The deal

He was one of the contacts who had power over my photos. He would ask, and I would send, no matter how degrading the requested scene was. He always erased my face so I wouldn't be recognized, until one day I sent the original without realizing it. By the time I wanted to correct the mistake, he already had it, and that’s how he let me know.

As he was a reasonable man, he offered me a deal: to attend one of his parties. If I refused, that photo would start circulating. Evidently, I accepted, and that same weekend I was summoned to an industrial estate. Everything was empty and closed except for one warehouse.

He opened the door for me and accompanied me to explain what the night would entail and the different areas where I would be moving.

The first section was the dressing rooms, which simply had numbered lockers from 1 to 12.

The next section had a sign at the entrance that read "Stable." Upon entering, I saw a dozen stools with a collar and leash, a rubber dildo attached, and its corresponding number, and behind it, a blackboard with the 12 numbers written as a scoreboard.

Finally, the largest section was filled with all kinds of BDSM equipment: giant round beds, sofas, sawhorses, crosses, gynecological tables, dentist chairs, swings, a small stage, a shower area and urinals, a quite large jacuzzi, and a bar.

After the tour, he explained to me that I would be part of a dozen little whores and that my night would consist of being impaled in the Stable and serving whoever chose me in whatever way that person wanted. For each service, the man at the blackboard would add a mark to my number on the board.

He took me to the locker area, painted a 7 with a permanent marker on my back, chest, and forehead, and left. I undressed, stored everything, and went to get impaled and wait. The collar and leash were conveniently attached to the stool, just as a good Stable would be.

When the other eleven guys arrived, I realized I was going to come last: they were all very young and handsome, in contrast to my forties and wrecked body.

It took a while, but finally, my first "client" arrived. He untied my leash and took me to the stage. "Dance like a stripper and humiliate yourself for me," as if dancing wasn't already enough humiliation by itself. When he decided that I had made enough of a spectacle, he put me at his feet and fucked my mouth until he splashed my whole face. Satisfied, he left me back in the Stable.

The rest of the night was not much better. The effects of alcohol and uncontrollable drugs began to show. One fell asleep on top of me while fucking me, another pissed inside my ass after impregnating me, and another was simply unable to get hard and had me sucking him until he got bored.

At the end of the night, the guests gathered in the Stable. It was time for the results, and I was the one who looked the best. Bad sign. The others had been abused to unimaginable limits, much more than I had, but there we were all impaled and attached to the stool with the leash, just as we had been ordered.

He stood next to the blackboard and reminded the attendees how the scoring worked, and apparently, the deal had an important fine print: the one with the most marks would be freed and would only return if they wanted voluntarily, the last one would have to repeat the following week, and the others would have a week off and would be replaced that week by new little whores.

The winner, with an incredible 63 marks on the blackboard, was covered in fluids (and not so fluid) and scratches and had bruises on multiple spots. The worst of the night, “by overwhelming difference,” was me. They counted 8 pathetic services, which felt eternal to me and which I could have sworn were a few more. Everyone cheered happily and congratulated me for having to return the following week.

Just before I left, after having been cleaning up the warehouse alongside the other eleven, he bid me farewell with a sinister "good luck trying to change this result in the near future, we have number 7 for several weeks."