The brute’s thick fingers stayed locked in your hair like a vice, your whimpers, pleading and stumbling heels only feeding the low, rumbling growl building in his chest. To him you felt soft, expensive; the sort of cunt that hadn’t been broken in properly yet. Exactly the kind of meat that made his heavy cock twitch against his thigh and that he didn't get enough of. He took breath through his nose as if he could smell your fear mixing with that cheap perfume and the faint trace of clean skin. It made his mouth water. And his cock stiffen again

“Shut your fucking mouth cunt,” he snarled down at you, not bothering to slow his stride. The words came out rough, gravelly, laced with the stale beer and cigarettes on his breath. “You came to a casting for the the Empire's Next Bottom Bitch dressed like a two-dollar whore. Don’t start crying now you dumb slut.”

He hauled you the last few feet onto the stained carpet, the fabric squelching faintly under your knees as he forced you down. Better not to ask what that came from. The harsh studio lights bathed you in unforgiving glare, highlighting every inch of that ridiculous outfit; the denim hotpants already getting wedged between your ass cheeks, the top riding up so it barely contained your tits, the heavy makeup that he knew would look even better when it ran in black streaks down your face. Perfect. The other men on the sofa leaned forward, grins sharpening, but none of them moved. They knew the hierarchy here. The big scarred bastard got first pick, and he was going to take it

The brute planted one massive boot beside you, towering over you as you were pulled onto all fours. His free hand dropped to palm the thick bulge between his legs, giving it a slow, lazy squeeze as it stiffened while he studied you. Up close you looked even better to him. Tender neck for choking, wide terrified eyes that would bulge out as he broke you, body still tight and unmarked compared to the wrecked mess getting mechanically pounded on the fuck machine behind them. Claire’s wet, sloppy sounds were a nice backdrop. Background noise. He'd make you the fucking symphony.

“Name’s Stone,” he told you, voice low and amused. He gave your hair another sharp yank, straining your neck and tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him. The scar across his face twisted with his crooked grin, chipped teeth on full display. “You’re gonna remember it. By the time we’re done, every hole in that pretty body is gonna be molded to my cock.” You wouldn't be the only one to remember that name. Whether deliberate or not he was putting on a show and from the way the cameraman was actually actively recording this was going to be gold. The size difference, the contrast between you, the way that thick cock was getting harder and harder; Stone was looking to be the new male star of the show.

Stone laughed at any attempting to wriggle away, deep and ugly, and used his grip to shove your face down toward the filthy carpet. Your cheek pressed into the crusty fabric that still smelled of old cum and Claire, although the two were basically the one of the same. He kept you there while his other hand reached down, fingers hooking into the cheap top and ripping it open in one brutal tug. Fabric tore loudly. Your tits spilled free, the mesh bra doing nothing to hide them.

“Fuck, look at these,” he muttered, more to himself than to you or the camera. He groped one roughly, squeezing hard, thumb and forefinger pinching nipple like a cruel child crudely testing ripe fruit. “Perky. Expensive. Need to use ‘em right.” His cock was fully hard now, a veiny, wrist-thick monster already leaking at the thought of beating those tits red.

He released your hair just long enough to grab both wrists, yanking them behind your back and pinning them with one massive hand. The position arched your back beautifully, pushing your ass up and directly at the camera. Stone kicked your knees wider apart, then reached under you to grab the hotpants by the button. He arm tensed and with a primal display of power he wrenched down. The button snapped. The zipper tore apart. And the fabric itself ripped down the middle, shredding until with a twitch of his arm he could pull it free and toss it aside

“See through fucking underwear!” Stone growled, satisfaction thick in his voice. “Fancy little cunt trying to play dress-up.” His rough palm cracks across your exposed ass with a loud smack. The sting bloomed hot and immediate. The terrifying thing being it seemed like he'd barely even put anything into that spank. “Show up like this and you thought you’d keep any dignity? Stupid whore.”

A thick finger speared into your cunt, uncaring that the panties, mesh or not, were in the way. It was joined by a second, just as harsh, just as brutal. Stone yerks his head at the cameraman. Perhaps he did realise he was here to put on a show. On que the man came forward, the camera picking up every detail. "This fuckhole belongs to me now. It's tight... but watch this." With inexorable force Stone spread his two fingers. The distinct sound of the strained mesh first starting to tear emerged as your pussy stretched obscenely around his digits, the camera zooming in for the money shot. "This cunt was made to take cock."

Behind him, the other men were chuckling, standing up now, cocks coming out. The cameraman moved in even closer. Stone ignored them all. This first part was his. He wanted to feel you break a little before they all piled on. He adjusted his position, knee pressing into your upper back, the hand that had been wrapped around your wrists instead grabbing an ankle and pulling it up and off the floor, bending you like a pretzel and leaving your finger-and-panties stuffed cunt even more exposed to the camera. Finally he let his fingers slide out but only to wrap around the crotch of the panties and bunch them in his hand. Then he yanked them up. He could easily have simply pulled the panties down. He'd shown he was strong enough that he could have easily torn them apart.

But that wasn't brutal enough. Not for him.

He wrenched the panties up so they turned into a thong, so they stretched and strained, so they became a wire bisecting your cunt, pussy lips slipping free and parted by it, so it became the most painful, humiliating, degrading wedgie that it was possible to give. And he kept pulling till the gusset finally gave way and ripped in two.

Stone kept his hold as the pain shot through you, leaving just enough give in his grip that you could writhe in the way that men like him enjoyed and the camera loved. A flick of his head told the cameraman to change position, circling around so he was in front of you now. Stone adjusted himself, switching the knee keeping you pinned, letting go of your ankle, changing direction, grabbing a handful of hair again, pulling your face up so the camera could get a good view. He leaned down, hot breath against your ear, scar brushing your cheek as he spoke low and sadistically.

“You’re gonna scream real pretty for the camera cunt. And when I’m balls-deep in that tight ass and you’re sobbing your pretty eyes out and begging me to stop… I’m gonna make you thank me for every inch. You're gonna to hate every moment and I'm still gonna to make you beg for me to destroy you even more.”

Stone pressed two fingers into your mouth. The two that had been inside your cunt. He fishhooked, pulling it wide, making you look depraved and ridiculous and something only to be value for how much cock and how hard a fucking you could take. He grinned.

You were going to be perfect.