Katie had always seemed like the sort of girl who’d smile politely at a dirty joke and then blush if anyone looked at her too long. At twenty-two, she was the picture of wholesome reliability — blonde hair that caught the sun, clear blue eyes that made older women at church comment how “fresh” she looked, and a retail job at a sporting goods store where the most scandalous thing she ever did was sell a high school kid a fishing rod at an employee discount.
Nobody would have guessed she was restless. Not even Katie herself, not at first.
It started as something small. She’d been browsing online for a new vibrator — nothing dramatic, just something to get her through lonely nights in her apartment. A discreet brown-bag purchase, that was all. She found a shop across town, one of those older places with neon signs half-burnt out, advertising “Toys, DVDs, and Arcade.” She hadn’t even planned to look at the arcade part — she just wanted to buy and leave.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of lube and cheap carpet. Shelves of boxed toys lined the aisles, and somewhere in the back she heard muffled sounds — not music, not conversation, but something rhythmic, human. Curiosity pulled her past the register, past the racks of porn DVDs, until she saw a narrow hallway marked “Viewing Rooms.”
Katie hesitated. She wasn’t that kind of girl. Not really. But the sound — low moans, wet and raw — made her thighs tense.
No one stopped her as she walked down the hall. No one was even there. Just doors and the faint flicker of video light leaking around the frames. One door stood ajar. She should have kept walking. She didn’t.
Inside, the booth was dark, lit only by the glow of a screen playing some hardcore sex scene. But it wasn’t empty — a man stood with his fly open, glancing back over his shoulder. For a heartbeat, Katie froze, ready to mumble an apology and bolt. But he didn’t look shocked. He didn’t even look surprised.
And somehow… neither was she.
Something in her belly tightened, an unfamiliar spark. Instead of fleeing, she stepped inside after he motioned her in. He shifted, giving her space — not speaking, just waiting. Her pulse thudded in her ears.
Katie didn’t think. She just moved. The smell of him, the rawness of it, the way the room felt hidden from the world — it was like stepping off a cliff. Her knees hit the grimy floor before she even realized what she was doing.
The first taste was shocking — not because it was bad, but because it was good. Better than good. Filthy and electric, sending a thrill straight between her legs. She’d never done anything so reckless in her life. She could barely hear the porn on the screen over her own heartbeat.
She took his cock in her mouth and started sucking his dick. It took only minutes before he held the back of her head and dumped his load of cum in her mouth. When it was over, she left without a word, wiping her lips, legs trembling so hard she almost stumbled in the parking lot. She swore it was a one-time thing. A crazy impulse she’d bury and forget.
But all the way home, the smell, the feel, the sheer wrongness of it kept replaying in her mind — and with it, the white-hot ache of need.
By the next weekend, she was back.
Katie told herself it was just curiosity. Nothing more.
All week at work she’d smiled at customers, folded shirts, and stocked fishing equipment as if nothing was different — but the memory clung to her skin like sweat. When she closed her eyes at night, she didn’t see the man’s face, didn’t even remember his voice — because he hadn’t said a single word. What she remembered was the rawness of it. The taste. The pulse of excitement so strong her hands had shaken on the steering wheel driving home.
By Saturday, she couldn’t take it anymore. She drove the same route, rehearsing excuses in her head: she was just buying more toys, a dildo, maybe a butt plug. Nothing wrong with that. But when she stepped inside, the toys didn’t even register. Her feet carried her past the racks, straight to the back hallway.
This time, she wasn’t nervous. This time, she wanted it.
The booths weren’t empty. A couple of doors stood open, a couple closed. Katie hesitated, pulse hammering. A man — older, heavyset — glanced up as she walked by, eyes narrowing with recognition of exactly what kind of girl came to a place like this. She felt her cheeks flush…and then something low and hot curled between her legs. She didn’t slow down.
She chose an open door this time. Two men stood inside, one against the wall, the other lounging in the corner as if they’d been waiting. The air smelled of sweat and something stronger — her own fear, maybe, or anticipation. Katie stepped in, shut the door behind her, and felt her heart try to pound its way out of her chest.
No words. No names. Just a hungry sort of silence, broken only by the raunchy sounds of the porn playing on the screen.
She didn’t even have to be asked. Her body knew what to do before her mind caught up. She dropped to her knees again, fingers digging into her own thighs to steady herself as one man unzipped. The second watched, openly stroking himself while she blew the first with a kind of fevered hunger that surprised her.
It was faster this time. Filthier. When the first man dumped the contents of his balls, and she swallowed it, she barely had time to wipe her mouth before the second stepped forward. The booth door was still cracked — anyone walking by could’ve seen. That thought sent a bolt of lightning straight through her, making her moan around as she blew the second stranger.
He warned her that he was going to cum. Katie did not hesitate and kept at him until his warm, salty, somewhat sour fluid pumped into her needy mouth.
When she left, her lips were swollen, mascara smeared, heart racing like she’d run a marathon. The sun was still bright outside. Saturday afternoon, families walking by on the sidewalk. She looked perfectly ordinary — except for the wet ache between her legs that refused to go away.
That night, she couldn’t stop touching herself. Every memory from the booth replayed sharper, louder. She came hard, gasping into her pillow — and then again, and again, until she finally passed out.
Soon it wasn’t just weekends. She’d take a “long lunch” from work, claiming she needed to run errands, and end up kneeling in a dark arcade booth with a growing number of strangers. Every trip, she swore it would be the last — but by the next day, her hands shook with the need to go back.
Katie started looking for other places, other thrills.
A porn shop across town with a glory hole in the back.
A swing club someone mentioned online — she told herself she’d “just watch,” but within minutes she was on her knees again, taking three, four, more men in a row while a crowd looked on.
A park-and-ride lot after dark where strangers gathered in cars for dogging.
At first, she worried about being recognized. What if someone from work saw her? What if her family found out? But every time she gave in, the risk made it hotter. The fear didn’t stop her — it drove her.
The girl who folded shirts and smiled at customers was spotless, polite, and sweet. But the girl who prowled seedy porn shops and parking lots was becoming someone else entirely — hungry, shameless, obsessed.
She bought shorter skirts. Stopped wearing panties on days she knew she’d be “running errands.” Her toys gathered dust in a drawer — no silicone could match the raw, filthy thrill of strangers using her mouth, her pussy, her ass, one after another, until she stumbled back to her car with shaky legs and smeared makeup.
And she started to get noticed. Men at the shops would nod at her like they were in on a secret. At the swing club, a bartender winked and called her “princess” because she showed up every Thursday without fail. A man she didn’t know messaged her on an anonymous app: You were amazing last night. When can we do it again?
Katie should have been horrified. She should have stopped. But instead she smiled at her phone, legs already spreading under the covers.
The obsession/addiction was setting in hard.
By the end of that first month, Katie’s double life was running on a schedule.
Monday nights were for the west-side porn shop with the glory holes. She’d start in a booth, letting men in one at a time. She would suck their cock until they came in her mouth, and wait for the next — men lining up silently on the other side of the wall.
Thursdays, she hit the swing club. At first she’d been shy, lingering near the bar, but now she strolled in like she owned the place — tight skirt, no panties, lips already painted bright red. The regulars knew her and what she was there for. Within minutes, she’d have men bending over her, more waiting their turn, with some of the crowd calling out filth that made her wetter than she’d ever been.
Weekends belonged to the adult arcade where it all began. Saturday nights, Sunday afternoons — it didn’t matter. If there were men, Katie was there on her knees.
And in between, she still hunted. A dark parking lot here, a hookup app there. If a stranger messaged her, she didn’t bother with names. Just “where and when.”
It was organized chaos. She’d show up at a porn shop and find familiar faces — guys who smiled like they’d just seen an old friend. Some waited outside for her, others saved her a spot inside. Katie didn’t keep track of them all anymore. There were too many.
Dozens of men each week. Sometimes, so many in a single night, her body would ache constantly, but it wasn’t enough — she needed more.
The first time she let them run a full train on her, it happened at the swing club. On her back, legs up and open, they took turns.
Katie had just smiled and let the nameless men fuck her like she was their sex toy.
After that, gangbangs became her favorite nights. Mouth, pussy, ass — no rest, no names, just one after another until her makeup ran down her face and her legs shook too badly to stand. She’d stumble to the bathroom, wipe herself off, get a drink of water, and go back out for more.
The obsession wasn’t just sexual anymore. It was about being known, seen, and watched. Men recognized her now. In the porn shops, they called her “Jackie” because of what the guys do as they wait for their turn. At one dogging lot, they call her "Blonde" because of her long, blonde hair.
At work, none of it showed. Katie still did her job, still smiled at customers, still laughed with coworkers about nothing at all. Nobody noticed how tired she looked some mornings, or how her legs trembled when she climbed the stockroom ladder. Nobody knew that on her lunch break, she was bent over the hood of a stranger’s car in a deserted lot, knocking one out before both of them went back to work.
And she couldn’t stop.
Some nights she’d swear she was taking a break — she’d go home, shower, make tea, sit on the couch like a normal girl. Then her phone would buzz: Arcade’s hopping tonight. You coming?
Half an hour later she’d be there, lipstick fresh, heart pounding, ready for whoever showed up.
The thrill of it owned her now. The secrecy, the filth, the endless stream of anonymous cock. It didn’t matter how many men she took, how sore she got, how late she stayed out — she always needed more.
And the men wanted her too. Word spread fast in those circles. If you wanted a tight blonde who’d do anything, you went where Katie went. Porn shop clerks greeted her by name. Swing club regulars saved her a seat — or rather, a spot on her knees. Cars at the dogging lot filled the lot when they saw her, windows rolling down to offer her exactly what she craved.
She told herself she was still in control. She told herself she could stop anytime she wanted.
But the girl who’d once blushed at dirty jokes was gone.
Now she was the girl who measured her weeks not by shifts at work, but by which night belonged to which men.
Katie’s life had a rhythm now — not the steady beat of work, sleep, and weekends with friends, but the pounding pulse of an obsession that demanded feeding every day. She wasn’t just visiting the seedy places anymore — she lived for them.
Monday nights: the glory hole booths.
Tuesday afternoons: a long lunch at the arcade.
Thursdays: swing club gangbangs.
Weekends: porn theaters, dogging lots or wherever the messages sent her.
The spaces between those days? She filled them too. A quick blowjob in the back seat of a stranger’s car after work. Bent over the hood in a dark lot. On her knees in a booth before the coin even finished dropping.
The girl who’d once promised herself she’d only do it “once, just to see” was long gone. Now she craved it constantly, her body buzzing with need before her eyes even opened in the morning.
She woke up wet, sore, and hungry for more. At the porn shop on the west side, she didn’t even bother closing the booth door anymore. Men came and went while she stayed on her knees, taking one after another. Sometimes she’d have three, four or more in line, one in her mouth, another waiting to grab her hair, and the third stroking himself impatiently in the doorway. When her jaw ached too much to close, she’d just tilt her head back, swallow their cum, and keep going.
They started calling her princess there too, though it wasn’t gentle — more of a filthy joke as they used her throat until tears streamed down her face. Katie loved it. The rougher they were, the hotter it made her.
At the swing club, she’d stopped pretending to be shy. The first hour of every visit was a blowbang in the lounge — a circle of men standing around while she knelt in the center, rotating from one to the next until her lipstick was gone and her chin glistened. When her throat was raw, she’d move to the playroom and bend over the padded bench for the main event.
Sometimes it was five men. Sometimes ten. Sometimes she lost count entirely. Mouth, pussy, ass — they used every hole, switching without asking, without slowing down, until her legs wobbled and she collapsed against the vinyl cushions.
The crowd loved it. She loved it more. The thrill of being watched, cheered, slapped on the ass as another man slid in behind her — it made her come harder than any toy ever had.
Daytime dogging became another thrill. She’d pull into the lot still wearing her work polo and jeans, step out like she was just passing through. But the moment someone rolled down a window and called her over, her prim little smile melted into something filthy and eager.
Cars formed loose circles around her. Sometimes she’d start with one man in the backseat, but before long another door would open, then another — until she was bouncing between them, sucking one, riding another, bending over a hood while hands pinned her down.
Katie didn’t check the time anymore. She didn’t even keep track of who they were — young, old, thin, heavy, clean, sweaty, it didn’t matter. They were just cocks to feed her obsession, and she was there to take them all.
Her body never had time to recover. Her pussy stayed swollen but always ready. Her ass burned pleasantly after long nights of being pounded from both ends. Even her nipples — long, thick, sensitive — ached constantly from rough mouths and greedy fingers.
She kept showing up, day after day, week after week, until the men started waiting for her. Regulars. Strangers who felt like friends because they knew exactly what she wanted. They’d message her in advance: You coming Thursday? Got three guys lined up for you.
She always said yes.
And still, she hunted for more. If the booths were slow, she’d find an online ad and drive across town for a gangbang in some stranger’s apartment. If the swing club was packed, she’d stay until sunrise, letting them use her holes until she couldn’t walk straight.
The obsession didn’t just consume her nights — it rewired her whole life.
At work, she’d lean on the counter, pretending to text while secretly arranging meetups. On family visits, she’d excuse herself from the table, locking the bathroom door just to rub herself off to memories of the last time she’d been airtight with three strangers.
Nobody suspected. Not her coworkers, not her parents, not her friends. Katie still looked like the sweet, reliable girl they thought she was — maybe a little thinner now, a little distracted, but who would guess the truth?
That when she left work at five, she didn’t go home. She went to a porn shop to get railed in a booth by half a dozen men she’d never seen before. That when she told her mom she was “out with friends,” she was actually on her knees at the swing club taking a line of cocks while someone filmed it on their phone.
One Friday night, her obsession hit a peak.
The swing club was packed — standing room only. Katie arrived in a cropped white tank top and no bra, a tiny skirt that barely covered her ass. She walked straight to the "Anything Goes" room, dropped to her knees without a word, and opened her mouth.
They swarmed her. One guy lay down and she slid down on top of him. A second rubbed some spit on the crack of her ass and rammed his cock straight up her ass. She let out a blood-curdling scream, but did not stop him.
She was moaning around them, coming hard, when someone else replaced him without waiting. Another hand grabbed her hair, another cock filled her throat, another pressed against her asshole as the man below her came and pulled out.
There was no space between them anymore — just pure fucking lust and sweat and filthy words shouted over the music. They turned her, flipped her, spread her wide, used every hole like she was nothing but a toy.
She stopped trying to count how many men were getting a turn that night.
Hours later, Katie stumbled into the club’s bathroom, mascara streaked, thighs sticky, lips swollen. She caught sight of herself in the mirror — hair tangled, tank top wrinkled and damp, face glowing with a smile.
This was her now. This was an obsession-driven Katie. Nothing else mattered. Nothing other than being a sex toy for others.
Katie made her way back to the room and it started all over again. Three men at a time inside of her for a couple more hours. Her body, tired, sore, and satisfied...for now.
By the time the last man finished, spraying her face with one final, sticky load, Katie was trembling—not from fear or exhaustion, but from raw, dizzying need. She sat back against the leather bench, panting, her makeup completely fucked. The men left, still laughing, zipping up their pants, already talking about when they’d see her again.
For some of the men, it wouldn't be long!
