20-Year-Old Girl's Old Ugly Gangbang for Cash

The door was already cracked when Corinne stepped off the elevator, and the smell came out to meet her before anyone did: powder, rose water gone sharp, lilies left too long in a vase, and under it the warm animal smell of bodies that had been sitting in a heated room for hours. She was twenty, a university junior with a Thursday evening free and a number saved in her phone under a single letter, and she had come because they had offered cash and because the offer had made her slick between the stacks when she read it. Four women. Old. Ugly. Rough. They wanted a girl who would not flinch, and they had been told she liked the money and liked the ugliness more.

Josephine opened the door the rest of the way. Sixty-eight, the message had said, and the woman in the doorway looked every year of it. Her hair was a thin copper dye grown out gray at the roots, clinging to a scalp mapped with brown spots. The skin of her neck hung in soft cords. Her mouth was a crease of lipstick bled into the lines around it, and when she smiled her teeth showed yellow and uneven, one of them dark at the gum. She looked Corinne up and down without shame, eyes milky at the edges, and the look was hungry in a way that had nothing young in it.

"You're the one," Josephine said. Her voice was dry and pleased. "Twenty. They weren't lying. Come in. Let them see what we're paying for."

Corinne stepped into the apartment. It was large and dim and expensive in the way of old money that did not bother with taste: heavy drapes, a marble fireplace nobody used, a low table with a stack of bills squared neatly beside a bottle of water and four glasses. No alcohol. She had asked for that in the messages, and they had listened, and the fact of it steadied her. She was clear-headed. She wanted to be.

The other three were already in the room.

Marlene sat on the sofa with her knees apart, seventy-one and broad, her face fallen into heavy jowls, her eyebrows almost gone, a few gray hairs stranded across a high forehead blotched with age. Her housedress was open at the throat and her breasts rested low and long against her belly, the skin of them creased and pale, the nipples dark and wide. Beatrice occupied the armchair, seventy-four, small except for the hands, which were large and knotted, the knuckles swollen, the nails thick and yellow. Her eyes were sharp. Her mouth had collapsed inward. Ida stood by the window, sixty-nine, taller than the others, her spine curved, her hair a gray frizz, her feet bare on the rug and visibly gnarled, the toes overlapping, the nails ridged and long. All four of them looked at Corinne as if she were a plate set down in front of people who had been waiting.

"Pretty," Marlene said, and the word was an inventory. "Look at that skin. Look at the little waist. We're going to ruin it."

"For the evening," Josephine said, almost gentle, and she touched the stack of cash with one spotted finger. "Two thousand. Count it if you want. You stay as long as you want to stay, and you say stop and we stop. You told us you like it ugly. You told us you like being paid to take it. We intend to be ugly. We intend to make you earn it."

Corinne's mouth had gone dry and her cunt had not. She could feel the wet gathering in her panties, a slow heat that embarrassed her and did not slow her down. She looked at Josephine's neck, at Marlene's hanging breasts, at Beatrice's yellow nails, at Ida's ruined feet, and the wanting came up in her the way it always did when the bodies in front of her had nothing left of youth: a hot, shameful, honest throb. She had found it in herself at the university, at eighteen and not a day before, and she had stopped trying to explain it to anyone who was not paying her.

"I don't need to count it first," she said. Her voice came out thinner than she wanted. She cleared it. "I want to see it after. I want you to make me work for it."

Beatrice laughed, a short bark. "Listen to her. Already wet, I bet. Turn around. Let us look at what twenty years gets a person."

They did not touch her yet. They talked, and the talking was worse, and better. Marlene said she wanted to spit in that young mouth until Corinne swallowed like a good little paid hole. Ida said she wanted those pretty lips on her ugly feet, between the toes, where the skin was thick and sour. Josephine said she had a strap-on thick enough to make a girl cry and that she liked tears only if the girl asked for the next stroke. Beatrice said she wanted to watch Corinne's face when an old woman's cock split her ass, and then she wanted a turn, and then she wanted both holes filled while the girl thanked them for the money. They said it plainly, the way people discuss a menu, and Corinne stood in the middle of their apartment with her hands at her sides and felt her clit pulse against the seam of her jeans every time one of them named a thing they were going to do to her.

"You're shaking," Josephine said.

"I'm wet," Corinne said, and it was true, and saying it made it truer. "I can feel it. I want you to be mean. I want all of it. I came here for that."

"Then take your clothes off," Marlene said. "Slow. We're old. We like to watch a thing happen."

Corinne's fingers were clumsy on the buttons of her shirt. She made herself go slowly anyway, because they had asked and because the weight of their eyes made her nipples tight before the air even touched them. The shirt came off. The bra was plain cotton, and she unhooked it and let her breasts fall free, small and high and flushed at the tips. Four old women made a low sound together, not quite a laugh. She unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down with her panties, and the cool of the room hit the wet between her thighs so sharply she shivered. She stepped out of the pile of clothes and stood naked on their rug, twenty years old, smooth where they were folded, and she watched them watch her.

"Knees," Josephine said.

Corinne dropped. The rug was thick. Her knees sank into it, and the posture itself did something to her, a click behind her ribs, the old familiar surrender that only worked when the people above her were nothing she was supposed to want. She looked up at them. Josephine's lipstick had cracked. Marlene's jowls trembled when she leaned forward. Beatrice's yellow nails tapped the arm of the chair. Ida's bare feet flexed against the rug, gnarled toes curling.

"I crave it," Corinne said, and the words came out of her like something she had been holding in her mouth all day. "I crave your ugly old bodies. I don't want pretty. I don't want young. I want your wrinkles and your sag and your bad teeth and your feet. I want you to use me because I'm getting paid to let you, and I want to love it while you do. Please. I'll be good. I'll be disgusting for you."

Josephine stepped close. Up close she smelled of powder and a faint medicinal sweetness and the stale warmth of an old mouth. She took Corinne's chin in a hand that was soft and spotted and surprisingly strong, and she tipped the girl's face up.

"Open."

Corinne opened her mouth. Josephine worked her jaw, gathering, and then she spat. It was thick, a warm wad that hit Corinne's tongue and sat there, salty and slick, tasting of coffee gone cold and the metallic edge of age. Corinne's stomach fluttered. Her cunt clenched so hard she made a sound around the spit.

"Swallow," Josephine said.

She swallowed. The wad went down in a slow lump, and she chased it with her throat and opened again, greedy, ashamed, shining.

Marlene was already leaning over the back of the sofa to get at her, seventy-one and heavy, breath sour with the mints she had been sucking. She spat twice, quick and wet, strings of it landing on Corinne's tongue and lower lip. "All of it. Don't you waste a drop of me, girl. That's what the money's for."

Corinne swallowed the second load, then the third, licking her lips to catch what had smeared, and the taste coated her mouth and would not leave. She was panting. Her thighs were slick. She could hear herself, a wet little sound every time she shifted on her heels.

"Feet," Ida said, and she sat on the edge of the coffee table and lifted one bare foot into Corinne's face. Sixty-nine years of walking had left it knotted and dry at the heel, the toes overlapping, the nails thick and yellow-gray, the skin between them pale and damp. The smell was close and human, not dirty exactly, but old, lived-in, the smell of shoes and sweat and years. Beatrice swung her own foot up on the other side, larger, more swollen at the joints, the big toenail ridged like bark.

"Worship," Beatrice said. "You said you wanted ugly. Start there. Get your tongue in it."

Corinne did. She pressed her mouth to Ida's sole and licked, a long stripe from heel to the ball, and the skin was rough and salty and the act of it lit her up from the inside. She moaned into the arch. She took the toes into her mouth one by one, sucking, her tongue working into the creases where the skin was softest and sourest, and Ida sighed above her like a woman being scratched in exactly the right place. Beatrice shoved her foot in harder, crowding Corinne's cheek, and Corinne turned and did the same for her, licking between the gnarled toes, tasting the faint bitter of the yellowed nails, breathing through her nose because they would not let her pull away. Spit from Josephine still filmed her tongue. Foot-skin and old saliva mixed, and she was frantic with it, rubbing her bare cunt against her own heel, chasing friction she was not supposed to take yet.

"Look at her," Marlene said. "Humping the air. Greedy little paid thing."

"Please," Corinne said, the word muffled against Beatrice's toes. She pulled back just enough to speak, a string of saliva connecting her lip to a yellow nail, and her voice broke. "Please gangbang me. All four of you. I need it. I need your strap-ons in me. I need you to spit in my mouth while you fuck my ass. I'll worship your feet the whole time. I'll swallow everything. Just please, please use me. I'll earn the cash. I'll be your ugly-old-woman whore. I want it so bad I'm dripping on your rug."

Josephine's hand came down on her hair, not unkind, and held her there a moment longer against Ida's foot so Corinne had to keep licking while she begged. "You hear that?" Josephine said to the others. "She asked. She asked pretty. Get the cocks."

They moved her to the wide bed in the next room, and the sheets were expensive and already turned down, as if the evening had been planned down to the linen. Corinne crawled up when they told her to and stayed on her hands and knees because Marlene liked the view of a young ass presented and waiting. She was shaking. She was so wet the insides of her thighs shone. Josephine and Marlene buckled on first. The harnesses were black, practical, and the cocks they carried were thick, flesh-toned, heavy enough to wag when the old women walked. Josephine's was the thicker of the two, a vein molded along the shaft, the head blunt. Marlene's was long, curved a little, shining already with the lubricant Beatrice had set on the nightstand.

"Color?" Josephine asked, one spotted hand on Corinne's hip, the head of the cock nudging, not yet pushing.

"Green," Corinne said. "Green, please, don't make me wait, I want it in my ass, I want it rough, I asked for rough."

Josephine spat on the cock, a thick string, and worked it with her hand, and then she pressed in. The stretch was immediate and mean. Corinne's mouth fell open. The blunt head breached her, a bright burn that rolled into a deep, stuffing fullness, and Josephine did not rush the first inches and then, once Corinne shoved back and sobbed yes, she did not spare her. Sixty-eight years old and she fucked like she had something to prove to the room. The harness slapped against Corinne's ass. The cock dragged out and drove back in, thick enough that Corinne felt it in her stomach, in her throat, in the wet useless clench of her cunt around nothing. She cried out, not a protest, a thank-you broken into pieces.

"Listen to her," Beatrice said, settling on the bed with her yellow nails on Corinne's shoulder. "Taking an old woman's cock like she was built for it."

"She was," Marlene said. "For the evening. For the cash."

They passed her. Josephine pulled out with a wet sound and Marlene took the place behind her, seventy-one, heavy breasts swinging, jowls set, and the longer cock sank into Corinne's already opened ass in one mean glide. Marlene fucked her harder. The bed knocked the wall. Corinne's arms gave and her face went into the sheets, and she reached back blindly, not to stop it, to pull Marlene closer. "More. God, more, you're so ugly, I love it, I love your ugly body fucking my ass, please don't stop."

Marlene laughed, breathless, and spat down onto the small of Corinne's back just to watch it run. Then she hauled the girl up by the hair and Josephine was there at her mouth again, working up another wad, and she spat it straight onto Corinne's tongue while Marlene kept driving into her ass. "Swallow. Every drop. That's two of us in you now."

Corinne swallowed. She opened. Beatrice leaned in from the side and spat as well, thinner, sharper, and Corinne took that too, gulping, moaning around the taste, her eyes wet, her ass stretched and pounding. Ida swung a sweaty foot up onto the mattress and pushed it at Corinne's mouth between the loads of spit, and Corinne worshipped it while she was being fucked, licking between the gnarled toes, sucking the ball of the foot, letting Ida shove it deeper until her lips met the arch and she gagged a little and did not pull away. The foot tasted of salt and skin and the long day. She loved it. She hated how much she loved it, and the hating made her wetter, and she said so, muffled, desperate.

"Say it clear," Josephine ordered, taking Marlene's place again, working the thick cock back into Corinne's ass with a slow, brutal insistence that made the girl's toes curl. "Say what you are."

"I'm your paid hole," Corinne gasped. "I love being anally destroyed by ugly old women for money. I love it. I love your sagging tits and your bad teeth and your ruined feet. Fuck my ass. Make me earn it. Please, Josephine, harder, I can take it, I want to take it."

Josephine gave it to her harder. Beatrice had strapped on by then, a shorter, fatter cock, and she lay back against the pillows and crooked a finger. They turned Corinne, still speared, and lowered her onto Beatrice so the fat cock pressed at her cunt. Ida held her open. Marlene spat into her palm and slicked the shaft. "Both holes," Marlene said. "You begged for the gangbang. Take the gangbang."

"Yes," Corinne said. "Yes, fill me, I want both, I want all of you."

They double-penetrated her there on the expensive sheets, Beatrice up into her cunt, Josephine still buried in her ass, the two cocks separated by so little flesh that every thrust knocked against the other and Corinne wailed. She was stuffed, split, sweating, twenty years old and shaking apart between seventy-four and sixty-eight. Marlene knelt at her shoulder and fed her spit in thick, repeated wads, making her swallow every one before the next, counting them out loud in that dry old voice. Ida kept a foot at her mouth when the spit wasn't coming, toes hooked over her lower lip, and Corinne licked and sucked and worshipped between swallows, frantic, sloppy, strings of saliva and foot-sweat shining on her chin.

They traded. Marlene took the ass, long and curved, and Ida, strapped into a harness that sat crooked on her curved spine, took the cunt, sixty-nine and relentless, her gray frizz stuck to her forehead, her hanging breasts slapping Corinne's stomach. Josephine and Beatrice spat. Four ugly old women, passing a college girl between them, using her holes, her mouth, her willingness, the stack of cash waiting in the other room like a witness. The room smelled of sex and powder and spit. Corinne's voice went raw.

"I love it," she shouted, because they wanted it loud and because it was true in the moment, truer than anything she had said in a seminar all week. "I love being anally destroyed by ugly old women for money. Destroy me. Spit in me. Make me swallow. I'm yours, I'm your whore, I'm coming, I'm coming, please don't stop, please spit in my mouth while I come."

Josephine leaned over her and spat a heavy, warm load straight onto her tongue just as the orgasm hit. Corinne gulped it down and screamed. Her cunt clamped around Ida's cock. Her ass fluttered and gripped Marlene's, and the old women fucked her through it, mean and steady, while Beatrice worked up another mouthful and fed it to her mid-shudder, and she swallowed that too, choking, crying, coming so hard her vision went white at the edges. Another wad, from Marlene this time, thick and slow, and Corinne opened on instinct and took it, gulping, the taste of all of them flooding her while her body seized and seized again. Ida shoved her sweaty foot back into that open, screaming mouth and Corinne sucked the toes through the aftershocks, worshipping, swallowing spit and salt, shaking so hard the bed frame knocked.

They did not stop at the first. Josephine wanted another. They rolled her onto her side, ass up, and Josephine fucked her there while Marlene straddled her face and spat down into her mouth from above, making her swallow three more before she was allowed to breathe clean. Beatrice rubbed Corinne's clit with two yellow-nailed fingers, rough and exact, and the second orgasm tore out of her uglier than the first, a hoarse scream into Marlene's spit, her ass milking the thick cock, her whole body slick with sweat and other people's saliva. She said it again because they told her to and because her mouth would not stop: she loved it, she loved their ugly old bodies, she loved being paid to be ruined by them, she would swallow every drop they gave her. They gave her more. She swallowed all of it.

When they finally eased out of her, the cocks shining, her holes fluttering open and sore and used, she lay on the ruined sheets and trembled. Spit smeared her mouth, her chin, a string of it on her cheek. Her thighs would not close. She was covered in them. She was smiling, or something like a smile, the dazed curve of a girl who had gotten exactly the filth she had begged for.

Josephine brought the stack of cash in from the other room and set it on Corinne's bare stomach. The bills were warm from the table. "Count it," she said. "You earned it. Every dollar."

Corinne sat up, shaky, and counted. Twenties, fifties, a few hundreds, squared and real. Two thousand. Her fingers left a damp print on the top bill. Marlene handed her a towel that did not do much. Beatrice, still naked, still ugly, still pleased, said, "Next Thursday. Same time. Same money. We'll be worse if you want worse."

"Yes," Corinne heard herself say. The word came out easy. She nodded. She even smiled, spit-smeared, and thanked them, one by one, Josephine, Marlene, Beatrice, Ida, thank you for using me, thank you for the cash, I'll be here. They patted her head. They watched her dress with the same inventorying eyes, her panties sticking immediately to the wet mess of her, her jeans uncomfortable over a sore, well-fucked ass. She put the money in her bag. She let Josephine kiss her cheek with that cracked lipstick, a dry, proprietary press.

In the elevator the smile lasted until the doors closed.

Then it didn't. The mirrored wall gave her back a girl of twenty with a shiny mouth and hair pulled crooked and a bag full of exactly the money she had been promised, and something in her stomach turned over and would not settle. She had wanted it. She had begged for it. She had come so hard she had screamed their ugliness back at them like a vow. None of that was a lie, and the not-lying was the problem. The cash had a weight. Her ass ached in a deep, used way that would still be there in the morning lecture. The taste of their spit sat at the back of her tongue no matter how many times she swallowed her own. She had told them next Thursday. The words were already out in that apartment, sitting on their expensive sheets, and she could not tell, riding down through the quiet floors, whether she had meant them or whether she had only been a girl with a sore body saying whatever kept the money in her hands.

The doors opened on the lobby. She stepped out. The street air was cold and ordinary and did not care what she had done. She touched the bag, felt the stack through the canvas, and the doubt sat down beside the satisfaction and would not move. She had loved it. Something was wrong with how completely she had loved it, or with how little the money seemed to explain, now that it was counted and hers. She walked toward the subway with the smile gone, already unsure she would go back, already unsure she could stay away.