Free Taking Tilly by Stacey St. James Page A

and
once wasn’t enough. They had to have at least two shots at the
pussy and there were five of the bastards, soooo ….
    By the time roughly half a dozen of
the women had received the same treatment, they ‘got’ it. They
stopped picking on whichever woman was chosen because none of them
felt special anymore. There was no reason to be jealous. They knew
they were going to be chosen.
    The hell of it was that
although none of them had been used to being fucked raw before they
were captured, they became used to it, and it was a new form of torture when
they were completely ignored.
    At least it was to Tilly.
    She hadn’t even known it was possible
to crave being gang banged—whether she was allowed to come or
not—meaning the climax, apparently, had little to do with the
craving.
    She had an uncomfortable suspicion
that at least part of the craving was a twisted sense of affection
she developed for her captives and the belief that she was
receiving affection of some kind from them.
    And maybe that was some sort of
survival/defense mechanism?
    She supposed it was a good thing, for
her, that she was the last chosen in the new lesson. She’d had
plenty of time to have it rubbed in her face that she meant
absolutely nothing to any of them beyond a paycheck at the end of
the road and an object to slake their lust on in the mean
time.
    Otherwise, she might have done or said
something stupid.
    On the sixth day, she discovered she
was the chosen. Dismay, not joy or anticipation, was uppermost in
her heart and mind when the second approached her and commanded her
to present herself.
    The commander was always first except
when the second wanted oral sex—which he had only performed on the
first to star in their week long fuck-a-thon porn.
    Bracing herself the best she could as
the nano-suit carried her to the pillows and arranged her, she
closed her eyes since the damned thing wasn’t accommodating enough
to mask her and at least give her the sense that she was alone
rather than on display.
    She tried to convince herself none of
the others would watch anyway.
    Well, not the women. The men always
watched. She supposed it was part of their enjoyment—watching and
planning what they would do when it was their turn.
    There was another aspect that dismayed
her that she didn’t discover until she was displayed.
    She hadn’t been touched in well over a
week and her flesh had apparently forgotten what it was like to be
stretched to its limits.
    Her thighs and tendons protested when
they were stretched so wide they felt like they would come
unhinged. And, due at least partly to nerves, her natural juices
had dried so that it burned uncomfortably when the suit peeled the
outer lips of her sex back and then spread the mouth of her sex as
wide as it could.
    She discovered she hadn’t braced
herself nearly well enough.
    And he was still angry with
her—possibly because he’d been notably absent for quite a while
after he’d fist fucked her.
    She was guessing he’d spent time in a
cell and he was really, really pissed off about it.
    There was nothing pleasurable about
the way he tore at her flesh—using the sharp edge of his teeth far
more than the suction of his mouth. It was shear torture and she
thought she might have screamed if the nanos had allowed
it.
    They closed her in abruptly, however,
a split second before she felt the first hurtful nip of his teeth.
He continued to gnaw at her tender flesh until she began to see it
in her mind’s eye as a shredded bleeding mess, and then abruptly
switched tactics, lathing with his tongue and sucking at her. It
seemed the pain of before intensified the pleasure. Her heart
almost seemed to stop as her body surged upward toward release—and
hit a wall.
    She blacked out but it was woefully
brief—and actually added to her misery because it gave her just
enough respite to hit bottom and start up again. This time when her
body surged upward toward relief, however, he removed the
restraints.