A Thirst For Glory

Anita’s working-class parents had worked hard all their lives to give her a good education, and sending her to university had cost them most of their savings. Once there, Anita had to find her own way of covering her day-to-day expenses, but with the economy being what it was, finding even part-time work that would fit around her long classes and intensive studies was almost impossible. So, when she overheard some of the other students gossiping about a girl who made fifty dollars in two hours from giving out handjobs in a gloryhole in the back of the sex shop on 69th street, Anita had to admit that she was more intrigued than she was disgusted.
  
She was bad at it at first, but gradually she found her “rhythm”. Nobody who looked at Anita in those early days would have guessed she would become an expert at giving handjobs. With the money she earned from the gloryhole Anita was able to not just meet her expenses, but even managed to save some money for a rainy day. She even had enough left over to treat herself to a makeover! She could have stopped there – knew she should have stopped there – but something drew her back again and again to the gloryhole. She tried to rationalize it to herself; she was only building up her savings a little more, just until she could find a real job. But every time she stepped into the disused toilet that served as her workplace, it became harder to ignore the way her heart fluttered in the claustrophobic space; how the lingering, musky smells of sex that had made her gag at first now aroused her; the feeling of a hot, throbbing cock in her hand as it spurted its warm load all over her hands, and the urge to massage that warmth into her tits, belly, and dripping pussy.
 
On the day a particularly pent-up customer sprayed his cum all over her, saturating Anita’s new crop top and leaving thick, gooey lumps hanging from her chin and lower-lip, she knew she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. Squatting in her platform heels with her miniskirt hitched up around her waist, Anita fingered herself madly while literally sucking her fingers clean of the last drops of cum. She abandoned any pretense of what she was doing there. What she had become.
  
Her “menu” of services grew, but the money had long since stopped being her motivation – handjobs and blowjobs became “free samples”, a clever trick to bring in more customers and feed her growing addiction. Whatever money she did earn was immediately spent; jewelry, piercings, tattoos, sex toys and skimpy strips of cloth that could hardly be called “clothing”. Soon she was using the money she had originally saved for a rainy day to get lips fillers and cheap breast implants – then  emptied her savings entirely when she decided her DD tits needed to be bigger still. If she looked like a whore, then people would know she was a whore, so she reasoned. And what did a whore want, if not somebody to shove a cock in her holes and empty their seed in her?
  
The more she swallowed, the greater her orgasm when she finally came. But the more she orgasmed, she more she had to swallow before she could. It was like a thirst that could never be sated, constantly on edge, unable to orgasm without chugging what seemed like gallons of jizz. On the day she finally snapped, she had been on the brink of climax for nearly three days. With a dildo set to maximum vibration snug in her pussy and two of her favorite customers in each hand, the mind-shattering orgasm that washed over Anita sent her into convulsions, and her scream of pleasure turned into a gurgle around a mouthful of spunk and spit.
  
Her mind shattered, Anita now sits chained and locked away in the gloryhole, blissfully unaware of anything but her next fix and the four grime-covered walls that surround her. Nobody pays her anymore – she has no use for money – but some give the owners of the sex shop a few dollars every week for her upkeep. Whether meant as a last-ditch attempt by one of these charitable souls to jog her memory, or merely a cruel jest intended to mock her, a ‘Missing Person’ poster taped to the wall shows her as she once was – a stark contrast to the naked, cum-spattered figure squatting in the cramp confines of her prison; a whore, a cum-slut, a free-to-use, public cum-dumpster.

I have to give a huge thanks to ZoH for helping me out with this one. I already had a picture in my head of what the lighting would look like, but after spending hours fiddling with all manner of different light sources and setups, I kept ending up back at square one. ZoH was incredibly helpful in explaining how to setup the lighting for the look I wanted, and although it's not perfect (because I still have tons to learn about lighting), I probably would have scrapped it long ago if it wasn't for him. Be sure to check out  ZoH's Slushe Profile, because that man is hugely talented and does some amazing work.