Ava’s Unchained Cravings
In the dim haze of a rainy afternoon, I stepped off the bus, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. The community center loomed ahead, its faded brick walls hiding secrets I’d only begun to unravel. It had all started two days ago, that stupid impulse grab at the boutique in the strip mall. But now, here I was, nineteen and trembling, about to dive into something that would shatter every notion of control I ever had. The air smelled of wet pavement and distant exhaust, clinging to my skin like a warning.
I pushed through the doors, the bell jingling mockingly. Inside, the receptionist—a stern woman with graying hair pulled tight—eyed me up and down. “Ava Reynolds?” she asked, her voice flat as the forms she slid across the counter. I nodded, swallowing hard. The theft charge hung over me like a storm cloud, but they’d spun it into this “rehabilitation program.” No jail, they said. Just a month of evenings here, learning to be a “productive citizen.” Yeah, right. My cheeks burned as I signed, remembering the officer’s smirk when he explained the details in private.
Chapter 1: The First Surrender
The hallway stretched out, echoing with muffled sounds that made my stomach twist—gasps, low grunts, the slap of flesh. Millie, the receptionist, led me to room 24, her heels clicking like a metronome. “Strip down, sweetheart,” she said matter-of-factly, unlocking a locker. “Clothes go here. You’ll get ’em back clean at the end of your shift.”
I hesitated, fingers fumbling with my shirt buttons. The air was thick, laced with musk and something sharper, like salt and sweat mixed. My bra hit the floor next, then jeans, panties last. Naked, vulnerable, my skin prickled under the cool draft from a vent. Millie fastened a leather collar around my neck, chaining it to the bedframe. It was wide, padded, but the click of the lock sent shivers down my spine. Sensors next—sticky pads on my chest, thigh, wrist. “We track everything,” she murmured. “Heart rate, climaxes. Eight hours, or until you tap out.”
She left, and I lay there, sheets crisp against my bare back. The bed was simple, metal rails at the sides, a pillow stained faintly from god-knows-what. Across the room, two other girls writhed under men whose laughs boomed like thunder. One, a brunette with curves that jiggled with each thrust, moaned deep, her eyes half-lidded in ecstasy. The counter above her bed blinked: 27. Orgasms. Jesus.
My door creaked open—no knock, no warning. He was broad, tattooed arms like tree trunks, a trucker maybe, from the faded logo on his discarded shirt. “Fresh meat, huh?” His voice gravelly, eyes raking over me. I pulled my knees up instinctively, but the chain tugged short. “Please… be gentle,” I whispered, voice cracking.
He chuckled, shedding his pants. His cock sprang free, thick and veined, already hard. The scent hit me—earthy, aroused. He climbed on, knees pinning my thighs. “Gentle? We’ll see.” His hands roamed, rough palms scraping my small breasts, thumbs circling nipples until they peaked. I gasped, a traitorous heat blooming between my legs.
“Look at you, already dripping.” A finger slid along my slit, parting folds slick with unwanted excitement. I bit my lip, tasting blood. He positioned himself, the blunt head nudging my entrance. One push, and he filled me, stretching wide. Pain flared, then melted into a full ache. “Fuck, tight little thing.”
He started slow, hips rolling, but built fast—pounding now, bed creaking under us. Sweat beaded on his chest, dripping onto mine, salty when it touched my tongue as I panted. Sounds filled the room: wet smacks, my whimpers turning to cries. “Oh god… slower… ahh!” But my body arched, clenching around him, chasing the spark igniting low.
The orgasm hit like a wave, crashing through me, toes curling into the sheets. I screamed, nails digging into his back. He growled, thrusting deeper, spilling hot inside. Pulled out, cum trickling warm down my thigh. “One down,” he said, slapping my ass lightly before zipping up. Gone.
I lay panting, counter glowing: 1. The door opened again. Another man, leaner, with a wicked grin. This time, he flipped me to my stomach, chain rattling. His tongue first—hot, probing my ass, making me squirm. Then fingers, two, scissoring. “Relax, doll.” When he entered there, it burned, but the fullness… oh, the fullness twisted into pleasure. I rocked back, moaning into the pillow, tasting cotton and my own tears.
By the third man, I was lost—sucking greedily, hips grinding, every sense alive. The room spun with scents of sex, tastes of skin, the endless rhythm of bodies colliding. Four hours blurred; the counter hit 42 when blackness edged my vision. They carried me out, cool hands wiping me down, whispering, “Good girl.”
That night, home in my bed, sheets twisted around me, I touched myself replaying it all. Shame burned, but so did the need. 🔥
Chapter 2: Echoes of the Line
Waking sore, every muscle protesting, I dragged myself to school. Classmates chattered, oblivious, while I shifted in my seat, thighs sticky under my skirt. “You okay, Ava?” my friend Lena asked, brown eyes concerned. I forced a smile. “Just a rough workout.”
But my mind wandered to room 24, the chain’s weight, the men’s grunts echoing in my ears. Evening came too soon. Bus ride: the hum of tires, rain pattering windows, my pulse racing. At the center, Millie nodded approvingly. “Back on time. Good.”
Room 24 again. Stripping felt routine now, collar snapping shut like an old friend. The other girls nodded—Sasha, the brunette from before, with her full lips and endless energy; Tara, petite and fiery, tattoos snaking her arms. “First full shift?” Sasha asked, voice husky from earlier exertions.
“Yeah. Nervous.”
She laughed, a throaty sound. “Nervous? Honey, you’ll beg for more by midnight.”
The line formed outside the door, shadows shifting. First was a construction worker, callused hands gripping my hips as he took me from behind, his breath hot on my neck, smelling of coffee and dirt. “Scream for me,” he demanded, and I did, voice raw as he hammered deep, my walls fluttering around his girth.
Next, a group—two at once. One in my mouth, salty pre-cum coating my tongue; the other plunging into my pussy, fingers twisting my clit until I shattered, juices soaking the sheets. They switched, laughing. “She’s a natural, this one.” Cum filled my throat, thick and bitter; I swallowed, coughing, as the second erupted inside, warmth flooding.
Breaks came every two hours—stumbling to the showers, water scalding my tender skin, washing away layers of seed and sweat. The corridor walls bore scratches, faint stains; men’s voices catcalled, hands groping as I passed. Back to bed, legs spread wide, inviting the next.
Tara fainted mid-fuck beside me, her counter at 58. Paramedics wheeled her out, efficient, while her man finished on her belly, ropes of white painting her skin. I watched, envious almost, as another took her place—a burly guy with a pierced cock that dragged sparks inside me. “Fuck yes, clench like that,” he groaned, and I did, milking him until we both came, my vision spotting with the intensity.
Dialogue peppered the haze: “Deeper, bitch—yeah, like that.” My responses? Moans, pleas. “More… don’t stop… oh shit, right there!” By shift’s end, 67 on the counter. Millie unchained me, eyes twinkling. “Progress. Your body’s adapting.”
Walking home, legs wobbling, the night air cool on flushed skin, I felt… alive. Stronger. The ache was sweet now, a promise of tomorrow.
In the quiet of my room, fingers slipped between thighs, chasing echoes of the day. Sleep came heavy, dreams tangled with flesh and release.
Chapter 3: Bonds of the Forgotten
Days blurred into a rhythm: school by day, surrender by night. My body changed—curves sharpening, skin glowing, stamina building like muscle after weights. Parents noticed. “You’re looking healthy, Ava,” Mom said over dinner, fork pausing. “That program must be intense.”
“It is,” I replied, hiding a wince as I sat. Intense didn’t cover it. Room 24 had become my world, the chain a tether to bliss.
One evening, a new face in the line: him. Tall, silver-streaked hair, eyes like storm clouds. Not like the others—rough tradesmen. He was a professor type, button-down crisp until he stripped. “First time here?” I asked, voice breathy as he approached.
“Volunteering,” he said softly, surprising me. His touch was deliberate, fingers tracing ribs, dipping to circle my navel. “Tell me what you need.”
I hesitated, then: “Everything. Hard. Soft. Just… make me feel.”
He obliged. Mouth first, lips sucking my clit, tongue delving deep, tasting my arousal—tangy, sweet. I bucked, chain clinking, fingers in his hair. Then he entered slow, inch by inch, filling completely. Our rhythm synced, bodies slapping wetly, his groans mingling with mine. “You’re exquisite,” he whispered, nipping my ear, breath hot.
We came together, slow-building wave cresting, my cries muffled against his shoulder, tasting salt. He lingered after, stroking my hair. “Come back tomorrow?” I nodded, heart fluttering beyond the physical.
But the line waited. A biker next, leather scent clinging, fucking my ass rough, spanking until skin stung red. Pain bloomed to pleasure, orgasms ripping through—three with him alone. Then twins, identical grins, taking turns in my mouth while the other railed me, cum swapping between us in sloppy kisses. 💋
Sasha pulled me aside during break, steam from showers fogging the air. “That prof? He’s a regular for the ‘thinkers.’ Says it clears his mind.”
“Clears mine too,” I admitted, soaping tender folds.
Nights home, I journaled in secret—words spilling: the stretch, the flood, the endless hunger. By week’s end, counter averages soared past 80. Millie pulled me into her office one night, door clicking shut. “You’re excelling. Want extra? Private sessions.”
“Yes,” I breathed. The first was with her—fingers, toys, a strap-on that hit spots no man had. Her perfume, floral and commanding, as she whispered commands. “Cum for me, Ava.” I did, shattering, counter not even tracking this.
Conflicts brewed too—a jealous girl, Mia, new and bitter, cornered me. “You think you’re special? They’ll break you.” Her words stung, but as I lay under a line of men that night, bodies piling pleasure, I laughed inside. Break? No. Remake.
Chapter 4: Depths of the Devour
Week two, and the center pulsed like a living beast. I arrived early, pulse thrumming anticipation. Room 24 fuller now—six beds, moans harmonizing like a twisted symphony. The air heavy with cum’s tang, sweat’s sharpness, the faint metallic bite of chains.
Today’s twist: group play. Millie announced it, chaining us loosely together. “Share the load, girls.” Sasha and I first, hands exploring—her full breasts soft under my palms, nipples hardening as I sucked, tasting faint vanilla from lotion. Men watched, stroking, then joined.
One claimed my mouth, cock thick, pushing deep until I gagged, tears streaming, but the fullness thrilled. Another behind, alternating holes—pussy slick, ass clenching. Sasha beside, her cries fueling mine. “Fuck, Ava, touch me,” she gasped. My fingers found her clit, rubbing circles as she bucked.
Orgasms chained: mine triggering hers, a domino of shudders. Cum sprayed—on faces, inside, dripping warm. Dialogue crude: “Suck it clean, slut.” “Yeah, finger that ass while I fuck her throat.”
A new scene unfolded mid-shift: the “wheel.” Spun to random positions, landing me on all fours, three men at once. Mouth, hands, cock in pussy—overwhelmed, senses exploding. Sight: blurring bodies. Hearing: wet slurps, grunts. Smell: musk overload. Taste: salty skin. Touch: everywhere, relentless.
I fainted briefly, waking to cool cloths, counter at 92. Revived, I begged for more. “Don’t stop… please.”
Home, parents away for weekend, I hosted a “study group”—really, sneaking in two boys from school. Awkward at first, their touches tentative. But I guided, riding one while sucking the other, teaching rhythms learned in chains. Their awe, wide eyes as I came loud, empowered me. “Like that?” I purred. They nodded, spent.
Back at center, the prof returned. Our session private—slow, sensual. He bound my wrists with silk, not chain, teasing with feathers, ice, then heat of his body. “Tell me your secrets,” he murmured, entering languid. I confessed the theft, the fear, the fire it ignited. He listened, thrusting deep, our climax shared in whispers.
By shift end, body humming, I realized: this wasn’t punishment. It was awakening. Conflicts? Mia softened, joining a group with me, her moans syncing to mine. Bonds formed in sweat and seed.
Chapter 5: Eternal Flames
Third week, limits shattered. I requested extensions—ten hours weekdays, fourteen weekends. Millie grinned, scheduling. “You’re a star, Ava. Men request you now.”
The lines grew: migrants with rough hands, accents thick as they praised my tightness; teens, eager and fumbling, learning on my body; elders, patient, drawing out pleasure till I sobbed. Each unique—scents from colognes to unwashed grit, tastes from sweet to bitter, touches from gentle caresses to bruising grips.
New scene: outdoor annex, under stars one balmy night. Chained to a post in the garden, dew-kissed grass under knees, men circling like wolves. Breeze cooled sweat-slick skin as they took turns, my cries echoing into darkness. Fireflies danced, mirroring sparks in my veins. One man, bearded and kind, held me after, sharing water. “You’re glowing,” he said. I came again just from his words.
Emotional beats hit hard—a breakdown mid-fuck, tears mixing with moans. “Why me?” I sobbed to Sasha later, shower steam veiling us. She hugged, breasts pressing soft. “Because you needed it. We all do.”
School buzzed; boys pursued, girls whispered. I rebuffed, saving energy for the center. Parents proud of my “discipline,” clueless. One night, sneaking a peak at my counter log—150 average. Addicted? Utterly.
Last days: camp mode. Stayed full-time, room to myself often, endless men. Pity for newbies, fainting early; I mentored, showing poses—reverse cowgirl, legs wide, ass up. “Breathe into it,” I’d coach, even as another filled me.
The prof’s farewell: intense, loving almost. “This changes you,” he said, our bodies entwined, climaxing in unison, hearts pounding sync. Cum warm inside, his kiss lingering. 💋
End of month, unchained in Millie’s office. Body toned, soul sated. “Come back anytime,” she winked. “Voluntary now.”
Walking out, sun warm on skin, I felt free. The theft? A spark to inferno. Cravings unchained, I’d return—not for punishment, but passion. Life stretched ahead, ripe for devouring.
But that first step home, thighs aching sweetly, I knew: the flames burned eternal. 🔥
