Dear Diary 1977

The assault did not stop, but it changed pitch. The rhythmic pounding became erratic, shallow, and fast. I could feel it swelling inside my mouth, becoming impossibly huge, stretching the walls of my mouth. He grunted, a guttural sound that vibrated through the wall and into my teeth. Then, the explosion. It was not just a trickle. It was a geyser. Hot, thick ropes of semen jetted directly against the back of my tongue and down my throat. My eyes bulged in their sockets. The sheer volume was shocking, a burning liquid that filled my mouth instantly. I gagged violently, the heat and weight too much to handle. My body tried to expel it, the muscles contracting hard, but the cock was wedged too deep, and the leather strap held my head locked in place. I retched, a dry heave that shook my entire body, my throat constricting around the spurting member. I felt the liquid coat the inside of my cheeks, the warmth spreading down my esophagus, threatening to come back up.

I choked, gasping for air that wasn't there, my eyes watering as I swallowed the bitter, salty load he forced into me. The burning, salty taste of the first man was barely registered when the darkness was breached again. The moment he pulled back, leaving a trail of spit and semen, the second attacker took his place. I could not even breathe, my lungs burning from the lack of air, before the second cock was forced into the now-gaping cavity of my mouth. It was larger than the first, the head even wider, knocking against the sore, swollen lips and the metal ring. There was no warning, no pause for me to adjust. It was a brutal, immediate reclamation of my mouth, a hard slam that pushed the remains of the first load deep back against my tonsils. I gagged again, the sheer size impossible to accommodate. The man on the other side did not care about my discomfort.

He just shoved forward, burying himself to the hilt. I was now stuffed, stretched to my absolute limit, staring into the dark wall while my mouth was forcibly violated by a stranger I could not see. The second man did not waste a second. He drove cock deep into my mouth with a ferocious, reckless abandon. The impact was jarring, a violent collision that sent shockwaves through my skull and down my spine. Because the first load of sperm had not had time to settle, or perhaps because my throat was already stripped of its defenses, the sheer force of the entry churned the fluids inside me. It was a catastrophic mix of the previous man's semen and the fresh mucus I had produced. The combined fluids swirled and frothed around the invading shaft, creating a thick, opaque foam that bubbled out past the metal ring. It covered my chin in a thick, white froth, mixing with the saliva and snot to create a grotesque, wet mess.

As I gagged and my throat convulsed around the oversized cock, the foamy mixture surged outward, dripping in heavy, globs from the corners of my mouth. It ran down the front of my silk blouse, soaking into the fabric and staining the burgundy silk further. Finally, a steady stream of the white, frothy fluid escaped my mouth, pooling at my knees in a disgusting puddle that was mixed with the sweat and sperm smell of the room. It was a visual and olfactory representation of my total violation. It was a battle for survival, a physical contest between the unyielding steel of the O-ring and the relentless, pounding pressure of the second man. He did not care that there was no room in my mouth or throat. He did not care that the first load of sperm was still deep in my throat, expanding and contracting with his thrusts.

He only wanted to bury himself. I felt the impossible pressure building at the back of my neck. The head of his cock was massive, swollen and angry, scraping against the soft tissue that had already been traumatized. It pushed and pushed, stretching the skin of my neck outward in a grotesque, pulsating bulge. It looked like a tumor growing in my throat. I screamed, a raw, primal sound that was muffled into wet, gurgling noises. I thrashed violently against the restraints, using every ounce of energy left in my exhausted muscles. My shoulders shook left and right as I pulled back against the head restraint, but the chain pulled taut, restricting me.

My legs kicked out, scraping the floor with my knees, but the ankle chains held me fast. I was a wild animal in a cage, fighting for air, but the second man just kept trying to force that impossible head through my throat, ignoring my desperate, strong protests, driving me closer to the breaking point. The pain was blinding, a searing heat that spread from the back of my neck to the roots of my hair. He wasn't stopping. The second man was a machine of pure lust, and he was determined to breach the fortress that was my swollen throat.  I felt the ridge of his crown grind against the swollen, sensitive flesh of my tonsils. It was a battle of wills between my throat and his massive organ. My throat resisted, but the pressure was astronomical. My neck began to stretch, the skin pulling tight and white as the bulbous head forced its way through the tight seal of my lips.

It was a sickening, visual spectacle. The head of a cock of that size stretching my neck outward, bulging my throat obscenely as he tried to ram it home. I screamed, a hoarse, jagged cry that ended in a wet, choking gurgle. My body went rigid, my back arching. The pain was not just physical. It was mental, it was a relentless, screaming indictment of my helplessness. My wrists, already raw from the initial panic, were burning with a fresh, deep agony. The cuffs dug into the bone, chafing the skin until it was raw and red, the metal chain pulling taut against the cuffs, creating a sharp, constant tug that felt like fire. I pulled at them, desperate to create space, but my muscles only cramped further, increasing the pressure and the burning. My throat was a furnace of fire. The second cock, having failed to go deeper, did not stop battering the swollen tissue at the entrance. It scraped against the roof of my mouth and the back of my throat, sending jolts of white-hot pain shooting up to my ears.

The metal ring bit into my lips, pulling them wide open, and the swelling made breathing a jagged, painful gasp. I felt like my throat was being ripped apart from the inside out. My knees took brutal punishment. The hard, unforgiving floor dug into the kneecaps, grinding against the bone with every violent shudder of the body. The ankle chains, cold and heavy, clamped tight around my ankles, digging into my soft skin and restricting any movement, adding a dull, throbbing ache to the mix. I cried until I had no tears left, my face a wet, streaming ruin. The snot and saliva mixed with the tears, creating a gross, sticky mask that covered my eyes and nose. I sobbed uncontrollably, the sound muffled by the cock filling my mouth, a soundtrack of pure, unadulterated misery. It was a symphony of agony, played on the instruments of my body, and I was completely trapped, unable to escape the torment.

The position was a crucifixion of indignity. I was on my knees, my posture an unnatural, painful arch that stretched the tendons in my thighs to their breaking point. The cold, sticky floor mat pressed into my skin, feeling less like a floor and more like ice against my burning flesh. My body was a coiled spring of agony, suspended between the restraints holding my limbs and the cock abusing my throat. There was no rhythm, no surrender. It was a chaotic, violent storm. The man on the other side didn't just thrust. He slammed hard and tried to punish my throat. With every forward movement, my entire body rocked against the restraints. My head was whipped back and forth against the head restraint. The leather strap holding the metal ring biting into my skin, stretching the corners of my mouth wide, agonizingly wide. I thrashed with the intensity of a trapped animal, my shoulders twisting and turning, my legs fought uselessly against the ankle chains.

I screamed into the cock, the sound muffled but desperate, my eyes rolling back in my head as the air was forced out of my lungs with every brutal impact. I was a vessel of destruction, nothing but a warm, wet hole for him to use, my body writhing in a mix of fear, pain, and degradation. There was no warning. The second man, drunk on power and lack of empathy, abandoned the slow, deep strokes. With a final, guttural roar that I could feel vibrating through the wall, he lunged forward with the full weight of his body. He did not pull out. He went in to kill. The first jet hit me like a bullet. It was blindingly hot and incredibly thick, splashing directly against the back of my throat before I could even inhale. I choked, the sensation of liquid fire filling my windpipe instantly. Then came the second, third, fourth, and fifth. Five massive, violent squirts.

It was a deluge. The sheer volume was impossible to process. He kept pumping, forcing the sperm deep into my stomach, drowning me in a torrent of white fluid. My throat bulged grotesquely, struggling to accommodate the load, but the flesh stretched and swallowed it all. I gagged convulsively, but the cock remained buried to the hilt, a stopcock that wouldn't release. I could not breathe. I could not swallow. The white fluid began to force its way out around the edges of the metal ring, bubbling up from my lips and dripping down my chin in thick, ropey strands. It mixed with the froth from before, creating a white, creamy river that cascaded down my chest, soaking the silk of my blouse and pooling again on and at my knees. I was drowned in his thick white sperm, completely submerged in the filth, my body convulsing as I choked on the very thing that was supposed to give life.

Even as the second man was finally spent, grunting and pulling back, the violation didn't pause. The cycle of hell was endless. The third attacker stepped into the breach immediately, impatient for his turn. He did not bother with prep. He shoved forward, ignoring the fact that my throat was already swollen and choking on the previous large quantities of sperm. He slammed his cock in hard, right when I was gasping for air. The impact was catastrophic. It did not just fill the void. It acted like a plunger, forcing the pent-up sperm in my throat and mouth to surge outward. Because my mouth was stretched wide by the previous loads and the metal ring, I could not contain it. The sperm that had been choked back bubbled up and out in massive, gushing quantities. As the third man began to fuck my mouth with brutal, deep thrusts, the white fluid frothed and foamed, creating a thick, viscous web.

It cascaded from the corner of my mouth, dripping down my chin in thick strands that stretched and snapped. The fluid continued its downward journey, dripping from my chin to the valley of my breasts, which were now thoroughly soaked through. The sperm clung to the fabric, creating a sticky, white sheen that looked like a web spun by a spider. From there, it dripped onto the sticky, cum-stained floor, connecting my body to the ground in a disgusting, sticky web of filth. I was a mess of white, glistening fluids, trapped in a sticky trap, and there was no way to escape the sticky, sticky web. It was a sensory overload of pure destruction. The moment the third man entered, the sounds changed. The silence of the booth was shattered by wet, sloppy, gagging noises that echoed off the walls. 

Gawk, gawk, gawk.

He did not care about the mess in my throat. He just wanted to destroy it. Every time he slammed forward, the air was forced out of my lungs, creating a desperate, wheezing sound. Every time he pulled back, the muscles in my throat convulsed, sucking at him and making a wet, sucking sound that was sickeningly erotic to him.

Gawk, gawk, gawk.

The sounds were grotesque. They were the sounds of a person drowning, of a throat being violated, of a body in pure panic. He slammed into me, harder and faster, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and sperm sloshing around filling my ears. I was drowning in the sounds, drowning in the feeling of his cock tearing at my throat. The gawk noises became a constant drone, a soundtrack to my degradation. I couldn't block it out. I couldn't stop it. It was all I could hear, all I could feel, all I could think about. I was being destroyed, one gawk at a time. The instinct was primal. A survival mechanism wired into my very DNA. My teeth clenched, the jaw muscles tightening in a futile effort to inflict damage, to bite down and tear him off, to make him stop. The skin on the back of his cock was hot and slick with sperm, taunting me with the texture I could almost feel through the metal ring.

But the leather strap held me in place. The O-ring, cold and unyielding, sat heavy on my tongue, pressing it flat against the bottom of my mouth. My jaw was forced wide open, the muscles spasming uselessly, unable to close. I could feel the ridges of his cock, a phantom threat that made my lips tremble and my gums ache. It was torture of anticipation. Knowing I had the power to bite but having my body physically incapable of executing the act. The frustration built up until I was shaking. I gnawed at the metal ring instead, the taste of chrome filling my mouth, but the man on the other side just laughed, a wet, gurgling sound, and thrust harder, using my trapped, open mouth like a toy. He knew I could not bite. He knew I was defenseless. I could feel the ridge of his head driving toward the back of my throat, and the only thing I could do was surrender to the destruction, letting the scream of rage die in my throat and be replaced by the wet, choking sounds of his use.

There wasn't a single second of respite. I cried from the very first second he entered, and I cried through every brutal thrust, through every gag reflex triggered, and through every mouthful of filth he forced down me. The tears were constant, a hot, salty stream that blurred my vision and mixed with the drool and snot dripping from the ring. It was a soundtrack of pure misery. Sniff. Snot bubbling. Sob. The sound was wet and pathetic, muffled by the cock burying itself in my face, but it was there, loud and echoing against the walls of the booth. I felt like I was dying, truly dying. The pain in my throat was so sharp it bordered on the surreal, a white-hot fire that made my eyes water even more. I sobbed into the invasion, my shoulders shaking with the force of my grief. I wasn't just being abused. I was being destroyed.

I sobbed as the third man slammed into me repeatedly, treating my throat like nothing more than a warm, wet hole to be ravaged, while I lay there, a broken, weeping mess, unable to fight back, unable to stop, unable to do anything but accept the destruction. I was weeping, sobbing, and screaming inside, but nothing but the wet sounds of his fucking filled the air. The tears did not stop. They flowed like a river, hot and continuous, washing over the sweat and grime already coating my face. I cried until my eyes were raw and swollen, feeling like I had no more water left to give. It was a hollow, desperate sound. The wet, choking sob that was forced out of me with every intake of ragged air, only to be cut off by the violent intrusion of him.

I wept brokenly. My body convulsed with each brutal slam of his hips, sending shockwaves of grief through my chest. I felt a profound sense of hopelessness, like my soul was being torn from my body with every cock that took its turn. The humiliation was absolute. Here I was, a woman of power, reduced to a sobbing mess, drooling and sniffling like a frightened child, while my throat was being ravaged. The snot bubbled out of my nose and mixed with the tears, creating a gross, sticky paste that sealed my face to the cold, dirty wall. I was drowning in the room, not just in sperm, but in the sheer volume of sperm. It was impossible to measure. The third man did not just pump. He flooded my oral cavity. He held himself deep, his cock pulsing violently against the back of my throat and unleashed a torrent that I could physically feel expanding my stomach.

It wasn't a trickle. It was buckets of thick, white, gooey semen filling me to the bursting point. The pressure was absolute. My stomach swelled and turned white under the silk of my blouse, bloating grotesquely. I tried to swallow, desperate to make room, but there was no room. The fluid had nowhere to go. Then, the rupture happened. My body, overwhelmed by the thick goo invasion, convulsed fiercely. I threw up hard and fast. The force of the retch was so strong it lifted my entire torso off the cold floor mat. The gag reflex was violent and explosive. I could not even close my mouth to spit it out. The cock was still buried deep, acting as a plug. Instead, the vomit forced its way back out around the sides of the metal ring, mixing with the sperm already overflowing from my lips. But the destruction didn't stop there.

Because the cock was still planted in my mouth, the force of the vomit slammed it up and down against the back of my mouth, spraying the third man’s own sperm mixed with my stomach bile all over his cock. It was a grotesque cycle of destruction. I was drowning in his sperm, and now I was puking it back up onto the very cock that was choking me. I was a vessel of filth, regurgitating the man's sperm while he continued to thrust, coating himself in the mixture of his own cum and my vomit.