My Third Confession of Sex for Money
Several weeks had passed since the last time I went out at night with that fixed idea in my head: charge little, let myself go, and feed a kink I couldn’t shake even by working all day. I wasn’t doing it out of urgent necessity, although money was always welcome. I did it because it turned me on to stand on a corner knowing exactly what they were going to see in me and what I was going to allow.
That night I went out late, almost at the same time as before. I put on a short denim jacket, a tight skirt that barely covered my ass, and a tiny thong I hesitated to wear until the last moment. I wasn’t wearing a bra or anything beneath the jacket, and just feeling the fabric brush against my nipples had me wet before I even arrived.
The industrial area was emptier than usual. I didn’t see the other women who sometimes stood around there, only two strangers considerably older than me, farther away beneath a broken streetlamp. I parked where I always did and walked toward my spot with that mixture of nerves and arousal rising from my stomach to between my legs.
Several cars went by without stopping. I pretended to be confident, but every minute that passed without anyone braking made me tenser. Then a white van turned the corner, slowed abruptly, and I knew instantly that it was them before I could even see their faces properly.
I recognized them by the way they looked at me, as if they already knew me naked even though I was still dressed. I lowered myself to the window with a practiced smile, that dirty innocent face they seemed to like so much. The passenger burst out laughing and asked where the fuck I had been all this time.
“We thought you weren’t coming back,” the driver said, staring openly at my breasts.
“I’ve been busy,” I replied. “But I’m here tonight.”
“Everything the same?”
I nodded. “Yes. Same as last time.”
The man at the window asked me to show them my tits. I opened my jacket slowly, and when he saw that I had nothing underneath, he let out a short, almost animal gasp. He reached out, grabbed one breast hard, and began pawing at it without the slightest gentleness, pinching my nipple between his rough fingers.
“Fuck, that’s how I like it,” he murmured.
Then he pushed two fingers into my mouth without asking. I opened wider, sucked them, and moved closer until I could feel his hot breath on my face. Then he spat at me, straight onto my cheek and lips. That gesture, disgusting and abrupt, made me squeeze my thighs together. It turned me on more than I liked to admit.
“Get in the back,” he ordered.
The passenger got out and opened the side door for me. As soon as I climbed in, the smell of sweat, old tobacco, and workshop hit me full in the face. The back seat was covered with scattered tools and a couple of work jackets, but neither of them cared about the mess. They shut the door and the van started moving while I sat with my legs together, already feeling a hand pushing against my thigh.
The one who sat beside me started touching me immediately. He opened my jacket all the way, grabbed both my breasts, weighed them in his hands, and squeezed them with a brutality that tore a moan from me. I said nothing. I liked letting them interpret my silence as permission.
He slipped his hand beneath my skirt and found my soaked thong. He laughed, pulled the fabric aside, and shoved two fingers inside my cunt without warning. They went in easily because I was already wet from pure kink, and he began moving them violently while rubbing my clitoris with his thumb.
“Look at her dripping,” he shouted toward the front. “This one’s come back hotter than last time.”
He pulled his fingers out and pushed them into my mouth for me to suck. They tasted of me, mixed with the sour flavor of his skin. He tugged my hair downward and lowered me toward his crotch. I opened his zipper, pulled out his cock, and began sucking it as the van traveled along increasingly deserted streets.
He didn’t let me set the pace. He held me by the nape and began fucking my mouth with short, dry thrusts, making me swallow saliva and breath at the same time. The driver watched in the rearview mirror, aroused, telling his companion that tonight they were really going to use me. I heard him, and my cunt grew even wetter.
When I finally lifted my head, he spat into my mouth again and made me swallow. “That’s it, good little whore,” he told me. I didn’t answer; I just opened my legs wider.
We went to a workshop lost among dark warehouses and scrubland. As soon as I saw the place, I felt a real stab of fear. We were far from everything, in an area where no one passed at that hour. And yet precisely because of that, my body trembled with excitement.
They drove the van inside the workshop and shut the doors. There was an old sofa, a mattress propped against the wall, and the smell of grease, dust, and metal. They threw the mattress onto the floor in front of me, and I had barely taken off my jacket before they had me between them, one in front and one behind, rubbing their hard, hot bodies against me.
“You smell so good,” one said, burying his nose in my freshly perfumed neck.
The other laughed. “Wait a while. When we’re done, she’ll smell like us.”
I was usually more passive, more inclined to let things happen than to ask for them. But that night I was burning. I began panting, throwing my head back, moving my ass against the cock of the one behind me. He grabbed my hair and pulled my neck toward his shoulder.
“You’re desperate, aren’t you?”
The one in front grabbed my breasts and slapped them several times with his palm, hard, alternating blows and pinches. Each slap traveled through my entire body. I felt pain, yes, but also that filthy rush that made me spread my legs wider.
They pulled my skirt up to my waist and shoved me onto the mattress. The first sat on my chest, crushing my tits against the floor, and forced his cock into my mouth. I could barely adjust; he held me by the hair and began using my throat while the other knelt between my legs.
The one below pulled my thong aside and started licking my cunt eagerly, spreading me with his fingers and thrusting his tongue deep inside. Then he moved down to my ass and licked it slowly, wetly, as if savoring the moment before tearing me apart. I moaned with my mouth full, choking around the other man’s cock, feeling my saliva run down my chin.
The taste in my mouth was strong, salty, sour, masculine. The day’s sweat, skin that hadn’t been fully washed, that real dirtiness that heated me because there was nothing elegantly fantastical about it. Meanwhile, down below, they were eating me with an obscenity that made me writhe until I came like that, trapped, my face used and my cunt spread open.
I felt the orgasm explode through my legs, and the one on top became even more aroused when he felt me moaning around his cock. He forced me to keep it inside, pushing it down my throat, while the other shoved two fingers into my ass and three into my cunt, alternating pressure with rough caresses.
Then they let me go so I could suck them both. I went from one cock to the other, sucking, licking balls, tongue, shaft, frenulum, even ass when they pushed it into my face. They weren’t trying to be clean or kind. They gave me whatever they had, as if I were a mouth available for everything, and precisely because of that it made me even dirtier.
“No condom?” one asked, looking down at me.
I immediately shook my head. “No. Not that.”
He gave me a sharp slap across the face. Not hard enough to knock me down, but hard enough to leave my ear ringing. He looked at me for a second, then shrugged. “Fine, with a condom.”
He put it on without stopping his insults. As soon as he was ready, he spread my legs as wide as possible and penetrated me with such a hard thrust that the mattress slid across the dusty floor. I cried out, and he began fucking me without pause, gripping my thighs and driving all the way in with a rhythmic violence that shook my tits with every blow.
The other held my face, made me open my mouth so he could spit inside, then pushed his cock in so I could mix everything with saliva. I didn’t know whether I wanted to breathe, moan, or come; in the end I did all three badly, like a horny idiot. Between my legs I felt the condom sliding in and out, the rough friction, the wet sounds of my cunt now completely opened.
They switched several times, one after the other, without giving me a moment’s rest. When one pulled out, the other went in almost immediately. They put me on my back, on my side, with my knees against my chest. They used my legs as handles and my waist as leverage, fucking me with a force that had nothing curious about it anymore. They had come to use me, and they were enjoying it.
At one point, one of them grabbed my neck with one hand while penetrating me, using the other to hold my hip. He didn’t squeeze hard enough to truly hurt me, but enough to make me feel his control. Seeing him sweating over me, calling me a whore while he drove his cock into me, made me come again, this time with a hoarse moan and my muscles trembling helplessly.
Afterward they turned me over. They put a couple of dirty cushions beneath my hips and spread my ass with their fingers, spitting on me before pushing. The first entered slowly at first, and then there was no care anymore. He began fucking my ass with dry, heavy blows, accompanied by slaps on my buttocks that immediately began to burn.
They were fucking me so hard that I lost track of the exact time. I only remember the sound of their breathing, the slap of skin against skin, the dirt from the mattress sticking to my knees, and the animal pleasure of being used without anyone asking anything pretty of me. I came like that too, with a cock in my ass and two fingers rubbing my clitoris from below until I was left shaking.
When they finished that first round, they collapsed onto the mattress with me, sweaty and laughing, asking whether I had really come so many times or whether I was making it up. I told them I didn’t fake it. When I came, I came for real. They loved that.
I cleaned both their cocks with my mouth, slowly, swallowing the taste of latex and sweat. Then I asked to shower. There was a disgusting bathroom at the back of the workshop, with a cold-water shower and a half-empty bottle of hand soap. They let me go after talking on the phone with other colleagues who, as far as I understood, wanted to join in.
I showered trembling, naked beneath an icy stream that returned some clarity to me. The water washed away saliva, dust, sweat, and their smell, but it didn’t remove my arousal. When I came out, I stood there air-drying myself, hugging my body so I wouldn’t shiver, while they told me I had two options: wait alone in the workshop or go with them to pick up the others.
There was no way in hell I was going to stay locked in there alone. I dressed without clean underwear, because the thong was completely ruined, and climbed back into the van. They paid me what we had agreed on, as if that long hour of brutal use had been an ordinary formality, and we went back to the company.
When we arrived, they left me inside to wait. A few minutes later one of the others came out, approached the door, and looked at me with a smile I didn’t like at all. There was something in his eyes, a way of taking pleasure in advance, that truly frightened me.
“They say you take it well,” he told me. “Now the best part is coming.”
I wanted to appear calm, but my mouth went dry. Even so, between fear and kink, I felt another lash of wetness between my legs. That was the worst thing about me: even frightened, I was still getting turned on.
After a while, three more men came out. They argued briefly over who would drive because they all wanted to sit in the back with me. In the end one took the wheel, and the other two sat on either side of me in the rear. They hadn’t even turned the first corner before their hands were already all over me.
They took off my jacket, pulled up my skirt, and ripped off my thong. They spread my legs across the seat, each thigh resting on one of them, and began pushing their fingers into my cunt at the same time—thicker, rougher fingers, taking advantage of the fact that I was already open and sensitive from everything before. They pulled their fingers out and put them in my mouth for me to suck.
Before we reached the workshop I came again, bent backward, with their hands working between my legs and their voices calling me a slut, a whore, a filthy bitch. We went inside and shut the door. I was already naked; they stripped in seconds, as if they had been waiting all night for their turn.
One of them went over to a tool panel, took something down, and came toward me with a smile. It was a thong. My thong, the one I had lost the previous time with the others. It was stiff, stained, hardened with dried orgasms. Just seeing it made my shame fall away and sent filthy heat rising into my face.
“Recognize it?” he asked.
I nodded.
He grabbed me by the hair, spat into my mouth, and then shoved the thong between my lips. I had to bite down on that hardened fabric, loaded with traces of several men who had thought of me while masturbating. I felt degraded, yes, but also completely on fire.
They didn’t wait any longer. They turned me around, and one lifted me by the waist to drive his cock into my ass. It went in without gentleness, with brutal force, lifting me almost off the floor with every thrust because I was considerably shorter than he was. The pain was sharp at first, then transformed into immense pressure that left me panting against the wall.
The other two masturbated while watching me, but it wasn’t long before they joined in. They threw me onto the mattress again, pulled the thong from my mouth, and took advantage of my open breathing to fuck my throat, one after the other, forcing me to lick everything they put in front of me. Sweaty cocks, heavy balls, the skin between their legs, their asses when they pushed them into my face.
The pace was savage from the beginning. One spread my cunt with his cock while another fucked my mouth and the third waited, stroking my face with the tip of his cock or giving me soft, humiliating slaps. Then they switched. Cunt, mouth, ass. I stopped trying to keep track of who was where. I was just a body reacting.
They slapped my ass until it burned. They struck my tits with open palms. One of them even spread my cunt’s lips after pulling out, then slapped me right there, across the swollen, wet flesh, before pushing back in. Every gesture was rough, obscene, excessive. And still my body responded, treacherous, asking for more.
At one point they put me on all fours and penetrated me at the same time, one in my cunt and another in my ass. It wasn’t elegant or coordinated; it was clumsy, raw, and overwhelming. I felt them opening me from within in a way that left me crying and moaning at the same time, my face buried in the dirty mattress while the third held me by the hair and made me lift my head so he could spit into my mouth.
I came like that, emptied out, trembling, almost without air. The orgasm ran through me like a long spasm, a mixture of intense pleasure and absolute submission. They noticed because I began squeezing involuntarily and moaning as if they were breaking me, and they became even more savage.
They came several times throughout the whole ordeal. Some in condoms, others outside, spreading themselves across my face and tits while I stuck out my tongue to collect whatever landed near my mouth. Then they forced me to clean them with my tongue, leaving their cocks gleaming before they hardened again. They never seemed to go soft.
After a long session, my ass burning and my legs trembling, I asked to go to the bathroom. They laughed. One opened a side door of the workshop and dragged me by the hair outside, onto a dark dirt path barely lit by a distant bulb and the barking of a dog on some nearby farm.
“If you need to piss, piss here,” he said.
I crouched down, naked in the middle of the night, and began urinating onto the dirt. I had barely finished when the first one came over and pissed on me. Then the others. Warm, copious, straight onto my body, my hair, my chest, my legs. I was left soaked, dripping in the middle of a puddle, feeling like the lowest and most aroused thing in the world.
It wasn’t pretty. It was humiliating, filthy, animal. And for that very reason it left me trembling in a way that was difficult to explain. I closed my eyes for a second and felt another jolt of pleasure between my legs, as if my body no longer knew where disgust ended and kink began.
They let me go back to the shower only so I wouldn’t dirty the van. I washed myself again with icy water, rubbing my skin until it turned red. While I air-dried, one of them sat in front of me with his hard cock and ordered me to jerk him off.
I sat on a rickety chair and began masturbating him slowly, using my other hand to caress his balls. He made me lean over and lick the tip every few strokes, keeping him on the edge. When he came, I put him in my mouth and swallowed without looking away.
Then they got dressed. I did too, except for the thong, which they kept, laughing and promising to keep using it to jerk off when they thought of me. On the way back, one drove while the other two forced me to suck them in the back. One came in my mouth; the other didn’t, but made me continue until my jaw was tired.
They paid me at the end, as if everything could be summed up in folded bills and a filthy goodbye. They insisted on knowing when I would come back. I gave them a vague date, my throat still irritated and my ass throbbing beneath my skirt.
When they dropped me off where I had left my car, workers were already beginning to appear at some of the nearby warehouses for the early shift. I drove home in silence, still smelling of the workshop’s cheap soap, my body aching from head to toe. In the shower at home I washed myself for the third time that night, and still I felt marked.
I put cream on my ass because it was burning, lay down, and slept as if someone had switched me off. When I woke, I could still feel the blows on my tits, the soreness between my legs, and the precise memory of every hand, every insult, every jolt.
I’m not going to pretend I feel clean regret, because that isn’t how I feel. What I feel is a strange mixture of shame, fear, pride, and brutal arousal when I remember how far I went and how many times I came. It surprised me to discover that I could take so much—and worse still, that part of me wanted to go back.
That’s why I’m telling it. Because it was excessive, because it was real for me, and because it still pulses inside me when I write about it. I went for money, yes, but above all I went for the kink. And that night made it clear to me that sometimes kink devours you whole.