๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ซ ~ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
He doesnโt gag you.
Thatโs the first thing you realize through the suffocating rush of heat and humiliation.
Gojo Satoru, your worst nightmare in a smug, sadistic, pretty package, has you spread wide on a sleek, polished tableโnaked, dripping, ruinedโand he doesnโt gag you.
Because he wants to hear you.
Every choked sob. Every desperate, bitten-off moan you try to swallow. Every shameful sound you make as he rams himself inside you, over and over, deeper and deeperโ
Until the pleasure-pain melts into something worse. Something unbearable.
“There we go,” he coos, his voice drenched in mocking delight. “Thatโs my good girlโso fucking tight, squeezing me like you want this.”
Your nails dig into the tableโs surface, wooden edges biting into your skin, legs twitching uselessly in his grip.
Itโs all too much.
The laughter in the background. The eyes. The phones.
Recording.
A humiliation so sharp it feels like itโs peeling your skin raw, exposing every inch of your shame.
“Shh, shh, donโt cry now,” he tuts, slowing his thrusts until heโs just grinding himself against your wrecked, swollen cunt, each drag of his cock a sweet, torturous reminder that this isnโt over. That itโll never be over, because he wonโt stop, he wonโt stop until heโs buried so deep inside you that youโll never forget this.
“Youโre cute when you cry, yโknow that?” His fingers smear a stray tear across your cheek, deceptively gentle. “Bet youโll be even cuter when you break.”
The worst part?
Heโs not even sweating.
You, on the other handโyouโre trembling, raw, utterly ruined.
And he still wants more.
“Keep those eyes open,” he orders, tone sickeningly light. Like this is fun for him. “Youโre gonna wanna see this part.”
You donโt.
You donโt want to see the crowd of onlookersโhalf of them watching in shock, the other half watching in sick fascination.
But he forces you.
Fingers curling around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your breath stutter, his free hand slipping between your thighs.
“Look at them,” he murmurs, breath fanning against your temple. “Look how they see you now.”
Ruined. Defiled. Satoruโs plaything.
“Guess youโre finally worth something, huh?”
Your stomach drops.
Because itโs not just a taunt.
Itโs a sentence.
He isnโt just fucking you here. Heโs destroying you.
Making sure that when you leave this placeโif you ever doโyou wonโt be whole anymore.
Because no one will ever look at you the same way again.
And that?
Thatโs exactly what he wants.
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