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He doesnβt gag you.
Thatβs 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 tableβnaked, dripping, ruinedβand he doesnβt 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 deeperβ
Until the pleasure-pain melts into something worse. Something unbearable.
“There we go,” he coos, his voice drenched in mocking delight. “Thatβs my good girlβso fucking tight, squeezing me like you want this.”
Your nails dig into the tableβs surface, wooden edges biting into your skin, legs twitching uselessly in his grip.
Itβs all too much.
The laughter in the background. The eyes. The phones.
Recording.
A humiliation so sharp it feels like itβs peeling your skin raw, exposing every inch of your shame.
“Shh, shh, donβt cry now,” he tuts, slowing his thrusts until heβs just grinding himself against your wrecked, swollen cunt, each drag of his cock a sweet, torturous reminder that this isnβt over. That itβll never be over, because he wonβt stop, he wonβt stop until heβs buried so deep inside you that youβll never forget this.
“Youβre cute when you cry, yβknow that?” His fingers smear a stray tear across your cheek, deceptively gentle. “Bet youβll be even cuter when you break.”
The worst part?
Heβs not even sweating.
You, on the other handβyouβre trembling, raw, utterly ruined.
And he still wants more.
“Keep those eyes open,” he orders, tone sickeningly light. Like this is fun for him. “Youβre gonna wanna see this part.”
You donβt.
You donβt want to see the crowd of onlookersβhalf 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. Satoruβs plaything.
“Guess youβre finally worth something, huh?”
Your stomach drops.
Because itβs not just a taunt.
Itβs a sentence.
He isnβt just fucking you here. Heβs destroying you.
Making sure that when you leave this placeβif you ever doβyou wonβt be whole anymore.
Because no one will ever look at you the same way again.
And that?
Thatβs exactly what he wants.
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