The stage is dark, the curtains drawn. Kneeling on my pillow, I cast a surreptitious glance towards the girls on either side of me; one redhead, one mocha-colored goddess with black and shiny hair, her eyeliner made up into a perfect wing on either side of her almond eyes. On the other side of the curtain, I can hear the shifting and mumbling of people, hundreds of them, and I reach up gingerly to touch the collar wrapped tightly around my neck. It's almost time; I can tell from the buzz of the crowd that they are getting antsy. That means one thing, and one thing only. Time to shine. Showtime.

A mechanical clicking heralds the curtains pulling up, and then a bright spotlight blinds me, one of three that illuminates the trio of our naked, glistening bodies to the audience. Applause erupts, and along with it, the slight, tingling jolt that stings my throat as the neural feedback stimulator comes alive in the collar. It is a familiar ache, and one that thrills me as much as it pains me. Par for the course, they told me, a tool of the trade as vital as the lights and the sound system. Without the NFS, there's no show, and without a show, there's no money. So I swallow the pain, and instead cast my blue eyes past the blinding light and out onto the masses gathered to watch us today. Their eyes glitter like pinpricks in the darkness, and I can't help but give a little smile as they eat up my body with every passing second, letting their gaze travel from my heart-shaped face to the plump breasts and hard, pink nipples that point like bullets towards them. Firm stomach, the slightest hint of a dark triangle that disappears between my legs-- perky, blonde perfection. Like the center part of a Neapolitan ice cream, but honey, rest assured I'm more than just vanilla. My smile tells them all they need to know; pure sex, served on a bed of lip gloss and deceit. It's showbiz, after all. Smoke and mirrors and movie magic, right?

Not quite. Already, I know that some of them are aware of how extremely real this is. I can see them, poised in mermaid positions next to their masters; the slaves and concubines, each with their own collar so they can feel what we feel, sense what we sense. The heat of the stage, the ache of our exposed nipples, the slight buzz of the lust-inducing drugs that we all shoot up before a show. The dripping drool of my cunt, making yet another stain on the delicate satin pillow beneath me. It's exciting, I must admit, to know that there are dozens of women out there in the audience right now, plugged into my body, into my nervous system. Teasingly, I run a finger down my inner thigh, and relish in the trail of shivering goosebumps it produces. They feel it, I know. And soon, they will feel so much more. Enough to make them gag on sensation. Enough to make them scream.

The applause continues for ages, and I glance over to see the Nubian princess to my right doing a sort of impromptu striptease, writhing and twisting to the roar of their adoration. Her hands are between her legs, and I can practically hear the clicks of the numerous receiver-collars being switched from me to her. Greedy bitch. Hogging the spotlight, upstaging the rest of us. I send her a toxic glare, but she simply smirks back at me and blows me a kiss. Rude. Still, she's new; she'll learn to curb her enthusiasm. That, or she will become the next ultra-star of this little shindig... but I doubt it. She is too fine, too porcelain delicate with her perfect skin and high cheekbones. I'm no Plain Jane, but next to her, I might as well be. And that, Honey, that spells trouble. The audience is here for more than just one fluid tonight, you see. Cum and sweat and blood and tears; they are all equally viable to please and placate them. So let her writhe. She'll learn soon enough.

I steady myself, and look to my left, where the redheaded beauty is smiling shyly at the audience. She's the sweetheart, the one to draw in the romantics of the crowd with her green eyes and cute smile. Fuck, she even has dimples! Her breasts are huge and slightly saggy in a way that only makes them that much more delicious, and I'm fairly sure that she is playing for both the girl-next-door and the MILF crowd. You wouldn't think that was possible, but Jennie has a talent all of her own. Get her alone and undressed, and she'll make you seem like the most important person in the world. She'll kiss you and tell you all the sordid little lies you've always wanted to hear, and then you'll wake up the next morning with empty balls and an empty wallet, and a sticky, lipstick kiss on the cheek. Well, we all have our needs, I suppose. Hers is drugs; neurological stimulants, straight through the skull into the neocortex. Mine is.. a little more refined, I guess. But no less debauched. You kind of have to be, to be in this business. You have to love the sting, and the thrill. Well. Enough of these theatrics. The applause is dying out. NFS receiver rigs are coming online. The show is about to start.

It doesn't happen all at once. Rather, the sound builds, starting off as a deep bass rumbling before evolving bit by bit into a cacophony of noise, a primal scream of lust and need and desire, all wrapped in a modulated synth pitch that shifts and churns and loops back on itself as it fills the room with sound. The lights turn blue, then red, then yellow, and then he is there, stepping from stage left towards the center as the music builds to a hideous crescendo. Had the speakers not been turned away from the stage, I am sure my ears would have hurt; instead, I simply feel the pounding bass reverberate in my chest as it begins to pound like a beating heart, overtaking the synth screech until it is as if the entire building is thumping to the same blood-quickening pulse. Dull, thudding swings of a hammer against my body, readying me, tenderizing my mind with overwhelming force. And Him, of course, standing at the edge of the stage to gaze out at the crowd of people for a second before turning back towards us.

Him. He always has a different name, a different face, a different way to scowl and grunt. Always the same body, though; huge and toned to perfection, the epitome of male power and sexual potency, with a cock that swings heavily between strong, muscled thighs. Tonight, his name is Max; I know as much, although we have never spoken. Sometimes, I even wonder if they can speak, all of these hyper-virile stunt cocks. Maybe they are just autonomous dolls modeled to fit your fantasy. But probably not. Even the most fanciful AI can't hold a candle to the inventiveness and sheer debauchery of these men. Which suits me just fine. I prefer real meat when I have it; real meat and a real brain. Even if it's high off its gourd on cocaine. Fuck it if they can't think straight; it's not like they're being paid to debate us.

His glance scans over us, from left to right, and I feel a slight trembling in my belly as he looks at me, dark eyes in a rough face. Looking down over him, I can see the golden ring strapped around his cock, with its ampules of milky liquid that will administer straight into his shaft to keep him going. Cock-ring, feedback transmitter and drug-dispenser both, it ensures that he will give the audience what they've paid for; three shows, or perhaps rather, three acts of the same show. A Full Meal of Female Flesh, they call it, and right now, everyone is wondering which one of us is going to be the appetizer. Max's eyes linger on my for a long time, and I can see his cock growing hard as he stares down at my breasts and the firm belly beneath. Slowly, I part my lips and let the tip of my tongue dance enticingly across my teeth. I love sucking cock. Something about that primal, submissive act makes me simply ludicrous with lust, and his is a beautiful specimen, long and thick and with a slight curve towards its widening base. A fat drop of precum has already gathered as his tip, and I can feel the ghost of a dozen slave-girls in the audience following my lead as I stick out my tongue and pant for him like a bitch in heat. Max stares at me, calculating, sizing me up. Then he takes a step forward, cock swinging dangerously and flicking precum across the floor--

And then he walks over to Jennie.

With one hand, he grabs her hair and yanks her head back, and then he flops his massive cock across her face, letting the rich cum vein grind against her lips as he positions himself properly. Out in the audience, I can hear a faint excited shifting of bodies, and I know that everyone has turned on their receiver-modules now, the men and the women eagerly ready to receive the second-hand stimulation of this, our show. Their show, I suppose; one girl at a time, with Jennie as the first one of the night. I can see the tiny camera sutured to the side of Max's head, which feeds into the first-person-view contact lenses that every man in the audience is wearing. The electrodes on the back of his hand link to the rest of the intricately woven network of cables that crisscross his body, terminating just below the skull at the spine, to transmit the bodily sensations of touch, heat, moisture; everything you need to feel part of the action yourself. And of course, the cock ring, transmitting its feedback straight into two hundred reactive codpieces so that every man can feel as if it is his own cock sliding across Jennie's face and dragging a snail trail of precum across her glossy lips. Sight. Sound. The sensation of touch beamed straight into their own bodies. And a crowd of hundreds gasping in pleasured unison as Max pulls his tip to the rim of Jennie's lips and pushes forward, forcing her jaw open around him and sinking into her hot, warm mouth.

It's a big mouthful, and Jennie can't help but struggle. Even a consummate professional like her has to bow to the sheer size that they breed the men these days, and as Max twines his fingers into her hair and begins to move his hips against her face, I can hear the slurping, gagging moans echoed in a chorus of female voices from beyond the stage, each of them sensing the ghostly image of Max's cock spreading open their throats and stretching their lips obscenely. Max does not wait for Jennie to suck, nor does she attempt it; instead, she simply opens her throat and lets him fuck her mouth as slowly and selfishly as he wants, grinding ten inches of turgid man-meat against the soft folds of her throat while his hand keeps her fiery hair in an iron grip. Soon, thick drool is dripping down his shaft and clinging to his balls, matting the hair of his bull-like testicles before slopping down onto the floor in a rapidly growing pool. Jennie is gagging and struggling for air, but she remains obedient before him, and the moans of the audience grow stronger as Max reaches down and clamps his hand around her throat with a soft smirk, pulling her tighter onto his cock while murmuring: "Good girl..!"

The murmur is transmitted across the room through the speakers, and so is Jennie's gagging moan as she struggles to fit him between her lips. Unable to take my eyes off of her, I watch as her tongue slithers out through the narrow gap between teeth and cock, to lap at Max's balls as he thrusts himself into her increasingly bulging throat. The pace is slow, languid, almost savoring as he makes use of her mouth as his personal fuck-toy, a wet, sloppy hole for his massive cock. And then, with a wet schlorp, he pulls out and bends her backwards, thrusting her chest up towards him while his cock drags ropes of thick, viscous spit across her chin and breast. A few concubines in the audience squirm and groan as Max grabs hold of Jennie's magnificent tits, and then he slides himself between the soft pillows and begins to thrust, fucking her breasts as if they were meant for it while the audience gasp and groan in response. I watch Jennie's eyes, glassy and unfocused with lust, and her nipples poking out between Max's fingers as he manhandles her breasts for his own pleasure. Beads of sweat have begun to form across Jennie's body, and her red hair is bobbing fiercely as she leans down her head and opens her mouth for the continuously pumping crown of the massive man's penis. I briefly glance over at the mocha-girl to my right, but she seems entirely too entranced by the sight of Max's cock stroking in and out of Jennie's mouth, and from the position of her hand, I can tell that the new girl is enjoying the show all on her own. I can't really fault her, either. Jennie may be a kleptomaniac bitch and a junkie, but she knows how to put on a show. Pretty soon, all eyes are on her, and on the fat cock violating her tits and lips. She makes it look so easy, and with my eyes fixed on the tip of Max's cock sliding into her mouth, I can't help but envy her. Fucking hell. Give me a taste of that bull cock, Baby.

But Max has eyes for nothing but the flesh before him, and soon enough, I see him reach up and grabbing Jennie's head with both hands, slipping from the deep canyon of her cleavage to return to a fast, furious face-fuck. Where before he worked slowly and methodically, he now seems inflamed to pursue his inevitable orgasm, and I watch as Jennie's throat bulges and ripples around the full length of him as he fucks her deep and hard, pushing the full length of his cock into her throat and crushing her nose against his groin. The sound of spit slopping and spilling on the hardwood floor mixes with the constant slap of Max's balls hammering against her chin, and from the audience, a chorus of throaty, husky moans is echoing Max's own, underscored by the four dozen gagging, moaning, drooling and gasping slaves and concubines. I watch as Jennie is turned into a sweat-slick piece of meat, a doll with a throat made for fucking, and in the second before Max pulls out of her throat and seizes his cock to aim his first, thick load of the night across Jennie's face and neck and chest, I hear the familiar sound of a few hundred men reaching the exact same peak at the exact same time, their cocks spasming and jerking against their receptive codpieces as Max empties a fat, creamy load across Jennie. One hand in her hair, pulling her back to expose her to the full brunt of his climax, Max grunts and strokes his cock with expert perfection, until the last of his inhumanly large eruption is dripping down onto her neck and lolling tongue.

I watch him cum across her face and tongue, and I feel a furious tinge of envy burn in my chest. Dripping and glistening with white, pearly spunk, Jennie looks like a glazed goddess, abused and torn from her pedestal. Still, I envy her. The taste of him on her lips, the obedient lapping at his cock to clean the cum from him, beads of creamy white in her fiery curls...

Max pulls away from her and grins, his hand fingering the golden ring around the base of his cock to administer the first of two injections. Something akin to combat-stimulants, or so I've been told, only designed to make him even hornier, even harder and needier than before, and tailored to make his baby-batter factories go into hysterical overdrive. Who cares if it renders him sterile in twenty years; it gives him the ability to shoot larger and harder than any other man in the world, veritable gallons of cock-cream to paint us as his glorious, fallen angels. He takes a step towards me, and I sense the audience shift in their seats, the women readjusting their collars - or having it readjusted for them - while the men inject their own dose of stims to perk their peckers back up. Nothing as serious as what Max is using; just a Viagra-like cocktail to help them last the entire three acts. No one wants to sit with a refractory period when the next scene begins, do they?

But Jennie is out of the running, now, and I cast a quick glance over at my dark-skinned companion. She seems to have sobered slightly after watching our redheaded friend get doused in spunk, and even more so because Jennie is now sitting with her eyes closed, throat flexing periodically to swallow and soothe the ache of a brutal face-fuck, with the cum cooling off and running in thick streams down her body. She will stay that way until the end, the blessing and the curse of being the first on the menu. I try to imagine what she must be feeling, covered in cum and filled to the brim with his taste and fragrance. I smile, and my eyes lock with Max's. She must feel like the luckiest girl in the world, I think to myself. I know I would. That's why I'm here, after all. Not for the money. Not for the employment. But for the thrill. The sex. The sheer, wanton pleasure.

The depravity. The mindless self-indulgence of cock and cum and pain and pleasure and rough, dominant sex. To be used. To be used.

And now Max is coming my way.

He smirks down at me, his cock having lost none of its potency as it sways a scant few inches from my face. I know he is deliberating, considering whether to have me now or later. There is a method to this madness, a basic structure to this dance even if it lacks choreography. Three girls. Three holes. Oral, then vaginal, and then anal. A celebration of the human ability to abuse itself in the pursuit of pleasure, an ode to the willingness of women to open themselves to a man. Submission, in three shades of white, brown and pink. Like that Neapolitan ice cream. Like sex itself, bliss and pain and darkness.

He looks down at me and cocks his head slightly. "So," he murmurs, with a voice as soft as it can go after years of hyper-masculinization. "What are you, then? My main course? Or my dessert...?"

I grin and open my mouth, sticking my tongue out to invite him in. He chuckles, and takes a step forward, close enough that I can lick my tongue teasingly around his cock head. Faintly, I can taste the residue of his cum, the salt and sweet and sticky. He groans softly.

"I want to be last," I whisper, and offer his cock a worshipping kiss. Max rumbles, a growling sound in the back of his throat.

"Beg me."

I kiss his cock again, and reach up to cup his grapefruit-sized balls in the palm of my hand. "Please," I mutter, perfectly aware that my voice is transmitting across the room, a pathetic whore begging for her preferred flavor of debauchery. "Please fuck my ass. Please let me worship your cock with my body the way you deserve it..!"

"Hrm..." Max grunts noncommittally, but I feel his cock press against my lips, smearing a large dollop of clear cum across my face before my mouth opens and willingly accepts him inside. Oozing, dripping salt explodes on my tongue, but his hand on my head seems relaxed and at ease. I drag my tongue across the bottom of his head, savoring the sensation and taste of him and lavishing him with adoration. Faintly, I can hear the crowd shift and moan, but my own pulse is beating louder, anxious and hopeful that he might choose to break from the script and simply fuck my throat instead.

"Hrm," Max repeats, and his cock slides another inch into my mouth. "Beg me again." His words are little more than primal growls now, and I can feel the tension in his body, ready to explode into a furious frenzy of fucking. "Beg me to fuck you in the ass, little girl."

I draw breath around his thick cock lodged in my mouth, and obey him. "Hleathe," I beg. "Hleathe huck my athh~"

He stares at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he pulls out and lets me savor the presence of his cock for one last second, before stepping away. I turn my head and lock eyes with the mocha-colored girl. Her eyes are wide, confused. She's clearly never been on the stage with me before. She's never seen such pure, unfiltered cock lust before. She is a performer, an entertainer. She is here to give them all a show. I'm just here to get fucked. To open my ass and have my hole ruined by the biggest, meanest cock I can find. She's never seen that before. But now I've riled him up for her. I've made him nice and eager to get to the third act, and that means she's in for a ride. I smile at her and offer her a sardonic wink. She's so pretty. Real princess, she is.

Her head hits the pillow as Max slams her forward, his body towering over hers as he forces her into a doggy style position. Every audience member turns their attention to her face as Max seizes her ass cheeks and pulls them apart, exposing her perfect, pink pussy to his raging manhood. One grunt, one second of aligning himself, and then a single, forceful push forward, spearing her open and causing her eyes to bug as pain and pleasure surge through her, filled to the brim and then some with angry, steroid-infused cock. With an almost catlike smirk, I watch as Max slams one hand across her ass, causing her to yelp in pain, and then he begins to plow her, roughly and without mercy, while holding her in an iron grip between his massive hands. Slowly, the noise from the audience escalates, and the slave girls in particular begin to cry and writhe as their collars transmit the full force of Max's over-eager fucking straight into their helpless bodies. With one hand, he grips the Nubian girl's collar and yanks her back, forcing her into a semi-upright position, and suddenly, the gasps and moans from the audience turn strained and choking as each collar in turn simulates the violent force-fucking on stage. With her arms flailing, Mocha-girl is helplessly caught between her collar and Max's furiously pounding hips, and now that he has one hand free, he reaches around and begins to grope her modest chest, pinching each nipple in turn before rolling the sensitive mounds in the palm of his hand. Harder and harder, the frenzy continues, and I hear more than a few women in the audience explode in unhinged orgasms as the ghost of Max's cock brutalizes their collective cunts.

Gradually, the mocha-colored girl slumps forward, her knees giving way to the raw pleasure coursing through her, until eventually Max is on top of her, his hands seizing her shoulders as he spreads her legs with his knees and pounds her drooling wet pussy with every measure of strength he has. I can tell from the look on her face that the girl is absolutely lost to the world now, her tongue lolling and her eyes rolling into the back of her head as Max uses her as he had Jennie's throat earlier. She is nothing than a toy to him, and he treats her accordingly, until I begin to wonder if he has indeed fucked her into unconsciousness. But the slave girls and the concubines are still mewling and thrashing on the floor below us, and the smell of sex if now more pungent than ever. I cast a glance towards Jennie, and see that she is glancing my way with a vacant smile. I wink at her, and lick my lips while wagging my eyebrows. Tasty treat you got, girl, my eyes try to tell her. But I'm going to be the star tonight!

I don't know if she picks up on any of it. From the looks of it, Jennie might as well be on another planet, or deep in some drug-fueled journey inside her own skull. I hardly care either way; she's had her fifteen minutes on the stage tonight, and that's all she's getting. And as for Mocha-girl, she seems to be deep in the throes of her own climax, her feet banging against the floor as Max pounds her G-spot with the precision of a surgeon. Over and over, he hammers himself against her most pleasurable spots, until her screams drown out the music and the crowd, an orgasmic cry that only dies down when Max tenses up, his hands suddenly tugging her hard against him as his strained grunts escalate to an orgasmic howl. I can't see it, but I can imagine it, the pumping torrent of warm cum erupting inside her, each spurt causing his cock to flex and the potent cum vein to bulge with the force of his load. A trickle of white running down her inner thighs, more and more of his potent juices slopping over the capacity of her overtaxed womb and flowing out the only way it can, in a gushing seeping of warm, sticky goo onto the floor beneath her. The slight pain of his fingers digging into her, but overshadowed by the warmth of his seed, so rich and planted so deep in her that I imagine she can taste it in the back of her throat. Breeding doesn't seem the right word, and yet, it is the only appropriate term to describe the primal fury with which Max paints the mocha-skinned girl's insides.

Slowly, ponderously, the massive man rises from the pile of gooey, trembling flesh that was once the royal and cocky Mocha-girl. His legs are shaking slightly, but whether from exertion, excitement or something else entirely is unclear to me. His hand goes to the golden ring, presses it; white liquid flows into him and froths up his blood, stirring his thick cock to remain as long and hard as ever. I can practically see it pulsing with the strain of drug-induced tumescence, and Max seems to be more on edge than ever. His balls drip with leftover sperm as he steps towards me, naked body steaming in the bright spotlight. I glance at the Nubian girl, and try to find any semblance of consciousness left in her. Sure enough, her eyelids are flickering slightly, but I have no doubt that she got more than she had bargained for tonight. And let's hope she's remembered to take her pill this morning, or she is going to be in dire straits after tonight's performance. She wouldn't be the first girl to get knocked up during a show. She sure as shit won't be the last.

"So," rumbles Max, his forehead beading with sweat from the potent cocktail of drugs churning through his system. He is staring at me, eyes fixed like a targeting reticule on my naked form, but all I can do is stare at his cock and shiver with the weight of anticipation that is dropping onto me like a velvet hammer.

"Your turn."

I pry my eyes off of his manhood, stare up at him with wide, innocent eyes. I can see the pulse beating in his throat from here. I can hear the rush of blood in my ears. I can hear the collective moans of men and women reeling from the first two acts. I can hear the wet sounds of Jennie scooping up the cooling cum on her body and pushing it between her lips.

I can hear it all. I can feel it, too. The whole world. Everything centered on this one, glorious moment. My moment. Mine.

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As has become the norm for me, I am only really looking for one partner for this particular play. Please introduce yourself rather than simply continuing the scene; I like to get to know people before I share in intimacy with them. ♥