Joey Silvera 1st Day

I wake up to sunlight filtering through the thin curtains of my Detroit apartment. I stretch in bed, my muscles feeling tense and ready for the action of a new day. I look at the clock: seven in the morning. Time to get up. I let out a deep sigh. It's Friday, and it's been an incredibly stressful week so far.

My name is Joy Silvera, I am a private detective, it is an extremely intense job. It requires time and stress, on the other hand it is a male dominated profession and I have to prove my worth every time.

I stand up and look at myself in the mirror. My black hair is a little messy, but I quickly and expertly brush it back. My body, kept in shape by years of running and working out, reflects the strength and sensuality that define me. Ample breasts, long, muscular legs, a butt that turns heads... everything about me is made to be noticed. I've been told I'm a little firecracker with my beaming smile, long, wavy brown hair, and sparkling green eyes. The rest of my body isn't too shabby either. Personally, I think I'm tight in all the right places and soft and round in all the others. I'm 5'8, which makes my 36C bust and curvy ass even more impressive. All in all, I can still compete with any college girl.

My mind wanders to my time in the Marines, how I found my calling while facing extreme situations. There I discovered my love of danger. After marriage, I realized I could never go back to a normal life. Now, as a private detective, I often find myself in the city's underworld, searching for answers in places few dare to go, and I have recently discovered an inner desire to be dominated, for rough, no-holds-barred sex.

My job constantly challenges me. I use my body and my sexuality as tools, I don't hesitate to flirt or provoke if it can help me solve a case. I know that many see me as a dangerous woman, but for me it's just another side of my nature, something I accept and exploit.

As I make coffee, I think about my deepest desires: not only solving cases, but also seeking that adrenaline rush that only extreme situations can give me. I get excited thinking about how danger and domination make me feel alive, as if every encounter, every case were a step towards exploring my darkest limits.

I am 33 years old, but I wear my age well thanks to discipline and my lifestyle. I know that the neighbor, an old pig, watches me every time I sunbathe naked on the terrace, and I do it on purpose. I like to be looked at, admired, desired.

A month ago my husband and business partner unceremoniously dumped me after a four year relationship. It was a bad break up, he started an affair with a younger woman. It took him several months of cheating to finally work up the courage to tell me he was in love with someone else. So here I am, a newly single man in a new home, and for the first few weeks I was beyond furious about everything. I had been so upset and mad at how it went down! All I wanted to do was make sense of that cheating bastard of an ex.

But instead, I let out my anger in a different way. For the first time in years, I didn't spend my weekends working. Instead, I met up with some old girlfriends. We got dressed up and hit the clubs. It was fun to turn a blind eye to my worries and just let go. Somehow, this free-spirited mood had activated my bad side. And every weekend, I went home with a different guy.

It made me feel more alive than ever. Hot sex with no serious consequences and no strings attached. Just some guilt-free fun - nothing more, nothing less. It was all I wanted at the moment. And the sex was amazing - not tender lovemaking but passionate fucking.

It wasn't just the sex I enjoyed on those nights out. Mostly, I enjoyed the teasing and the feeling of being the center of attention. Boy! Feeling everyone's eyes on me gets my engine running like nothing else. I guess I have a bit of an expository side there.

Today will be another day to face these challenges, to be Joy Silvera, the detective who knows no fear, who lives for thrills and adventure. And as I prepare to leave, I can already feel the adrenaline pumping, ready for whatever the city of Detroit has in store for me.

I undress, dropping my clothes to the floor, my skin awakening to the cool air of the bathroom. I step into the shower and turn on the water, the heat immediately enveloping my naked body like a second skin. I lean against the wall, the cold of the tiles an exciting contrast to the heat of the water.

I direct the powerful jet of water directly at my pussy, the intense heat concentrating on my clit, making me shiver with pleasure. I begin to touch myself, fingers sliding easily over my wet skin, finding my opening, slowly penetrating as the water continues to pound on my most sensitive spot. A guttural moan escapes me, filling the bathroom with sounds of pure pleasure.

As the pleasure builds, my mind plunges into dark and perverse fantasies. I think of the doorman, with his drooling gaze that follows me everywhere, and of the neighbor on the second floor, that disgusting old man who can't hide his desire. I imagine them, those two pigs, in their rooms stinking of sweat and lust, their hands moving frantically on hard, wrinkled cocks. I see them looking at photos of me, images where I'm completely naked, my tits on display, my ass firm and my pussy open, exposed in all its glory.

I can almost hear the sound of their labored breathing, the sound of their fists clenching around their cocks, their old, repressed desire smell filling the air. I imagine their excitement as they jerk off to my images, their faces contorted with pleasure, saliva dripping from their drooling lips. The thought of those two disgusting old men masturbating on me makes me writhe with pleasure.

The jet of water doesn't stop, penetrating and insistent, just like my fingers that now move faster, deeper inside me. I feel the climax approaching, my breathing becoming a rattle, my heart beating furiously. The images of those two disgusting old men push me over the edge, the water hitting my clit, the fingers sinking, the pleasure exploding in a violent orgasm. I scream, the sound mixing with the sound of the water, my body writhing as the orgasm rocks me.

I lean my head against the tiles, panting, the water still running, washing away the sweat and heat of my pleasure, but not the thrill that still pulses inside me. I feel alive, excited, ready to face the world with this sexual charge that only these perverse fantasies can give me. I step out of the shower, the towel wrapping my body still vibrating with desire, ready for another day of challenges and perversions.

After my shower, I feel refreshed and ready to face the day. I quickly dry myself and start getting dressed, choosing an outfit that will make me feel even more powerful and desired. I put on a pair of black leggings, tight enough to show off every curve of my muscular legs and perfect ass. On top, I choose a light and low-cut top that highlights my ample breasts, without a bra to give more emphasis to my silhouette. I complete the look with a pair of black leather boots that reach up to the knee, adding a touch of dominance to my appearance.

I look at myself in the mirror, adjust my hair to make it fall seductively on my shoulders, apply a little red lipstick to draw even more attention to my sensual lips. I leave my apartment, feeling the fresh morning air caress my skin.

I go down the stairs, and there is the doorman, a big fat man who is not intimidated by anything. I stop in front of him, a mischievous smile forming on my lips.

"Good morning," I say in a provocative voice.

He looks at me without fear, his dark eyes eating up every inch of my body. He doesn't bother to hide his desire; in fact, he flaunts it openly. His big, dark hands are there, ready to squeeze, to explore, and the thought sends a shiver down my spine. I imagine those rough hands on me, their weight, their strength, as they touch me, possess me.

"Good morning, Miss Silvera," he replies in a deep voice, almost a roar, as he continues to stare at me, his gaze lingering on my leggings, on my breasts, without qualms.

I enjoy the thrill of fear and desire that runs through me. There is something primal in this exchange, a game of power and submission that makes me feel alive. I turn slowly, letting him see every angle of my body, before heading for the exit. I feel his gaze on me until I leave the building, the image of his big dark hands still imprinted in my mind.

I walk out of the building with the chill still fresh on my skin, head out onto the street, and hail a cab with a firm nod. I settle into the backseat, feeling the cool leather against my warm skin. The cab moves through the streets of Detroit, and I stare out the window, trying to push aside the morning's feelings to focus on the work ahead.

I arrive at my office in the city center, a place familiar with the shadows of life. I enter to find Mr. Ericson already there, sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs, a look of concern marking his face. He is a middle-aged man, with graying hair and the look of someone who has seen too much pain to be young.

"Mr. Ericson, tell me everything again," I say as I sit down at my desk, trying to maintain a professional tone despite the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

He leans forward, hands clasping nervously. "My daughter, Katja, is missing. The police say she ran away with her boyfriend, a black rapper, a criminal with a long list of convictions: drug dealing, theft, violence..." His voice cracks, "but I don't believe it. Katja, yes, dropped out of college and got together with him last year, but she's never been one to disappear without saying anything. She's always kept in touch with us."

I nod, taking notes. "And what do you know about this rapper? Name, alias, anything that might help me."

"He calls himself 'Dark Rhyme,' real name Marcus Johnson. He's a dangerous guy, but Katja seemed... in love. I can't believe she would just run away on her own without telling us. It's not like her."

I understand your anguish. The disappearance of a daughter, especially in circumstances that suggest involvement in crime, is a nightmare for any parent. "I will investigate, Mr. Ericson. I will talk to anyone who might know something, I will check her usual places, I will talk to Katja's friends, anyone who saw or heard anything."

Mr. Ericson looks at me with eyes full of hope and despair. "Please find my daughter. I just want to know she's okay."

I promise him I'll do everything I can, but deep down I know I'll have to dive into the darkest parts of the city, where danger is palpable and where my desire for excitement might find fertile ground. But for now, my goal is clear: to find Katja Ericson and bring some peace back to her father's life.

Mr. Ericson hands me a folder with all the details he has gathered so far. I take it with a nod of gratitude, promising to keep him updated. After greeting him, I open the folder and begin to scroll through the information.

I immediately call my contacts at the police, those who owe me some favor or who have a special eye for me. After a few calls, I have a clearer picture of the situation. It seems that at Marcus' instigation, Katja signed up to OnlyFans, where she began to post increasingly explicit content, often with him. Marcus is known for involving other girls in this type of activity, some of whom later ended up in prostitution.

My police contact sends me some of the videos Katja has posted. I save the files to a safe directory on my computer to look into further. The videos show Katja in provocative poses, with Marcus often taking control of the scene, demonstrating a certain propensity for domination. This content not only paints a picture of a girl who may have been pushed to her limits, but also of possible manipulation by Marcus.

Now, with these new details in hand, I have to decide where to start. The first thing to do is figure out if Katja really ran away of her own volition or if there is something else at play. I need to talk to friends, acquaintances, maybe go to places where Marcus usually hangs out, and see if I can glean more information about their relationship and where they might have gone.

But as I watch those videos, I feel a thrill of excitement. Not just for the graphic content, but for the danger and darkness this investigation promises to bring. I have to keep a cool head, though; there's a missing girl and a desperate father counting on me to bring her home.

After programming my AI to dig into every detail about Marcus, Katja, and Mr. Ericson, I return to my desk with the folder and open the directory of videos and photos. The first image of Katja is like a lightning bolt that passes through my body. She is a vision of pure beauty, with long blonde hair framing an angelic face, but there is a latent sensuality in her eyes that promises unspeakable sins. Her figure is a masterpiece: long, toned legs, a body that seems made for desire, and breasts that, at 34D, are impossible to ignore.

The photos start with a subtle game of seduction, but soon they turn into something darker and more intense. Each image tells a story of submission and domination. Katja, with her perfect body, seems to be completely under Marcus's influence. He, with his domineering presence, guides her, manipulates her, pushes her beyond her limits. In some photos, he is there, his hand holding, directing, making her assume poses that show every inch of her being in a light of vulnerability and desire.

As I scroll through the images, my breathing deepens, the heat spreads through my body. I see how Katja lets herself go, how each shot becomes more and more explicit, revealing not only her body, but also her surrender to Marcus. There is a raw sensuality, an abandonment that awakens deep desires in me. Her expressions, the way her body responds to Marcus' commands, make me imagine what it would be like to be in her place, to feel that domination, that loss of control that seems so liberating.

The photos move from provocative poses to images where Katja is tied up, where Marcus's control is evident, his dominance a tangible presence in every shot. His gaze is somewhere between pleading and pleased, a mixture of pleasure and submission that makes me shiver with excitement.

I find myself gripping the arms of the chair, trying to maintain control as I lose myself in these visions. The desire to be dominated, to feel what Katja seems to feel, mixes with my professional curiosity. I have to remind myself that this is work, that I have to find Katja, but the thrill of these images, the promise of danger and lust, make it hard to look away.

Joy begins to get excited and opens the directory with the videos, the first ones mirror the photos and are low quality and short a few seconds, then the long videos begin with explanatory names, deep blowjob, shower fuck, terrace pounding... just the titles gave me sensations in my lower abdomen. After getting lost in the photos, the desire that grows inside me pushes me to click on the video directory. At first, the videos are short, low quality, as if they were filmed secretly or in moments of pure spontaneity, mirroring the first photos. They last only a few seconds, but they are enough to glimpse Katja in compromising poses, the sensuality that emanates even from these short clips.

But then, I start to find longer videos, with titles that leave no room for imagination. "Deepthroat", "Shower Fuck", "Fucked on the Terrace"... Just reading those names gives me an intense feeling in my lower abdomen.

I look at the video previews, "Deepthroat," and I see Katja, her lips wrapped around Marcus's cock, her eyes looking up at him with a combination of desire and submission. The video quality is much better, every movement captured in such detail that every sensation seems tangible. I feel my body responding, arousal building, imagining the feeling of that power, that domination.

I cut to the next video, "Shower Fuck," and the water running over their naked bodies adds another level of eroticism. Marcus holds her against the tiles, his strength evident as he penetrates her, the rhythm of their bodies moving in sync. The sound of the water mixing with their moans makes it all seem more real, closer.

When I get to "Fucking on the Terrace," my heart beats faster. It's an act of overt domination, with Katja bent over the railing, exposed to the world, while Marcus takes her from behind with a ferocity that makes my thighs tighten. The view of the city beyond them, the contrast between the private act and the public, makes me feel a wave of heat spreading through me.

Each video is not just a piece of the investigation, but an invitation to explore my darkest fantasies. I find myself touching myself, seeking relief from this growing excitement, but I have to remind myself that there is work to be done. However, I cannot deny how these images, these acts of submission and domination, awaken a desire in me that is difficult to ignore.

I decide to push past the previews and open the video titled "Deepthroat". The scene opens with a first-person shot, putting us directly in Marcus's shoes. He is sitting on a black leather couch, his nakedness exposed to the warm afternoon light that filters through the window, casting shadows on every muscle of his dark body. Katja is there, kneeling before him, her presence an offering of submission and desire that fills the screen.

The air feels electric, charged with a sexual energy that makes me feel like I'm there, in that room, part of this intimate moment. Katja starts with a slowness that I can feel in my bones, her tongue caressing Marcus' balls with a delicacy that almost seems like a whisper. The sound of her tongue moving, the hot breath that I can almost feel against my skin, all of it envelops me in a feeling of heat and desire.

Then, with a devotion that makes my heart pound, her tongue moves up Marcus's shaft, every inch explored with a sensuality that makes me imagine the salty taste of her skin, the pulsing heat beneath her lips. The contrast between her pale skin and Marcus's dark cock is almost hypnotic, a contrast that sends a deep shiver through me.

When he reaches the tip, there is a pause, a moment of anticipation. Katja opens her mouth, and the contrast becomes a living, palpable sensation. I watch her take it inside her, slowly, as if she wants to savor every second of this connection. The wet sound, the heat of her mouth that seems to envelop every sense, makes me feel as if I were the one living this moment.

The rhythm changes, becomes deeper, more insistent, with Katja taking him deeper and deeper, her muffled moans mixing with the sound of her breathing. Every movement, every sound, drags me closer to the edge, my hand sliding between my legs almost without me realizing it, seeking relief from this growing excitement.

The video captures every detail, from the glisten of saliva on Katja's lips, to the tension in Marcus' muscles, to the expression of pleasure and domination on his face. Every moan, every breath, every movement is like a wave that overwhelms me, making me feel part of this act of submission and domination.

As I get drawn in, my body responds with an almost painful desire, but a part of me, the one that is always working, searches for clues, tries to understand the dynamic between Katja and Marcus, hoping to find something, anything, that can help me shed light on this investigation.

The video continues, and the intensity of the action visibly increases. Marcus, with one hand in Katja's hair, grips her firmly but with a kind of domineering tenderness, guiding her head toward him with decisive movements. The strength with which he holds her is evident, but there is also a care, a control that seems almost choreographed. Katja, in response, shows no resistance; on the contrary, she seems completely immersed in the ecstasy of the moment, her eyes momentarily closing in an expression of absolute pleasure.

I see him push his cock deep into Katja's mouth, every inch of it coming with a wet, choking sound that fills the air. The sound is a mixture of saliva and breath, a guttural sound that seems to come from deep in Katja's throat, turning into a moan as Marcus holds her there, all the way inside. The contrast between Marcus' dark skin and Katja's pale skin is even more pronounced in this act of domination, making the image incredibly erotic.

As I watch, I can almost feel his cock deep in my throat, the sensation of fullness, of total surrender. My hand, almost without me realizing it, slides inside my panties, finding my pussy already wet with excitement. I begin to tease myself, my fingers mimicking Marcus's movement, following the rhythm of his domination over Katja.

Every time Marcus thrusts, every muffled moan from Katja, every gasp that escapes him, all of it becomes part of my sensory experience. I feel the heat rising, the pleasure building, my hand moving with an intensity that mirrors what I see on the screen. The desire to be in that position, to feel that domination, to experience that ecstasy that Katja seems to be experiencing, makes me lose myself in a moment of pure pleasure.

Marcus loosens his grip on Katja's hair, allowing her to climb up for a moment's respite. She's panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her nipples hard and visible through her thin top, sweat making her skin shine. At Marcus's slightest nod, a gesture almost imperceptible but full of command, Katja goes back down, giving herself over to him completely.

Her tongue begins its exploration from the scrotum, licking with an almost artistic precision. Each movement of her tongue is slow, deliberate, savoring every detail of Marcus' balls, her saliva making everything more slippery and sensual. Then, she moves up, following the line of his cock with her tongue, every vein, every detail explored with a mastery that only desire can give.

When she reaches the tip, she opens her mouth, taking in the glans with a slowness that seems to amplify every sensation. Her hands move in sync, one squeezing and sliding along the shaft, the other playing with the balls, massaging them gently but firmly. Her tongue dances around the glans, licking, teasing, concentrating on that sensitive part, each movement eliciting moans from Marcus, his breathing becoming more labored, deeper.

This scene repeats twice, each repetition an exponential growth of sexual tension. The first time, there is a kind of preparation, a taste of what is to come, but the second time, Katja is completely immersed, her mouth sliding up and down Marcus's cock with a precision and dedication that is almost hypnotic. The sounds of his mouth working, the wetness of his saliva, Katja's muffled moans as he takes him deeper, Marcus's breathing becoming heavier and heavier, all of it creates a symphony of lust.

As I watch, I, without restraint, have inserted two fingers deeply into my pussy, the excitement that drives me to move them with a violence that reflects my need for release. I feel the heat, the wetness, every contraction of my body in response to what I see. The fingers penetrate, stimulate, try to replicate the rhythm and intensity of the scene, my breathing that mixes with the sounds of the video, the desire to be dominated, to feel that submission, that envelops me as I masturbate with passion. The pleasure builds, my body that tenses towards orgasm, all while trying to keep at least a corner of my mind focused on the investigation, but in this moment, I am completely lost in the pleasure.

Katja's movements become frenetic, her hands sliding up and down Marcus's cock with impressive speed, each finger squeezing, caressing, stimulating with a precision that shows her absolute desire. Her mouth moves with an equally frenetic rhythm, her lips sliding up and down, her tongue dancing around the glans with a mastery that amplifies every sensation. Marcus, with a firm grip on her hair, pushes her down once more, forcing her to take his cock all the way in.

Katja's eyes widen in shock and instinct when Marcus, without warning, explodes into her throat with brutal force. His cum erupts with a force that can almost be felt through the screen, hot, thick, filling Katja's mouth with such an amount that it seems impossible to contain. Marcus' grip does not loosen, forcing her to swallow every drop of his cum, her body tensing in an act of total submission.

When Marcus finally frees her, Katja's face is a sight of devastation: her lips are swollen and red, her makeup runs in black streaks down her cheeks, saliva and cum create a wet, sticky mask on her face, an image that screams domination and pleasure.

I can no longer hold back my orgasm; I come like a fountain, my body contracting in a wave of pleasure so intense that it seems to sweep away everything else. The sight of Marcus's hand dominating with such force, forcing without escape, has pushed me beyond all limits. The feeling of that domination, the sight of Katja completely submissive, all of this is reflected in the way my body responds, losing all control, all thought, as the pleasure envelops me in a wave that seems to never end.

At this moment, I am completely lost, my world reduced to that single act of domination and submission, my mind lost in pleasure, leaving aside every other concern, every thought of inquiry, all eclipsed by the pure, raw sensation of coming under the effect of that visible, tangible, sensorial domination.

In the fumes of my orgasm, I realize the video isn't over yet. Marcus's voice fills the air, harsh and commanding, each word resonating like an electric shock through my still-shaking body.

Marcus: "Clean it all up, bitch. I don't want to see even a drop of my cum on me."

The humiliating tone of his words sends a new kind of arousal through me. Katja, her face still a mess of spit and cum, bends down again. Her tongue begins to run over Marcus's cock, now half flaccid, but still commanding in its presence. The light catches every movement of her tongue, which moves with a deliberate, almost sacred slowness. Each lick is accompanied by the wet sound of her saliva mixing with the remnants of his cum, a sound that seems to amplify every sensation.

Katja: "Yes, sir..." her voice is a submissive whisper, as her tongue carefully collects every last bit of cum, the heat of her mouth almost audible through the screen.

Marcus looks down, a satisfied smile forming on his lips as he watches Katja carry out his order, her breathing heavy, satisfied.

Marcus: "Good girl... show how much you like my cock, even when it's dirty with my pleasure."

Katja continues, her licking becomes almost a ritual, each passage of the tongue is an act of adoration and obedience. The contrast between Katja's light skin and Marcus' dark cock is even more marked in this scene of cleaning, each movement of her tongue that explores, cleans, worships. The sound of her licking, the wetness of her saliva, all this creates a symphony of sensations that makes me fall again into an abyss of pleasure. My body, which I thought was at the limit, finds new spaces to come, each lick, each word of humiliation uttered by Marcus, each sign of submission by Katja, brings me to another orgasm, as if I were in a loop of infinite pleasure.

The contrast between the brutal domination from before and this moment of humiliating but sensual cleansing keeps me in a cycle of excitement that seems to want to consume me completely. The imagined smell of cum and saliva, the visible heat of Katja's body, the sound of her breathing mixing with Marcus's, all of this envelops me in a sensory experience that goes beyond simple physical pleasure.

Marcus: "Don't stop until it's perfectly clean."

Katja, nodding, continues her task, her face showing a mixture of shame and desire, while I, lost in this scene, continue to come, my body responding to every image, every sound, every act of submission with a desire that seems never to be satiated.

"Why did this video, out of all the ones I've seen, have such a visceral impact on me? It's not just the porn, it's something more. It's the domination, for sure. The way Marcus commands Katja, how every word he says is a law she follows without hesitation, awakens a desire in me that I can't ignore. It's as if every command Marcus gives is a call to a part of me that wants to be controlled, dominated.

And that big black dick... it's not just a physical thing, it's a symbol of power, of virility, of something that makes me feel small, vulnerable in a way that turns me on like crazy. It's as if the contrast between my desire for independence and this desire to be submissive has been laid bare.

But there is more. This is not just about sex; it is about power dynamics, about total surrender, about humiliation becoming an act of liberation. Katja, with her angelic beauty, totally submissive, makes me reflect on myself. I see myself in her, in the desire to lose control, to be possessed, to no longer have to decide, but only to feel.

Maybe that's why I've always sought out dangerous situations, violent, dominant men. Am I trying to escape from myself, from that part of me that always has to be strong, in control? It's like I'm looking for an escape through submission, a form of control that isn't mine, but someone else's. And this video, with its raw reality, has shown me a truth that perhaps I didn't want to see: that my desire to be dominated is just as strong as my need to maintain my identity as a tough, independent detective.

It's scary how liberating it is to acknowledge this part of me, this duality between the domination I seek and the control I maintain. Maybe it's time to accept that these two parts can coexist, that my strength is not diminished by my desire to be submissive, but rather enriched by this complexity."

I head to the bathroom to freshen up, but the excitement refuses to subside. It feels like an electric current is coursing under my skin, a craving I recognize all too well. My "inner slut" has come to the surface, and fighting this feeling seems almost futile.

I try to resist, to regain control, but it's difficult. I close the laptop, pack my bag, and head towards the exit, still in a state of turmoil. The cool evening air welcomes me, the sky is starting to darken and the temperature is dropping, but instead of calming down, I feel the excitement that doesn't subside.

As I walk home, my mind is elsewhere, lost in clouds of desire. I can't stop visualizing Katja's blowjob scene, the way she submitted, how she accepted every command with a devotion that makes me shiver with pleasure.

Every step I take seems to fuel this fire inside me, the contrast between the cold air and the heat I feel in my body is almost intoxicating. The city transforms under the light of twilight, but I am trapped in a loop of erotic images, of humid sounds, of sensations of domination and submission.

I try to focus on something else, to distract myself with the noises of the city, with the wind caressing my face, but it's all useless. My mind keeps returning to that video, to that moment of loss of control that I want to experience again in some way, even if only through memory.

I don't know how I got here, but I find myself at the counter of a bar I know all too well. It's close to home, a seedy place, frequented by dark souls and the most sordid nightlife in the city. The atmosphere is heavy, almost palpable, with smells of stale smoke and alcohol mixing in a thick, sticky air. The place is squalid, the walls stained by who knows how many years of neglect, with the paint flaking in dry flakes, and the floor creaking underfoot as if every step could make it collapse.

The light is dim, provided only by a few flickering neon lights, casting eerie shadows on everything it touches. The few patrons are engulfed in this gloom, shadowy figures moving like ghosts, their faces barely visible through the smoke and darkness. Their voices are a low murmur, a background that gets lost among the clinking of bottles and the scratchy rock music from the old jukebox in the corner.

I feel out of place, my clothes clashing with the surroundings, but there is something in this squalor that draws me, a sort of perverse magnetism. The air is cold, despite the heat emanating from the bodies and the alcohol, and it seems to want to penetrate my bones. The bar is sticky, dirty with old drinks and who knows what else, but I rest my elbow on it anyway, trying to anchor myself to something concrete in this atmosphere so ethereal and dark.

I order a drink, the glass that is served to me with a slowness that seems part of the ritual of this place. As I wait, my eyes wander, observing the silhouettes that move in the shadows, each person here seems to carry with them a burden, a secret, a history of forbidden desires and lives lived on the margins.

There is a part of me that wants to escape, that recognizes the danger and the decay, but there is also that part of me, the one I try to keep under control, that is drawn to this place, that sees in this darkness a kind of liberation, an opportunity to explore without the constraints of normality.

I am on the border between wanting to stay in control and wanting to let go in this nocturnal world, where the rules are different, and where maybe, just for a moment, I can be who I really am, without masks.

A deep, rough voice jolts me out of my thoughts, jolting me back to the present. I turn to find a tall, broad man, his dark skin standing out in the dim light of the bar. He's imposing, almost menacing, but there's something about him that draws me in, something magnetic.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks me in that voice that seems to want to cut through the music and the buzz around us. His piggy, piercing eyes stare at me, and I feel naked, vulnerable under that gaze. It's a mixture of disgust and excitement that runs through me, a shiver that runs down my spine.

I don't look away from him and nod. "A tequila," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. He gestures to the bartender, who pours two shots in a flash. I pick up the glass, raise it in a silent toast to this stranger, and down it in one go. The alcohol burns my throat, but it also awakens that part of me that craves danger, the unknown, domination.

He looks at me with a smile that could be admiration or a warning. In that moment, I know I've entered a game that could take me where my "inner slut" has always wanted to go, but I also know that here, in these shadows, every step is a risk, every drink an invitation to something darker and deeper.

With a smile that seems to understand everything, he offers another round. I, feeling that mix of disgust and excitement growing inside me, accept without thinking twice. The bartender pours again, and the golden liquid catches the dim light of the bar. I take the second shot, and he approaches. His presence is tangible, almost suffocating. His scent - sweat, tobacco and a hint of spice - envelops me, an aura of danger and seduction that stuns me.

A shiver of excitement runs through me, starting from my back and spreading everywhere. It is the thrill of risk, of the prey that knows it is being watched, of the desire to be caught. I down the tequila decisively, and the burning sensation mixes with the heat that I feel growing inside me.

He looks at me, comes closer, his body almost touching mine. "You're a woman who knows what she wants," he says in a low voice, a whisper that echoes inside me like thunder. I'm torn: do I want to run away or do I want to see how far this night can take me, with this stranger who seems capable of pushing me beyond every limit?

Another round of tequila, and we drink it quickly. Each sip burns my throat, but warms something deeper. He's beside me now, his presence insistent, almost oppressive. His hand, large and rough, wraps around my back, a gesture that screams possession and provocation. I feel a shiver right where he touches me, an electric shock that wakes me up, that awakens that part of me that seeks a thrill.

Inside me, everything is shaking: "He's too close, too real... but why does he turn me on so much? It's his touch, his scent, the danger he exudes... my inner slut is waking up, wanting more, wanting all of this. I can feel my pussy getting wet, my body betraying me, wanting what my mind should fear."

My pussy gets even wetter, a clear sign of desire coming to life. It's not just his touch, it's everything: the darkness of the bar, the music drowning out the whispers, the smell of alcohol and tobacco mixed with his perfume. It's a powerful aphrodisiac. The line between disgust and excitement blurs, and I find myself in a limbo of fear and desire.

My heart is pounding, my body is shaking in a way I can't hide. "Is this what I want? To explore the darkness with him? To let go completely?" I ask myself, as his hand on my back seems to mark me, claim me. I don't have a clear answer, but my body has already made up its mind, my excitement is growing, I want to see where this night, protected by the darkness, with him, will take me.

His hand slides slowly down my back, until it settles firmly on my ass. His smile widens, a predatory grin, and in that moment my "inner slut" takes control, if only for an instant. I lean towards him, all reservations melting away. Our mouths meet in an intense kiss, our tongues intertwining with a passion that devours every distance. It is a kiss that screams repressed desires, a need for domination and submission that explodes.

His hands waste no time, running over my body with a confidence that goes beyond simple touch. Every movement is calculated, claiming every inch of me with a possessiveness that makes me tremble with excitement. Inside me, a whirlwind: "I'm letting him take me here, in this dark and dirty place... is this what I want? To feel his control, his strength? My inner slut has taken over, wanting it all, every sensation, every danger..."

The kiss deepens, almost like a fight, a power play where I feel like giving in, but it's delicious, liberating. His hands squeeze me, pull me closer, his body fits with mine as if we were made for this moment, for this dark and dangerous dance. His every touch reminds me of his strength, his dominance, and a wave of desire overwhelms me, leaves me breathless, waiting to discover where this kiss, this night, this total surrender will take me.

We pull away for a moment, both panting, our breaths mixing in an air charged with sexual tension. But he wastes no time, he holds me close with a force that leaves no room for doubt, capturing my lips again in a kiss that is more of a declaration of possession than an affectionate gesture. Our tongues intertwine with a new urgency, a primal need.

This time his hands are more insistent, more demanding. One slips under the fabric of my leggings, finds my warm and sensitive skin, explores with an intimacy that makes me tremble with desire. The other hand moves violently, squeezes one of my breasts with a force that mixes pain and pleasure in an overwhelming sensation.

I moan, a sound that is a mix of pain from his iron grip and pleasure from the intensity of the moment. The pain intertwines with the pleasure, becomes a reminder of the thin line I am crossing, of the danger and lust that merge in this encounter. Inside me, everything is a storm: "I am giving in, I am letting him take me here, like this... it's like every part of me wants this, wants to feel his control, his dominion. The pain, the pleasure, everything becomes confused, and I... I want more."

He seems to take my moan as an invitation, his grip tightens, his fingers explore, claiming every part of me as if I were already his. The kiss deepens, our tongues fighting for dominance, a prelude to what could happen if I decided to follow this madness all the way.

His kisses continue, insistent and dominant, while his hands do not stop, exploring with a confidence that seems to want to mark me. His mouth moves to my neck, licks, bites lightly, leaving a trail of shivers on my skin. Then he squeezes both my breasts with a force that is now pure pleasure, my nipples harden under his grip.

I moan in pleasure, a sound that escapes my lips like a plea, an affirmation of my desire. "Oh God, yes..." I whisper, my voice shaking with excitement, each word an invitation to continue, to push further.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the bartender smiling, a smile that could be approval or just amusement at what is happening in front of him. This knowledge, instead of making me recoil, excites me even more, adds a level of exhibitionism to my excitement. Inside me, a whirlwind of desire and awareness: "I'm letting him take me here, in front of everyone... it's like every part of me wants this, wants to be seen, desired, possessed. This is my world, my desire, and I'm living it without restraints."

He hears my whisper, my surrender, and intensifies his touch. His hands continue to explore, to dominate, to take me higher and higher in a crescendo of pleasure and submission. The bar, with its shadows and its music, becomes the perfect backdrop for this act of dark and liberating desire.

He stands up with a determination that leaves no doubt, takes my hand with a rough, seductive grip. With his other hand, he gives me a firm push on the ass, guiding me towards a sofa in the darkest corner of the bar. His every move is a command, a declaration of dominance.

As I let myself be led, my mind feels clouded by a mix of excitement and confusion. Inside me, a whirlwind of thoughts: "I don't understand anything anymore... I'm going towards this little couch, towards the darkness with him... Why do I feel so alive, so desired, so... lost? It's like every part of me wants this, wants to be dominated, pushed beyond every limit. His touch, his control, is taking me to a place I've never been, where maybe I shouldn't go, but where every fiber of my being wants to explore. I'm losing control, letting my inner slut take over, and I don't know if I want to stop it. This is danger, this is desire, this is pure, raw lust. And I... I don't want to go back."

Every step towards the sofa is a step towards something darker, more intense, a journey inside me that I can no longer stop, I don't want to stop. The feeling of his hand on my ass, the firm and imperious guidance, makes me feel like I'm slipping into a desired darkness, where every inhibition melts away, leaving only the desire and the need to be possessed.

He slams me onto the couch with a force that takes my breath away, his arrogance showing in every gesture. With a decisive movement, he lowers my leggings, spreads my legs without asking, pulls my panties aside and begins to lick and tease my pussy and clit.

At first I am shocked, the intensity of his touch catches me off guard, but then pleasure overwhelms me, overwhelms me. I moan, a sound that escapes me without my being able to control it, a plea for pleasure that invades me. The sofa is in the darkest part of the bar, but out of the corner of my eye I see someone watching. This thought lights a fire inside me, a wave of excitement that mixes with physical pleasure.

Inside me, a chaos of sensations and thoughts: "I'm letting him take me here, in the dark, where anyone could see... why does this turn me on so much? It's like I was born for this, to be watched, desired, possessed in this way. His touch, his tongue on me, is taking me beyond every limit, every inhibition. And knowing he's being watched... it's like every part of me wants this, wants to be seen in my pleasure, in my submission. I'm losing myself right now, and I don't want to stop. It's danger, it's darkness, it's my deepest desire finally coming to light. I feel the pleasure building, my body responding without hesitation, and I can't help but wonder where all this will take me, where he will take me. But right now, I don't want answers, I just want to feel, just live this dark and overwhelming pleasure."

His tongue continues to rage on my pussy with a mastery that seems to want to explore every inch of me. Every movement is precise, decisive, the heat of his breath mixes with mine, creating a wave of heat that starts from the center of my being. I moan, a sound that fills the air, intertwining with the music and the buzz of the bar, each moan an echo of the pleasure that pervades me. My hands move on their own, they find my tits, the fingers sink into the flesh, they feel the contrast between the softness of my skin and the hardness of my nipples.

Pleasure overwhelms me like a wave that carries me away, erasing every rational thought. Every sensation is amplified: the wetness of his tongue, the heat of his touch, the cold of the sofa under me that contrasts with the fire that spreads through my body. I don't understand anything anymore, I don't care about being fucked here, in public, where anyone could watch. Inside me, a tumult of desire and surrender: "I can't think of anything but the pleasure I feel... the taste of his breath, the wet, hot touch of his tongue, like a fire spreading inside me. I'm letting him take me here, where everyone can see, and that knowledge, instead of scaring me, excites me even more. I want to be seen, I want them to see how much pleasure I'm feeling, how much I can lose control in this moment. I don't care about anything anymore, just this moment, this feeling. The sound of my moans, my labored breathing, the rustling of my clothes, the smell of sex mixing with that of the bar, all of it envelops me in a total experience. My inner slut has taken over, she's living her dark, perverse dream. There's no room for shame or fear anymore, only desire, raw lust. Pleasure is all there is, and I'm completely lost in it, not wanting to find my way back.

Every moan I make, every touch I give myself, every lick he licks, brings me closer to the edge. I feel his touch teasing my clit, exploring my folds, every sensation intensified by the wetness of his saliva, the pressure of his lips, the circular movements of his tongue. I want nothing more than to fall further, to lose myself in this public pleasure, in this submission that makes me feel so alive, so free, so completely and intensely myself."

The man, whose name I don't yet know, stops using his tongue and looks at me with a look that is a mixture of triumph and desire. His eyes, dark and piercing, stare at me with an intensity that seems to want to pierce my soul. There is a sneer on his face, a smile that slowly widens, showing white teeth that contrast with his dark skin, an expression that seems to say 'I've got you.'

His pupils are dilated, not only from the darkness of the place but from the excitement of the moment, reflecting a predatory light. His gaze digs into me, exploring me with a depth that makes it seem as if he knows my every secret, my every hidden desire. There is a promise in those eyes, a promise of pleasure but also of domination, a warning and an invitation at the same time.

I'm already undone, my body still shaking from the pleasure he's given me, and he, with that look, seems to want to take advantage of every weakness I have, every sign of surrender my body shows. Then, he turns me around like I'm a twig, with an ease that shows his strength and the control he has over me at this moment. He changes position, placing me in front of him, and whispers to me in a low voice, full of desire: "Now it's your turn..."

His cock, which he had already pulled out and stroked while licking me, is erect before my eyes, his virility imposing itself with an evidence that makes me feel a wave of excitement. His gaze does not leave mine, it seems to want to follow every reaction, every emotion that passes on my face as I contemplate his member.

"That look in his eyes... it's like he's reading me, like he knows exactly what I want, what turns me on. It's a mix of power and desire, it makes me feel small, vulnerable, but also incredibly desired. I can't look away, I don't want to. His cock, his gaze, everything challenges me, invites me to continue this dangerous game. I'm about to give in, to let myself go completely. The pleasure he's given me, his strength, his control... all of this is bringing me to the point of no return."

I reciprocate the pleasure he has given me, letting myself be guided by instinct and the memory of Katja in the video. I begin with a deliberate slowness, licking his balls with a dedication that almost seems like an act of veneration. I feel the texture of his skin, the heat, the salty taste that mixes with my own desire. My tongue explores every inch, tasting, teasing, feeling how his body reacts to my touches.

Then, I slowly move up his shaft, following every vein, every detail with my tongue, as if I were tracing a map of his pleasure. The contrast between my pale skin and his dark cock is an image that excites me as much as the act itself. I reach the tip, where every movement of my tongue is intentional, playing with the glans, savoring the taste of him, a taste that makes me feel a wave of desire.

With a deep breath, I open my mouth to take his big cock, feeling its size, its weight, its heat as I take it inside me. There is something liberating about this act, a way of giving back to the control he has had over me, but also of exploring my submission in a way that is both physical and mental. The taste of him, a mix of salt and musk, becomes part of my experience, an experience that makes me feel more connected to this dark and dangerous moment.

"I'm doing what Katja was doing in the video, but now it's real, it's my desire, my submission. The taste of her, the smell of her, all of this is taking me beyond every limit I've ever set for myself. It's not just physical pleasure, it's a surrender, an exploration of my dark side through her body. I'm giving in, but in this giving in, I find a kind of power, a power in the pleasure I'm giving him, in the control I'm exerting through my submission."

I continue my blowjob with a dedication that leaves no room for doubt, it is certainly not the first time that I find myself with a cock in my mouth, but this time there is a hunger, a desire for domination that guides me. I try to take it all, but his cock is enormous, it fills my mouth as if it wanted to break me. I can only get to a certain point, but he is not satisfied.

With a rough, dominant grip in my hair, he presses my head down hard, pushing all the way in without mercy. His hand guides me, forces me, and each thrust is like a declaration of power. I struggle to breathe, his cock filling my mouth, touching the back of my throat, inducing a gag reflex that mixes with a perverse pleasure. Saliva slides down his shaft, the wet sound of his cock filling the air, my breath becoming a strangled gasp as he insists, dominating me without hesitation. Every time he pushes me down, I feel his cock trying to go in deeper, challenging my ability to take it all.

Despite the discomfort, there is something intensely arousing about this domination, the way it forces me to submit completely. My pussy grows wetter with each thrust, my body responding with a desire that seems to want to explode.

"I can't catch my breath, damn it, but this is turning me on like crazy. It's his control, his brutal domination over me right now. I'm giving in, letting him fuck my throat, letting him choke me on his huge cock. I want it all, I want to feel every inch of this cock filling my mouth, choking me, dominating me mercilessly. It's not just fucking, it's his power, my submission, the danger of this act. I want him to fill me up, to dominate me like this, I want to feel this moment of completeness and surrender, damn it.

Finally, his grip loosens and I can take a breath, the air filling my lungs with a relief that's almost painful, but makes me feel even more alive. But the man isn't finished with me, his voice no longer a whisper but a loud, clear statement that carries throughout the bar. "Good bitch," he calls out in a voice that doesn't hide his appreciation, his dominance. "You really know how to serve a cock, don't you, bitch?"

Now, as his tone resonates, I continue my blowjob, completely naked from the waist down, my ass exposed for anyone to watch. "I'm giving a blowjob with my bare ass in a fucking bar, and he calls me a whore in front of everyone... why does this turn me on so much? It's the contempt, the domination, being seen in this state of total submission. My inner slut is having her moment of glory, of liberation. I don't care if they hear me, if they see me, in fact, I want it. I want everyone to know how much I like it, how good I am at sucking a cock like this.

His tone, his voice humiliating me, makes me even wetter. I am losing all inhibitions, all limits, in this act of public submission. I no longer feel like Joy the detective, but Joy the whore, the slut who enjoys every moment of this domination. I like that he calls me a slut, that he treats me like shit to be fucked, here, in front of everyone. And I want more, I want him to take me, to use me, to make me feel even more his in this bar full of eyes and ears. I want him to fuck me, to fill me up, to make me feel like his slut all the way."

The man orders me to ride him, his voice a brutal, unmistakable command. Without a moment's hesitation, I comply, tearing off my leggings and top with a haste that reflects my desire. I stand completely naked before him, before anyone in this bar who might be watching. I position myself on top of him, my skin glowing slightly under the dim lights, my breasts heaving as I breathe. I feel the head of his cock, dark and throbbing, pressing against me, and I begin to ride him, every movement affirming my submission and my hunger.

My body moves with an almost choreographed fluidity, my muscular legs tensing as I welcome him inside me, my firm ass rising and falling rhythmically. My tits, full and heavy, jiggle with each thrust, my nipples hard with excitement. I feel his cock filling me, feeling completely open, vulnerable, yet powerful in my act of submission.

I don't give a shit about anything anymore... I'm riding this huge cock, naked, in a bar, and I don't give a shit who's watching. I'm living out my darkest desire, my inner slut taking complete control. Every thrust, every movement, is further confirmation of how much I want this, how much I love being dominated, used, seen.

His cock filling me, the pleasure spreading, the feeling of being completely his... it's liberating, it's exactly what I want. I'm no longer Joy the detective, I'm Joy the whore, enjoying every moment of this public domination. I want everyone to see, to know how I feel, how I like it. His cock pounding me, my ass and tits dancing with every move, the wet sound of my pussy welcoming him.

There is no more room for shame, only for raw pleasure, for total submission. His gaze on me, his cock inside me, the moans that I can't hold back, all this excites me even more. The sweat that begins to cover my skin, the heat of our contact, the contrast between my pale skin and his dark cock... I no longer care who is watching us, who hears. I just want to continue like this, feel him inside me, feel his dominance over me, and let myself go completely in this act of brutal and unbridled lust."

As I ride him, I feel his rough hands gripping my tits, but it is his teeth that make me lose control. He lunges at me with an animalistic ferocity, his teeth closing around my nipples with a brutality that makes me shiver with pain and pleasure. Each bite is an act of possession, his teeth sinking into my flesh as if he wanted to brand me, the pain turning into a sharp and vibrant pleasure. I feel how his teeth pull, squeeze, play with my nipples, already hard from the excitement, causing sensations that make my head spin.

One bite in particular is more intense, his teeth closing around a nipple, the pressure increasing until I let out a moan that is a mixture of pain and pleasure, a sound that seems to escape my will. Then, he moves on to the other, repeating the act with a determination that seems to want to demonstrate who is in charge, who owns. His hands, meanwhile, squeeze and manipulate my breasts with a force that accentuates the effect of the bites, making each sensation even more intense.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a couple of people who have approached in the dim light, attracted by the show we are offering. The man notices it and instead of hiding what we are doing, his reaction is to insult me, humiliating me in front of everyone.

"Look at this bitch, she can't stop riding a cock even if people are watching her," he says in a voice full of contempt and dominance, his tone echoing through the bar. "You're a real cheap whore, who likes to be watched while she gets fucked."

"His words, his cock bites... I'm going crazy. He's humiliating me in front of everyone, and that turns me on even more. Knowing that they're watching me, that they see how much I like being treated like shit, makes me feel more alive than ever. My inner slut is triumphing, she wants this, she wants to be seen, she wants to be insulted, humiliated, treated like the whore I am.

Every bite, every insult, pushes me over the edge, pleasure and pain mixing in a perverse ecstasy. I don't want him to stop, I want him to continue, to use me, to show me to everyone how much I can be his. I don't give a damn about anything anymore, just this moment, this feeling of being completely dominated and enjoyed, of being his public whore."

I feel the pleasure growing with every movement, every thrust of his huge cock inside me that brings me closer and closer to the peak. The rhythm of my body riding him becomes frenetic, almost desperate, as the pleasure builds, a tension that seems to want to explode. The sensation of his cock filling me completely is overwhelming, every vein rubbing against the inner walls of my pussy, every inch stimulating every nerve ending with a precision that seems to want to drive me crazy. I feel his glans touching points that send my body into a spiral of pleasure. And then, finally, I come, a wave of pleasure that overwhelms me completely.

I come like a fountain, my orgasm coming with shocking force, screaming my pleasure without restraint, not caring where I am, who sees me or who hears me. My body contracts, trembling with pleasure, every muscle responding to the wave of sensations that runs through me. I feel my juices flowing freely, wetting everything, the sound of my pleasure filling the air, mixing with the wet sound of our flesh coming together, his cock sliding in and out, covered in my arousal.

I moan and scream, "Oh, God... yes, yes, yes!" each word coming out like a burst of ecstasy. My pussy tightens around his cock, each contraction seeming to pull him deeper, squeezing him like a fist of pleasure, my clit throbbing with every movement.

The man, sensing my orgasm, grabs me harder, "Come, slut, come for me," he says in a voice that combines domination and satisfaction. I feel his hands squeezing my tits, his thumbs playing cruelly with my hard nipples, causing new waves of pleasure. His mouth finds a nipple again, biting, sucking, increasing the intensity of my orgasm, the pain mixing with the pleasure in an intoxicating way.

I'm coming, I can't stop, I don't want to stop... here, in this bar, in front of everyone, I'm experiencing my purest pleasure. Every scream, every spasm of my body, is a declaration of how much I like it, how much it excites me to be dominated and fucked like this. My inner slut has won, she has reached her peak, and I don't care about anything, only this moment, this sensation.

I moan again, "Fuck, yes... like that, don't stop," between moans that seem to never end, feeling how his cock continues to move inside me, prolonging my pleasure, his thrusts keeping the wave of orgasm alive, his cock filling me, breaking me, making me feel every inch of his manhood.

His cock inside me, his domination, his bites, all this has brought me here, to this point of no return. I am no longer Joy the detective, I am Joy the whore, who screams her pleasure like a release, who enjoys every second of this public and brutal domination. I want everyone to see, to feel how much I like it, how much it makes me enjoy being treated like shit, like a slut to be fucked.

More, more..." I moan, my voice breaking in pleasure as I continue to ride him, my body moving in a rhythm that echoes my orgasm, prolonging the jolts of pleasure that seem unending.

Even though I came, I still feel an insatiable hunger, a desire that is not satisfied with the orgasm I just experienced. In the haze of orgasm, I continue to ride him, my body moving with an urgency that seems to want to prolong this moment of ecstasy. My moans continue, "Oh, yes... more, fuck... don't stop..." sounds of pleasure that don't want to stop, each moan coming out like a plea to continue.

The man, sensing my persistence, my insatiable desire, continues to call me the slut I am. "You can't get enough, huh, slut?" he says in a voice that is a mix of mockery and admiration. "Keep riding, bitch, show me how much you like to be fucked like a whore."

"I can't stop, I want more, I need more... even after I come, his cock inside me makes me feel like I can come again and again. I love being called that, it turns me on, makes me feel alive, wanted, used in the right way.

I moan again, "Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me like the whore I am... fuck, yes..." between moans that seem to never end, my body moving in sync with hers, trying to extract even more pleasure from this act of domination and submission. "Don't stop... I want to feel all of you..."

Pleasure washes over me again, sensations building, desire growing despite everything. I'm riding his cock like it's all that matters, like I can lose myself in this act of endless lust.

The man senses the end approaching and makes me dismount, his voice commanding with a firmness that leaves no room for doubt. He makes me kneel, the cold floor beneath me contrasting with the heat of my body. He dominates me standing, an imposing figure before me, his cock still hard and wet from our union. He masturbates with quick, decisive movements, while he orders me to open my mouth.

"Open your mouth, bitch," he says in a tone that is both a command and a promise. I follow his command, my mouth opening in anticipation, my heart pounding with anticipation.

And then, with a deep groan, he comes, his cum exploding with incredible force. The first wave fills my mouth, hot, thick, and salty, invading my senses. But I can't contain it all; the cum overflows, spilling out of my lips, running in rivulets down my chin. It continues to spurt, some drops hitting my face directly, others scattering into my hair, while still others slide down my neck.

The flow doesn't stop, his cum pooling on my tits, coating them in a sticky layer that makes them shine in the dim light of the bar. I feel the weight and texture of his cum branding me, marking me as his in a final act of domination, each drop sticking to my skin, creating irregular, wet patterns.

The man orders me to clean him, his voice echoing with a commanding tone that cannot be ignored. "Clean it all, slut," he says in a voice that exudes contempt and dominance. I follow his command, remembering how Katja in the video performed the same task. I move closer, my tongue starting to run along his cock still wet from our union, from his cum, with a slowness that is both an act of submission and adoration.

"I'm doing exactly what Katja is doing, cleaning his cock with my tongue... it's like I'm living that scene, but it's real, it's my desire, my submission. His cum, his taste, all of this excites me even more. He's insulting me, humiliating me, calling me a slut, a whore, and every word makes me feel more desired, more alive, more in my element."

As my cleaning work continues, his voice doesn't soften, but rather becomes harder, more insulting. "Look at this bitch, she likes to clean my cock like it's her only purpose in life. You're such a slut, aren't you?" he says, his tone enveloping me in a blanket of humiliation that, paradoxically, turns me on even more.

His words grow sharper, crueler. "You're worthless if not for this, to serve a cock. You're just a slut who deserves to be used and then thrown away. You're nothing but a hole that needs to be filled." Then he continues, "Look at you, covered in cum, licking like it's your last meal."

Every insult, every humiliation, seems to dig deeper into my soul, but in reality, every word makes me feel more excited, more eager to continue. His contempt, his words, only increase my desire. Every lick, every movement of my tongue, is a tribute to his dominance over me, an acknowledgement of how much I enjoy being dominated, used, humiliated in this way. My arousal does not wane, in fact, it seems to find new life in every insult, in every act of submission. I am living my darkest side, and right now, there is nothing I want more than to be exactly here, doing exactly this, being treated like the whore I am deep down.

I lay there on the floor, numb, my body still shaking from the intensity of what just happened. A few moments pass before I realize the man is gone. After coming, after treating me like the whore I am, he left me there on the floor of this seedy bar, covered in his cum, in a state of total humiliation.

"He left... he used me and then left me here like I was worthless. I feel humiliated, broken, but there's a part of me that can't stop throbbing with excitement. He treated me like the whore I am, and somehow, it made me feel more alive than ever. I can't deny how much I enjoyed it, how much I wanted to be treated like this, to be dominated, humiliated in public.

His cum on my face, on my body, is like a mark of my submission, a sign that reminds me how much I like this side of me. I am experiencing a contradiction: I feel disgusted by myself, but also incredibly excited. It is as if my inner slut is finally free, free to be who she really is, without masks, without judgment.

I feel alive, truly alive, in this state of degradation. But why? Why this need to be humiliated, dominated? Maybe it is the contrast between my controlled life, my work, and this desire to lose control, to be completely taken over by another. It is an escape, a liberation from my own identity, from the pressure to always be strong, always in control.

In this moment, I understand that my strength is not undermined by this desire for submission, but enriched. I am exploring parts of myself that I have never wanted to admit, recognizing that this humiliation is a door to a pleasure that is not only physical, but also mental, a challenge to my own limits, a way to feel every emotion, every sensation, so raw and true.

I drag myself to the bathroom, thank goodness the door is close, and lock myself in, feeling safe in finally being alone. The bathroom is filthy, the floor sticky under my bare feet, the tiles peeling and the neon lights flickering, casting eerie shadows over everything. The smell of stale alcohol, smoke and humidity permeates the air, a testament to the life that goes on in the bar. It's a miracle some other man hasn't abused me in this condition... My pussy tingles at the thought, a mixture of fear and unexpected desire.

"It's a miracle that nothing else has happened... but why does a part of me get excited just thinking about it? I'm living a paradox: I'm grateful for my safety, but there's this dark side of me that wants to explore that possibility too, the possibility of being taken, of being used even more. It's like my body and mind are in a constant battle between wanting to be safe and wanting to lose all control."

I give myself a quick clean in the filthy bathroom, the water coming out of the faucet is cold and metallic, but that's all I have. I use a rough, frayed towel to wipe the cum off my face, my body, trying to regain some measure of composure. I put my clothes back on, even if they're wrinkled and dirty, feeling every fiber of fabric cling to my still-sensitive skin. The sink is stained, the toilet looks like it hasn't been cleaned in weeks, but right now, the need for cleanliness outweighs any disgust.

The reflection in the mirror is that of a woman who has just experienced something extremely intense. My eyes shine with a different light, of awareness and perhaps also of shame, but also of a desire that has not died. My face is still red, my hair messy, the marks of his cum that are no longer visible, but that I still feel present on me. I am trying to put myself back together, to return to the Joy that everyone knows, but deep down, I know that a part of me will always be that slut who enjoyed every single moment of that brutal domination.

I have to accept this duality within me, the tough detective and the slut who wants to be dominated. Maybe this is my balance, between control and the loss of it, between strength and submission. It's not weakness, it's complexity, it's humanity. And in this complexity, I find a new form of strength."

I walk out of the bathroom with strength, every step that takes me out of that squalid place is like an attempt to leave what happened there, but the lustful looks of the men who are still in the bar excite me, rekindling that flame inside me. The dim light of the bar creates shadows that dance on the men's faces, making their gazes even more penetrating and dark.

One of them, with dark eyes that look like two wells of desire, looks me up and down. His gaze lingers on my curves, his eyes dilating slightly as he memorizes every detail of my body, as if he were reliving the scene he witnessed. Another man, with graying hair and a face marked by a life of vice, looks at me with an almost predatory intensity. His eyes are fixed on me, following my every move as if he wants to capture me with just his gaze, his mouth opening slightly in a heavy breath.

There is a third man, older, with eyes that shine with a mischievous light. His gaze is less aggressive but no less penetrating; it lingers on my face, then slowly moves down my body, lingering on every inch with a smile that seems to say 'I know your secret'. His expression is a mix of desire and a sort of dangerous respect, as if he appreciates my performance earlier.

The bartender greets me with a grin, his teeth flashing in the dim light. His smile is wide, almost mocking, his eyes dancing with an air of complicity and derision, as if he knows exactly what I've been through and is amused by it. His expression seems to say 'I know what you did', or perhaps 'I know what you like', and it sends a shiver down my spine.

But now, finally, I'm on the street, the night air with its freshness enveloping me, the sky dotted with stars contrasting with the heat and chaos from which I'm emerging. The outside world seems quieter, cleaner, but inside me, the images of those glances, of that bar, of that night, continue to resonate.

I walk home with an unsteady step, every step that takes me away from the bar is also a step towards my daily reality, but my mind is still there, in the darkness of that place, in the submission and pleasure that I experienced. My internal dialogue is a riot of emotions:

"Those looks... they still excite me. It's as if a part of me wants to go back, wants to be looked at, desired, used again. But I have to move on, I have to go back to my life. However, those men, their desire, remind me how much I like to be seen as an object of pleasure, how much I like to be dominated.

The bartender... his smirk... he knows it all, he's seen it all. But somehow, it makes me feel even more alive, even more self-aware. I'm walking home, but deep inside I'm still riding that cock, still feeling every insult, every touch.

I get home and find that my wallet is missing from my purse. To make matters worse, after being fucked, I have now also been robbed. The feeling is a mixture of anger and resignation. I find my keys and open the door, hoping not to meet anyone in the hallway, I don't want anyone to see me in this state, with my clothes crumpled and my face still marked by the intensity of the emotions experienced.

I climb the stairs, each step bringing me closer to the safety of my apartment, but I run the last part of the flight, as if to leave behind not only the bar, but also the turmoil within. I enter my apartment, closing the door behind me with a sigh of relief and frustration.

The man knows my name, he knows where I live. This knowledge excites and scares me at the same time. It's as if he has left a mark not only on my body, but also on my life. I'm excited by the idea that he can come back, that he can look for me, that he has this power over me. But it scares me, because it means that I have lost a piece of control, that I have been seen, known, in a way that goes beyond simple sex.

The idea that he knows where to find me adds a level of danger and desire that I can't ignore. It's a threat and a promise at the same time. I have to balance this excitement of danger with the need to maintain control over my life. But right now, as I sit here in my apartment, I feel like a part of me is waiting for him, wanting him, even if the other part is afraid."

I take off my dirty clothes, each piece that falls to the floor seems to take away a piece of the night just passed, but I know it's not that simple. I head to the bathroom, feeling the need to wash myself, to purify myself from everything that has happened.

The shower water runs hot, the steam rising as if to hide and protect. I step under the jet, letting the water envelop me, trying to wash away not only the physical dirt, but also the emotional one. I close my eyes, hoping that the flow of water will wash away every memory, every sensation, but the thought is always there.

"I'm trying to wash it all away, but it's like every drop of water brings back every touch, every word, every sensation. I feel dirty, but not just from the sweat and the cum, it's from the pleasure I felt, from the excitement I still feel.

The thought that he knows where I live, that he knows my name, adds a thrill that I can't ignore. It's as if every drop of water is a caress from him, a promise or a threat of something more. I'm trying to purify myself, but a part of me doesn't want to let go of this night, doesn't want to forget.

Maybe it's inevitable that this experience changes me, that it forces me to confront a part of myself that I've always tried to hide. The shower should be an act of purification, but in reality it's as if I were renewing my desire, my curiosity for that darkness that I've explored.

I can't wash away what I've become tonight, I can't erase the pleasure I felt. I have to accept that this experience will be a part of me, that I will have to find a way to live with this new knowledge of myself."

I drag myself to bed, exhausted, through my apartment that, in its simplicity, is a refuge after the storm of the night. The walls are a cold white, interrupted only by a few photos of old solved cases, which now seem to belong to a different life. The lights are low, the warm glow of the floor lamps creating an atmosphere of calm.

The living room, with its worn leather sofa and coffee table cluttered with books and files, testifies to a life dedicated to work. But right now, all I see are the shadows dancing on the walls, the silence filling every corner. Through the small hallway, whose walls are adorned with abstract paintings, chosen more for their color than their meaning, I reach my bedroom.

My room is spartan, a large double bed with white cotton sheets that almost seem to glow in the dim light, a dark wood wardrobe and a bedside table with only a lamp and a book that I never had time to finish.

I throw myself between the sheets, feeling the coolness of the fabric against my still warm and sensitive skin. There is no time for further reflection, for analysis or understanding; sleep claims me with a force that I cannot ignore. I fall into a deep and immediate sleep, as if my body and mind have decided to surrender completely to oblivion, at least for a few hours. The outside world, the thoughts, the contrasting sensations, everything dissolves in the darkness of sleep, leaving me in a state of forced but necessary peace.