jadoretrans - Tumblr blog

jadoretrans · 4 months ago

Text

Backstage

CW: non-con, r*pe, coercive use of hypnosis, abduction, forced exhibition, partner betrayal, objectification, degradation, misogyny. I’m tempted to put mild in front of a lot of these, but I’ll let the reader judge that.

You try to pry your attention away from the undulating swirl on the monitors, so you can concentrate on dancing, but the winding pattern on the screen and warm buzz of your second drink make resisting too difficult.

You lean into your girlfriend, feeling her warmth. Her breathing is slow and heavy. After nearly two hours of dancing to upbeat EDM, you’re both covered in sweat. You idly fantasize about peeling off her tight tee and running your fingers over her belly and chest, but even that temptation can't draw your eyes away from the screen.

"The screen is… pretty," you manage. You had meant to ask her for help or at least check with her. Maybe draw her attention to you drifting so she can bring you back up.

Your heartbeat spikes when you hear her giggly reply. "Yeaaaaah." You don't need to see her face to know she's staring too.

There's a voice in the back of your head that's telling you this is no good. You need to pull yourself up. Wake your girlfriend. Walk the both of you off the dance floor and start drinking water. That voice is so quiet and far away though, a faint buzz beneath the pounding arousal.

Even the knowledge that she's dropping too isn’t enough to bring you back up. Instead your mind wanders to imagining her glassy stare and slightly parted lips. You can imagine your own. You can't help it; it's hot.

Ice shoots through your veins as a large hand settles on your shoulder. "Right back this way, friends." The voice is low and confident, as if he were nonchalantly answering a question you asked.

"Yeaaah?" your girlfriend responds with another giggle. You feel the flush in your cheeks deepen as you realize just how far gone she is.

He pushes gently and your body responds automatically. Allowing him to guide you towards a curtain leading to some back room.

This is beyond bad, the voice insists. This is dangerous. And then the hand squeezes gently and you feel a shiver of pleasure run through you.

The room he guides you into is dimly lit. Away from the pulse of the image and the music, your mind clears enough to take in some of your surroundings. The room is small with a few ratty couches and a table covered in empty bottles and cups. Piles of audio equipment are tucked in one corner.

Even with your returning clarity, you're unable to stop yourself from being led to a second room where the man guides you and your girlfriend to a couch. The lighting is much brighter here, too bright. You close your eyes, as your body gratefully collapses into the cushions next to your girlfriend. Your eyes gradually adjust to the glare, but it’s still difficult to determine where you are. Standing immediately in front of the couch, pointing directly at you, are a pair of softbox lights–the source of the stinging glare.

After a few seconds more though, and you manage to work out that you're in a backstage dressing room. Opposite you are a pair of vanities complete with full size mirrors.

In one mirror you can make out your girlfriend. Her head is lolled to the side, her red pixie cut obscures her eyes, but from her slack jaw, you can tell she's still pretty far gone. To the right of the mirror, shrouded by the glare of the lights, you can just make out the man who led you here. He's leaning over something on a tripod. A camera?

You turn to your girlfriend. "We needa go," you manage to slur.

Her attention wanders to you, but she seems not to have understood. She bites her lip as she locks eyes with you. "Youuu're hoooot," she murmurs, her voice peaking in a high whine that causes your thighs to tense. She slumps into you, her arms folding about you, and her lips coming to rest against your neck. A new wave of hot arousal courses through you as you feel soft kisses moving up to your ear. A gasp escapes you.

You hear a low chuckle. "Boy, those screens really do fuck you toys up good, don't they?" He says bemusedly.

Distantly at first, you realize you're angry. Who does this condescending asshole think he is? Why the fuck is he filming you and your girlfriend. You managed to push your girlfriend away and sit up. You try to say something caustic to this asshole standing over you, but all that comes out is an annoyed groan.

He chuckles and moves to lean over you. Backlit, it's hard to make out his features clearly and before you can let your eyes adjust to make them out, his hand is hovering near your face.

"Shhhh, don't worry about it, babe," he says chuckling as he begins to move his finger in a slow circle in front of your face. "I think I'll call you, sweetheart," he says in amusement. Your eyes track his fingertip automatically. You feel your thoughts begin to blur as he moves it in a slow, lazy circle, gradually moving it closer and closer to your face.

The angry part of you that wants to take a swing at him–kick, yell, grab your girlfriend and run–seems to be getting more and more distant as his finger gets closer and closer to you.

"Nooo," you manage to whine weakly. He chuckles again and bounces his fingertip lightly against your brow–just between your eyes. You collapse backward, sinking back into your girlfriend's arms.

The world fuzzes out. You have some sense that time passes. That you're listening to a low voice. That you need to do something. But it's all an indistinct blur.

After some indeterminate amount of time, you hear a snap and find yourself still on the couch.

You hear your girlfriend mewl in excitement. She's kissing you again and running her hands over you. You whine again, this time with pleasure.

"That's much better, sweetheart," the man says. "Now, I think you were being really rude earlier. Your pretty girlfriend was giving you kisses and you didn't even return any. I think you should kiss her."

You hear him snap his fingers.

Before even realizing it, you're moving to meet her lips, your arms snaking around her. As you run your fingers along her side and back you realize she's naked; her breasts are pressing into you. You moan into her mouth with arousal.

And then the moan becomes a panicked protest. The camera! The fucking asshole. Your girlfriend is naked in front of some stranger and being filmed. You try weakly to push her away and get your legs under you. Your limbs respond weakly, delayed and inaccurate.

"Uh uh uh," the man's low voice chides. "Sweetheart, I think you should just relax."

He snaps his fingers and you melt back into the couch. Your girlfriend follows, kissing down your throat to your chest. Gripping your hips.

"See, the redhead gets it," he chides again. "Redhead, your partner looks so hot. I think you should take off their clothes."

You feel cold panic as you hear him snap his fingers. Your girlfriend moves without hesitation, placing your arms above you before peeling up the edge of your tee. You try to move and pull away, but your muscles feel like jello. With a practiced motion, she strips off your top and begins working on your pants while kissing your belly button.

Even your ineffectual attempts to resist start to dissolve as you feel your girlfriend strip away the rest of your clothes and begin to kiss and tease your thighs. Despite everything else, you want her badly. If you could move, you're no longer sure you'd run away.

You're still aware–somewhere in your head–that you're naked on camera. Being filmed by some asshole stranger. But the awareness seems disconnected from the panic and anger you know you should be feeling.

"That's much better," he says. "Now in a moment, Redhead, I think you're going to want to put that pretty little mouth between sweetheart's legs and do your very best to be as pleasing and useful as possible. You might have to hold down your sweetie's hips to keep them from going anywhere, but that's fine because nothing is as important as being a good toy," he explains in a low patter. "Can you keep all that in your silly head?" he asks mockingly.

Your girlfriend responds with a pleased whine of arousal.

"And sweetheart, in a moment you can stop relaxing and do whatever you want. But you are going to feel incredibly sensitive, and–I don't need to tell you–your partner knows just how to please you."

He snaps his fingers, and you can move again. You push yourself up onto your elbows just before you feel your girlfriend's lips on your sex. You spasm in pleasure and let out a high moan.

You move a hand to the top of her head intending to push her away, but all you manage is to run your fingers through her hair.

You draw in your breath, and try to shake your head. It still feels like your mind is full of cotton candy.

You can feel the pleasure building and have to fight back another moan.

You push with your feet against the couch, trying to pull your hips away from your partner, but she tightens her grip around your hips and yanks you back to her, greedily redoubling her efforts between your legs. You cry out in surprise and pleasure, and writhe against her which only makes the pleasure more intense.

You hear a familiar chuckle behind you and crane your neck back to see him standing over you.

"You really are a hot little thing, sweetheart. Especially when you struggle like that," he says, letting his eyes wander over your body.

He crouches down just behind your head, and for a moment you lock gazes with him. You glare all the anger and hatred you can manage into his eyes. But then your girlfriend pressed into you even harder. You moan and your eyes roll back.

"Good toy, sweetheart," he says almost soothingly. "You're going to cum soon," he says at you, sucking his teeth, relishing the prospect.

You kick as hard as you can and push with your arms. You don't even make it out of her grip this time. You collapse back into the couch, spasming.

You can feel your orgasm growing. Your hips are trembling, and your heart is pounding.

"God, you're perfect," he coos, sliding a hand around your jaw and slipping a thumb into your mouth.

The sensation tips you over the edge.

A small part of you still wants to bite down and thrash, but your body doesn't care. You're spasming as the waves of pleasure crash over you. Without thinking about it, you're sucking on his thumb and running your fingers through your girlfriend's hair, trying to eke every drop of pleasure out of your orgasm.

He laughs at you. "That's a good toy, sweetheart. I think you should drop for me."

He snaps.

118 notes · View notes