πA night of hedonism becomes your worst nightmare.
β€οΈ Synopsis. At a twisted frat party, you’re the centerpiece of a dark game of dominance and degradation, where every touch and whisper reminds you of the power he holdsβand the humiliation you’re forced to endure. The night is far from over, and he has plans to make you his plaything in front of them all.
β‘ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology
β‘ Pairing. Yandere! College! Bully x Fem. Reader
β‘ Novella. Torn Between Us – Part 3
β‘ Word Count. 17,206
β‘ TW. dom + top + older + scumbag + sadistic yandere, explicit non-con + rape, psychological manipulation + conditioning + abuse + trauma, fear play, BDSM + DDLG, bullying, love bombing, mature language, crime, unhealthy coping mechanisms + toxic relationships, gaslighting, victim blaming, implied masochism, slight pet play, collars + leashes, public + situational humiliation, non-con photography + filming, non-con alcoholism + forced intoxication, drugging, forced oral + deepthroating, public sex, slapping, physical assault + abuse, degradation, name-calling, forced prostitution + stripping, whipping, dacryphilia, slut shaming, genitalia assault + abuse, gang rape, mind break, blackmail + threats + coercion, illegal auctions, hard objectification, free-use whore elements, explicit and realistic depictions of sexual abuse + rape, forced double + multiple penetration, creampies, Stockholm Syndrome, forced anal, orgies, masturbation, public nudity
You felt the cold air bite into your skin as he yanked your shirt over your head, the fabric tearing away from your body with a vicious snarl. He threw it aside, his eyes raking over your exposed flesh with a hunger that made your stomach clench. His grip was iron, his hands roaming over your curves with a cruel possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. You were his toy, his plaything, and as he dragged you to the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gazeβlike a brand searing you from the inside out.
“Look at yourself,” he ordered, his voice a low rumble of thunder. “This is what you are. A whore. Nothing more.”
You stared at your reflection, trembling, the bruises from his earlier assaults already starting to bloom across your skin. His eyes bore into yours through the mirror, a challenge that made your heart race. You tried to look away, but his hand snaked around your throat, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh beneath your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“You’re mine,” he said, his voice a low growl. “You always have been. And tonight, everyone will know it.”
With a sadistic smirk, he reaches down to unbutton and unzip your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear in one swift motion, leaving you naked and exposed in the cold room. He takes a step back, his eyes feasting on your trembling body, the evidence of your fear and humiliation only adding to his arousal.
He opens a closet door, revealing a selection of cheap, revealing outfitsβtiny dresses, lingerie, and accessories that scream ‘slut’. He sifts through them with a critical eye, tossing a few onto the bed with a grunt of satisfaction.
He holds up a scrap of red fabric with a smirk, his eyes glinting with malicious pleasure. It’s a lingerie setβa thong and a push-up bra that barely cover anything. “This will do,” he says, tossing it at you. “Put it on, and let’s see if you can still pretend to be shy for me.”
You freeze and don’t follow through immediately.
He grabs the back of your neck, his grip tight and unforgiving as he pulls you to your feet. “You heard me,” he growls, his voice thick with irritation. “Put it on. We’re going to make an entrance they won’t forget.” His eyes bore into yours, the hunger in them unmistakable.
You swallow hard, the taste of fear coating the back of your throat as your trembling hands fumble with the flimsy fabric.
Each touch feels like a brand, a reminder of what you’re about to endure.
You hate him for thisβfor reducing you to this trembling wreck of a human beingβbut a dark, twisted part of you craves the attention, the power he holds over you.
It’s a dance you know all too well, a dance you’ve been forced to perform countless times before.
With shaking hands, you slip into the red lingerie, the fabric scraping against your bruises and the cold air in the room making your skin pebble.
He watches with a predatory gaze, his eyes lingering on every inch of exposed flesh as if committing it to memory. When you’re done, he nods, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Perfect,” he says, his voice a low purr of approval. “Now, let’s go show everyone what a good little slut you are.”
He leans down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim you, to mark you as his own. His grip tightens on your hips, pulling you closer, and you can feel the unmistakable bulge in his pants pressing against your stomach.
It’s a promise of what’s to come, a reminder that you’re his to use and discard at will.
Despite your fear, despite your revulsion, your body responds, your pulse racing as he whispers sweet nothings against your neck, his breath hot and moist.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust and possession. “So eager to please.” He grazes his teeth along the sensitive skin of your neck, and you suppress a whimper.
The sting of pain sends a jolt through your body, mixing with the warmth of his praise, confusing your senses until you’re not sure what you feel anymoreβjust that you crave more of his touch, more of his attention.
He smirks, the corner of his lips tilting up in a way that makes your stomach drop. “Maybe I’ll just leave you in that,” he says, his eyes raking over your nearly naked form.
He stands, releasing you from the bruising grip of his arms. You feel the cool air of the room kiss your overheated skin as he steps away, and for a brief moment, you hope that perhaps he’s changed his mind.
But then he crosses the room to a drawer, pulls out a black leather collar studded with silver spikes, and you know that hope is futile. He returns to you, his gaze dark with excitement as he fastens the collar around your neck, tightening it just enough to make you gasp. “There,” he says, his voice a low purr of satisfaction. “Now you’re dressed for the party.”
He leads you to the full-length mirror, forcing you to look at yourself.
The red lingerie clings to your bruised body, the lace scratching at your skin like the accusatory eyes of everyone who’s ever seen your scars. The collar stands out starkly against your pale neck, a declaration of your ownership. He stands behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as he leans down to whisper in your ear.
“You’re going to be the center of attention tonight,” he says, his breath hot against your skin. “Everyone will see you like this. Everyone will know that you’re mine.”
You whimper, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens. He chuckles, the sound sending a cold shiver down your spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of girl you are. A dirty little whore who can’t get enough of the pain I give you.”
You muster every ounce of courage and beg him to at least let you wear something more over the revealing lingerie, your voice quivering with fear and desperation. “Please,” you whimper, “just let me put on something else. Anything. I don’t want everyone to see me like this.”
He chuckles darkly, his breath ghosting across your neck as his hand comes up to trace the line of the collar. “But that’s the point,” he whispers, his eyes gleaming in the reflection.
“You’re my little showpiece tonight. My trophy to flaunt and use as I please.” His thumb strokes the sensitive skin beneath your ear, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. “You know how much I love watching you squirm under their eyes.”
He sighs heavily, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. “You’re so predictable.” His voice is a low rumble of amusement. He leans closer, his breath hot and moist against your skin.
“But that’s what makes you so perfect for this.” He grabs your chin, turning your face to the side so you can see the lust in his gaze.
“Begging for mercy, for dignity, for anything to not be seen like this. It’s pathetic, really.” His thumb traces the line of your jaw, his grip tightening slightly. “But it’s also what makes me so fucking hard.”
βββ
The backhand hits you like a whip, the force snapping your head to the side and sending you sprawling onto the cold floor.
Pain explodes across your cheek, and you taste the coppery tang of blood in your mouth. The world spins around you for a moment, and you feel the sting of tears in your eyes.
But as the shock fades, so does your pride.
He looms over you, his eyes narrowed and gleaming with a dangerous light. “You’ve forgotten your training, haven’t you?”
He says it like it’s a personal affront, like you’ve spit in his face rather than simply begging for mercy.
“Bitch,” he sneers, the word a vicious caress that makes you flinch. “You’re going to learn respect again, one way or another.”
You feel his heavy boot come down on your cheek, pressing your face into the cold, unforgiving tile. The pain is immediate and blinding, a stark reminder of your place beneath him. His weight shifts, the pressure increasing until your skull feels like it might crack under the force.
You whimper, your cheek mashed against the ground as your nose fills with the scent of your own blood. His foot grinds against your face, his voice a harsh, displeased growl.
“You’re mine,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “Mine to use, mine to break, and mine to fix.”
His foot releases you, and you gasp for air, your cheek bruising under his boot’s imprint. “Now get dressed. We have a party to attend.”
He smirks down at you, his eyes glinting with sadistic amusement as he watches your desperate struggle to breathe beneath his weight.
His hand reaches down to trace the bruise already forming on your cheek, his thumb pressing into the tender flesh with a cruel fondness. “Such a pretty face,” he murmurs, “It’d be a shame to mar it completely.”
He laughs darkly at your muffled cry, his nails digging into the bruise he’d just created, sending shockwaves of pain through your face.
He leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “You’re going to be the star of the show tonight, baby. And if you’re a good little whore, I might just let you keep that pretty face intact.”
His hand yanks your hair, forcing your head back, and you bite back a scream as the pain shoots through your scalp. He’s enjoying this, the cruel twist to his lips saying it all as he sifts through the selection of leashes hanging in the closet.
Each one a symbol of his control, a tool to parade you around the frat party like a prized pet.
His eyes flicker over the leather and metal chains, the soft fabric and studded collars, each one designed to inflict a different kind of humiliation. He finally settles on a short, studded leather leash, the kind that would leave painful indentations on your skin. He loops it around your neck with a sadistic smile, the cold metal pressing into your flesh.
“This one,” he says with a finality that sends a shiver down your spine. “It’ll match the collar nicely.” His grip on your hair tightens as he secures the leash to the collar, the clasp clicking shut with a finality that echoes in your mind like a prison door slamming shut.
He jerks the leash back sharply, the studs biting into your neck as you’re forced to kneel before him again. His smirk widens at your obedience, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and cruel amusement. “Who told you to stand up, slut?” he asks, his voice a low, dangerous purr that sends a tremor through your body. His hand slides down the leather strap to the clasp, and you brace yourself for the pain, for the punishment you know is coming.
The second you try to stand up, he yanks the leash, forcing you back down to your knees. “Who told you to stand up, you disobedient little slut?” he snarls, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and excitement.
You feel a rush of heat between your legs despite the fear, his harsh words sending a thrill through your body. He reaches into the closet, pulling out a whip, the leather cracking sharply in the tense air as he tests its length.
The sight of the weapon makes your heart race, a mix of terror and arousal pumping through your veins.
“Now,” he says, his voice low and deadly, “you’re going to crawl to the party like the good little bitch you are. And if you dare try to stand again without my permission, I’ll show you just how much this whip loves to kiss your skin.”
He strokes the whip along your bare back, the cool leather sending goosebumps rippling over your flesh. His touch is possessive, a clear declaration of his intentions to claim you fully and completely in front of everyone.
The whip cracks through the air with a vicious sound, striking your already bruised flesh with a sharp sting. The pain is immediate and intense, making you yelp and arch your back as your skin burns from the leather’s cruel kiss.
He smiles, watching your reaction with a predatory gaze, his eyes lighting up with sadistic pleasure at the sound of your pain. He runs the tip of the whip along your spine, tracing the outline of your body as you tremble before him.
“Look how eager you are,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. “You love this, don’t you? Being my little whore. Being used and humiliated in front of everyone.”
His hand tangles in your hair again, wrenching your head back to expose your neck to his hungry gaze. “You’re going to be the star of the show tonight, baby. Everyone will see just how much you crave this.”
The cold steel of the leash digs into the flesh of your throat as he jerks it, forcing you to crawl after him like the animal he’s made you out to be.
Your knees scrape against the rough, unforgiving surface of the hallway floor, leaving behind a trail of bruises and small abrasions that burn with every movement.
The humiliation is complete, the weight of his hand on the leash a stark reminder that you have no say, no powerβyou’re nothing more than his plaything to be used and displayed as he sees fit.
ββββββββββββ
The moment you enter the packed frat party, the atmosphere shiftsβthe air thickens with a mix of lust and anticipation.
His hand tightens on the leash, and he pulls you closer, a low chuckle escaping his lips as the whispers of those around you grow louder.
You can feel the weight of their stares, their eyes raking over your bruised and exposed body, and your cheeks burn with a mix of humiliation and arousal. You want to hide, to shrink away from their judgment, but his grip is unyielding, his presence a stark reminder of your role for the night.
As he parades you through the crowded room, the whispers grow into a cacophony of murmurs, the occasional laugh cutting through the din. You can feel the heat of their gazes on your bare skin, a mix of pity and perverse fascination. You’re aware of the pictures being snapped on phones, the videos that will surely spread like wildfire across the school. But his hand remains firm on the leash, his grip a silent declaration of ownership.
The whispers become a murmur as the crowd around you grows denser, a sea of faces you vaguely recognize from classes and the dorms. They all seem to know him, and by extension, what you’re here for.
A few of the bolder ones lean in close, whispering lewd comments about your body, your obvious discomfort only fueling their excitement.
The flash of a camera phone blinds you for a second, and you realize that your humiliation is being documented for the world to see.
You feel his hand slide down the leather of the leash to your neck, his thumb caressing the tender skin just beneath your jawline. His grip tightens, a silent warning to not make a scene, to be his good little whore.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice a seductive purr in your ear, his breath hot and moist. “You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t you? Just like old times.”
You bite your lip to hold back the tears, your cheek stinging from his earlier blow. You can’t believe you’re here, in this place, with him.
The music is loud, the lights are strobing, and the smell of cheap beer and sweat fills the air. You’re naked except for the red lingerie he made you wearβhis favorite colorβand the collar around your neck, a stark contrast against your pale, bruised skin. The spikes dig into your neck, a constant reminder of his ownership.
Domo… you want to call for Domo…
Where is she…?
Please… please come back…
You’re sorry. You’re so sorry for lying to her.
For pretending to be someone you’re not.
As you try not to cry, you feel the leather leash tighten around your neck, his hand guiding you through the thickening crowd.
The whispers and stares feel like a thousand tiny knives cutting into your already shredded dignity, but the fear of his wrath keeps you in check. The frat house is alive with the pulse of music, the smell of alcohol, and the heat of bodies pressed together in various states of undress.
Your eyes scan the room, desperately searching for an escape, but the only thing you find is his smug smile as he leads you to the VIP section.
He sits on the couch, the throne of his own twisted kingdom, and pulls you onto his lap, your bare thighs exposed and trembling against the rough fabric. His arms wrap around you like a steel cage, his hands roaming over your body with the ease of someone who’s owned it for years. His touch is both possessive and degrading, a cruel reminder of the power he holds over you.
“Look around,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers trace the line of the collar, pressing it into your skin. “This is your world now, my little whore. Everyone knows what you are.”
You dare a glance around the room, your eyes filling with tears as you take in the leering faces and knowing smirks of the partygoers.
You’re the entertainment, the punchline of their crude jokes, and it’s clear none of them see you as anything but his property to use and discard.
The humiliation is almost too much to bear, but you bite your tongue, the metallic taste of blood mingling with the salt of stray tears.
“You’re mine,” he says, his voice a dark growl that sends shivers down your spine. His hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips.
“And tonight, I’m going to show everyone just how much.”
βββ
He takes the bottle from his pocket and uncaps it with a smirk.
You recognize it as the same brand of alcohol you’ve had before, but something about the way he handles it makes you feel sick with dread. He brings the bottle to your lips, tilting your head back as you struggle to breathe, your pulse racing.
The liquid is cold and bitter, burning down your throat, and you cough and choke as he pours it down your throat. His grip is unrelenting, his thumb pressing into your jaw to force your mouth open wider, ensuring not a single drop is wasted.
“Swallow,” he commands, his voice a low rumble. “Swallow it all.”
You try to resist, but his grip is unyielding, the bottle pressing against your teeth until you have no choice but to obey.
The liquid burns its way down your throat, and you feel the beginnings of a sickly warmth spreading through your body, turning your limbs to jelly and your thoughts to mush.
The room starts to spin, and the leers of the partygoers become a blur of faces, their whispers a cacophony of white noise in your ears. You struggle to focus, but everything is slipping away from you, your mind fogging over with a thick haze of confusion and fear.
He watches you with a twisted smile as you gag and choke, the alcohol burning your throat and making your eyes water.
His chuckle is deep and satisfied, the sound of a man who’s used to getting exactly what he wants, no matter the cost to others. As the last of the liquid trickles down your throat, his hand releases your chin, leaving a sticky trail of drool to hang from your bottom lip.
“Good girl,” he praises, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Now, let’s see how obedient you really are.”
With a vicious yank of the leash attached to the collar around your neck, he forces you down to your knees. The spikes dig into your flesh, sending sharp stabs of pain, but you know better than to protest. Your knees hit the cold, sticky floor, and you feel the weight of his stare on you as you blink back the tears.
You’re so vulnerable, so exposed in the skimpy lingerie and the collar that screams of your ownership. The room around you is a blur of faces and sounds, the frat brothers leering and jeering, eager to see what’s to come.
βββ
The force of his slap sends your head snapping to the side, your cheek stinging with a white-hot pain that seems to resonate through your skull.
You blink back the stars in your vision, the sting of your eyes mixing with the salty taste of your own blood. His hand wraps around the back of your neck, forcing your face closer to the bulge in his pants. The fabric is rough against your skin, a stark contrast to the softness of your bruised cheek.
“You’re going to show them,” he says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re going to show every single one of these pathetic fucks what a good little whore you are.”
His grip tightens, the pressure almost cutting off your air. “You’re going to suck me off right here, right now, and you’re going to enjoy it. You’re going to make them all wish they had a piece of what’s mine.”
The second slap lands with a crack that echoes through the room, the sound of your skin against his palm ringing in your ears like a gunshot.
The pain is so intense, so sudden, that for a brief moment, it overwhelms everything elseβthe humiliation, the fear, the sickening reality of your situation.
The taste of blood fills your mouth, mixing with the bitter taste of his hand as tears spill down your cheeks.
“Fuck,” he says, his voice a mix of frustration and arousal. “You’re such a slow learner.”
His grip on your neck loosens slightly, his other hand reaching down to unbuckle his belt. The clink of his belt is the only sound in the room, louder than the pulse thundering in your ears, louder than the jeers of the frat brothers. “But we’re going to fix that, won’t we, princess?”
He pushes your face closer to his crotch, the scent of his arousal thick and overwhelming. The fabric of his pants presses against your cheek as he unzips them with a smug grin, revealing the hard, thick length of his cock.
“Look what you do to me,” he says, his voice a taunt as he strokes himself, the sound of his hand gliding over his shaft echoing through the room. “You’re going to make me feel so good, baby. Just like you always do.”
You feel the heat of his cock against your lips, and despite the fear and pain, a dark, desperate craving stirs within you. His fingers weave through your hair, guiding you closer as you open your mouth to accept him. The taste of his arousal fills your mouth, and you feel his hardness pulse as your tongue darts out to trace the veins along his length. He groans, his grip tightening slightly as you take him in deeper, the leather of the collar biting into your neck.
Your eyes water with the effort to not gag, but you force yourself to take more, the desire to please him overriding your instincts to fight back.
As you hungrily deepthroat his cock, his eyes light up with a sadistic gleam of satisfaction. He groans deeply, his hand fisting in your hair as he starts to thrust his hips, fucking your mouth with a ferocity that leaves you gasping for air.
The leather collar around your neck is a constant reminder of your submission, the metal spikes digging in as he uses you as his personal whore. The room seems to spin around you, the sounds of the partygoers’ cheers and taunts a cacophony in the background, all fading away as you focus solely on the task at hand.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal. “So eager to make Daddy happy. You really are a good little slut, aren’t you?”
The words, though degrading, only serve to make you suck harder, your throat working to accommodate his size. His other hand moves down to squeeze one of your breasts, twisting the nipple through the flimsy fabric of your lingerie, eliciting a muffled moan around his cock. The pain sends a bolt of electricity straight to your core, making you wet despite the horror of the situation.
“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, his hips bucking against your face. “You love being used like this, don’t you, my little fucktoy?”
The sound of your needy moans are like music to his ears, and his grip on your hair tightens even more. He starts to fuck your mouth with purpose, his hips moving in a steady, punishing rhythm. The friction of his cock against the back of your throat and the way your cheeks hollow out with each thrust makes you feel utterly used and debasedβexactly how he wants you.
The frat brothers around you cheer and catcall, their eyes glued to the obscene scene unfolding in the VIP section. The room is a blur of leering faces and lewd gestures, the sound of their jeers and laughter echoing in your ears.
“Look at her,” he says, his voice thick with arousal as he addresses the crowd. “My personal little slut. She’d do anything for me, wouldn’t she?”
You can’t bring yourself to argue, the words sticking in your throat as his cock slams into the back of your throat. The frat brothers hoot and holler, some of them reaching out to touch you, their hands grabbing at your exposed skin. Each touch feels like a violation, a further reminder that you’re not a person here, just a thing for their amusement.
“Look at her,” he says, his voice a low growl, “so eager to please.” He slaps you again, the sting on your cheek sending a fresh wave of arousal through you, even as tears leak from your eyes. “You’re going to be the main event tonight, my little slut. Everyone’s going to see how much you love being used.”
The room is a whirlwind of noise and bodies, the smell of spilled drinks and sweat thick in the air. He yanks you to your feet, the leash pulling at your neck. Your knees wobble, but he doesn’t care, dragging you through the crowd to the makeshift stage they’ve set up.
The cheers and catcalls grow louder as he leads you up the steps, your bare feet cold against the wood. You’re aware of every set of eyes on you, the collar around your neck gleaming under the strobe lights, his hand wrapped firmly in your hair, guiding you.
“Look at what I brought, everyone!” he calls out, his voice ringing with a dark kind of triumph. The music cuts out, and the room goes still. “This is what a real woman looks like, isn’t she? Willing to do anything for the man who owns her.”
The frat brothers cheer, and you can feel their eyes on you like a million tiny knives, cutting into your soul. He pushes you to your knees in the center of the stage, the lights above you making you squint.
You’re dizzy, the room spinning around you, but you know better than to fight. You know what happens when you fight.
He strokes your hair, a mockery of tenderness. “Look around, baby,” he whispers, his voice a dark caress in your ear. “These are the people who matter. These are the ones who understand what you truly are. And what are you?”
You swallow, the bitter taste of fear coating your mouth. “Y-Your slut,” you murmur, the words barely audible.
He laughs, the sound cruel and triumphant. “That’s right,” he says, his hand sliding down to cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “My slut. And tonight, you’re going to show everyone just how much of a good girl you can be for Daddy.”
The crack of the whip slices through the air, the sound jolting you out of your haze. The leather kisses your bare skin with a sharp sting that sends a bolt of arousal straight to your core. You whimper, your body already conditioned to respond to his brand of pain with a twisted form of pleasure.
He smirks down at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he sees your reaction. “Now, now,” he says, his voice low and soothing despite the harshness of his words. “Don’t be shy. It’s showtime.”
The room seems to close in around you, the leather collar tightening around your throat with every breath. The stage lights are hot and blinding, and the leers and catcalls from the drunken frat boys below make your stomach churn. He snaps the whip again, the sound a sharp crack echoing through the room, and you flinch, your body responding to his command despite your mind’s desperate rebellion.
ββββββββββββ
The music starts, a thumping bass that seems to pulse through your very bones, and his hand tightens on the leash attached to your collar. “Dance for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Show these pathetic fucks what you’re really made of.”
You try to push the drugs’ haze away, but your body moves on its own accord, swaying to the beat, each movement a silent plea for mercy that he ignores. His eyes never leave yours as you strip away your dignity, peeling off layers of clothing to reveal bruised skin and the marks of his ownership.
The frat boys cheer, their eyes greedy as they watch you, and you want to dieβto just slip away and leave this nightmare behind. But his grip on your soul is too strong.
He snaps the whip again, a little closer this time, the tip grazing the bare skin of your arm. You yelp, and he laughs, a sound that sends shivers down your spine. “That’s it,” he says, his voice a dark caress. “Show them how much you love it.”
With the crack of the whip still ringing in your ears, you struggle to rise to your feet, your legs shaking with fear and a strange, dark excitement. The alcohol and the drugs he forced on you swirl through your system, mixing with the adrenaline and the horror of what’s happening to create a toxic cocktail that fuels your actions.
You look down at your body, the red lingerie clinging to your curves, and you know that you’re going to have to give him what he wants. You hate itβyou hate him, you hate this, you hate what heβs turned you intoβbut the fear of his wrath and the need to survive override your pride.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction. He tugs at the leash, and you follow his lead, your movements jerky and awkward as you try to mimic the seductive dances youβve seen in movies.
The stage lights burn down on you, making you feel exposed, making every eye in the room feel like a brand on your flesh. The frat members leer and shout obscenities, their excitement palpable as they watch you perform for their entertainment.
He circles you, the whip coiled in his hand like a living extension of his will. The leather cracks again, and you flinch, but this time, you know better than to resist. You begin to sway your hips, the music a distant throb that you try to sync with, your eyes fixed on a spot just beyond the sea of faces.
Each step is a battle between your instincts to flee and the cold, heavy weight of his expectations.
The whip slices through the air, its leather tail biting into the tender flesh of your thigh. The sting is immediate and sharp, a stark reminder of your place.
You gasp, your dance faltering for a moment as pain blossoms in a crimson flower, stealing your breath. The crowd cheers, the sickening sound of their approval spurring him on. His eyes narrow, and he pulls you closer by the leash, his grip unyielding.
“Is that all you’ve got, my little slut?” he sneers, his voice a harsh whisper in your ear. “You used to be so eager to please me, so desperate for my praise. Have you forgotten your training so quickly?”
You feel the warm trickle of blood run down your leg, mixing with the stickiness of his cum that still clings to your skin.
The room spins around you, the strobe lights flashing in a disorienting rhythm that seems to pulse with the bass of the music.
Your body screams for relief, but his words cut deeper than any whip ever could. You shake your head, eyes wide with terror and humiliation. “No, no, Iβ”
His hand snaps out, slapping you hard across the cheek.
“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine, and you’ll perform like the whore you are.”
He shoves you back into the center of the stage, the cold metal of the pole pressing into your bare skin. The music changes, a slower, more sensual beat that seems to taunt you with its intimacy.
He cracks the whip again, a warning that echoes through your very soul.
Your body moves almost of its own accord, the drugs and his relentless grip on the collar’s leash guiding your actions.
You wrap your shaking limbs around the pole, your torn lingerie barely clinging to your bruised and bloodied skin.
The crowd of leering frat members hoot and holler, their eyes devouring the sight of you, their entertainment for the night. The stage lights burn into your retinas, making everything else a hazy, pulsing blur. You feel the stickiness of the semen on your body mixing with the sweat and blood, creating a nauseating cocktail that clings to your skin.
“Look at her, folks,” he calls out, his voice carrying over the music, his words a knife in the heart of your dignity. “Isn’t she just the prettiest little thing you’ve ever seen?”
He sneers down at you, the glint in his eyes cold and unforgiving. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice a low growl. “Take it all off, slut. Show everyone what you’ve been hiding.” His hand moves to the collar around your neck, giving it a sharp tug that sends a bolt of pain shooting through your body.
βββ
You bite your lip, trying to ignore the burning in your throat and the sticky warmth of your own blood, as you begin to peel off your clothes with trembling hands. Your eyes never leave his, the fear and anger in them a silent scream for mercy that you know he won’t heed.
With a tremble that you hope he’ll mistake for seductive anticipation, you unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Your breasts bounce free, nipples stiff with cold and fear.
You’re aware of the leers of the crowd as they watch you, and the way his eyes rake over you, claiming ownership of every inch of your exposed flesh. The collar feels tighter around your neck, a constant reminder of the power he wields over you.
“That’s it, slut,” he says, his voice thick with pleasure as you stand before him, naked except for the soiled lingerie around your thighs.
“Show everyone what you really are.”
With trembling fingers, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your thong, taking a deep, shaky breath as you push it down over your hips.
The fabric clings to your wetness, and you feel a fresh wave of humiliation as you realize just how much your body is betraying you in this moment. You peel the thong away from your skin, exposing your vulnerable, bare pussy to the leering eyes of the frat boys and the sadistic grin of your tormentor.
He watches you, his own erection pressing against his slacks, his hand resting on the bulge as if contemplating whether to let you service him further. The room seems to pulse with the beat of the music, each bass drop echoing the hammer of your heart as you stand before him, naked, collared, and utterly at his mercy.
The whip slices through the air with a sinister hiss, and before you can even process the command, the leather bites into your sensitive flesh. The pain is immediate, white-hot and searing, and you let out a high-pitched scream as your body jolts reflexively.
The sting against your pussy sends a jolt of electricity through your core, the pain so intense it’s almost impossible to believe it’s real. You look down to see the crimson line marring your pale skin, and the sight only makes you feel more exposed, more violated.
He laughs, the sound like nails on a chalkboard to your sensitive ears. “Is that all you’ve got, baby?” He asks, his tone mocking and filled with dark amusement.
“I’ve seen you take so much more. Don’t tell me you’re going to be a bad little slut now.” He gives the leash a sharp tug, and you stumble toward the pole, desperation fueling your movements.
Your body wraps around the cold metal, your trembling hands sliding up the pole as you try to compose yourself. The room’s attention is fully on you, the music a distant backdrop to the horror show you’re being forced to perform.
The pole is slick with sweat and other, unidentifiable substances, but you ignore the revulsion, focusing instead on the task at hand. You begin to move, your hips swaying and gyrating, your breasts bouncing with the rhythm as you try to push away the pain and the fear.
He grabs the back of your head, the glass bottle pressing against your mouth.
You try to resist, the bitter taste of the drug-laden alcohol already making your stomach churn from the first dose, but his grip is unyielding. His thumb digs into your cheek, pushing your jaw open wider, and he pours the amber liquid down your throat, forcing you to swallow.
You cough and choke, the liquid burning like fire as it slides down your throat, the potent aphrodisiacs mixing with the fear and adrenaline already coursing through your system. Your eyes water, your vision swimming with the sudden onslaught of chemicals, but he’s relentless, watching you with a sadistic glint as you drink.
As the bottle empties, the room seems to tilt on its axis. The laughter and jeers of the frat brothers blur into a cacophony of sound, the lights above seeming to pulse and flicker erratically.
He releases your head, and you drop to your knees, gasping for air. The collar around your neck feels tighter, the spikes digging into your skin with each frantic breath you take. He chuckles, his eyes gleaming with a dark excitement as he watches you struggle.
“Looks like my little slut’s ready to perform,” he says, his voice a taunting whisper that seems to resonate through the haze in your mind. He tugs on the leash, jerking your head up so that you’re forced to meet his gaze.
The world spins around you, the edges of your vision blurring with the potency of the drug. “Now, get up and show them what you’re good for.”
βββ
You struggle to stand, your legs wobbly from the potent cocktail of fear and aphrodisiac swirling through your system. The room seems to tilt and sway around you, the leers of the frat boys blurring into a sea of hungry, lecherous faces. Your body feels like it’s on fire, your pussy slick with arousal against your will. The collar digs into your neck, a painful reminder of your bondage, but the heat from the drink and the humiliation of your performance makes the pain strangelyβ¦ addictive.
“Good girl,” he purrs, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction.
“Now, show them how much you love to dance for daddy.” His hand slides down your back, his fingers lingering over the fresh bruises marring your skin. You flinch, but there’s something in his touch that makes you crave moreβhis dominance, his control.
With the collar biting into your neck and the drug coursing through your veins, you stumble to the pole, your movements uncoordinated and sluggish. But as you begin to move, the music seems to fill you, guiding your hips into a sultry sway that seems almost instinctual.
You wrap your hands around the pole, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat emanating from your body. Each slide of your palms up and down the pole is met with a chorus of catcalls and whistles from the intoxicated audience.
The music pulses through the room, a siren’s call to your debasement, and you begin to dance with a fervor that borders on desperation. Your eyes glaze over as the potent cocktail of fear and the drug takes hold, your body moving in ways that seem both alien and eerily natural.
You twirl around the pole, the friction of your bruised skin against the metal sending waves of painful pleasure through your body. Your breasts, now free from their fabric prison, bounce with each thrust of your hips, the friction of your nipples against the pole making them rock hard and sensitive.
The frat boys below you have abandoned any pretense of decency, their hands shamelessly stroking their erections as they watch you. The smell of lust is palpable, a thick fog that seems to coil around you, tightening its grip with every passing moment. Some of them have already climaxed, their semen spattering the stage, mixing with the sweat and tears that drench your legs.
You feel their eyes on you, a hundred pairs of hungry eyes feasting on your nakedness, and you know that he’s watching, tooβhis smirk growing wider as his grip on the leash tightens, urging you to go further.
You arch your back, pushing your hips out, grinding against the pole in a display that has them howling with lust. Each movement sends a jolt of pain through your bruised body, but you ignore it, the need to satisfy him overriding any semblance of self-preservation.
You’re nothing but a toy to be used and discarded, a living, breathing manifestation of his darkest desires.
You spread your legs wider, bending over the pole, and their eyes follow, drinking in the sight of your exposed sex. The collar feels like a brand on your neck, a declaration of ownership that marks you as his property.
As you spread your legs wider, revealing your wet and vulnerable sex, the crowd goes absolutely wild.
The air fills with the sound of their ravenous cheers, and money begins to rain down from the frat brothers’ hands, landing in a cascade of bills and coins around your knees. The cold, hard cash is a stark contrast to the heat of their stares, but you’re too lost in the haze of pain and forced pleasure to care.
Your body moves almost of its own accord, driven by the potent cocktail of the aphrodisiac and the need to satisfy the monster that holds your leash. Each bill that slaps against your skin feels like a slap, a declaration of your worthlessness, but it only fuels your performance.
“Look at her,” he says, his voice thick with lust as he watches you, the whip still in hand. “Isn’t she such a pretty little slut for us tonight?”
The room is a cacophony of male desire, the scent of testosterone and sex heavy in the air as more and more of the frat brothers drop their pants and start jerking off to the sight of you, their little whore on stage.
Some stand right at the edge, their erections bobbing in your line of sight, leaking pre-cum onto the floor as they watch you spread your legs and arch your back.
The aphrodisiac is making you wetter than youβve ever been, and the sticky wetness coats the insides of your thighs as you gyrate around the pole. Each time you glance down, you see their eyes on you, watching the show with a hunger thatβs palpable, their hands moving in time with the music as they pleasure themselves.
You feel a strange mix of fear and arousal, the drug playing with your emotions and making you crave his attention even as you despise the way heβs using you.
His hand tightens around the leash, reminding you of your place, and you whine, your hips rolling in a desperate bid for relief that you know wonβt come. Heβs enjoying this far too much to let you cum.
Instead, he gives the leash a sharp tug, pulling you closer to the edge of the stage, closer to the sea of erections pointing at you like accusatory fingers.
βLook at them,β he says, his voice a low purr in your ear, his breath hot and heavy with his own lust. βThey all want a piece of you. Theyβre all watching you, jerking off to you, thinking about fucking you. And you know what? If I want, I can give them that. I can make you service every single one of them. Youβre mine to do with as I please, remember?β
You whimper, your eyes darting around the room, meeting the eyes of the men below. Some of them are smiling cruelly, others look at you with a hunger that makes you want to crawl into a hole and hide. You know that if he wanted to, he could throw you to them like a piece of meat.
βBut tonight, baby, itβs just me,β he says, his voice thick with arousal as he pulls you closer, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass.
βWeβre going to show everyone who you belong to. Whoβs going to fuck you until you scream my name. Whoβs going to make you forget all about that prissy little bitch Domo and your sad little attempts at a normal life. Tonight, youβre going to remember who you really areβmy little whore.β
βββ
He hoists you up, your legs wrapping around his waist almost instinctively as he lines himself up at your entrance. You can feel how wet you are, the stickiness of arousal coating your thighs despite the horror of the situation.
He doesnβt bother with any preamble, no sweet nothings or gentle coaxingβhis cock slams into you, brutally tearing through your folds with a sickening sound thatβs lost in the din of the chanting crowd.
The impact sends shockwaves through your body, your back arching and your nails digging into his shoulders. You bite your lip to stifle the scream that builds in your throat, the pain of his intrusion mixing with the drugβs sickening thrill.
As he thrusts into you with a brutal force, your body betrays you, a strangled moan escaping your throat. Despite the horror of the situation, the drug’s potent cocktail of pain and pleasure has turned you into a writhing mess of need, your inner muscles clenching around him involuntarily.
The crowd goes wild, their cheers and jeers echoing in your ears as he fucks you like a ragdoll, his hips pistoning into you without mercy. Each thrust is a declaration of his dominance, a claim staked deep inside your core. His fingers dig into your skin, leaving bruises that will bloom like dark flowers on your flesh, a testament to his ownership.
βLook at you, little slut,β he snarls, his teeth bared in a twisted grin. βYou canβt even help but cum for me, can you? So desperate, so fucking pathetic. Just like I knew you would be. Youβre mine, and you always will be.β
He slams into you, each thrust a declaration of his dominance over your trembling body. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he ruts against you, his breath hot and ragged in your ear.
The crowd’s lewd cheers only serve to spur him on, his thrusts growing more erratic and forceful as he nears his climax. The pain is overwhelming, but the drug cocktail makes it almost bearable, the edges of your mind fogging with a haze of pleasure that you despise yourself for feeling.
βThatβs right, take it all, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “You love it when I use you like this, donβt you? Love when everyone sees youβre nothing but a whore for me?β
With your body a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and the potent effects of the drugs clouding your judgment, you find yourself obeying his command, kissing him back with a passion that’s been twisted and corrupted by the situation.
Your mind is a blur of pain and arousal, the line between the two blurring until you’re not sure which one is which anymore. His smirk widens, and he takes full advantage of your compromised state, his kisses growing more possessive as he feels you give in.
His hand snakes up to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue invades your mouth, claiming you in a way that leaves no doubt who you belong to.
The crowd’s cheers grow louder, a cacophony of sound that seems to echo in your ears as he fucks you mercilessly on the makeshift stage. You’re dimly aware of the frat brothers jerking off in front of you, their eyes glazed with lust as they watch your degradation unfold.
His hand moves from your neck, down to your throat, squeezing gently but firmly, reminding you that you’re his plaything, here for his pleasure and their entertainment. You moan into his mouth, the sound lost in the cacophony of his grunts and the frat members’ catcalls.
With a triumphant roar, he drives into you with a brutal force that makes your eyes roll back in your head. The pain is exquisite, a crescendo that steals the last shred of your dignity and leaves you trembling with a need that burns like acid in your veins.
Your legs are spread wide, your body exposed to the leering eyes of the frat members as he takes you with a ferocity that borders on savagery. His fingers dig into your hips, leaving bruises that mirror the marks of his teeth on your neck, his thrusts becoming erratic and punishing. You can feel him swell inside you, his cock thickening with his approaching orgasm.
The room is a cacophony of male lust and your own muffled whimpers. He leans in, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.
βYouβre mine, baby. Always have been, always will be. Youβre just too fucking stupid to realize it. Now, scream for me. Scream like you mean it. Scream like the breeding bitch I know you are.β His voice is a snarl, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as he whispers the last words, the sting of his bite sending a jolt of unwanted pleasure through your body.
The drugs in your system respond to his cruel command, your body betraying you once more. Your orgasm crashes over you, a tidal wave of pleasure that’s almost too much to handle.
Your legs tremble uncontrollably, wrapping around his waist as you cling to him, your nails digging into his back as you scream his name into the chaotic din of the frat party. Your muscles spasm around his cock, your walls pulsing with each wave of ecstasy that crashes over you, leaving you sobbing for breath.
His own climax follows, the hot spurt of his seed filling you as he buries himself to the hilt with a final, punishing thrust. The crowd’s roars of approval meld with the harsh, triumphant grunts of his release, each one a nail in the coffin of your resistance.
Your body hits the sticky, cum-soaked floor, a testament to the depraved spectacle you’ve just endured. Your legs shake uncontrollably, muscles slack with the aftershocks of forced pleasure.
The smell of sex and the faint metallic scent of your own blood mingle with the stale beer and sweat that hang in the air. The frat members surrounding you jeer and leer, their lustful gazes raking over your bruised and violated form. Your skin is sticky with their cum, your dignity shattered beyond repair. The harsh lights of the stage cast unflinching shadows over the bruises blossoming across your body, each one a stark reminder of his dominance.
He stands over you, the smug satisfaction in his eyes as he zips his pants, tightening your collar with a jerk for good measure. “Good girl,” he sneers, the sound of his zipper a grim symphony of your defeat.
“Now, let’s get you cleaned up for the next act.” He yanks the leash, and you scramble to your knees, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through your abused body. The leather collar bites into your neck, a constant reminder of your servitude.
With a vicious jerk, he pulls you through the crowd, the frat brothers reaching out to grope and slap you as you pass.
Each touch feels like a brand searing into your skin, marking you as their plaything, their shared whore.
He doesn’t bother to hide his enjoyment of the situation, his eyes alight with a dark thrill as he leads you into a back room. The door slams shut behind you, and for a moment, the cacophony of the party is muted, a brief reprieve from the horror of the outside world.
ββββββββββββ
The room is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of stale beer and sweat. A filthy sink sits in one corner, and a worn-out couch occupies the other, stains of various bodily fluids marring the fabric.
He shoves you towards the sink, the leash tightening around your neck. “Wash up,” he commands, his voice cold and detached. “You’re going to be the main entertainment for the night, and I want you to look your best.”
You stumble over to the sink, your legs wobbly from the drugs and the brutal treatment. You can feel his eyes on you, watching every move with a sadistic glee that sends a shiver down your spine. Your hands shake as you turn the faucet, the cold water a sharp contrast to the heat of your skin.
The mirror above the sink shows your reflectionβyour face is a mess of tears and smudged makeup, your eyes wide with fear and pain. But there’s something else in there, a flicker of something darker, something that makes you feel even more disgusting.
Is that arousal?
The drug-induced pleasure from the stage still lingering in your body? You hate yourself for feeling it, for letting him win.
He tosses you a rag, and you catch it with trembling fingers, using it to wipe away the mess that’s been made of you. The water stings the bruises and cuts on your body, but you force yourself to clean up, the coldness grounding you in the harsh reality of your situation.
You’re his toy, a plaything to be used and discarded at his whim.
“Look at yourself,” he says, his voice dripping with disgust and yet, there’s a hint of pride in his tone.
“You’re a mess. But you’re my mess.”
You dare to glance up at him, his form casting a shadow over your huddled figure. His eyes rake over you, a mix of disdain and lust that makes your stomach twist. You want to scream, to fight back, but the drugs have left you docile, a rag doll in his hands.
“Finished?” he asks, his voice a mocking drawl. “Good girl.”
You nod, not trusting your voice to do anything but betray you. His hand snatches the rag from your hand, tossing it aside. He takes your chin in his firm grip, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. The smirk on his face sends a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over you.
“Now,” he says, his voice a dark promise, “it’s time for the main event.”
ββββββββββββ
The room is a cesspool of lust and depravity, the air thick with the stench of sweat and spilled alcohol. The frat boys leer at you, their eyes hungry as they wait for your next act of degradation. Your heart races in your chest, each beat echoing the dread of what’s to come.
He tugs at the leash, leading you back into the frenzied sea of bodies. You stumble, your legs wobbly from the drugs and the abuse. The cold floor sticks to your skin, the gunk from the stage still clinging to you like a second, unwanted layer. You keep your eyes down, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, but you can feel their eyes raking over your bruised flesh like claws.
In the center of the room, a makeshift auction block has been set up. A burly frat member with a sadistic smile steps onto it, a megaphone in his hand. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he bellows, his voice slurred with drink, “it’s time for the main event! Our little slut here is going up for grabs. Who’s feeling lucky tonight?”
The crowd roars, and you feel a fresh wave of nausea wash over you. Your eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape, but you’re surrounded by a sea of grinning faces and lust-filled eyes. He grins down at you, the leather leash tight in his hand. “Don’t worry, darling,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, “you’re going to be the belle of the ball.”
With a vicious tug, he yanks you up onto the block, your knees giving out under you. He doesn’t bother to catch you; you’re just a toy to him now. The cold, sticky floor kisses your bruised skin again, and you can feel the dampness of the cum and sweat seep into your pores.
The burly frat member with the megaphone leers down at you, his eyes tracing the lines of your bruised and trembling body. “Look at this fresh meat,” he says, his voice a taunting growl. “What’ll you pay to taste her?”
The bids come fast and furious, a cacophony of numbers and lewd suggestions that make your stomach churn. You want to cover yourself, to hide from the lecherous eyes and the knowing smirks that say they’ve seen it all before.
But your hands won’t moveβthe drug has turned your body into a traitor, leaving you open and vulnerable to their perusal. You’re just a commodity, a plaything for the highest bidder.
He stands behind you, a proud owner displaying his prize, his hand resting on your shoulder in a possessive grip. “Remember, baby,” he whispers, his voice a dark caress against your ear.
“You’re mine to give away tonight. So make me proud.” His hand slides down to squeeze your breast, a cruel reminder of your new reality.
The auctioneer’s voice booms over the speakers, echoing through the room as he rattles off your ‘features’. “Look at her,” he says with a leer, “a tight, obedient little slut for the taking. She’s been trained to perform any act you desire. And just look at that ass! It’s begging for a good hard fucking.”
You feel a cold wave of dread wash over you as the frat members hoot and holler, their eyes raking over your naked, bruised body. Your mind is a whirlwind of fear and despair, but your body remains a statueβstill and submissive under the influence of the drugs.
The bids start flying, numbers shouted with the excitement of a game show audience, as if you’re nothing more than a piece of meat. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t help but look down at the floor, unable to meet any of their gazes.
“Don’t be shy, baby,” your tormentor whispers, his breath hot against your neck. “Show them what a good little whore you can be.” He nudges your legs apart with his foot, making sure everyone gets a good view of your most intimate areas, still glistening from his recent use.
You want to resist, to scream, to fight, but the only sound that comes out is a pitiful whine as you struggle to maintain your balance on the block.
The auctioneer leers at you, his voice echoing through the room like a punch to the gut. “Look at those tight little holes,” he says, gesturing lewdly.
“Imagine what they can take.” Your face burns with a mix of humiliation and anger, but the drugs keep you rooted in place, unable to do anything but stand there and endure.
“Look at the bruises,” another frat member calls out, pointing to the finger marks around your neck. “It’s like he’s been breaking her in all night!”
The room erupts in laughter, and you feel the heat of a hundred eyes on your exposed skin.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through you like a taunt. “Oh, they’re just from our little warm-up earlier,” he says, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. “But don’t worry, I’m sure the lucky bidder will leave some of their own.”
βββ
The room goes quiet as the gavel hits the podium with a final, echoing thwack. The frat member with the megaphone smirks, holding up a hand to signal the end of the bidding war. “Sold!” he declares, and a wave of nausea crashes over you as the reality of the situation sets in.
You’re no longer a person with free will, but a piece of property to be used and discarded at the whim of the highest bidder.
He looks down at you, the victorious glint in his eyes piercing the haze of your drug-induced confusion. “You’re going to love this,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic amusement. “It’s going to be just like old times, baby. Remember how much fun we had?”
With a jerk of the leash, he pulls you along behind him, your bare feet stumbling over the sticky floor as the frat brothers catcall and whistle. Each step feels like a betrayal to your own dignity, but the fear of what he’ll do if you resist keeps you moving. You’re led through the crowd, the sea of drunken faces blurring together, their leers and taunts a cacophony of degradation.
The room is spinning, the lights are too bright, and the smell of sweat, alcohol, and sex is overwhelming.
You feel a hand squeeze your bruised ass, and you wince, a reflexive cry slipping out before you can stop it.
He laughs, the sound cold and cruel, the hand moving to your throat, squeezing gently. “Keep walking, slut,” he whispers, his voice a dark caress that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re going to be everyone’s entertainment tonight.”
ββββββββββββ
He shoves you through the door of the VIP bedroom, and your knees hit the plush carpet with a thud. The room is dimly lit, the air thick with the musk of male desire and the faint scent of cologne. You blink through the haze of the drugs, trying to focus on the scene in front of you.
The man who won the bidβyour new temporary owner for the nightβreclines on the bed, surrounded by his eager companions.
They leer at you, their eyes raking over your bruised and exposed flesh with the hunger of predators eyeing their prey.
One of them, a burly man with a scruffy beard, stands up and saunters over, his hand stroking the length of his already erect cock.
“Look what we’ve got here,” the bid winner says, his voice thick with lust. His eyes are the color of rotting leaves, cold and unfeeling. “A fresh little slut for us to play with. How much did she go for?”
Your bully laughs, his hand still tight around your throat. “Does it matter?” he asks, pushing you down onto the floor. “You’ve got her for the night. Do whatever you want with her. Just make sure she’s in one piece when you’re done.” His smile is wide, revealing teeth that look too sharp, too hungry. “I’ve got plans for her tomorrow.”
The room seems to shrink around you as the bid winnerβs words hang in the air, the reality of your situation sinking in.
Twelve sets of eyes, hungry and predatory, stare down at you, each man licking his lips in anticipation.
You feel the weight of their gazes, the heat of their desire, as they begin to circle around you like sharks in a feeding frenzy. The coldness of the floor against your bare skin sends a shiver down your spine, a stark contrast to the heat of fear burning in your belly.
βDonβt worry, weβll share nicely,β one of them says, a twisted smile playing on his face as he reaches out to run a finger along the bruised curve of your breast. You flinch away, the touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
The bid winner takes a step closer, his eyes raking over your body, his expression one of cold calculation. His hand reaches out to stroke your cheek, his thumb catching on the crust of blood at the corner of your mouth. He leans in, whispering, “You’re going to be our little toy tonight.”
The others close in, their hands reaching out to touch you, their laughter echoing around the room like the cackles of demons in hell.
Your body trembles uncontrollably as the weight of the situation crashes down upon you, your knees buckling under the pressure of the frat brothers’ eager eyes.
Through the fog of the drug, you manage to stumble closer to your bully, your reason for suffering, and cling to his leg with a desperation that’s raw and painfully real.
Despite the humiliation, despite the bruises that already mar your skin, despite the throbbing pain in your head and the heaviness in your limbs, you find yourself pathetically begging.
“Please,” you whimper, the word barely audible amidst the cacophony of their lewd laughter.
“Please take me back. I’ll do anythingβjust don’t let themβ¦not like this.” Your voice cracks as a fresh wave of sobs overtakes you, your body shaking with the force of your despair.
He looks down at you, his eyes gleaming with something dark and twisted. “You want me to save you?” His voice is a sneer, his grip on your hair tightening. “But you’re not mine to save anymore, are you?” He yanks your head back, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re theirs now. Their little plaything.”
The impact of his kick sends you sprawling across the floor, your bare skin scraping against the cold, plush carpet.
You land with a painful thud, your bruised and trembling body offered up to the leering eyes of the thirteen frat brothers.
They crowd around you like hungry jackals, their excitement palpable as they reach out to touch, grope, and claim their prize. Your bully watches from the doorway, his eyes gleaming with a twisted blend of possessiveness and sadistic satisfaction.
You wail in despair, your voice hoarse from the abuse and fear, as their hands clamp down on your arms and legs, tearing at your bruised and torn lingerie.
The fabric rips away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to their greedy eyes and eager fingers. Each frat member seems to have a different preferenceβsome tug at your hair, others squeeze your breasts, and one even has the audacity to spread your thighs, his thumb circling your clit with a sadistic grin.
“Fucking whore,” one of them slurs, his breath reeking of alcohol and malice. “You’re gonna love this, aren’t you?”
Their laughter and lewd comments fill the room, echoing off the walls in a cacophony of depravity that seems to swell with every heartbeat. You struggle against them, but the drug has left you weak, your limbs feeling like they’re made of lead. The room spins, and you’re dimly aware of the door slamming shut, leaving you at their mercy.
The frat members’ hands are everywhere, rough and unyielding, as they explore every inch of your exposed body. They squeeze and maul your breasts, twisting your nipples until you cry out in pain.
Their fingers probe your pussy, invading your most intimate spaces without permission, their nails digging into your soft flesh. They force your head into their laps, their erections pressing against your cheeks as they demand that you service them orally, the taste of their excitement mingling with the bitterness of the drug on your tongue.
Each one takes his turn, thrusting into your mouth as you choke and gag, the tears streaming down your face only seeming to excite them further. They whisper degrading names in your earsβslut, whore, toyβeach word a hot knife slicing through your soul.
Your bully watches from the sidelines, his eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction as he observes his handiwork.
He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the occasional twirl of the leash still attached to your collar. He says nothing, his silence speaking louder than any words could.
This is what you are to himβhis entertainment, his property, a means to satisfy his twisted desires and assert his power.
The frat brothers are merciless, their grunts and jeers filling the room as they take turns using you. You’re thrown around like a ragdoll, each new set of hands more brutal than the last.
Your body is slick with sweat and tears, your skin stinging from the whip’s earlier kisses. You try to keep track of who’s next, to brace yourself, but it’s a futile effort. They’re all the sameβfaceless monsters in a never-ending nightmare.
One of them, a burly man with a cruel smile, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand after forcing you to service him. “You’re even better than he said,” he leers, his breath hot and sour on your skin. “What’s your name, slut?”
You swallow a sob, the word ‘slut’ echoing in your mind like a brand. “IβI don’tβ”
He laughs, his meaty hand slapping your ass. “Don’t bother. You don’t need a name tonight. You’re just his little whore.” He grabs your face, his fingers digging into your cheeks. “Now, who’s next?”
The room seems to close in around you as the burly frat boyβs words sink in. Twelve of them, all eager to use your body as they wish. Your heart races as fear and dread coil in your stomach, but the drugβs effect leaves you feeling hazily aroused despite your desperation.
They crowd around the bed, their lustful gazes raking over your bruised and soiled body. The smell of alcohol and sweat fills the air as they jostle for position, eager to claim their prize.
One of the brothers, a tall, lean man with a cruel glint in his eye, steps forward and grabs your chin roughly. βLook at me, slut,β he snarls, forcing your gaze to meet his.
βYouβre going to make every single one of us cum, and youβre going to do it with a smile on your face, or itβll be your ass that pays the price. Got it?β
Your weak struggle is met with a chorus of harsh laughter from the frat boys. The one holding your chin tightens his grip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your jaw as his friends jeer. “Looks like she’s still got some fight left in her,” he says, his voice thick with amusement. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”
They waste no time, descending upon you like a pack of ravenous animals. The first two take your ankles, spreading your legs wide and securing them with ropes to the bedposts, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable. Another one grabs your wrists, tying them to the headboard with a vicious yank that sends pain shooting through your dislocated arm.
Your bully watches from the shadows, a dark smile playing on his lips as you’re secured in place, unable to escape the horror about to unfold.
βββ
As you scream for your bully, your voice echoes through the room, desperation lacing every syllable. The frat brothers pause in their advances, their grins widening as they watch your futile struggle. The tall, lean one chuckles, stroking the length of his erection with a smug satisfaction that makes your stomach churn.
βLook at her,β he says, his voice a taunt. βBegging for you like a whipped bitch. Tell her, broβyouβre not here to save her. Youβre here to watch.β
The words are a dagger in your chest, but you canβt deny the sickening thrill that runs through your veins at his words. You hate himβhate what heβs making you doβbut the fear of his wrath is a constant, throbbing pulse that drowns out everything else. You whimper, tears streaming down your cheeks as the frat brothers resume their advances.
βP-please, donβt do this,β you manage to croak out, your eyes darting to your bully in the shadows. But he doesnβt move, doesnβt speak, just watches with a smug, knowing smile. His silence is a knife twisting in your gut.
The tall, lean frat member, the self-proclaimed ringleader of this vile display, grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. βYou know the rules, little slut. You donβt get to speak unless one of us gives you permission. And right now, all you get to do is make us happy.β
He leans in close, his rancid breath hot against your face. βBut donβt worry, Iβm sure your dear Daddy over there is enjoying the show. Just remember, every moan, every tear, every drop of your degradation is music to his fucking ears.β
The room feels like itβs closing in on you as the other frat brothers murmur their agreement, their hands roving over your bound body. You feel a cold trickle of fear run down your spine, realizing that this isnβt just about your bullyβs sick pleasure anymoreβitβs about proving something to everyone here.
That youβre his to use and discard as he sees fit.
The room fills with the sickly sweet scent of cheap alcohol as it’s poured over your trembling body, the cold liquid making you gasp and flinch. It pools in the curves of your breasts and stomach, then trickles down to soak into your already abused pussy. The frat brothers leer at you, their faces flushed with lust and cruelty. You struggle against your restraints, your eyes wide with terror, but the ropes bite into your skin, holding you in place.
“Now, now,” the ringleader says, his voice a taunting purr. “Don’t be shy. You’re going to be a good little whore for us, aren’t you?” He grabs your hair, yanking your head back so you’re forced to look at the sea of eager faces.
“Open wide for Daddy’s friends, or should I say, your new daddies?”
The room erupts in laughter, the sound of their amusement echoing in your ears like the ringing of a death knell.
You feel the first frat member’s hand squeeze your throat, his grip tight as he lines his cock up with your mouth. Your bully watches from the sidelines, a twisted smile playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a mix of arousal and satisfaction. He’s enjoying this, watching you be destroyed for his entertainment.
You try to fight, to spit, to scream, but the hand around your throat cuts off your air supply. Panic sets in, and your eyes bulge as he starts to thrust, the head of his cock pushing past your lips despite your desperate attempts to keep them closed. You gag, tears streaming down your face, as he fucks your mouth like it’s nothing more than a wet hole for his pleasure. The taste of him is bitter and disgusting, making your stomach heave, but you know better than to try to pull away.
As the first frat member’s cock forces its way into your mouth, you feel a wave of nausea, but the fear of suffocation is even stronger. Your jaw is stretched wide, and your eyes water as he mercilessly uses your mouth, grunting with pleasure.
Meanwhile, the other frat members move in like a pack of hungry animals, tearing at your limbs, spreading your legs apart, and pushing their cocks against your quivering asshole and pussy. You’re overwhelmed with the sensation of being filled, your body stretched to the limits as they plunge into you without a shred of mercy.
The ring of muscle around your throat relaxes slightly, allowing you a brief gasp of air before the frat member starts to fuck your throat in earnest. You can feel the spit and pre-cum running down your chin, mixing with the tears that refuse to stop flowing.
The frat members, fueled by lust and the thrill of dominance, descend upon your trembling body like a pack of hungry wolves. Their hands are rough, their touch invasive, as they force your legs apart and push your mouth wider, eager to claim their prize.
The pressure inside you is unbearable as two thick cocks are thrust into your pussy simultaneously, stretching you to the brink of pain and beyond. Your eyes water with the effort to accommodate the girth as you feel your insides give way to their relentless pounding.
βLook at her, sheβs loving it!β one of the frat brothers jeers, slapping your ass cheek with a resounding crack.
His words are echoed by the others, their laughter a cacophony of depravity that fills the small VIP room. Your bully watches with a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic light as he takes in the scene of your degradation. He nods, seemingly proud of the performance heβs orchestrated, the leather strap of your collar tight in his hand as he tugs you closer to the edge of the bed.
The two frat members who had been eagerly awaiting their turn step forward, their erections straining against the fabric of their pants. They waste no time in freeing themselves from their confines, the sight of your ravaged body bringing them to the brink of frenzy.
You feel the coolness of lube as itβs smeared onto your already overstretched anus, the sensation a stark contrast to the heat and pain that follows as the first cock breaches your entrance. You tense, your body instinctively trying to resist the intrusion, but your bullyβs hand on the back of your neck forces you to remain still, to accept your fate.
The two frat brothers don’t bother with gentle introductions as they push into your asshole, one cock following the other, stretching and filling you beyond any semblance of comfort. The lubricant does little to alleviate the burning sensation as they invade your most intimate space with a brutal sense of entitlement. Your body quivers with each thrust, the pain of their entry a stark contrast to your bully’s cruel satisfaction.
He watches with a glint in his eye, the scene playing out exactly as he had planned. His grip on your neck tightens as he whispers in your ear, “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Such a good little slut.”
The room is a blur of motion and sound as the frat members lose themselves in their depraved desires.
The two cocks in your pussy pummel you with a merciless rhythm, each thrust driving you closer to the edge of what you can bear. The pressure in your asshole is unbearable, the two men inside you stretching and filling you beyond any comprehension of pleasure, the pain a living, pulsing entity that consumes you entirely. The frat member in your mouth fucks your face with a fervor that matches the others, his cock sliding in and out as he groans with each stroke.
As the frat member in your mouth nears his climax, the your bullyβs grip on your hair tightens, pulling your head back so your throat is exposed to the camera lenses eagerly capturing the scene. His eyes gleam with sadistic delight as he watches the others fuck you mercilessly. He whispers into your ear, his voice a dark promise, βYouβre going to take every last drop of their cum, arenβt you?β
One of the frat members in your pussy pulls out, and you feel a momentary relief before another takes his place, his cock thick and unyielding as he drives into you without preamble. The two in your asshole continue their relentless assault, the pain so intense itβs almost a comfort, a stark reminder that youβre alive, that this isnβt a nightmare you can wake from. Their grunts and sighs of pleasure meld with the sickening slap of flesh on flesh, each thrust a declaration of your degradation.
The scene is a whirlwind of debauchery and depravity as the men around you continue to take turns filming your forced submission. The camera flashes pierce through the dimly lit room, capturing every tear, every whimper, every moment of your degradation for posterity. The frat members’ eyes glaze over with lust as they watch their comrades claim you in every way possible. The air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady mix that seems to drive them all to the brink of madness.
As the frat members continue to pass around your abused body like a toy, the flashes from their cameras become more persistent, painting the room in stark relief of your humiliation.
The sound of their laughter and the snap of their fingers as they take pictures feels like a thousand tiny cuts slicing into your soul. Each flash captures another moment of your degradation, preserving it for all to see. You feel like a mere object, a plaything for their amusement, stripped of all dignity and identity.
Your bully stands at the edge of the room, his eyes gleaming with a possessive lust as he watches the scene unfold. He’s dressed impeccably, a stark contrast to your tattered outfit and bruised skin.
He runs his hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling with excitement as he watches you being used like a whore. “Look at you,” he says, his voice dripping with a dark satisfaction, “You’re such a natural at this, baby. Just like old times.”
The frat members, driven to the brink by your forced submission and your bully’s cruel orchestration, release their pent-up lust in a frenzy of orgasms.
Cum spurts across your face, chest, and stomach, painting your body in a vile canvas of their desires. Some shoot their seed deep inside you, filling your already ravaged holes, while others cover your skin in thick ropes that stick to your flesh, a disgusting testament to their depravity.
Each manβs climax is accompanied by grunts and moans, a cacophony of animalistic sounds that echo through the room as they use you to satisfy their base instincts.
The frat members show no sign of mercy as they continue to use your body for their pleasure. They take turns, each one eager to leave their mark, to claim a piece of you.
Your insides are a chaotic mess, your pussy and asshole stretched and abused beyond what you thought was possible. Each new load of cum feels like a violation, a hot, sticky reminder of your powerlessness. Your body jerks and twitches with every spurt, muscles clenching around them in a futile attempt to push them out, only to be filled once more.
As the frat members continue to pound into you, your body responds with an involuntary wave of pleasure, each new cock triggering orgasms that shake you to your core. Your eyes are glazed over, your mind lost in the haze of pain and arousal as you cum over and over again. The sensation of being filled so completely, of being used so utterly, sends your body into a frenzy of pleasure despite the horror of the situation.
The room is a cacophony of grunts and slaps, of flesh against flesh and the slap of skin. Each new wave of semen that fills you is met with a groan from the frat members, a chorus of pleasure that echoes in your ears.
They treat you like a toy, a living cumdump, and your body betrays you with each shuddering climax. Your legs tremble, your throat aches from screaming and being used, and your pussy clenches around cocks that never seem to stop coming.
Your bully’s eyes gleam with a twisted mix of pride and satisfaction as he watches. He leans in close, whispering in your ear, his voice a seductive hiss that sends chills down your spine. “Look at you,” he says, his breath hot against your skin, “so beautifully broken. Just like I knew you would be.”
His hand comes up, stroking your cheek with a tenderness that feels wrong amidst the chaos. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the path of a tear down your face. “And I’ll never let you forget it.”
ββββββββββββ
The room seems to spin as you come back to consciousness, the smell of sex and sweat heavy in the air. Your body is a wreck, used and abused in every conceivable way.
The frat members have long since lost count of their own climaxes, treating your body as nothing more than a vessel for their pleasure.
Each time you slip into oblivion, you’re yanked back to the nightmare by the relentless assault of their cocks, thrusting into your pussy, asshole, and mouth with no regard for the agony you’re in. They donβt care if youβre too sore, if youβre crying or begging for them to stopβyouβre just a hole to be filled, a whore to be used.
βββ
You come to with a jolt, the pain in your body a stark contrast to the gentle stroking of your hair. Your eyes blur with tears and cum as you see your bully your tormentor, cradling your naked form with a disturbingly affectionate smile.
His eyes are glued to the screen of his phone, the blue light flickering across his face as he watches the recorded footage of your degradation with rapt attention. The sounds of your forced pleasure and their lustful grunts fill the room, a grim reminder of what happened while you were unconscious.
Your body feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder, each breath a struggle through the thick, sticky mess that coats your skin. You’re aware of the dryness in your throat, the throb in your jaw, the raw sting in your pussy and assholeβeach sensation a testament to the brutality of the past hours.
His hand shifts to the back of your head, and he leans down, pressing a soft, almost loving kiss to your forehead. The gesture sends a cold shiver down your spine, the stark contrast between his gentle touch and the horror you’ve just endured. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer to his chest, his hard cock digging into your side.
You can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, a stark reminder that he’s alive, that he’s the one holding you, watching your suffering with such a disturbing blend of love and possession.
He pulls back, his eyes searching yours, his expression a mix of anger, love, and something elseβa deep, dark need that makes your stomach twist. “Look at you,” he says, his voice a low growl. “So fucking weak. You think you can survive out there without me? The world’s a cruel place, baby. Full of monsters like those frat boys who’d eat you alive if they had the chance.”
You want to scream, to fight, to tell him he’s wrong, but your voice is goneβstolen by the hours of brutal use. Your throat is raw from the abuse, your body trembling and bruised. The gentle stroking of your hair feels like a lie, a sick imitation of comfort that makes you want to retch.
He seems to sense your internal struggle, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he leans in closer. “But you know what’s worse than them?” he whispers, his breath hot against your cheek.
“Me. I’m the monster who loves you.”
He traces the bruises along your neck, his thumbs brushing over the marks from the collar, his eyes lingering on your swollen lip and the trails of dried tears staining your face. “I’m the one who knows every part of you, who’s seen you at your lowest. And you know what that means, don’t you?”
He shifts his weight, the erection pressing more insistently against your side. His hands move from stroking your hair to gripping your jaw, tilting your face to meet his gaze. “You forgot who you really are, didn’t you? Who you really belong to. You forgot that every part of you is mine to use, to protect.”
“You’re mine,” he whispers, the words a dark promise that echoes through your soul. “Always have been, always will be. No one else will ever love you like I do.”
You flinch at his words, his grip on your jaw tightening as his thumb traces your lower lip, smearing blood and spit. “Do you think anyone else would want you like this?” His voice is a soft, taunting murmur that cuts deeper than any blade. “Broken, used, and covered in their filth?” His eyes gleam with a feral light, the possessiveness in his gaze a stark reminder of the monster that lies beneath his human guise.
Then, with a sneer, your bully’s thumb traces the curve of your cheek, smearing the remnants of your blood and tears. “Your mother? That cold bitch doesn’t have the capacity to love you the way I do.”
You wince, his words hitting like a sledgehammer to your soul. The mention of your mother is a fresh wound, still raw and festering from her cruelty. The truth stings, but you dare not argue, fearing it might only feed his ego more.
“And as for Domo,” he says with a dismissive wave, his eyes narrowing as he says her name. “That sanctimonious slut? She’s a fool. Playing savior, thinking she can fix you. But you’re beyond repair, aren’t you?”
You whimper at the mention of Domo, the pain of his words resonating deep within your chest. It’s a painful reminder of the trust you’ve lost, the friendship that’s been tainted by his manipulation. He leans closer, his breath hot against your face.
“But I love you, even in your broken state. I love watching you squirm, fighting against your nature, your desires. It’s soβ¦ entertaining.” His lips curve into a sadistic smile, and you can’t help but feel the warmth spread through your body, despite the fear.
He leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers, “You see, no one else could love you like this. No one else would want you when you’re broken. But I do. Because you’re mine.” His grip on your waist tightens, his thumbs brushing against the soft flesh of your hips as he pulls you closer to him. “You’re mine to fix, to use, to love.”
As his lips press against yours, the gentle caress feels alien amidst the pain and fear that have become your constant companions. His touch is a stark contrast to the harsh reality of your situation, a cruel reminder of the affection heβs twisted into this monstrous form of control.
His tongue traces the seam of your lips, coaxing them open, and you canβt help but respond, his dominance a dark siren call that resonates deep within you. You hate yourself for it, for the way your body reacts despite your mind screaming for resistance, for the way your heart stutters at the softness of his touch.
βSay it,β he murmurs against your mouth, his voice a seductive purr that sends shivers down your spine. βTell me you love me. That youβre mine.β
Tears stream down your face, mixing with the blood from your split lip. Your voice is barely a whisper when you finally give in. βI love you.β
The words feel like acid on your tongue, but his eyes light up with victory, his smile widening as he takes in your shattered expression. βGood girl,β he croons, his hands sliding down to grip your throat again, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the pulse point. βYou know what happens next, donβt you?β
ββββββββββββ
The warm water of the hot tub envelops you as he helps you to your feet, the heat soothing your bruised and battered body. The stark contrast between the pain and the comfort sends a wave of confusing sensations through you, but you push them aside, focusing solely on his needs.
You sink into the water, the jets bubbling around you as he sits on the edge, his erect cock standing proudly before you. You lean in, eager to show your love and devotion through your servitude, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock.
The salty taste of his pre-cum fills your mouth, and you moan around it, eager for more. His hands thread through your hair, guiding your movements, as he talks into the phone, his voice calm and collected, as if he isnβt receiving a blowjob from his bruised and broken lover.
With a mix of fear and forced desire, you deepthroat his thick cock, your throat tightening around it as you try to take in his entire length. You can feel the pulse of his veins, the heat of his desire, and the way he swells even more in your mouth.
His grip on your hair tightens, and you know you’re doing exactly as he wantsβhis little slut, his personal cumdump.
You can’t help but moan around his shaft, the vibrations of your voice sending shivers down his spine. His eyes never leave yours as he watches you, the smug satisfaction in his gaze making you feel like the lowest form of life. Yet, you continue, eager to please him, to show him that you’re his.
As you continue to deepthroat him, your bully’s hips start to buck slightly, the calloused pads of his thumbs pressing into your temples as he guides your movements, ensuring you don’t pull away or gag too loudly.
His voice on the phone is calm, as if discussing the weather or the latest sports scores, while your throat is being used as a fucktoy for his pleasure. The salty taste of precum coats the back of your throat, and you can feel his balls tightening against your chin, signaling his approaching climax.
“Ah, yes, she’s fine,” he says into the phone, his voice deceptively casual. “Just a littleβ¦ indisposed at the moment. You know how she gets when she’s stressed.” He chuckles darkly, and you can almost feel the contempt in his tone as he continues to fuck your mouth. “But I’m taking excellent care of her. Don’t you worry.”
You gag around his cock, tears streaming down your face as you try to keep up with his pace, your throat sore and bruised from the relentless abuse. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, his gaze never leaving yours as he watches you suffer. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing, as if you’re a pet performing a trick.
He pulls you closer, his cock pushing deeper into your throat, and you fight the urge to retch, his taste filling your mouth as your eyes water. You can feel the pressure building in his shaft, the pulse of his blood growing more insistent. Your own body responds against your will, your cunt clenching with every cruel thrust, betraying you even now.
With a grunt of satisfaction, he reaches his climax, his hips bucking as he floods your mouth with hot, sticky cum. You can’t help but swallow reflexively around his pulsing length, the taste of his release coating your throat. He watches you with a smug smile, his eyes gleaming with a dark triumph as you do as he’s conditioned you to doβobey without question.
The saltiness of his semen mixes with the metallic tang of your own blood, a vile cocktail that somehow only makes you crave more of his dominance.
With a cruel twist of his lips, he pulls out of your mouth, his grip on your neck tightening as he brings his phone back into view. The screen lights up, capturing your tear-stained face, your swollen, abused lips, and the trail of saliva connecting them to his still-twitching cock.
“Smile,” he says, his voice low and demanding. “Show everyone how much you love me. How much you enjoy serving Daddy.”
Through the haze of pain and degradation, you manage to force a smile, your eyes glassy and vacant.
You know better than to resist nowβhis control over you is absolute. You lean into the camera, your cheek pressing against his thigh as you give a pained, exaggerated smile, your teeth stained with blood and his semen.
He snaps a picture, then starts recording a video, his free hand stroking your cheek gently.
“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a sickening sweetness that makes your stomach churn. “Now, tell the camera how much you love Daddy.”
You know the script all too wellβhis favorite game of degradation. “I love you, Daddy,” you murmur, the words feeling like shards of glass cutting through the tattered remains of your self-respect.
“Look into the camera,” he orders, his hand guiding your chin up. You do as you’re told, your eyes locking onto the cold, unblinking lens. “And tell me how much you love serving me.”
“I love serving you, Daddy,” you repeat obediently, your voice hollow, echoing through the quiet room.
The bruises from the previous encounters throb in time with the beat of your heart, a grim reminder of the reality you’re trapped in. His hand slides from your chin to your throat, squeezing gently, a not-so-subtle threat of what will happen if you don’t play along.
“And tell the camera how much you love when Daddy’s friends use you,” he commands, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic delight that sends a cold shiver down your spine.
The memory of the frat house, the leering faces, and the feeling of being used by those strangers is still fresh, like a festering wound that refuses to heal.
With trembling lips, you force the words out, “I love it when Daddy’s friends use me.” His grip on your throat tightens just enough to remind you of the price of disobedience. The camera captures it all, a visual diary of your descent into his twisted reality.
Your bully’s hands are rough and insistent as he yanks you to your feet, spinning you around to face the cold, unforgiving wall. You stumble, your legs unsteady after the brutal use you’ve just endured, but his grip on your hair is firm, guiding you with a cruel efficiency.
With a swift motion, he pushes you down, your palms slapping against the painted concrete. The room spins around you, a dizzying dance of humiliation and pain, but his voice is clear, a dark symphony in your ears.
Your bully’s voice is thick with lust and satisfaction as he leans into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck. “Do you love me, baby?” he whispers, the question a dark promise that sends a tremor down your spine. You feel his hardness pressing against your ass, his erection a stark reminder of his power over you.
You hesitate, the words feeling like acid on your tongue, but the fear of his wrath is stronger. “Yes,” you force out, the syllable barely more than a whimper. “I love you.”
His grip on your hair tightens, his fingers tangling in the mess of your hair. He pulls you back, forcing your body to arch, your breasts pushing against the wall, your ass up in the air for his taking. The room is spinning, your thoughts a jumbled mess of fear and submission.
As your bully holds you against the wall, his cock pressing against your bruised and swollen pussy, he taps away at his phone. The glow of the screen casts an eerie light across his face, highlighting the sadistic smile that plays upon his lips. The anticipation builds, a toxic blend of fear and unwanted arousal, as you await the next degradation he has in store for you.
He sends a zip file to an unknown number, the vibration of the device briefly interrupting the sickening silence of the room. The file’s content is a mystery to you, but the cruel glint in his eyes tells you it’s something that will surely tighten his grip on you even further.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice a dark caress against your ear as he pulls back just enough to enter you. The pain is intense, a stark reminder of your lack of consent, your body stretching to accommodate his monstrous size. “Everyone’s going to know what a slut you are.”
You whimper, the word ‘slut’ feeling like a brand seared into your soul as he starts to fuck you, his hips slamming into you without mercy. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he uses your body for his own twisted pleasure, each thrust a punishment for your perceived sins. You try to struggle, but the effort is futileβhis strength overpowers you, your body a mere plaything to be used and discarded as he sees fit.
“You’re mine,” he growls, his breath hot against your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. “Mine to use, mine to fuck, mine to love.”
Each word is a declaration of ownership, a promise wrapped in a veneer of affection that feels like a prison around your heart. He knows exactly what he’s doing, his every move calculated to keep you trapped in his twisted world of power and control.
Your body, so recently abused, responds against your will. You can’t help but whimper as he hits that spot deep inside you, the one that makes your toes curl despite the pain.
The pleasure is a betrayal, a reminder of your deepest, darkest desires that he’s managed to coax out of you.
You hate him for it, for making you feel this way, for turning you into the very thing you fear mostβhis obedient little whore.
Yandere! College! Bully & Loser
Novella 1 : Torn Between Us
- In a world where no one cares, heβs the one who notices youβ¦ and thatβs frightening.
- Trust no one. Not even yourself.
- πA night of hedonism becomes your worst nightmare.
β‘ A/N #1 (Jan 2). First of all, itβs very nice of you to say all this. Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to read the RULES and enjoy my work. :)) Thatβs already a lot in my book. Along with this carefully written and thoughtful message, like not rushing me and giving me freedom to have fun and work at my own pace. Iβm honored that you feel comfortable enough and enjoyed my work to ask me to do this. Especially. For the first time. So, thank you. Words arenβt enough to express my genuine gratitude. Thanks so much for supporting each work so far, it’s much appreciated :))
β‘ A/N #2 (Feb). Finally. I finished this. One of my first wholesome messages and requests from a very loyal Reader. No words, except thank you for all the support. Whatever work I’ve posted, thank you for reading, commenting, and reblogging. Really. I appreciate it. Honestly, you’re one of the really committed Readers and it surprises me. Because I’m shocked when people actually read everything. I’m not that committed haha. So anyways, hope you enjoyed this. I’m not very good with talking about personal emotions, but I hope you enjoy it :)) When it comes to requests, I always work extra hard to not submit crap. And, this isn’t the ending yet. Also, no worries, I only do non-con yandere stories.
β‘ A/N #3 (End). I’m proud of this work. Really good stuff. No gore, but I do believe I aced the psychological torment, especially as a woman. Mhm, very nice quality. Glad I took a break from horror writing, gave me time to refresh myself. And this is cooking. Also, yes, scumbag ML, berry nice. Not unhinged, but realistic enough. Took a lot out of effort to write, but it turned out high-quality. Also, yes, cool practice for my 1K Follower Special for you all. Oh and don’t worry the Gang Rape 1K Follower Special will be more intense and better than this one. This one’s for those who like more psychological torment. The 1K Special is for those who love erotic horror content. Also, low-key want to make a poll about which yandere you’d shoot or hate most ahahahahahaha. Anyways…. I do need more practice in writing gang rape, still needs a lot of improvement before absolute perfection. This is basic so far.
If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.
General TAG LIST of βA Heart Devouredβ: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring , @lilyalone , @theogborjie , @ne7zach , @songbirdgardensworld , @imnotabot28 , @ncsltgic , @aishiyaa , @scotchhopin , @queenmimis , @yandreams-storageblog , @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni
β€οΈ Fang Dokja’s Books.
β‘ Book 1 [you are here]. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology
β‘ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
β‘ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I’d Burn the World.
β‘ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.
β‘ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.
β‘ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarianβs Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.
β‘ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblrβs link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you’re searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with cautionβthese tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.
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