I feel the familiar squeeze of a woman when she massages my cock. I can smell her sweet lotion rising from her tits as it fumigates the room, painting the facade that this is a loving place.
"Haven't I done enough...?" I whimper. My dick hardens from her touch and she stands up to remove her panties so she can perform the next task.
"Answer me!" I cry, but the woman ignores my plea.
My cock is pushed past her already sopping pussy lips, slithering inside of her fuck hole. Her hips lower down until she bottoms out onto my lap. Her walls provide a different type of massage. Unlike her tits, this is a grip I can never escape. Sometimes, I could jerk my hips in a way where I'll slip myself out from her cleavage and although she quickly adjusts it back in place, that moment of freedom always brings me relief. But with her pussy, it is impossible.
"Fuck..." I groan. This woman is always one of the first to take a ride. I don't know her name, but she looks like a Layla. It seems fitting with her long, dyed auburn hair that gives me the impression that she's a spitfire in her regular life. She's wearing makeup as if this is some fancy outing, but she never makes conversation. She only walks in and takes.
When you've had so many holes, they start to blend together and many of them are average at best, but Layla has the ability to drain me dry. She thrusts up against me slowly at first; I can feel her pubes tickling my stomach. Then, she moves up and down, giving only the root of my cock air to breath before sheathing once again.
"You'll get what's coming, I swear!" I say with as much rage as I could muster. Layla takes this as a challenge. Lifting herself up with only the head of my dick still inside, she grips onto my shoulders and claws her painted nails into my sweaty flesh.
"Cute..." is the only word that I hear come from her mouth. Her hips fall downward, re-penetrating her pussy with my rock-hard shaft. The rush was relieving. I secretly begged to be encased in this woman's pussy and when she gave it to me it didn't take much for our meeting to end. My bound hands jerk against the restraints as my orgasm takes control of my body. My heart is racing and I must find release.
"Fuck fuck fuck...FUUUCK!"
Layla clenches around me, throwing her head back while my seed flows upward into her awaiting hole. It's so much that I can feel the cum spilling along my lap.
Day 32 of the experiment has begun.
Layla was the first one. Then came someone I named Cheyenne. She looks like someone who can be a kind-hearted librarian with light brown shoulder length hair and freckles. Her body was slim with no muscle and below 5 feet. You wouldn't imagine her to be so dominant.
"You've been waiting for this pussy, haven't you? You fucking slut!"
"Yes ma'am"
"Louder!"
"Yes ma'am!"
Cheyenne tried all types of positions, even though we were limited to the chair today. She got her fill riding my dick from behind. She caressed my face by reaching behind to lay her delicate fingers on my cheek and I sniffed at her hair which smelled like fresh mountain breeze.
She always gave compliments after our fuck to make up for her harsh words. Today it was, "You're going to be a great father."
Olivia was next, then Yasmin, Latoya, Stacy, Blair...
Jessica, Tonya, Shari, and Uma.
By the time I was expecting Elizabeth to visit, there was a commotion happening outside of the door. A lot of shuffling and defensive arguments. "We don't know what you're talking about," Elizabeth said, "If he's missing, he may've traveled far. I don't see why you'd come here when I don't even know this man."
Whoever they were talking to weren't convinced. They dragged the women out of the residence and placed them in police cars. There was silence after that. I sat in that cement room tied by the wrists in a chair for many hours with only my thoughts to entertain me.
Being here was something I wasn't exactly thrilled by, but it did give me space to forget the reality of my life outside of these walls. If I was saved, what would I do then? Return to my loveless marriage with a wife who was probably happier with me dead than alive? Go back to a teenage son who carries a resentment so deeply in his soul for my existence? I never understood that. Is being an heir to a multimillion dollar business THAT terrible for him?
Maybe now it is with how our stocks were plummeting low, which is what led me to the bar in the first place and meeting Elizabeth. That was the name she gave me anyway. She was the platinum Barbie all men drooled over with the seduction of a succubus. One drink was enough to take me home.
The blonde bounced on my dick that night. I laid there motionless.
"She was right..." Elizabeth moaned, "You are a stallion..." Her hands laid on my pecs and she leaned down to kiss my lips. "I always wanted to fuck a rich man..."
Eventually, I came inside of her. Elizabeth loved it and she refused to pull off.
"More" she cooed, "I need more..."
Word got around town that I was Elizabeth's sex slave, and soon enough, she wasn't the only gal that wanted a taste of my dick. It went beyond the fucking too; from the few words I've listened to, I was here not just to satisfy their needs but to give them an heir as well. They knew my worth and craved a piece of it. I was their commodity.
Thinking of it that way makes the experience better for me to digest. I was everything to these women with something that nobody else could provide. That blanket of security is something I've craved myself, so I understand why they wanted to keep me around. If my family really loved me, then I may have loathed these strangers, but who could hate people who have made it their daily mission to make you cum day after day?
"Anybody in there?" a voice called through the metal door, "I'm coming in!"
