And you masturbate nearly twice a day. That's an impressive collection of vibrators you have, by the way. But I digress. You were selected because of ...our love of cumming. And now, you need my permission before you cum." Your permission?" Don't think I'm restricting you forever from orgasm. That would ruin my experiment. It would make it to easy for you; you'd simply stop masturbating and getting laid. Not that that would be easy for a slut like you, but I want you to still have sex, still. So I was very late for my day as Queeny Bitch's working girly. Which was when I got yet another shower-head cunny squirting surprise for waiting to greet me alongside Queeny Bitch was the worldy famous, bitchin', kickin' crew of King Dong and the Dongettes fresh from their Black New World Order Tour. Well, I went as wibbly as blancmange and as wobbly as jelly and my sodden-cuntedness was as hot and bothersome as when the candles on a birthday cake for a really olden-days person are all lighted. When my body stopped shaking and my heart rate and breathing returned closer to normal, I raised up from him slightly and ventured a look into his face. He was watching me and seeing my eyes shining, he smiled, “You needed that.” I blushed at the thoughts and feeling still coursing through my mind and body. He kissed my forehead, “I love it when you blush, Cat. You may have been treated as a slave for sex and pain, but that’s not who you are, not when you blush like that with me.”I dropped my. Only in my dreams. I try (and succeed) to not give a shit about the slightest thing on the outside, and as a catch 22 I have nightmares. This felt like a dream. Two dudes came up to me from the path behind the dumpster. They were carrying textbooks and wearing preppy sweaters, but I felt like I’d seen them both before. One of the guys—the dark haired one—nodded at me, and kept ignoring me. For another few seconds. “Dennis,” said the light haired dude. “What’s up,” I said and dropped my.