Joanne's downfall 6: Bachelorette Party

Joanne didn't want a bachelorette party because she wanted to save herself for Harold, but that was before the blackmailer entered her life.

The following days were a tense calm for Joanne, the wedding just two weeks away. She tried to focus on the preparations – immaculate white dress, flowers, vows of eternal love with Harold – but her body still bore the invisible marks of humiliation: her vagina sensitive from incessant fucking, her mind haunted by dirty penises and cruel laughter. Charles, however, did not rest. He sifted through Joanne's hacked messages, discovering that she had refused a bachelorette party sometime before their adventures began. 'Virgin until the altar? What a joke,' he laughed, his penis hardening at the thought. 'I'll give her the party a slut deserves.' Using the cloned phone and a fake profile, he impersonated Joanne, arranging everything with Eddie and another dirty lover she had "interacted" with under blackmail.

The phone vibrated in the afternoon: 'Go now to the Periphery Star Motel, room 12. Wear something short.' "Have fun at your bachelorette party. Don't contradict anything they say." Joanne swallowed hard, her heart racing. "Not again," she murmured, but obeyed, putting on a tight skirt and low-cut blouse, driving to the poor neighborhood where the air smelled of sewage and garbage. The motel was dilapidated: flashing neon lights, peeling walls, moans echoing from neighboring rooms. She knocked on door 12, and Eddie opened it, the black garbage man who stole her virginity and her dignity, his body thin and smelly as always, his orange uniform stained with dirt.

"Hey, little slut! I knew you'd come," he said, pulling her inside with a lecherous grin. The room was simple: a double bed with crumpled sheets, a mirror on the ceiling, a musty smell. "The guys are already arriving. You're crazy, huh? Texting me asking to be fucked by ten of us. I never imagined a rich girl could be so perverted." Joanne froze, realizing with horror what was happening – the blackmailer was somehow impersonating her, setting yet another trap. Denying it could mean leaked videos for Harold. "Yeah... yes, I want to," she lied, her voice trembling, sitting on the bed while Eddie laughed, thinking Joanne was there willingly. He opened a beer and offered it to her, which she drank almost in one gulp.

Soon, there was a knock at the door: the garbage collectors entered in a group, ten ugly and varied men – a bald white man of 50, a fat dark-skinned man of 40, a young black man of 25 with tattoos, all in filthy uniforms, dirty boots, reeking of rotten garbage after a whole day collecting trash. "Look who asked for this!" shouted one, his erection already swelling in his work pants. "She said she wanted us dirty and in uniform after work, unshowered, to smell like real men." (Of course, this was a demand from the blackmailer posing as her, to maximize the humiliation.) They surrounded Joanne, rough hands touching her thighs, her breasts. 'Take off your clothes, bitch. Party time.' She obeyed, naked in the center, her pussy exposed, while they lowered their pants, dicks emerging: thick, thin, veiny, all smelling of sweat and dirt.

Eddie was the first, pushing her to her knees. 'Suck my dick, like the first time it deflowered you.' She opened her mouth, sucking the dark, salty dick, her tongue cleaning the dirty foreskin, swallowing until the hairy balls hit her chin, remembering with disgust the first time she was forced to do this with Eddie in her own room. 'Good blowjob. Swallow it all.' The others watched, masturbating, and soon took turns: one dick in her mouth while another shoved it into her pussy. The bald man laid her on the bed, his short, thick cock stretching against her walls, fucking her hard, his hips slamming against her ass. 'Take this garbage man's cock, you bitch. Your fiancé is a clean-cut suit, isn't he? But you still prefer the cock of someone who handles garbage all day.' Another one in her mouth, stifling moans, pre-ejaculate running down her throat.

The hours dragged on in a blur of flesh and sweat. They used her in various positions: on all fours on the floor, one cock in her pussy while she took turns sucking two others; lying down, legs spread, three cocks taking turns in her pussy, semen running down her thighs. The young black man was rough, squeezing her breasts, fucking quickly and pulling out to cum on her face: 'Skin cream, whore.' The fat man lay on the bed and made her mount him, her large belly pressing against him and even serving as support, his cock buried deep in her pussy, moaning as she rode him in turn. Each one fucked her more than once – pussy, ass, mouth – leaving her covered in cum, her body reeking of sex and garbage. 'You rich girls always fantasize about us, don't you? You love dirty, smelly working-class cocks. She must love it, she asked us to come straight from work.' "Even my wife can't stand my smell after work, but this bitch gets all wet." They laughed, drinking beer, lying on the floor or next to Joanne to whisper obscenities between rounds. In the end, leaving her exhausted and sore, but mistaking it for sexual relief, they got dressed, patting her ass. "Thanks for the party, bride-to-be. Send more invitations." They left laughing, leaving the room a mess of wet sheets and the smell of rancid sex. Eddie was the last, kissing her and saying he hoped she enjoyed it, that everyone did as she asked in the messages, and Joanne nodded, just wanting to be alone. Outside the room she overheard some conversations between the garbage collectors who were fucking her. "Is she okay? I think I ended up being too rough," said one. "I wonder if she enjoyed that dirty talk about liking garbage collector dicks? I tried to seem as perverted as possible, just like she asked," said another. Eddie said, "Calm down, guys, she loved it, she's just very tired. After all, 10 grand in one night isn't for just anyone." Everyone laughed. "We did everything she asked, and gave that girl the opportunity to feel truly desired before spending the rest of her life trapped in an arranged marriage with a rich gay guy who uses her as a front. Now let's go, I still have to unload the truck at the dump. I was so anxious that I came straight here after the route." Joanne heard the voices fading into the distance. She understood that these men weren't perverted abusers, just ordinary men who took advantage of the good fortune of a "rich slut" wanting to sleep with them. Some even bothered to fulfill the fetishes the blackmailer had told them as if they were her own. And she was horrified to learn the distorted version the blackmailer had told the garbage collectors about her marriage to Harold.

Joanne barely moved when her cell phone vibrated: 'Good job, whore. Take a shower at the motel. Visitor arriving in an hour. Get naked afterwards.' She had no idea where the cameras and microphones were, but she knew he was watching her. She was relieved that at least the blackmailer hadn't forced her to do it at her house, even though the houses were further apart where she lived; it would have been difficult and embarrassing to try to explain what a bunch of garbage collectors were doing going to her house. Worried but obedient, she dragged herself to the tiny bathroom, warm water washing away the semen and the stench, tears mingling. 'Why does this never end?' she whispered, drying her body, waiting naked in bed. A knock on the door: Jurandir entered, the 60-year-old handyman, the second to fuck her pussy, the reason she started avoiding going to her parents' house, wrinkled brown skin, thin and sweaty body, work uniform clinging to his skin, smelling of chemicals, dirt and sweat.

'Joanne, my princess! I came running when I saw your messages,' he said, grabbing her by the waist and kissing her with an invasive tongue, his hands squeezing her bare buttocks. She instinctively recoiled, but realized her mistake and returned the kiss, even though disgusted – the blackmailer impersonating her again, setting up the meeting. 'I came as you asked me to, dirty, unshowered, in uniform, straight from work. You said you love my working-class man smell, right?' Joanne agreed and swallowed her disgust, the blackmailer's plan clear: to make her look like a tramp with a fetish for filthy laborers. To avoid contradicting him, she forced a seductive smile. 'Yeah... I missed you, Jurandir. Come on, fuck me like last time.' He laughed triumphantly, taking off his belt as he threw her onto the bed.

Jurandir lowered his pants, his aged but hard penis emerging, veiny and smelling of a day's sweat. "Suck it, girl. Show me how you want it." She knelt, her mouth enveloping the head, sucking slowly, her tongue circling the shaft, swallowing until she tasted the saltiness on his balls. "That's it, suck it good, bitch. Your fiancé doesn't give you this." He groaned, hands in her hair, fucking her mouth rhythmically. Then he laid her down, his penis plunging into the still-sensitive cunt of the garbage collectors. "What a wet hole," he said, believing she was aroused, but it was just remnants of the garbage collectors' sperm. "You're my little whore now." He fucked her with firm thrusts, her dirty, smelly body pressing against him, her breasts swaying with each thrust. "Moan for me, say you love my old cock inside you." She pretended, "Ah, fuck me harder, Jurandir! Your cock is the best."

He turned her on her side, cock in her ass, taking her by surprise, stretching slowly, pain mixed with forced pleasure. He alternated between her holes. He came first in her pussy, hot jets filling her, then, after a pause, in her mouth, thick cum dripping down her chin. 'Ride now, bitch.' Joanne mounted him, her pussy sliding on his hard cock, her hips swaying as he squeezed her nipples. He came again inside her, exhausted but satisfied. 'Sleep with me, love.' He lay down, hugging her from behind in a spooning position, his soft cock rubbing against her ass, his snoring echoing. Joanne, exhausted, closed her eyes, falling asleep despite the smell and the disgust.

In the morning, she woke up with his morning erection poking her ass – hard cock again, surprising her with the old man's vitality. 'Good morning, little whore. Take care of this for me, so I can wake up happy.' She turned, sucking on his morning erection, her mouth filling with the taste of the night, swallowing until he groaned. 'Now open your pussy.' Jurandir penetrated her missionary style, fucking slowly at first, then speeding up, his balls slapping against her ass. 'Take it, bitch.' He came inside, pulsing, leaving her dripping. 'You drive me crazy, girl.'

They got dressed and went to the motel's diner – plastic tables, simple coffee. Jurandir ate with appetite, his hand on her thigh under the table. 'I missed you, Joanne. You're fire. I'm sorry you're forcing yourself to marry that bore just to please your parents. But whenever you want a real cock, text me. I'll come running, I'll fuck you like a woman deserves.' Joanne was horrified: the blackmailer not only arranged meetings but spread lies, making Jurandir believe she desired him, that Haroldo was an arranged marriage, and that she didn't like him. 'Thank you... I'm in charge,' she murmured, feigning anger.

He kissed her on the mouth, his tongue possessive, his hand squeezing her buttocks tightly before leaving. 'See you soon, my bitch. Take care of this pussy for me.' Alone, Joanne rushed home, collapsed onto her bed, hot tears streaming down her face. She was completely at his mercy – the blackmailer manipulating her image, telling lies that could destroy everything. With the wedding in two weeks, the dread grew: what if he told more lies? What if Haroldo found out? She picked up her phone, waiting for the next message, her treacherous body still tingling from the sex, her mind in ruins.

Note: If all goes well, I'll post two chapters next time. One will focus more on Joanne and Haroldo's story, with little erotic content, mainly to develop their relationship. The other will begin a new cycle of humiliations for Joanne, but it also doesn't have much action yet. I ask for your patience, as writing is still relatively new to me, and sometimes I write more than necessary, making it too long to fit into one part.