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He angles the camera just right.
Long fingers adjust the phone, screen glowing in the dim room, framing the perfect shotβyou, stripped, ruined, spread wide beneath him. Your thighs tremble, twitching against the cold sheets, your wrists pinned above your head in a grip that dares you to struggle.
Gojo Satoru loves pretty things.
But he loves breaking them even more.
“There we go,” he murmurs, amusement coating every syllable. “Gotta make sure we get all the best angles, sweetheart.”
Your pulse hammers against your ribs.
The cameraβthe fucking cameraβis trained between your thighs, capturing the way his cock disappears into you, over and over, obscene and unrelenting.
“Bet you never thought youβd be a little porn star, huh?” His grin is razor-sharp, thrilled by the way you shudder at his words.
Your voice is wrecked when you finally manage to choke something out. “Pleaseβdonβtβ”
The slap comes fast. Sharp. Jarring. A bloom of heat stings across your cheek, and he hums, faux sympathetic, as you whimper beneath him.
“Donβt?” His tone drips with mockery. “Donβt what? Donβt record this?”
His hips snap forward, slamming into you so deep it forces out a strangled sob. The sound is ruinous. Desperate. A sharp contrast to his unbothered, entertained cruelty.
“You really think you get a say in this?” His laugh is bright. Easy. Like this is just another game to him. “Nah, sweetheart. You lost that luxury the second you tried to fight back.”
The camera is still rolling.
Capturing everything.
The way you clench around himβunwanted, humiliating. The way your body shudders, traitorous. The way he smirks down at you, entirely at ease, drinking in every second of your downfall.
His fingers trail down, brushing over your swollen, wrecked clit, circling it with lazy, taunting strokes. Your breath hitchesβ
“Ah, ah, donβt hold back now.” His voice is pure sugar-coated poison. “Gotta make sure the camera catches everything.”
You want to disappear.
He wonβt let you.
“Donβt worry, baby,” he soothes, pressing a mockingly soft kiss to your jaw, voice a dark promise. “This is just for me.”
You donβt believe him.
Not when he thrusts deep one final time, groaning low in his throat, satisfied, victorious. Not when he finally pulls out and presses the camera right against your ruined, leaking cunt, filming the evidence of what heβs done.
And especially not when he smirks at the screen, flashing his signature, cocky grin, and murmursβ
“Or maybe not.”
Official TAG LIST of βThe Red Ledgerβ: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles
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