### Nicki: The Ex Girlfriend Series
The silver-haired lead member nods once more, but this time his eyes are colder, calculating.
“She’ll do… for testing.”
The room shifts. Conversation dies completely. The men close in.
The hostess steps back with a small smile, as if she’s seen this before.
Nicki is still on the platform, naked, trembling, thinking she’s passed.
She hasn’t.
The “inspection” turns into a prolonged, deliberate trial.
Two men grip her upper arms firmly, holding her in place. A third steps behind her, spreads her arse cheeks wide, and spits directly onto her tight virgin hole.
No warning.
A thick finger pushes in dry, she gasps, rises on her toes. He works it deeper, twisting, while another man in front pinches her pierced nipple hard enough to make tears spring to her eyes.
The silver-haired leader unzips, pulls out a heavy, semi-hard cock, and slaps it against her cheek.
“Open.”
She does.
He feeds it in slowly, letting her feel the weight, then grips her hair and fucks her throat in short, controlled thrusts: testing how much she can take without pulling away.
At the same time, fingers two, then three are stretching her pussy roughly, scissoring, checking depth, tightness, reaction.
Another man kneels, sucks her clit hard while biting the hood, making her legs buckle.
They rotate silently.
Every hole is probed, stretched, slapped, spat on.
Someone produces a thick glass plug, all cold, unyielding and works it into her arse while two cocks take turns in her mouth.
She’s bent over the platform edge, tits swinging, while men take short turns fucking her pussy raw, no condoms, just quick, deep strokes to feel her grip, her wetness, her response.
They make her come twice, against her will, relentlessly with fingers on her clit, cock in her throat, plug twisting in her arse.
She’s sobbing, shaking, mascara running, but dripping down her thighs.
The leader watches the whole time, arms crossed.
When they finally step back, Nicki is a complete mess. Holes red and gaping slightly, spit and pre-cum shining on her chin and chest, legs barely holding her up.
The room is silent again.
The silver-haired man zips up, adjusts his cufflinks, and speaks for the first time since the inspection began.
“Cute. Enthusiastic. Wet.
But… average.
We’ve had tighter.
We’ve had prettier.
We’ve had better.”
He turns to the hostess.
“Show them out.”
A ripple of soft chuckles.
No one touches her again.
The hostess hands Nicki her dress and thong with polite sympathy.
Nicki stands frozen, cum and tears on her face, holes throbbing from being used roughly, mind reeling.
They used her and tested every limit, yet still found her not good enough.
You meet her in the foyer.
She’s shaking, dress clutched to her chest, eyes wet.
“They… they fucked me… all of them touched me… I came so hard… and then they just… said no.”
You pull her close.
In the car on the way home, she’s silent for a long time, then whispers:
“I’ve never felt so… worthless.
And so turned on.”
She slides a hand between her legs, still slick from their use, and comes again just from the memory of the rejection.
The seed is planted deeper than ever.
Club Obsidian didn’t want her.
And that single fact is going to haunt and fuel both of us for years to come.
Welcome to the real beginning of the rejected-cuckold spiral.
|
