Excerpt for Romance with Skull Candy and Roller-Skates: She was Perfect except she was Obsessed with Yoga Pants, Roller-Skates, and her EX! (Smutpunk On Skates Book 1) by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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Copyright © 2017 by Emme Hor

Smashwords Edition

SPANKable Productions / Girls Carrying Books / ComeMiPolla Press

This eBook is the work of Emme Hor and Girls Carrying Books and as such is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting author copyrights.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Part 1 - Romance with Skull Candy & Skates

Prologue - Heather and Lana Meet

"Shit," she exclaimed breathlessly. Heather was wearing her yoga pants. She was basking in the warm Malaysian air as she rolled down one of the hills in Kuala Lumpur. This street was not paved well and her pink glittery wheel caught in a small, deep crack in the pavement. One wheel broke and lodged the whole rollerblade track off-center. It was impossible to continue skating without looking like a chicken in skates.

Heather tied the laces of both the skates together and threw them around her shoulder. She hailed a cab. She looked mighty sexy standing on the side of the hazy street, with her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, her pants tight and her ass even tighter in them. Her lips parted slightly as she was still a bit out of breath and sexily sucking air.

A red and blue taxi pulled up slowly. The driver gave Heather a lusty once-over before the door opened automatically. She threw her skates in the back and got in. She sighed as the driver started out toward her part of town, outside this boozy downtown area.

Heather knew she should have bought the imported roller blades rather than the local pair. She was deep in her thoughts until the driver pulled up in an alley with the tires making crackling sounds as they rolled to a stop over the loose pebbles of this abandoned alley. It wasn't her street and she wondered why the driver had stopped. She looked out the window trying to figure out where she was when the driver climbed in the back. Before she could react, he smacked her with the phone in his hand.

He threw her back and kicked her skates down to the floor. He yanked her yoga pants down, scratching her skin harshly with his long fingernails. He got on top of her. He smelled of stale cigarettes. He fumbled with his belt buckle, then the zipper on his jeans.

An older woman was walking past outside. She had never cared for taxi drivers and saw this guy hurriedly fiddling with his zipper. She walked up to the window to get a better look at what the hell was going on. She saw a young woman, semi-conscious, with blood dripping from her temple. She opened the taxi door and started beating the driver from behind.

"Get the fuck off of her, you pervert!" As Lana hit the guy, Heather came to her senses and kicked him off. She kicked the driver out the taxi and he fell on the ground with his awful dick sticking out of the zipper.

Lana grabbed Heather, "Come here, honey!" and they walked away from the pervert and his broken dick. Lana took Heather back home and cleaned her wound. Lana had lost her husband and Heather had lost her father. Immediately, Heather trusted her. Anyone who would jump in and save a stranger's ass like that was a good person.

After Lana treated Heather’s wound and put a small bandage on it, she said thoughtfully, “If you don’t have to be anywhere, I’m about to eat some rice. You can stay here and rest for a while.”

It was a strange offer, but Heather liked Lana already. She needed a surrogate Mama as her family was a fucking mess.


Heather was a wonderful young lady. She was part Chinese, Indian and Malay—what the locals called Chindian-Melayu. She was tall, but not spindly like some of these pure Chinese women. She had gorgeous curves and juiciness of some of the other races. People often said she was stunning and told her that her mixed blood elevated her beauty.

Heather worked for a local education company. It was a good job by most standards. It was professional. The money was good. They helped educate young Malays in English, Mandarin, and Bahasa Melayu. Heather was good with languages and had studied computers enough at university to land this job, designing curriculum and software to help the bright Malay children who would be this country's future.

Lana was proud of Heather's work. She was proud of her girl. Ever since Lana rescued Heather from the lecherous hands of that dirty taxi driver in the alleyway, she had taken it upon herself to make sure no harm came to Heather. So far, Lana had done a stellar job, but Heather had yet to experience heartbreak and there was nothing Lana or anyone could do to stop that.

When a young woman falls in love with a man, she will do anything for him. The power of a young woman's love is boundless. We will see how this was the case for Heather. We hope that’s not the case for you because it’s a shitty position to be in to be like a chick from some jackass indie romance erotica. It won’t do you any good in real life, so fuck that shit.

Heather was dressed professionally and minding her business in her office when she met Liam for the first time. She should have known she was in for trouble from the way he was dressed. He was wearing a very expensive suit with all the trimmings of crazy wealth. Most Malay men wore suit pants, a dress shirt, and a tie. Occasionally, they threw a blazer on top.

Liam was in an impeccably fitted suit with jacket, vest, shirt, and tie. He was layered. He was neat. He wore it well. He had a purple handkerchief that suggested royalty. His tie was monogrammed. He screamed money. She should have admired him from afar, but he walked right up to her with that cocky gait that he had going for him. His face was neatly shaved, his jaw was strong and he looked buff. His eyes were steely like a military bastion, yet they were beautiful. His hair was combed back in neat waves—not long, but nor short. He looked like a white angel to Heather. She always found Western men attractive, but this one was exceptional. As soon as she saw him, she wanted to be with him, to submit to him, to please him, to do the Harlem shake for him, twerking in flashing strobe lights while he sat and watched her.

For two years, nobody in the office had intrigued her to give them a second look. Now, after two minutes in the presence of this man, she felt alarms going off in her head and a spotlight shower her in him. It was like his essence had surrounded her. She was already trapped and paralyzed. All she could do was stare.

Her co-worker in the cubicle next to her asked her, "Heather, are you okay? Your cheeks are all red!"

This beautiful specimen was looking at her. Even though he’d come to chat with Charlie, her co-worker, this gorgeous man's steely blue eyes were on her. They weren't just casually looking at her. They were devouring her. They were looking at her from head to toe. Heather blushed ever harder.


Why don't you just ask the bitch out, man? What? You get tongue tied. Hehehe, are you out of your twisted fucking mind. It's fucking easy to seduce these Malay chicks, man. Just make 'em feel wanted, that's all. Fuck that works for any chick—from wholesome American housewife to jaded Malay princess types. Then once you have them addicted to that shit, pull it away. You need to learn to be an alpha. All the time. Alpha, man. Alpha Alpha Alpha.

You? Nah. You're a big, wet pussy. Why don't you just finger your own pussy and fuck yourself then. Because with that attitude you're never scoring a hot, smart chick like that. She's a catch. You need to project confidence around her, dipshit.

You think I'm all talk? You don't think I can get a butt plug up that big phat juicy ass within a few weeks. Oh, you're on, mothafucka. No, not one ringgit, you cunt. At least put it in a real currency. One dollar, okay. Deal.”

That Fucker

It was the second time that fucker had jerked Heather around and broken her heart. Heather had been raised well, but in front of that fucker (as her step-mom had nicknamed Heather’s personal tormentor), she was powerless. He was well endowed—yes, but that should not be reason enough for her to drop to her knees, as weak as horny Superman in the face of dildo Kryptonite. Other guys had big dicks. Big deal. So what? He needed to treat Heather better. She was fed up with him. She deserved better.

She was supposed to be his princess—not just a skank for him to use and be another notch on his solid Vietnamese mahogany headboard.

At first Heather and that fucker’s sex life was normal. It was all fun and loving, she thought. He kissed her, hugged her, said nice words to her, but then she felt like he was getting bored. He was a rich, handsome white man in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, working for a big powerful bank. Women flocked around him like birds around a ripe sunflower. She started to make exceptions. He dressed better than other guys. The same suits just seemed to fit him better. He had a good body with nice definition. Colors suited his skin tone perfectly. He even smelled better than other guys. His cologne and natural scent were more subdued than most but, in its subtlety it was quite a powerful mix of sweet and musky. She started to do more than she felt comfortable with to make sure he was hers. First, she let him push her head down onto his dick when sucking, something she’d never let a Malay guy do to her. Never. Then Heather let him take her ass. It hurt. But she did it to keep him.

Heather wanted him to stay. To love her. She undressed for him in public. She sucked his dick in bathrooms, stairways, in front of temples, on dark streets, on highway overpasses. She gave into all his whims. His whims continued to become more depraved.

Late at night on a deserted overpass, she let him shoot his seed all over her face while she was wearing a tudung—the Malay headscarf. She was Chindian-Malay and didn’t wear a tudung for any religious reasons. He just wanted her to wear it to shame her in a kind of race and religion role play. She let him. He ruined the pretty scarf and then made her walk around with the stained scarf for a few minutes.

Once he took her out to a posh steak restaurant, which thrilled her. She got all dressed up, wore her best, tightest, sexiest red dress. He also made her wear a big teardrop-shaped butt plug. She consented.

In front of the restaurant, was a parking lot. Behind it there was a stairwell leading to a photography shop. It was a small Asian-style arcade utilizing space by cramming stores everywhere. Right after the chocolate mousse dessert, they’d fucked on the steps and he pulled the butt plug out of her ass and in public (although Heather didn’t think anyone saw) he said, “Suck on the plug, whore.”

She had to hold back tears. She wanted his respect but he wanted to make her a whore. Submitting was the only way to make him happy.

He pushed the teardrop shaped plug past her lips as tears welled in her eyes. She was gorgeous and he was as hard as ever. When the plug entered her mouth, it was settled. She was his. Her ass was puckered.

All that mixed emotion of lust, fear, inferiority complex, insecurity, desire, and pride made her asshole pant like a sub in other romance erotica novellas. In this one, it wasn’t the woman panting, it was the asshole. Heather’s asshole was opening and closing as the emotions swirled, cloned, and expanded in her mind and then started to leak out of her.

“You’re so wet,” that fucker said as he mopped her dripping emotions up with his massive cockhead.

She felt faithless as her asshole opened and took his big Western cock inside of her. He was neither gentle, nor abusive. He was certain. He knew that her ass was already his and he took it like he owned it.

She felt horrible about her circumstances in some ways. She was a strong woman. What was she doing getting ass-fucked on this public stairwell in front of the family photos of husbands, wives, and kids posing wholesomely in neat dresses and expensive sweaters? Heather was bent over and sucking on a butt plug. Yet despite the feeling of being used up her virgin asshole, it was also incredibly exciting. The excitement was pleasurable. She was in pain—both emotionally and physically and she was also in pleasure. Heather didn’t know what to expect. That fucker made her nervous, but he excited her beyond measure.

She went home alone that night. He drove her home and was polite, but he never invited her to stay with him. He drew a line in the sand between them.

As soon as she got into her flat, she jumped into the shower to wash away the ick. Her whole body ached in the most delicious way and her asshole felt like it was on fire. She cried as the tepid water washed away their combined juices from her orifices. Once done, she brushed her teeth and gargled with mouthwash to get the taste of her ass and the silicone butt plug out of her mouth.

“I should taste steak, not ass,” she reminded herself as she turned in for the night after applying a cool facial mask.

A few day later, he texted her instructions to meet him. She thought it was progress in their relationship and took care to dress sexily in a tiny, whimsical dress. She went to his penthouse first thing in the morning. As soon as she walked in, he pounced on her and tossed her onto the couch.

“Ass out, spread, and ready!” he gave quick, fervid instructions. He smelled of whisky. He then defiled her ass quite violently. When he finished, he left Heather there. She was still wearing her clothes, although her floral dress was hiked-up and her panties were around her ankles. Her shawl was still around her shoulders. She hugged it. Her asshole was on fire. Again.

They used to do all kinds of things together—boyfriend and girlfriend stuff. He used to hold the door for her; pull her chair out for her; send her gifts. They had dates—dinner, movies, cafes, romantic locales. He was a lot of fun for Heather since he was handsome and had money.

They went to the Petronas Towers one day. They walked out onto the Sky Bridge—the amazing steel tube that connects the two towers majestically. They went up at dusk on a Tuesday when it was desolate. The tourists were out of the city, thanks to the heat. Outside, the sticky city sparkled, just beginning to turn on the lights for the night, while still catching and reflecting the last rays of the setting Sun. The Sky Bridge was made of glass and steel. It was cut in strong geometric patterns. Heather felt like she was watching one of those boring Star Wars movies he liked to watch. Every time he put one on, they ended up in bed. She would do anything to avoid more sci-fi. According to an educational plaque on the wall, Islamic Stars rotating up toward heaven had inspired the two towers.

Looking down from the bridge, Heather could see that the road below formed a triangle with a rectangular fountain forming a pathway toward the entrance of the building. Beside the fountain were two rows of palm trees. Even indoors, she could still smell the distinctive palm oil scent of KL. The whole scene down there looked like a well-manicured pussy.

Before Heather knew it, that fucker hiked her skirt up to her sexy midriff and his tongue started running circles around her clit. He plunged his tongue between her meaty pussy lips and into her slit. Heather was in ecstasy, quickly escalating into nirvana. She shuddered and grabbed the back of his head, looking around them on the Sky Bridge. They seemed to be alone.

“Yes. Keep licking, lah. It’s so good,” Heather moaned. She covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed at herself for sounding so Malaysian. She wanted to be an upstanding, classy woman in his eyes. However, the joy of being licked let the little Malay slut leak out of her mouth, along with her pussy juices onto that fucker’s devilishly handsome face.

He picked up the pace. He worked faster and deeper. Heather encouraged him by slowly grinding & swiveling her hips over his lips. This was the blingdom of God—yes.

He was an animal.

Cupping her ass.

Wedging his tongue into her wet slit.

Flicking her nipples.

Putting his fingers in her mouth.

Making her cum, cum, cum like a bucking nymph—right there in public.

He was rough with her pussy—but just enough, making her cum hard. But not so rough that it turned into a pain and abuse session. For Heather, yes lah, it was the perfect kind of torture to make her pussy gush and her soul shudder.

“Couples in KL Tower just stumbled on quite a show,” he smirked.

Heather brushed her bangs off her forehead and blew the stragglers off by pushing out her bottom lip and exhaling. She then lowered her skirt down to cover her gushing cunt and reorganized herself, smoothing herself over.

“What are you talking about?”

That fucker pointed to KL Tower. “High-powered binoculars over there. They could probably see your slutty clit swell.”

An embarrassed giggle slipped from Heather’s mouth. Nobody had called her a slut before meeting that fucker. He used the word as much as Malaysians used lah. While she was thinking about this, Heather felt a hand on her head, pushing her down.

“Show them how a little Malay slut keeps her white man, Heather,” he said while pushing her forcibly to her knees and moving around so he could look out the window. He held her head in place and shoved his cock down her throat with the same reckless intensity he’d just showed her clit and pussy. He wedged the cock head between her palate and tonsils until it descended into her esophagus. He pushed it down—deeper and deeper. With his free hand, he massaged the bulge in Heather’s throat. Her eyes watered. Mascara ran down her cheeks like a sad mime.

“Suck it, baby,” he moaned deeply.

Heather sucked.

She gagged.

She coughed.

She choked.

She finally made a retching sound and tried to pull off his cock.

“Don’t you dare stop, slut!” He grabbed her head and barked, “Deeper!” She relaxed her throat like a good submissive Asian fuck-toy and took his big white dick deeper.

Heather closed her eyes and swallowed. His cock was like a living beast inside her. She tried to tame it. Suddenly, she saw a red glow through her half-closed eyelids. Her eyes widened just in time to see that fucker take a photo of her sucking his cock. His balls swelled against her chin as he pumped his dick into Heather’s throat like he wanted it to go down toward her stomach.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

Heather pulled the huge cock out of her throat and mouth, took a big gasp of air, just as that fucker jerked his shaft feverishly, and let his fluid erupt all over her mouth. “That’s it, cumpig!”

He then wiped a dangling thread of his viscous cream onto Heather’s nose. He used her like a tissue before turning around.

“This is a fucking awesome building,” he said conversationally and walked down the walkway, looking tiny inside this mighty sky bridge between each of the two Petronas Towers. Heather reached into her purse where she kept some wet napkins and wiped her nose and mouth of his cum.

Post Sky Bridge Breaching

Heather and that fucker kind of dwindled off after that—sometimes dating, sometimes not seeing each other all week. That fucker said he was busy with work. Occasionally they met up in a hotel where he would fuck her mercilessly from behind and then go back home without her. She often checked her messages looking for him. He would text only when he needed to cum.

He told Heather that he worked for a secret government organization, which was total bullshit, like he was a Men in Black agent or some shit. She was still working in the largest tutoring company in Malaysia.

She wanted more.

He wanted ass.

He actually worked for a big powerful Western bank in downtown Kuala Lumpur.

One night they walked out of a motel, where he had fucked her ass so hard that she had to beg him to stop. “I’m almost there,” he had said and she resigned to more minutes of sheet-gripping pain until he filled her backdoor with jism. On the way out of the dingy love hotel, she asked him to come into the supermarket with her for a quick snack. “I’m so hungry,” she said. He’d never bought her dinner.

He accompanied her into the store in a gentlemanly fashion. While she was perusing the fruit display, he checked his phone and said, “I have to bail, slut. I should get to my job tomorrow early. It’s late.” He gave her a few ringgits to buy a fruit. “Bye.”

Heather was so incensed at his callous attitude, she pitched a perfect durian right square to his chest. It splattered all over his crisp white button-down shirt.

That fucker brushed the smelly fruit off of his shirt with deadly calm. Then he turned without saying a word to Heather, who stood there with her throwing arm still out and her mouth wide open, and walked out of the store.

That fucker got into a red and white taxi. As soon as he said his address the driver inhaled deeply and said, “Food fight is not good for the soul. Fight with a woman, yes?” The driver drove in silence for a moment or two and then asked, “You have many Malay women?”

“Loads,” That Fucker said, “And each one is a dirty fucking slut.”

The driver and that fucker laughed. Meanwhile he sent Heather a message from the taxi. “You ruined my shirt, you dumb slut. Now I have to throw out what was a perfectly good new shirt.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” she texted back.

“You damn right. You better, whore.”


If you really want her, I can set it up for you. There’s a way to make them love you. A way to make them your property. You cannot be a pussy about it, man. You have to be forceful. I’ll show you, don’t worry.

They are all dirty sluts. Some hold it deep within them and others wear it on their cum-stained sleeves. Either way, your job is to unlock the slut. They will love you for it. They just want to be more ‘them’. In other words, they’re all whores and you start by feeding the attention whore in all of ‘em. Then you dive deeper once you’ve satisfied the attention whore and coerce her into releasing the rest.

Slippery Slide into Obsession

The next time they met, he introduced Heather to his big, black butt plug. First, he put her wrists and ankles in a spreader bar. Heather felt completely helpless being splayed open, but did not complain. She had to make up for his ruined shirt, after all. He was a man on mission, single-mindedly trussing her up. He shoved the huge plug up her tight ass and ignored her pitiful protests. She felt like a stuffed goose by the time he was done. While she was stuck there like a pig on a spit, he checked his phone. She looked over his shoulder and saw the fucking messages from other girls—‘mwah’ and ‘miss yous’ and ‘sleeptights’ of his harem. Suggestive emojis and all.

She was furious. She couldn’t do anything but scream and called him a manwhore. He was unperturbed and simply pulled out the big plug and put it into Heather’s mouth instead. “Suck on it until I reward you with my big, white cock.”

She nodded obediently.

He pulled out a miniature Petronas Twin Towers out of his bag of goodies—the type most tourists take back with them as souvenirs. That fucker showed it to Heather. Her eyes opened wide. One, it reminded her of how he’d started to really use her like a whore. Two, even as a miniature, it was a big phallic looking structure. She could see the look in his eyes and started shaking her head.

Surely, he’s not going to put that thing inside my poor pussy and ass.

She couldn’t move, being locked in the spreader bar with her ass up in the air.

That fucker got behind his gorgeous young submissive, holding the model twin towers. He started caressing her ass crack with the turrets. Then he alternately fondled the folds of her pussy lips with one tower while tracing the rim of her asshole with the other. He found the position where the turret of each tower lined up with one of her holes. Then he pushed. Her pussy opened to take one of the towers inside her and her ass swallowed up the other one.

“One in the pink and one in the stink,” he said gleefully.

“Mphhph mphhhhh mphhphp mphhhphph,” she protested while tied up and gagged with a big black dildo.

“Relax, slut.”

Heather, obedient as ever, did relax and began enjoying herself. She was at his mercy. He was using all her holes and strangely the phallic towers felt quite good inside of her and even though she was angry with him on some level, she was also very sensitive and quite turned on. She felt her body taking the twin tower phallus and began moaning, as her holes were simultaneously pleasured.

“Yes, you little whore!” he encouraged. That fucker got out his camera and started filming the completely depraved event of him stuffing her both holes like he was fingering a Neapolitan Ice Cream. She was on her hands and knees, bound by a spreader bar, mouth full of big black butt plug, and taking the Petronas Twin Towers in her pink and stink. It was an amazing image. She moaned louder and louder and he realized that she was cumming.

He quickly sent the video to someone, yanked the butt plug out of her mouth, and replaced it with his big white cock, which was rock hard and on the precipice of exploding. As soon as her soft throat membranes enclosed around his cockhead and shaft, his balls tightened and he shot a bellyful of cum right into his wanton Malay slut.

His plan, all along, had been to link her orgasm to eating his cum so that she would associate bliss with cum-eating. He thought that would come later. He had no idea she would enjoy being double-stuffed by a miniature twin towers phallus so much.

“You cum so easily,” he said, as her moans vibrated around his twitching cock. She wasn’t sure if it was meant to praise or shame.

“Mmmmmnnnnnn,” she moaned as she ate his thick, creamy load.

Charlie the Wok, as they called him in Heather’s office, was starting to show Heather more interest. He bought her coffee, lingered around her desk, asked about her plans for the evening, but still didn’t have the balls to ask her out. He was trying to friend her into a date. He was handsome—somewhat. He was a little on the big side, which most of these Southeast Asian chicks didn’t mind. They called him Charlie the Wok because he had this greasy, chubby look to him. He really wasn’t fat, he was just a bit stout. The main difference was race. That fucker was handsome with the sharp features of a Westerner, while Charlie the Wok was handsome in a milder kind of way.

While Heather was putting on makeup in her office bathroom after blowing that fucker, she told him that some guy at the office liked her.

“Who?” That fucker laughed. “Some Malay?” That fucker slapped Heather on the ass and walked out of the bathroom.

It took over a month of coffees, office group dinners with lots of Chinese wine, and lots of stir-fried food (which Charlie did really get down on) before he finally got the gumption to ask Heather out for dinner and movie.

After all that time, he asked—quite anticlimactically, “Do you have dinner plans tonight?”

“No,” Heather brushed her bangs from her forehead and blew the stragglers away.

“I like when you do that,” Charlie the Wok said reverently.

“Do what?”

“That thing you do with your hair, you kind of blow it off your face.” He laughed, then stopped and looked down.

“What thing with my hair, lah?” Heather wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her or teasing her. He was so much less dramatic than that fucker. Charlie was a water chestnut and that fucker was spicy mustard.

“Anyway,” he said looking back up, “It’s cute. Would you like to have dinner with me and watch a new action movie?”

“Oh, that sounds really nice.” Heather pressed the square in the circle at the bottom of her iPhone screen to see if her cruel and sexy boyfriend had texted her today. She searched for a notification in the chat app only that fucker used to message her. He used a service where the messages got erased fifteen seconds after they were read and weren’t stored on any hard drives for anyone to see later. There was no message from that fucker. “It really does sound nice, but—”

“It’s okay. I heard you have a boyfriend.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…”

Charlie the Wok walked away while she was still fumbling for the right words. Watching him leave, she could see he was quite a handsome guy and felt bad for him. She went to the bathroom to regroup. She thought she saw a bit of dried cum from yesterday’s blowjob. All alone, Heather looked at herself in the mirror. She looked pale. Her pupils were dilated and the brown irises looked dull. It looked like she was ill.

It was that asshole’s fault! She was quite attractive, wearing a pretty dress that hugged her body in a shapely way, with a slit to show off her boots and long legs.

Now, reader, we both know that any guy would be lucky to have a woman like Heather, but Heather didn’t know that. She felt lucky to have a good guy like Charlie the Wok interested in her. However, she couldn’t bring herself to go out with him. She was blinded by the sex haze that that fucker had blown around her like a smutpunk fog.

Heather ran cold water over her hands and splashed some on her face. Her right eye hurt. The circles under her eyes came all the way down to her cheekbones.

When she came back to her cubicle, there was a box wrapped in white paper with a big Aztec red bow on it, waiting for her. There was no card. Heather looked at it for a while, and then ripped open the paper. She paused. Her heart was beating fast. She hoped it was from that fucker, but couldn’t be sure. In case it was, knowing him, she probably shouldn’t open it in public. It could be a silver necklace that said ‘slut’ or a leather whip for their next rendezvous in the bloody bathroom. You could never second-guess this guy. He was devilish.

She threw caution to the wind and tore into the box. She found a set of big, DJ-style headphones. There was a card inside.

Skull Candy for my Skull Fucker

Love, B2

B2 is what that fucker called himself. It stood—not so subtly—for Big Dick. The Chinese people loved a white guy playing with the pun; number two being a slang for dick. That fucker loved it apparently. He had no qualms about whipping his dick out just about everywhere he went—bars, outdoor restaurants, movie theater lines, and taxis.

The headphones were nice. The frame was all white and big enough to resemble earmuffs. They had a big black star imprinted on each ear. Heather put them on and plugged them into her phone’s music. She was happy she had turned down the Wok. That fucker could be quite nice at times. He was her boyfriend after all. She wasn’t always sure.

Suddenly her phone pinged.

Did you get them?

Yes, they are amazing.

Listen to this.

A file came with his next text. Heather did as told and played the audio.

“Testing one, two. Good.” That fucker cleared his throat over the headphones. His voice was deep and sexy. He had the classic bass of a dude with a massive cock. “Heather, there is an abandoned building near your office. Once you exit your office, turn right and walk. Turn right at the first little alley. The building will be on your left. It was a movie theatre in the old city. You’ll see the marquee out front. I want you to meet me in the stairway, on the second floor. Don’t worry, it’s open. Be there in ten minutes.”

Heather was confused. It wasn’t quitting time at her office yet. There was a steep penalty in Asia for leaving before the boss. Defying that fucker wasn’t easy either. She wanted to make him happy, wanted to see him, and wanted to say thanks for the headphones.

She grabbed her bag and calmly walked out of the office, looking cute as a button with the white headphones on. She took the elevator down without anybody noticing.

Outside the office building, it was a bright sunny Southeast Asian day. It smelled of gingko—slightly fishy and bleachy at the same time. She walked a little bit, turned right in the alley and spotted the marquee to the abandoned movie theatre. It looked like it had once been a pretty building. Kuala Lumpur had many abandoned or ramshackle buildings, as the economy was changing so rapidly. A place could be a red-carpet movie theatre one day and left for the rats the next day. Heather had a daydream of the day she would walk arm in arm with some A-list celebrity, have paparazzi snap photos of her awesome body in a haute couture dress. A stumble over a broken cobblestone broke her glitzy reverie. She walked gingerly so as not to trip at the beat-up entrance. She stepped under the old marquee, the incandescent light bulbs and passed the abandoned box office.

Inside, the old theatre was dark. There was a stale beer smell, like an old stadium. Coming in from bright sunshine, Heather’s eyes couldn’t adjust. She got scared. Hot women wearing high heels, feeling their way around in the dark in abandoned buildings were vulnerable. She searched in vain for something to hold on to, something to guide her—a wall, a person, furniture, an old popcorn machine, anything. She could hear her own breathing. It was getting louder.

The theatre was drafty. Heather brought her hand to her chest, trying to comfort herself. She was beginning to sweat. Her nerves were going haywire, getting excited. She would either have an incredible orgasm or end up on the back of a milk carton.

Finally, her eyes adjusted enough to make out the wall and a big wooden chair.

She located the stairs and continued up slowly, but unsteadily, until she reached the second floor.

There was a shadow.

Heather could make out the shape of a man—that fucker. She got closer and noticed he looked quite debonair. He wore a nice suit and had his hair combed back neatly. He didn’t say anything. He hooked her new headphones to his iPhone.

He put them on Heather’s head and some nice acoustic music from the ‘70s filtered into her ears. It was soft country rock, saying thank you for loving him. ‘If mountains crumble to the sea, it will still be you and me’ played as he took her face tenderly and pressed his face against it. He kissed Heather, his body resting against hers. She melted into him as their lips parted. His taste was familiar to her and wonderful. It had been long since he had made her feel this wanted—this special. His shadow was more the man Heather wanted him to be, rather than the real him in bright light.  

The romantic kiss reminded Heather of a time months ago, when they’d been in an outdoor café, looking over the river, eating French toast and key lime pie. And the plans they’d been making of a romantic, honeymoon-like trip to Bali together. In the middle of making plans, he’d stood up and kissed her deeply in front of all the people. It had been one of the happiest moments of her life. This kiss was similar—but hungrier. Sexier.  

He kept stroking her hair as Led Zeppelin played in her ear. The song faded out and Heather took the headphones off.


But he put the headphones back on. “Listen.” His voice was solid and echoed.

Heather shivered in anticipation as she heard a man clear his throat. It was him on the headphones.

“Baby, you know I’ll do anything for you. Moreover, I know you will do anything for me. Say ‘yes’ out loud.”

Heather looked at him and said, “Yes,” with the headphones still on.

His voice continued with a list of instructions. It was weird hearing his voice and not being able to see him talk, since it was so dark. Through the headphones, he told her to turn and face away from him. She obliged.

“Lift up your dress,” he commanded. His voice was deliberate. Heather unzipped her dress then hiked it up.

A flash erupted in the darkness and Heather felt very alone like she was on a pedestal in a museum somewhere—her curated bare ass, a relic that people could stare at. This floor was an old-fashioned movie theater, the kind with the little stage in front of the projector.  

“Get up on the stage now and pull those panties off,” his voice came over the headphones.

Heather obeyed. She climbed onto the stage slowly. It was like she was in the movie and he was getting a private screening. She was up here all by herself with him standing in the aisle—alone, watching her hands slide down her sexy body to her hips and then grab the flimsy strings red g-string, lowering it sexily. She slipped it off onto the abandoned stage. Heather arched her back. She knew how to be sexy for him. She knew what he liked. He liked her to move sexily. He liked when she showed off herself, especially the two dimples on either side of her ass crack and the naturally hairless pussy. Folds of skin converged into Heather’s asshole like a throwing star, tightening it. Her senses were heightened by her loss of hearing.

“Be sexy for me, baby,” his recorded voice said right into her ear. “Show that ass off.”

Her big, juicy Asian ass was facing him, giving him a sexy show. She was looking away from him, just waiting for her next command via headphones.

Suddenly he grabbed her and brought her to face him. Then the voice in the headphones told her to kneel down. She did as told and got in a submissive position. He took his cock and balls and dipped his balls into her mouth. She had never teabagged before and found herself feeling out of control, nasty, and turned on. He always found a way to bring out the whore in her.

After she licked his balls for a while, he turned her around. She felt his long fingers over the supple skin of her ass, followed by, what she thought was, the tip of his cock against the crack of her ass.

“I’m going to make her an anal whore,” he said aloud in the theatre, but Heather didn’t hear a word of it, courtesy of noise cancellation by the skull candy headphones, All she heard was, “You’re so sexy, baby.” He plugged a massive black butt plug into her ass. Heather took a deep breath and let her sphincter relax. His big toy seared through her.

“Yes,” his hoarse voice whispered. “Wear that anal plug like an anal queen.”

The flash sizzled a few more times, photographing them. And then that fucker’s voice washed over Heather like a Buddhist chant—like a mantra.

“Say that you’re my anal whore. Say it out loud three times, slowly and clearly. Call me Master.”

Heather turned around and tried to find him, but was blinded by the bright flashes instead.

She started to repeat after him. “I’m your anal whore, Master.”

The flash was disorienting. She had a big butt plug in her ass and the theater seemed darker and darker by the minute, the flashes being the only source of light. She felt cold and naked. She felt hands on her ass while she repeated “I’m your anal whore, Master” the second and third time, and then she felt a warm, stout member snuggle against her clit. It pushed around a bit and then found her petals, parted them and entered. It was pure joy for everyone involved. He fucked Heather slowly at first, letting his cock almost fall out and then slowly push back in while keeping her ass cheeks spread apart. It felt different—like he was a new man. He was softer, Heather thought. This new, shadow that fucker was superior. His cock caressed her rather than pounded. Her sopping wet pussy welcomed it. This was the man she wanted him to be.

That fucker was enjoying the view of her juicy ass, the plug up her asshole, and the thick rod sticking into her pussy.

Heather enjoyed how the cock entered her. He slapped her ass cheeks. He tugged her. He reached around and squeezed her tits hard.

He was doing so many different things!

It was awesome.

It was different.

It was exciting!

She was cumming!

That fucker’s voice came on the headphones, “Say, ‘make me into your personal whore! Pimp me out like a cheap, dirty hooker.’”

Heather started to speak but looked up suddenly. That fucker was standing in front of her, even as her body shook from taking cock hard and fast in her pussy from behind. His prodigious cock was pulsating hard, and staring in her face, while her pussy was getting stuffed.

No wonder it had fucking felt like a new person.

It was a new person!

“Say it, pig. That’s right!” he spoke reassuringly into her headphones.

Heater looked that fucker in the eyes, licked her lips and said, “Make me your personal whore, Master. Pimp me out cause I’m your cheap, filthy slut.” She had come this far and her body was in need of an orgasm.

That fucker stuffed Heather’s mouth with his fat cock while the stranger continued to pump her filthy, daikon pussy deliciously. That fucker would have raped her throat had Heather not been a hungry and willing cock-slut, willing to take two cocks—one at each end.

That fucker was sharing her. Whether this was all for her pleasure or his, it barely mattered. Right now, she was their raw carpaccio and they knew how to hammer her into submission.

Perhaps, she thought, that fucker was repaying the first part of a very large emotional debt.

The deep voice came back as the stranger pushed his cock all the way up Heather’s cunt, his hands holding her hips, while that fucker’s massive dick violated Heather’s semen-buttered esophagus—his balls to her chin. He instructed, “Say you’re a cumpig.”

He pulled his mammoth cock out. It buoyed before her like a battleship next to a skiff.

“I am your cumpig,” Heather repeated mindlessly.

“Stick your tongue out,” he said.

Like a faithful dog, she obeyed her master. She felt awesome taking two cocks and being the center of attention, it literally lifted her onto a pedestal. It had always been one of her secret dreams!

“Say ‘Misti is just a cum receptacle,’” he instructed.

What?! Heather’s blood instantly boiled. “What the fuck?” Her pussy went nuts, vibrating and stuff. “My name is Heather, you fucking asshole! Get the fuck off me.”

Heather slapped at that fucker’s leg, trying to push him away. However, she couldn’t move. The other guy had her hips in a vice like grip, while plunging his cock as deep as he could, inside her. Meanwhile, that fucker just kept pushing his cock into her throat. The madder Heather got, the tighter her throat became and his cock was rewarded with extreme pleasure.

“Oh yes, bitch. That throat is so tight.” She could barely hear her through the noise cancellation headphones. He was no longer speaking into the headphones. He was right there, using her and humiliating her. “I fucking own you.”

He demolished Heather’s throat, stealing all dignity, while the other guy came in her pussy and held her hips tight—like cumming had sapped him of all his strength. Finally, the other guy gave Heather a slap on the ass and pulled out. Her pussy dripped onto the stage.

Heather, feeling incredibly horny despite feeling used, fingered herself. She was so disgusted, ashamed, and fucking hot!

That fucker leaned over her—stuffing his cock into her esophagus once again, effectively gagging her, and pulled the plug from her ass. Heather fingered herself to a thunderous orgasm as she choked on his dick.

He replaced his dick with the butt plug in her mouth. The plug tasted sour and metallic. It was the taste of her own ass on the plug. She shook with shame. She shuddered with delight. Two loads dripped down her chin and out of her pussy. They fell in large globs onto her dress and the theatre floor.

That fucker and his friend—who Heather never really got a look at, put their spent shafts back in their pants and returned the plug to her ass. They left Heather there on the stage to ponder over what had just happened.


See mothafucker, it’s not hard to pull a whore out of a wholesome office chick. It’s like turning the crank on a jack-a-box. What’s best is that before the whore pops out you already get her to hum a sweet melody on your dick.

How do you crank? Are you serious, man? You start with small things. Get her to do little things for her. Compliment her. Tell her how great she is, how sexy, how smart. Call her little names like babe, sub, pet and then pull those names and replace them with slut, whore, pig as you get her doing dirtier and dirtier deeds. First, it’s a kiss, then it’s sex, then it’s sucking a dirty butt plug that just came out of her ass. Crank crank crank! Alpha Alpha Alpha. Pop, the whore’s out of the box.

The Clean Up

All she really wanted was to be loved. Was that asking for too much? She was attractive. Guys often stared at her tits when she walked down the street. Her boyfriends had always told her that she had a great ass and nice legs.

Why can’t that fucker just love me? She thought. Why does he use me like this?

Heather had cum on her face and on the front of her dress and tits. She stood up, and realized she would have to go back out in public like this. Perhaps, she could just slink into a taxi and go straight home, but still she would have to go to the main street to hail a cab. In fact, she needed to go back to the office and get some of her things. She had left in such haste. The blood drained from her face as she thought of walking to the office looking like a cum receptacle.

With no other choice, Heather wiped off as much cum as could from her body and clothes with her fingers, trying to blend it into unsuspecting parts of her body like her ankles and elbows. She wiped some on the movie seats, but even that wasn’t enough. The more she tried to scoop cum off her the more it dripped. It was all over her. There was nothing she could really do about it at this point. She had a used, crumpled tissue in her pocket and pressed it against her chin. The tissue quickly became cum-soaked and useless. She had to admit defeat. She was cum rag.

Heather got the bright idea to find the bathroom inside the movie theatre and clean up. She found the bathroom, alright. But the faucet had no water supply. She looked for toilet paper in the stalls—no luck.

She walked out of the dark theatre and got absolutely assaulted by the bright sunlight. She shaded her eyes and shamefully walked back to the office. Every person she passed—male or female, stared at her. She must have looked like a cum-stained wreck.

Heather didn’t know what to do. It occurred to her that she could sneak into the office bathroom. She took the stairs instead of elevators to avoid people and skulked into the bathroom. She hiked up her dress and tried to reach around and pull the plug out, but the handle was slippery as hell while the rest of it was dry and sticking to her insides. It hurt and it wasn’t coming out at all. She geared up for the pain and pulled as hard as she could, but all she managed to do was inflict a nearly overwhelming shot of ass-pain on herself.

She had cum on her face, dress, ankles, elbows and fingers. How the fuck was she supposed to remove a butt plug? And it hurt! She wanted it out. She wanted it out now.

She thought of Charlie the Wok. He was her only hope. She texted him.

I broke up with my boyfriend. Come meet me in the woman’s restroom.

Shortly after sending, her phone vibrated. She swiped it open, hoping the Wok would rescue her. Instead, the message was from that fucker. He’d sent photos of her on the stage. Naked—spreading her ass cheeks to take that fucker’s friend’s dick. The second photo showed her face stuffed with that fucker’s big cock. Another photo showed her face covered in his cum.

She was furious. She wrote back to that fucker.

Fuck you, We’re fucking through!

She deleted that fucker’s message and photos.

She found a new message waiting. With trepidation, she opened it and found a message from Charlie.

5th floor?


Is it empty?

Just me, hurry.

There was a faint knock on the door. Heather opened it.

Charlie stood there, smiling. Then his look turned to concern. “What the fuck happened to you?” he asked. He didn’t look horrified, which was a relief for Heather. He had a placid look on his face instead.

Heather turned to the mirror. In her disgust and anger at that fucker, she had forgotten to wipe the cum loads from her face. There she was, mascara streaking down her face, cum on her dress and face, not to mention on her ankles and elbows, to the boot. The cum had turned transparent from being on Heather’s skin for so long.

Charlie was buzzing with desire. He already was infatuated with Heather. Seeing her wearing cum unlocked his massive cum fetish. He scooped the cum off her face with his bare hand and then washed the cum off in the sink.

“It gets worse,” Heather said and bent over the sink.

“Worse?” he asked incredulously. “Your ass is gorgeous!”

She hiked up her dress and showed him the butt plug.

“You mean better!” He laughed for a moment, then came to a sudden stop. “I’m sorry, Heather. Is it stuck?”

“I can’t get it out.”

“You mean you don’t always wear a butt plug here at work.”

“It’s not funny. How would you like one up your ass?” Heather sneered at him.

His smile vanished.

“Come here,” he said. He pulled on the plug but it wouldn’t budge. “Hey, my place is right around the corner. Let’s go there and I’ll help you out.”

“What about work?”

“Fuck work. I am in possession of a gorgeous ass with a plug in it. I can’t think about work.”

Heather and Charlie slipped out of the bathroom, exited the office building and walked to his apartment. It was a tower and his place was on the nineteenth floor. It smelled like Yu Choy and Bok Choy.

“You can see our office from here,” Heather said.


He led Heather to the bed and she swallowed her pride—whatever was left of it, that is, since she had already been found with a plug up her ass and cum all over her. She got on all fours and lifted her dress to expose her ass and its stubborn plug.

He rubbed her ass cheeks. “Relax. You’re upset, so it’s stuck.”

“I can’t relax.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Can you kiss me?”

He leaned forward and she turned my head—it was like he was doing her doggy style—and they shared a deep passionate kiss.

“You’re such a good kisser,” she said.


“I think so.”

He grabbed the base of the plug and tugged on it. Her ass was greedy with this thing. “Let it come out. Push.”

She was scared if she pushed, it was going to come out covered in shit. Although they had worked together all this time, she barely knew Charlie. Of course, he had already seen her in cum today, but seeing her shit all over the plug was just too much shame for Heather. She’d then have to throw herself off his balcony. It was horribly embarrassing.

“Don’t worry,” he said. He stroked her hair. “It’s going to be okay. It happens to all of us.”

Heather started to laugh. He used the opportunity to really pull. It stretched out her sphincter and then popped free. It made a popping sound as it came out. She put her head down in the bed in absolute shame and utter humiliation. After a small death on Charlie’s bed, Heather lifted her head and looked at him with utter concern. “Did I soil the plug?”

“Not at all.” He put it in front of her to look at. “Your ass is gaping.”

“Take it,” Heather said.

“Are you serious?”

She nodded. “You deserve it.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know I don’t. Please.”

He got behind her juicy Asian ass. Heather was the kind of girl Western guys called a phat ass Asian girl—a PAAG. She could feel his cock press against her ass. He went in raw and slow. He pushed his cock into her gaping asshole little by little and caressed her back tenderly until his balls were against her slick pussy.

Heather grunted like a pig. She couldn’t help it.

“Am I hurting you?”

She felt so close to Charlie. He’d helped her while she was in need. She still had two guys’ cum on her and he was acting lovingly toward her. This was a good guy. “No, it feels great. You’re so gentle.” The hairs on Heather’s neck stood up.

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Heather took this as her cue to start bucking and moved her hips in a sensual way. She was crazy excited and went with it. He clamped onto her hips to hold tight for the wild ride.

“Oh my god!” he shouted. “This is amazing.” He grabbed Heather’s thick black hair like he was trying to tame a filly, but she continued flying around—her big ass was like a cement mixer on his cock.

“It’s so good. I’m going to cum,” he said. “On your ass cheeks?”

She really let it fly, trying to induce him to cum in her. “Inside me,” she said and let the cement mixer run on high until he held her still and shook.

Heather could feel his cock bulge and then return to normal and felt his warm fluid shoot up inside her. He fell to the bed. Heather collapsed next to him, her head on his chest. He held her to him and kissed her. Then he licked her chin.

“You’re licking the dried cum.”

“I don’t mind. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He licked Heather’s face clean and then kissed her so deeply she almost cracked in half. She was totally spent. She snuggled up against him.

“You’re so comfy,” She said. He had his arm around her and stroked her back.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms like that.

When Heather woke up, there was a box of brand new roller-skates with pink glittery wheels sitting on the kitchen counter.

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