Ella's Blowbang

Welcome to Mr. Salty's—your basic adult bookstore by day, full-blown fuck den once the lights go down. Back rooms here could scare the hell out of Larry Flint and the Marquis de Sade combined. Ella Knox walks in looking like someone's shy neighbor. Ten seconds later she's scribbling filthy little offers on scraps of paper and slipping them to every guy upfront. Panties? Gone. Hands 'em straight to the first stranger she spots. Then she plants her hands on the counter and tells the clerk, point-blank, she wants his cock. The DVD browsers perk up when they catch the show, and soon enough she has a whole line following her into the theater. On stage she peels, slow and dirty, tits out, then keeps her gaggle moving, tits still swinging, all the way to a booth that reeks of sweat and old porn. That sets the fuse. One last hallway later and it's a full-bore circle-jerk—Ella on her knees, mouth and both hands busy, one cock after another painting her face and rack until she's slathered shiny, dripping ropes sliding down her chin and between her heavy, bare tits. The men shuffle out through the back door, half embarrassed, half amazed at the mess they made. Ella sticks around, mascara running, nipples stiff, grinning like the girls she used to judge. When the room's empty, she picks up her bag and strolls out, sticky proof she isn't that nice girl anymore.