The air was humid, just like me, and inside the car, the scent of my cheap perfume mixed with that of the green pine tree air freshener that danced under the rearview mirror. I was tense in the passenger seat, my very short pink dress sticking to my sweat-soaked skin, revealing my thighs and my stockings, which were intentionally torn. My white hair fell over my shoulders, framing my face that foundation had made pale.

In the faint light of the dome light, I checked my makeup one more time in the sun visor mirror. My black lipstick, my eyes contoured to match my mouth, and those touches of powder pink on my cheeks accentuated my look as a provocative doll.

With every movement of my thighs, my chastity cage, tightened around my pathetic cock, constantly reminded me of my submissive condition. The key to this cage hung around my Master’s neck, as if to remind me that I was his prisoner, his doll.

In front of me appeared the entrance to the rest area. No gas station, little light, except for that of a few truck cabs parked with a small number of cars.

My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that the sound must have covered that of the car radio. I was a cocktail of emotions, a mix of thrilling terror and a perverse desire that made me as wet in my cage as I was sweating with apprehension.

My Master, my accomplice, my guide in this descent into depravity, wore a confident smile. His lips, tightly pressed together when he looked at me, revealed a desire and a confidence that both reassured and excited me.

He parked the car in front of the bathroom building. With the engine off, he scrutinized me. In his eyes, a perverse glint, but also a certain affection and compassion, reminded me that I was his and that a bond connected us to one another.

“Ready to be my perfect little whore, Louna?” he asked. His voice, with its playful accents, gave me butterflies in my stomach and tied my insides into knots even more than he liked to tie my wrists to the posts of his bed.

He got out of the car and came, like a gentleman, to open my door. But he roughly grabbed me by the wrist to pull me unceremoniously from the car.

This gesture made me shiver, reminding me of my place as a docile doll and this shared fantasy that we were about to fulfill together, the submissive and her master.

For weeks, he had prepared this evening, orchestrating every detail with a sadistic desire mixed with that perverse complicity that reinforced my confidence in him. Ads had been posted on seedy forums, messages exchanged on disreputable sites, and surely, dates had been set with strangers ready to share the body and dignity of a young, docile sissy offered up.

He had described my sacrifice to me several times to condition and prepare me, while I flattered him with my mouth or while he had me fucked by my fuck machine. I knew every step, what would be allowed, what I would endure, and I had accepted it, driven by this desire for submission for him and this need to feel debased.

I was his doll, formatted to please him, but tonight, I would be a toy destined to be broken for the pleasure of actors and spectators whose casting would prove that my dignity had to be undermined, men who would see in me only an object to be defiled and a chance to drain their overfilled balls, letting off steam by doing to me what their wives refuse them.

Yet, in this announced depravity, the trust between my Master and me was absolute, giving me the strength to embrace this role, because even if others were going to fuck me, I would feel as if my dominant was doing it.

The parking lot lights revealed my silhouette to men who seemed to be watching for my arrival: the very short pink dress, my torn stockings, and my high-heeled pink lace-up shoes that gave me the look of a prostitute.

I felt naked, weak and vulnerable, like prey under the gaze of those who were lurking around the block and those who remained hidden in the darkness in their cars.

His hand above my ass, firm and possessive, pushed me towards the bathroom block. The sound of my heels seemed like those stick beats that announce the curtain rising.

Passing the outdoor sinks, I saw us, him sure and confident, and me like an animal being led to the slaughterhouse. But the closer I got to the entrance, the harder my heart pounded and my stomach churned with stage fright and desire.

Inside, the smell of urine and cheap citrus-scented disinfectant jumped at my nose as if to remind me in what sordid places my master was going to put my body and dignity at the disposal of rutting, unscrupulous bastards.

He pushed me against the urinal wall. The tiles reflected my silhouette in the blinding light of the neon lights.

Everything was starting. He took a black leather leash and a pair of metal handcuffs from his bag. He cuffed my hands and attached the leash to a urinal’s water pipe.

With just enough length to stand and be on all fours, but not enough to escape.

My dress was pulled up, exposing my ass. My pink and black lingerie was pulled to the side to reveal my offered hole, pre-lubricated by him before we came. He shoved a dirty sock, impregnated with his smell, into my mouth, before sticking a large piece of gray tape to silence my screams and force me to keep the sock.

Then, he took out a black marker and wrote on my ass: “Hole to be stuffed” and on my forehead: “Whore for all juices.” He spat on my face, his saliva running over my pale makeup, as if to mark his territory.

“Tonight, you’re nothing but a cock-hole and a public toilet, my Louna,” he said in a severe tone, accompanied by a sadistic smile.

His possessive gaze and his way of acting, proving that he had orchestrated everything, reminded me that I was safe and under his control.

“Everyone is going to use you, and you are going to love it, because you know I’ll be hard seeing you be the whore of unappetizing and disrespectful males who will simply use you.”

He took a kind of horn from his bag and pressed it; it was the signal to round up those who were going to wreck my body and defile my self-respect.

That’s when the first one arrived, a bearded colossus, a trucker with calloused hands, dressed in a worn leather jacket. He said “hello” and “OK, so it wasn’t a joke” to my master, who replied: “No, the whore is here, tied up, use her well, don’t hold back.”

The trucker’s eyes lit up with a perverse gleam, like a predator sniffing out easy prey. He smiled, sweeping my body with his eyes, lingering on my exposed ass and my chastity cage that hung pathetically under the dress. “Damn, your bitch is a bombshell, I hope you won’t mind if I tear this whore’s ass,” he said, laughing.

I found him ugly, dirty, really not attractive, but I was there to please my master and not for those who were going to use me to please me.

He knelt behind me, tore my pink and black panties with both hands and with a dry gesture threw the shred further away.

I felt the air on my lubricated hole. He was its target and I was at his mercy. I was excited to know that a stranger was going to fuck me here, and so scared to tell myself that he was going to have no restraint and that he just wanted to trash me to empty his balls.

He spat a large amount of thick saliva directly on my ass, spreading it with his big fingers before unceremoniously pushing three of them in, making me scream into my master’s sock.

The pain was sharp like a burn, but my submissive slut body responded. My ass wiggled around his fingers like an invitation to fuck me.

“You’re already open, you dirty whore,” he said, laughing, before I heard the sound of his zipper.

I knew he was taking out his cock, I knew he was going to fuck me. Leaning against the wall, arched, I couldn’t see his cock, but I felt it when he began to rub it against my entrance, lubricating it with his own spit and his cock-juice.

Then, he penetrated me with a savage thrust, his member tearing me as it planted itself to its maximum.

Each thrust was an assault, his bestial grunts mixing with the slaps on my buttocks that were surely turning scarlet.

“Take that, cum-rag,” he yelled after a few minutes, before violently coming inside me, his hot, thick semen flooding my ass. I groaned silently and I was leaking in my cage like those streams of his juice that I felt along my thighs as he pulled out the stake that had torn me open. I felt gaping and dripping.

I turned around. My master nodded with a victorious smile and I could see that the room had filled up.

A crowd of men had formed, their mocking laughs and lewd gazes piercing me. They were waiting for their turn, some already masturbating, their cocks in hand, others murmuring insults: “Look at that faggot,” “A real trucker’s toilet.”

My master approached me with the marker and drew a line on my ass. “That’s for the first one, Louna. We’ll see how many lines will streak your ass before we go home,” he said to me.

An older guy, with a face marked by time and a beer gut, took out his phone to film, zooming in on my ravaged ass.

“Smile for the camera, slut,” he snickered, while another one approached. He ripped the tape from my mouth and removed the sock. He wiped the semen that was running down my thighs with his hand before saying to me: “On your knees, you bitch, lick that juice coming out of your whore pussy.”

I licked a little bit of semen and lubricant, a taste of shame as everyone applauded. But my excitement climbed up a notch when my master said: “Good girl Louna, keep going, you’re a turn-on.” So I licked even more, groaning, wiggling my ass. I watched those who were jerking off, pinching my lips to see them speed up their movements.

“Open wide, cum-rag,” said the one who was holding the sock, so I obeyed.

He shoved his thick cock down my throat, choking me with its salty, manly taste. His hands grabbed my synthetic hair to guide my movements. I felt streams of drool running down my chin, while my eye makeup got wet when I had my nose in pubic hair and a thick, brutal glans in my throat.

While I was having my lipstick filed down, another man, thin and tall, slipped behind me, penetrating my pussy still slick with the previous man’s semen. “You’re really just a hole, just a piss-hole,” he growled, his brutal thrusts slapping his skin against mine. And when he hit hard, I impaled my throat on the cock that was fucking my mouth.

I was on all fours, impaled in front of all these men, my hands cuffed. I felt my makeup disintegrating, my dignity trampled, but I was so excited, ready to come in my cage.

“I’m going to empty my balls on your tongue so you can really taste my juice when you swallow, little bitch,” said the one who was making me pump his juice with my lips.

I nodded to show my agreement even though in reality I had no say.

My master showed me the marker, so I sucked harder, I groaned. I wanted to milk this pair of balls that were hitting my chin to be rewarded with another line on my ass.

These back-and-forths were deep in my mouth and I felt that his hard cock was swelling, as if to pull back to squirt really hard. And when it happened, I groaned like a slut in need, I sucked and aspirated his juice and kept everything in my mouth.

Once he pulled out his cock, I opened my mouth to show him his pool of semen and he said: “Swallow, bitch,” which I did, groaning, still being fucked by the tall, thin guy.

The man behind me grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me slow, powerful thrusts. “Master, I’m going to cum,” I said and everyone started to laugh. I could hear: “She has cum in her belly and a cock in her ass, only sissies get off to that.”

My master came closer and slapped me. “Louna, you’re everyone’s whore, but I must be the only one to make you cum and even then, only when I want to,” he reminded me.

I clenched my teeth so as not to scream, because the skinny guy didn’t look like much, but his cock was hitting just right. “Stick out your tongue” said a small fat guy jerking off as he approached me. Barely had I time to obey when he ejaculated on my face and my tongue, long, thick, and hot spurts, which definitively buried the quality of my makeup.

The hands of the one who was wearing out my ass gripped me firmly, he was scratching me, he was losing control, a sign that my pussy was about to get a second dose of stranger’s cum.

He was ravaging me like a fuck machine, insulting me while spraying the back of my body with his juice. Feeling that another was discharging in the previous man’s juice drove me crazy.

He pulled back and my master came with the marker, adding three lines.

I was a bit like a ride at Disney, as soon as the car was empty, new people came to take their places, but my mouth and my ass were the car.

My master had added four more lines on my ass that some kind of fat pig was rubbing with his small cock. I barely felt him after all the others who had come before to wear out my orifice. He was soft and as I was finishing swallowing the juice of a trucker, he suddenly pulled back.

“Well, I can’t do it, so if I can’t soak you with juice, I’ll do something else,” he said.

He got up, leaving me on all fours like the bitch I was, then I felt that he was urinating on my back. The hot stream soaked my pink dress, running down to my heels, while the crowd burst into laughter.

“What? It says ‘whore for all juices’ on her forehead, so I’m pissing on this slut,” said the one who was taking my body for the bottom of a urinal.

I felt his hot urine running between my buttocks and down onto my ovaries and my cage. It was degrading but my groans betrayed my excitement.

“So for those who haven’t dared to jump on my little whore Louna, it’s time to give her a new makeup,” my master said to the half-dozen men who remained.

I knew what that meant, so I stayed kneeling, my back straight, sticking out my tongue while one by one, they came forward, furiously jerking off, some placing their cock on my head or my cheeks.

I was a target for cum, for spit, and nothing more, and they made me understand that well when their creamy discharges squirted on my face while my master counted out loud: “And one more, and one more.” I rubbed my ass against my own heels I was so excited.

I stuck out my tongue, trying to catch a few squirts in mid-air, while many landed on my face, my white wig, my dress, forming a sticky layer on my face while my perfume was now a mixture of cum, sweat, and urine.

As they had all finished emptying their balls on me, a man forced me to open my mouth, releasing a continuous stream of urine into it. “Drink, you slut,” he ordered, while another urinated directly on my cage, the liquid dripping down my thighs.

My Master, in the shadows, watched, a smile of perverse pride on his lips, but his eyes shone with a possessive tenderness that reminded me that I was his, safe in this depravity he had organized for us. He came forward and said: “That’s enough, she’s had her fill, she’s full of cum, piss, sweat and drool, she’s a depraved sissy with a broken dignity and a broken ass.”

He made me get on all fours and added six lines on my ass before grabbing my chin to force me to meet his gaze, my face dripping with fluids, my eyes full of shame and excitement.

“You’re my good little doll, Louna,” he murmured, as a reminder of my belonging.

He spat on me again, his saliva landing on my tongue, but this gesture was in reality a mark of complicity; he would be the last to penetrate me tonight, as if to bring down the curtain he had opened earlier.

Then, he ordered in a commanding voice: “Show them how pathetic you are. Rub your cage, slut, and come for them.”

Trembling, humiliated beyond imagination, I obeyed, my handcuffed hands grabbing the chastity cage, polishing it like a mini metal penis. The last spectators exploded with laughter, their mockery inexplicably exciting me: “Look at that sissy, she loves us pissing on her dignity!” “You’re not even a guy, you’re nothing but a sex object and a whipping boy!”

Under their insults, my libido took control, abandoning me to depravity. I rubbed frantically, my pitiful moans muffled by the laughter, those tastes of different cum, my throbbing anus, the acrid urine that was drying on me; I was in a sexual trance.

In an alternation of shame and pleasure, I came in my cage, a strong orgasm that made me scream in front of everyone. Small squirts escaped through the holes of the cage, a stream of liquid escaped from underneath to the boos of the crowd. “What a pathetic bitch!” a man yelled, while my master filmed the scene, his laughter echoing in my ears. But he gave me a complicit look, a discreet wink, a sign that I had lived up to his expectations. “You’re my perfect little whore, Louna. The whole internet is going to see what a bitch I’ve made of you.”

He thanked everyone and hung a twenty-euro bill with a post-it note: “Sorry for the cleanup,” intended for the employee who would have to clean the place.

After what seemed like an eternity, he untied me. My body was dirty and sore. My pink dress, once provocative, was soaked with semen, urine, and sweat, sticking to my skin as if to perpetuate my humiliation.

My legs were wobbly, my pink lace-up heels sliding on the wet floor, but my heart was beating with a shameful, perverse happiness, a feeling of fulfillment in my submission.

My Master took a pack of wipes from his bag. “Get undressed Louna, get naked and clean yourself up a bit with these wipes. I brought something for you to change into, and you’ll put your dirty clothes in this plastic bag.”

I cleaned myself and changed, then we went out together, hand in hand, his grip firm but reassuring.

In front of the car, he pushed me against the door, lifting my dress to inspect my gaping ass, the words “Hole to be stuffed” and the fourteen lines barely erased.

“I saw that you liked it, Louna. Next time, I’ll tape you to the hood, and we’ll invite a whole truck stop to break you in. In any case, once we get home, you’ll give me your mouth so you can fall asleep with the taste of your master’s seed in your mouth.”

Sitting in the car, he looked at me, his eyes shining with pride and a sincere affection. “Happy, Louna?” I nodded, unable to speak, my throat still full of the others’ salty taste.

In my mind, despite the crushing humiliation, a part of me shivered with desire at the thought of being taped to the hood. I was ready to be offered up, again and again, at the mercy of everyone, with my Master as my guide, executioner, and protector.

I was dirty, broken, a ravaged doll, but I had never felt so alive, so fully myself, as in this role of an offered whore, and I smiled, falling asleep in the passenger seat, my head on his shoulder.

A story inspired by Femboy Louna : website,  and Twitter.