Chapter 1: Painted Whore Prep and Arrival

Kira’s heart pounded like a bass drum in her chest, the kind that rattled your bones at those underground raves where sweat and sin mixed into a sticky haze. She stood in the dimly lit studio, the air thick with the scent of acrylic paint and her own growing musk—a sharp, needy tang that betrayed how fucked up she was getting just from the thought of it all. Jax, her boyfriend and cameraman, lounged against the wall, his phone already rolling, capturing every degrading second for her OnlyFans horde. Those pervy subscribers ate this shit up: the build-up, the tease, the way she’d spiral into a cum-drenched mess by night’s end. “Smile for the degenerates, babe,” Jax growled, his voice low and commanding, eyes hungry on her slim, toned body. She was built for this—perky tits that begged to be slapped till they bruised, a tight ass that jiggled like an invitation to pound, long dark hair she’d whip around while getting railed, and those piercing green eyes that screamed “break me” even as they welled with humiliated tears.

She stripped slow, deliberate, peeling off her tank top first, her nipples hardening instantly in the cool air, pink peaks stiffening like little cocks eager for abuse. The shorts came next, sliding down her thighs, revealing her shaved pussy—lips already puffy and slick, clit peeking out like a desperate slut. No panties, of course; why bother when you’d be leaking cum all night? Naked now, she posed for Jax’s lens, arching her back to thrust her tits forward, spreading her legs just enough to let the camera catch the glisten between her thighs. “Fuck, you’re already dripping,” Jax laughed, zooming in on her cunt. “Can’t wait to paint that whore hole like it’s dressed for the slaughter.”

The artist, a sleazy fuck named Rico with inked arms and a bulge in his jeans that said he loved his job a little too much, grinned as he approached. He was the kind who’d finger a girl mid-paint and call it “artistic inspiration.” Kira popped the first ecstasy tab right then, dry-swallowing it with a wink at the camera. The pill hit her veins like liquid fire, warming her core, making her skin tingle as if invisible hands were already groping her. “Let’s make her look like a slutty rave doll,” Rico said, dipping his brush into the neon pink. He started on her tits, the soft bristles teasing her nipples in slow circles, painting what looked like a skimpy halter top from afar—crisscross straps that “covered” her swells but left the undersides bare, the paint so thin up close you could see her skin flushing beneath. Each stroke sent jolts to her clit, her pussy clenching empty, a dribble of wetness trickling down her inner thigh.

“Fuck, that tickles,” she moaned, but it was more than that— the ecstasy amplified every touch, turning the brush into a lover’s tongue, lapping at her sensitive buds. Rico’s free hand “steadied” her, palm flat on her belly, fingers inching lower, brushing the top of her mound. Jax filmed it all, his cock straining against his pants. “Spread ‘em wider, Kira. Let him paint that dripping slit like it’s wearing a thong.” She obeyed, legs parting, ass cheeks flexing as Rico knelt before her, breath hot on her pussy. The brush danced over her lips, painting illusionary straps that framed her clit, the bristles dipping just inside her folds, coating her wetness with color. She gasped, hips bucking involuntarily, grinding against the tool like a bitch in heat. “Oh god, that’s ... fuck, deeper,” she whimpered, her voice breaking into a slutty whine. Rico chuckled, pressing the handle against her entrance, teasing but not penetrating—yet.