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I heard Val's words, but they didn't really land. My head was heavy, my cheek grinding against the gritty concrete, and there was a boy inside me—no, a new one, his hands digging into my hips, pulling me back onto his cock with a roughness that made my breath catch.

"Twelve so far," Val repeated, louder this time, her fingers tracing the bite marks on my shoulder like she was counting beads. "You feel that, Elena? Twelve boys have already fucked you tonight."

I tried to answer, but the boy behind me chose that moment to slam forward, and my response turned into a strangled moan. His fingers dug into my hips, sharp, punishing, and I felt the slap of his thighs against my ass, wet and rhythmic.

"I don't think she can count that high right now," someone said from above me. A girl's voice. I couldn't see her face. The basement was all shadows and the single bare bulb swinging above, casting everything in harsh yellow light.

The boy behind me groaned, his pace quickening, and I felt his cum—warm, thick—spill into me, filling me past the point of holding. It leaked down my thighs, mixing with everything else that had already been poured into me tonight. He pulled out with a wet sound, and I stayed where I was, knees aching on the thin rug, my body trembling.

"That's thirteen," Val said, and I heard the smile in her voice.

I didn't get a break. The next pair of hands found my hips before I could draw a full breath, and I felt the head of another cock pressing against my entrance, slick with the mess of the last boy. He pushed in without waiting, without asking, and I gasped at the stretch—still tight, still gripping him even after everything.

"Fuck," he breathed. "She's not lying. She's like a fucking vise."

I laughed, the sound muffled against the floor. "I'm friendly," I whispered, and someone above me laughed too.

Val crouched beside me, her face appearing in my peripheral vision. Her dark eyes were sharp, hungry, tracing the line of my spine, the bite marks on my shoulders, the way my body was taking everything they gave it.

"She's a natural," Val said, not to me—to the room. "Look at her. Taking it like she was made for it."

The boy behind me grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back, changing the angle, and I choked on a moan. His other hand came around to my front, grabbing one of my breasts, squeezing hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh until I gasped.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Yes," I said, because I did. I liked the way his hand felt, the pressure, the sting. I liked the way he was using me, the way he didn't hold back. It felt friendly.

"She likes it," he said, and there was something in his voice—wonder, maybe. Or satisfaction. "She actually likes it."

His hand slid from my breast to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there, his palm warm and rough against my skin. He kept fucking me, his hips slapping against my ass, wet sounds filling the basement, and I let my eyes close and just felt it. The heat. The pressure. The weight of him inside me.

When he came, he bit down on my shoulder—hard, his teeth sinking in, and I cried out, a sharp sound of surprise and pleasure. He held me there, his mouth on my skin, his cock pulsing inside me, and when he finally pulled away, I felt the sting of broken skin.

More than halfway. My head was so fuzzy.

"Fourteen," Val said, and her hand was in my hair, stroking. "You're doing so good, Elena. Almost halfway to twenty-four."

Twenty-four. The number swam in my head, too big to hold. I'd already taken fourteen. That seemed like enough. But Val was still talking, still counting, and there was already another boy behind me, positioning himself, his hands on my hips.

This one was bigger. I felt it the moment he pushed in—the stretch wider, deeper, a burning pressure that made me gasp and grip the concrete floor with my fingernails. He didn't go slow. He didn't ease in. He just pushed, forcing his way into me, and I felt my body clench around him, resisting and welcoming at the same time.

"Holy shit," someone said. "Look at that."

"She's taking it," the boy behind me grunted. "Fuck, she's taking all of it."

His hands found my hips and pulled me back onto his cock, hard, each thrust driving me forward, my breasts swinging beneath me, the concrete scraping my nipples raw. It hurt. It hurt so good, a deep, burning ache that spread through my whole body, and I moaned into the floor, my voice cracked and raw.

"You like that, don't you?" Val said, her voice low, almost intimate. "You like it rough."

"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, I do."

"I know you do. I've been watching you all night, Elena. The way you smile when they hurt you. The way you spread your legs wider." Her hand traced down my spine, over the curve of my ass, and I shivered. "You were made for this."

The boy behind me grabbed my hair again, yanking my head back, and I felt his breath hot on my ear. "Tell me you want it," he said. "Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"I want it," I said, my voice a whimper. "Please. Fuck me."

He did. He fucked me so hard I felt the impact through my whole body, my teeth rattling, my vision going white at the edges. Each thrust drove me forward, my knees scraping against the rug, and I felt the tears streaming down my face, mixing with the sweat and the dirt. But I was smiling. I was always smiling.

When he came, he pulled out and came on my back, hot streaks spilling across my skin, dripping down my spine. Someone else was already there, hands on my shoulders, pushing me flat against the floor, spreading my legs wider.

"Fifteen," Val said, and her voice was warmer now, prouder.

The next boy was rougher than the last. He didn't even bother to line up properly—just shoved his cock against my entrance, missed, tried again, and forced his way in on the third attempt. I cried out, a sharp sound, and he laughed, his hand coming down hard on my ass, the slap echoing through the basement.

"That's it," he said. "Take it. Take all of it."

His hand came down again, harder, and I felt the sting bloom across my skin, hot and sharp. Then his fingers were digging into the flesh of my ass, spreading me wider, and he was fucking me so fast, so hard, that I could barely breathe, barely think.

The room was spinning. The bare bulb above me was a blur of yellow light, and the voices around me were a wash of sound—laughter, encouragement, the wet slap of skin on skin. I let myself float in it, let the sensations wash over me, the pain and the pleasure blurring together until I couldn't tell them apart.

"She's taking sixteen," someone said, and I realized another boy had finished, and another had started. Or maybe I'd lost count. I didn't know anymore. I just knew that there was always a cock inside me, always hands on my body, always mouths on my skin.

Val's face appeared in front of me, her dark eyes meeting mine. She was crouched down, her hand cupping my cheek, her thumb brushing away the tears I hadn't realized I was crying.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, soft and gentle, like I was a friend she was checking on.

"Good," I managed, my voice a broken whisper. "I feel good."

"You look good. You look like you belong here."

The boy behind me changed pace, slowing down, then slamming back in, a brutal rhythm that made me gasp. His hands found my breasts, grabbing them from behind, squeezing so hard I winced, and then he was biting my shoulder, his teeth sinking into the same spot as the last boy, making me cry out.

Val watched. Her eyes never left my face.

"Seventeen," she said, and I heard the smile in her voice.

I was beyond counting now. Beyond thinking. There was only the rhythm of the bodies using mine, the heat of their skin, the sound of their breath. I let myself become nothing but sensation, a vessel for their pleasure, and I found a strange peace in it.

They were being friendly. All of them. Every boy who forced his way into me, every hand that grabbed me too hard, every mouth that bit down on my skin—they were just being friendly. This was how this school showed affection. And I was the friendliest girl in it.

I smiled into the concrete, my lips wet with tears and spit, and spread my knees wider.

The boy behind me groaned, his rhythm faltering, and I felt his cum spill into me, another warm flood mixing with everything else. He pulled out, and I heard Val's voice, patient and pleased: "Eighteen. You're almost there, Elena."

The next boy grabbed my hips and flipped me onto my back without warning, the concrete scraping against my bruised skin. I blinked up at the bare bulb, blinded, and then his face was above me—dark hair, sharp jaw, hungry eyes. He spread my legs wide and pushed into me without a word, and I arched my back, a moan tearing from my throat.

He fucked me hard, the way all of them did, his hands pinning my wrists to the floor above my head. He was staring down at me, his eyes wild, his breath ragged, and I stared back, letting him see how much I loved it.

"You're fucking insane," he said, but he was smiling. "You actually love this."

"I love being friendly," I said, and I meant it.

He laughed, a sharp sound, and then he was coming inside me, his body shuddering, his grip on my wrists loosening. He pulled out and stood up, and for a moment there was no one between my legs. I lay there, panting, my body trembling, the cold air hitting my wet skin.

But the moment didn't last. Someone else was already there, pushing my legs apart, positioning himself at my entrance. A different face. A different body. The same hunger.

Val appeared above me, her face in the light, her smile wide. "Nineteen," she said. "And you're still tight."

I laughed, a broken, happy sound, as the boy pushed into me, filling me again. "I told you," I said. "I'm the friendliest girl in school."

Val's hand found my hair, stroking. "Yeah," she said. "And the tightest. Don't ever forget that."

The boy between my legs was still fucking me, his rhythm fast and desperate, when I felt a new set of hands on my body. A girl's hands—smaller, softer, nails painted a dark red that caught the yellow light. She appeared beside me, kneeling on the concrete, her face coming into focus above the bare bulb's glare.

Blonde. Sharp cheekbones. I recognized her from the living room earlier, the one who had said she was coming tonight with friends.

"My turn," she said, and it wasn't a request.

The boy behind me didn't stop, but she didn't wait for him to finish either. Her fingers found my mouth, traced my lower lip, and then she was pushing two of them inside, pressing down on my tongue. I sucked without thinking, the way I'd learned to do tonight, and she smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips.

"Look at that," she said, her voice low. "She knows what to do with her mouth."

Another girl appeared behind her—brunette, shorter, with a nose ring that glinted in the light. She crouched beside the blonde, her eyes moving over my body like she was studying something fascinating.

"Val wasn't kidding," the brunette said. "She's covered in cum. Look at her—dripping with it."

"That's the point," the blonde said, still working her fingers in my mouth. "She's the party gift. She's supposed to be covered."

The boy behind me groaned, his hips slamming forward one last time, and I felt his cum flood into me, another warm rush mixing with everything else. He pulled out with a wet sound, and for a moment there was nothing inside me—just the empty ache, the soreness, the slick mess dripping down my thighs.

"Twenty," Val said from somewhere above me. "Twenty exactly. And we've got new players."

"She's so fucking tight," the brunette said, her voice full of wonder. "Even after twenty guys. She's still gripping my fingers."

"That's what they're all saying," Val said. "The tightest pussy in school. And it's all ours."

The brunette's fingers worked me, curling, pressing, finding a rhythm that made my hips buck against her hand.

"She's getting close," the brunette said. "I can feel her clenching."

The brunette pulled her fingers out of me and stood up, wiping her hand on her thigh. "I want to see her take it in the ass," she said. "I heard she's never done that before."

Val's voice came from somewhere behind me. "She hasn't. But she's a natural. She can take anything."

The room seemed to shift. The air changed, charged with something new. I heard murmurs of agreement, laughter, the sound of someone moving behind me. I stayed where I was, on my knees, my forehead pressed to the concrete, my body trembling with exhaustion and anticipation.

A boy's hands found my hips, pulling me up onto my knees, positioning me. His voice was rough, unfamiliar. "You ever been fucked in the ass before?"

I shook my head, my hair dragging across the floor. "No," I whispered.

"You want to try?"

I thought about it. The word friendly floated through my mind, warm and reassuring. They wanted to try something new. They wanted to be friendly with me in a new way. And I wanted to be friendly back.

"Yes," I said. "I want to try."

Someone laughed. "She said yes. She actually said yes."

"Of course she did," Val said. "She's the friendliest girl in school."

The boy behind me spit into his hand, and I heard the wet sound of him slicking himself. Then I felt the head of his cock pressing against my asshole, a pressure I'd never felt before, strange and invasive. I tensed, my body resisting instinctively, and he paused.

"Relax," he said, his voice low. "It'll hurt less if you relax."

I tried. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing my muscles to unclench. He pushed again, and I felt the stretch—a burning, foreign pressure that made me gasp. He didn't stop. He kept pushing, forcing his way into me, and I cried out, a sound of surprise and pain and something else I couldn't name.

"There we go," he said, his voice strained. "Fuck. She's tight everywhere."

He started moving, slow at first, letting me adjust. The burn was intense, a deep, stretching ache that radiated through my whole pelvis. But underneath it, there was something else—a fullness, a pressure that was different from what I felt in my cunt. Deeper. Stranger.

"You okay?" he asked, and there was something almost gentle in his voice.

"Yes," I said, my voice cracking. "I'm okay."

He picked up the pace, his hips slapping against my ass, and the burn began to fade, replaced by a rhythmic pressure that made me moan. His hands were on my hips, gripping hard, pulling me back onto his cock with each thrust. The room was watching. I could feel their eyes on me, their hunger, their fascination.

"Look at that," someone said. "She's taking it in the ass like she was born for it."

"Twenty-one," Val said, and her voice was proud.

The boy fucked me harder, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I heard him groan, felt his hands tighten on my hips, and then he was coming inside me—a hot rush that felt different in this hole, deeper, stranger. He stayed there for a moment, panting, and then he pulled out with a slow, wet sound.

I felt the cum leaking out of me, running down my thighs, mixing with everything else.

There was no break. Another boy was already behind me, positioning himself at my asshole, pushing in before I could draw a full breath. This one was bigger, and the stretch was sharper, making me gasp and grip the concrete floor with my fingernails.

"She's so fucking tight," he grunted. "Even in the ass."

"She's a natural," Val said again, and I heard the smile in her voice.

The next few boys blurred together. Some took my ass, some took my cunt, some alternated between the two. A girl's mouth found my breasts, sucking hard, her teeth grazing my nipples until I cried out. Another girl's fingers found my clit, rubbing in tight circles while a boy fucked me from behind, the dual sensation overwhelming, pushing me toward an orgasm that built and built and finally crested, making me scream into the concrete.

They kept going. The numbers climbed—twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four. Val announced each one like a milestone, and the room cheered when we hit twenty-four, the goal she'd set at the beginning of the night.

But they didn't stop.

"Keep going," Val said. "She's not done yet. None of you are done yet."

The bodies kept coming. Boys. Girls. Hands. Mouths. Cocks. Fingers. I lost track of who was who, what was what. There was only the rhythm of being used, the heat of their skin, the sound of their breath, the wet sounds of their pleasure.

My head was getting heavy. The yellow light above me was swimming, the voices around me growing distant and muffled. I tried to focus, tried to stay present, but my body was giving out. The exhaustion was too deep, the sensations too many. I felt myself slipping, the edges of my consciousness going soft and blurry.

I heard Val's voice, close to my ear. "She's going under. Look at her eyes."

"Should we stop?" someone asked.

"No," Val said. "Keep going. She said she wanted to belong to everyone. This is what belonging means."

I wanted to nod, wanted to tell them I agreed, but my body wouldn't cooperate. The last thing I remembered was a boy's hands on my hips, a girl's mouth on my nipple, and Val's voice counting—twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven—as the light above me went dark.

—

I don't know how long I was out. Minutes. Hours. The world came back in fragments—sensation without context, sound without meaning.

A rough hand slapping my ass. Hard. The sting blooming across my skin.

"She's still out. Look at her. Dead to the world."

"Good. She's easier to use like this."

Laughter. Low and cruel.

I felt myself being moved, my body limp and unresponsive. Someone spread my legs wide. Someone else pushed my arms above my head. I was being positioned, arranged like a doll, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I couldn't even open my eyes.

A cock pushed into my mouth, thick and heavy, and I gagged reflexively, my throat clenching. But I couldn't move, couldn't pull away. The boy held my head steady and fucked my throat, deep and rough, each thrust hitting the back of my throat and making me choke.

"She's still wet," another voice said, surprised. "Even unconscious, she's still wet."

"Told you. She's built for this."

Someone entered me from behind—my cunt, I think. The stretch was familiar, almost comforting. They fucked me hard, their hips slapping against my ass, their hands gripping my hips so tightly I knew there would be bruises tomorrow. I heard them talking, their voices casual, like I wasn't even there.

"How many is that for her?"

"I lost count. Thirty? Thirty-five?"

"Val's still counting. She's been counting the whole time."

"She's going to be so sore tomorrow. You think she'll remember any of this?"

"Does it matter? She doesn't need to remember. She just needs to take it."

They laughed again. The cock in my mouth thrust deeper, and I felt cum spilling down my throat, hot and thick. I swallowed automatically, my body working on instinct, and the boy groaned above me.

"Fuck. She's still swallowing. Even unconscious."

"She's the perfect little cocksleeve."

Another boy took his place. Another cock filled my mouth. Someone was still fucking my cunt from behind, and I felt fingers pressing into my asshole, stretching me, preparing me for the next one. They were rough, their touches harder now that I couldn't respond, couldn't smile, couldn't tell them I liked it.

"You think she can hear us?"

"Maybe. Doesn't matter if she can. She wouldn't care. She loves this."

"She loves being our little party gift."

The fingers in my ass were replaced by a cock, thicker than the last, and I felt the familiar burn as he pushed into me. I wanted to moan, wanted to tell him I liked it, but I couldn't. My body was a doll, limp and pliant, taking everything they gave me.

They used me for hours. I drifted in and out, catching fragments of conversation, flashes of sensation. The bare bulb above me was a constant blur of yellow light. The concrete was cold against my cheek. The cum was drying on my skin, crusting in my hair, pooling beneath me on the thin rug.

At some point, I heard Val's voice, close and warm. "She's taken forty-two. And she's still taking more. Like a queen."

"She's not even awake," someone said, awed.

"Doesn't matter. She belongs to us. All of us."

I felt her hand in my hair, stroking gently, the only soft touch in a night full of rough ones. "You're doing so good, Elena," she whispered. "So good. Sleep. Let them have you. That's what you wanted, right?"

I couldn't answer. But I thought yes. That's what I wanted. To be friendly. To belong to everyone.

To be theirs.

The hands kept touching me. The cocks kept filling me. The voices kept talking, casual and careless, while I lay there in the dark behind my eyelids, feeling everything, fighting nothing, smiling in my sleep.

I heard them through the dark. Their voices came from somewhere far away, then close, then far again, like they were swimming in and out of range. The hands never stopped. The cocks never stopped. I floated in the space behind my eyelids, aware of everything, unable to move a single muscle.

"She's still tight. Jesus. How is she still this tight?"

"I told you. She's built different. Her pussy's like a fucking vise, even when she's out cold."

I wanted to smile at the compliment. I couldn't. My face was pressed against the concrete, my lips parted, my tongue slack. I tasted dirt and cum and someone else's spit.

"How many is that?"

"Forty-six. Val's keeping count on her phone."

"Forty-six. And she's still wet. Look at her. Dripping."

A finger pushed into me—my cunt, I think—and I felt it slide in easily, slick with the mess of everyone who had come before. The finger curled, pressed against something inside me, and my hips twitched involuntarily.

"She just clenched around my finger. Even unconscious, she's clenching."

"Her body knows what it's doing even if her brain doesn't. She's a natural-born cocksleeve."

Laughter. Low and casual, like they were discussing the weather.

"Val's been saying that all night. 'She's a natural.'"

"She is. Look at her. Fifty guys and she's still taking it. No complaint. No resistance. Just... open."

Another cock pushed into me from behind—my cunt again, or maybe my ass, I couldn't tell anymore. The stretch was familiar, almost comforting. The boy behind me groaned, his hands gripping my hips, and he started fucking me with a steady, punishing rhythm.

"Fifty-one," someone said, and there was a cheer from somewhere in the room.

"She broke the record," another voice said. "School record. Jenny Morrison only made it to forty-three before she tapped out."

"Elena didn't even tap out. She passed out and kept going. That's a different league."

"Fucking legend."

I wanted to tell them I was glad. I wanted to tell them I was happy to be the record. But my mouth wouldn't move. My tongue was heavy, useless, pressed against the floor.

The boy behind me came with a grunt, his cum spilling into me, and I felt the warmth spread through my insides, mixing with everything else. He pulled out, and someone else was already there, positioning himself, pushing in before I could draw a full breath.

"Fifty-two. Her ass this time. She's taking it in the ass like a pro."

"Val said she'd never done anal before tonight."

"Well, she's a quick learner. Look at her. Taking it deep, not even flinching."

The boy in my ass grunted, his pace fast and rough. "She's so fucking tight back here. Even after... what, ten guys in her ass?"

"Twelve," Val's voice said, clear and proud. "Twelve in her ass, forty in her cunt. And she's still going."

"She's going to be walking funny for a week."

"She won't be walking at all. She'll be crawling. And smiling."

More laughter. The boy in my ass came, pulled out, and I felt the cum leaking down my thighs, warm and thick.

"Fifty-three."

A girl's voice next. "I want to try her mouth. She's been out for a while. I want to see if she still swallows."

Hands on my head, lifting it, turning my face. I felt a cock pressing against my lips, pushing past them, sliding into my mouth. I couldn't suck. I couldn't move my tongue. But my throat opened automatically, reflexes taking over, and I felt it slide deeper, hitting the back of my throat, making me gag.

"She still gags. That's good. Means she's still alive."

"She's alive. Just... not here."

The cock in my mouth thrust slowly, fucking my throat with a lazy rhythm. I heard the girl above me moaning, her voice breathy. "Fuck. Her throat is tight too. Everything about her is tight."

"That's the Elena special. Tightest pussy, tightest ass, tightest throat. She's the complete package."

"The friendliest package."

Laughter again. The cum in my mouth came suddenly, without warning, hot and thick, flooding down my throat. I swallowed automatically, my body working without my permission, and I heard the girl gasp above me.

"She swallowed. Even unconscious, she fucking swallowed."

"Told you. Natural-born."

I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to tell them I was happy to make them happy. But I couldn't. The words were trapped somewhere I couldn't reach. I just lay there, my mouth open, my throat working, taking whatever they gave me.

Time passed. I don't know how much. The numbers kept climbing—fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six. Somewhere in the room, someone was playing music now, bass thumping through the concrete floor. The vibrations traveled through my body, mixing with the rhythm of the cocks inside me.

"Sixty," Val announced, and the room erupted in cheers. "Sixty different people. In one night. Elena Vasquez, everyone. The record that's never going to be broken."

More cheers. Hands slapping my ass, my thighs, my breasts. Celebratory touches that stung and burned and made me want to moan.

"Should we stop now?" someone asked. "She's hit sixty. That's got to be enough."

"No," Val said, and her voice was firm. "She's still taking it. Look at her. She's still open, still wet, still tight. We keep going until she can't take anymore."

"And when is that?"

"When her body gives out. Not before."

I felt a new cock pushing into my cunt, and I realized I was being rolled onto my side, my legs spread, my body arranged like a piece of furniture. Someone's mouth found my nipple, sucking hard, and I felt the sting of teeth, the pull of suction. Someone else's fingers pressed into my mouth, stretching my jaw, and I tasted skin and sweat and something metallic.

"She's still tight," the boy fucking me said, his voice strained. "Still fucking tight. How is that possible?"

"She's a miracle," Val said. "A miracle with the tightest pussy in the history of this school."

I heard her footsteps, felt her hand on my cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't realized I was crying. "You're doing so good, Elena. So good. We're almost at seventy. Can you feel it? Can you feel how many people want you?"

I couldn't answer. But in the dark behind my eyes, I felt it. I felt every single one. Every cock. Every mouth. Every hand. They wanted me. All of them. And I wanted them too.

I was the friendliest girl in school.

I was the record.

I was theirs.

The next boy inside me was rougher than the last, his hands pinning my wrists to the floor, his hips slamming into me with a force that made my body slide across the concrete. I felt the skin on my knees tearing, the rug burning my elbows, but I couldn't feel the pain as pain. It was just sensation, just pressure, just proof that I was still here, still being used, still friendly.

"Sixty-seven," someone said.

"She's starting to bleed a little. Look at her knees."

"She'll be fine. She's tough."

"Not as tough as her pussy. God, I've never felt anything like it."

The boy kept fucking me, his breath ragged, his grip on my wrists tightening. When he came, he stayed inside me for a long moment, his body shuddering, and then he pulled out and stood up.

"Sixty-eight. Who's next?"

The room was quiet for a moment. I heard murmurs, footsteps, the sound of someone opening a beer. Then Val's voice, soft and amused:

"Looks like we've run out of volunteers."

"We've run out?" someone said. "But she's still here. She's still taking it."

"I know. But everyone who wanted a turn has had one. Some of them have had two or three." There was a pause. "Sixty-eight. That's a hell of a number."

"What do we do with her now?"

"We clean her up. Get her dressed. Get her home." Val's voice was practical, almost maternal. "She's got school tomorrow. She needs to be ready."

Hands on my body again, but gentler now. Someone wiped my face with a damp cloth. Someone else lifted my legs, cleaned between them, the touch almost tender. I felt myself being moved, my limp body arranged like a doll, and then a blanket being draped over me.

"She's smiling," someone said, surprised. "Look. She's still smiling."

"Of course she is. She's the friendliest girl in school. And tonight, she proved it."

I felt Val's lips on my forehead, a soft kiss. "Sleep, Elena. You earned it. Tomorrow, we start again."

Her hand stroked my hair once, twice, and then the footsteps moved away. The voices grew distant, the basement lights dimming, and I floated there, wrapped in the blanket, my body aching and full and warm, still smiling in my sleep.

Sixty-eight. The number echoed in my dreams, a soft drumbeat.

Sixty-eight people wanted me.

Sixty-eight people were friendly with me.

And tomorrow, there would be more.

I heard Val's voice cut through the fog, sharp and decisive. "Actually—no. Bring her upstairs."

A pause. Someone grunted. "Upstairs? Thought we were done down here."

"I changed my mind. The basement's getting stale. I want her somewhere people can see her."

Hands grabbed me under my arms, lifting my limp body off the concrete. My head lolled back, my hair dragging across the floor before someone else grabbed my ankles. I was being carried, my body swaying between them like a piece of furniture, my arms dangling, my breasts bouncing with each step.

"She's heavier than she looks," the boy at my shoulders said.

"She's solid," the other one said. "All that ass and tits. Makes sense she'd have weight."

I heard footsteps on stairs, felt the angle change as they carried me up. The air shifted—cooler, fresher, the smell of mildew replaced by cigarette smoke and spilled beer. The basement door creaked open, and then I was in the living room, the party lights flickering across my closed eyelids.

"Where do you want her?"

"The couch," Val said. "No—the floor. Right in the middle of the room. I want everyone to see her."

They set me down on something soft. A rug, maybe. My body settled, limp and pliant, my arms spread out, my legs apart. I couldn't move them. I couldn't close them. I just lay there, naked and covered in drying cum, my skin sticky and cold in the open air.

"Good," Val said. "Now go get those guys I saw across the street. The ones smoking on the porch."

"The stoners?"

"Yeah. Tell them I've got something for them."

Footsteps retreated. The front door opened and closed. I lay there, alone with Val and the faint sound of music from the basement, my eyes closed, my body still.

I heard Val's footsteps approach. She crouched beside me, her hand finding my hair, stroking gently. "You're still with us, aren't you, Elena? I can tell. You're in there somewhere."

I wanted to answer. I couldn't. My tongue was heavy, my throat dry, my whole body a dead weight I couldn't lift.

"That's okay," she said. "You don't need to wake up. You just need to be here. To be ready."

The front door opened again. I heard multiple sets of footsteps, heavy and uncertain, tracking dirt across the hardwood floor.

"Whoa," a male voice said. "What the fuck, Val?"

"This is Elena," Val said, and I heard the smile in her voice. "She's the friendliest girl in school."

"She looks... dead."

"She's not dead. She's resting. She just took sixty-eight people in the basement. She's earned a break."

A pause. Someone whistled low. "Sixty-eight? No shit?"

"No shit. Sixty-eight in one night. Cunt, ass, mouth. She took all of it. Never tapped out. Never said no."

"And she's just... lying there?"

"She's waiting for more. Aren't you, Elena?"

I couldn't answer. But I felt my lips twitch, trying to smile. Trying to show them I was friendly.

"She's smiling," another voice said, awed. "Look at her. She's fucking smiling."

"She's always smiling. That's her thing. She's the friendliest girl in school, and she proves it every single day."

Footsteps circled me. I felt the weight of their eyes on my body, tracing the bite marks, the bruises, the dried cum crusted on my skin.

"She's a mess," someone said. "A beautiful fucking mess."

"She's a record," Val corrected. "And she's got the tightest pussy you've ever felt. I'm not exaggerating. Ask anyone who's been inside her tonight. They'll tell you the same thing."

"The tightest?"

"The tightest. Like a fucking vise. Even after sixty-eight guys, she's still gripping. Still squeezing. She can't help it. Her body was made for this."

I heard the sound of a joint being passed, the crackle of smoke, the sharp inhale.

"So what are you offering?" a new voice asked—low, lazy, the voice of someone who was already high and wasn't in a hurry.

"I'm offering her," Val said. "Take a turn. All of you. She's not going anywhere. She's not going to say no. She's not even going to remember your faces tomorrow. She'll just remember that someone was friendly with her."

"And she doesn't mind?"

"She loves it. Don't you, Elena?"

I tried to nod. I couldn't. But I felt my lips part, my tongue pressing against my teeth, trying to form words I couldn't reach.

"See? She's ready. She's always ready."

Someone knelt beside me. I felt a hand on my thigh, warm and rough, fingers tracing the line of dried cum. "She's still wet," he said, surprised. "Even after everything, she's still wet."

"I told you. She's built for this. Her body doesn't know how to stop."

The fingers pressed into me—my cunt, sliding in easily, slick and warm. I felt them curl, exploring, and my hips twitched involuntarily, a reflex I couldn't control.

"Holy shit," the boy said. "She just clenched around my fingers."

"That's the Elena special. Tightest pussy in school. And she gives it to everyone."

Another pair of hands found my breasts, grabbing them, squeezing. The touch was rough, careless, like I was a piece of fruit they were testing for ripeness. I felt fingers pinch my nipple, twisting, and a dull ache radiated through my chest.

"Her tits are amazing," a voice said. "So fucking heavy."

"She's got the whole package. Tits, ass, pussy. The complete friendly experience."

Someone laughed. The joint was passed again. I heard the hiss of smoke, the sound of someone coughing.

"So are we doing this or what?"

"We're doing this. But first—" Val's hand was in my hair again, lifting my head. "Wake up, Elena. Just a little. I want you to know what's happening."

I tried. I pushed against the darkness, fought my way toward the surface. My eyelids fluttered, heavy and impossible, but I managed to open them a crack. The world was blurry, the living room lights too bright, but I could see shapes—Val's face above me, her dark eyes watching. Three figures standing around me, their faces shadowed, their eyes hungry.

"There she is," Val said softly. "Welcome back, Elena."

I tried to speak. My voice came out as a croak, barely audible. "Hi."

The stoners laughed. One of them—tall, skinny, with red-rimmed eyes—knelt beside me. "She said hi. That's cute."

"She's always polite," Val said. "Watch." She leaned closer to me, her voice warm. "Elena, these are some new friends. They want to be friendly with you. Is that okay?"

I tried to nod. My head moved an inch, maybe two. "Yes," I whispered. "I want to be friendly."

"You hear that?" Val said, looking at the stoners. "She said yes. She always says yes."

The tall one pushed my legs apart, spreading them wide. I felt the cold air on my cunt, the wetness cooling on my skin. He positioned himself between my thighs, and I saw him spit into his hand, slicking himself.

"You sure she's ready?" he asked, his voice uncertain. "She looks barely conscious."

"She's ready. Trust me. Her body knows what to do."

He pushed into me. The stretch was immediate, a familiar pressure that I felt in my bones. I gasped, a sharp sound, my back arching slightly off the rug. He was thick, and I felt every inch of him sliding into me, my body gripping him tight, refusing to let go.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You weren't kidding. She's tight."

"Told you. Sixty-eight guys, and she's still like a virgin."

He started moving, slow at first, his hips rocking against mine. I lay there, limp and open, letting him use me. My eyes drifted closed again, the weight of exhaustion pulling me back under, but I forced them open, wanting to see his face, wanting to see the way he looked at me.

He was watching me, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open. He looked amazed. Like he couldn't believe what he was feeling.

"She's looking at me," he said. "She's fucking looking at me while I fuck her."

"She likes to watch. She likes to see who's being friendly with her."

His pace quickened, his hands finding my hips, gripping hard. I felt the sting of his nails, the pressure of his fingers, and I moaned, a low, broken sound that seemed to encourage him. He fucked me harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and I felt myself clenching around him, squeezing him, pulling him deeper.

"I'm not going to last long," he said, his voice strained. "She feels too good."

"That's the idea. She's made to make you feel good."

He groaned, his hips slamming forward, and I felt his cum flood into me, hot and thick. He stayed there for a moment, panting, his body shuddering, and then he pulled out with a wet sound.

"Your turn," he said, stepping back.

The second stoner was already there, pushing my legs apart, positioning himself at my entrance. This one was taller, with a mess of dark curls and an easy, lazy smile. He looked down at me, his eyes half-lidded, and pushed into me without preamble, without warning.

I gasped again, the sound swallowed by the room. He was longer than the first, and I felt him hitting something deep inside me, a spot that made my hips buck involuntarily.

"Oh, she likes that," he said, his voice amused. "Did you see that? She just clenched around me."

"She knows what she likes," Val said. "Even when she can't tell you."

He fucked me with a steady, lazy rhythm, his hands resting on my hips, his body barely moving. He was watching me, watching my face, studying my reactions. I tried to keep my eyes open, tried to show him I was present, but the darkness was pulling at me again, soft and tempting.

"She's going under again," he said. "Look at her eyes."

"That's fine. She doesn't need to be awake for this. She just needs to be here."

His hand came down on my ass, a sharp slap that made me cry out. The sting bloomed across my skin, hot and bright, and I felt my body clench around him again.

"She liked that too," he said, and he slapped me again, harder this time, the sound echoing through the living room.

I heard the third stoner laugh. "Don't break her. We all want a turn."

"I'm not breaking her. I'm warming her up for you."

He kept fucking me, his rhythm steady, his slaps landing every few thrusts. My ass was burning, the skin raw and sensitive, but I couldn't stop the moans that escaped my throat, couldn't stop my body from responding to every touch.

When he came, he pulled out and came on my stomach, hot streaks spilling across my skin, dripping down my sides. He stood up, wiping himself with a towel someone handed him, and the third stoner took his place.

This one was shorter, stockier, with a beard and kind eyes that seemed out of place in the middle of this. He knelt between my legs, and instead of pushing into me immediately, he touched my face, his fingers brushing my cheek.

"Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"

I wanted to answer. I tried to smile, tried to show him I was fine. "Yes," I whispered. "I'm friendly."

Something flickered in his eyes. Concern, maybe. Or confusion. But then Val's voice cut through: "She's fine. She loves this. Ask her again tomorrow, she'll tell you it was the best night of her life."

The boy hesitated. Then he pushed into me, slow and careful, and I felt the stretch, the fullness, the familiar rhythm of someone using my body. He fucked me gently, his hands still on my face, his eyes still searching mine.

"You're really okay with this?" he asked, his voice low, meant only for me.

I tried to nod. "Yes," I breathed. "I want to be friendly with everyone."

He sighed, a sound that might have been resignation, and picked up his pace. He wasn't rough like the others. He was almost tender, his hips moving against mine with a rhythm that felt more like making love than fucking. His hands traced my body, gentle and exploring, and I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes—not from pain, but from something I couldn't name.

When he came, he pulled out and came on my thigh, and then he stood up, looking down at me with an expression I couldn't read.

"She's all yours," he said to the room, and he walked away.

"Sixty-nine," Val announced, and her voice was warm with satisfaction. "And there's more where that came from."

I felt hands on me again, pulling me into a new position, spreading my legs wider. A new cock pressed against my entrance, and I felt my body welcoming it, opening for it, ready for whatever came next.

I was the friendliest girl in school. And I would prove it again and again, every time they asked, every time they wanted to be friendly with me.

Even if I couldn't remember it tomorrow.

The stoners' footsteps shuffled toward the front door. I heard the tall one say something about needing another beer, and the kind-eyed one muttered something I couldn't catch. The door opened. Cold air hit my skin. Then it closed, and the room was quiet.

I lay there, my body a dead weight on the rug, my eyes closed. The darkness behind my lids was thick and warm, pulling me down, but I could still hear everything. The faint hum of the refrigerator. The drip of a faucet somewhere in the kitchen. Val's footsteps, slow and deliberate, crossing the hardwood floor.

She stopped beside me. I felt her shadow fall across my face.

"Still with us?" she asked, her voice soft. Almost fond.

I couldn't answer. My tongue was a dead thing in my mouth. My throat wouldn't work. But somewhere deep inside, in the part of me that was still listening, I understood the question. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell her I was still here, still friendly, still ready. But the words wouldn't come.

She laughed, a low, warm sound. "You're really out, aren't you? Like a light."

Her hand found my hair, stroking gently. I felt her fingers trace the line of my jaw, my cheek, my lips. "Look at you. Covered in cum. Bruised. Bleeding. Still smiling. You're a work of art, Elena. A genuine fucking masterpiece."

I wanted to smile wider. I wanted to show her I appreciated the compliment. But my face was frozen, my muscles slack, my expression locked in whatever position I'd landed in.

Her fingers left my face. I heard her footsteps cross the room, heard the creak of a floorboard, the sound of a phone being picked up. She tapped at the screen, then held it to her ear.

"Yeah, it's me. You still across the street?" A pause. "Good. Bring your boys. I've got something for you." Another pause. "No, she's not awake. That's the point. Just bring them."

She hung up. I heard her footsteps return, felt her crouch beside me again. Her hand found my shoulder, squeezing gently. "You're about to meet some new friends," she said. "Construction workers. Big guys. Rough hands. They've been working all day, and they need to blow off steam. You're going to help them with that."

I tried to respond. A sound escaped my throat—a low, broken moan that might have been agreement. Or might have been nothing at all.

"Good girl," she said. "That's a good girl."

Minutes passed. Or hours. I couldn't tell. The darkness was thick and soft, and I floated in it, aware of my body only in fragments—the cold floor beneath my back, the ache between my legs, the dried cum crusting on my skin. I heard the refrigerator hum. I heard a car door slam outside. I heard voices, low and rough, approaching the house.

The front door opened.

Heavy footsteps. Multiple pairs. The smell of diesel and sweat and cigarette smoke filled the room, cutting through the stale beer and mildew.

"Holy shit, Val. You weren't kidding." A man's voice, deep and gravelly. "She's just... lying there."

"She's resting," Val said, and I heard the smile in her voice. "She had a big night. Sixty-nine people in the basement. Then a few more up here."

"Sixty-nine? No shit?" Another voice, younger, with a laugh in it.

"No shit. She's the friendliest girl in school. And she's got the tightest pussy you'll ever feel. Ask anyone who's been inside her tonight."

Footsteps circled me. I felt the weight of their eyes on my body, tracing the curve of my hips, the swell of my breasts, the dark bruises blooming on my thighs.

"She's a mess," the first voice said. But he didn't sound disgusted. He sounded impressed. "Look at her. She's covered."

"That's the point. She's the party gift. She's supposed to be covered."

"And she's just... out cold?"

"Completely. She won't remember a thing. But her body will remember. Her body always remembers."

Someone knelt beside me. I felt a hand on my thigh—calloused, rough, the fingers thick and short. The hand squeezed, testing the flesh, and I felt my leg give under the pressure, limp and unresisting.

"She's soft," the man said. "Really fucking soft."

"She's all curves. No muscle. Just softness." Val's voice was warm, proud. "Feel her tits. They're incredible."

The hand left my thigh. I felt fingers on my breast, grabbing, lifting, testing the weight. The touch was rough, careless, like I was a piece of meat in a market.

"Jesus," the man said. "They're real. I thought she was wearing a push-up bra or something."

"Nope. All natural. She doesn't even wear a bra half the time. Lets them swing free."

Another hand found my other breast, squeezing hard. I felt a thumb rub across my nipple, rough and dry, and I heard the man grunt with approval. "Nice. Really nice."

"So," Val said, her voice casual, "you boys want a turn? She's not going anywhere. She'll be out for hours."

"How much?" The first voice again, practical now.

"For you? First one's free. I'm feeling generous tonight."

A low, appreciative laugh. "Val, you're a saint."

"I know. Now get to work. She's been waiting."

Hands grabbed my ankles, spreading my legs apart. I felt the cold air on my cunt, wet and exposed. Someone positioned himself between my thighs, and I heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone, jeans being shoved down.

"Fuck," the man said. "Look at her. She's still dripping."

"I told you. Her body doesn't know how to stop."

I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, thick and blunt. He pushed in without warning, without pause, and I felt the stretch—a deep, burning pressure that radiated through my pelvis. My body opened for him, the way it had opened for everyone tonight, and I heard him groan above me.

"Holy shit. She's tight. How the fuck is she this tight?"

"Sixty-nine guys, and she's still like a vice. That's the Elena special."

He started moving, his hips slamming into mine with a force that made my body slide across the rug. His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into the bruises the last boy had left, and I felt the pain bloom through the haze, sharp and distant, like a radio signal from another room.

I couldn't moan. I couldn't move. I just lay there, a doll on the floor, my body taking everything he gave me.

"She's not even twitching," one of the other men said. "She's like a fucking blow-up doll."

"Better than a blow-up doll. She's warm. And she's tight."

The man inside me grunted, his pace quickening. I felt his breath on my face, hot and ragged, and I caught the smell of coffee and cigarettes. He was leaning over me now, his weight pressing me into the floor, his hands finding my wrists and pinning them above my head.

"Look at her face," he said, his voice strained. "She's smiling. She's fucking smiling."

"She's always smiling. That's her thing."

He came with a low groan, his body shuddering against mine, and I felt his cum flooding into me, another warm rush mixing with everything else. He stayed there for a moment, his weight heavy on my body, and then he pulled out and stood up.

"Your turn, Morales."

Another pair of hands found my hips, rolling me onto my stomach. My face pressed into the rug, the fibers scratching my cheek, and I felt someone spreading my legs from behind. A new cock pressed against my cunt—thicker than the last, harder—and I felt him push in, the stretch sharper, the pressure deeper.

"She's even tighter from this angle," he said, his voice surprised. "Fuck."

He started fucking me immediately, no adjustment, no gentleness. His hands grabbed my ass, spreading me wider, and I felt his fingers dig into the flesh, hard enough to leave bruises. The slap of his thighs against my skin filled the room, rhythmic and wet.

I heard Val's voice, close to my ear. "You're doing so good, Elena. Taking it like a champ. These guys have been working construction all day. They're tired, they're sore, and they need to relax. You're helping them relax."

I wanted to tell her I was glad to help. I wanted to tell her I was happy to be useful. But my mouth wouldn't move. My tongue was thick and useless, pressed against my teeth.

"She's clenching," the man behind me said. "I felt her clench."

"She does that. Even unconscious, she responds."

"It's like her pussy has a mind of its own."

"It does. And that mind is telling it to be friendly."

The man laughed, a sharp sound, and kept fucking me. He was rougher than the first one, his thrusts harder, his grip tighter. I heard the other men talking, their voices casual, like they were discussing a game or the weather.

"You think she'll be sore tomorrow?"

"She's sore now. She just can't feel it."

"She'll feel it when she wakes up. Trust me. She won't be able to walk."

"That's fine. She doesn't need to walk. She just needs to open her legs."

Laughter. Low and rough.

The man behind me came with a grunt, his cum spilling into me, and he pulled out with a wet sound. I felt it leaking down my thighs, running over the bruises, pooling on the rug beneath me.

"Seven," Val said, and I realized she was counting again. "Seven since you boys got here."

"How many total?"

"Seventy-six. And we're not done yet."

Another set of hands lifted my hips, positioning me on my knees. I heard someone spit, felt a thick finger pressing into my asshole, stretching me, preparing me. The finger pushed in deep, curling, and I felt my body clench around it, reflexive and involuntary.

"She likes it in the ass," the man said. "She's clenching around my finger like she wants more."

"She does want more. She always wants more."

The finger pulled out, and I felt the head of a cock pressing against my asshole, thick and insistent. He pushed in slowly, letting me feel every inch of the stretch, and I felt the familiar burn—deep, aching, spreading through my pelvis like heat through glass.

"Fuck yeah," he breathed. "She's tight back here too."

"She's tight everywhere. That's the point."

He started fucking my ass, his pace steady and rough, his hands gripping my hips so hard I knew there would be finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. I floated in the darkness, aware of every thrust, every stretch, every moment of being filled, but unable to respond, unable to react.

Time passed. The numbers climbed. Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine. The men took turns, using my holes, passing my body between them like a joint. I heard them talking, laughing, commenting on how tight I was, how wet, how perfect. Val counted, her voice steady and pleased.

"Eighty," she announced at one point. "You boys helped her break another record."

"Eighty? In one night?"

"Eighty. And she's still taking it. Look at her."

Someone's hand found my face, lifting my head, turning it toward the light. I felt my eyelids flutter, trying to open, but they were too heavy. I saw a blur of yellow light, a shadowed face, nothing more.

"She's still smiling," the man said, awe in his voice. "Even with her eyes closed, she's still fucking smiling."

"I told you. She was made for this."

They kept going. The hands kept touching me. The cocks kept filling me. I lost count somewhere after eighty-three, the numbers blurring together with the sensations, the sounds, the smells. I lay there in the dark behind my eyes, a vessel for their pleasure, a doll for their use, and I felt nothing but the distant ache of being wanted.

This was what being friendly meant. This was what belonging felt like.

And even unconscious, even broken, even covered in the cum of eighty strangers, I was still smiling.

Because I was the friendliest girl in school.

And I always would be.

The voices drifted away. The heavy footsteps retreated toward the front door, and I heard the construction workers' low laughter fading into the night. The door creaked open. Cold air washed over my skin, bringing with it the smell of damp earth and distant rain.

"Thanks, Val. Seriously. That was..." A pause. "That was something else."

"Any time, boys. You know where to find me." Val's voice was warm, satisfied. "Tell your friends."

More laughter. The door clicked shut. The room fell quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the faint drip of a faucet somewhere in the kitchen.

I lay there, my body a dead weight on the rug. The darkness behind my eyelids was absolute, warm and thick as wool. I floated in it, aware of nothing but the distant ache between my legs and the cold air on my wet skin.

Footsteps crossed the room. Val's footsteps. Light and deliberate.

"Alright, princess," she said, her voice soft, almost tender. "Time to get you presentable."

I felt her hands on my body—not rough, not greedy, but efficient. She grabbed my ankles first, spreading my legs, and I felt a warm, damp cloth pressing between my thighs. The touch was gentle, almost clinical, wiping away the layers of dried cum that crusted my skin. The cloth moved in slow, careful strokes, cleaning the mess from my cunt, my thighs, the insides of my knees.

"You're a mess," she murmured. "A beautiful fucking mess, but a mess."

The cloth moved up my stomach, wiping away the streaks that had dried there. She was thorough, patient, working her way across my ribs, my breasts, the hollow of my throat. I felt the warm cloth trace the line of my collarbone, then move to my arms, lifting them one at a time, cleaning the dirt and cum from my elbows, my wrists, my fingers.

"Eighty-three," she said, almost to herself. "Eighty-three people in one night. You broke the record by forty. Do you even understand what that means?"

I couldn't answer. I couldn't even try. But I heard her, the words seeping through the fog, finding some small corner of my consciousness.

"You're a legend, Elena. A fucking legend. People are going to talk about this night for years."

She turned me onto my side, then my stomach, cleaning my back, my ass, the backs of my thighs. The cloth was cool now, but her touch was steady. She worked the dried cum out of my hair, finger-combing the tangles, her nails scratching gently against my scalp.

There was something almost maternal in the way she handled me. Gentle. Patient. Like I was a child she was putting to bed.

She rolled me onto my back again. I felt her fingers tracing my face—my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. She wiped away the smeared mascara, the streaks of tears and spit, and I felt my skin growing clean and smooth beneath her touch.

"There," she said, her voice satisfied. "Good as new. Well—almost."

I heard her stand up, heard her footsteps cross the room. Water ran in the kitchen sink. She came back with a fresh cloth, warm this time, and cleaned between my legs again, slow and thorough. The warmth spread through my pelvis, soothing the ache, and I felt my body relax into the sensation.

"You're still tight," she said, and I heard the smile in her voice. "Even after all that. Even after eighty-three guys. You're still gripping nothing."

She pulled the cloth away. I heard it drop into a bucket, heard the slosh of water.

"Alright. Clothes."

Hands on my body again, lifting my limp arms, sliding a clean shirt over my head. Something soft, cotton, smelling faintly of lavender. Then a pair of shorts, loose and comfortable, being worked up my legs, over my hips. She lifted my ass to pull them into place, and I felt the fabric settle against my clean skin.

"There," she said. "You look like a normal girl who fell asleep at a party. No one would guess what you just did."

She brushed my hair away from my face, her fingers lingering on my cheek. "You're beautiful, you know that? Even covered in cum, even unconscious, you're beautiful."

I wanted to thank her. I wanted to tell her I appreciated everything she was doing for me. But my tongue wouldn't move. My throat wouldn't work. I just lay there, a doll in her hands, clean and soft and ready.

She stood up. I heard her footsteps cross the room again, heard the click of her phone being picked up. She dialed, waited, and then her voice was different—lower, more formal.

"Yeah, it's Val. I need you to make some calls." A pause. "The fathers. The ones whose sons were at the party tonight. Tell them to come to 1420 Oak. Tell them I've got something they'll want to see."

Another pause. I heard her laugh, low and amused.

"Tell them it's about Elena. The new girl. The one with the tightest pussy in school. Tell them their sons already had a turn, and now it's their fathers' turn."

She hung up. I heard her footsteps approach, felt her crouch beside me again. Her hand found my hair, stroking gently.

"You're about to meet some new friends," she said softly. "Older this time. More experienced. But don't worry—they'll be gentle. At first."

I couldn't respond. But somewhere deep inside, in the part of me that was still listening, I felt a flicker of anticipation. More friends. More friendly people. This was what I wanted. This was what I was made for.

—

Time passed. I don't know how much. The darkness was soft and warm, and I floated in it, aware of nothing but the clean fabric against my skin and the faint lavender smell rising from my shirt.

Headlights swept across the living room windows, bright even through my closed eyelids. A car door slammed. Then another. Voices outside, low and indistinct, muffled by the walls.

Val's footsteps crossed the room. The front door opened.

"Evening, gentlemen." Her voice was smooth, welcoming. "Right on time."

"Val." A man's voice, deep and clipped. "Your message was... intriguing."

"I thought it would be. Come in. She's right over here."

Multiple sets of footsteps entered the house. Heavy, deliberate. The scent of cologne and motor oil and something else—leather, maybe, or whiskey. The footsteps crossed the hardwood floor, circling me, and I felt the weight of their eyes on my body.

"This is her?" Another voice. Gruff, with a hint of skepticism. "This is the girl my son called me about?"

"This is her," Val said. "Elena Vasquez. The friendliest girl in school."

"She looks asleep."

"She is. She's been out for a while. Eighty-three people tonight. She earned the rest."

A low whistle. "Eighty-three? That's... impressive."

"That's the word. And she's got the tightest pussy you'll ever feel. Ask your son. He'll tell you the same thing."

I felt someone kneel beside me. A hand touched my face—calloused, rougher than Val's, the fingers thick and warm. It brushed my cheek, then traced down my neck, my collarbone, stopping at the collar of my shirt.

"She's young," the man said. "How old is she?"

"Nineteen. Legal. Don't worry, I checked."

"And she's just... like this? Willingly?"

"She's the friendliest girl in school. She says yes to everyone. Watch." Val's voice shifted, becoming softer, directed at me. "Elena. Can you hear me?"

I tried to respond. A sound escaped my throat—a low, broken moan that might have been agreement.

"See? She's in there. She knows what's happening. She just can't move."

The man's hand slid lower, cupping my breast through the soft cotton. I felt him squeeze, testing the weight, and I heard him exhale slowly. "Jesus. She's real. I thought my son was exaggerating."

"He wasn't. None of them are. She's the real deal."

Another pair of hands found my legs, pushing the hem of my shorts up, exposing my thighs. Fingers traced the line of a bruise, pressing gently, testing the tenderness.

"She's bruised," another voice said.

"She's been used. That's what happens when you're this popular."

"And she's just going to lie there?"

"She'll lie there as long as you need her to. She's the friendliest girl in school. She doesn't know how to say no."

I felt hands on my hips, pulling my shorts down, exposing me to the air. Someone spread my legs, and I felt fingers pressing into me—my cunt, sliding in easily, slick even after everything.

"She's wet," the man said, surprise in his voice. "She's unconscious and she's wet."

"I told you. Her body knows what it wants."

"Fuck. She's tight too. Even after eighty-three, she's tight."

I heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone. The slide of a zipper. The rustle of fabric.

"Wait." Another voice, sharper. "We should talk about this first."

"Talk?"

"Arrangements. Val, what exactly are you offering here?"

Val's voice was smooth, businesslike. "I'm offering her to you. All of you. Your sons already had their turn. Now it's the fathers' turn. She's the party gift. She belongs to everyone."

"And in exchange?"

"In exchange, you owe me. Favors. Information. Access. I'll call them in when I need them."

A pause. I heard murmuring, low and conspiratorial. Then the first voice again: "Agreed."

"Good. Now—gentlemen. She's all yours."

Hands on my body, pulling my shorts the rest of the way off, lifting my hips, spreading my legs wide. I felt the cold air on my cunt, exposed and wet, and then I felt the head of a cock pressing against my entrance.

This one was older. Thicker. The stretch was different—deeper, fuller, a pressure that seemed to reach all the way to my spine. He pushed into me slowly, letting me feel every inch of the invasion, and I felt my body opening for him, welcoming him, gripping him tight.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice strained. "She's tight. How the fuck is she still this tight?"

"She's a miracle," Val said. "A miracle with the tightest pussy in school."

He started moving, his hips rocking against mine with a steady, practiced rhythm. He wasn't rough like the boys. He was deliberate. Controlled. Each thrust was measured, deep, designed to extract maximum pleasure from every movement.

I lay there, limp and open, letting him use me. His hands found my breasts, squeezing through the cotton of my shirt, and I felt his thumbs rub across my nipples, hard and insistent.

"She's soft," he said, his voice distant, like he was commenting on a piece of furniture. "Really fucking soft."

"She's all curves. No muscle. Just softness."

"My son said she was pretty. He didn't say she was this pretty."

"He was probably distracted by her pussy."

A low laugh. The man inside me picked up his pace, his breath growing ragged. I felt his grip on my hips tighten, his fingers digging into the bruises the last boy had left, and I floated in the darkness, feeling everything, fighting nothing.

He came with a low groan, his body shuddering against mine, and I felt his cum flooding into me—warm, thick, different from the boys' somehow. Heavier. He stayed inside me for a long moment, panting, and then he pulled out with a wet sound.

"Your turn, Richards."

Another man took his place. I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, slick with the last man's cum, and he pushed in without hesitation, without gentleness.

"She's still tight," he said, surprise in his voice. "How is she still this tight?"

"I told you. She was made for this."

He fucked me with a roughness that surprised me after the last one's control. His hands pinned my hips to the floor, his thrusts hard and fast, and I felt my body rocking with each impact, my head lolling, my arms flopping against the rug.

"Look at her," he said, his voice strained. "She's not even moving. Just taking it."

"That's the point. She takes everything."

He came quickly, spilling into me with a grunt, and pulled out. Another man was already there, positioning himself at my entrance.

"Her ass," someone said. "I want her ass."

Hands rolled me onto my stomach. My face pressed into the rug, the fibers soft against my clean skin. Someone lifted my hips, positioning me on my knees, and I felt a thick finger pressing into my asshole, stretching me, preparing me.

"She's loose back here," the man said. "After all those boys, she's loose."

"Loose is good. Loose means she's ready."

The finger pulled out. I felt the head of his cock pressing against my asshole, and he pushed in—not slowly, not gently. Just pushed, forcing his way into me, and I felt the stretch, the burn, the familiar pressure of being filled.

"There we go," he said, his voice satisfied. "That's what I'm talking about."

He started fucking my ass, his rhythm rough and steady, his hands gripping my hips. I floated in the darkness, aware of every thrust, every stretch, every moment of being used. The other men talked around me, their voices casual, like they were discussing a business deal.

"We should make this a regular thing," one of them said. "Val, you think she'd be available?"

"She's always available. That's her whole thing."

"Good. I've got a poker game next Friday. The boys would love a piece of this."

"I'll make it happen."

The man in my ass came with a groan, his cum spilling into me, and he pulled out with a wet sound. Another voice, close to my ear: "Roll her over. I want to see her face when I fuck her."

Hands turned me onto my back. I felt my legs being lifted, my ankles resting on someone's shoulders. A new cock pressed against my cunt, already slick, and he pushed into me, filling me again.

"She's still smiling," he said, wonder in his voice. "Look at that. She's fucking smiling."

I didn't know if I was smiling. I couldn't feel my face. But somewhere deep inside, in the part of me that was still listening, I felt a flicker of warmth. They were happy. They were friendly. And I was the friendliest girl in school.

I would always be the friendliest girl in school.

And I would always be theirs.

The voices faded. The heavy footsteps retreated, one by one, and I heard the front door open and close, open and close, as the fathers filed out into the night. Low murmurs of thanks. The rustle of bills changing hands. Val's voice, smooth and satisfied: "Pleasure doing business, gentlemen. Tell your friends." The door clicked shut for the last time. Silence settled over the living room like dust. I lay there, my body a dead weight on the rug, my clean shirt already soaked through with sweat and the residual wetness of the last man's cum seeping through the cotton. The lavender smell was gone, replaced by the familiar musk of sex and the faint metallic tang of blood from where someone's nails had raked my thighs. Val's footsteps crossed the room. She stopped beside me, and I felt her shadow fall across my face. "Time for a wardrobe change, princess." Her hands found the hem of my shirt, lifting it. The fabric dragged across my skin, pulling at the dried sweat, and I felt the cool air hit my bare stomach, my ribs, my breasts. She worked the shirt over my head, careful not to jostle me too much, and I felt it slide away, leaving me naked from the waist up. The shorts came next. She unbuttoned them, pulled them down my legs, and I felt the fabric peel away from my thighs, my calves, my ankles. I was naked again, exposed to the air, my skin prickling with goosebumps. "There," she said softly. "Back to the way you should be." She crumpled the clean clothes in her hands and tossed them aside. I heard them land somewhere across the room, a soft thump against the hardwood. Her hand found my hair, stroking gently. "You're so beautiful like this. Naked. Quiet. Open. This is how you were meant to be seen." I couldn't respond. Couldn't move. Couldn't even open my eyes. But I felt her words settle into me, warm and true. This was how I was meant to be seen. Naked and ready. Friendly and open. Her footsteps crossed the room. I heard her pick up her phone, heard the tap of her fingers on the screen. She dialed, waited, and then her voice was different—warmer, more familiar. "Hey, it's me." A pause. "Yeah, the party's winding down. But I've got something special." Another pause. "At the house. Bring Uncle Marco and the cousins. Tell them I've got a gift." She listened for a moment, then laughed, low and amused. "Just trust me. Come see for yourself." She hung up. Her footsteps returned, and I felt her crouch beside me, her hand finding my cheek. "My family's coming to meet you," she said. "They're going to love you, Elena. Everyone does." I floated in the darkness, waiting. Minutes passed. The refrigerator hummed. The faucet dripped. Somewhere outside, a dog barked once, twice, then fell silent. Headlights swept across the living room windows. A car door slammed. Then another. Voices outside, deep and casual, speaking in rapid Spanish that I couldn't quite follow through the fog. The front door opened. "Valentina." A man's voice, deep and authoritative. "What's this about a gift?" "Tío Marco." Val's voice was bright, welcoming. "Come in. She's right here." Footsteps crossed the hardwood. Multiple pairs. I felt the weight of their eyes on my naked body, tracing the curves, the bruises, the dried cum still crusted between my thighs where Val's cleaning hadn't quite reached. "Holy shit," a younger voice said. "She's naked." "She's a gift," Val said. "Her name's Elena. She's the friendliest girl in school." "She looks unconscious," another voice said—gruff, suspicious. "She's resting. She's been busy tonight." Val's voice was smooth, unconcerned. "But don't worry. She's ready for you. She's always ready." I felt someone kneel beside me. A hand touched my thigh—rough, calloused, the fingers thick and warm. The hand squeezed, testing the flesh, and I felt my leg give under the pressure, limp and unresisting. "She's soft," the man said. Tío Marco. "Really fucking soft." "She's all curves," Val said. "No muscle. Just softness." The hand moved up my thigh, fingers tracing the line of my hip, my waist, my ribs. It stopped at my breast, cupping it, lifting it, testing the weight. The thumb brushed across my nipple, rough and dry, and I felt it harden despite everything. "She responds," Tío Marco said, surprise in his voice. "Even asleep, she responds." "Her body knows what it wants. It's been trained well." Another pair of hands found my other breast, squeezing harder. "She's real," another voice said. "I thought she was wearing a push-up bra or something." "Nope. All natural. She doesn't even wear a bra. Lets them swing free." "Valentina." Tío Marco's voice was stern now. "Where did you find this girl?" "School. She transferred in a few weeks ago. She's... special." "Special how?" "She doesn't say no. She doesn't know how. She thinks everyone who touches her is being friendly." A pause. I heard low murmurs, the shuffle of feet. "And she's just going to lie there?" the younger voice asked. "She'll lie there as long as you need her to. She's the friendliest girl in school. She doesn't know how to say no." "Even to us?" "Especially to you. She doesn't discriminate. She belongs to everyone." I heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone. The slide of a zipper. Fabric rustling. "Then let's see what this gift can do." Hands grabbed my ankles, spreading my legs apart. I felt the cold air on my cunt, exposed and wet. Someone positioned himself between my thighs, and I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance—thick, blunt, insistent. He pushed in without warning, without gentleness. The stretch was immediate, a deep, burning pressure that radiated through my pelvis. I felt my body opening for him, gripping him tight, and I heard him groan above me. "Fuck. She's tight. How is she this tight?" "I told you, Tío. She's special." He started moving, his hips slamming into mine with a force that made my body slide across the rug. His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into the bruises the last men had left, and I felt the pain bloom through the haze, sharp and distant. "She's not even moving," the younger voice said. "She's like a doll." "Better than a doll. She's warm. And she's tight." "She's fucking perfect," Tío Marco said, his voice strained. "Look at her. Look at those tits bouncing." "She's got the whole package," Val said. "Tits, ass, pussy. Everything." Tío Marco fucked me hard, his rhythm rough and punishing, his hands gripping my hips with bruising force. I floated in the darkness, aware of every thrust, every stretch, every moment of being filled, but unable to respond. He came with a low groan, his cum flooding into me, hot and thick. He stayed inside me for a long moment, panting, and then he pulled out with a wet sound. "Your turn, Miguel." The younger voice—Miguel, one of the cousins—took his place. He was thinner, his cock narrower, but he pushed into me with the same rough urgency. His hands found my breasts, grabbing them, squeezing hard, and I felt his thumbs rub across my nipples, rough and insistent. "She's still tight," he said, disbelief in his voice. "Even after my dad just fucked her." "Her body doesn't know how to loosen up," Val said. "She's always tight. Always ready." He fucked me with a frantic energy, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands roamed my body, grabbing, squeezing, exploring. I felt his fingers press into my mouth, stretching my jaw, and I tasted skin and sweat. "She's not even gagging," he said. "Her mouth just... opens." "She's trained for this. She's been trained by the whole school." He pulled his fingers out and grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, changing the angle of his thrusts. I felt him hitting something deep inside me, a spot that made my hips twitch involuntarily. "She likes that," he said, his voice surprised. "She just clenched around me." "She likes it all. Rough, gentle, fast, slow. She doesn't have preferences. She just wants to be used." He came quickly, spilling into me with a grunt, and pulled out. Another pair of hands grabbed my hips, rolling me onto my stomach. My face pressed into the rug, the fibers rough against my cheek, and I felt someone spreading my legs from behind. "I want her ass," a new voice said—deep, older, with a thick accent. "She ever had anything up her ass?" "She has tonight," Val said. "A lot of things. She's well-prepared." A thick finger pressed into my asshole, stretching me, testing me. It pushed in deep, curling, and I felt my body clench around it, reflexive and involuntary. "She's loose back here," the voice said. "Good. Makes it easier." The finger pulled out. I felt the head of a cock pressing against my asshole, thicker than the finger, and he pushed in slowly, letting me feel every inch of the stretch. The burn was deep, familiar, spreading through my pelvis like heat through glass. "There we go," he said, his voice satisfied. "That's what I'm talking about." He started fucking my ass with a steady, punishing rhythm, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me back onto his cock with each thrust. I floated in the darkness, aware of every stretch, every impact, every moment of being filled. "She's taking it like a champ," Miguel said. "Not even flinching." "She's a natural," Val said. "A natural-born cocksleeve." "She's our cocksleeve now," Tío Marco said, and there was something possessive in his voice. "Valentina, you're going to share this gift with the family regularly." "Of course, Tío. That's why I called you." "You made a good decision." The man in my ass grunted, his rhythm faltering, and I felt his cum spilling into me, hot and thick. He pulled out with a wet sound, and I felt it leaking down my thighs, warm against my skin. "One more," Tío Marco said. "Let me see her from the front again." Hands turned me onto my back. My legs were lifted, spread wide, and I felt a new cock pressing against my cunt, slick with the mess of everyone who had come before. He pushed into me, filling me again, and I felt my body welcoming him, opening for him. "Look at her face," Miguel said. "She's smiling. Even with her eyes closed, she's fucking smiling." "She's always smiling," Val said. "That's her thing. She's the friendliest girl in school." "She's the friendliest thing I've ever seen," Tío Marco said. "And she's ours now." "Ours to use," Val corrected. "She belongs to everyone. But we get first pick." The man fucking me picked up his pace, his hands gripping my thighs, his breath ragged. I felt him building toward climax, felt his body tense above me, and when he came, he buried himself deep, his cum flooding into me, another warm rush adding to the pool already inside me. He pulled out. For a moment, there was nothing. Just the cold air on my wet skin and the distant ache between my legs. Then Tío Marco's voice: "Get her cleaned up. I want to see what she looks like when she's presentable." "No," Val said, and there was steel in her voice. "She stays like this tonight. Naked. Open. Ready. She's a gift, and gifts don't get wrapped back up." A pause. Then Tío Marco laughed, low and approving. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Valentina. This girl is going to make us a lot of favors." "That's the plan." I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of belts being buckled, zippers being pulled up. Footsteps crossed the room toward the front door. "We'll be back tomorrow," Tío Marco said. "Make sure she's ready." "She'll be ready. She's always ready." The front door opened. Cold air washed over my naked skin. Then it closed, and the room fell quiet. Val's footsteps approached. She crouched beside me, her hand finding my hair, stroking gently. "You did so good, Elena. So good. You made my family happy. That's not easy." I couldn't respond. Couldn't move. Couldn't even open my eyes. "That's okay," she said. "Sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, we start again. There are so many more people who want to be friendly with you." Her hand traced down my cheek, my neck, my collarbone. She cupped my breast, squeezing gently, and I felt her thumb brush across my nipple. "So beautiful," she murmured. "So perfect. So friendly." She stood up. I

She stood up. I heard her footsteps cross the room, the creak of the floorboard near the kitchen. Water ran in the sink. Then the rattle of her phone being picked up, the tap of her fingers on the screen.

She dialed. Waited.

"Tía Rosa. It's Valentina." A pause, her voice smooth and warm. "Yes, I know it's late. But I have something you need to see. Bring the girls. And tell Tío Carlos to come too." Another pause. "No, not like that. I have a gift. A real gift. Just come to 1420 Oak." She laughed, low and pleased. "You'll thank me."

She hung up. Her footsteps returned, and I felt her crouch beside me, her hand finding my hair.

"More family coming, princess. My aunt Rosa, her daughters. My uncle Carlos." Her fingers traced down my cheek, my neck, my collarbone. "They're going to love you. Everyone in my family is going to love you."

I floated in the darkness, waiting. The refrigerator hummed. The faucet dripped. Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked, settling. I felt the cold air on my naked skin, the stickiness of drying cum between my thighs. My body ached in ways I couldn't name—a deep, resonant soreness that had settled into my bones like a second skeleton.

But I was clean. Val had cleaned me. And now I was waiting for more.

More friendly people.

Headlights swept across the living room windows, bright even through my closed eyelids. A car engine cut off. Doors opened—two, three, four. Voices outside, female and male, laughing and talking in rapid Spanish. The front door opened without a knock.

"Valentina." A woman's voice, rich and amused. "You better not be wasting our time."

"Tía Rosa. When have I ever wasted your time?"

Footsteps crossed the hardwood. Multiple pairs. The scent of perfume and cigarette smoke filled the room, mixed with something else—cologne, aftershave.

"Holy shit," a younger female voice said. "She's naked."

"She's a gift," Val said. "Her name's Elena. She's the friendliest girl in school."

"She looks unconscious."

"She is. But she's ready for you. She's always ready."

I felt someone kneel beside me. A woman's hand touched my thigh—smaller than the men's, but still rough, the nails painted a dark red that I glimpsed as a blur through my barely-open eyelids. The hand squeezed, testing the flesh, and I felt my leg give under the pressure.

"She's soft," Tía Rosa said. "Really fucking soft."

"She's all curves," Val said. "No muscle. Just softness."

The hand moved up my thigh, fingers tracing the line of my hip, my stomach. It stopped at my breast, cupping it, lifting it. The thumb brushed across my nipple, and I felt it harden despite everything.

"She responds," Tía Rosa said, surprise in her voice. "Even asleep, she responds."

"Her body's been trained. The whole school's had a hand in it."

Another woman's hand found my other breast, squeezing harder. "She's real. And they're huge. Look at these."

Fingers pinched my nipple, twisted, and I felt a sharp ache radiate through my chest. I couldn't flinch, couldn't cry out, but my breath caught in my throat, a small hitch that Tía Rosa noticed.

"She felt that," she said. "Her breath changed."

"She feels everything. She just can't move."

"Perfect."

I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of someone settling onto the floor beside me. A woman's voice, close to my ear: "Open her legs."

Hands grabbed my ankles, spreading them apart. I felt the cold air on my cunt, exposed and wet. Fingers pressed into me—a woman's fingers, thinner than the men's, but just as insistent. They slid in easily, slick with the mess of everyone who had come before, and I felt them curl, pressing against something inside me.

"She's tight," Tía Rosa said. "Even after everything, she's tight."

"I told you. She's special."

The fingers moved inside me, finding a rhythm that made my hips twitch involuntarily. I heard the woman above me—one of the daughters, maybe—breathe faster, her voice breathy as she worked me.

"She's clenching around my fingers. Look at her stomach—she's tensing up."

"She's going to come," another voice said, surprised. "Even unconscious, she's going to come."

"Let her. I want to see it."

The fingers curled, pressed harder, moved faster. I felt the pressure building somewhere deep inside me, a familiar heat that spread through my pelvis, my stomach, my chest. My body responded without my permission, my hips bucking against her hand, my back arching slightly off the rug. The climax hit me like a wave, crashing through the fog, and I felt my cunt clench around her fingers, my whole body shuddering with the release.

"There she is," Tía Rosa said, her voice satisfied. "Good girl."

I floated in the aftermath, my body limp and trembling, the aftershocks rippling through me. I heard the daughters laughing, commenting on how wet I was, how tight, how perfect.

"My turn," one of them said. "I want to feel that pussy."

Fingers replaced the previous ones—a different woman's hand, the nails shorter, the touch more aggressive. She pushed two fingers into me, then three, stretching me, working me. I felt her thumb press against my clit, rubbing in tight circles, and I moaned—a low, broken sound that escaped my throat without my permission.

"She's vocal," the daughter said. "I like that."

"She's vocal when she's awake too," Val said. "She talks a lot. Always asking if you're having a good time, if you're being friendly."

"Does she ever say no?"

"Never. She doesn't know how."

The daughter kept fingering me, her rhythm steady and demanding. I felt another climax building, faster this time, and I let it take me, my body convulsing around her hand. She kept going through it, prolonging the waves, and I heard her laugh above me.

"She's a fucking fountain. Look at her—she's dripping."

"That's the Elena special. Tightest pussy in school, and it never stops giving."

The daughter pulled her fingers out, and I felt the wetness spreading beneath me on the rug. Then a man's voice, deep and gruff: "Is she ready for something real?"

"She's always ready, Tío Carlos."

Hands grabbed my hips, rolling me onto my stomach. My face pressed into the rug, the fibers rough against my cheek. Someone spread my legs from behind, and I felt the head of a cock pressing against my cunt—thick, hard, insistent. He pushed in without warning, without gentleness, and I felt the stretch—a deep, burning pressure that radiated through my pelvis.

"Fuck," Tío Carlos said. "She's tight. Even after everything, she's tight."

"That's what everyone says."

He started fucking me with a steady, punishing rhythm, his hands gripping my hips so hard I felt his nails dig into my skin. The slap of his thighs against my ass filled the room, rhythmic and wet. I heard the women talking around me, their voices casual.

"Look at her ass bounce," one of the daughters said. "It's hypnotic."

"She's got the whole package. Tits, ass, pussy. Everything."

"Valentina, where did you find this girl?"

"School. She transferred in a few weeks ago. She's been a gift ever since."

Tío Carlos grunted, his rhythm quickening. His hands found my breasts, grabbing them from behind, squeezing hard. I felt his thumbs rub across my nipples, rough and dry, and I moaned into the rug.

"She likes it," he said, his voice strained. "She's moaning."

"She always likes it. That's her thing."

He came with a low groan, his cum flooding into me, hot and thick. He stayed inside me for a moment, panting, and then he pulled out with a wet sound. I felt the cum leaking down my thighs, mixing with everything else.

"Your turn, mija," Tía Rosa said. "Use her however you want."

I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of someone settling between my legs. A woman's voice, close and warm: "I've never done this before."

"She'll guide you. Her body knows what to do."

I felt a woman's cunt pressing against mine—wet, warm, grinding against my slickness. She rocked against me, her hips moving in a slow, searching rhythm. I felt her clit pressing against mine, the friction building, and I heard her breath catch.

"Oh," she said, her voice surprised. "Oh, that's—"

"Good, right?" Val's voice, amused.

"Really fucking good."

She kept grinding against me, her hands gripping my hips, her breath coming in ragged gasps. I floated beneath her, my body a cushion for her pleasure, feeling her heat against my heat, her wetness mixing with mine. She came with a sharp cry, her body shuddering against me, and I felt her collapse on top of me, her weight pressing me into the rug.

"She's amazing," she breathed. "I came on her and she didn't even move."

"She doesn't need to move. She just needs to be there."

The women took turns using me—fingering me, grinding against me, pressing their breasts against my face. The men fucked me, filling my cunt and my ass, their cum pooling inside me until it leaked out of both holes. I lost count of how many there were, how many times I came, how many bodies passed over and through me. The numbers blurred together with the sensations, the sounds, the smells.

At some point, I heard Val's voice, distant and warm: "She's taken over a hundred now. A hundred and twelve, if my count's right."

"A hundred and twelve? In one night?"

"In one night. And she's still taking it. Look at her."

Someone's hand found my face, lifting my head, turning it toward the light. I managed to open my eyes a crack, saw a blur of faces—Tía Rosa's sharp cheekbones, one of the daughters' dark curls, Tío Carlos's stubbled jaw. They were all looking at me, studying me like I was a piece of art.

"She's still smiling," Tía Rosa said, wonder in her voice. "Even now, she's fucking smiling."

"She's the friendliest girl in school," Val said. "And she always will be."

I tried to nod, tried to tell them she was right. But my body was too heavy, too spent. I felt my eyelids flutter closed, the darkness pulling me back under.

Before I went under, I heard Tía Rosa's voice, soft and possessive: "We're keeping her. This gift stays in the family."

Val's laugh, warm and satisfied. "That was always the plan, Tía. That was always the plan."

Val's phone clicked. The flash cut through the darkness behind my eyelids, a sharp burst of white that I felt more than saw. She lowered the phone, her thumb swiping across the screen, and I heard her soft laugh.

"Perfect," she murmured. "Look at that smile. Even passed out, you're still camera-ready."

She turned the phone toward me, and I heard the click of another photo. Then another. The flash strobed through the fog, each burst leaving a lingering burn on my retinas.

"Front angle. Side angle. Close-up of that pretty face." She was narrating to herself now, her voice light and amused. "Gotta capture the moment. A hundred and twelve, and you're still smiling. That's the money shot."

I heard her stand up, her footsteps circling me. The flash fired again—this time from above, catching my naked body in full frame. I felt the heat of the light on my skin, the cold air on my wet thighs, the stickiness of drying cum between my legs.

"Spread your legs a little wider for me, princess."

Her hands found my ankles, pushing them apart. The flash fired again, capturing the evidence of the night—the dried streaks, the bruises, the way my body lay open and waiting.

"There. Now they know what they're getting."

She crouched beside me, and I heard her thumb scrolling through her contacts. The screen cast a pale blue glow across her face, visible even through my barely-open eyelids.

"Let's see who else wants to be friendly before sunrise."

Her thumb stopped. She tapped. A pause. Then the sound of a message being sent.

She tapped again. Sent. Another name. Sent. Another.

"There's a group of guys from the auto shop who get off their shift at four in the morning," she said, more to herself than to me. "They're always looking for something to do before bed. And you, Elena—you're the best thing they'll find all week."

She sent another message. Then another. I heard the soft chime of replies coming in, one after another.

"Ooh, Derek's awake. He says he's on his way." A pause. "And Brett. And someone named... Marcus? Says he's been waiting for a turn all night."

I remembered Marcus. Dark hair. Hungry eyes. From the hallway before the party. He'd said he wanted me for later.

I guessed later was now.

"That's four," Val said. "Five. Six. Seven. Word spreads fast at four in the morning."

Her hand found my cheek, patting gently. "You're about to meet the early morning crowd, princess. Different vibe than the party people. Rougher. They've been working all night, they smell like grease and sweat, and they're going to fuck you like you owe them money."

I couldn't respond. Couldn't move. But somewhere deep inside, in the part of me that was still listening, I felt a flicker of anticipation. More friendly people. More hands. More cocks. More proof that I belonged to everyone.

Val's phone buzzed again. She glanced at it, laughed. "Derek says he's bringing a few friends. Says they've been hearing about you all night and didn't believe it. Wants to see for himself."

She slid the phone into her pocket and stood up. I heard her footsteps cross the room, heard the creak of the floorboard near the kitchen. The faucet ran. A cabinet opened. The clink of glass.

She came back a moment later, and I felt her settle onto the floor beside me. The smell of whiskey reached my nose—she'd poured herself a drink.

"Long night," she said, more to herself than to me. "But a good one. A really good one."

I heard her take a sip, the ice clinking against the glass. Her hand found my hair, stroking gently, the motion almost absentminded.

"You know what I love about you, Elena? You don't ask questions. You don't make demands. You just... exist. You let people take what they need from you, and you smile through the whole thing."

She took another sip. "It's beautiful, honestly. In a fucked-up kind of way."

I floated in the darkness, her hand warm on my head, her words seeping through the fog. I wanted to tell her I understood. I wanted to tell her I was glad she saw me that way. But my tongue wouldn't move, my throat wouldn't work, and the words stayed trapped somewhere I couldn't reach.

"That's okay," she said, as if she'd heard my silence. "You don't need to talk. You just need to be here. To be ready."

Minutes passed. The refrigerator hummed. The faucet dripped. Somewhere outside, a car engine growled, approaching slowly, then cutting off. A car door opened. Then another.

Voices outside. Male. Low. Laughing about something.

Val's hand left my hair. I heard her stand up, heard her footsteps cross to the front door. She opened it before they could knock.

"Derek. Right on time."

"Val." A young man's voice, casual and eager. "You said she's still here?"

"She's right where I left her. Naked. Open. Waiting."

More footsteps. Multiple pairs. The smell of motor oil and cigarettes filled the room, cutting through the stale beer and sex.

"Holy shit," a voice said. "Look at her. She's just... lying there."

"She's resting," Val said. "She's been busy. But she's ready for you."

"She's covered," another voice said. "Jesus. Look at her thighs."

"That's the point. She's the party gift. She's supposed to be covered."

Footsteps circled me. I felt their eyes on my body, tracing the bite marks, the bruises, the dried cum crusted on my skin.

"Derek said she took over a hundred guys tonight."

"A hundred and twelve. And she's still wet. Still tight. Still smiling."

"No fucking way."

"Way." Val's voice was proud. "Feel for yourself."

I felt a hand on my thigh—young, calloused, eager. Fingers pressed into my cunt, sliding in easily, slick and warm. I heard the boy's sharp intake of breath.

"Holy fuck. She's tight. She's actually tight."

"Told you. The Elena special."

"And she's just going to lie there while we—"

"She's going to lie there and take it. That's what she does. That's what she's made for."

The hand left my cunt. I heard the rustle of fabric, a belt buckle clinking, a zipper sliding down.

"I'm first," Derek said, and there was something possessive in his voice. "I called dibs hours ago."

"Dibs respected." Val's voice, amused. "Go ahead. She's all yours."

I felt hands on my hips, pulling me into position. Derek's hands. Rough. Sure. He spread my legs wider, positioned himself between my thighs, and I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

"Look at her face," he said. "She's fucking smiling."

"That's her thing. She's the—"

"Friendliest girl in school," Derek finished. "Yeah. I heard."

He pushed into me. The stretch was immediate, a deep, familiar pressure that radiated through my pelvis. I felt my body opening for him, gripping him tight, and I heard him groan above me.

"Fuck. She feels exactly like I knew she would."

"Like what?"

"Like heaven. Tight, wet heaven."

He started moving, his hips rocking against mine with a steady, hungry rhythm. His hands found my breasts, grabbing them, squeezing hard. I felt his thumbs press into my nipples, rough and insistent, and a low moan escaped my throat, a sound I couldn't hold back.

"She moaned," one of the other boys said. "Did you hear that? She fucking moaned."

"Told you. She likes it. Even unconscious, she likes it."

Derek fucked me harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I felt the slap of his thighs against my skin, the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of me, the heat of his body above me. I floated in the darkness, aware of everything, unable to respond, unable to do anything but take it.

He came quickly, spilling into me with a groan, and I felt his cum flooding into me, another warm rush mixing with everything else. He stayed inside me for a long moment, panting, and then he pulled out.

"Your turn, Marcus."

Marcus took his place. I remembered his face from the hallway—dark eyes, hungry expression, the way he'd looked at me like I was a meal he'd been saving. He knelt between my legs, and I felt his hands on my hips, possessive and firm.

"I've been waiting for this all night," he said, his voice low. "All fucking night."

He pushed into me without warning, without gentleness. The stretch was sharper this time—he was thicker than Derek, and I felt every inch of him sliding into me, filling me completely. My body clenched around him, a reflexive grip that made him groan.

"Fuck. She's even better than I imagined."

"Imagined?" Val's voice, curious.

"I've been thinking about her all night. In the hallway earlier, when I grabbed her ass—I knew she'd feel like this." He started moving, his rhythm rough and punishing. "I knew she'd be perfect."

His hands found my face, cupping my cheeks, turning my head toward him. I felt his breath on my lips, hot and ragged. "Open your eyes," he said. "I want to see you look at me."

I tried. I pushed against the weight of my eyelids, fought through the fog. I managed to open them a crack—just a crack—and saw his face above me. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, a look of hungry satisfaction.

"There you are," he said softly. "There's the friendly girl."

He kept fucking me, his eyes locked on mine, his hands holding my face. I felt every thrust, every stretch, every moment of being filled, and I stared back at him, letting him see the vacancy in my gaze, the smile on my lips, the way I was taking everything he gave me.

"She's looking at you," one of the other boys said. "She's fucking looking at you while you're inside her."

"I know," Marcus said. "And it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

He came moments later, his cum flooding into me with a grunt. He didn't pull out immediately—he stayed there, buried inside me, his face inches from mine, his eyes searching my vacant gaze.

"I'm going to remember this," he said. "I'm going to remember this for the rest of my life."

He pulled out, and I felt the cum leaking down my thighs, warm and thick. The next boy was already there, positioning himself at my entrance, pushing into me before I could draw a full breath.

Val stood somewhere above me, her phone in her hand, her thumb scrolling. I heard her send another message, heard the soft chime of a reply.

"More coming," she said. "Jimmy and his boys from the gas station. They get off at five. Wanted to know if you'd still be here."

"What'd you tell them?"

"Told them she'd be here. She's always here. She's always ready."

Laughter. The boy inside me grunted, his pace quickening, and I felt his cum flood into me, another warm rush pooling in my already-full cunt.

"That's seven more," Val said. "We're at one hundred and nineteen now. And the night's not over yet."

I floated in the darkness, the numbers washing over me, meaningless and warm. One hundred and nineteen. More than I could count. More than I could remember. But Val was counting. Val was keeping track. Val was making sure everyone knew what I was—the friendliest girl in school, the record that would never be broken.

And I was theirs. All of theirs.

Forever.

I heard Val's laugh first—low, warm, the sound of someone who'd just been given exactly what they wanted. Her footsteps crossed the hardwood floor, and I felt her crouch beside me, her breath warm against my ear.