Punished in the park like a bitch

My name is Camila. I’m thirty-eight years old, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a body that, according to people, doesn’t match my age. I don’t have children. I train four times a week. And back then I was single, with free time and the not-at-all-discreet habit of walking my dog Luna —a fluffy white Maltese— through the neighborhood park at 8:15 in the morning.

That hour matched the school drop-off right across from the park exactly.

The husbands noticed first. Then the wives noticed the husbands. And then the wives began to look at me with that particular mixture of contempt and envy that only women who feel threatened know how to create. At first I didn’t give a damn. Then it started to amuse me.

When the low-voiced insults began —“shameless,” “slut,” “marriage wrecker”— I decided to raise the stakes.

I wore shorter skirts. Tops that left more to the imagination than they covered. A pair of heels that clicked on the walkway tiles. I bent down to pick up Luna’s ball right in front of their husbands, fully aware that my skirt rode up to reveal the edge of my panties. I spoke into their ears when I asked for the time, pressing my tits against their arms. I brushed their hands by “accident” as I passed. And yes, one afternoon, in the bathroom of the bar on the corner, I sucked the cock of one of those women’s husbands until he came on my tongue without me touching him with my hand. I sent him back to the park with his tie crooked and walked away laughing. It was a game, and I loved it.

I should have left it at that.

***

The Tuesday that changed everything dawned with that heavy, wet heat that crushes your chest the moment you open your eyes. I dressed carefully in front of the mirror: a very short black skirt, a red top without a bra that showed off my navel piercing, red high heels, and stockings that came up to my knees. I let my hair down. I put on my pink sunglasses. I clipped Luna’s leash and went out into the street feeling invincible.

I got to the park and started my usual lap. The husbands stared as always. The wives frowned as always. I walked slowly, back straight and head high, letting the heat and the heels do their work. Luna trotted ahead of me, oblivious to everything.

As I turned by the dog run area, I felt something grab me by the nape of the neck.

It was fast. Too fast. Someone took Luna’s leash and told me in a low voice, almost kindly:

—Nothing’s going to happen to your little dog.

I relaxed for a second. Just long enough for them to grab my arms from behind and hold me still between several of them. I tried to scream. Before the sound could leave my throat, they shoved something into my mouth and tied it tightly around my head. It was a large hard rubber ball that forced my jaw wide open. A rigid stick protruded between my lips, with a small plastic paddle on the end.

I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe normally.

Five women looked at me. I’d seen every one of them in the park for months. I had never liked any of them.

—What’s wrong, sweetheart? —said the tallest one, with a smile that was anything but warm—. Did you think this wouldn’t have consequences?

I tried to break free. They held me tighter. They tied a rigid bar between my wrists, fixing my arms parallel and preventing me from bending them. Another bar between my ankles, separating my legs so I couldn’t close them. They pushed me down slowly, with a firmness that left no room for doubt.

I ended up on all fours. My knees on the hot concrete, my palms planted, my skirt ridden up enough that from any angle they could see exactly what was underneath.

—Much better —one of them said—. You look more natural that way.

I felt scissors near my hips. A clean tug. They took off my underwear and threw it on the ground in front of me.

—Look at this —said another, and I felt fingers shamelessly spreading my ass cheeks, exposing everything—. Shaved like a little girl. So neat, the slut.

—And wet —added the one with the scissors, and I felt a finger sliding from top to bottom through my slit, between the lips of my cunt, probing without permission—. Look, girls. She gets turned on when someone else handles her. I knew she was a bitch.

She shoved her finger all the way in with a sharp thrust and pulled it out glistening.

—Dripping. Then they say they resist.

—You won’t need that —someone said amid muffled laughter, kicking my panties far away.

They put a leash around my neck. And they led me, crawling, toward the dog run.

***

The dog run was at the back of the park, behind a peeling green gate. It was a patch of concrete with no shade, smelling of damp and animals. It was empty of dogs, but it wasn’t clean. I noticed that the moment they pushed me inside and the gate slammed shut behind me with a metallic bang.

The tallest woman crouched in front of me. She looked me in the eye with a calm that was more threatening than any shout.

—We’re going to play a little, Camila. There’s a bag in that corner. You’ve got a little paddle in your mouth. The dog run needs to be cleaned. It’s four messes, shouldn’t take you long.

She paused deliberately.

—Every five minutes that pass, we’re going to open the door and let in a dog. Males, not neutered, all very active. You decide what you’d rather do first.

She straightened up. Pulled her phone from her pants pocket.

—Oh, and we’re live. Say hi to the people.

This can’t be happening.

But it was happening. The concrete burned my knees. The heat pressed down from above. I could feel sweat running down my back, under the red top that was still on although nothing else was left.

I started moving toward the first pile of filth. Maneuvering the little paddle with my head was infinitely harder than it looked: I had to tilt my neck at exactly the right angle, push without dropping what I’d picked up, keep my balance on my hands and knees. The smell was unbearable. My knees burned with every inch I moved over the rough concrete.

—Four minutes —announced a voice outside, followed by laughter.

I managed to get the first mess into the bag. I went for the second. It was harder: it was in a corner, pressed up against the wall, and I had to make a slow, clumsy maneuver that made them laugh even harder.

—Are you seeing this? —one of them said to the phone—. We already have four hundred people on the live.

—Five hundred! They tipped her!

I felt the heat in my face. It wasn’t the sun. It was shame, rising from my chest to my cheeks like a wave, and not stopping.

—One minute, Camila. Come on, you’ve got three left.

I hurried toward the third. I managed to pick it up. But as I moved toward the bag, I put my knee in a puddle and the impact threw me off balance. I dropped the paddle. I dropped what I was carrying too.

Laughter exploded from outside the gate.

—Look at her cleaning with such elegance! Look at the queen of the park, girls. Someone film vertical, please.

I tried to pick it up again. I took too long. I heard the metallic squeal of the gate opening.

Two dogs came in.

One medium-sized, dark-coated, who began calmly sniffing around the perimeter. Another smaller, restless one, who came straight toward me and started nosing around my legs. I kept moving. I had no other choice. The small dog brushed my hip. I froze for a second, breathing hard, and then resumed as fast as I could without losing my balance.

I managed to finish with the third mess. One left.

—Just one more! —they shouted—. But one extra dog got loose. Sorry about that.

A third one came in. Big. With that slow, measured calm animals have when they’re in no hurry. He watched me from the entrance for a moment and then started walking toward me.

I went for the last mess. I picked it up with difficulty. I was about a meter and a half from the bag when the big dog crossed in front of me and forced me to veer off. I dropped everything on the ground. I heard myself making a desperate, unintelligible sound behind the gag.

—Everything has to go in the bag —they warned me—. Otherwise it doesn’t count.

I tried again. The dog was still circling nearby, his hot breath against my back. Finally I managed to gather everything and carry it over. I dropped it into the bag.

I looked toward the gate, exhausted, sweating, my knees raw and my hair stuck to my face.

—Camila. Check the corner over there.

One of the dogs, at some point while I wasn’t looking, had dirtied another corner of the dog run.

I closed my eyes. The laughter got louder.

***

The tall woman entered the dog run. She crouched in front of me, this time closer. She smelled of expensive perfume. She had her phone in her hand, the camera aimed at me.

—Listen. We’ve got a proposal. One more condition and we’ll let you go. You just have to agree.

Behind me, the big dog was slowly approaching.

I nodded yes quickly.

She smiled for real for the first time.

—Good. First we take that out of your mouth.

They removed the gag. My jaw felt sore, numb. Before I could form a single word, they put another device on me: a rigid plastic ring that kept my mouth completely open with no possibility of closing it. They secured it behind my head with a Velcro strap.

—So nothing slips out —another one explained with artificial sweetness.

They grabbed my hair and leaned me back. My head tilted toward the sky, my throat exposed, my mouth defenselessly open.

One of the women came closer. Then another. Then another.

They spit into it, one after the other, methodically, while the live was still running and someone counted viewers out loud. Some missed and the spit landed on my cheeks, on my forehead, on the hair sticking to my face. I couldn’t close my mouth. I couldn’t move my head away. I could only stay there, motionless, with tears filling my eyes without my asking for them.

—Look how well she’s taking the lesson —said the tall one.

But that wasn’t the condition. That was just the appetizer.

The tall one gestured toward the gate. Someone outside opened it and three men came in. Three. I recognized all three before they took the first step. The three husbands I had played with the most in the park, the three I had been heating up for weeks by bending down, brushing against them, speaking into their ears. The one from the bathroom bar was among them, and he looked at me with a face that wasn’t the same as that afternoon.

—It seemed fair to us —said the tall one— that the accounts be settled where they started. They already know what you want. We explained it to them in detail. And they agreed to cooperate. We’re still going to film their faces the whole time, so they won’t have any room to regret it tomorrow.

The three of them were unbuttoning their pants before she finished the sentence. I saw three cocks come out into the open, all three half-hard, thickening quickly at the sight of me kneeling, restrained, my mouth held open by the ring and my cunt leaking with fear and something worse than fear.

—You start, sweetheart —one of the women told the guy from the bar—. You already know how well she sucks it.

He grabbed my hair with one hand and with the other guided his cock to my open mouth. I didn’t need to do anything, because I couldn’t do anything: the ring held my jaw open as wide as possible, my tongue exposed, and he simply pushed. His cock slid all the way in, thick, hot, until the tip hit my throat and made me tear up. He pinched my nostrils shut from above with thumb and forefinger, and stayed there, buried to the balls, until I started choking and kicking with my knees.

—Breathe through your ass, slut —someone said from behind me, and they all laughed.

He pulled out. Pushed in. Pulled out. Pushed in. He rammed my throat at whatever rhythm he pleased, not giving a damn whether I could breathe or not, while the women shouted “like that, like that, show her who’s boss” and the phone filmed from every possible angle. Saliva dripped from the corner of my mouth in thick strands down to my tits, soaking the red top, sliding to my navel. When I felt he was about to come, he pulled back, slid his glossy cock out of my mouth, and shook it in front of my face.

—No, no. Not yet. Distribution’s missing.

The second one stood behind me. I felt big hands grabbing my hips, fingers sinking into my flesh. Without preamble, without saying a word, he guided his cock and shoved it all the way into my cunt with a thrust that tore a muffled cry out of me against the ring.

—Damn, look how it goes in —said the tall one, while the phone focused on my face and my ass at the same time from different angles—. I told you already, girls. She’s a full-on bitch. She’s wetter than the puddle where she put her knee.

He started fucking me hard, slamming my ass against his pelvis with every thrust, making a wet, flat, obscene sound that bounced off the concrete of the dog run. I felt my cunt clenching around that cock on its own, against my will, and I hated my body for that more than I hated anyone at that moment. The guy from the bar came back to the front, grabbed my head with both hands and shoved his cock down my throat again, all the way, until the knot of his balls pressed against my chin, and started fucking forward while the other fucked from behind. I was speared between the two, jerked back and forth, my mouth turned into a hole and my cunt turned into another.

—And the third one? —asked one of the women.

—The third one goes in the ass —answered the tall one, with the naturalness of someone asking for dessert.

The third knelt behind me. I felt his fingers spreading my ass cheeks, a thick gob of spit landing right in my asshole, and then the head of his cock pressing there, pushing. I tried to say no with my eyes. Nobody was looking at my eyes. He pushed slowly and then all at once, and my ass burned as if they’d shoved a hot iron inside me. I screamed against the cock in my mouth. Nobody heard me because nobody wanted to hear me.

All three picked up the rhythm at once. The mouth one, the cunt one, the ass one. I felt like a piece of meat pinned by three spikes, shaken like a rag doll between three guys who were in no hurry and whom the women kept shouting instructions at from outside. “Harder.” “In the throat, come on, make her puke.” “That tight ass, take advantage, none of you will get to fuck one like that again.” My cunt betrayed me and I came, I came trembling, with spasms that all three felt and celebrated with laughter, while the live passed a thousand viewers and someone sent another tip.

They came too, one after the other, deliberately. The ass one first: I felt the hot stream of semen inside and then the cock sliding out with a wet sound and a string dangling between the open hole and the tip. The cunt one after: he pulled out and emptied himself over my lower back and ass, leaving my skin all sticky. The mouth one last: he pulled his cock out of the back of my throat, shook it a centimeter from my tongue, and shot his load deep into me, stream after stream, aiming at the ring that held my mouth open to make sure not a drop was wasted. Part of it slid from my tongue toward my throat. Another part stayed pooled at the back of my mouth, with no way to swallow it or spit it out.

—Swallow —the tall one ordered, crouching to my level—. Swallow it all so you take it with you as a souvenir.

I swallowed. I made myself swallow. The semen went down thick and hot, bitter-tasting, and I stayed there on my knees, my mouth still forced open, my cunt and ass dripping from the inside, my back sticky, and my face smeared with spit and tears.

—Good girl —she said, patting my cheek the way you pat a dog—. That’s the lesson.

***

They released the bars from my wrists and ankles. They took the ring off my mouth. For a moment, as I felt the tingling returning to my hands and legs, I thought it was over.

Then they zip-tied my wrists to the dog run gate with two thick plastic ties.

—So you don’t go anywhere —someone said—. The dogs are still inside. Enjoy them, sweetheart.

I heard them walk away. I heard them discussing the live numbers, how much in tips they’d collected, which part had been the best. Their voices faded until only the usual park noise remained: a bouncing ball, a child shouting, pigeons.

I was left alone. Kneeling on the hot concrete, handcuffed to the gate, with the sun falling straight onto my head and the dogs still roaming around the dog run at their slow, indifferent pace. I could feel semen leaking from my ass and cunt, running down the insides of my thighs, mixing with sweat and whatever was on the floor.

Nobody looked inside. Or they did and kept walking.

I pushed until they pushed back, I thought. It was an uncomfortable truth. It wasn’t an excuse for anything they had done to me. But neither could I pretend I hadn’t been playing with fire for weeks, convinced the fire would never touch me.

I don’t know how long I stayed there. Twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. Until I heard familiar footsteps and saw Luna coming into the dog run. They had left her tied to a nearby tree, and she had slipped free or someone had let her loose for me. She came in wagging her tail, sat down beside me, and didn’t move. As if she knew her job was to stay.

Finally, a park employee making his rounds came close enough. I shouted. He heard me. He came over. He didn’t ask questions while he freed the zip ties, though his eyes went to my sticky thighs and my smeared face, and he looked away quickly.

I left the dog run barefoot —the heels had broken at some point without me noticing— with Luna trotting beside me and my head down. I walked home like that, without looking at anyone, feeling every stone in the pavement under my feet.

I didn’t go back to the park that week. Or the next.

When I went back, I changed the time.