FTM fucked by 3 males. Part 13: THE MALL BATHROOMS

PART 13: THE MALL BATHROOMS
At three I'm at the crossing, wearing the collar, the miniskirt and my heart racing at a thousand. This time the van appears. The side door opens and there is the one with the tattoo, shaved, short beard, blue eyes piercing me from above. Behind, the mechanic in his work overalls and the youngest one with that smile of someone who has already decided the afternoon's plan.

—Get in, bitch —says the one with the tattoo, grabbing me by the collar and pulling me inside—. Today we're going on a trip.

—Where are we going? —I ask, and the mechanic laughs while pushing me to the floor of the van, between his boots.

—To the mall, little whore —he says, and runs his foot over my face—. To the bathrooms. My buddy is the security guard, and today he controls who goes in and who doesn't.

They tie my hands behind my back with a zip tie and blindfold me with a rag that smells of grease and sweat. The trip is a dizzying blur of sudden stops and bumps, with the one with the tattoo stepping on the back of my neck to keep me from lifting my head and the youngest one occasionally putting his fingers in my cunt, laughing when I moan.

—Still, bitch —he says—. We're taking you to your favorite place: the place where males do their business and you take care of it.

When they uncover my eyes I'm kneeling in a public bathroom. Tiles up to the ceiling, smell of bleach mixed with that rancid smell of old urine, a row of white porcelain urinals and three stalls with the doors open. The ceiling light buzzes. And in front of the door, with the security cap and the walkie-talkie in his hand, is the security guard: a big guy, bald, with fat arms and an unfriendly face.

—This is the whore I told you about —says the mechanic, giving me a slap on the ass—. She does everything you tell her. Chirps, swallows, licks... whatever.

The security guard looks me up and down, with his cap tilted, and nods slowly.

—Alright. I'll leave the door locked for an hour —he says—. But I also want to try a little before you leave.

—You're the boss —says the one with the tattoo, and grabs me by the hair—. But first, bitch, you have to earn the prize of being here. On all fours.

I get on all fours on the tile floor, cold and wet. The collar tightens around my neck and the sign that says "Bitch" bounces against my chest with every movement.

—Woof —I say, and the youngest one laughs.

—Louder —he says, giving me a slap on the buttocks that makes me jump.

—WOOF! —I shout, and the three laugh while they unbutton their pants.

The youngest one takes a leash from his pocket and clips it to my collar.

—Let's take a walk, bitch —he says, pulling the leash—. Show us how a good bitch moves through her pack's bathrooms.

I start crawling across the tile floor, my knees burning against the cold porcelain, the leash tight pulling at my ne...