeeEER! Yeah, like that! BREAK MY PUSSY! DESTROY MY ASS! FUCK THIS BITCHhhhhhhHHHHhuhhhh!""

Ella could fell another orgasm aproaching, her legs shaking. She pulled her asscheeks aside and spread her legs wide. Coach Daniels grinned dominance, and continued to savagely pound away at her pussy.

"Yeah, That's what you like isn't it? You dirty little bitch!"

"Y-Y-Y-Y-E-E-ESSSssss..."

SLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAPSLAP!!

"OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD..." Ella babbled, like a bitch in heat, her arms and legs trembling under the endless assault and the wave of pleasure that rippled through his body.

"CUMMMIINNGAAAAAHHHH!"

Ella's screamed loud, as if she was the dumb girl of horror movie about to be assassinated. She screamed because now coach was giving everything he have, his hips smashing her's at full speed, a piston-driven nightmare, a thing of such violent efficiency that the sound they produced wasn't even a sound anymore but a staccato rhythm, a drum, each collision a tiny explosion of force and friction. He was beyond brutal, if brutal even begins to cover it, brutal being a word that implies some kind of boundary, some limit, and this--this was something else entirely, something post-boundary, post-limit, post-human. He was sawing into her, his cock a weapon of pussy annihilation.

Coach Daniels, with a suddenness that felt almost surgical in its precision--like the swift, unhesitating slice of a scalpel through tissue--withdrew himself from her. The motion was so abrupt, so devoid of transitional grace, that it left Ella suspended in a kind of vacuum, the sort of eerie, airless silence that follows the pop of a seal, or maybe the release of a pressure valve. Her mind, still catching up to the physical reality of his absence, flailed for a moment in the weightlessness, the clinical detachment of it all. But before she could fully process the void, the lack, he was already in motion again, his hands lifting her up with a speed that felt less like passion and more like the execution of a premeditated maneuver. He placed her legs to rest on his shoulders, forcing her to hug his neck as he grab her ass to better control the next round thrusts.

Oh, Jesus...

In that position, not only was her pussy completely exposed, but she was entirely at the mercy of the wild coach's strength. Ella could only clasp her hands around his neck as her pussy hovered above his cock. He lowered her slowly, letting gravity do most of the work.

"Oh my..." she managed, biting her lip hard enough to leave marks. Just the sensation of sliding downward was almost too much. "So good..."

"Yeah?" Coach Daniels' voice was low, gravelly, the kind of voice that carried with it the weight of authority and something darker, more primal. "You like that, slut?" The word hung in the air, sharp and unapologetic. "Huh? Does anyone else make you feel this good, my little British cunt?"

Ella opened her mouth to respond--to say what, exactly, she wasn't sure--but before she could form words, he hammered her down, his entire shaft going inside her. Ella lost her voice as he started to fuck the shit of her. Moving her up and down so fast that at any moment she could end go flying straigth to the ceiling, his cock slid all the way out of her pussy before slamming back in, each thrust a full-body experience that left her breathless and trembling and utterly, completely his.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"OH! OH! OOOOH MY FUCKING GOD!!" Ella moaned, already starting to have a small orgasm. "OH! MY! FUCKING! GOD!! FUCK!! FUCK!! FUCK!!"

"Answer me, bitch!"

She tried her best. "N-no... A! No on--Ah! NOOOoooOohAh OoooOHHhNEeee..."

"Not even my boys?" Coach Daniels asked with a smirk growing on his face.

"NOOOooooOOHhh! OH! OH! OH!"

"Not even your boyfriend?"

Ella blinked. "Who?"

The coach smirked. "Smart answer."

They were close enough now that Ella could count the pores on his nose, the faint sheen of sweat on his upper lip, the way his breath hitched in rhythm every time she was bounced atop his cock. The coach was no longer man, but force, a phenomenon, a thing that operated on a frequency so primal it bypassed thought and went straight to the lizard brain. For fifteen minutes--though it felt both eternal and instantaneous--he fucked her moved with a kind of brutal efficiency that left her raw, voiceless, and weirdly, almost transcendently happy. Her cries devolved into a hoarse whisper, and then into silence, leaving only the faintest ghost of a smile on her face. A smile that, if you squinted, might've looked like the kind of smile you'd see on someone who'd just been handed a winning lottery ticket, or maybe on someone who'd just been told they had six months to live and decided to enjoy every remaining second they got. It was complicated.

She was, after all, a young woman with aspirations--a young model on her path to go pro. But now she was reduced to fucking sex doll, a redhead whore fucking a monster cock, in the men's locker room. Coach Daniels won--he did fucked the shit out of her, and didn't plan to stop so soon. Ella could now testify to any girl who asked: calling him a beast wouldn't be enough. The guy wasn't a man--he was a god of wrath and sex.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"GOD! WHAaaaatttTTTAarRreeEEYyouoooooooOhhhh.... OH! OH! OH!" Ella began seeing stars. Her fingers, white-knuckled and desperate, clung to Coach Daniels as she was ravaged, like a natural born pornstar, on the edge of another massive orgasm.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"CuuuMMIiinngaaAAAgaAinnn! OOOoooooOOOoOoOoOoOHhhh!" Ella found her voice, her ass-cheeks jiggling greedily as they were clapped by dark hips, moaning to high heaven.

The relents assault went on and she squirted several times, soakings his balls and legs. The locker room was filled only with the sound of powerful thrusts, grunts, squeals and the occasional splash of a redhead squirting.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Coach Daniels, whose grunts had begun as low, guttural exhalations, ragged, his movements going wild, desperate. "Yeah, it's coming," he hissed, the words escaping through clenched teeth, each syllable sharp and serrated. The boiling sensation in his balls built and built. "Get ready, you little bitch," he growled, "your god is about to cum! I'm going to breed the shit out of you!"

Ella, whose own consciousness was reduced a series of sensations and impulses rather than a coherent mind, could only respond in the way her body seemed to demand. "Yessss!" she cried, "Cum inside me, coach. Breed me! Fill me up!" Her voice, high and tremulous, seemed to hang in the air.

Coach Daniels' breathing grew heavier, more desperate. "Here it comes," he snarnled over the sound of skin against skin, the wet, rhythmic slap of bodies colliding. "Milk it! Fucking milk it, you goddamn brat!"

Ella's cries of "Yes, Yes, Yes!" were less words than they were sounds, guttural and primal. With a final, almost poetix thrust, Coach Daniels hilted himself inside her and unloaded himself, his entire cock shuddering with the force of it, his release less an act than an event Ella's orgasm, which had been building like a storm on the horizon, broke through her just an instant before she felt him erupt inside her. The sensation was overwhelming, like sitting atop a volcano in eruption, the heat and force of it both terrifying and exhilarating

"Yes, breed me! Breed my pussy!" she cried, the words tumbling out of her in a rush, less a sentence than a mantra, a prayer to some dark, primal god of flesh and desire.

Her orgasm m flowed easily into the next as she was filled. She collapsed against him, her body a kind of shuddering architecture, her chest pressing into his, her orgasmic contractions only further milking the spurting seed from her new black god. She felt one scalding spurt after another, adding another push of pressure to her flooded tunnel. Six... Eight.... Ten... Twelve... Each cumshot was a new pressure, a new claim on her body, which was already so full, so impossibly full, that she could almost imagine her stomach distending, her flesh making room, accommodating as much as it could. And what couldn't be contained--what her body, in its finite wisdom, couldn't absorb-- was gushing out, dripping from her pussy to his shaft, then to his balls and finally to the floor, pooling beneath them, a kind of silent testament to the excess of it all, the sheer unmanageable volume of what had just happened, what was still happening, even as she lay there, trying to catch up to it.

"GodDAMN!" Coach Daniels declared when he finished. "I haven't fucked like that in a long time!"

The redhead, for reasons both physiological and existential, found herself unable to respond--her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed less like breathing and more like some kind of desperate, animalistic plea for oxygen, as if the air itself had become a scarce commodity in the room. Coach Daniels, meanwhile, extricated himself from her with a loud slurp, followed by the inevitable and heavy release of fluids from her gaped pussy.

The coach set the her down, As if on cue, her knees gave out entirely, folding beneath her like a cheap lawn chair. Ella staggered for a moment, before finally surrendering to gravity and collapsing onto all fours. Her hands hit the floor with a slap that echoed in the otherwise silent room. Her face hovered inches above the ground. Her chest heaved, each breath a struggle, as if her lungs were fighting against her, as if even her own body had turned against her. The trembling in her limbs made even the smallest movements--adjusting her hands, shifting her weight--feel like Herculean tasks, each one requiring a level of effort that she wasn't sure she had left.

"Holy shit, Coach, that was... that was..." Ella's voice trailed off, her words dissolving into something between a gasp and a whimper, her body still shuddering with the aftershocks of what had just happened. "That was amazing. The best fuck of my life!"

She turned her head, her movements sluggish, her thoughts fogged by the residual haze of her own pleasure. Her eyes searched for him--he was behind her, stroking his big dick.

His eyes...

"CC-C-Coach?"

He wasn't listening to her. He wasn't even looking at her, not really. His eyes were fixed on some distant point, some invisible horizon that only he could see. It was as if he'd crossed over into another dimension, one where the rules of decency and restraint no longer applied. And then he was on her again, his hands gripping her like an animal.

"Wait," she managed to choke out, her voice trembling, her body still reeling from the intensity of her own orgasm. "Wait, just... just give me a second to recover. I need to... I need to..."

But Coach Daniels didn't wait. His movements were relentless, not a man anymore--if ever!-- but a beast with only single thing on his mind: to fuck. He pushed her face down into the wet floor, the cold, damp surface pressing against her cheek, and then he lifted her knees.

"Wait--aaaaaah!"

He was inside her again, his thrusts deep and unyielding, each one sending shockwaves through her body.

"Uhhn!" she moaned, her voice barely above a whisper now, the pain sharp and insistent, cutting through the haze of her own pleasure. "C-c-c-cooooache...! Ahh, Ahh, AHH! Please, you're... go slow! S-s-s-s-looowoh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes! Righ there! Keep going! Harder! HARDER, I SAY!"

There was no sense of control or tempo on Coach Daniels thrusts, just the bestial need to fuck and cum as as possible. Ella, beneath him, was a study in contrasts: her groans were high and melodic, almost operatic, while her body writhed against the cold, unyielding floor, her head tossing side to side like someone caught in the throes of a fever dream.

"Oh, fuck! That's it, coach," she cried, her voice breaking in ecstasy. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh! Fill--Ahhh! My tight--Uhhh! PUSSY! Ah, Ah, Ah!"

Above her, Coach Daniels was a symphony of animalistic noise--grunts, squeals, the wet slap of flesh on flesh, the sharp crack of his hand meeting her ass, each sound punctuating the air with a kind of grotesque finality, like the staccato beats of a drumline at a parade no one had asked for. She could feel it--the pressure, the heat, the friction--all of it accumulating. And then, he was cumming again. Ella was still full--overfull, really--from his last shot, and the sheer physics of it all seemed almost comical, like trying to pour more liquid into a glass that was already brimming. The new jets of cum, spilled out around the edges, the tight seal of her vaginal walls and his cock failing to contain it all, and it was messy, sure, but also weirdly fascinating, like watching soda fizz out of a can that had been shaken too hard, pooling beneath her.

"Oh, God..." The words came out in a pant Ella was aware, in a distant, almost academic way, that Coach Daniels was pulling his cock all the way out of her. She was also aware - and marveled - that he was still hard. "Coach, just give me a minute--" But then, before she could even think to brace herself, he was back inside her, the force of it knocking the breath out of her lungs in a single, sharp gasp. "FUUUUCK!" she heard herself scream, eyes bulging as she was devoured again.

His hands were on her shoulders now, fingers digging into her flesh with a kind of desperate urgency. She glanced back at him--just a flicker of her eyes, really--and what she saw was a creature driven by a single, all-consuming need. His hips were pistoning now if he was a dog, Wolf or bear, making her body jolt with each thrust.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

The sound was obscene, almost comically so, like something out of a cheap porno, but there was nothing funny about the way it felt, the way her body was being rearranged from the inside out. "FUUUUCK! WHATAREYOU?! The words tumbled out of her in a chaotic stream, half-formed and nonsensical. Pain and pleasure were indistinguishable now, two sides of the same coin, and she was flipping it over and over again at each thrust.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"AAAHHH..... YESSS......! SOOOO.... BIIIIIG!"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"Stop, stop! UUGHNN-UUUGHNnnn-UHHHHN!"

"No! I mean, yes! YES! You're wrecking my womb! You're fucking up my body! Holy shit!

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"OhmyGoooOOOD! Ohmygodohmygod! I think I'm fucking dying!"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

The coach was grunting with each thrust, a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest. Over and over again he pulled out, the slick sound of his cock sliding free almost obscene, before slamming back into her with a force that made her entire body shudder. His cum was sloshing out of her now, a grotesque reminder of what had already happened, what was still happening, what would keep happening. How many more times can this man, this beast, this thing, cum?

SLAP!

"HHHUHhh!"

SLAP! SLAP!

"HHHUHHAH--!!"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"HHUUUUHUHNNuhhhHH!!!"

Ella's head tilted back, going insane. Her pussy clenching around the coach's cock. Her face--well, her face was something else entirely. It was a study in contradictions, a canvas on which ecstasy and madness were painted in equal measure. Her eyes were half-lidded, not quite closed but not fully open either, as if she were caught between two worlds, the one she was in and the one she was being pulled into. Her mouth was open in a grin that was less a smile than a rictus, a kind of primal, animal expression of pleasure that seemed to bypass her brain entirely.

Above her, the coach was a hurricane, a dog, a wolf, a devil, everything but a man a man familiar with the term "casual sex", slamming her pussy again and again. Ella's knees buckled, and she fell to the floor, a kind of graceful collapse that felt almost choreographed. The coach followed her down, his body pinning hers to the floor, his cock still moving.

He grabbed her thighs, his hands rough but not unkind, and began to spread her legs apart. Going wider. And wider.

""'OHSHITSHITOhshitohshit--!" Ella's cry was a kind of punctuation mark, a sharp burst sound of someone that didn't make a lot of yoga watching her legs being forced so far to her sides that it seemed like to be broken apart. The coach didn't stop. He kept pushing, kept spreading her legs until they formed a perfect 180-degree line, in a flawless side split.

"Oh, my God!" Ella exhaled. She'd always known she was flexible, sure, but this--this was something else entirely. A side split, yes, which was already something, but with the added complication of a monster cock going in and out of he pussy. To make things worse, she was spread in a way that her pelvis flush against the cold, unyielding floor--every time Coach Daniels pumped his dick inside her, she ended having her pussy rubbed against it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she closed her eyes, the new teasing, just adding fuel to the fire. She was on the edge again.

"Damn, I didn't know you were so good at yoga, girl," Old Joe said, his voice cutting through the haze like a knife through undercooked meat. "That's it, keep looking at the camera!"

Snap!

She looked, and she smiled, not because of the picture, but because she was having close to her climax.

Snap, Snap!

"Perfect, Ella!"

I think I want a copy of those pictures...

Behind her, Coach Daniels paused, just briefly, as if recalibrating. His hands slid beneath her, cupping Ella's breasts. He pulled her back against him, his hips feeding her with dick nonstop.

"You like that big black cock, bitch?" the coach slapped Ella's ass, which jiggled as the woman cooed, a grouse on her face.

"FUCKINGYYYyyyeaahhHHHHH," she screamed like a whore, the words slurring together into a kind of nonsensical chant. "YES, YES! Y-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-S!" Tears of ecstasy rolled from Ella's eyes as she crescendoed quickly to the throes of another orgasm. "LOOVHHYUHYOOBIGGGUHHHHGGGGGHH.....!"

"Take it, you little slut!" Coach Daniels roared, his voice rising to a crescendo. He grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to arch her spine in a way that was almost painful to watch. "And keep your legs open! I'm going to fill you up, and you're going to keep those legs under control, understand?"

"HhohhhhhhHGG!" Ella's response was a strangled gasp, a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob or something in between.

"Not good enough!" Coach Daniels barked.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Ella spat, cumming. She squirted for what felt like the hundredth time that day alone. The world around her blurred, dissolving into a primal haze where nothing existed but the relentless rhythm of his thrusts in her pussy.

The coach, like a beast of unbridled appetite, showed no mercy. His hands, rough and demanding, gripped her hair like reins, yanking her back into the moment, forcing her to feel every inch of his dominance

"You're going to be a big! Fat! Slut!-- for my dick, every day," he growled, each word punctuated by a brutal thrust that sent shockwaves through her body, accompanied by a high-pitched squeal of delight from Ella, her body bouncing off of Coach Daniels's like a pogo stick."Oh yeah I'm fucking cumming! You're about to find out what it truly means to be my cumdump!"

Ella's cries of pleasure echoed in the room, her body bouncing helplessly against his, a puppet to his desires. "CUM INSIDE ME, COACH!" The words erupted from her throat, raw and guttural, as if torn from some deep, untapped well of primal need "CUM, CUM, CUM, CUUUUMM!!!"

Coach Daniels let out a low, animalistic growl. His body tensed, and she felt the hot rush of his release, filling her, claiming her. It was as if he were pouring not just his seed, but his very essence into her, marking her as his own.

"Oh yeah, I'm fucking cumming!" he roared, his voice a mix of triumph and savagery. "You're about to find out what it truly means to be my cumdump!"

The coach's massive member climaxed again, flooding her once more with his hot cum.

Ella's face was pure ecstasy. Her body responded reflexively, tightening around him, milking the last of his twitching urgency. Then it started to spill out of her with the pressure, spraying onto the floor. Coach Daniels pulled away, followed by a torrent of sludge-like sperm, his dick still pulsing wild, shooting his massive content. He laughed then, a sound that was both casual and cruel, as he aimed his throbing canon, splashing her back and then her butt with salvo after salvo of white.

He rose then, abruptly, and moved to position himself in front of her. His cock was aimed at her face, and the remaining strands of cum arced through the air in pearly, almost artistic streaks, landing on Ella with grotesque precision. Her mouth--open, waiting, almost performative in its hunger--caught some of it, the warm strands hitting her tongue with a tactile immediacy that was both visceral and strangely mundane.

"Damn," Coach Daniels exhaled. He leaned against a locker, his body sagging slightly, as if the act of standing upright required more effort than he'd anticipated. His breathing was heavy but controlled, the kind of breathing you'd expect from someone who'd just finished a set of wind sprints.

Ella, still on the floor, her body locked in the side-split position, reached a trembling hand between her legs. There was a question in the gesture, unspoken but palpable: Had something broken? Had something been irreparably altered? But no, there was only the wet, sticky cum leaking out of her pussy. Her fingers then moved to her ass and her back, tracing the places where the coach had just cum. Her eyes stayed fixed on him, though, even as her hand, now coated, moved to her mouth, her tongue darting out to taste what was left. The act felt less like desire and more like a standart activity.

"How the hell are you still hard?" she asked, her voice a mix of awe and panich, seeying that his monster cock was still erect. "Coach, I'm meaning. You came 5 ot 6 times. You have drenched in more cum than any of your players together. What. Are. You?" she brought some of his cum to he mouth. "And why you taste so good?"

he coach didn't answer, not with words anyway. Just a smirk, the kind of expression that suggested he knew something she didn't, or maybe that he didn't know anything at all, and that was the point. She rolled her eyes, knowing that her questions would be ignored.

How long had they been at this, anyway? Two hours? More? She knew that she being fucked by everyone for more than five hours. And she knew it wans't over. She knew that, while that monster cock stayed hard, she would fucked to oblivion.

How long can he keep going?

Screw than, what about me?

Ella's legs closed slowly, like the jaws of some ancient, rusted trap, the kind that doesn't so much snap as groan into place, and the pain--sharp, insistent, radiating from somewhere deep in her core--made her think, Oh, fuck, yoga, I need to do more yoga, or maybe just death, or maybe both, but definitely yoga first.

She rolled onto her back, the cold floor pressing into her skin like a judgment, and stared at the ceiling. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her heart a frantic animal trapped in her chest.

The coach--oh, the coach--was still there, looming in the periphery of her vision, his presence as inevitable as gravity, his monstrous cock still erect, still demanding, still the focal point of this entire fucked-up tableau. Ella closed her eyes, just for a second, just to steal a moment of something that wasn't this, to maybe recover a shred of stamina.

And then--because of course, because why wouldn't it happen this way--a second shadow fell over her, darker and more imposing than the first, and a voice, deep and resonant, like the sound of a cello being played in a cave, said, "My turn now, brother."

"Yeah, yeah," the coach replied, casual, like this was just another Tuesday, like this was normal, like any of this was normal.

Ella's eyes snapped open, and there he was: Old Joe. Naked. His fat cock hovering above her like some kind of obscene sword of Damocles, his balls hanging there like they had their own gravitational pull. And all Ella could think, all she could process, was:

WHAT.

THE.

FUCK?!

CHAPTER 9

Ella blinked. Her gaze, almost involuntarily, traced the photographer's corpulent frame upward, over the dull, rust-speckled chainmail that clung to him like some absurd medieval cosplay gone horribly wrong. When her eyes finally met his, the old man's scarred lip twisted into something approximating a smile, revealing teeth that looked less like teeth and more like the jagged edges of a broken bottle. Her eyes flicked back down, drawn not by curiosity but by a kind of horrified magnetism, to the thing swinging pendulously between his legs.

This has to be a joke, she thought.

But it wasn't. And it wasn't just the surreal, almost ridiculous fact that even her own photographer was about to be fuck her. No, it was the sheer, grotesque scale of the thing. The cock was obscenely thick, ludicrously broad, with two jeweled orbs dangling beneath it like some kind of deranged chandelier. And it was growing. Swelling. Right in front of her. The size of her forearm. That's how big it was. That's how big it became.

"Holycrapnofuckingway!!!" The words exploded out of her, a single, panicked exhalation, as the thing finished its transformation, its shaft now casting a shadow over her face. She glanced to the side, toward the coach's equally monstrous appendage, and her stomach lurched.

They were identical.

Two cocks. Two monsters. One white, one black.

It was almost poetic, in the worst possible way.

"Joe...?" she muttered, the word barely escaping her lips, more a reflex than a question, the kind of sound you make when you're not sure if you're awake or still trapped in some recursive nightmare. Ella tried to stand--or at least her brain sent the signal to her legs to stand, because that's what you're supposed to do when you're on the ground and someone guy cock's looming over you, right?--but her muscles, already pushed so far past their limits that they'd basically filed for emancipation, just kind of twitched in protest. The best she could manage was a sort of ungainly all-fours crouch before him, which, if you think about it, wans't the best posture for her to be before that guy in particular.

"Joe...?" she blurted again, louder this time, though the word still felt like it was coming from someone else, someone who hadn't just spent the last however-long being pushed to the absolute brink of what a human body can endure. Her eyes--wide, darting like the eyes a rabbit caught in a trap--flicked between the trainer's cock and the photographer's rough-edged dick. "I... You... Wait... How... How?! You too?!" she stammered.

"What?" Old Joe smiled, pretending ingenuity, like it was no big deal--no pun intended. He bent his knees slightly, just enough to bring the tip of his spear into perfect alignment with her face. "You really didn't think I going to just take pictures, did you?" he said, his voice dripping with a kind of faux innocence that made Ella's stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

Old Joe's massive dick swayed slightly, left to right, like it was taunting her, like it knew exactly how absurd and terrifying and surreal this whole situation was. Ella's gaze, wide and unblinking, tracked its movement, the thing hovering mere inches from her face, close enough for her nostrils to catch the acrid tang of sweat, with a hint of urine and old people. Her brain, already teetering on the edge of overload, could only stutter out a fragmented "I-I-I-I..."

"Shhhhh," Old Joe intoned, his voice low, almost soothing, as he placed a hand on her head with a kind of paternal gentleness that was, in its own way, infinitely more unsettling than if he'd simply grabbed her with the same brute force as the others. His touch was firm, deliberate, just enough pressure to communicate the futility of resistance, yet oddly tender, almost caring, in a way that made her skin crawl. A shiver snaked down Ella's spine--maybe it was her imagination, but there was something about him, something in his demeanor, that was almost psychotic.

Old Joe brought the massive head of his dick to her mouth. He wans't fast, or brutal in anyway. On the contrary, the moment unfolded with a kind of deliberate, almost ceremonial slowness, as if Old Joe were savoring not just the act itself but the granularity of its progression--each second a distinct bead on the string of time, each bead polished to a high, unbearable gloss. His hand, calloused and thick-veined, guided the considerable heft of his erection toward Ella's lips, which parted not with resistance but with a kind of passive inevitability, like a drawer sliding open on well-oiled tracks. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, stayed locked on his, and the world seemed to contract around them, collapsing into a single, oppressive point of contact where flesh met flesh, his cock pressing against the fragile architecture of her throat.

Even this guy got his dick in my mouth, she thought. Atought, with a cock like this...

Ella went to explore the new monster with her mouth, her tongue moving in slow, almost meditative circles around the shaft, getting the taste of it--slightly metallic, faintly sour but fucking hot as well.

Old Joe get up, his weight redistributing, and Ella, still anchored to him by the cock in her mouth, had no choice but to follow, getting on her knees.

"Suck me good," Old Joe said, his voice low and graveled.

The directive didn't require repetition. Ella's head began to move, a rhythmic bobbing, about accommodating the sheer physicality of him. Her lips formed a tight seal, popping faintly with each upward pull. The noises she made--wet, guttural--seemed to echo in the room, a soundtrack to the kind of brutal, transactional intimacy that these men, these particular men, seemed to crave with an intensity that bordered on pathological.

Her mind, though, wasn't there. It wasn't anchored to the room, or the moment, or even the peculiar gravitational pull of Old Joe's shaft to her mouth,. It flitted sideways, like a moth drawn to the flicker of a distant light, landing briefly on the other hung man in the room--Coach Daniels. Old Joe called him brother, don't? Were they actually brothers? Or was it just.. words? Her eyes flicked back to Old Joe's shaft and she wondered what the statistical likelihood was of this exact scenario happening to anyone else, ever, without some kind of supernatural intervention. Because let's face it, the odds were astronomical. Or maybe they weren't.

"Yeah, keep sucking this old man big dick," Old Joe's grunted with satisfaction, "Can't wait to fuck your ass. Didn't you say you were begging for it? To be gaped? Yeah. Oh, I'm gonna make you regret that. Every word."

His statement pulled her back to the present. Ella shivered with his words, but was flushed to find herself getting aroused. Her hands moved almost independently of her thoughts, one cupping the heavy sac of his balls, the other working the part of shaft that she couldn't swallow with a kind of grim determination. Her jaw ached, a dull, persistent throb that radiated up into her temples,

GLURP! GLURP! GLURP! GLURP!

After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Old Joe spoke again, his voice wavering with pleasure of her blowjob. "Okay, Ella," he said, his tone shifting into something almost conversational, almost reasonable. "Listen up. You listening?"

Ella's eyes lifted to meet his, her mouth still working, still moving, because stopping wasn't an option.

GLURP! GLURP!

"Good answer. So pay attention. I can see the doubt on your little bitch's face, so here's a brief explanation," Old Joe gave a small nod toward Coach Daniels. "As you might be guessing--and sucking too, by the way--Coach here and I are related. Same father, different mothers."

Ella's eyes dart to the coach, who just grunted.

She was still connecting the dots when Old Joe, grinning, grabbed a fistful of her red hair and yanked her forward. Ella's eyes go wide, mostly with the sudden movement than the act itself. Old Joe hammered his cock into her mouth with a furious tempo, making her gag, spit escaping her mouth, dripping down onto her tits. I was wondering when he would do that, she thought amidst his attack, an almost miserable but honest thought, given that every single one of the guys in the last few hours had made it their mission to facefuck her mouth, as if it were some kind of communal obligation of big dicks in little mouths.

"I think it's pretty obvious which one here is the oldest," Old Joe went on, like he's commenting on the weather or the score of a baseball game and not currently facefucking a young redhead. "What can I say? It's not just the negros who have big cocks. Father was Irish. Worked as a janitor at a college back in its glory days. You know what his favorite pastime was? Fucking girls in the locker room. Usually in front of their friends. Can you imagine that?"

"Hrmph! Mmmmph!" she gargled, because that's all she could manage.

Ella was barelly paying attention, though, as she was too busy gagging, choking, trying not to vomit as Old Joe's fat cock slammed into her throat with the kind of force that makes you wonder about the structural integrity of the human esophagus. Tears were streaming down her face. Until about 24 hours ago, she'd thought of Old Joe as this gentle, polite, vaguely asexual old man that could have been her grandpa. Now, though, it's clear how wrong she'd been. He was rough, he was violent, he was facefucking her with a horse cock, making her head jerk back and forth so violently that she was half-convinced that he was trying to snap her neck.

"So, it was kind of an open secret, you know?" Old Joe said, narrating his documentary while at same time facefucking the shit out of the girl. "All the women at school knew about it, since dad made sure to hook up with every single one of them. And I mean every single one. The teachers, the students, even the moms who came to 'get some answers.' No one could escape the guy." He glanced at the coach, and there's this look, this knowing look. "Especially a young black pussy..."

"Dude, enough..." said Coach Daniels.

"Agreed..." As the old man resume his assault on her mouth, Ella's mind began to thread the needle, piecing together the jagged shards of what-the-fuckery that had led her here. The photographer, this fucking asshole, was the white brother of the Georgia Lions' black coach. Which, okay, fine, but given the tidal wave of bad luck--and dicks!-- that had been crashing over her lately, a single, gnawing question began to crystallize in Ella's mind: Was this whole thing orchestrated? She thought about the way Bill and the other players had descended on her the second they'd stormed into the locker room. Had they known there was a photo shoot scheduled? Or had they shown up because because someone said there'd be a girl there to fuck? It was a wild theory, sure, riddled with loose ends and coincidences that didn't quite line up, but hey, when you're naked in a men's locker room, sucking off your photographer and his brother after a gangbang with eleven college athletes, even the wildest theory starts to feel like the real true.

Some might say this version of the story was better than the bigger possibility--that the players had fucked her, and the coach and the photographer had just decided to join in too.

GLURP! GLURP! GLURP!

"That's it, Ella." Old Joe--his face a mask of something between ecstasy and malevolence, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps--leaned over Ella, his voice a guttural growl. "Gonna cum. Swallow it! All of it!"

Ella didn't need to hear him, because she could feel it--or more accurately, taste it--the way his cock, thick and veined, seemed to announce itself, each pulse a kind of biological semaphore, a Morse code of impending release. Brace yourself girl, she told herself, fully aware of would certainly happen. And then it did happened the moment when Old Joe's body seemed to bypass all intermediary systems and go straight to output, his monster cock explodind, cumming like a horse, flooding her mouth with hot milk.

There was a small part of her that still couldn't quite believe this was happening--not just the act itself, but the sheer volume of it, the way his cum seemed to defy the laws of physics, filling her mouth and throat. Notwithstanding, Ella swallowed reflexively, as if all the cum she had to swallow earlier from both the coach and the players had turned her mouth in a machine designed for a single, specific task. Moreover, Ella couldn't deny a fleeting, almost imperceptible sense of satisfaction.

"Oh, yeah!" Old Joe hummed with satisfaction, his cock flaring, pumping a river of seed in her mouth. "Drink everything, little bitch!"

The taste was salty, almost metallic, and it clung to her tongue with a persistence that was impossible to ignore. Ella swallowed again, and again, and again, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, Old Joe pulled back, his cock sliding out of her mouth with a wet, obscene sound that seemed to hang in the air like a punctuation mark.

"Hold still!" he ordered, jerking off before her face, his dick released one last wad in her forehead and cheeks.

Ella allowed him to splash her face and then collapsed backward - her kness hurt -, sitting on the floor. Her body wracked with coughs as she tried expel what she hadn't managed to swallow. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, the cum thick and stick, clinging to her skin with a kind of stubborn persistence that felt almost symbolic.

And then, as the reality of what had just happened began to sink in--the fact that she had been facefucked by a man old enough to be her grandfather--she found herself glancing between the coach and the phographer, her eyes lingering on their cocks, which were, improbably but not surprisingly at that point, still erect. There was something almost surreal about the symmetry of it, the way their bodies seemed to mirror each other in a way that was both unsettling and oddly compelling. It was as if they were two halves of the same organism, their erections a kind of shared biological imperative that transcended individuality.

And as she looked at them, their cocks still standing at attention like twin monoliths, she couldn't deny the flicker of something--something that felt dangerously close to anticipation: the idea of having two monster cocks to fuck her right now wans't that bad, at all.

"You're saying you're brothers?" she asked, her voice tinged with a kind of incredulous curiosity. She massaged her throat absently, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of cum at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, I believe you..."

Old Joe grinned, a wicked, knowing smile that seemed to stretch the boundaries of his face. "Good," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Because I've got more where that came from. Get on your hands and knees."

"Fine..." Ella exhaled, the word hanging in the air like a deflated balloon. She shifted onto her hands and knees, her body moving with a deliberate, almost performative sway, twerking her ass. "Okay, Joe. Show me what a grandpa like you can do wite this young bitch."

Snap!

Ella froze, her head whipping around to see Old Joe's camera perched on its tripod, its lens staring at her like a cyclopean eye. When had he even set that up? The question flitted through her mind.

"You're still taking pictures?!" Her voice cracked, a mix of incredulity annoyance.

"Of course," Old Joe said, his tone casual, almost conversational, He stepped forward, his hand connecting with the fleshy curve of her ass in a series of sharp, staccato slaps. Ella yelped, the sound escaping her lips before she could stop it. "Listen up," he said, his voice low, almost paternal, but with an edge that made her skin crawl. "Daniels might be your new god, but I'm your fucking Devil. You hearing me?"

Another slap. Another yelp.

"Ugh!"

"Don't hear you!" Old Joe barked, slapping her ass.

Ella let out a sharp squeal. "Yes, sir!" The words tumbled out of her mouth, automatic, reflexive.

"No need to call me sir. Or Devil." He paused, his hand resting on her ass now, enjoying her curves. "Daddy will do."

Ella felt his hands on her, big and rough, groping, exploring, like he was mapping her body. He spread her cheeks apart, and she felt it--the slick, invasive press of his finger against her asshole.

She groaned. "Aaah, Joe... I mean, Daddy..." The correction felt strange on her tongue, foreign and wrong, but also... inevitable.

"You like that?" Old Joe's voice was a low rumble, almost amused, but with an undercurrent of something else--something predatory. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to fuck the shit out of you, little bitch..."

Ella moaned louder, the sound escaping her lips as his fingers worked their way inside her, stretching, probing, claiming. "Oh, god..." she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Do you want me to fuck your ass?"

"Yesssss..."

"Say it!" His fingers withdrew, and the slap that followed was sharp, brutal, leaving her skin stinging. He did it again, and again, each blow landing with a precision that felt almost calculated. "Beg for it! Now!"

"For fuck sake, just fuck my ass!!!" The words burst out of Ella as a desperate, almost panicked plea. The pain was sharp, immediate and overwhelming, but was really drove the words out of her was the wetness between her legs"I want you to fuck my ass, Joe! I-I-I mean Daddy! Yeah, Daddy! Fuck the shit out of me! Oh, God! I want you dick, and then I want the coach's dick! You have no idea how much I want you and Coach Daniels to put those massive dongs in my asshole, so just fucking do it!"

Old Joe chuckled. "Good little bitch," he said, the words hanging in the air like a verdict.

His hand came down one last time, a sharp, perfunctory spank that was less about pain and more about marking territory. Ella stayed on all fours, her body rigid, her mind a chaotic swirl of anticipation and dread. She could feel the weight of him behind her, the oppressive presence of his intent. And then it was there--the hot, slick pressure of something blunt and unyielding pressing against her, probing, insistent. Her breath hitched, her heart pounding in a way that felt less like fear and more like the body's last-ditch effort to signal that something was very, very wrong.

It was in that moment, as the fat, glistening head of him found her and began to push, that clarity returned to Ella like a slap. A single, piercing thought cut through the fog: What the hell are you doing?!! He's going to fucking kill you!!! The question wasn't rhetorical. It was desperate, almost childlike in its simplicity, but for a moment, it worked. Ella could feel the absurdity of it all, the grotesque mismatch between her body and his, the sheer wrongness of what was happening. Her voice, when it finally came, was thin and wavering, a fragile thing trying to assert itself in a world that had no use for fragility.

"Uh, Joe? Can we stop and think a little beeetterrrr--?"

But the sentence fragmented, disintegrated, collapsed into a choked-off gasp as the old man surged forward. With a low, guttural grunt, the head of his cock breached her asshole, with a wet, almost obscenely audible pop.

Ella screamed.

The pain was immediate, pure, brutal, all-consuming, a white-hot spike that seemed to split her in two. She could feel him inside her, so overwhelming it felt less like an intrusion and more like an annihilation. Her body rebelled, muscles clenching in a futile attempt to expel him, but the effort was meaningless, almost laughably so.

"Holy shit, Ella," Old Joe groaned, the words thick, syrupy. "How the hell," he muttered, more to himself than to her, "is this ass that tight after taking a dozen guys?"

Cuz you're too fucking thick!!! Ella thought, but didn't say anything - she couldn't. Her jaw was slack, her eyes wide and unseeing, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps that seemed to echo in the hollows of her chest. And then he began to push--slowly, deliberately, each inch a fresh violation, a new assault on the fragile architecture of her body. His cock, thick and seemingly endless, plunged deeper and deeper, stretching her in ways that felt less like anatomy and more like some kind of cruel, cosmic joke. Her body strained to accommodate it, forced to expand beyond its natural limits, and the pain was unlike the other times she was fucked in the ass--there was no jolts of pleasure mixed with the pain, just the pain, brutal and crude.

"Wait," she managed to gasp, the word barely audible, more a reflex than a plea. "Mmhng...! God, it's so thick...! OH!!... please... soooOOOOOHHHHh..!! BiiiIIG!" The words came in fits and starts, each one a struggle, each one a testament to the sheer, overwhelming size of him. Her hands clawed at the floor, searching for something, anything, to anchor herself to, but there was nothing. Just the cold, unyielding surface beneath her fingers and the relentless, all-consuming pressure inside her, stretching her, tearing her, reducing her to a series of incoherent sounds--whimpers, mewls, ragged breaths that seemed to come from somewhere outside herself.

The tears came next, hot and uncontrollable, streaming down her face in a flood of helplessness and despair. She was beyond words now, beyond thought, her mind reduced to a single, all-encompassing refrain: It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts!

"JOE! P-PLEASE!" she begged.

"All the way in, bitch," Old Joe sneered, his voice a gravelly mix of triumph and something darker. "Told you I'd tear you apart. Lucky it's me, though. Daniels? Shit, he'd've just shoved it all in at once. He wouldn't have been this gentle."

Gentle. The word echoed in her head, absurd and grotesque. There was nothing gentle about this, nothing gentle about the way her body felt like it was being ripped apart, nothing gentle about the way he held her in place, his hands firm on her shoulders, his breath hot against her neck.

Ella's response wasn't so much words as it was sounds, guttural and fragmented, each one a jagged little shard of a thing that seemed to claw its way out of her throat. "Uhnngh... uhhh... please... too... big..." The syllables came in bursts, staccato and desperate, each one a tiny surrender to the sheer, unrelenting size of him, the way he filled her, the way he was her world right now, whether she wanted him to be or not.

"I said ALL THE WAY IN, bitch!" Old Joe didn't so much speak as growl. and with a single, brutal motion, he pushed the rest of his cock into her, all of him, until there was nothing left to give, nothing left to take, making Ella scream again.

And then he paused, the moment hanging in the air like a held breath, and Ella--barely breathing, barely existing--felt the full, horrifying reality of it: his balls, heavy and hot, slapping against her pussy. Somehow the old man had managed to stick his thick eleven incher up her asshole--to the hilt and balls deep.

For a second, it seemed like none of them couldn't believe it. Old Joe held her there, motionless, letting the redhead feel every inch of his manhood and her body, not just the size of him--though, Christ, he was big--it was the fact of him, the way he filled her, the way he owned her.

He was the old man who got eleven inches of thick steel shoved up a dump bitch ass.

And she was the stupid bitch.

Old Joe leaned forward, his weight pressing into Ella's back like a sack of wet cement, his arms encircling her in a grotesque parody of intimacy. His breath was hot and sour against her ear, and his words slithered out, low and deliberate, each syllable a calculated violation. "You feel that, huh? You ever think it'd come to this? Me, some fat old bastard, and you, so young and pretty? Bet you never saw this coming, did you? Bet you thought guys like me were just... background noise. Well, guess what? This is your life now. Getting fucked in the ass by men. Every. Damn. Day."

Ella looked with her eyes watering, not sure how to react to his words. His face was full psycho, and she had no doubt that has talking serious. She started to regret everything she had said earlier. She couldn't let that keep going, she had to escape, to run, to--

Old Joe pulled his dick out of her in an instant, and Ella groaned, felling the sudden, nauseating absence of him inside her, a reprieve so brief it was almost worse than the act itself. And then he rammed back--eleven inches of his massive cock, sliding out all at once.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Ella felt her body convulsing, a strangled scream tearing from her throat. He pulled out again. "W-wait--WAIT--!" the dick was shoved back inside, making her squeal like a stuck pig. "UUUuhhh! Oh God--" Her voice cracked, a desperate, childlike plea that seemed to hang in the air like a bad smell. Old Joe pulled out once more. "D-daddy, please--"

But Old Joe wasn't listening. He drove into her with a force that felt less like sex and more like punishment, like he was trying to erase her from the inside out. Her body jerked forward, her soul recoiling, and the sound that came out of her was something primal, something that didn't even sound human. "AAAAIIIIIUNNNNUUHH!!!"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

The slaps of his hips against her flesh were rhythmic, each one echoing loud as a gunshot in the room. Ella's screams rose in pitch, each one sharper than the last, until they sounded less like a woman and more like some small, terrified animal being torn apart. Her body bucked and shuddered, but Old Joe held her in place, his grip ironclad, his laughter a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through her.

"Pleeease! UUGUHGHH! It hurts! It--uhn--hurts! UH!-UH-UH!-UHNNN!" Her voice was breaking now, fracturing under the weight of what was happening to her, under the sheer, unrelenting brutality of it.

"HOLD ON, BITCH!" Old Joe roared, his voice dripping with a kind of gleeful malice. "JUST WAIT! YOU'RE GONNA LOVE IT SOON ENOUGH!"

Ella could do nothing but moan and cry as she was anally ravished. Her body convulsed with each thrust, a marionette jerked violently by unseen hands, her frame buckling forward as if trying to escape itself. The old man's rhythm was evil, as if the more she screamed the more he seemed to feed off it, his movements growing harder, faster, more unhinged.

She could not escape the truth: this was the most searing, most visceral encounter she had ever known. Pain, raw and unrelenting, coiled around her like a living thing, sharp and unyielding. Yet, beneath the brutality, there was something else--a heat, a pulse, a current that thrummed through her veins, intoxicating and undeniable. It was there, buried deep, so deep that it took the numbness spreading through her body to reveal it. Only then could she feel it: the relentless pressure of Old Joe's monstrous thrusts, the shuddering collision of their bodies, the wet, rhythmic finality of each movement. His weight bore down on her, his balls slapping against her with a grotesque, almost hypnotic rhythm, a sound that was both repulsive and mesmerizing. It was a dance of agony and ecstasy, a paradox she could not untangle, only endure.

Ecstasy.

Tears streamed down Ella's cheeks, but they were no longer just tears of anguish. They had transformed, as if alchemy had taken place within her, into tears of something far more complex--joy, surrender, and a growing pleasure. Old Joe's thrusts were merciless, each one a lightning bolt that electrified her spine, sending shockwaves through her body. Her cries, once pleas for mercy were mixed with groans of cock-induced rapture. Her body, initially resistant, had begun to yield, the muscles stretched and adjusted, reluctantly accommodating the unyielding intrusion. The pain did not diminish--it was a constant, searing presence--but as Old Joe found his rhythm, something shifted.

Just like before, with Bill and his friends, but dozens, if not hundreds of time stronger, until she opened her mouth and release a high-pitched moan, unbidden, going delirious.

Ella's body moved of its own accord, lurching forward with each thrust, her hips rising to meet his. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as if they were being pulled from the very core of her being. "God!" she cried, her voice trembling. "Oh, my God! So big, so good...!" The pleasure was overwhelming now, shivers of ecstasy racing through her, her body jerking with each thrust as his cock stretched her to her limits.

"That's it, you little fucking bitch!" Old Joe snarled, his voice dripping with dominance. "Moan for us! Moan for your new daddy! Moan for the Devil!"

And she did. She moaned. She moaned like the whore she was, "Yes, yes, yes, YES, YES, YEEEES!" Her pussy instantly convulsed and squirted, letting out a huge jet of juices that clutched both the floor Old Joe's balls. "AHHHHHHH. GOD! FUCK ME LIKE THIS, DON'T STOP!!! RUB THAT COCK ON ME! LIKE THIS! OH, MY GOD! I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT!"

"I warned you, didn't I?" Old Joe's voice was a jagged thing, half-laugh, half-growl, his grin a crooked fissure splitting his face as he fucked her with abandon--kinda impressive, given his age and he out of shape body. His hands, calloused and rough, gripped Ella's hips with a force that felt less like possession and more like demolition. The sound of his grunts--low, guttural, almost animalistic--filled the room, punctuating the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. Ella's body, already pushed to its limits, seemed to vibrate under the weight of him, her mind flickering between sharp bursts of sensation and a strange, almost dissociative blankness. "TELL ME YOU'RE MY BITCH! TELL ME YOU'RE MY WHORE!"

"I am," Ella whimpered, her eyes rolling.

"LOUDER, BITCH!" Old Joe barked. He yanked her hair so hard that he almost pulled out a few strands. "Who's my bitch?!"

"I AM, I AM, I AAMMM!!!" Ella spilled out, her body arching as another wave of ecstasyrolled through her.

And then, the crescendo--a moment that seemed to hang in the air, dense and almost tactile, as if time itself had paused to bear witness. Old Joe drove himself deeper into her, his movements now less about control and more about surrender. "Take it all in your ass!"

The heat of his release was sudden, almost violent, a flood that seemed to radiate outward from his core, scorching and undeniable. Ella gasped, her voice fracturing into something raw and unfiltered as her ass was filled with more cum than ever. Her body convulsed, her pussy squirting a cascade of honey over Old Joe's thighs, his balls and the floor beneath them.

"FUCK YES! OH YES! I'M CUMMING!" The words escaped her lips like a whispered incantation, a sacred chant rising from the depths of her being. Ella's hand reached back, fingers digging into the flesh of his hips, as if to anchor herself to the moment, to him. Her eyes remained closed, the world outside dissolving into nothingness, leaving only the raw, pulsating rhythm of their bodies. She could feel him--throbbing, alive, a force both tender and relentless--filling her ass, claiming her ass, as warmth spilled into her, a molten river that seemed to ignite her very core. The intensity of it carried her over the edge once more, and she squirted again.

For a moment, time itself seemed to pause. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and raw sex, their breaths mingling in ragged harmony. Ella felt the heat of his cum spreading through her, a liquid fire that radiated from her belly to the tips of her toes. It was as if her entire being had been set alight, every nerve alive, every sensation magnified. She lay there, suspended in the afterglow, her body still humming with the echoes of ecstasy.

"Damn, that's a good ass!" Old Joe exhaled, his voice a loud satisfied rumble. "Can't wait to see those pictures,"

He groped her ass a little before pulling himself from her, his cock still unyielding, glistening faintly under the dim light. Ella's ass, now empty, seemed to register the absence immediately, with a trail of cum escaping her asshole, tracing a slow, deliberate path down her thigh, a kind of afterthought to the violence of the act itself.

Ella let herself lay there, her body a map of exhaustion and residual sensation, her limbs heavy as if weighted by some invisible force. The floor beneath her was cool, unyielding, a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from her skin. She touched her asshole, glad that there was no blood, and feeling a strange duality--a lingering craving for the fullness his big cock had brought, and also a gratitude that it was out of her.

"I'm next," Coach said, and Ella felt his hands on her again, immediate and unyielding, like the weight of something inevitable. His touch wasn't a question. It wasn't even a demand. It just was.

"Coach?! W-wait! No, don't--" she stammered, her voice breaking into something small and desperate, a sound that seemed to hang in the air for a fraction of a second before it was swallowed by the room. "I can't--not right now--please, just wait a second--!"

"Didn't ask," Coach Daniels said, his voice flat, almost bored, as if the words were just a formality, a procedural footnote. His hands moved with a kind of mechanical precision, lifting and positioning her, like she was an object that needed rearranging. "Brace yourself."

And then, with a single, brutal thrust, he shoved almost his entire cock in her asshole. Ella's body tensed, her muscles clamping down instinctively, as if trying to protect her from the invasion. The pain was sharp, unrelenting, a searing stretch that felt less like surrender and more like annihilation. She bit down hard on her lip, stifling the scream that threatened to escape.

"Fuck, Coack..." she muttered, her teeth grinding together as she felt him push deeper, her body yielding in ways she had never imagined possible.

Coach Daniels didn't stop, didn't pause to let her adjust. His rhythm was immediate, max power, each thrust a punctuation mark in a sentence she had never agreed to read. Ella's elbows trembled under the weight of his body, her face wet with tears that seemed to come from some distant place, as if they belonged to someone else entirely. And then, almost against her will, the sounds she made began to shift--her cries morphing once again into moans and groans of pleasure.

SLAP! SLAP!

"Please--ahhh!--go slow--"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"Uhhh! Slow--ahh--please--AHHH! Just a little--"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"PleaAAAaaaaH--oh, GooooOooOd--!"

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

"WANNA TRASH MY ASS, THEN TRASH MY ASS!" The words spilled out of her. "Keep going! Don't stop!" She could feel it building inside her, that familiar pressure, the kind that didn't care about context or consent, the kind that just was. "Oh my god!" she gasped. "Fuck yes! Holy shit! Keep fucking me! Don't stop! Shove your big cock all the way in, YEEEES!" Ella let out a high-pitched squeal and squirted once more.

Coach Daniels went to fuck her for nearly half a hour. his breath coming in short, animal grunts, like he was chasing something just out of reach. He was even more brutal that Old Joe, to the point that Ella lost her voice and just endured in silence his assault, biting her lips as ocasional orgasm crashed her body.

And then, with a final, shuddering thrust, he was cumming, his body going rigid for a moment before collapsing onto her, his weight pressing Ella into the floor, into the moment, into the memory she would carry with her long after it was over.

"Can't wait to fuck your ass again," he said, his voice casual, almost conversational, as he pulled away, leaving her there.

"Oh, God, this is too much..." Ella muttered, touching her asshole and feeling not only gaped but spilling cum like a hose.

Old Joe was already there, awating. He lifted her up and brought her down onto his lap as he sat back on the bench. Ella didn't wast time asking for patience and just went along.

His hands lifted her knees, folding her legs into an M-shape. He guided her asshole to the tip of his cock with a precision that suggested practice, maybe even ritual. "Put it in," he said.

At least I'm not being fucked like a dog anymore, Ella thought and reached down, wrapping his finger around his cock, which was bulging in a way that felt almost cartoonish, like something out of a parody of desire. "How long do you guys pretend to keep going?" she asked. She guided the shaft to her butthole, and the moment the tip pushed in, Old Joe pulled her down hard, impaling her with a force that made her scream.

"Please, take it easy with me!" she gasped, her breath coming in jagged bursts, like a car engine sputtering to life. But Old Joe didn't take it easy. He began bouncing her on his dick as if she was just a onahole. Her legs stayed spread wide, her asshole taking the brunt of it, the pain sharp died down in a few thrusts, replaced by esctasy.

Old Joe set her feet down on the sides of the bench, the wood cool against her skin, and then grasped her breasts, which had been bouncing wildly, in the air. "Ride me like you did with those kids!" he ordered, his voice low and gravelly, like a car engine idling in a parking lot at night.

"Ok..." she said, the word trailing off into nothingness, like a sentence that had forgotten how to end.

His hand came down on her ass with a slap that echoed in the stillness, making her squeal. "Ok what?" he demanded

"Ok, Daddy!" she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she hated herself a little more for saying them, but also felt a strange kind of relief, like she'd passed some kind of test.

She began to bounce up and down on his cock, her moans filling the air, loud and uncontrolled, a old song she couldn't stop singing. She realized that she started to get used to the size of those two monster dongs, the way he filled her, the way his thick shaft stirred against the walls of her asshole as she rolled her hips in sharp, deliberate circles. The pain wasn't as bad now, or maybe she was just numb to it, or maybe pain and pleasure had merged in a way that made them indistinguishable.

Whatever, I just want to get fucked, Ella trembled violently on the old man's lap, her body caught in a feedback loop of sensation and motion, and for a moment, just a moment, she let herself forget where she was and who she was and what this was supposed to mean.

Old Joe went to grab her nipples and pinched them mercilessly. The agonizing pull on her nipples and the massive dong in her ass waged a harrowing clash betwixt anguish and ecstasy. Yet, ecstasy emerged triumphant, and, in her fevered state of lust and delirium, once more the pain dissolved into the pleasure, melding into a singular, all-consuming sensation that devoured her very soul. In other words, her nipples were hard, and Old Joe made sure they stayed hard as Ella kept jumping on his cock, using the sensation to further confuse and overwhelm the redhead Brit.

"Oh! Keep doing this, please..." Ella moaned, pressing his hands against her nipples. "I'm close, I'm close..."

Old Joe grabbed her tits and used them to pull her down onto him. "That's it, you dump bitch, take my cock," he demanded, his voice low and guttural, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him, a place untouched by reason or restraint. "Say you love it Say that you love it! You love get fucked in the ass, don't you?!"

"Ah, yes! Huuhh!" Ella moaned, her eyes rolling back, showing only white. "God, if I knew you had a cock that big--Ahh! I would have spread my legs a long time! I love--Huhuh! Your--OOOHh! BIG! FAT! DICK!"

A wild, crazed laugh bubbled up from the depths of her chest, her eyes glazed, and pupils dilated. She spread her legs wide, the world dissolving into a haze of white, and her pussy gushed out a bucket of squirt. Old Joe's climax came moments later, dumping another huge load of cum deep into her ass. He continued to pump into her for a few more moments, making sure her asshole was stuffed.

Ella's breath, ragged and shallow, barely had time to stabilize--a fleeting moment of reprieve--before she was yanked, unceremoniously, from Old Joe's lap. The sensation of cum, still warm and insistent, trailed from her ass as she was maneuvered, onto Coach Daniels. Her body, arched as she was impaled again, a sharp, almost clinical intrusion. She laugh and bit her lip, riding him with a frantic, almost desperate speed.

"There you go," Coach Daniels crooned, his hands gripping her waist. "You love this big black cock, don't you?! You're just another cock-love whore!"

"FUCKING YEAH, COACH, SIIIIR!" Ella said, bouncing, high and bright and desperate. "I LOVE COCKS! I LOVE YOUR BIG FUCKING COCKS IN MY ASS!!!"

And for what felt like hours--though time had long since ceased to function in any linear or meaningful way for Ella--she was passed between those two men, a whore, a vessel, a receptacle of big cocks and even bigger cumshots.

The men, for their part, seemed less like individuals and more like forces of nature, their stamina and output almost superhuman. It was her eleven men gangbang all over again, but only that the entire team had been distilled into these two, their collective energy focused on their two monster cocks, carrying a single purpose--a mission, a crusade, a holy war waged not with swords or guns but with big dicks and big balls: to break the bitch apart.

And they did it.

Ella was fucked over and over again. They twisted her body into positions that seemed almost abstract, geometric, their hands and cocks moving with brutal efficiency. Against the wall, on the bench, in the shower, going missionary in the bench, full-nelson in the shower--it didn't matter. The location was incidental, the act itself was everything. And through it all, Ella screamed and cried and moaned, her voice a ragged counterpoint to the wet, rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh.

They paused only to cum, their releases voluminous and seemingly endless, as if their bodies were factories designed for this single purpose. They came on her ass, her face, her hair, her chest, her back--everywhere, until she was slick with it, until the smell of it filled the entire locker room, thick and cloying. And then, without missing a beat, they started again, their cocks hard and insistent, their hands gripping her with a kind of casual ownership.

At some point they stopped to catch their breath, meaning that the men would sat on the bench, leaning back, their bodies glistening with sweat, and Ella would be on her kness, sucking and jerking them, her mind a blank slate focused only on what they have between their legs. They let her do all the work until they cum on her face and tits, then went to fuck her cowgirl-style, her body bouncing up and down until she legs couldn't move anymore. They made her jerk them off into her face and mouth, the cum hot and thick and bitter. They bent her over and mounted her again, pushing into her ass with a kind of relentless inevitability, and she just lay there, limp and pliant, as they pounded into her.

Her ass and pussy were overflowing with cum, and she there was more splashed on her face and dripping from her mouth. She made no move to wipe it away, no gesture to reclaim composure, mostly because there was no time, as one man would reach for as soon as the other finished to unload on her.

It was a cycle, a loop, a thing without beginning or end.

At some point, as the men were slick with sweat and Ella was slick with sweat and cum, they started talking with her. Coach Daniels, fucking her from behind, told her how she was supposed to return to the locker room after every practice, how he would fuck her every weekend, how he would share her with his friends, how she would spend her days naked and spread-eagled, how he would send videos to her mother and then fuck them both. Old Joe, facefucking her with a kind of brutal efficiency, talked about making her a pornstar, a high-end escort.

But Ella wasn't listening. The words washed over her, meaningless, irrelevant. The only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed, was their cocks, her holer and their cum, the endless, unrelenting tide of it, filling her, covering her, consuming her. She was adrift in a sea of sensation, her mind blurred at the edges, as if the world beyond the weight of his body and the heat of his touch had dissolved into irrelevance. The locker room, with its sterile walls and faint scent of sweat, had become a cocoon, a private theater where her desires played out in vivid, unapologetic strokes.

She bent over on the bench like a whore, about to have he pussy fucked once more by the coach, her legs parting like the pages of a forbidden book. Her hands, trembling yet deliberate, guided his dick into her, each movement a surrender to the raw, unrelenting pull of lust.

And then, like a record scratch in the middle of a song, the sound of younger voices cut through the haze.

"Holy shit!"

"Coach?! And who is that?"

"Wait, is that... Ella?"

The intrusive voices yanked her out of her sexual stupor, and Ella froze. She turned toward the entrance of the locker room and nearly let out a scream.

Boys.

The Georgia Tide Lions practice squad, their presence a brutal, unsubtle reminder of the world outside this moment--a world that, until now, had felt impossibly distant. There were about 16 of them, give or take. Their eyes were wide, saucer-like, a chaotic cocktail of shock, curiosity, and, yes, amusement. The kind of amusement that feels less like laughter and more like a violation, like they'd stumbled onto something they weren't supposed to see but couldn't look away from. Their collective gaze was a physical thing, heavy and invasive, and Ella felt it pressing down on her, pinning her in place.

The air in the room seemed to thicken, the kind of silence that isn't really silence at all but a low, buzzing hum, like the sound of a fluorescent light on the verge of burning out. And there they stood, frozen on the threshold, their expressions a mosaic of male voyeurism, each face a slightly different shade of the same primal, gawking fascination.

"Oh, shit!" she gasped, her voice a mix of panic and embarrassment. It was one of those moments that stretches and distorts, where time doesn't so much stop as it does warp, bending around the weight of what's happening. Her mind raced, trying to piece together something to do... something to say...

The boys didn't move.

She didn't move.

The world didn't move.

Coach Daniels shoved his dick in her.

Ella gasped--she tried to move, to push the coaco off her, but he didn't budge. If anything, he seemed to double down, his grip tightening as he thrust deeper into her, his rhythm unbroken.

"Stop!" Ella's eyes darted between him and the players, her mind spinning. She could hear them talking, their voices overlapping in a way that made it hard to focus on any one thing.

"Looks like our coach got a new prey!"

"Now we know why Bill was so happy in the morning!"

"Damn, I told you today was not a good day to extend the exercises..."

"And who's the old guy?"

"Name's Joe, son. Could you move aside? You're in front of the camera."

"Oh, sorry. My bad."

This isn't happening! This isn't happening! The phrase looped in Ella's head like a mantra, a desperate incantation against the reality unfolding around her. She tried once more to push the coach away, her hands pressing against his, but he was immovable, a force of nature, relentless and unyielding. His weight pinned her, and the room seemed to collapse inward, the air thick with the heat of bodies and the low, guttural sounds of approval from the onlookers. She felt the collective gaze of every man in the room like a physical pressure, a suffocating blanket of judgment and hunger. She wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the floor, but there was no escape. Her legs were splayed, her body exposed, and the circle of men around her tightened, their presence a wall she couldn't breach.

And then, against her will, against every instinct of self-preservation, she felt it--a traitorous spark of sensation that bloomed into something she couldn't control. Her body betrayed her, responding to the rhythm of his movements, and she heard herself moan, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere outside of herself. The men around her reacted instantly, their low growls of encouragement rising in volume, urging their to coach to wreck the bitch. Ella's mind fractured, part of her recoiling in horror, cursing everything and everyone, another part surrendering to the raw, animalistic pleasure that coursed through her. She hated herself for it, hated them, hated him, but the sensation was undeniable, a tidal wave that pulled her under.

"Coach... please... just...!" Her voice was a broken whisper, but he didn't stop. Her eyes darted across the faces in the crowd, locking briefly with one player, then another. Their expressions were a mix of awe and fun. She hated it. She hated them. And the last thing that she could want was to cum in front of them.

But then, as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, she forget totally of them heard herself cry out, "Oh fuck yes! I'm--I'm cumming!" The words tore from her throat, raw and guttural, and she shuddered, her body convulsing, her face making a dump expression.

"Fucking cum for your god, bitch!" Coach Daniels growled, his voice a harsh, guttural command. Ella screamed, her body arching as she climaxed, the sound of the men's cheers echoing in her ears like a grotesque applause.

I want to die, she prayed, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and disappear. My life is over. God, please, just kill me now....

The room spun, her vision blurring as she was pulled into another position, her body manipulated like a doll. They tilted her backward, guiding her legs upward as her body inverted. Old Joe's hands gripped her ankles, lifting her legs high, and Coach Daniels positioned her ass in the air, exposing her obscenely to the crowd. She was securely in the piledrive stance, upside down, weight supported, the world flipped beneath her--and everyone was now seeing her ass and pussy. Ella's mind raced, a frantic, disjointed stream of thoughts and sensations. She wanted to fight, to scream, to claw her way out of this nightmare.

She didn't have time to anything, as she felt the pressure of Old Joe and Coach Daniels' bodies looming over her, their cocks poised at her entrances, and a fresh wave of panic surged through her.

They were going to douple penetrate her.

"OhGodOhGodOhGod..." The words spilled from her lips in a frantic, breathless chant, her mind scrambling for some semblance of control, some way to distance herself from what was happening. But there was no escape.

"Let's wrap this," Coach Daniels muttered, and then they began to lower themselves, their movements synchronized in a way that felt almost choreographed, as if this moment had been rehearsed in some dark corner of their minds long before it ever became real. They didn't rush. There was a kind of grim patience to it, a slow, almost ritualistic descent. The heads of their cocks pressed against her, with Coach Daniels going for pussy and Old Joe entering her asshole.

"Don't you ever forget who owns this ass now," Coach Daniels said, his voice a low, predatory growl.

Ella wanted to scream, to beg them to stop, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she moaned, the sound a strange, guttural mix of pain, shame and pleasure, as the monster cocks went sinking on her holes. She look around for a moment and saw that the players around were enjoying the show, all stroking their cocks, their eyes fixed on her with a hunger that made her stomach churn. Their expressions were variations on a theme: pleasure, yes, but also something darker, something that hovered in the liminal space between voyeurism and complicity.

She brought her eyes back to Old Joe and Coach Daniels, both afraid and fascinated at how the two massive cocks filled her petite holes. She couldn't deny that it felt good, the raw carnal pleasure was building.

Eventually, the two big men managed to ram their cocks in to the hilt, their balls were smashing against her smooth skin. They stayed in their squatting position for a moment.

"Oh, Goooood!" Ella's face was hot and she was breathing heavily, squirming around between the big strong bodies.

"Don't you ever forget, bitch!" growled Coach Daniels.

Then the started to fuck her. The rhythm of their thrusts was slower than before, but since she stuffed with twice more cock, each movement they did only pushed her faster to the edge, and Ella's mind began to unravel.

She hated them.

She hated that locker room.

She hated that entire day.

She hated herself.

But she was loving the cocks, their movements sending jolts of ecstasy, and she felt herself slipping, surrendering to the raw, animalistic need that consumed her. It was a betrayal, a violation, but it was also undeniable. And as the men continued to fuck her, their bodies moving in unison, Ella's mind fractured once more, until there was nothing left but sensation.

SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP!

"Ay! Agh! Ow! Ugh! OhmyGod!" Ella's cries were less words than involuntary exhalations, each one punctuated by their thrusting. Her breathing, shallow and erratic, betrayed the intensity of the sensation, a pleasure so acute it bordered on unbearable.

Old Joe and Coach Daniels, gripped her buttocks, using them as leverage to propel her back and forth between their bodies. Their movements were synchronized, as if they had done thins with several women before, a grotesque ballet of flesh and force. Their cocks moved in and out of her with a kind of brutal inevitability. It wans't much about speed and more about strength and roughness, each thrust trying to harder and deeper than the last, eliciting a fresh wave of cries from Ella.

SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP! SLAP, SLAP!

"God! Ah, fuck! Ahh! Ohhh! HARDER! GO HARDER!!! Huhn! Ahhhh!!!" Ella moaned loudly as sparks flew across his vision, then abruptly ceased any sound, replaced by a kind of silent, open-mouthed awe as her body went limp, her mind seemingly detaching from the physical reality of what was happening.

Old Joe and Daniels, their faces twisted into masks of concentration, continued to piston into her with a kind of grim determination, their movements unrelenting, their breathing ragged. She lay there, drooling, her eyes unfocused, her body burning, an orgasm aproaching like a meteor about to hit Earth.

"Here's my biggest load, bitch!" Old Joe growled, his voice guttural, almost animalistic. Coach Daniels, merely grunted agreement.

And then, with a final, almost savage thrust, they both came, their bodies shuddering as they emptied themselves into her. The sensation was overwhelming, a double flood of heat and pressure that filled her completely, leaving no room for thought, for breath, for anything but the sheer, unrelenting intensity of the moment.

"OOOOOOOOOOooooohhhh," Ella gave her loudest bitch-in-heat moan, her eyes going white, her body shaking as the men held her in place, their cocks still buried deep inside her, shooting cum into her holes. She could feel her belly expanding, swelling with the massive amount of cum, and shaking with the enormous pressure, needing immediate relief.

And then, as they pulled out-- and get out of the way--, the dam broke. A geyser of cum erupted from her pussy and asshole holes, a torrent of white, oil spilling from a crack in the earth--two cracks, eh--a chaotic, almost surreal cascade that seemed to defy the laws of physics. It sprayed into the air, arcing high before raining down on Ella's body, coating her body, pooling on the floor around her.

When the torrent finally subsided, Old Joe and Daniels released her legs, letting her fall on her back a dull thud, her holes gaping, a river of cum still oozing from her.

The crowd erupted into applause, their clapping loud, almost reverent, as if they had just witnessed something extraordinary, something transcendent.

Not that Ella could hear, though.

She was dead.

CHAPTER 10

Or almost.

At the very least, that was the first coherent thought she could assemble, a fragile structure built from the rubble of whatever had just happened. If nothing else, it was clear she'd arrived at something like true sexual satisfaction.

Though "arrived" might not be the right word.

"Been dragged to" felt closer.

Others, less generous, might say the men had quite literally fucked her brains out.

Time, which had been behaving strangely for a while now, began to recalibrate itself. The world started to reassemble in pieces, like a puzzle being put together by someone with shaky hands. Ella felt herself emerging from the fog, a fog so thick with pleasure it was almost its own kind of pain, feeling dizzy and more than just wasted, to say the least.

Old Joe and Daniels were there, hovering above her. Their voices reached her in fragments, like a radio tuned just slightly off-station. They were chatting, casual, as if this were all normal, as if they weren't slowly stroking their semi-erect dicks, glistening with a mix of fluids that made her stomach turn even as her body refused to react. They were squeezing out the last drops of cum onto her face, and she was too tired--too something--to do anything about it. Too tired to care, maybe. Or too far gone.

She realized, dimly, that they were talking about her.

"I'll clean her up and take her home," Old Joe said.

"Whatever" Coach Daniels replied, rolling his shoulders back and forth to loosen them. "Just bring her to my place next weekend..."

Ella, sprawled on the floor, had an angle that afforded her an uncomfortably intimate view of their groins. She found herself staring, almost clinically, at the way the cum oozed down the thick shafts and pooled around their balls. There was something almost grotesquely fascinating about it. She was relieved, in a way, that they hadn't asked her to clean them up. Not yet, anyway.

But more than relief, she was happy.

Happy that they weren't hard anymore.

Ella was actually feeling some pride, even--a weird, twisted kind of pride. She'd done this. She'd milked them, drained them, reduced these two men to this state of spent, post-coital inertia. It was a strange power, one she hadn't known she possessed until tonight. And as she lay there, her mind began to drift backward, tracing the absurd, almost surreal chain of events that had led her to this moment. What had started as a simple photo shoot--innocent, or at least innocuous--had spiraled into this: her on the shower floor, cum leaking out of her in ways that felt both violating and weirdly triumphant.

The future was a blank, a yawning void she couldn't bring herself to think about. There was no going back to campus, no returning to England, no resuming the life she'd once had. Not after this. But then again, had she ever really wanted a normal life? The thought flitted through her mind, unbidden but not entirely unwelcome. She ran a hand over her belly, distended and sticky, and gave it a few playful pats. The sound it made was obscene, and she followed it up with a burp so loud and guttural it seemed to belong to a middle-aged man.

Old Joe and Coach Daniels stopped talking and just stared at her, their expressions a mix of amusement and something else she couldn't quite place.

Ella giggled, a sound that felt incongruous with the situation. "What?" she said, shrugging. "Jeez, guys, I think I've gained, like, ten pounds just from your cum."

Coach Daniels smirked, a look that was equal parts predatory and paternal. "Welcome to your new life," he said, his voice dripping with a kind of dark humor. He grabbed his cock, still half-hard, and aimed it at her face. "Here. A snack for the road."

He gave his cock a squeeze and a single shot of cum arced through the air to land on her forehead, just above the bridge of her nose, with a faint plip that was both absurd and weirdly deliberate. Ella, for her part, was so profoundly relieved that the whole ordeal was finally, mercifully over that her reaction was less disgust or outrage than a kind of exhausted, almost meditative detachment. She offered him a smile--not a real smile, but the kind of smile you give when you're too tired to even perform tiredness--and a thumbs-up, her hand trembling slightly as she raised it. Then, with a casual motion, she wiped the cum off her forehead with her fingers, examined the glistening residue for a moment--as if trying to decode some hidden meaning in its viscosity--and licked it clean.

"Yummy," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm--or maybe it wasn't sarcasm at all. "Thanks, Coach."

"I'm beat, too," Old Joe said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd been around long enough to know that exhaustion wasn't just physical--it was something that seeped into your bones, your thoughts, your very sense of self.

"Yeah," Ella agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. She closed her eyes, feeling the last remnants of her strength dissolve like sugar in hot water. "I'm done, too..."

"Actually, you are not."

Ella's eyes snapped open, wide and uncomprehending. "W-What?"

Old Joe, his face unreadable, nodded toward her side. There was something in the gesture--something resigned, almost apologetic--that made Ella's stomach twist. Slowly, with a dread that felt like it was crawling up her spine, she turned her head.

Only then she noticed the Georgia Tide Lions practice squad closing in around her--16 horny players who had watched their coach fuck her brains out, eager to finally get a piece of Ella as well. They lined up, shoulder to shoulder, and she watched in horror as the players began to unzip their pants and pull out their big cocks.

"I could use a few more shots," Old Joe said, his voice oddly casual, as if this were just another day at the office. He stepped aside, making room for the younger crowd.

Ella's hand flew to her mouth, her fingers trembling against her lips. The shock of it--the sheer, overwhelming wrongness of it--was like a punch to the gut. And then, almost before she could process the violation of it all, the players were on her. They lifted her as if she were weightless. She was bent over against a wall, her legs spread.

As the first guy got behind her and started to fuck her ass, Ella realized, with a clarity that felt almost cruel, that her photo session wasn't over.

Not even close.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!