I feel peaceful when not caring if I die. No worries about money, friends, the future, people lying to me, getting AIDS. I get depressed, then don't care if I die, which brings me some peace, then I think I'd rather live. It's become a way of coping. When I want some peace and relief, I think of dying.
While homeless I discovered how to not care. I didn't want to work at a boring job, so I had no money for rent. I stayed with friends, until they saw that I wasn't making an effort to get my own place. Then I'd find someone else to stay with. When he got tired of having me around, there'd usually be someone else.
Some nights I slept outside on the ground, which had me feeling close to Earth and Nature. I didn't think about eating, imagining starvation a painless way to die. I hitchhiked around, going wherever the drivers took me, taking whatever they'd give.
I depended on others to take care of me. But if they didn't and I died, that would have been OK. And it would have been OK if they drugged me, cut my body into pieces and buried them in the backyard.
Awaiting my death, souls of this life come around for maybe the last time. There are many: the people on TV, the train engineer blowing his horn, the neighbor's barking dog, a wrong number and, of course, the guys wanting to fuck me.
Friends Who Fuck Me
Being an attractive, young female I get plenty of guys wanting to be my friend. I can't tell if they're full of it or, dare I think, they actually like me. There's nothing of me to like except my pussy and tits. I settle for this.
A friend seemed sincere when telling me I don't need to be what I am (a slut). I got emotional and cried. He put his arms around me. I pressed my face against his chest, not wanting to let go. Maybe because I didn't know what else to do, I slid my hand under his shirt and started to unbutton his pants, but he pulled my hands away and said stuff that means nothing to me.
What my friend suggests as a better life, I think would be boring. Anyway, if there's something that would change my perspective and desire, it won't likely come from someone who thinks friends shouldn't fuck.
I surrender to what I am. I like guys, especially the ones who so much want to fuck me. I lay on the bed, my cunt wet, waiting for another cock. If anyone wants to be my friend, he'll have to get in line.
A friend seemed sincere when telling me I don't need to be what I am (a slut). I got emotional and cried. He put his arms around me. I pressed my face against his chest, not wanting to let go. Maybe because I didn't know what else to do, I slid my hand under his shirt and started to unbutton his pants, but he pulled my hands away and said stuff that means nothing to me.
What my friend suggests as a better life, I think would be boring. Anyway, if there's something that would change my perspective and desire, it won't likely come from someone who thinks friends shouldn't fuck.
I surrender to what I am. I like guys, especially the ones who so much want to fuck me. I lay on the bed, my cunt wet, waiting for another cock. If anyone wants to be my friend, he'll have to get in line.
Raping the Slut
An Evangelical came over for some sex. My accomplice opens the door, "The slut said someone was coming over. Come on in."
My wrists and ankles are tied to the bed frame. I'm gagged, blindfolded and naked. My cunt thrusts the air as I try to escape. Though muffled by the rag in my mouth, I'm pleading to be let loose.
The Evangelical asks what's happening. My accomplice tells him we're playing Rape the Slut. He tells my accomplice to take off the gag. The accomplice warns me not to scream and to do what I'm told or things will get worse. I beg the Evangelical to help me. The accomplice tells him it's just a game.
The Evangelical has to decide: Is it really a game? If not, what does he do? If it is, what does he do? This is a tricky time. Will the Evangelical run out to his car, get a gun and kill my accomplice? or call 911? I'm prepared to get out of my role as much as needed to keep him from calling the police or hurting someone.
The accomplice puts his cock in my mouth and commands me to suck it. He pushes it against the back of my throat, fucking my face. He tells the Evangelical, "Come on. The slut wants it. You want it. Let's do it." Minutes later the Evangelical has his hard cock in my mouth. They take turns fucking me as I lay still, occasionally thrusting my hips and pulling on the ropes. One cums on my stomach, the other in my mouth.
I lay silent and motionless. The accomplice tells the Evangelical to leave. The game is over. Another Evangelical discovers he's a rapist.
My wrists and ankles are tied to the bed frame. I'm gagged, blindfolded and naked. My cunt thrusts the air as I try to escape. Though muffled by the rag in my mouth, I'm pleading to be let loose.
The Evangelical asks what's happening. My accomplice tells him we're playing Rape the Slut. He tells my accomplice to take off the gag. The accomplice warns me not to scream and to do what I'm told or things will get worse. I beg the Evangelical to help me. The accomplice tells him it's just a game.
The Evangelical has to decide: Is it really a game? If not, what does he do? If it is, what does he do? This is a tricky time. Will the Evangelical run out to his car, get a gun and kill my accomplice? or call 911? I'm prepared to get out of my role as much as needed to keep him from calling the police or hurting someone.
The accomplice puts his cock in my mouth and commands me to suck it. He pushes it against the back of my throat, fucking my face. He tells the Evangelical, "Come on. The slut wants it. You want it. Let's do it." Minutes later the Evangelical has his hard cock in my mouth. They take turns fucking me as I lay still, occasionally thrusting my hips and pulling on the ropes. One cums on my stomach, the other in my mouth.
I lay silent and motionless. The accomplice tells the Evangelical to leave. The game is over. Another Evangelical discovers he's a rapist.
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