God and the Cum Dump

Eventually the men's visits got farther apart, and I was spending more time alone with my thoughts. This was not a welcome development: I didn't want to think about what my new-found appetites said about me or the implications for my future life. Instead I spent the time thinking about how different the different men's urine had tasted - some so strong it almost burned my tongue and some watery and weak, some tangy and acidic and some sweet and fruity - well, almost. Cum also came in different flavors - sweet, fatty, salty, as complex as wine, though in truth not so pleasant.

I'd been in a reverie for quite a while when the door opened and Dr. Rosenberg came in, took a key out of his pocket, and locked the door behind him.

"When you're a friend of the club owner," he said, "you get these little privileges, like alone time with everybody's favorite urinal."

He stepped up to me, unzipped, and pulled out his cock.

"You know," he said as he started to piss, "I've always wanted to piss in your mouth. There's something about you - I noticed it way back when you interviewed for your job. A kind of cringing, slavish quality, as if you knew what a worthless bitch you were and needed to prove it to the world. As if you were always wearing a sign that said 'Defile Me.'"

"Nngh," I said, trying to swallow as much as I could of his piss. Somehow the piss of a shithead like Dr. Rosenberg was way sexier than anybody else's.

"That's why I hired you," he said. "I love doing degrading things to sluts. But you were so coarse and stupid, just trailer trash, really, that I found the idea of sexual contact with you repellent."

That wasn't fair. I'd never lived in a trailer. I said "Aaagh" in protest, the syllable bubbling through a mouthful of piss.

"Still, I couldn't stop wanting to fuck you," he said. "So of course I was looking for a reason to fire you."

I couldn't see the logic in that, but I was in no position to argue. Between his piss and his insults, my cunt was pulsing.

"Luckily, you proved to be incompetent, so I could fire you for cause. Then when I happened on your gangbang, I had to join in or be called a pussy," he said, "and you were good."

I was amazed that he was still pissing. I wondered how long he'd been saving it up for. He'd been moving his cock around, pissing on my nose, my eyelids, and my forehead, then down to my breasts.

"No, you were better than good," he said, raising his cock to piss into my open mouth again. "I could tell from the moment your lips touched my asshole. You weren't just going through the motions: you were a slut with conviction. I knew I had to sodomize you."

His stream was growing weaker as he said, "So I'll do that tonight, and then I'll put you out of my mind."

He was empty now. Like all the others, he shook himself off, liking the way I blinked as the last few drops of urine splattered on my face. He jerked himself off till he was hard, then put his cock in my mouth.

"You've got precisely one talent, Brenda," he said, fucking my face, "a talent for defilement. In every other way you're a failure."

I was starting to become aware of pressure in my bladder. All that piss I'd drunk tonight was looking for the exit.

"I want to tie you a different way," he said, pulling out of me. "I won't hurt you. I just want better access to your anus."

So he wanted anal sex. When Lester had wanted to do it, it had seemed like such a big, scary deal. Now I thought, why not? Drinking a quart of piss and cum over an evening tends to put things in perspective. So it might hurt a little. So what?

I nodded, and Dr. Rosenberg took the sleeve off my arms and untied my legs.

"Get on your hands and knees," he said, and I did that.

"Now rest your weight on your shoulders and put your hands down between your legs," he said, manipulating me into position. He tied my wrists to my ankles, and I was completely immobilized, ass up in the air and cheek pressed against the cool tile floor.

The doctor took his pants and underwear off and said, "It's your lucky day. I just happen to have some lubricant with me. No self-respecting pervert should be without it."

He poured the cool liquid into my crack, and I felt his strong fingers spread it around, then probe into my anus, pulling and stretching it. As he worked he said, "You have a fat ass. I like that, even though it marks you as trash." With two fingers in me now, he said, "You haven't been ass-fucked before, I can tell. But you shaved your ass, so you must have wanted it. You should have given yourself an enema, though."

I said "Nngh" and wiggled my bottom as he thrust a third finger into me. This one hurt, for a few seconds anyway.

"Your ass is made for perforation," he said. "You could easily work your way up to fisting."

He withdrew his fingers, and a few seconds later I felt the pressure of his cock there. It pressed harder, then as he pushed into me, my sphincter stretched so painfully I wanted to scream. But that would have brought rescuers, and I didn't want to be rescued, so I forced myself to just groan there behind my ring gag.

Soon he was all the way in, and the pain gave way to intense pleasure - with the stimulation of my sensitive asshole, the stretching, the pressure inside, I was feeling better the harder he fucked me.

I had no sense of time - I hadn't, in fact, since Randy had taken me to the men's room. I don't know how long Dr. Rosenberg fucked me - five minutes or an hour. But eventually he pulled out and turned me onto my back. I was just as helpless as I'd been on my knees and shoulders: now my arms and legs were almost painfully bunched up above my belly and breasts.

He stood above me, holding his cock in his right hand. It was wet with lubricant and flecked with brown bits that I was pretty sure hadn't been there before. "This is my favorite part," he said.

"Aaagh," I said, shaking my head. Ignoring my protests, he squatted over my face and thrust his cock into me.

If you're not used to shit, there's not much difference between a little and a lot of it. My senses were overwhelmed with the vile smell and taste. My stomach lurched, and I turned my head and threw up on the floor - not a lot, since I hadn't had much to eat, but it was chunky.

"Good," he said. "I like that." He took my head in his hands, turned my face upright, and drove down into me again. This time the shit smell was less, but still my stomach heaved, and I had to turn my head and throw up again. Meanwhile my sexual temperature was rocketing into the stratosphere. I recognized what this was about, too. It wasn't the shit, but the throwing up. Getting turned on with Lester wasn't a fluke: I loved gagging and vomiting.

He turned my head upright and drove in yet again. This time I didn't throw up, but just let him fuck me, deep in my throat, till he came.

He stood, went to the sink, and cleaned off his cock with a wet paper towel. As he dressed, he said, "Since you obviously have no future in dentistry, maybe you should consider a career as a whore. You're not pretty like Casey out there, whom I butt-fucked earlier tonight, but you're a lot kinkier. When people find out what you can do, you'll be able to build a nice little business."

"Aaagh," I said. I thought the idea was worth thinking about.

"Leave me a message if you decide to take up whoring," he said. "I'll want to know." He unlocked the men's room door and returned to the party, leaving me lying on my back, still tied up and wearing my ring gag. I decided after a minute that I couldn't wait any longer to pee, so I went on the bathroom floor. It was a mess anyway, and so was I, lying in my puddled vomit with piss and cum drying on my body - so why not?

Randy and Betsy came into the men's room together and looked at me.

Randy said, "Jesus."

"Fuck," said Betsy.

I said, "Nngh."

They quickly untied me and took off my gag.

"What happened to you?" asked Randy.

"Dr. Rosenberg," I said. "You know, I think I'm getting to like anal. Will you ass-fuck me sometime, Randy?"

"Sure," he said, "but we'd better get you cleaned up now."

They helped me to my feet and led me out into the room. Harry looked around and started to clap his hands loudly. Another man did the same, and another, and soon every man in the room was turned my way, applauding. I gave them a big smile. They were making me feel like a rock star.

Betsy said, "I'll show you where the showers are." She led me through a door, down a hallway, up some stairs, along another hallway, and into a bathroom with a big shower stall. She took her clothes off while I watched. She was fat, but her body was firm, somehow. She was actually attractive.

She came to me and put her arms around me. "God, you stink," she said. "I'll bet you've never kissed a woman, right?"

"I never have," I said.

She kissed me, and it was a lovely kiss - one of the best ever, not that a lot of people had kissed me.

She gently lay me on the floor, squatted over my head, pressed her cunt against my open mouth, and peed in me. Something about Betsy made me want to please her: I did my best to swallow all her piss.

When she was done, she stood up, turned on the shower, made it good and hot, got in with me, and washed me. When I offered to do the same for her, she said, "My treat."

She toweled me off afterwards, and when my skin was pink and clean, she said, "This is my treat, too," laid me down on a bench, and went down on me. Lester had never done that, nobody ever had, and it was heaven. I had an orgasm within a minute and said, "Let me try that."

"Not now," she said. "I'll call you soon, and we'll do lots of fun, squicky things together."

"I'd like that," I said.

"It'll make up for some of your lost income," she said. So there was another vote for whoring.

When we got downstairs again, Randy was ready to go.

We dropped Casey at an apartment building downtown, and then Randy dropped me at my place. As I was opening the car door, he handed me an envelope and said, "Harry thought you might enjoy this."

Then he kissed me and said, "See you soon."

I brushed my teeth, went to bed, and dreamed cock dreams - about their hardness, their warmth, and the cum and piss that jetted from the lovely little slits in their ends.

I woke up having a panic attack. It was Sunday morning, and I'd always loved going to church, where I felt bathed in God's love and the love of the community. But would they love me this morning? Did God still love me?

It was hard to make myself go to church, but I managed it. At first I thought it was a terrible mistake. When my mother saw me outside, she burst into tears and ran into the church. Everybody else pretended I wasn't there. The Reverend Edwards approached me with a severe face and said, "Brenda, I believe we'd better talk as soon as possible. Come to my office an hour after the service."

"Yes, Reverend," I said meekly, my stomach churning. I was sure I was going to get a terrible scolding.

I sat in the back in an empty pew. The Reverend preached on the sinful woman who washed Jesus's feet with her tears and hair. He said Jesus loved her more because her sins were greater, and He didn't love the Pharisees because they hadn't kissed Him or washed His feet. The sermon made me feel a little better about myself.

I made a quick getaway after the service and took a long walk. My panties were damp; the sermon had left me kind of steamed up, and I needed to cool off. When it was time to report to the Reverend's office, the church was mostly empty - there were a few meetings going on in rooms in the basement, but his office was upstairs in the rear of the building.

The Reverend Jonathan Edwards was a huge bear of a man with thick black hair, a heavy five o'clock shadow, and an impressive bass voice. He looked grave as he closed his office door and gestured me into a chair. He came straight to the point. "Disturbing rumors are circulating about you, Brenda," he said. "If they're untrue, my word will go a long way towards dispelling them."

"They're true, Reverend," I said.

"That you, um, had relations with, ah, seven men outside Mickey's Tap last Thursday evening?"

"Eight, Reverend. And there's more." I told him everything - about my insatiable appetite for cum and piss, how I needed to be face-fucked so I threw up, my night as a urinal, my initiation into anal sex, and my lesbian encounter with Betsy.

"Ever since my boyfriend dumped me last Thursday, I've been horny all the time," I said, "and I want to have sex with every man I see. I'm a sinner, a cum dump and worse, and totally out of control. People keep telling me I'd make a good whore."

I'd never noticed how impossibly handsome the Reverend was. I caught myself licking my lips and, shocked at my behavior, put a hand to my mouth. Still, I couldn't help staring.

"We're all sinners, Brenda," he intoned, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands over his paunch. "It's the fallen nature of the human animal. Did you attend to my sermon about the sinful woman who washed the feet of our Lord?"

I realized I'd begun to suck my index finger. I quickly folded my hands in my lap. "Yes, Reverend," I said.

"He forgave her, my child, because of her love for Him. She didn't promise to sin no more, because such a promise would have been impossible to keep." The Reverend Edwards's hands, which had disappeared from sight, seemed to be busy behind his desk. He continued, "Nor did our Lord tell her to sin no more, because He understood human nature too well."

"Are you saying it's all right to sin, Reverend?" I asked. Heat was rising inside me, from my pussy through my nips up to my face.

"I'm saying, my child," he said, voice rising, "that sin is inescapable and necessary. Without it, there can be no grace. We are frail beings, slaves to our appetites. The best we can do is love our Lord with all our hearts and trust in His love to save us."

"I do love Jesus!" I cried. Somehow my right hand had found its way under my dress and I was rubbing my clit. "I so want to kiss him and wash his feet!"

The Reverend rose from his chair: his pants were undone and he was holding himself in his hand. He came around the desk and loomed over me. My panties were soaking wet as I gazed at his erect cock, which was enormous - the biggest I'd ever seen. Burning with love for our Lord, I leaned forward and took him in my mouth as he put a hand behind my head and pulled me to him.

"God's love is infinite, my child," the Reverend boomed as he thrust deep into my throat, making me gag and drool. "As often as we fall, He forgives us, because we are His children." My lips and nose were smashed against the wool of his pants, and I couldn't breathe. His cock was unbelievably thick: it forced my mouth open as wide as it would go, and it seemed to have made its way halfway to my stomach. I rubbed my cunt faster and harder.

The Reverend's powerful hands crushed me to him and he cried, "Love the Lord with all your heart, and He will forgive your sins!" My stomach lurched, I vomited, mostly through my nose, soaking his trousers, and sensation blasted through me as he fucked my face deeper with every thrust. I was masturbating two-handed now, cramming as many fingers as I could into my cunt and kneading my clit frantically.

"Love Jesus!" he cried, and came deep in my throat, and I came too, inflamed with devotion, my body racked with spasms from my fiery orgasm and gagging on huge globs of hot, heavy cum.

Still he held me to him with a powerful hand and spoke to me with quiet urgency, twitching as I caressed his shrinking cock with my tongue. "I'm sure the congregation will welcome you again," he gasped, hyperventilating, "when a decent time has passed, and you've spent that time behaving discreetly. This will blow over. But it might be better if you didn't attend services - for a few weeks at least. Come see me each Sunday afternoon at this time, and I will continue your religious education. Will you do that, Brenda?"

I nodded as best I could with my mouth still full of his warm, soft flesh.

"Good," he said. "Nothing in the world is more important than the salvation of a soul." Then he flooded my mouth with piss.

7. Old Fart Bang

I showered and lounged at home Sunday afternoon, reassured by the wise words of the Reverend Edwards, who'd given me two hundred for face-fucking me and told me to read about the God-fearing whore Rahab. It felt way better being an excellent cum dump than it had being a mediocrity on her way to oblivion. Respectability had never gotten me much respect - or fun.

Casey called me in the middle of the afternoon.

"Hi, Brenda!" she bubbled. "Randy gave me your number. I hope you don't mind. It's just that you were so awesome last night, I've been thinking all day what a fantastic whore you'd make. I get so many calls for like two girls, and there aren't that many I want to work with. Well, I know not everybody wants to be a whore, but you're such a slut, I just love you. Would you like think about it?"

"I remember you saying I'd make a good whore last night," I said. "And other people have been saying the same thing. I've been thinking about it a lot."

"So what do you think?" asked Casey eagerly.

"Do you believe in God?" I asked.

"Well . . . yeah . . . I guess," she said.

"I've been trying to figure out what God wants for me. It seems to me like, when I got fired, it was like coming to like a road construction site? and the road is closed off? and you have to take a detour. You see where I'm going with this?"

"I think so," she said.

"It's like God closed off the dental assistant road, and the detour was through whore."

Casey said, "So you're saying God wants you to be a whore?"

"I think He does," I said. "Why else would He have made me a cum dump and got me fired and sent Randy along just when He did?"

"Good point," she said.

"I totally believe that God has all our best interests at heart," I said, "and if you really think about what He wants for you, you can never go wrong."

"I'd never thought about it quite that way," she said, "but I'll bet you're right."

"So anyway," I said, "I guess what it comes down to is, if something comes up, you should totally call me."

"Well, actually, something has come up," she said. "If you're interested."

I felt a little fluttery. Was this what the rest of my life was going to be like? Getting naughty anonymous sex two or three times a day? "Tell me about it," I said.

"Well, it's a Shriner's Temple in the city," said Casey. "A service organization - a men's club, actually. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing: they had a budget surplus, and it was either support a few more sick children or rent a couple of whores. They called me this morning and asked me to come and bring a friend."

"Thanks for thinking of me," I said. "How many guys do you think will be there, and what'll they want from us?"

"About twenty of them, in their fifties and up. They spend like half their lives watching pornos online, and they want to do exactly what they see there. You know, gangbang us, maybe rough us up a little - slapping, that kind of thing. And some kink, too. When they find out what you're into, they'll definitely want some of that."

So we'd be fucking a bunch of kinky old farts. I liked the idea but was a little scared. "Twenty is a lot of men," I said.

"Well, the good thing is that most of them are so far over the hill they won't be able to do much. Figure maybe ten active participants, five for each of us."

"How much?" I asked.

"One thousand each, for an hour," she said. "You'll get tips too - lots of them if they have a good time."

I was floored. I'd never imagined it was possible to earn a thousand for an hour of work.