The doorbell rang, and Alyssa almost screamed in relief. “Come in!” she yelled, her voice choked with tears. “It’s open.”
At the front step of her house, the pizza delivery man tentatively pushed open the door and stepped inside. His name was James, and he was used to the customer meeting him at the door. He stepped inside, and followed the sound of Alyssa’s voice through the corridors of her expensive, elegant house, until he came to her bedroom.
There she was—famous actress Alyssa Vandred. She was lying naked on her bed, her legs spread, her waxed pussy facing towards him. She was crying and masturbating at the same time.
“Ah… miss… I have your pizza,” said James awkwardly.
“Screw the pizza,” moaned Alyssa. “Fuck me. Please, fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”
James blushed—but at the end of the day, he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to fuck this gorgeous, slutty starlet. “Do I, uh, need a condom?” he asked. “Or is it okay to cum inside you?”
Alyssa wanted to scream again. He had offered her two alternatives, and her hypnotic conditioning forced her to choose the more degrading one. “Cum inside me,” she gasped.
That was all the encouragement James needed. Within seconds he had his cock out, and was kneeling between her legs, forcing his dick up into her soaking wet vagina.
Alyssa mewled with gratitude and began bucking her hips against James eagerly. She needed him to cum inside her. It was the only way she could regain self-control.
Alyssa was all but guaranteed a starring role in the new film “Rape Liar”—but the studio felt that her famous “frigidity” made her unbelievable playing the part of a whore who cockteases men into raping her. To get the part, Alyssa had agreed to take a course of hypnotic conditioning—but she hadn’t truly understood what that would mean.
The conditioning had left her caught in a “one in three average availability” rule, encouraging her to accept at least one in three sexual propositions. Every time Alyssa turned down a sexual proposition, her brain would create a new binding behavioural rule for her that would make her more likely to be fucked in future. Every time someone used her to orgasm, she would be able to choose and forget two of those rules.
Over the last few days, those rules had wreaked havoc with Alyssa’s life. She had given a man a blowjob in a public toilet, and then the photograph he took of her with his cum on her face had been printed in a national tabloid. She had texted her ex-boyfriend Harry, telling him it was okay to rape her. She had photographed her pussy on a nationally televised talkshow, and then bared her tits and masturbated to orgasm in front of the cameras.
Her current rules were as follows:
- She is prevented from complaining about, punishing, or discintenvising sexual harassment or propositions directed towards her. (This was an ironclad rule that she could not forget.)
- No wearing panties.
- Every night, she will go to a singles bar and get blind drunk.
- When a man expresses sexual interest in her, she must thank him for it.
- She will pretend that every sexual interaction, humiliation, degradation or molestation is either her idea, or her fault.
- When a man offers her the choice of two or more specific alternatives, she will pick the most degrading one.
- When anyone gives her an embarrassing compliment, she will reward them.
- When in the presence of men, she will constantly draw attention to her tits.
- When she is humiliated, she will masturbate, and not stop until she cums, or she stops being humiliated.
It was this last rule that Alyssa was suffering from now. Whenever she thought about her slutty performance on the talk show—in which she had exposed her pussy, and suggested that she might want to fuck her own father, and in which she had orgasmed nude in front of the entire nation—she was paralysed by shame and humiliation. And as soon as that happened, she was compelled to masturbate.
The compulsion would fade when she achieved orgasm—but she couldn’t stop thinking about her shame, so within minutes she would be masturbating again. And as she continued to torture her over-used pussy, the orgasms began to take longer and longer to reach.
She needed to forget that rule. And the only way she could do so was if someone fucked her. So she had ordered pizza with her phone, and waited for it to arrive.
She was glad they had sent a male delivery driver. But she was desperate, and if it had been a female, she would have merely hoped that the driver enjoyed fucking girls.
James didn’t take long to cum inside her. Alyssa sighed with relief, and instantly selected two of her rules to forget.
She deleted the rule about masturbating when humiliated—an easy choice.
And she decided to lose the rule about choosing between alternatives. That had gotten her into too much trouble on the talk show, and if anyone worked out that she was forced to choose, they could use it to force her to do anything they wanted.
“Wow, you’re just as much of a slut as they’re saying on TV,” said James, as he pulled his dripping cock out of her pussy.
It was a demeaning compliment—and so she had to thank him, and reward him.
“Thank you,” said Alyssa. “Would you like to take a photograph of me, as a souvenir?”
“Wow,” said James. “Yes, absolutely.”
Alyssa put on a pretty smile for him as he used his camera to photograph her nude, with his cum dripping out of her fuckhole. She stroked her tits as she did so, trying to focus his attention on her funbags, as her rules compelled her to do.
When James was done with the photograph, he left quickly, much to Alyssa’s relief. She got out of bed, showered off nearly 24 hours of sweat and pussy juices, and then went to her wardrobe to get dressed.
She was tired, but she had to go out clubbing. Her rules required it. She looked through her dresses and selected one she had never worn before. A fashion designer had gifted it to her, hoping she would wear it down the red carpet at the premiere of her film “Ghosts Of Our Mothers”, but Alyssa had taken one look at it, blushed, and put it away, never to be used.
She was going to wear it now though. She blushed as she squeezed into it—without underwear, of course.
The dress was white, and opaque from her stomach down. However, the bust could only be described as “lewd”. It lifted her tits up, offering up a truly impressive amount of cleavage. But in addition, the cups of the bust were made of see-through white lace, and her nipples and areolae were clearly visible through the fabric.
Checking herself in the mirror, she knew she looked like a slut—but it couldn’t be helped. She was required by her rules to draw attention to her tits when in male company. She didn’t want to be fidgeting with her udders all night long. The dress would do the work for her. She could hardly call more attention to her breasts if she were using both hands to milk them like cow-udders.
She paused, thinking about what she was doing. She was deliberately dressing like a whore. Her plan was to go out clubbing, pick a nice-looking guy, get drunk as quickly as possible, and offer him a blowjob. She would be able to lose two more rules for the minimum possible sluttishness. And if she hooked up with a guy early enough, it might stop other guys propositioning her.
She wasn’t a slut, she told herself. She was doing what was reasonable and practical to get out of the predicament she was in. If she lost her rule about having to go out clubbing each night, she might be able to avoid further sexual propositions altogether.
It didn’t quite work like that, of course.
She picked out Club Republic, an upscale venue with a good crowd, and she made it there easily enough.
But as she approached the club, she caught the attention of a man lounging against a streetlight, some distance from the club queue. His clothes were dirty, his face was unshaven, and he smelled of alcohol and vomit.
“Hey baby!” he called out as she headed for the queue. “Nice tits!”
She flushed crimson with embarrassment as her rules took hold. “Thank you,” she said, and then, compelled to reward him, she pulled down the front of her dress for a few seconds, flashing him her bare boobs.
The man leered at her exposed udders. “How ’bout you and me find a nice place to get undressed?” he slurred, an obvious erection growing in his wrinkled pants.
She wrinkled her nose in disgust. She didn’t want more rules, but there was no way she was saying yes to a proposition like that from a man like him. “I know I just led you on by dressing like a slut and flashing you my tits,” she said, “and I’m sorry, but no thank you.”
“Bitch,” spat the man, and turned away from her.
Her mind had been turning over, coming up with a new rule for her in response to her refusal of the man’s offer, and now it settled on one. Any belief you hold that prevents you fucking someone will vanish from your mind after you reject someone because of it, and only return after you fuck someone that you would have rejected for that reason.
So (she thought) did I reject that man because he smelled bad, or because I felt unsafe?
Because it was unsafe, she decided.
And just like that, the idea vanished from her brain. Why should she refuse sex just because it was unsafe? That was cowardly and bitchy. Women needed to take risks with sex, right?
And she would keep thinking that until she fucked someone she felt unsafe with.
Inside Club Republic, she prioritised finding a man to hook up with. She immediately spotted an attractive man by the bar, dressed in a tailored suit jacket, sipping a cocktail. She headed straight over to him, smiled prettily, arced her back to push her half-naked tits out, and said, “Hi there. Want to buy me a drink?”
The man looked at her—then at her tits—and his smile broadened. “I’d love to,” he said. “Name’s Kieran.”
“Alyssa,” said Alyssa, shaking his hand.
“I know,” he said. “I saw you on the talk show yesterday.” His smile was growing ever wider.
Alyssa blushed crimson. “Um... “ she said, not sure what to say.
“I’m here with my wife,” said Kieran, flashing a wedding ring that Alyssa hadn’t noticed at first. He gestured to a woman—a gorgeous bimbo, with fake tits and platinum blonde hair, who was making her way over to the bar from the direction of the toilets. “But that’s not necessarily a barrier. We can share you. I think you’re exactly my wife’s type.”
Alyssa took a step back. She wasn’t a lesbian. She’d never made out with a woman—or wanted to, for that matter. She hated to turn down another man, but…
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realise you weren’t single. My mistake.”
Kieran looked disappointed, but let her go, as Alyssa made her way to the far end of the bar to buy a drink and hide her embarrassment.
Her brain was immediate and merciless in coming up with a new rule. You don’t need a handbag or purse, it told her. Keep all your things in your pussy or ass.
Alyssa’s eyes widened in horror. She was so fixated on the awful new rule she had just made for herself that she didn’t notice the other thing happening in her brain.
She had turned down the threesome with Kieran and his wife because she didn’t want to fuck women—so her brain just let go of that idea. There was no reason at all that Alyssa shouldn’t fuck women.
She abandoned her plan to buy a drink and headed for the women’s toilets as quickly as she could. Once there, she locked herself in a stall, and looked at the contents of her purse.
Her car and house keys, attached to a round metal fob. Her credit cards. Her mobile phone. Some condoms. Some tampons. Some hair clips.
She whimpered, but got to work. She wasn’t near her period, so she could just throw the tampons away. She dithered about the condoms—she was planning to fuck someone—but hopefully they would have their own. She threw those away too.
Her credit cards went inside her phone casing. Then, with some difficulty she managed to wedge her phone up her pussy. It hurt a little, but if was bearable once it was in.
The keys went into her ass—the fob pushed into her anus, past the sphincter, with the keys hanging out like a little metal tail.
When she tried to stand, she found the keys stayed put well enough, but her phone wanted to squeeze itself out of her pussy. It would never stay inside her while she walked.
There was only one thing for it. She used her hair clips to pinch her pussy lips together, trapping the phone inside. It was agonising, and her eyes watered, but it did the job. Her pussy was clipped shut, with her mobile phone inside.
On her way out of the toilets, back to the bar, she passed a man in the toilet corridor, who said, “Love the dress. Love the boobs.”
She stopped, swearing silently to herself. The man was short, and had close-cropped brown hair and a trimmed goatee. “Thank you,” she said, through gritted teeth. And then, to reward him, she stepped towards him and kissed him on the lips.
“Mmm,” the man moaned into her mouth. His arms went around her—behind her—running up her thighs towards her legs.
He was going to explore under her skirt. He was going to find her without panties, with clips on her pussy and keys shoved up her anus.
“No,” said Alyssa, pulling away from the clearly disappointed man.
And her brain said, when you reject a man in person, kiss him on the lips and stroke his cock.
And her brain also said, you said no because you were afraid of being humiliated. That won’t bother you again.
She moaned with horror, and leaned back towards the man and kissed him again, stroking his cock through his pants.
“What are you playing at, you little slut?” said the man.
“No,” moaned Alyssa again, still stroking the man’s cock, trying to pull away while still keeping a hand on his dick.
“Fuck, you’re a hot little whore,” said the goateed man. Another man came into the corridor—a clean-shaven redhead—and the goateed man said, “Evan, want to double-team this slut?”
“No!” protested Alyssa again—and because she was now saying no to the second man, that meant another rule.
The idea of being raped arouses you uncontrollably, said her brain. And also, there’s nothing wrong with being gangbanged.
Her pussy started to gush. She was lucky her phone was waterproof.
“Fuck yeah, she looks hot,” said the redheaded man—Evan, presumably. “Good find, Stewey. Let’s do her in the toilets.”
The men guided Alyssa into the men’s toilets, and dragged her into a stall. Alyssa’s capacity to resist was limited, as she couldn’t punish or discintenvise harassment—and in any case, she was now so aroused that she couldn’t think straight.
The men pulled off her dress. Alyssa was grateful they didn’t rip it, and thanked them for their gentleness. The men just laughed, and took out their cocks. She was pinned between them in the stall. She felt the short man—Stewey—explore her pussy. He laughed when he found her pussy lips clipped shut, and turned her round to show his friend, Evan, who removed the clip and then pulled her phone out of her cunt.
“What a fucking whore,” laughed Stewey. “And she has her keys shoved up her ass.”
“I’ll shove something else up her ass,” responded Evan.
Stupid with lust, Alyssa could only moan in response.
They put her possessions on the lid of the toilet. Then Stewey slid his cock into her pussy, kissing her on the lips while he did so, his hands squeezing her full tits, and a moment later she mewled with pain as she felt Evan’s cock penetrate her asshole. He had lubricated it with something, mercifully, but Alyssa had still never had anal sex before, and it was uncomfortable.
Then they began to fuck her, and the last lights in Alyssa’s brain turned off. She was nothing but sensations. Ever time Stewey thrusted into her cunt, he pushed her backwards, impaling Evan’s dick deeper into her anus. And every time Evan thrusted, it fucked her hard against Stewey. There was no escape from the penetration. She could feel their cocks almost meeting inside her, pushing simultaneously at the flesh between her cunt and her bowels.
She couldn’t speak—Stewey’s tongue was in her mouth. She couldn’t move—Evan had grabbed her arms and was pinning them behind her back. Her tits were on fire—Stewey was squeezing them so hard she wanted to yell for him to stop, but at the same time it felt so good.
And then she was cumming, and cumming, and cumming. And some time after that, Stewey came too, squirting his sperm into her womb, and Evan followed, ejaculating deep into her anus. When they pulled out, she literally couldn’t stand, and sank to her knees in the toilet stall, Stewey’s cock twitching near her face, excess cum dripping from the tip of his dick onto her naked tits.
They thanked her. They were quite polite, really. Stewey told her she was a good fuck, and she thanked him in return for the embarrassing compliment and rewarded him by licking his cock clean. Evan said that she had a tight ass, and she thanked him for that too, and likewise licked him clean as well, wrinkling her nose at the taste of her own anus on his cock.
Then they left, and there was nothing for Alyssa to do but clean herself up as best she could.
But first there was her reward for her sluttiness. Not just two rules gone, but four. After all, she had fucked two men.
She thought about not storing things in her pussy, but she had already thrown away her purse in the women’s toilets, and would have to carry things somehow in any case, so she let herself keep that for now.
Clubbing, she thought. That has to go. I can’t do this every night.
And stroking a man’s cock when I refuse him, she added. That’s just going to keep getting me raped.
Rewarding men for compliments, she decided. That’s always embarrassing.
And justifying my humiliation as my own fault would be the final rule she erased. Fuck that, she decided. It’s bad for me.
It didn’t even occur to her to remove the rule about forgetting the reason why she turned a man down. It was if the rule itself was hidden within her mind. But nevertheless, she had been gangbanged when she felt unsafe—so her distaste for gangbangs and unsafe situations suddenly clicked back on.
She felt like throwing up. What had she done? What kind of slut was she?
And… did she really have to hate fucking two guys at once? Despite all the fear and humiliation, the sex she had just had had been kind of amazing.
And efficient, too, for getting rid of rules. She only had six left now.
- No panties.
- Thank men for their sexual interest.
- Draw attention to my tits.
- Store my purse contents in my cunt and ass.
- Become aroused at the idea of being raped.
- When I reject a man, lose the attitude that stopped me saying yes.
She thought back to Kieran and his bimbo wife. Why did she say no to them? She could no longer remember. Fucking both of them would cross out another four rules, leaving her with only two left. She would be almost free.
She took a deep breath, and stuffed her phone back in her pussy, and clipped her pussy lips shut with the hair clips. Then she stuffed her keys up her ass. She could still feel Stewey and Evan’s cum inside her, trapped in her holes by the hairclips and fob-plug. She rose unsteadily to her feet and then pulled her dress back on.
She wasn’t a slut, she told herself. She was just doing what she had to to manage this horrible hypnotic conditioning. She was a hero, really, struggling bravely under the most difficult of circumstances.
Although, she thought, none of that explained why she had cum so many times from being gang-raped in a male toilet.
She pushed the thought aside, and headed back to the nightclub floor. She was going to get very, very drunk, and then she was going to fuck a fake-titted bimbo and her husband.