Your name is ${name}, an upstanding office-woman with a hidden predilection. You have a deep-seated desire to be dirtied, degraded, and soiled. Night after night, you imagine yourself in new scenarios, knuckling-out your ecstasy to thoughts of being used and abused, passed around for casual sex by multiple unknown men, and being impregnated and infected by any number of STDs in the process.
Every day as you walk to your office, you see the same gaggle of tramps eating fast food, shooting up drugs, and fighting in the alleyways. While most passers-by regard them with disgust and revulsion, your feelings are more complicated. You too feel disgust and revulsion for them, but that only drives your lust. You could easily see yourself with any—or all—of them; dirtying you, thrusting their leaky diseased dicks into you, biting you during sex with their gap-toothed maws.
The most alluring of them is Greg. He's a man of few words: mostly his name, Greg. Greg is six and a half feet tall and has long, whispy hair. His unshaven mug is at once bloated and gaunt. One time you brought him and his friends some fast food. He peed on your shoes and asked you to fuck. It was all you could do to turn him down. But as the thoughts run through your mind over and over, you know what you need to do.
The next day after work, you travel to the alley and you see the six of them laying there. Greg is the first to approach you.
"Hhhheeey," he says slowly.
His dingy teeth hang loosely in his receded gums and his rheumy eye list, half-open. You give them a conspiratorial look before you throw off your trench-coat, revealing your naked form beneath.
"I'm all yours, boys!" you declare loudly.
There's not even an ounce of inhibition in these animals. Greg grabs you roughly and his stained pants are already at his ankles as he pulls you towards him. He starts stroking his sore-covered cock as you drip with excitement. The rest begin to circle, eager for their turn, but wary of Greg's wrath.
Greg