solsta23

[solsta23]

I-35 - 1 (Dog Complex)

content: blood, death, degradation, fingering, fisting, hair-pulling, injury, kidnapping, manipulation, masturbation, oral, rape, scent kink, strangulation, violence, voyeurism

a young butch goes through his initiation into the gang he’s joined.

Today is bound to be a good one.

The sun hasn't risen yet, and the kid is not used to being up this early. He blames it on the uncomfortable sleeping bag. Luca was impatient the night before and left the kid to his own devices. It wasn't an issue—before getting picked up by Luca's gang, the kid had grown pretty used to fending for himself. Another silver lining: he has his own tent.

After the hike they had yesterday—an hour and a half of steep climbing through a dense, thorny thicket—the kid luckily passed out the second his head hit his balled-up hoodie. Luca said the return will be much easier since it's downhill. He muttered something under his breath about the cargo and the kid brushed it off. He has long learned to not question it and he does not exactly mind.

Luca is snoring loud enough the kid can hear him across the short distance their tents are set apart. As the kid shifts and dresses, he moves as carefully as he can to keep from waking the older butch. Luca is fine—usually, the most attention the kid gets is a stern glare or some shit thrown at him.

Technically, he should stay in the safety of the tent, at least until Luca starts stirring, but he's growing antsy. This is a big day and deal, and he's anxious to get the ball rolling.

When the kid crawls out of his tent, he feels like he's being born again. This is what this is all supposed to be. A big day in his honor—go prove yourself and return as one of us. The kid's skin prickles as he mulls it over, staring at the wet dirt. He's laying on his belly, half-in, half-out of the tent opening, wondering if he should just hightail it out of here.

Then, there is a particularly loud groan from Luca's tent and a breathless sigh. The kid stares holes into the neighboring tent, and curiosity gets the better of him. If Luca catches him spying, he'll have hell to pay. But he's bored . They have hiked for days to get here.

Another low groan pulls the kid from his musing and he finds he can't go another second without being a little nosey.

Luca's tent is tucked between two spindly, sad-looking trees. The kid approaches it quietly, making sure to roll through his steps, and then he's right on it.

Some of the mesh parts of the tent roof are exposed, and the kid peeks in. Luca's laying on his back, the sleeping bag completely bunched up at one end of the tent, and he has one of his forearms slung over his eyes while his other hand works between his legs. The kid's face burns, and he finds himself unable to work his legs.

Watching Luca like this feels weird. Aside from the obvious reasons, it is just odd to see him so vulnerable. He's always very reserved and watchful, usually only following people with his eyes during meetings. The kid doesn't know a lot about him, but now he knows what sorts of noises he makes while jacking off. Low and raspy. It is not that much of a surprise.

The kid finally regains control of himself and shuffles slowly away from Luca's tent. His face is stuck in this odd expression like he can't decide how to feel about what he's just seen. Now he knows he can't stray too far.

Instead of returning to his tent, he lingers outside as the sun begins to rise. It is still early enough that the grass is covered in a light layer of dew. As the rays stretch across the horizon and filter through the trees, the light glitters on the damp ground. The kid lays on his back, staring up at the leaves and whiling away the time until Luca emerges.

Luca comes out of the tent with an exaggerated yawn like he's trying to act like he wasn't just humping his hand. The kid rolls his eyes and sits up.

"Mornin'," Luca greets quietly. "Big day, huh?"

The kid shrugs. He doesn't really want to talk about this. What is there to discuss?

Luca waves off the silence and immediately begins packing their tents. Usually, he snaps at the kid to help, but jacking off seems to make him more agreeable.

The kid vaguely knows what he's getting into. It is not so difficult to determine why the guys come back to their settlement covered in grime and blood, reeking of alcohol and sex. Will this be worth the safety? The kid mulls over the recent past and the weeks leading up to his recruitment.

Scavenging under the summer sun, the back of his neck blistering and splitting from the damage. Once, he scraped his hand while reaching for something, and the wound festered for days, sending him into a delirious waking nightmare of vomiting and crawling through the dirt. Oscillating between roasting alive within his skin and shivering with phantom cold. The kid really thought he was going to die then, and remembering it is enough to fortify his resolve.

So what if he has to hurt someone? It won't be any worse than what he's endured. Even as he thinks this, justifies this to himself, his stomach still churns with unease. It feels like he's looking at a line that is not meant to be crossed. Luca is behind him, ready to push.

"So, the settlement we're hitting is where Davis used to be."

Another casualty. Who knows what it's called now? The kid recalls distant camping trips to the springs in the area. Maybe they'll have some time to swim.

Luca continued, pushing their sparse things into their twin backpacks. "We'll be in and out pretty fast if shit doesn't get messy. Which it shouldn't," he says pointedly before returning to packing. They have a van a few miles from here they'll have to hike to, but Luca alluded to something that would help them along the way.

"I won't be a problem," the kid says and stands.

Luca emits an indistinguishable grunt and waves the words away. " Good. Now help me get all this shit together, we don't wanna be out in the heat too long if we can help it."

Turns out, it takes a hell of a long while to pack while getting bitched at. By the time everything is accounted for and squirreled away, the sun is fully up and beginning to beat down. Luca checks his watch and gestures for the kid to follow. They hide their bags in the dense thicket surrounding some of the trees. It is unlikely anyone's followed them—or that anyone is living out here—but Luca always errs on the side of caution.

Luca leads them confidently through the trees in a way that suggests he's been here before. The kid would not be too surprised. Most of the gang members he's met are reserved, but some of them have quietly shared their stories. The kid's heard tales of Luca's adventures and he is not sure if he's more excited or nervous to be tagging along this time.

"The fence is a long ways away, but we should get there in half an hour."

The kid nods and trudges forward. He's wearing his big, clunky boots. They're getting caught in stray brambles and picking up enough chiggers to make him regret the decision. The thick soles give him an inch or two of height, and anything counts when paired with Luca's massive frame.

Luca walks with purpose and he is wearing boots much better suited to the terrain, so it is not long until he's striding far ahead. The kid breathes a curse and scrambles to catch up. Luca is not much taller, but he stomps through the underbrush until it gives way to him. The kid futilely attempts to replicate his pace.

It's a little embarrassing. He can't take the sound of his loud struggle anymore.

"What was yours like?"

Luca glances over his shoulder and scowls. "What?" Pleasant guy.

"Your initiation."

A wry smile works its way onto Luca's face. "You really wanna know?"

The kid shrugs. "I'm nosey."

"The same, basically, but I was with the first guys back in the beginning. There was no initiation for us," he explains impatiently.

Right, it is always Luca and some other guys who are organizing raids or delegating tasks. The implications of that are gut-churning, though that may just be the kid's trigger-happy imagination. As they walk, he can't help but think of what they all got up to during those first tumultuous weeks. For a while, martial law was declared to keep people like Luca in check, but somewhere down the line, it collapsed. After that, there was absolutely nothing stopping people from taking control of the roads.

Luca must have watched everything fall and then realized no one was around to pick the pieces up. Then, he probably realized he could now do whatever the fuck he wanted. The kid barely recalls it. He was too busy trying to stay alive after his world got flipped on its head.

Although the kid doesn't ask, Luca offers a memory: "Honestly, I don't think it was super far from here. But my guys and I just came in and took whatever. Girls, guns, booze, the like, y'know."

Already, the kid is thinking of all the horrible possibilities. Luca seems to get a kick out of being vague and watching the kid squirm around, deciding whether or not to pry.

Unaware of the kid's discomfort, Luca merrily continues, "Maybe we'll run into some of the ones who ran off—don't wanna get my hopes up though."

The kid can't hide his disdain. However, he doubts he would do anything to help if push came to shove. Forever a vaguely uncomfortable bystander.

At some point, the rocky, grassy uphill battle eases into something more befitting of a settlement. They are high in the hills now—or the mountains, depending on who you talk to—and the kid can hear the nearby creek and the distant crash of the waterfall. Nostalgia threatens to choke him up and he fights back the knot in his throat. Luca would never let him hear the end of it if he caught him crying about days long gone.

Within the next ten, tense minutes, the fence comes into view.

"It's not on, is it?"

Luca levels the kid with a perturbed glare. "What the fuck do you think?"

"Jesus, nevermind."

"Let's just get on with it, their patrol guy should be circling back soon and I don't wanna deal with it."

The kid nods and silently follows Luca out from under the cover of the trees. The space around the fence is devoid of life, just the rust-red dirt the settlement dug up to install the fence. As they creep closer, a hole in the chain link beckons them to investigate. When Luca pays it no mind and simply holds it open to let the kid through, it becomes clear he's been here before. The kid's stomach crawls and he can't figure out if he's excited or worried. Maybe a little bit of both.

Once inside, Luca moves more quietly, keeping his wide frame crouched near the earth and trying to use the tall grasses as camouflage. The kid mirrors him without being told and when Luca casts an appraising glance over her shoulder, he smiles his approval.

Then, he jerks his head to beckon the kid forward as they cross into the treeline. When the kid slinks up to Luca's side, he hears it; the unabashed, open sounds of women having a good time.

Luca places a finger to his lips and grins with a malicious hunger. Shh.

After pausing to let the kid hear their prey, Luca takes the lead again and creeps through the grasses.

It doesn't take long until they reach a trail beaten into the earth and on the other side of it, a clearing with a spring. The kid can make out moving shapes through the many tree trunks and tries to ignore how Luca's breathing has grown heavier.

"What now?"

Luca turns to him and raises his brows as though to ask what're you waiting for? He says, "Go and get one."

The kid knew this would happen, but it doesn't help him feel any less in over his head. Reluctance is the wrong move and Luca's placid expression quickly sours—the impatient fucker.

"Go on!" Luca hisses, speaking through his clenched teeth and shoving the kid from the thicket. "Get!"

The kid nearly tells him to go fuck himself but when he's done blinking, he's sitting on his ass in the clearing. Somehow, the women have not noticed him yet. The kid stands, brushes himself off, and puts on his best I'm lost face.

This part is pretty easy. It happens fast enough for him to just do it without thinking so hard. One of the women spots him through the trees and stands, grabbing a towel as she moves.

"Hey, you!"

The kid gives them a stiff wave and begins sauntering over.

The sun is pretty high up now, it must be nearing noon, and already sweat begins to cling uncomfortably to the kid's shirt. By the time he reaches the spring, his back is drenched. He can't shake the feeling of Luca's eyes on him.

The spring ends up just being one of many, all of them concealed within the lush foliage. Streams connect them in places while others disappear into rocky outcroppings. The kid shuffles to the edge of the spring and stares into the clear water. One of the women approaches him and the sediment clouds up the section of water he's staring at.

"Hey," the lady comes a little closer until it becomes impossible to avoid looking at her.

The kid manages a wry smile and prays it doesn't give anything away. Up until now, he has felt a profound apathy toward the whole concept of initiation, but now, he thinks he's beginning to see the appeal.

"Hi," he greets, a little sheepishly, but it doesn't discourage the lady. If anything, her smile deepens, and the kid gets a little flustered just seeing it. When was the last time a pretty girl smiled at him like that? It is almost enough to put a bad taste in his mouth, but he shrugs it off.

"Sorry, we know we aren't supposed to be out here," she laughs it off like she does not actually care that much, and the kid tries to mirror her careless stance. "You're not on patrol, are you? Promise you won't snitch."

The kid takes a few moments to gather his words. He can't recall the last normal conversation he had. It seems like recently, it has been a whirlwind of violence and looting, leaving no time for talk.

"No, yeah," he forces out a dry laugh, and the lady finally squints at him, looking at him like something isn't right. Which is true—nothing about this is right , but it's not like she needs to know so soon. "I just heard y'all; figured I'd see what was up."

"And I bet you like what you see!"

One of the other women peels her top off and flings it into the water. A chorus of whooping and hollering breaks out as her companions hype her up. Regrettably, the kid does like what he sees and when her big tits jiggle from all the movement, he can't help but think of Luca earlier. His low, breathless groans.

The lady in front of him rolls her eyes and puts a friendly hand on his shoulder. This must be a large community, though still tight-knit if she's willing to touch him.

"I haven't seen you around," she says warmly and the kid struggles to focus on her. She's wearing clothes—a big, sopping wet T-shirt and Schrodinger's pants. The kid has yet to see evidence of bottoms.

"I've been in and out."

"Ah," she exclaims, like that answers anything. "I haven't been so lucky yet, but soon!"

The kid feels himself leaning toward her. Feeling for her won't do him any good, but she's nice, she smells good, and despite his strange presence, she hasn't made him feel off about it. Her kindness prompts him to tell her, "Oh, you'll be good at it," even though he doesn't really know what he's talking about. He shuts his eyes and imagines a world where they could just keep talking.

"You think so? Thanks, seriously," she glances over her shoulder at the other women and makes a gesture the kid can't see. Then, she faces him again and asks, "Are you busy?"

The kid shakes his head and stifles the urge to look over his shoulder where he knows Luca's watching.

"Oh, good. you wanna walk me back to the plaza?"

The plaza. The kid suppresses a melodramatic eye roll and nods. If today were different, Luca might be leading a group deeper into the community to loot and rape and do whatever the fuck they do. After today, he will be expected to go with them, and the anticipation is all at once mortifying and electrifying.

As the kid half-follows her awkwardly around the spring, the lady continues rambling on, and the kid attempts to spot Luca in the thicket.

No luck there—it's just shimmering, verdant leaves and spidery branches. The kid returns his attention to the lady as she bids farewell to her friends.

"So, since this free period is almost over, you don't have to go all the way with me," she approaches him and snaps him from his search.

"Right."

"Anyways, we don't usually all have time off together."

"Tell me about it."

The kid has no idea what he's going along with, but with no signs from Luca, he doesn't know what else to do but go forward.

Through the trees, there is that same worn path in the ground, twisting around the stream and disappearing deeper into the grove. The lady makes a beeline for it, and soon, they are plunged into a world of green. The kid keeps his eyes peeled. It's too difficult to let his guard down. For all he knows, this could all be some elaborate setup for something awful. Though, that could be the paranoia talking.

"Have you ever been out here?" It seems like his friendly new companion isn't one for prolonged silences.

The kid offers her a shrug and some vague, noncommittal noise. "Not this far." Keep answers vague and keep her from figuring out something's up.

"I guess it's a little out of the way of everything. It's worth the hike if you wanna swim, though."

There is a rustle somewhere behind them. The lady turns first, already frowning in concern, and the kid sees Luca before she does. He comes out of the thicket like a monster out of legend, face distorted with an ugly sneer and his huge, paw-like hands poised to grab her. The kid is not very surprised when she screams—looking at Luca right now feels like looking down the barrel of a gun.

"Grab her!"

When Luca directs his scorn to the kid, he regains control of himself and helps Luca wrestle the lady to the ground.

Luca gets in her face while the kid keeps her writhing arms held. "Hey bitch. It's your lucky day," he hisses and claps a hand over her mouth.

To her credit, she bites hard enough to make Luca flinch, but his hand doesn't budge.

That gets her a solemn head shake and a faux-remorseful, "Don't make us knock you out."

Her wide eyes flick between Luca and the kid. Then, her eyes narrow at the kid and he squirms under the wrathful weight of her gaze. It appears things are beginning to click for her.

"Okay, look at me," Luca snaps, and the lady reluctantly turns away. As she moves, Luca hands the kid a short length of rope. "Get her wrists tied up. Hurry. I don't know if she was loud enough to do anything, but still."

The kid is feeling the urgency, and his hands fumble with the rope. The lady is not making the process any easier—she twists and turns in his grasp while their shared sweat makes everything too slick to get a good grip. Sometime before they left, Luca demonstrated the knot and the kid poorly replicates it. That earns him a dramatic eye roll.

"Let's get outta here."

The kid doesn't need to be told twice.

The half an hour trek back to their bags turns into an hour-long ordeal punctuated with the lady's kicking and flailing and Luca's smoldering temper. The restraints and gag are mercifully holding up even under all the stress. Once the bags were retrieved, the kid was appointed to carry both of them while Luca wrangled the lady over his shoulder.

Two hours crawl by and slowly, the lady runs out of steam. By the time they reach the bottom of the Arbuckles where the ground flattens out again and the trees begin, the sun is beating mercilessly down. Sweat spills into the kid's eyes as they approach Luca's hidden, souped-up F-550.

God, he hates that truck.

Once it becomes clear they're stopping, the lady resumes her viciously thrashing and it seems her period of rest paid off. Luca stumbles as she wrenches her body to the side, nearly falling from his shoulder and throwing him off balance.

The kid hears Luca suck in a sharp, impatient breath before he drops her to the ground with no warning. The impact of her body against the dirt makes the kid wince despite how quiet it is. Before she regains her senses, Luca restrains her ankles together and backs away, watching as she writhes on the ground. The kid is distantly reminded of fishing—pulling the gleaming, wriggling creature from the murky depths and staring as it twists on the hook.

While the kid is distracted with the sight of the lady attempting to right herself, Luca goes to the truck bed and stands on the tailgate, searching through the bed for something. The kid stares at the ridiculous vehicle. It's lifted, one of the many powerful, tall trucks they have, but this is the only one previously used for service. A small crane stretches from the bed and despite the weather it has been exposed to, the boom works in all directions as well as the compressor. For a moment, the kid wonders if Luca will string the lady up so they can watch her dangle. The kid can't determine what the warmth he feels in the pit of his gut is when he conjures the mental image of it.

Instead, Luca grabs two fold-out chairs and launches them at the kid.

"Set those up," he barks and hops off the tailgate.

The kid wordlessly obeys and as he moves, his hands are shaking. It is almost too easy to convince himself it's just anticipation. That familiar itch between his legs will go unacknowledged for as long as he can bear it.

"Okay!" Luca exclaims and sits heavily in his chosen chair. He looks at the kid with mild impatience and gestures to the lady, now sitting upright and making her eyes bounce frantically between them.

The kid stares at the lady, wide-eyed, as she glares at him from her place on the ground. He nervously asks, "What do you want me to do?"

Luca throws his hands up and scoffs. "Do I have to tell you everything? Do you not know how to break a bitch?" He sort of spits the word bitch out like it's leaving a bad taste in his mouth and the force of how he says it makes the lady flinch.

"I just didn't wanna do something wrong! Chill out," the kid sighs and stifles an exasperated eye roll. He is slowly growing sick of how Luca insists on being up his ass. At first, it was easy to pin the blame on the initiation, but the kid isn't so sure anymore.

Instead of continuing to worry about Luca, the kid turns to the lady and approaches her.

"She's secure," Luca says uselessly.

The kid pushes out a quiet sigh and kneels in front of her. He can't shake the eyes crawling over his back. Luca is watching him too closely for comfort. The lady demands his attention from the spit-soaked rag shoved in her mouth to the subtle way she squirms under his eyes. It's an odd feeling. The kid knows he could stop this, side with her, and gang up on Luca. Then what? Chances are, Luca would turn both of them into roadkill or worse. The kid tries not to acknowledge how warm he feels when the lady starts tearing up. It's fucked up, just remain detached.

"Shh," he murmurs to her and awkwardly smooths his hands over her hair. It reminds him of some distant memory; calming a mare down and holding her powerful head in his hands. When was the last time he saw a living horse?

"Hey, what's the holdup?" Right. Luca is an impatient motherfucker and he wants to watch a show.

"Hold on!"

The kid grimaces and briefly catches his face reflected in her wet eyes. He looks like pure shit, though that might just be the distortion from her tears. His hands remain poised, and he can't decide where to put them first. She is still wearing that big shirt and the little shorts. Her thighs are pooling out of her shorts, and he can't resist touching them.

She is softer than he expected and smoother, so he finds himself stricken speechless as he drags his fingers up. He stops shy of the hem of her shorts but his eyes continue, imagining what panties she's wearing, if she shaves or not. Behind him, Luca drags the chair noisily over for a better vantage point. The kid sees him looming in the corner of his eye like a statue with bad intentions, frozen until the kid turns his back.

"C'mon."

Luca refuses to let his presence go unnoticed. The kid begrudgingly acknowledges him with a glance and tries to tune him out. It is difficult.

"Hey, shh," the kid starts rubbing little circles into her thighs, partially in an attempt to comfort her but mostly because he can't get enough of how soft she is. "You'll be fine."

Truthfully, he does not know that. Everything about initiation is very ambiguous, and the more time passes, the more certain the kid is that each member plays it by ear. They all have a vague task of proving themselves ; it's just up to their partner to decide what that means. To Luca, the proving himself may not end with a rape. It could escalate. Luca is beginning to breathe harder as he watches, and the kid grows more certain this will escalate.

"Don't tell her that," Luca scoffs behind him. "Just get to it."

"I'm being nice ."

"This isn't about bein' nice!"

The kid's face contorts into a grimace, and he drops his gaze. His fingers toy with the hem of the lady's shorts. He can't bring himself to meet her eyes.

Carefully, as though he fears being burned, the kid slips his hands into her shorts. The lady stiffens and inches away from him, no longer viciously writhing like she was. Slowly but surely, the fight is leaking out of her as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Her skin is warmer up here, and she's a little sweaty, both from the heat and the circumstances, but she is still smoother than anyone he's touched on the open road.

"Nice, yeah?"

The kid glances at Luca over his shoulder and shrugs. "What do you mean?"

Luca shrugs and spreads his legs wider as a hand rests inches away from his crotch. It won't be too long before he's touching himself and the kid is not sure how to feel about that. He wants to prove himself, to put on a good show, or whatever the hell Luca wants—it'll all lead to guaranteed water and shelter and the kid would do just about anything for that security.

"You've fucked around with people on the road, yeah?"

The kid nods and tries his best not to dredge up any of those memories from his time spent scavenging. Without a community, only the hardiest survive. It turns normal people into husks of themselves, always chasing resources and sex, only hopping off the shitty carousel when they drop dead.

"She's a lot cleaner and softer—at least try to look like you're enjoying yourself."

"I am," the kid spits indignantly.

"Don't tell me you feel bad."

The kid forces a scoff because he honestly does feel a little bad. The remorse is dwindling though the longer he goes without meeting her eyes. Her gaze is too alive, too enraged for him to bear, and it is too easy to pretend she is not a person when he doesn't hold her stare.

"I don't," he says, and it's sort of the truth, so Luca doesn't push it.

Once Luca quiets down, the kid returns his attention to the lady. His palms have been resting on her thighs so long they've become a bit clammy, so there's a sickening, slimy feeling under his hands when he pushes them higher. It grows warmer the closer he gets to her cunt.

Now, the lady starts wriggling around again. A fish on his hook. Will this be catch and release, or something else?

The kid grabs her, feels a familiar throb between his legs, and starts caring less and less. He's slowly handing over the reins to his dick, letting his brain and better judgment take a back seat.

"Enjoy it," Luca says again. His voice is a sudden interruption in the conversation between the chittering birds and the lady's muffled grunts.

"I am." The kid grits his teeth and shuts his eyes. For a few precious moments, there is nothing in this world save for him and this lady.

Then, Luca speaks again. "You don't fuckin' look like it!"

"You aren't even facing me!"

Luca scoffs, and there's a shuffle behind the kid. Then, Luca drags the chair around the lady, sitting slightly behind her, sandwiched between her and the truck, staring and sneering at the kid. "Better? If you wanted me to watch you, you could've just asked."

The kid tries to shoot a disgusted expression Luca's way, but the lady is so distracting under his hands. She has resumed her writhing, smearing dirt and sweat along her legs as she moves. The heat is sickening at this time of day, and it is beginning to get to the kid. It reminds him of those long, dry days spent in the shade of an overturned semi before getting picked up by Luca's gang. The air feels stuffy as he inhales, and he gags on it. He wonders how hot this lady's cunt is after being out in the sun all day.

One way to find out. The kid flattens out on his belly, on the ground like a dog, and he feels a bit like a dog while he's eyeing the lady like this. Like she's meat. Luca watches like a hawk as the kid pushes his face against the lady's damp crotch. His nose presses against her shorts, and he breathes her in deeply.

"How's that? Hit the spot?"

The kid meets Luca's eyes. He grins, he can't help it, and Luca mirrors his expression. "That's right. Eat up, kid."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Eagerly, the kid pulls down the lady's waistband and her panties in one combined movement. The heat compounds and suddenly the kid's face is hot and the lady's thighs are hot and her cunt looks so sloppy and inviting the kid doesn't know what to do with himself. Silence stretches on, broken up only by the distant sounds of the lady's pleading, hopelessly swallowed by the gag.

Finally, the kid looks up and meets her eyes. Green and angry, but dark enough for the kid to have to squint at her to discern the expression. Her pupils are twin spots and shrunken with fear. The kid can't recall what was so charming about her earlier.

Dwelling on it will do nothing, so he pushes his face into her, getting her sweat and musk and juices all over his face. The second he tastes her, just barely dipping his tongue into her already-loose hole, it feels like blood has been spilled in the water and he's some awful predatory thing. His palms slide on her soft inner thighs until he pushes her down, pinning her in place despite all the sweat shared between them.

The kid moves one of his hands down to hold her lips open and she shudders, attempting to close her knees and seal the entrance of herself with her thighs.

There's the sound of movement and the kid's eyes snap up.

"Jesus christ," Luca sighs and leaves the chair in favor of sinking to his knees next to the lady's head. While the kid laps at her cunt, Luca leans over the lady to hold her legs apart.

The kid tries to shoot him a grateful glance, but the effect is ruined by his face being tucked between a pair of thick legs and Luca cackles.

"Save some for me," he murmurs and smiles before uttering another Jesus… under his breath.

Although she is being held down so securely all she can do is wiggle, it does not stop the lady from trying. The kid is continuously getting nudged from all sides—the lady's thighs and Luca's wandering hands. For a moment, a wide hand paws at his hair and fingers run through his tangled roots. Luca affectionately pets him as he eats and the kid, for the second time today, feels like a dog.

The contact only encourages him to dive deeper, to take advantage of Luca helping hold her down, and the kid drags his tongue up the entire length of her pussy. Hole to hood. He wants to suck on something and he busies himself with sampling her labia, tasting the sharp, heady musk and breathing her in as deeply as he can. His chest swells when he takes in a lungful of her scent and he commits it to memory.

"Good boy, yeah—"

Luca is still there, still pinning her to the earth, and still murmuring praise.

"That's right," he says and the kid can hear him smiling. "You're good at this, but you're still soft."

The kid reaches the lady's clit and sucks it, forming a tight seal around it with his lips and swirling his tongue around the bud. She shudders under him, the little muscles in her thighs jumping and flexing as she loses control of her functions.

"Think she's almost there," remarks Luca before dragging his fingers through the kid's hair. "You're so nice, kid, letting her cum all over your face like this. Most of us wouldn't bother with that."

The kid emits a quiet mmm into the lady's cunt and Luca's grip on his hair tightens until he's wincing. For whatever reason, the sharp, stinging pain goes straight into his clit. A small part of him is tempted to grind into the ground below, just for some relief.

"No—don't get distracted now. Finish what you started."

The kid nods against her cunt, pushing his chin against her as he sucks the life out of her clit. The jerking beneath him grows stronger, more frantic, and then there is a burst of liquid from her hole. It gets all over his chin and dribbles down his neck, mixing with the sweat and dirt already clinging to him. It feels gross, the kid would kill for a bath, but he can't pull away once he dips his tongue into her throbbing cunt to taste the fluid straight from the source.

"You sure know how to treat a lady," Luca laughs and abruptly pulls the kid away from her cunt. He is so strong he simply lifts the kid by the back of his shirt and pushes him to the ground.

The kid falls on his ass, momentarily stunned, and wipes at his face. "What the hell?"

Luca rolls his eyes. "You were done, besides, I've got somethin' to show you."

When the kid doesn't move, Luca snaps, "Get on the chair," and the kid scrambles to obey.

Luca drags the lady up by her neck, and it seems like the fight has long left her. Her eyes are tarnished jade, dull and unfeeling, surrounded by bloodshot white. The kid sits awkwardly in the chair, still buzzing and anticipating whatever awful thing Luca has planned. It's apparent in his sharp brown eyes. Scheming and fantasizing simultaneously.

"Hey, kid."

The kid squirms. Luca is eyeing him with an expression the kid doesn't think he's seen before, somewhere between hunger and delirious excitement.

"Wanna watch how to actually break a bitch in?"

The kid frowns and digs his fingers into the fabric armrests. The chair creaks as he shifts forward, involuntarily scooting to the edge of his seat. Between his legs, his clit stirs as Luca gets the lady on the ground.

"See, I think you did fine and all, but I want you to know how much they can take," Luca begins while wrapping the lady's hair around his hand. "You're a nice kid, but that'll just fuck you over, understand?"

The lady's hair is a long, brown rope wrapped around Luca's massive hand, and he grabs her by the base of the makeshift ponytail.

"Do you understand?"

The kid swallows hard. "Yeah—sure." Honestly, he is barely listening. The lady is breathing so hard through her nose that the dust around her nostrils goes flying.

Luca's stare lingers on him for an uncomfortable moment before he sneers. His free hand helps the lady get on her hands and knees. The lady stays stiff and stares holes into the ground. However, it isn't like she could get away with her wrists and ankles secured. The restraints are just loose enough for her to clumsily maneuver. The kid can't tell if she's given up or if she's biding his time. Oily unease courses through his nerves when he imagines her escaping and hunting him down. It's only a scary thought because he knows how much he deserves it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he pats himself on the back because he at least wasn't as mean about it as Luca wanted him to be.

Then, Luca takes his hands off her completely and circles her naked, statuesque form. The sight reminds the kid of something he'd see out of a dream, so absurd and unlike how his life shouldhave turned out. He can't even remember what he wanted to be when he grew up.

"I want you to watch all of this."

The kid blinks and faces Luca again. He's standing behind the lady and staring down at her with an unreadable expression. He's breathing hard enough to make his chest hypnotically move. Inhale— expand. Exhale —contract. In between breaths, Luca lifts his boot and brings it down on the small of the lady's back, forcing her into the ground like a nail getting hammered.

All the wind leaves her in a strangled gasp that is still audible through the gag. The lady blinks hard, dazed, before regaining control of herself and attempting to flip over. It's no use; Luca descends on her with the ferocity of a storm, taking her wrists in one hand while the other presses her harder into the ground. The lady clenches her teeth around the gag so hard some of the fabric splits.

"Aw, does that hurt?" Luca does not sound even a little apologetic. When the lady doesn't make a sound, Luca pushes harder while pulling her arms back. It isn't long until she's contorted in an awful stretch, and she heaves against him. The writhing only deepens the stretch, the burn, and the lady's eyes grow misty under Luca's skilled hands.

Then, the dam breaks, and the tears flow unobstructed. Luca bends further until he can see her face, and he grins when he sees her expression. He takes his hand from her back and keeps her pinned down with the boot. When he releases her arms from that painful, pulled-back position, she screams into the gag.

"Shh," he murmurs and crouches at her side to wipe away the tracks of tears on her face. It's no use; it's so hot out, and she's too far gone for it to matter.

"Hey, kid," Luca snaps and jerks his head. "Closer."

The kid hesitantly comes closer. It was easier to remain detached when he was the one doing it, somehow. Is that what she looked like while he buried his face between her legs? When forced to watch, he feels like he shouldn't be here. He has time to think through the haze of his arousal since he isn't focused on all the sensations. Regret, maybe, though that won't serve him now.

Once the chair is about a foot from the action, Luca stops him and resumes his task.

"Are you still horny at all?" He casually asks this while flipping the lady over onto her back, maneuvering her like she's a stuffed toy, floppy limbs and all.

The kid reluctantly nods. There is that warmth and a small itch in the back of his mind, begging him to give in a little, but the scene before him mostly makes him uneasy.

"Good, jerk off," Luca snaps and drags his greedy hands down her chest, her stomach, then rests them on her thighs. "It'll like, help you make the association."

"What the fuck do you mean?"

Luca pushes out a profoundly exasperated sigh and impatiently drums his fingers along the lady's thigh. Her eyes indignantly dart between them as they speak over her. The kid would shoot her an apologetic look if he weren't so confused.

"I can tell you're squeamish," Luca begins slowly, patronizing like he's speaking with a child. "If you watch me fuck her up and you jack off and you like it, that'll just be one step towards not being a pussy."

A grimace overtakes the kid's face before he can stop himself, and it's the wrong move.

"C'mon, don't give me that shit."

"I'm going to! I'm going to—chill out," the kid sighs and flushes when Luca's eyes remain locked on him even as he starts pushing down his jeans.

Despite the apparent urgency just a minute ago, Luca appears to have all the patience in the world while watching the kid. The attention makes him feel queasy, so he elects to rip the bandaid off. Once his jeans are pooled around his boots, the kid shoves his boxers down and cups himself.

It's too late—Luca saw what he wanted to and he shakes his head while chuckling.

"What's so fuckin' funny?" It may be a little stupid to speak out of turn, but the kid figures the lady will take the brunt of Luca's irritation.

For better or worse, the kid is right and Luca smacks the lady's swollen clit. Just watching her yelp and jump has the kid biting back the urge to roll his hips.

Luca quickly composes himself and sighs, "You're hairless—like a little bitch."

"Not like I can do shit about it!" When he says this, he flushes, painting the lie all over his expression.

"Don't tell me you shave." Luca mimes a wince and spreads the lady's cunt lips. "Look, I think she's got more than you."

Time to dodge. Getting defensive about this seems immature, though this whole topic is a little immature. "This doesn't have anything to do with anything." The kid can't stop staring at Luca's forearms, corded with wiry muscle and dusted with thick, black hair. It probably spreads all over his body and the kid frowns in envy.

Luca snorts in agreement and rolls his eyes. "Right, whatever, just show me your little pussy."

The kid nearly gags at the way Luca says that but manages to hold it back. It is becoming increasingly difficult to tell whether he is disgusted by Luca or the reaction he unwillingly has to his words. Reacting will do him no favors, so the kid puts on his best unbothered expression and takes his hand away from his cunt. Contrary to what Luca thinks, there is hair there, thank you very much. It is just an oddly light shade. The same caramel brown as the hair on top of his head. But other than that, everything else is either too blond or thin to spot and the kid is all too aware of that under Luca's scrutiny.

Luca's eyes flay him down to his core and the kid can't bear maintaining eye contact. Mercifully, Luca doesn't say a word when the younger butch averts his eyes.

"Okay," Luca says slyly and although the kid isn't looking anymore, he can't shake the phantom sensation of hands creeping up his scrawny legs.

The lady gasps through the gag and the sound of it goes straight to his clit. Perhaps this won't be as awful as he thought. The kid manages to look up and watch as Luca spreads her farther, examining her loose, gaping hole.

"You get plowed a lot?"

Of course, it isn't like the lady can answer, and Luca's vulgar nature seems to be getting to her on top of the forced silence. She clenches her teeth around the gag and glares. Luca pushes out a tremendous sigh and knocks her back into lying down with a mighty slap. It barely looks like he exerts himself. Megafauna brushing off a tiny fly—like in those encyclopedias the kid used to read before all the shit went down.

The kid squirms in his seat like he's also restrained. He keeps his hands glued to the armrest and Luca thankfully does not seem to mind for now, but he knows he will need to concede soon.

It is not hard to give in once Luca begins probing the lady's cunt. As he holds her down, one thick arm pressed across her stomach, the tendons and small, jumping muscles stand out. The kid finds himself hypnotized by the sight. Once Luca pushes a finger into her sloppy cunt, his hand strains as though he's holding something back, and the kid cups himself.

"You think she needs another?"

The kid takes a moment to realize the question is directed at him. It is too easy to forget he's an active participant, that he just had his turn, because time isn't behaving as it should be right now. At this moment, the three of them exist somewhere outside, for better or worse.

His mouth dry and sweat clinging to him like a second skin, the kid wordlessly nods.

Luca's smile deepens and it isn't a pleasant sight. "That's right," he praises and returns his attention to the lady. "Open up, baby."

Electricity sparks down the kid's spine and shoots straight into his clit when Luca shoves two more fingers into the lady's cunt. She was already gaping from the kid's treatment, but this is pushing her farther than he did, and much more abruptly. The gag helps muffle her cries, but only a little. Luca leans down to hear her better and violently jerks his three fingers stuffed in her. The movement is so harsh it temporarily lifts her hips from the dirt.

The hand lightly cupping his cunt is suddenly nowhere near enough and the kid increases the pressure. He's wetter than he was earlier and it barely took a few minutes of watching. Luca looks far from finished and he begins pulling his fingers from her pussy. The lady cries, her sobs dying down into quiet sniffling as the thick trio of fingers comes nearly completely out of her. The silence only lasts until Luca unexpectedly spears his fingers back inside.

A wolf closing in on a deer, capturing its lithe neck between powerful jaws. Luca gleefully establishes a ferocious pace; impaling the lady on his fingers as savagely as possible to drag the most noises from her. Through the roaring rush of blood in his ears, the kid thinks he hears Luca rambling about it.

See, if you angle them like this—curl up, towards her bellybutton… There is a sharp cry of agony painted with hesitant arousal and the kid bites back a breathless groan. His head is swimming with need and he can't bring himself to focus on the sight before him. Yeah, listen to that. Just keep slamming into that spot like you wanna fuckin' kill her.

Scooping at her insides. The kid recognizes the flutter of moving tendons and the different angles of Luca's hand. He can almost pretend this is happening to him—Luca's invasive hand clawing at him from within, just to see what sorts of sounds he would make.

Watch this .

The kid forces himself to focus. Luca pushes a fourth finger in alongside the others. The edges of the lady's brutalized cunt are looking inflamed from the assault. Cherry red and flushed, just like the kid.

Indirectly, he hears himself ask, "What? Are you gonna fist her?" He is only mildly disgusted with himself when he hears the eagerness in his tone. The heady desire under all of it.

Luca leans back, keeping his hand tucked inside her, and he turns his wrist so the heel of his palm grinds into the lady's engorged and neglected clit. That small movement and light pressure draws a shrill whine from her.

"Do you wanna see that?" Luca pushes his palm harder and when the kid hears that cry again, he feels a heat between his legs he can't blame on the temperature outside.

"Uh-huh."

"Thought so," says Luca, satisfied, and he pushes his thumb into her without warning.

The lady's cunt rejects the intrusion, clamping closed with everything it has, but Luca is determined to take her in this way. The kid watches while grinding his fist onto his clit. The pressure is enough to make him gasp and writhe, but for now, he is not the center of Luca's attention.

"C'mon, don't make me force it."

As though he isn't already forcing it. After a moment of struggle, the lady accidentally relaxes and it is all the time Luca needs to stuff his fist into her. Despite her involuntary relaxation, the massive girth sends her reeling, sobbing and weakly attempting to wrench away from the torturous stretch. The burn must be excruciating.

The kid whimpers without meaning to and he finally fully gives in, allowing his fingers to make their familiar and practiced dance over his clit. Instead of staring at the lady, the kid watches Luca stare at her face, so blatantly hungry for whatever he can force out of her. More tears or noises or fight.

Some apathetic part of the kid's mind figures he wouldn't enjoy the fighting back, but it is clear Luca does. Every time the lady takes a stab at futile escape, Luca grins wildly and beats her back down; either with his words or his brute strength. The kid can only pray he never faces that side of him.

"Yeah, you like that, huh?"

The kid accidentally meets Luca's eyes and his face blooms with heat. Preparation kicks up a notch as those baby browns drink him in. He must paint quite a picture right now; pants and boxers at his feet, cheeks an embarrassingly bright red, and little clit getting worked between his fingers.

"Aw, don't be embarrassed." When Luca says this, he laughs a little under his breath and playfully raises an eyebrow. The expression is so unlike him the kid freezes, wondering if something awful is about to happen.

No—Luca just drags his gaze up and down the kid, chuckling a little to himself when the kid squirms, and then he pushes his fist deeper.

The kid tips his head back, staring up at the leaves high above and the warm light filtering through them. He allows the sounds to take him away, out of his body, out of his involvement in this horrible thing they're doing, until he can freely touch himself. When the lady sobs, her gag likely spat out judging by her volume, her broken, choked-up cry sends blood rushing straight to the kid's clit. His fingers press harder, rub himself more uniformly, and it does not take long before he is forced to lighten the pressure.

"Nah, keep it going," Luca groans.

The kid's head rolls forward and he stares at his lap, worried that if he lays eyes on the two before him, he'll cum prematurely. It's been what—not even five minutes? The very thought of Luca noticing him cumming after such a short time has his stomach churning with dread and arousal. It proves to be a sickening combination of feelings.

"I don't wanna cum yet," the kid chokes out and his voice sounds so unlike him he would be repulsed if he weren't so turned on.

Luca scoffs and the noise prompts the kid into looking at him.

"Go ahead—take a break if you need to, but get back to it as soon as you can."

The kid almost cries when he increases the pressure. His cunt feels gaping and needy although he does not usually enjoy penetration. It feels like there needs to be something there and the emptiness makes him dig his teeth into his lip, desperate to feel anything but the hole opening within him.

"I can't—"

"I want you to, though," Luca insists.

When the kid finally manages to focus on the lady, Luca is wearing her around his fist like a shuddering, shaking glove. His wrist glitters in the diffused sunlight from her blood, cum, and wetness. It seems the stretch was too much. The raw, torn edges of her cunt have started bleeding and it does not appear to be deterring Luca in the slightest.

An absurd thought rears its ugly head from some deep pit in the kid's mind: Luca fisting him like that, forcing him to take the unreal stretch, his hands scrambling for purchase, anything to drag himself away while Luca molds his cunt to his fist. Before the kid can consider the implications of that fantasy, he cries and cums with a shudder, momentarily losing control of his fluttering eyelids in the process.

"Damn," Luca croons, sounding all pleased with himself and this awful event he's orchestrated.

The kid offers him a weary smile and wipes his wet hand on his thigh before reaching for his jeans.

"Wait!"

The kid freezes and looks at Luca. The older butch shakes his head. "Nah, spread your legs."

"Why?"

Luca scoffs, "Because you don't want me to make you. Just do it."

It feels almost too easy to give in while in this state—fuzzy feeling head, throbbing, satisfied cunt—so the kid does, boldly opening his thighs as though he's presenting himself before a judge. Luca probably considers himself a cunt connoisseur.

While his hand remains stuffed in the lady's pussy, Luca shifts forward to get a better look. "You still look a little needy, huh."

The kid doesn't know what to say to that and instead focuses on the lady. With her head tipped back, he can't see her face, but he can guess what expression she's pulling when he sees the harsh rise and fall of her chest. Breathing hard, almost hyperventilating.

Luca suddenly pulls his fist out of her and holds it before his face. The kid can't tear his eyes away from the sight of her gaping pussy. It looks like an open wound, all shining and red and wet. It is difficult to know if he is imagining things or not, but he swears he can see her walls pulsing, pumping in time with her heart beat.

Then, Luca smells the fluids on his hand and reverently takes his fingers into his mouth. Red tongue swirling around each digit, savoring the specific blend of flavors he harvested from the lady. The kid squirms uncomfortably, feeling that familiar ache, that awful lack of contact on his clit. Silently, he hopes Luca doesn't notice how worked up he's getting.

It appears Luca is too wrapped up in his task now—he stands and grabs the lady's hips before hauling her body from the ground and twisting her until she is on all fours. With her ass in the air and face in the dirt, Luca starts rubbing his crotch, grabbing at something through the heavy denim and rolling his hips into it.

The kid hasn't seen anything like this before in his life and finds himself watching quietly, straining forward without meaning to.

"You ever use one of these?" Luca's voice is hoarse, dripping with arousal when he asks this.

The kid shakes his head, his bare lower half nearly forgotten as he stares.

Luca grins and his malevolent light in his eye suggests he's up to no good. Then, he unzips his fly and pulls out his dick—fake and a uniform beige, but big enough to put a knot in the kid's throat. He will not touch himself unless he is forced, he repeats this to himself, even as the sight of Luca stroking his fake cock has him squirming.

"Yeah, I see you," Luca's smile deepens and he turns his attention to the lady. "It's not about you right now though, kid."

The kid swallows hard, fighting against how turned on he is and the urge to touch himself. Luca sinks to his knees and drags the lady toward him. She does not move a muscle and instead allows the treatment. Either unable to fight or unwilling. Given up, maybe.

Luca splays his fingers across his ass and spreads her open. For a second, it looks like he'll finger her again, but he unexpectedly stuffs his cock into her abused cunt.

That gets a scream out of her and although muffled, it seems to be what Luca was wanting. He grins and pulls her back as she attempts to scramble away. This is when the kid notices that Luca is only a third of the way inside. He must be meeting a lot of resistance. The kid vaguely remembers learning about the body's subconscious defenses. Despite the lady having given up, her cunt is determined to stay untouched.

"Don't give me that," Luca mutters and pulls her back hard enough to spear her open on his dick.

A long, low wail escapes her, so loud it almost sounds like the gag has fallen off. Luca throws his head back and jerks his hips forward, simultaneously pulling her onto his dick. The fake cock is not small—it looks as thick as a can of coke and longer. The kid can only imagine how it feels inside after having an entire fist in her.

Luca establishes an awful, brutal pace the kid can't seem to look away from. He pulls nearly completely out, admiring the way his dick shines with cum and blood, before slamming back into her so hard it sounds like she's dying. He's going fast, panting and heaving and hanging over her with his mouth gaping open and spittle flying. It is the most exertion the kid has seen from him ever.

At some point, Luca reaches for her neck with one of his massive, paw-like hands and he closes his fist around her throat.

The kid is helpless, pinned in place by fear and his churning, nauseous stomach. What could he do? Nothing, at this point. He isn't sure if he wants to stop this, somewhere between morbid curiosity and heady arousal.

It seems Luca is getting carried away. He's muttering under his breath, still plowing into the lady with a vengeance and wringing her scrawny neck. From the little the kid can make out of her face, he can see it changing color as she loses oxygen. Her veins begin standing out on her neck, her forehead, as her body weakly tries to supply her brain with blood. Luca somehow manages to fuck her harder, thrusting so violently her body begins inching forward from the force. Blood splatters onto the ground under her and Luca's dick is covered in it.

It is hard to tell if he cares. His eyes are screwed shut, his brows knitted together like he's in pain, and his hand is gripping the lady's neck so tightly the veins are bulging from his forearm.

At some point, Luca cums with a shudder and drapes himself over the lady's stiff back. Blood pools between them and when Luca eventually stands, his jeans are damp and stained with her.

Finally, the kid finds his voice. "What?"

Luca casts a long suffering look his way. "You ask so many questions."

"No. Uh—I just mean the lady…"

Luca looks down at her as though he forgot she was there. For some reason the kid does not want to think about it, she is no longer moving. Not even twitching.

"Oh, don't worry about that. Got carried away, I guess," Luca flippantly explains and stands, chucking the dick and clinking harness into the truck's open window. When it cleanly sails through, Luca mutters a fuck yes to himself before turning on the kid.

Suddenly, Luca's expression, his wide smile, has taken on a more sinister light and the kid finds himself on the receiving end of the attention the lady just endured.

The kid feels his chest constrict painfully as Luca advances on him. His forearms are bulging from his sleeves, the tendons strained and obvious under his weathered skin. Some distant and detached side of the kid begins tracing the spidery paths Luca's veins make.

"It's your turn, you gonna take it like a man, or a little bitch?" Spittle flies as Luca bends down to get in the kid's face.

The kid can't think of a response and clutches his chest. Vaguely, he acknowledges he's probably hyperventilating after seeing all that. Somehow, he finds his words. "The initiation?"

Luca's thick brows pinch together. "What? You think they'll help you out?" His voice pitches up mockingly. "Oh, Luca touched my little pussy. Will one of you guys protect me?"

The kid shrinks back into the wall as Luca maneuvers into a crouch, and his sneering face comes closer. "They'll fuck you faster than you could even realize your mistake. You'll just be outing yourself as easy meat. Just quiet down and take it."

Without realizing, the kid slowly melts against the wall as he tries in vain to keep his eyes from Luca's. It must come across as submission because it draws a satisfied, sinister smile from Luca. One of his thick hands slips behind the kid, and he pulls him to his feet. The kid half-collapses into Luca's chest, and that nasty grin deepens.

"What're you gonna do?" The kid winces when he hears his voice, but he forces himself to maintain eye contact with Luca. If he's too weak to fight him off physically, he will do his best to unearth some remorse.

Luca hums, and his eyes rake down the kid's hunched-over form. "Stand up straight," he snaps and puts a warm hand on the back of the kid's neck. "What do you wanna do?"

It is blatant that he is not asking because he intends to listen, but the kid detests the silence and answers, "Just go home. Eat dinner."

"You wanna eat, huh?"

The kid nods, and his head droops. Luca's hand trails over his shoulders, his traps, then tangles in his cropped hair. It feels nice and the kid lets his guard down, allows his eyes to slip shut, and Luca makes a fist in the roots of his hair. The pain is blinding for a moment, and in that moment, it feels like it will never end. The kid's mouth hangs open, and someone is making a shrill, high whine. It belatedly registers that it's coming from somewhere deep in his sore throat. As the sharp sting ebbs into something more manageable, Luca pulls the kid's head back and forces him to meet his eyes.

"I have somethin' for you to eat," he says, sneering and amused enough for it to come through in his voice.

Suddenly, the kid's vision flips, and he's inches from Luca's crotch. He is wearing thick, well-loved jeans, and when he presses the kid's face against his crotch, the denim is soft there from all the action it's seen.

"What?" The kid is slightly surprised he's still able to talk. After seeing what Luca did to the lady, every touch sends a new oily feeling through his churning stomach. If he does not calm down, he risks hurling. There is nothing but bile in his stomach.

"You've gotta shut up," Luca replies and avoids the kid's questioning. Both of his hands cup the kid's face, smearing the day's grime and sweat all over his cheeks.

Stubbornly, the kid attempts to wriggle free as he repeats, "What? What're we doin'?"

Truthfully, he doubts Luca will fill him in on the whole story. A pit of despair threatens to open up within the kid and consume him whole. This aligns with his abysmal luck lately, so he does not know why he is so surprised when Luca begins unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly.

The thick, familiar scent of sex invades the kid's lungs as Luca peels his jeans down. The kid is not even remotely surprised to find dense hair spreading from above his cunt to his inner thighs. Some of it trails up, disappearing into his shirt over the swell of his gut. Luca uses his weight to push the kid to the ground until he's completely immobilized, his arms trapped within Luca's legs.

Somewhere nearby, the lady is still probably bleeding out. Or not. The kid isn't sure about how all that works. He's seen the aftermath more than enough times, but the before is fuzzy. How long will she lie there while Luca tears the kid a new one? Maybe she's still watching from behind her glassy eyes.

The kid shakily keeps asking, "What's going on?" And it doesn't matter that Luca seems hellbent on just instilling terror; the questions keep coming.

The verbal spew continues until Luca's jeans are pooled at his feet. He's bare from the waist down and the sight is so sudden a shrill laugh escapes the kid's tense mouth. Luca stands and rolls his eyes while pulling his shirt over his head. Even while the kid stammers out another, "What're you gonna do?" He can't help but follow the path of Luca's hair along his arms, stomach, and chest.

Luca lets out a grunt before reaching for the kid's hair again. With a wince, he allows himself to be hauled until he's on his knees, his face unbearably close to Luca's hairy cunt.

"Couldn't help but get a little too into it while watching you," he says slyly, still smiling, and his hands roam aimlessly around the kid's face. "You shouldn't have shown me how good you are at this shit. You really shouldn't show off in front of the others."

Before the kid can spit wasn't plannin' on it , Luca pulls his face against his cunt. Stubbornly, the kid keeps his mouth closed and his breath held. He refuses to let any more of Luca invade his senses. But he can only hold out for so long and when he relents with a gasp, Luca spreads his labia and pushes the kid's face deeper.

"Hurry it up," Luca groans and rolls his hips, bucking his fat clit against the kid's nose.

The kid braces himself with his hands on Luca's sweaty thighs, inhaling another deep breath before licking him.

"Nah—suck on it." The fingers dancing over his face go to his hair and the stinging pain is back. "Suck my dick."

The kid complies because he knows he has no choice, especially after seeing what happened to the lady. The sharp, musky taste does nothing to help his unease. Luca's saltier, sweatier than the lady was and his clit is much bigger. It throbs under the kid's tongue and judging by the way he groans, it must be a hell of a lot more sensitive than a regular clit.

Despite himself, the kid feels his face growing warm and he knows it isn't just because of the awful heat. There's more of that absence between his legs. It's as if he knows what's likely coming, his body preparing himself for the intrusion. The kid is only mildly unnerved to realize he wouldn't mind it, just as long as it didn't kill him like that lady.

The thought of her brings him back to reality and desperate to leave it behind, the kid looks up at Luca, leaning back to meet his eyes.

"What?"

The kid parts from his clit, moving slowly to not risk getting his hair pulled again, and he drags his tongue over Luca's clit.

"Ohhh— fuck ."

The kid kind of feels like he's in a porno right now, half-unwilling and half-interested. It's hard to wrap his head around everything he's seen and everything he's feeling, so he just doesn't think about it.

"You ready to take it, or what?"

The kid nods and Luca grabs his head, pushing his dick on the kid's face. Grinding on the long bridge of his nose like an animal rutting. The kid takes it, bowing under the pressure of Luca's firm hand. Taking it is almost too easy when he closes his eyes and gets swept away.

The thighs under his hands tense and flex as Luca pushes against him. The kid opens his mouth wider, lapping up the slickness spreading between his thighs and sucking on his clit. Losing himself in the task. Pointedly not thinking about the dead woman and the powerful hands gripping his skull.

Luca is loud now that they're alone and the kid can't help but wonder if he was holding back. He can't think of a reason for why and he quickly brushes it off.

Luca's low, breathless moans get swallowed by the surrounding trees and the buzz of cicadas. They're far out enough they haven't seen a single car pass since they reached the truck. Luca could finish, snap the kid's neck, and be on his merry way. No one would notice or miss him. It makes him uneasy, but at the same time, he hollows his cheeks and sucks harder, establishing a pace that soon gets Luca bucking his hips.

Watching him come undone is doing something for the kid, because at some point, one of his hands ends up between his legs.

"Oh, you like that? Nasty fucker," Luca groans and grinds against the kid's face harder.

The kid is somewhere else now, lost in the haze of arousal and distant fear. He slips a finger into himself, shocked at how easily it slides in.

He recalls what Luca said earlier— See, if you angle them like this—curl up, towards her bellybutton… —and he slams his finger up, curls it into that spot and gasps into Luca's hot cunt. Yeah, listen to that. Just keep slamming into that spot like you wanna fuckin' kill her.

Each time he thrusts his finger deeper, he openly, unabashedly moans into Luca's pussy. Luca rewards him with harder grinding, a firmer hand anchored on the back of his head. The way he caresses his hair almost feels loving, if the kid deludes himself.

When Luca cums, his clit throbs and his fingers tighten painfully in the kid's cropped hair. The pain is more than he's felt in recent memory, his scalp tender from the brutalization, and he cums with a pathetic whimper all over his hand.

"Oh, same time? How romantic of you," Luca snickers and abruptly pulls the kid to his feet before pushing him back into the chair.

It feels like he's been taken up by a whirlwind—everything is happening so quickly he can hardly make sense of it. While his cunt is still throbbing in the aftermath, Luca immediately gets to work, pulling his jeans back on and tossing their shit into the truck's backseat. The lady's glassy eyes remain locked on the kid and he finds himself frozen. He can't believe Luca's able to think straight after all that.

As Luca impatiently gestures for the kid to stand, he knows now is not the time to disobey.

When he stands and pulls his jeans back on, they're damp from the sweat and mud. Although he doesn't want to, he looks at the lady and asks, "What about her?"

Luca, mid-placing the chairs into the bed, glances over his shoulder and shrugs. "Nothin' left to use, unless you're a sick bastard," he says flippantly and looks at the kid. "What? You wanna take her to go?"

The kid's stomach churns and before he can dwell on it, he walks to the truck.

"That's my boy," Luca grins and the kid can't help but hone in on the truth of the pet name. It seems that for better or worse, he belongs to Luca in some way.

The kid climbs into the truck because there is nothing else he can do.

[solsta23]

I don’t smoke or anything but this—this is something I think about a lot 😭😭😭🙏🏽

picture them sitting in your lap, back to your chest with your arms around them. you hold your vape pen in one hand, bringing it to their lips often as something plays quietly in the background.

“oh, you are high aren’t you, sweetheart?”

a pathetic nod, eyes bloodshot and glassy, pupils dilated as they stare back.

“it feels good, doesn���t it?”

a bashful whimper as they try to drop eye contact.

“aw, no reason to be nervous. i just want to make sure you’re enjoying yourself properly.”

after a pause, they look back up at you, eyes wide.“yeah, it feels good.”

“do you know what would feel even better?”

not waiting for a reply, you start drawing caresses along their body with your free hand. down their arms, back up. the soft drag of your nails down their back. a hand in their hair to pull them to rest back against your shoulder as you lift the vape to their mouth again.

“that’s it, angel. suck for me.”

every hit lowers their walls another inch. the tension has slowly been melting from their body, they’re laughing a little more, leaving thoughts unfinished.

this is the perfect position to whisper in their ear - “you look perfect like this. pliant and sweet in my arms, right where you belong.”

you can watch the goosebumps roll across their skin as your lips brush their ear. another hit, and you use the distraction to close the distance and trace the shell of their ear with your tongue, nipping at their lobe. a full body shiver, this time. your teeth on their neck are rewarded with a gasp that shifts into a smoky moan when your teeth sink in.

satisfied that they’ll stay put, you can resume your other hand’s journey. trailing your hand across their chest to trace along their nipples and sternum and collarbones. digging your nails in slightly along their ribs to make them sigh your name. grasping their hip and grinding them down into your lap as you suck and bite along their throat.

they buck their hips slightly in your lap, silently requesting your hand move to where they clearly need it most. you make them take a hit at the same time that you deliver a light tap between their legs in punishment. lungs full, they can barely let out a noise in response, eyes glistening wide and cheeks pink with lust.

“ah ah ah, dear. i’ll be doing the thinking for both of us tonight, and you’ll take what i give you.”

[solsta23]

leftovers - 2

content: anal, choking, intoxication (mystery apocalypse beer), noncon/rape, object insertion, punching, strap-sucking, virginity loss (but it's horrible)

10k words -> third part to come

my patreon (chapters are posted one month before becoming available for free). reblogs and feedback are very appreciated.

It takes a few more minutes of driving before Cal changes course. There's a barely visible break in the trees and he stops the jeep in front of the concealed opening. This all feels like they're in an old spy flick. Passed it, the warm headlights reveal precious little aside from more of the same; dense foliage and aimlessly drifting insects.

Cal fixes her in place with a harsh glare before leaving the jeep and opening a hidden gate. His movements are stiff and urgent despite his nonchalance displayed in the driver's seat. Long skinny limbs and awkward gait. Then, he rolls the jeep forward and closes the gate behind them.

When he gets back in the car, Isabel squirms with unease and watches the concealed gate disappear behind them as they drive deeper into the forest. A sense of finality creeps into Isabel's bones until it feels like something that's been part of her since the beginning. Cal's fingers flex and flutter around the wheel as he eagerly drums it. His presence is not helping her state of mind in the slightest. The excitement is infectious but it's mixed with dread as Isabel examines their amorphous and dark surroundings. Nothing but blurred trees and uniform blackness.

Now that they're close, he has also fallen silent and Isabel begrudgingly can't decide if she prefers the quiet or not. She knows she does not have much time. The window is rapidly closing and she's nowhere near breaking free. Her heart sinks and Cal exclaims, "There it is!"

A squat cabin has abruptly come into view. The road leading up to this clearing was flanked by massive trees, effectively hiding them from the highway and keeping the small clearing out of sight. It's hard to make out much with the lack of light, especially when Cal switches the headlights off.

When he parks, he gives Isabel a long, thoughtful look instead of immediately exiting the car. It does not bode well and she finds herself woozy with anticipation.

Then, as though being slapped out of his stupor by something unseen, Cal jerks back and scowls at her. Isabel begins to suspect he is not completely sane. She wonders if he ever has been.

The short walk to the cabin is uneventful. Cal unties Isabel and forces her to walk in front of him. One of his hands keeps her wrists in a grip so hard it feels like her bones are separating. Running seems futile even if she could wriggle out of his vice-grip.

"C'mon," he murmurs against her neck, leaning down behind her, so close she feels the heat of his breath. "Home sweet home." He pushes her inside.

Isabel looks around the cramped space. The wood-paneled walls are littered with various weapons, hides, and spoils from successful hunts. A wood stove is the center of the room with everything surrounding it like planets orbiting the sun. There is no designated kitchen, but the stove has a few utensils scattered around it. Cal goes uncharacteristically silent as she takes everything in.

Not knowing what to say, Isabel tries, "It's nice." It looks about how she imagined.

Cal frowns thoughtfully and pushes her toward the squashed couch. It's upholstered with a floral print and heavily stained. Isabel declines, inquiring about the dark splotches on one of the cushions. Before she has a chance to move, Cal takes her foot and loops a new length of rope around her ankle, tying it securely to one of the couch's legs. This seems unnecessary with her wrists already bound, but he's behaving erratically.

Nerves send a strained chuckle from her lips and she attracts his eye again. "Ah," she doesn't know what to say and blurts, "So, what're we gonna do?" Fuck me— she wants to kick herself. That sounded flirty, or like she wanted to encourage him. It's just her luck. When she looks up at him, he's smiling eagerly.

"You sound antsy," he remarks and sits on the couch next to her. Her weight makes him involuntarily shift closer—attracting him by just sitting there.

Isabel forces out a soft laugh and wonders what is deluding her into trying to be so polite. "I'm just curious," she says because she doesn't know what else to say.

Cal hums thoughtfully and gives her a long, unreadable look. His eyes are clear blue and she sees herself reflected there—petrified. Finally, Cal breaks the tense moment. "Let's drink," he says and stands, his mind already made up.

Isabel can't help but speak up, now she's genuinely curious and straining for any information. "I didn't think there was manufacturing going on—at any level."

Cal walks behind the couch and out of view. Isabel is left trying and failing to spot him over her shoulder.

Between sounds of his rummaging, Cal calls out, "They really don't tell you shit, do they?"

Isabel squirms against her restraints in discomfort. "I guess not." She can't deny it.

"I trade with these guys who know how to brew. I dunno what to tell you."

It's been years since her last drink. It was an unpleasant occasion and she was not too broken up when their community's leaders announced the last of their reserved alcohol had been consumed. At the time, that was that. There was no point in considering the outside world because she had no reason to think of it.

"How long's it been since you've had any?"

Isabel bristles. It's like he's reading her mind. "Too long," she answers honestly, seeing no point in lying.

" Ooh ," Cal emits from somewhere behind. Isabel has an increasing need to see what he's doing. "Be specific."

"I don't know—maybe seven years?"

Cal lets out another pleased sound and she hears footsteps. He emerges, carrying a handful of unmarked glass bottles, clinking merrily together.

"Here."

He hands her one and she clumsily holds it with her bound hands. Cal settles on his end of the couch, leaning against the arm and spreading his thighs wide apart. When her eyes involuntarily drop to his crotch, a sly smile spreads across his face. Isabel shudders and feels phantom hands crawl over her.

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

Isabel grimaces and stares at the bottle in her hands. "Do you have a bottle opener?" Suddenly, she really wants this drink.

Cal rolls his eyes and lunges forward, snatching the bottle from her. He twists the cap off with one swift movement that makes the tendons in his skinny forearm stand out.

"Thanks," Isabel says reluctantly and takes the neck from him.

"Anytime," he snaps back with a grin that looks a bit more unsettling than he probably means to. Then, he opens one of the remaining bottles and immediately tips it back, chugging half of it while Isabel silently watches on.

When he stops, he holds the bottle by the neck and examines her. There is something about his eyes that makes her feel like he's dissecting her. Flaying each layer of skin slowly, lovingly, making up for all the lost time. With a twinge of unease, Isabel realizes she still can barely recall high school. She figured the more time spent with him, the stronger her recollection would get. No luck. Four years forever reduced to flashes.

"What're you thinking about?" Cal asks and takes another drink, pointing at her with the bottle. It all feels too playful as though they're old friends catching up.

Isabel exhales a heavy breath and regards the bottle. It wouldn't hurt. Before she comes to her senses, she takes a sip. It's terrible, as expected, but the aftertaste is so bad she nearly vomits.

"Oh, shit— " she sputters, somehow choking it down. "I don't think I can drink it."

Cal scoffs. "What? Is it too gross for you? Did you turn into a little princess while you were hiding out? Take another drink."

Isabel's getting sick of taking this shit. Despite being bound, not knowing her location, and being with the worst person she's ever known, she snaps, "Or what?"

It's the wrong choice. Cal's wry, toothy grin is replaced by something more sinister, a little more in tune with the Cal of her nightmares. There's a hungry light in his eyes when he muses, "Or what… Let's see. I've been nicer to you than any of the other pieces of meat I've hauled back here, but I guess it's boring you."

Before Isabel has a chance to form a response, Cal stands and grabs her drink, looming above her.

"Open up."

Isabel's eyes drop to the drink, then flick up to his face. There is no kindness in his eyes and he continues, "This is just like old times, don't you think?"

Cal does not wait for an answer. His hands are on her, one holding the back of her head while the other presses the bottle to her lips. He lifts it too quickly for her to process and she gasps. Cal takes the opening and pushes it between her teeth, forcing her to chug the liquid assault.

Isabel's stomach lurches within her and she fights against the hand anchored to the back of her head. Despite how scrawny he is, she finds no give. However, being forced to gulp down the bitter beer is throwing her off her game. It settles heavily in her and she can't make Cal budge. Liquid running from the corners of her mouth and getting all over the couch does not phase him.

By the time the contents of the bottle are emptied, Isabel slumps over, squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself to keep it together. There's that terrible aftertaste again. Bile nearly comes up and Isabel sucks in a massive breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It helps a little. When she lifts her eyes, her head feels like it's spinning.

"Aw," Cal laughs mockingly over her. "Was that a little too much? Poor baby." There's nothing kind in his voice and she doesn't bother to hold his gaze.

He is not having it.

"Hey," he snaps and grabs her face hard, jostling her head and sending her into another state of vertigo. When he speaks again, he's leaning in close enough for her to see his dense freckles, and he does not sound forgiving. "You're gonna come into my house and disrespect me, huh?"

A moment passes and it becomes clear he's waiting for an answer. A new wave of nausea crashes over Isabel and she closes her eyes in a weak attempt to ride it out. The pressure of Cal's fingers on her chin grows harder until her eyes fly open in pain.

"Look at me," he hisses. "This is what I mean. It's like you forgot your place. Forgot me. Forgot all the shit that went down." For whatever reason, he sounds bitter.

"I'm sorry," it slips out, she can't help it.

Cal's red brows pinch together and he downs the rest of his drink. Isabel's eyes remain glued to his throat, watching him swallow and wet his lips.

"Drink another one or I'll force it down again," he says bluntly before opening a second beer for her.

Isabel hesitates before taking it, trying to gauge her state. It is difficult when hindered by the watched, naked feeling she gets from Cal's steady blue stare. Nothing in his expression suggests any mercy. Isabel chugs it down as quickly as she can, tossing the bottle on the couch when she's finished.

With two drinks downed on an empty stomach, after staying sober for years, Isabel is feeling it. It is becoming difficult to discern what she's thinking of all this. That warmth's been unfurled deep in her gut since earlier, lingering against her wishes, and the flush she gets from the alcohol. Maybe the drinks are stronger than she thinks. Maybe he put something in them.

"Good!" His voice is too loud and she winces. "Damn," he continues at the same volume. "You're really a lightweight. Hey, don't worry, it's good for me, bad for you."

Isabel sniffles and blinks hard. "I'm fine," she says, just desperate for something to fill the silence.

"Whatever," Cal sits heavily on the opposite side of the couch and regards her. "You're a little tipsy. Let me think."

Isabel purses her lips and looks away. She is more than happy to leave him to his devices while she mulls over her options. There is a distant voice in the back of her mind that insists she should still be scared. But the warm, fuzzy feeling from the drink has her brushing it off.

For nothing but to ease her mind, Isabel asks, "There wasn't anything off about the drinks, was there?"

Cal takes a sip from his and shrugs. "I dunno. Do you feel weird?"

"I feel like I was more upset a minute ago."

Sharp blue eyes travel down her body and heat rushes with the path he draws. Cal emits a quiet and satisfied hum. "Oh, it's nothing," he says, smiling in a way that suggests otherwise.

"Okay," Isabel hesitantly says.

"Well, I have a proposition for you."

"Okay," Isabel repeats and rests her hands on her thighs, feeling how warm she is through her sweats. It's almost like she's running a fever.

Cal leans closer, holding her gaze with his brilliant blues. "If you let me take off your sweats, I'll untie one of your hands."

There has to be a catch. Isabel gives him a careful look and considers it (that voice in the back of her head screams for her to start thinking again). "Why's that a good deal?"

"Aren't those uncomfortable?" Cal pointedly looks at her wrists and takes another drink. If he's drinking so freely, hers must be fine as well. However, it isn't lost on her that he could've set aside her bottles. Maybe that's what the rummaging was.

Isabel suddenly feels that wariness creep back into her, possessing her and casting out the fuzzy feelings from the drink. Her realization does nothing against the physical effects though and she can't shake the sensitive, swollen need between her legs. As she regains her grip on herself, it becomes a growing concern.

"They're fine," she finally says.

Her hesitation must come through in her voice because Cal inches closer, sneering. "You don't wanna take me up on this?"

Isabel shakes her head and looks away.

"Fine—you never were the sharpest tool in the shed. Maybe I was playing nice for a reason. This was all supposed to be the prelude."

"To what? How long have you been following me?"

Cal holds a hand up. "Hold on. One at a time, please." He downs the rest of his drink and holds the empty bottle like a weapon.

Isabel sucks in a deep breath. If she isn't careful, it still seems like her head is spinning. Vertigo constantly threatens to take her down. "What do you mean, prelude?"

Cal waves her off. "Don't worry about it, now I'm gonna take your sweats off, and your socks, sorry," he says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

Isabel flinches in her restraints when he rises. He stretches to his full height and she feels tiny looking up at him from her place on the filthy couch. The only light in the small room comes from the bulb hanging from the ceiling. It casts a harsh contrast on his face, highlighting his gaunt features, and making him look more emaciated than before. A monster under the bed.

Then, he crouches, long, thin legs folding as he moves. Isabel is shocked by how quickly he works at slipping his fingers under her waistband. She blinks and her sweats are pooled at her ankles.

"Hold on," she says, shaking. Suddenly, she's been taken back to high school—fight or flight or freeze. Isabel has always frozen, for better or worse.

"What?" Cal asks from below, holding her unbound ankle in his big hands.

When Isabel notes how his hands are so large they comfortably hold her calf, it feels like another person is thinking this. This is not happening to her, this is happening to someone far away. Isabel just watches wordlessly as Cal rolls his eyes and pulls her sweatpants off, leaving her in her sensible white panties, socks, and a big t-shirt.

"I untied your ankle, by the way. Ungrateful shit," he spits and tugs her socks off.

For some reason, it takes hearing it for it to sink in. Isabel wrenches her foot from his grasp and clutches her knees.

"Come on," he sighs and reaches for her. Isabel can't bring herself to make a run for it, not with her hands still bound.

Cal takes her ankles and places her feet shoulder-width apart. "You don't wanna make me tie you up, do you?"

Isabel blinks hard against the soft swaying sensation her head's been plunged into feeling. Something was in her drink. What will she do about it? What can she do about it? Isabel's frown deepens as she mulls it over, disregarding Cal kneeling before her. It takes great effort to ignore him. He's poised to strike with his hands working hard to disarm her.

Belatedly, Isabel cringes and tries to pull her legs away. It occurs to her then she could kick him, but by the time she musters up the courage, Cal is tying her legs to a wooden couch frame. Muttering under his breath, his freckled face flushed from the alcohol. Maybe he put the same thing in his drink, or maybe he's just drunk. Either way, Isabel feels screwed beyond belief.

"Nope," Cal solemnly shakes his head as he secures her ankles.

Isabel strains and her heart rate kicks up a notch when she finds no give. "What? What're you gonna do?" She doesn't know why she asks. She's just desperate to stall him.

"You keep asking that," he says, tilting his head as he examines her panties. "Huh. These are like little girl panties. The same shit you wore in high school."

Reason leaves Isabel and something curious takes its place. She squirms with unease, abruptly missing having control of her thighs, unable to squeeze them together. Watching him watch her is an oddly tense experience. Isabel holds his gaze with a bated breath, praying he can't see through her. For the millionth time, Isabel tells herself it's just the drinks.

Cal's eyes drop and he shifts closer, sitting on the floor right before the couch like a folded, poised snake, waiting to strike.

He waits for her to go still, which does not take long with his uncomfortable gaze on her, then he says, "This'll be easier if you don't move. Cause, if you do, I'll have to tie your shoulders to the couch. No more moving, at all."

Isabel knows she doesn't have a choice but still nods as though it's up to her. "Fine—can you tell me what's gonna happen now?"

A wry smirk appears on his face and he reaches for her, resting his clammy palms on her naked thighs. "Did you ever have the talk , or am I gonna have to tell you about that too?"

Isabel is mortified. There is little she can do except attempt to hide her face behind her hands. It is no use—she's flustered, flushed, and frozen in place.

Cal snatches her wrists and dives into her personal space, crowding her against the shitty couch. "Don't tell me you're a virgin," he whispers, sounding so eager and pleased with himself she feels she's been transported to the past.

The hand resting on her thigh climbs, idly groping her as it moves, and each squeeze sends more warmth between her legs. The need for friction grows exponentially with each passing moment. Instead of answering, some breathless, noncommittal noise escapes her and Cal leans back.

"You're still feeling shy, huh?"

Isabel drops her eyes and stares at her bare legs. Cal absentmindedly pets the hair on her shin as he considers her.

"Should we have another drink? I'm tryna be a good host."

There's a pause before Isabel realizes he's waiting for an answer. She shrugs uncomfortably, still reeling from her two bottles of mystery brew. "I don't know—I'd rather not."

"Wrong!" Cal snaps and stands so suddenly the air feels cold where his palms just were. Isabel deliriously finds herself missing the heat. "I say you need another drink. This is my house, I'll be a good host as long as you're a good guest."

His voice is grating and abrasive in her ears and Isabel shuts her eyes. It seems to be the only way to keep her head from spinning.

In a last attempt to resist a drink, she calls out, "Seriously, I feel like I'm gonna puke."

"Ah—" Cal returns with two more bottles. "If you do that, I'll make you eat it," he says with a wink.

Isabel grimaces. "I really don't want to." Distantly, she knows her judgment is already horribly impaired. If she were sober, she'd be kicking and screaming and not letting up until getting free—she's certain. Now, she can hardly muster the energy to say no and it is getting her nowhere.

Cal holds her gaze for a few long, tense moments. Neither of them move and for a second, it seems like their breathing syncs and they mirror each other. Cal's shoulders rise in time with Isabel's.

"Are you sure?"

Isabel frowns. "What the hell do you mean? Of course, I'm sure."

"No," Cal's face adopts her frown and he raises his thin brows. "If you don't drink, you have to do something else."

"Which is?"

Cal shakes his head with mock remorse. "It's a secret. I don't wanna ruin the surprise."

Isabel grimaces as she weighs her options. Looking at Cal distracts her. The strange absence in his eyes. Isabel averts her gaze and stares at the wall. Various knives and makeshift tools hang there. Quilts cover the windows—that must be the source of the stuffiness. There is not much to look at, but Isabel manages to make up her mind. She thinks of drinking and immediately gags—actually doing it is out of the question.

"Okay—I'll do your secret surprise thing," she says reluctantly.

Cal practically glows. "Oh, great. I didn't think you'd actually go for that, but you were gonna do it anyway."

Isabel groans as he says that, realizing she may have walked into something worse than having to eat her vomit.

Cal mockingly pouts at her and pops the lid off one of the bottles. "Too bad you still have to drink some. This is a different kind, though. I promise you won't hurl."

Isabel would sooner trust a snake.

The furious refusal must show on her face because Cal meets her expression with a scowl. "Fine," he mutters.

Suddenly, he's hanging over her, holding the back of her neck in one hand while the other lifts the bottle. Then, he pinches her nose shut.

"C'mon, baby. Lemme see that slutty little hole."

Isabel resists. She tries—she really does, but when she starts feeling the blood rush in her head and the space behind her eyes throbs, she gasps, and the bottle wastes no time.

Sharp, bitter alcohol rushes down her throat unhindered until she chokes, then, it's splattered all over her chest as she coughs.

"Ah, I reckon that was enough," Cal says before taking a swig.

Isabel swallows hard in a weak attempt to get the pungent taste out of her mouth. It's like she's chugged hand sanitizer and motor oil.

Cal downs the rest of the bottle and viciously shakes his head like an overgrown dog. "That shit hits the spot."

The nausea has returned with a vengeance and Isabel's head droops. Her wandering vision focuses on her lap. Her white little girl panties.

As Isabel concentrates on an imagined point on her lap, Cal creeps closer, kneeling between her spread legs and brandishing the empty bottle like a knife.

"Are you feelin' it yet, missybel?"

He's being purposely loud again and she winces. It's been so long since anyone called her that. It adds to the nausea.

"Huh. Guess you are. Lightweight. I shouldn't be surprised."

Then, one of his hands rests on her panties, cupping her pussy through them. He murmurs, "Let me ask you something." Before she answers, he continues, "Are you a virgin? Now, you should be honest with me. This is important."

Isabel sniffles and feels a great pressure well up within her chest. Something beats against the walls of her ribcage, begging to break free. A knot in her throat forms until she's forced to breathe through the feeling. The look on his face suggests he already knows. This is just meant to twist her arm. Get in her head and freak her out. Unfortunately, it's working between his unsettling blue stare and the strong drinks.

Something gives up hope in her and she looks down when she answers, "Yeah," in a voice so small it sounds like it's coming from the wind.

Cal leans back and keeps a hand on her pussy. "That's okay," he assures her halfheartedly.

One of his thick thumbs digs into her, idly exploring her through the poor protection her panties provide. Isabel remains frozen and her wide eyes stay locked on the sight of his pale, spindly hand working between her thighs. Some apathetic part of herself notes the freckles dusting his forearm. They must be everywhere.

Then, he flips the beer bottle around and places the base of it on her. It's cold through her panties and a menacingly thick presence. She instantly wants it gone, far away from her cunt.

"Now, tell me how you thought this was gonna happen."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. "What?"

That earns her another exasperated sigh and he sets the bottle down, replacing it with his hands on her inner thighs. " What? " He cruelly echoes then continues, "Your virginity. How'd you expect to lose it."

Isabel feels her face fall. Brows pinched together in confusion and distaste. " Why do you wanna know?" Stalling. It isn't as though she could do anything else.

Cal raises his brows and shrugs. The expression is too casual for him to wear while kneeling between her spread legs, his hands aimlessly groping her thighs. "I'm curious. And we go way back, don't be rude."

Isabel scoffs and her irritation is met with another shrug. His face is bright red under all those freckles and she suspects she is not the only lightweight in the room. Now that she's mulling it over, she can't think of something good to say. Truthfully, that was always on the back burner, something she'd get to when she found the right guy.

After the silence stretches on to an awkward degree and Cal's hands have crept halfway up her thighs, she vaguely answers, "Not like this."

"Oh, you gotta give me more than that."

Isabel presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. The darkness behind her eyelids becomes alive with splotches borne from the pressure. It does little to calm her and when she raises her head, the shapes dance across her vision, superimposed.

Then, she tries again and really thinks about it. "I don't know. I barely ever thought about it. There seriously wasn't a lot of time to be worried about it."

"You're telling me you've just been a virgin this whole time and never tried to do anything about it?" Cal shakes his head in faked disbelief and grabs her thighs hard for emphasis. "Can't believe no one hit this when they had the chance. Too late for them now!"

Isabel grimaces and looks away, her face burning with embarrassment. With the drugs, alcohol, and him talking to her like this, it feels as if she's time-traveled to those distant high school days. Isabel is already not a confident person. This stems from years of flying under the radar and those formative years spent with Cal breathing down the back of her neck. Being desired, even if it's like this, is an experience so unknown and untraveled Isabel finds herself taken aback. Phased despite the terror of the situation.

Cal continues and his fingers slip under her waistband. Isabel can't bring herself to look. There's a rug near the front door that has captured her attention. She traces the pattern printed there as Cal pulls her panties down.

"Don't worry, I'll play nice for a bit."

Isabel somehow manages to face him again. He's holding her panties in a white bundle and as she holds his blue gaze, he lifts the pair to his nose and buries his face there. Heat blooms somewhere deep inside her and spreads like wildfire. Cal huffs the spot her pussy was and she knows it's a little wet from all the touching. When he finally stops to meet her eyes, his face might rival hers in redness.

Once he's sufficiently familiarized himself with her scent, he places the panties reverently on a side table before leaning closer. For a moment, he hesitates, then presses his cheek against her knee.

"Do you know how hard this is for me?"

"What are you talking about?" Isabel is exhausted and the odd, disjointed way he speaks is doing her no favors. Constantly changing the subject and giving her non-answers—it is reminiscent of earlier times and she can't help but wonder if he ever grew up out here.

Cal closes his eyes and for the first time she's seen him, his face relaxes and he sucks in a massive breath. Isabel's hands remain clutched to her chest as he rubs his cheek along her velvety inner thigh. Occasionally, his face comes so close to her naked cunt she can feel his breath on her, but he never opens his eyes.

"To make this a good experience, I mean," he mumbles and his lips press against her thigh. Everything abruptly feels overly sensitive. Isabel is aware of every dry patch on his thin lips and her heartbeat erratically flutters in her chest as she watches. "Stuff like this is difficult. I wanted it to be special since it's you."

Isabel's voice breaks when she interjects, "But I don't want this?"

One of Cal's eyes barely opens and he snorts. "It's not about you—never has been."

Isabel finds no words in response to that and settles for looking at him with unease plastered all over her face. It's already difficult to string together her thoughts with the dizziness and the drinks, but it grows worse as his face creeps closer to her pussy.

As he slowly moves, he nuzzles against her with his eyes shut and breathes deeply. After a few moments, it occurs to her he's smelling her cunt. Whetting his appetite. "I gotta savor this," he murmurs and it sounds as though he's mostly rambling to himself, likely unaware he's speaking aloud. "You're so soft and sweet, I almost feel bad."

Isabel wants to vomit as she mulls over the implications of that, but her traitorous, drunken mind makes her ask, "Can you untie my hands?"

Cal's eyes crack open and he sighs. Then, he leans forward and kisses her above her pussy, burying his face in her bush before inhaling deeply. He says, "Hmm, okay," and unties her.

Isabel is fully freed—arms and legs unbound—but she can't make her limbs listen to her. Some deep part of herself compels her to move, urges her to get up and fight him with one of the weapons hanging on the wall. Isabel has always worn her heart on her sleeve, always showing every emotion and thought running through her mind, and Cal picks up on her scheming and shakes his head, mockingly solemn.

"Don't try anything," he says, grabbing the empty bottle.

Despite the warning and the cold way he says it, Isabel's heart rate kicks up a few notches when he brandishes the bottle. His massive hands engulf the bottle and he presses it against her cunt.

"Relax."

That is the only warning she gets before Cal pushes the base of the bottle harder against her.

When it meets nothing but resistance, Cal heaves out a long-suffering, impatient sigh and places the bottle down.

"If you're still tense, I'm either gonna have to make you drink more or just fuck you dry. It's your decision," he's grinning as he says this like he'd enjoy nothing more than forcing things into her.

Isabel feels like crying, or throwing up, or something else. Instead, she tries her best to relax on the beat-up couch and closes her eyes.

When she doesn't speak, Cal scoffs. "That shit's hitting you harder than I thought. Don't worry—it's not a bad thing, we just gotta get you loosened up. Been a while since I've had someone so fragile but, hey, you gotta do what you gotta do."

Isabel groans and wonders if he ever shuts the hell up.

"Okay, relax," Cal continues and pushes her back until she's slumped into the couch.

It's easy to allow him to position her when her head is spinning like this. There is an odd allure to the thought of just giving up. Closing her eyes and letting the current pull her under would likely be easier. An undercurrent of paralyzing fear is the only thing that stops her.

Cal does not allow her much time to mull it over. Time feels more malleable right now and Cal is in control of it. He stretches the moment until it crawls painfully slowly and leans down in front of her pussy. His mouth is so close to her she can feel his hot breath there, ghosting along her wet cunt. Never taking his eyes away from her face, he blows a puff of air against her and grins at her reaction.

Isabel squirms in discomfort. Part of her is detached, trying to separate from her body, while another piece of her is more sensitive than she's ever been.

Cal pulls away and lifts the bottle once more, immediately pressing the flat base of it against her cunt. Isabel's eyes snap up and she stares holes into the ceiling. There is no way that thing will go inside her. She refuses. Her cunt clenches shut and she consciously holds it like that, willing him away, making her entire body a broadcast of stop signs and red lights.

"Oh," Cal snorts with a hint of impatience. "Don't do that."

The bottle presses firmer. There is no give.

"You'll relax if you know what's good for you." That edge in his voice makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Rationally, in some deep, unaffected part of her mind, she knows how stupid she's being, but knowing this does nothing to make her stop.

"Okay," he mutters.

The pressure increases until it burns and Isabel wrenches away from him—

—but, he has her suddenly, thin hand crushing her windpipe, his sneering, foul face inches from her own.

Isabel's peripheral vision is submerged in darkness and her line of sight grows fuzzy around the edges.

That presence on her cunt presses harder, more insistently, until she chokes against Cal's hand. Her cunt relaxes against her will because she finds she can't hold herself closed tightly that long. Her muscles give out and Cal shoves the bottle into her.

Isabel is distantly aware of her hands clawing at his forearms, trying to tear him to shreds as the bottle is forced further. The pain is almost blinding—but it's hard to focus on her cunt when her throat feels like it's been pummeled. Cal takes his hand off her neck and disappears from her limited line of sight.

She's not tied, she could get away, but her limbs don't respond when she urges herself to rise.

It turns out she can still move her head, though when she finally dares to, the pain in her neck is so immense she regrets it. Too late, she's facing Cal now, watching apathetically as he pushes the beer bottle deeper into her already overstuffed cunt.

Finally, the dam breaks and Isabel feels hot tears running down her face. Her hands uselessly flail, slapping him, hitting him, and every move she makes only seems to goad him into giving her more. His face is distorted with a wickedly vicious smile.

"How's that, huh? Tell me how you thought this would go."

Isabel shudders and her gaze lowers. She watches Cal slowly pump the bottle in and out of her cunt, his movements as smooth and methodical as a machine.

Some unknowable time later—it could be seconds, could be half an hour—she weakly manages a, "What?"

Cal lets out an exasperated breath and pushes the bottle an inch deeper. It only appears to be a fourth of the way inside her. Isabel has no way of knowing how far he intends to push her.

"Losing your virginity," he clarifies, "Tell me," he insists.

Isabel does not look into his eyes. It takes tremendous effort to find her words.

"I don't want—"

She is not allowed to finish.

There's the sound of a hard slap and then a split second later, the dull ache in her cheek explodes with a new sensation. Cal hits her in the same place he punched her earlier and Isabel wonders if she'll pass out.

As her head droops, acting on its own without her permission, Cal hisses, "Tell me," and the bottle inches further.

"Okay!" Isabel says frantically and struggles to think against the barrage of sensations.

As her battered hole is forced to accommodate more and more of the bottle, Isabel wracks her brain for information. High school—too far back and repressed for anything useful. She recalls masturbating as quickly and quietly as possible, disgusted with herself for thinking of women and pussy. Then, when life finally calmed after that first, tumultuous year. What did she think of? What did she desire, if anything?

It seems she is taking too long. Cal presses on her swollen clit with his free hand while the bottle sinks deeper. Isabel gasps violently and shudders. The sharp sting is slowly dwindling to a dull throb, but each movement he makes sends a new wave of pain through her. Everything she feels resonates from between her legs.

"C'mon," he eagerly goads and starts rubbing circles against her clit. Warmth prickles over her skin like the pins and needles sensation she gets when she's slept on her arm or something. Isabel clamps down on the bottle, sucking it in instead of expelling it.

"I don't know," she cries and despair paints her every word. Cal appears to be loving it.

"Yeah, you do, c'mon, think."

Isabel squeezes her eyes shut and flinches when a fresh wave of hot tears trails down her cheeks.

"What'd you think about while fucking this sweet little pussy?"

For some ridiculous, stupid reason, her cunt throbs when he says that and he notices, groaning, "You like it when I talk to you like a slut? I bet you secretly fuckin' loved how I treated you, huh?"

Isabel's mind works against her and offers up a memory. The school bathroom, cowering in a stall, and standing on the toilet to avoid detection. It was one of the bathrooms between the gym and band room. One of those places Cal would go in between periods to freshen up, threading his fingers through the signature stop-sign red ponytail he always sported.

That time, he didn't notice her, and he didn't bother looking. So, Isabel watched from the stall and he stood in front of the mirror, grimacing at his reflection. Thinking back that far is a chore and Isabel finds she can barely recall how he used to look.

Cal interrupts her recollection. "You're thinking about something—tell me." His hands are as insistent as his tone, one of them coaxing unwilling pleasure from her clit while the other works the bottle. Halfway in now.

"The bathroom," Isabel begins, "the one in the hall with the weight room and band room and gym."

Cal pretends to think it over and nods, rewarding her compliance by pausing in his actions. The bottle juts halfway from her cunt like a sword mid-sheathed.

"I used to fuck around with you in there," he remarks thoughtfully and devotes his attention to her clit. "But, go on."

Isabel strains to think while pleasure washes over her. If she had it her way, she would feel nothing, experience nothing, be nothing right now. Her body insists she feels this and acknowledges it. Cal's fingers are rough, calloused, and her clit rubs deliciously against him.

Somehow, she manages to hoarsely speak through the delirious, drunken daze she's in. "I was hiding in there during lunch one time and you came in. You didn't see me."

Cal nods, but his eyes are glued between her legs. He swallows hard as he traces the raw edges of her hole stretched around the bottle's girth.

When he says nothing, Isabel continues, "I just hid while you checked yourself out at the sinks. Watching through the crack."

"Then what? You liked what you saw?" He snorts in vague amusement but Isabel doesn't miss the hesitance in his tone. Like he wants her approval and attraction. The notion is so ridiculous she immediately dismisses it.

Isabel shrugs, uncomfortable, and says, "You were just standing there."

"Yeah, but that's not all."

Suddenly, Isabel does not want to keep going. In her mind's eye, she watches herself watch him from the cramped stall.

"C'mon," Cal says, deceptively gently. His hands threateningly drift close to the bottle and Isabel instinctively shrinks away.

"I don't wanna talk about this."

"I don't give a shit," Cal spits and twists the bottle, drawing a sharp hiss from Isabel.

She won't be allowed a moment of peace until she indulges him, so she swallows her pride and tries not to think about the tears drying on her face. "You pulled your shirt off and I saw your boobs."

Cal grimaces but takes his hands off the bottle, placing them on her thighs to reward her reluctant obedience.

"I don't know," she continues and the blatant shame in her voice appalls her. "I couldn't look away. I hate you—I hated you more back then, but still."

"But still," Cal echoes thoughtfully. "But still what?"

His hands softly begin to knead her thighs, squeezing out every word he can from her.

Isabel shuts her eyes and recalls watching Cal splash his face with water, watching some of it trail down his chest. It was hard to tell why at the time, but she couldn't bring herself to look away. There was nothing sexual in his movement, only disdain for his reflection, but Isabel still burned the image into her memory. Presently, she opens her eyes and stares at Cal's face while he greedily takes in her despair. There was something wrong with her back then just as there is now—there is no other explanation for why the sight of his naked chest affected her like that those years ago.

As the silence stretches on, Isabel involuntarily relaxes. Cal's hands are rough, but skilled in their treatment of her thighs and she slowly grows more malleable for him. She refuses to look at his face.

He repeats, "But still, what?"

When she meets his gaze, his expression is unnaturally neutral. A blank and passive mask. Despite the non threatening nature of his demeanor, Isabel's hackles internally rise. Everything about him intends to disarm and manipulate.

A frown settles on Isabel's face. She can't avoid the truth, so she answers candidly, "I believed I deserved it—everything you were doing, I mean. At the time. Not anymore."

Cal nods, and his big hands drift higher until he grips the neck of the bottle. Isabel is only vaguely shocked when her cunt sucks it in. She's disgustingly wet despite everything.

"And now, what are you thinking?"

Isabel gasps when Cal wrenches the bottle out without warning.

He repeats himself and his stern tone cuts through Isabel's drunk and drugged daze. "What're you thinking?"

"What're you doing?"

Cal declines to answer and peers at her cunt. He emits a quiet, thoughtful hum. "Your pussy looks all sloppy now—used up. Tell me, do you feel used up?"

The air is cool against her, and she realizes she must be gaping open from the massive intrusion.

"I don't feel good ," she eventually says and her voice is something small and broken in her ears.

Cal scoffs and sets the bottle down. The glass glistens in the dim light, shining with blood and her slick. Suddenly, Isabel feels a wave of nausea roll through her.

"How do you jerk off?"

Isabel is taken so aback that she meets his eyes for the first time in several minutes. He still looks hungry and perhaps a little bored.

When he takes in her expression, he rolls his eyes and scoffs. "What? I'm curious."

"Are you gonna leave me alone?" She's too nervous to move—too aware of her throbbing, stretched cunt. It's a small mercy she can't see herself. Her pussy is more open than it's ever been and she's morbidly curious to know the extent of the gaping.

"No?" Cal shrugs and leans down, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs. "Just tell me."

"Can you just tell me why you stopped?" Isabel fails to keep the wavering tone from her voice. Every muscle tensed, her stomach churning with nerves, she doesn't trust this small mercy.

Cal thoughtfully, dramatically hums. Before answering, he presses another kiss to her, so painfully near her sore cunt. Isabel isn't sure if she'd sooner kick him away or pull him closer. Her clit throbs in time with her pounding heartbeat. Distantly, she wonders if he sees it pulsing.

"I didn't wanna break you too badly—not yet," he vaguely explains before pressing a chaste kiss to her clit.

Isabel sucks in a sharp breath. She's more sensitive than she's ever been. Her clit is a live wire, sparking and burning under Cal's touch. The gasp draws a grin out of him and he kisses her there again, then licks a long stripe up her cunt. Isabel tries her best to resist the urge to roll her hips, but it's getting difficult to remember why she's been so scared. Cal's smile deepens as she relaxes, melting back into the couch while he turns her bones to jelly.

"You don't wanna break me," Isabel echoes, her voice slurred and eyes heavy,

"Hey, don't fall asleep," Cal snaps, and his hand darts up to smack her. "Yeah. Not yet. I was getting close there."

Isabel suspected that. She also suspects the alcohol was partially to numb her. If she focuses on how she feels between her legs, that dull ache threatens to turn into something worse. She squints at the bottle. Her blood is painted on it in dark streaks. Her stomach churns as she stares at it.

"Anyways," Cal interjects, never one to appreciate the attention being off him for more than a minute. "I just wanna know how you jerk off. Your routine or whatever."

Isabel regains control of her arms and covers her face with her hands. She's sweating—it's her nerves and the stuffy heat in the cabin. She wipes them on the couch and shrinks away from the vicious glint in Cal's eyes.

"I don't know," she sighs and averts her eyes, all too aware of his gaze on her face. "Just the normal way."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

Isabel waves a hand, trying to erase the question from the air. "I'm sure you know," she spits without thinking.

Cal's smile contorts into a frown. "Right. Well, you could've just told me, but never mind."

Isabel's reaction is delayed. It doesn't sink in until he starts moving away, disappearing behind a wall.

Isabel stands too quickly and her vision spins. The wall rushes toward her face and her hands raise automatically. It feels like she's sitting in the passenger seat in her brain, watching someone else pilot her body. A low groan escapes her and she slumps into the wall. Her legs are unbearably shaky and each wary step she takes makes her head throb.

Cal returns and his hands slide along her shoulders, down her arms, and he holds her hands. His crotch presses against her ass and there's a bulge so big it intimidates her into silence.

"You feel that?"

Isabel swallows hard and nods.

"Get on your knees."

Isabel freezes when Cal pulls away. Her head throbs and as she sinks to her knees, she fears she'll pass out. No such luck; Isabel remains conscious as Cal steps around her and stands over her.

"Have you ever sucked dick before?"

When he asks, he begins grabbing himself, rubbing his dick through his jeans. Isabel finds herself transfixed by the movement. She wordlessly shakes her head.

Cal hums. "That's okay—there's a first time for everything. I can't believe you're completely a virgin. Some sluts will say they're virgins even when they've done just about anything except for taking it in a hole."

Slowly, his hands grow more purposeful in their movements and his voice takes on a needy rasp as he speaks. "I'm gonna have to leave this area for a while after I'm done with you, so it's just kind of perfect that you're a total virgin."

Fresh tears start to flow from Isabel's eyes and she tears her gaze away from Cal's sneering face.

"Ah, don't worry so much about it. Just unzip me and pull my dick out."

The vile way he says everything is still getting under Isabel's skin and she hesitates. It's a second too long in Cal's eyes and one of his hands snaps out to grab her by her hair.

"Don't piss me off, pretty girl. Get to work before I force it in there."

Isabel shudders and unzips his jeans with shaky hands. It's a slow process. The dark room and her tears hinder her progress. For once, Cal appears to have found his patience and he watches her in unnerving silence.

Once the zipper is pulled down and his worn belt unbuckled, Isabel pulls his jeans down and a thick, flesh-colored dick pops out. Before she has time to react, the dick slaps her in the face and she flinches away. It's sinking in for her, finally.

"Say ah."

Isabel grits her teeth harder and reinforces her resolve. Cal's eyes are darker than they were a second ago and he's leaning in closer.

"Come on," he hisses and pinches her nose shut.

Isabel's eyes burn and she strains against the lack of oxygen—she will not let him—

But it's futile. Isabel gasps involuntarily and as sweet air rushes into her lungs, Cal shoves his cock down her throat. He is not nice about it, impatient and already cruel, Cal snaps his hips forward and plunges himself deeper. Isabel gags and chokes on it, totally taken off guard, but it is useless. No amount of begging, pleading, hitting, or vomiting will keep him off her. It's blatant in the way he throws his head back and groans at the ceiling when he's so deep that his red pubes brush against Isabel's nose.

" Ohh— fuck," Cal sighs, and his hips mercifully still. Isabel coldly regards him with a mouth full of dick while he runs a hand through his hair. "You sure you haven't done this before?"

This is disgusting. Isabel shuts her eyes and attempts to pull off the massive intrusion—no dice, Cal grabs her and holds her there by her hair the second he notices movement.

"Nah, stay still, just keep it warm for a sec," he says as if she has a choice.

Isabel wishes it was a real dick so she could bite through it. Instead, she is forced to breathe him in, that same intoxicating musk she witnessed earlier. This time it's different. He's been sweating, they've spent most of the day driving, and Isabel struggles to place the difference. Potency? He smells horny. That's it—he smells like he's seconds away from jumping her.

Unaware of Isabel's wandering thoughts, Cal's hands circle her head, coming to rest just behind her jaw. His thumbs aimlessly toy with her sideburns and ears as he looks down on her.

"I'm tryna figure out what I wanna do with you," he muses with his dick still nestled in her throat.

Isabel's eye twitches. She isn't sure if she'd rather vomit or sob.

Cal releases her face and puts his hands on his hips, never once moving the strap. A small smile works its way on his face as he watches her and Isabel can't help but wonder what she looks like. Hands held dutifully behind her back, submissively on her knees, and glaring up at him uselessly. When has glaring and scheming ever helped anyone? Isabel laments her reluctance to fight viciously when she had the chance. The more time passes, the more certain she is that tonight is her last night alive.

"Ah, okay—this is boring."

In one swift, unexpected movement, Cal pulls out of Isabel's throat and watches as she coughs violently. Spittle flies everywhere and Isabel cringes when she touches her sore throat.

"Oh, don't be a baby," Cal sighs and sinks to his knees.

The position does not make him look any less threatening. He stretches out on the floor like a sated cat, tossing the remainder of his clothes to the side. Isabel is only mildly shocked when he peels off a tight sports-bra-looking garment and reveals an average-sized chest. The pressure from keeping them bound has made them softer looking than normal, hanging a bit lower, and if circumstances were different, Isabel could see herself discussing this with him. Asking where along the line he decided to be Cal instead of whatever unremarkable girl he used to be.

Instead, Cal slinks over her, pinning her against the floor with an eager look.

"You know, you're not tied up or anything," he muses. One of his hands holds him up while the other travels down. Isabel's eyes follow its path and watch as he wraps his fingers around his dick, slowly stroking himself as he can feel it. He continues, staring at her mouth, "You could make a run for it. I wonder why you haven't."

Isabel suddenly remembers how to use her mouth and spits in his face.

It does not get the reaction she expected. Part of her assumed he would shrug it off and that part is shocked when he sits up and punches her so hard her ears ring.

Isabel sucks in a breath as her vision temporarily blacks out and when she opens her eyes again, she's laid out on the floor, on her stomach, watching motes of dust fly across the floorboards. Her cheekbone feels like it's been crushed and it's quickly swelling. Cal is sitting against the wall with his legs spread obscenely wide, slowly stroking his dick and grinning at her. The glob of spit is still on his face and when he notices Isabel looking at him, he licks it off his lips.

Isabel's disgust must show on her face because that draws a laugh out of him. The sound of it makes her roll over, staring at the wall instead of his sneering face. The tiny movement sends a new wave of aching through her face. She can feel it in her teeth like an odd, unshakeable pressure.

"What? Did that hurt or something?"

Isabel squeezes her eyes shut and the action pulls at the skin of her cheek painfully. She is not even allowed this small comfort. Though wallowing sounds nice right now, Isabel knows it's only a matter of time before he gets bored again and moves into a seated position. Her nudity is still embarrassing her and though she's been stripped for a while, she can't help but hug her knees in some attempt to cover herself.

Cal shakes his head and moves across the floor to her. Everything about him invades her—the oppressive, sharp scent of sweat and arousal, his fiery blue eyes insisting she hold his gaze, and the jutting, obscene cock between his legs. It's all a bit too much combined with her throbbing face. Too much to process alongside the events of the day.

"Hey, don't cry about it," Cal sighs and cups the injured side of her face before digging his thumb into her cheek.

Isabel emits some broken-off, choked-up sound and wishes desperately the ground would swallow her. The pain is blinding. Pins and needles concentrated just below her eye. It feels like something may be wrong—broken—but Isabel is delirious. Time stretches on until she is sure this is all she's ever known. She has only existed in this dark room with Cal and this is where she will die.

"God, you're being a baby about this," Cal mercifully takes his hand away and sits back until she can bear to open her eyes.

"Just do it," she finds herself saying without meaning to. She tells herself she doesn't know what she's saying. "Don't torture me."

Cal scoffs, "That's all I've ever done." He regards her coldly, his dick momentarily forgotten. "Did you think it'd be different now? Did you think you'd like, charm me out of this or something? 'Cause if you really thought that you're stupider than you look."

Then, before she can even think of something to say in response to that, Cal grabs her and forces her to straddle him, his dick standing proudly at attention between them. The elephant-sized dick in the room.

Cal holds her gaze in mock sternness. "You're being dramatic," he whispers. "I'm not torturing you. I'm actually being very nice compared to the others."

Isabel can't help her jaw dropping. Her pain forgotten for the moment, she hisses, "Are you serious?"

Cal rolls his eyes and reaches down between them, passing her pussy and pressing his fingers against her other virgin hole. "Shut up. I'm guessing you're an ass virgin too?"

Isabel groans and wishes she could shut her eyes, shut him out, without risking more pain in her face.

"You don't have to be so vulgar about it."

"Is that what you're hung up on right now?"

His fingers start probing at her entrance and it feels weird. It is not at all what Isabel expected and she immediately tries to shrink away.

"Nuh-uh, get back here."

Cal's free hand goes to her waist and he squeezes her. " Damn, you're soft."

Heat flares in Isabel's face and she can't think of anything to say. She drops her gaze and stares at his dick while his fingers dance along her side and between her legs.

"Hey, it's not a bad thing. I probably wouldn't have taken you if you were all scrawny like everyone else out here." His hand leaves her side in favor of cupping one of her tits. "Haven't seen a rack like this in forever."

It's difficult to focus on his hand on her chest while one of his fingers is prodding at her.

"Please?"

Cal mockingly frowns at her, mirroring her desolate expression. " Please? Please what?"

"Don't do this."

"What do you think begging is gonna get you?" Cal holds her stare with a stern glare. "I'll just gag you."

Isabel sniffles and nods. The probing finger sinks into her ass, barely past the rim, and Isabel yelps. There is something in her that needs to get out —it feels unnatural, wrong on so many levels, and so thoroughly violating that Isabel finds herself stunned.

Cal grins wickedly and forces it harder. She's dry—something burns. The stretch is terrible despite how skinny his fingers are and she knows she will never forget this feeling. Isabel’s head rolls back and the shock sends her into a distant world of numbness and quiet. Her eyes flutter shut and the last thing she processes is Cal’s sneering face. She finds herself terrified to wake up— just kill me , she pleads to anyone listening, just keep me from waking back up here . She fears she won’t be so lucky.

[solsta23]

Print design I was working on

[solsta23]

plssss gimme a lesbian boyfriend i promise to take care of him!! ill feed him all the pussy he wants and walk him every day and do the bicep holding thing he likes!!

[solsta23]

CAL‼️‼️‼️‼️

been doodling all night and have a full page of cals....

[solsta23]

me awkwardly grabbin my boobs or smth

[solsta23]

my girl

word count (58.4k) + ao3 link

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

[solsta23]

Just got done watching Friday the 13th for the first time and now all I can think about is a lesbian slasher of my own—totally see it being the same general set up as Friday: Camp counselors who are a bunch of rowdy teenagers/young adults who are all picked off by a killer except one for one who is a femme thats dating the stereotypical jock character. She’s in the trenches of comphet and denial about being lesbian like—that couldn’t be possible right? however her doubts quickly go away once she finds herself aching and wet at the sight of the killer butch standing over her; covered in her now dead boyfriend’s blood.

[solsta23]

I was onto something with this because college is genuinely kicking my ass—please somebody come and get me 😭🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

In the mist of my crazed ovulation thoughts (and college stress), the idea of being kidnapped by someone who’d been stalking me for a long time and was always appearing in my everyday life inconspicuously, who only wants to give me a “better life”, and makes me their wife/puppy who’s always their when they need to blow off steam isn’t sounding too bad rn…

I will be elaborating on this later (and yes this fantasy has infested my brain) 🫶🏽

[solsta23]

*sighs* when is it my turn to be the final girl chased and hunted by the killer?? (Guys plz go read this—his stories are amazing)

she hit so hard, i saw god - part two

content: blood and injury, bondage, dub-con, fingering, knives, oral, situational humilation, size difference, slapping, slight daddy kink, strap ons

story masterlist

Bianca blinks the gunk from her eyes and finds herself facing woodgrain. The first thing she processes as she slowly comes to is that the side of her face is swollen so much that her skin is stretched taut. She knows that if she were to touch it, the pain would be blinding. She’s gagged— it takes her less than a second to figure that one out and her legs are being forced apart by something cold and unyielding.

Bianca experimentally huffs through her nose and almost gags at the stench of gore and rot. It’s the sort of scent that seems wrong in your bones, it’s what she’s smelled any time she’s been to a butcher. Her heart leaps into overdrive as her fight-or-flight instincts kick in. She glances up and violently flinches as she lays eyes on her pursuer.

She’s leaning in a chair, practically slumped against the back, and coldly regarding Bianca with narrowed eyes. If she were any more relaxed, Bianca could imagine her lazing around her house like that. Bianca isn’t fooled for a second, she can see the interest there, burning low but alert.

Now that she isn’t occupied with running and the absolute darkness, Bianca has an opportunity to take in her captor. She’s sitting with her legs spread and hands resting on her bulky thighs. She’s massive— all dense muscle hiding under a heavy black sweatshirt. The shotgun is resting at her side, multiple shells piled on the floor.

“Good evening,” she says. Her mask muffles her voice and her tone has adopted a diffused raspy quality. “You were out for a while.”

Bianca can’t speak and she is not about to debase herself by drooling all over the gag. She settles for shooting the other woman a glare.

Then, everything comes back to her. The shotgun, the things that she allowed to happen to her. Bianca’s face burns with shame and she fights the urge to look away. She can’t believe that she liked that. She can’t believe that she lost herself in it. Bianca slams her forehead into the table and cries out, her voice pathetically lost in the gag.

“Oh, we’ll have none of that,” she stands and slams her hands on the table beside Bianca’s head. “I have a question for you,” she waits, tilting her head to the side, “I wanna know where your friends are.”

Bianca blinks and screams into the gag, hoping that it's enough to get her message across. There is a small part of her that is unnerved. Her captor is far too unstable and unpredictable, Bianca grits her teeth and glares into the table.

Her captor’s dark eyes slide down. “Did they leave you at home?”

She lifts her hands from the table and Bianca can spot calloused, scarred palms that would span the width of her hip if touched. Between her legs, Bianca’s traitorous clit hardens against her will. That irrational part of her mind can’t help but think of those massive hands on her. Bianca sucks in a sharp breath and wills herself to remain calm.

Her captor is still talking, now behind her, “I bet you wanted to stay home. I saw you touchin’ yourself, all whiny and shit. Bet you were imagining something like this happening,” she laughs darkly, “and then it did! And you loved it.”

Bianca’s face burns because, yes, she was imagining something similar. And yes, she did love it when it did happen. Bianca is passed the point of caring and her clit is aching and it would take nothing for Bianca to tilt her hips just so, just like this—

“Oh? What was that just now?”

Fuck. Bianca belatedly realizes what she’s just done and what that means for her.

Before she can think of her next movement, she’s being flipped over and slammed so hard onto the table that her breath is forced from her lungs. Her skull throbs as it makes contact with the hardwood table top. Her captor’s eyes are inches from her own and so black that Bianca makes eye contact with her terrified reflection.

There’s a tense silence that seems to stretch hours before she finally says, “Y’know what? I’ll do you a favor. Tell me where your friends are and I’ll tell you my name.”

Bianca blinks, shocked at the shitty deal. She supposes she should expect bullshit like this from someone so clearly unhinged. She sees no way around it and meekly shrugs.

Her captor leans back and rises to her full height, seeming to be considering something. Then, she grabs the mask and pulls it off, revealing a deceptively charming face, complete with a satisfied grin. Bianca would have rather been chased and almost killed by someone less pretty. Her attacker’s hair falls around her broad shoulders, horribly disheveled and as black as ink.

It turns out, that her captor was hiding under all of that black clothing to conceal translucent white skin. She’s so pale that Bianca wonders if she ever gets outside. Bianca would have seen her in an instant under the moonlight.

“Now,” she’s rolling up her sleeves, exposing pale blue veins resting under her skin. “You’d be wise to just answer truthfully, I don’t have all night. Where are your friends?”

Bianca stiffens when her captor reaches forward and removes the gag. She nearly chokes on her own spit when she notices that she had been gagged with a pair of panties.

Bianca clears her throat and answers, “I don’t know. They went into the next town for dinner and I wanted to stay home.” She sees no reason to lie, especially now in such a precarious position.

Her captor leans her back against the wall and regards her thoughtfully. “If that’s true, which, I hope it is, then you’re kind of fucked.”

Bianca slowly regains her voice. “Why are you doing this?” It doesn’t sound as forceful as she wanted.

“I have to. Anyways, do you know if your friends are getting back tonight?”

“No idea.”

The other woman runs a hand through her disheveled hair. “Huh, well, I gotta figure out what to do now.”

Bianca watches, slack-jawed, as her captor gathers her things and steps towards the door. She looks over her shoulder at the last moment and snorts, “Sit tight, I’ll be right back sweetheart.”

Bianca is left on the table, legs still spread and eyes to the ceiling. She wonders if she’s in shock. She chastises herself for not lunging teeth first the second she lost the gag. When she’s tired of mentally berating herself, Bianca takes a deep breath and attempts to sit up.

As she gazes around the small space, she notices that once again, something is off. She squeezes her eyes shut and strains to hear what’s happening outside. Like before, the forest is quiet.

Bianca has never spent very much time outside. Her family was never one to go camping during school breaks or hiking on the weekend. Even so, Bianca knows that this is wrong deep in her bones. Gooseflesh dusts her skin and she realizes that she’s holding her breath, waiting for something to break the unnerving silence.

It turns out that she is in a woodshed, seated with a spreader bar forcing her legs apart and her wrists tied to the table legs. The dark, paneled walls are covered in various tools and weapons. They all look menacing from their places, dark, rusted metal and rotting wood. There is a single light positioned above her and by its glow, she can finally see the damage the forest did to her.

Blood is smeared everywhere and Bianca fears the scent alone will make her sick. As she breathes, her lungs fill with that cloying, metallic stench that she can’t seem to escape. She can’t look down at herself for more than a second and quickly turns her attention to the room.

There is a heavy jacket draped over the chair her captor was lounging in. Bianca can see the pockets bulging. A phone!

Moving effectively with the spreader bar proves to be impossible and Bianca is prepared to rip her arms from her sockets when her captor saunters back in.

She hisses, “Get back down,” and backhands Bianca so hard that she can feel her teeth rattle in her skull.

“There’s a way for this to work out for both of us, stop fucking looking at me like that.”

Bianca licks her lip and winces. If she wanted to, she could probe at the wound with her tongue, it’s so deep. She asks, “What’s your name?” She tests the strength of the rope binding her wrists.

“Maren.”

Bianca knows she’s being irrational— her mind is pleading for her to just be quiet as she spits, “You’re lying, aren’t you? And this is bullshit, you can’t just— you can’t.”

A second slap shuts her up. “But I can, and I did. And, I have to.”

“What do you even mean by that?” Bianca is mortified to hear desperation leak into her voice.

Maren— her captor, whoever— sighs and drags a heavy hand over her face. She’s straining, holding back something, the tendons in her neck are standing out, and if Biacnca squints, she swears that she can see her pulse angrily pounding.

“Don’t worry about it,” Maren murmurs. “Now, are you ready to listen?”

Bianca purses her lips and hopes that her expression looks more menacing than she feels. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re doing this?”

Maren scowls and steps closer to Bianca. “The why doesn’t matter. Now, your friends aren’t around and may not be until tomorrow, so I’ve got to improvise.”

Bianca bites her tongue this time, the pain from the slap silencing her. When she was first hit, it was a blinding, teeth-rattling pain that nearly knocked her out. Now it’s calmed into a dull, throbbing ache that she’s sure she’ll be feeling for days after this. She stiffens. If she survives tonight.

Bianca remains dutifully silent as Maren continues, “I’ll leave you and your friends alone if you go along with this.”

Bianca nods, still unaware of what’s in store for her.

Maren looks her in the eyes. Her pupils are so dilated that they’re swallowing up her dark irises. “I need a sacrifice.”

What the fuck?

Bianca kicks against the bar and slams her head back. “No— Fuck you!”

Maren’s wide hand comes down to rest on Bianca’s forehead, effectively shutting her up.

“Listen,” she hisses viciously. “Your friends aren’t here, but you are.”

Bianca is distantly aware of her chest erratically rising with the force of her breathing. She neglected to wear a bra tonight, so her nipples are clearly visible through the thin fabric of her shirt. Maren’s eyes flick down with a lazy interest and before Bianca can spot the attraction, Maren reaches down and grabs one of Bianca’s nipples hard.

Bianca can’t help it when her head slams back against the hard table. “What the fuck?”

Maren snorts dryly and twists Bianca’s nipple. Her grip is hard and the shirt is rubbing horribly against the sensitive skin.

“Listen, I can’t tell you much,” Maren’s grip becomes tighter and Bianca can’t stop the whine that escapes her, “but I don’t want this to end badly. Can you cooperate? Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Bianca can’t think of anything but the sharp pain that ricochets through her every time Maren squeezes her tighter. She already debased herself in the forest and figures she has no choice but to nod.

Maren’s face splits open in a wide smile. Stark white teeth against full, excited lips. “Good!” She leans back and gently pats Bianca’s cheek. “I have one more question before we start this.”

Maren stops talking, seeming to wait for Bianca’s permission to ask. “Okay—”

“Will you bleed for me?”

Bianca blinks, confusion apparent on her face. “What?”

Maren leans closer to Bianca’s face. Bianca can smell the blood clinging to her. “If you do good enough, I won’t have to go after your friends once I’m finished with you.”

Bianca doesn’t need to be told twice. She nods, internally hating herself for her vague interest and lack of fight. She tests the bindings at her wrists— there isn’t any budging. No matter what angle she mentally approaches the situation from, she can’t find an easy way out of this. With a deep breath, Bianca says, “Okay.”

Maren leans back and grins again, it’s all teeth and looks vicious in the dim lighting.

Bianca blinks once and when she opens her eyes again, thick fingers are gripping the waistband of her shorts. Bianca was fully prepared to sleep after she had taken care of her little problem and she is now suddenly very aware of her skimpy clothes.

“What’re you doing?” She stammers and awkwardly attempts to wiggle away.

Maren snorts and grabs Bianca’s hips so hard that her blunt nails bite into the skin there through Bianca’s shirt. “Gotta see what I wanna do with you. You gonna sit tight and listen?”

Bianca shoots Maren a glare. There really is no way out of it, every time her eyes wander they land on some new horror— hunting rifles mounted on the wall, dark stains streaking the paneled walls, and the cloying, oppressive scent of decay hanging in the space like a living thing.

When Bianca neglects to answer, Maren softens her grip. The pain is dull, a low throb that barely registers over the deafening noise of her heartbeat. Maren’s fingers slip lower again, catching at the edge of Bianca’s waistband and pulling the fabric back.

“I like that you’re cooperating,” Maren smiles and releases the elastic, chuckling when it hits Bianca with a sharp smack. “This’ll make it easier on you.”

Bianca swallows hard and looks away from the black pits of Maren’s eyes. “So,” she begins warily, “what is it that you need from me?”

Maren teases the elastic again, dipping her fingers under as she hums, “Some blood. Preferably a lot, which is why I wanted your friends, but you’ll do if I’m careful and take my time.”

Bianca manages a half-hearted shrug. “So what do you need in my pants for?”

Maren is hunched over Bianca’s waist, her hair hanging down over her face. She says, “This’ll help you bleed so much easier,” and tugs down Bianca’s shorts and panties in one swift movement. “Also, I figured you’d like it. I know I will.”

Bianca can’t help the cry of shame when her pussy is completely exposed to Maren. She can feel the chilly air hit the feverish skin between her thighs and it takes everything in her to not squirm against her restraints.

Maren has a knife on the table— Bianca just now notices its presence. Maren sees Bianca looking and laughs, her voice dripping with cruelty and disbelief.

She picks it up, flipping it in the air and catching it. The light glints off the surface. It’s a very, very sharp and long knife.

“Oh, don’t worry about this thing,” Maren says. “I know what I’m doing, I promise.”

With that, Maren drags the point of the knife over the swell of Bianca’s thighs. The pain is bright, searing in her mind, and does not let up until Maren removes the blade. Bianca reluctantly looks down to see her chest violently heaving with the force of her breaths and further down, her thigh adorned with a thin red line. It felt so much worse, it felt like she was about to be split open.

Maren chuckles at Bianca’s expression. “I don’t want to kill you if I don’t have to, I just need some blood.”

Bianca bites her tongue. She wants to know why, but based on Maren’s erratic behaviors, she doubts that she’ll get a straight answer.

For whatever reason, her body seems to be responding much more positively to the knife than Bianca expected. She feels all warm and needy deep in the pit of her stomach. She knows she’s wet, still frustrated from not coming while being fucked with the cold, grimy barrel of the gun. If she had less dignity, she fears that she would ask Maren for some help. She’s beginning to understand why this would make her bleed easier.

“Oh, here,” Maren mutters to herself and turns away to fiddle with something on an adjacent table.

Bianca stares up at the ceiling. She feels lightheaded and she can’t place the reason. Is it the shame from getting off on this, or the blood loss? Or, is she still terrified and doesn’t know it?

Maren returns and presses something against Bianca’s side. “I gotta catch all of it,” she says, smiling softly.

Every time Maren’s face relaxes, Bianca is hit with the strangest sense of affection. Her black eyes carry the oddest undertone of sadness, even when she was chasing Bianca down, Maren’s actions were all infused with a subtle sense of melancholy. Bianca squirms on the table as she thinks this. She hates how relatable she finds that expression.

Before she can entertain the thought further, Maren spreads her legs wider and keeps a heavy hand on her chest, pinning Bianca down and keeping her from seeing.

“Stop movin’ around so much,” she murmurs, mostly seeming to be talking to herself.

Bianca keeps her eyes fixed on the ceiling and holds her breath. After a moment, two fingers are spreading her lips and probing around the folds of her pussy. Bianca shudders against her will and the hand on her chest increases its pressure.

Slowly, Bianca begins to relax and welcome the fingers in her cunt. Maren leans back and removes the hand from Bianca’s chest, regarding her cunt with an unreadable expression.

“This isn’t enough for you, huh? You really are fucked up.”

Before Bianca can ask what she means by that, Maren is reaching for the knife again, flipping it around before pushing the hilt against Bianca’s pussy.

“You need this, don’t you? You need something disgusting like this to get off.”

It isn’t true— Bianca usually gets off to normal things, like vanilla sex or overly affectionate porn. However, Maren is halfway right because nothing has felt as good as this.

The teasing from earlier is fresh in Bianca’s memory, her body letting her know that it’s been brought to the point of cumming and ripped away too many times to be fair. Now, she’s wetter, more sensitive, and struggles to keep quiet and the hilt slowly opens her up.

There’s a particularly loud wet noise that comes from her and it causes Maren to scoff. “Yeah,” she mutters, forcing the hilt deeper, “you really are nasty. Wonder how I managed to stumble across you, you’re perfect.”

Despite herself, Bianca relishes the praise, as twisted as it is. Immediately after, she internally berates herself for enjoying it. She wonders if she’ll get whiplash from all her contradicting thoughts.

Maren’s eyes are fixed in between Bianca’s legs, thick brows furrowed with concentration as she drags the hilt up and down Bianca’s pussy. She seems to be gathering the wetness and spreading it around the already-soaked outside of her pussy. Wet sounds are carrying up from her cunt and Bianca wishes so badly that she could see.

She settles for asking, “What’re you doing?” In a way that she hopes sounds far more on edge than she feels. She’s terrified, yes, but it’s an anticipatory terror that feels far too similar to excitement.

Maren doesn’t take her eyes away as she says, “Just messin’ around. You’ve got such a pretty pussy, you know that?”

Bianca melts at those words. Even with rope digging painfully into her wrists and her ears still ringing from the close encounter with the gun, she fights the urge to flush harder.

The knife comes away suddenly, leaving Bianca yearning for its presence. Then, before she can react, Maren sticks the blade an inch into Bianca’s side. Bianca chokes and instinctively tries to break free. Maren’s hand comes down and presses her onto the table so hard that Bianca can swear she can see the bruise forming.

Maren’s eyes are wide and fixated on the wound, staring with pupils blown so wide that Bianca can barely see the irises.

It hits her now that this is not a joke. This is not some elaborate prank her friends are pulling on her. She is stranded in a vast wilderness, a place rumored to be haunted and populated by one of the most menacing people she has ever met. Maren’s eyes are completely devoted to watching her drain the blood from Bianca’s side and she understands that she’s gone too far, that there is likely no way out of this that does not end with her death. Despair creeps in at the edge of her consciousness like frost taking over a windowpane.

Bianca swallows hard, trying to subtly look around the room. Aside from the abundance of weapons, there isn’t much that appears useful. A chest rests in a dark corner and Bianca wills herself to remember it if she needs to.

Maren abruptly meets Bianca’s eyes. “How was that?” Her tone sounds like she’s chomping at the bit for the slightest approval and Bianca is getting desperate.

“It was fine,” Bianca answers, trying her best to keep her voice steady even as her mind feels more foggy by the minute.

Maren smiles— Bianca wishes so badly that Maren’s smile could be less charming and genuine. She has a handsome face, all square-jawed, and narrow, sharp eyes. She is, unfortunately, exactly the type of woman Bianca always goes for.

As she thinks this, Bianca realizes that there may be a way to get out of this. If she’s very careful and keeps a level head.

“What now?” She whispers while trying to sound equal parts horrified and guiltily intrigued. It’s difficult with her mind so hazy from the blood loss.

Maren walks to the chair and rolls it until it sits at Bianca’s side. She sits there and stares at the wound. It must be gruesome, she can’t pull her eyes away until Bianca hesitantly clears her throat.

“I can’t take anymore until later,” she answers, sounding almost ashamed of herself. “Have to pass the time some way.”

Bianca steels her resolve. She can’t figure out another way out of this and she is not dying tonight.

“I can think of a couple of ways,” she says. It takes everything in her to not cringe at herself. A part of her does want to go through with this. She can internally blame it on the blood loss, but she would be fooling no one if she tried to tell herself that she didn’t enjoy the gentle times Maren had her hands on her.

She can practically see the gears turning in Maren’s head. “Oh?”

Bianca clenches her fists around the rope. It stings, rough fibers digging into her palms. “You could finish what you started.”

Maren smiles at that. It’s a slow smile that eventually gives way to a sneer. “Oh, you’re worse than I thought.”

Bianca flushes hard despite her best efforts and can’t look away as Maren looks her up and down like a piece of meat. She flushes harder when she realizes that she likes being stared down like she’s a piece of meat.

“So,” Maren begins, still flashing that malicious smile. “You wanna?”

Bianca nods and tries to think about anything other than how much she’s going to enjoy this. She tells herself that it’s purely for the sake of escaping, nothing more. One look at Maren’s massive hands confirms that her ulterior motives are showing themselves.

Maren leans in close, moving until her face is inches from Bianca’s. With this proximity, Bianca can feel Maren’s erratic, excited breathing and smell the scent of gore clinging to her. “Say it,” Maren says.

“I wanna,” Bianca murmurs and has to fight the urge to look away. “I want you to finish what you started earlier with the gun,” her voice trails off until it’s barely a whisper, “the knife.”

Maren’s eyes flick down to Bianca’s lips and she sucks in a heavy, wavering breath. Bianca swears she can see Maren’s pulse thundering away in her neck. Then, she wonders if Maren knows.

Bianca’s chest begins rising more rapidly and she’s aware that she’s slowly working herself up. But, if Maren knows, then she would do something to stop it, wouldn’t she? As Bianca mulls it over, further working herself into a terrified state, Maren places her hand on Bianca’s chest, just over her heart.

“You’re so scared,” she murmurs, “like a little deer.”

Thick, calloused palms drag up Bianca’s chest, coming to rest on her collarbone. Bianca can feel the strength there— Maren is barely pressing down and yet Bianca knows in her marrow that if she did, her bones would strain under the force.

It’s partially for the act, but Bianca half-way means it when she asks, “You just gonna keep teasing me?”

Maren pauses and blinks, caught completely off guard. “Are you tryin’ to rush me?” Her hands slowly move until they’re wrapped around Bianca’s throat, thumbs resting in the center. “You think you’re in control here?”

Bianca swallows hard and can feel her throat press harder against Maren’s hands. She will be in control if she plays her cards right. She manages a pitiful, “Sorry,” and attempts to make herself go limp.

Maren seems satisfied by that and loosens her grip. Bianca’s skin stings under Maren’s palms.

“I’ll finish you off,” Maren says softly, breaking their eye contact and drinking in Bianca’s body laid out across the table. “Be patient.”

Bianca is all too aware of her cunt being fully exposed and it seems that Maren is finally retaking notice. Her fingers are testing and too gentle as they probe around Bianca’s folds. She’s embarrassingly wet, all sticky from getting fucked with the hilt of the knife and it’s only getting worse as Maren lazily explores her. The knife is still lying on the table, just barely out of Bianca’s reach.

The rope is tight around her wrists and Bianca can already tell that she’ll have horrible burns. As she strains against them to try and reach the knife, the rope rubs her just so and she isn’t able to stifle a whimper of pain.

“Oh, what was that just now?” Maren’s staring her down, eyes wild and hands poised over Bianca’s pussy. Bianca compels the ground to open up and swallow her.

The lie comes quickly, “That felt good,” and Bianca slumps back against the table. She’ll have to distract Maren somehow, maybe lunge for the knife when she’s in between her legs.

Maren scoffs and turns back to Bianca’s pussy. “How about this?”

Bianca doesn’t have a chance to ask what’s in store for her before Maren spreads her pussy and pushes two fingers in. She doesn’t move them, just uses Bianca to keep them warm while studying Bianca’s face.

“Oh, nothing to say now?” Maren shakes her head and starts forcing them deeper, scissoring her fingers open every time Bianca manages to quiet down. “No, c’mon. You had so much to say earlier.”

Bianca feels a tear get squeezed out of her eye as she stares at the ceiling. It feels too good— Maren’s fingers are thick and unrelenting and so cold inside of her. Her clit is aching with need and she fears that she’ll cum the moment Maren touches it.

Bianca props herself up on her elbows to watch Maren finger her. She’s hunched over Bianca’s waist, her sleeves rolled up over bulky forearms adorned with those faint blue veins and flecks of dried blood. Maren is smiling viciously, occasionally wetting her lips as she fingerfucks Bianca to the point of incoherence. She isn’t going particularly fast, but Bianca has never taken such large fingers. Just as she thinks she can’t take another, there’s a third finger pressing at Bianca’s leaking entrance.

“Another?” Bianca stutters and jerks against her restraints.

Maren shushes her. “You can take it,” she says, deceptively soft.

Bianca’s pussy is throbbing and burning with the stretch, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it.

“I’ve gotta get you ready,” Maren says abruptly, her tone full of sudden excitement.

Bianca wants to ask ready for what? but the wound in her side is still throbbing and it’s become so overwhelming that she can’t find her voice.

Maren notices and leans back, still using Bianca’s cunt to keep her fingers warm. “Oh, you’ve lost too much blood,” she mockingly pouts and grabs Bianca’s chin. “Poor baby, you better not fall asleep. You wouldn’t like what I’d do to you if you fell asleep.”

Bianca ignores that last part but can’t hide her flushed cheeks. She’s surprised she can even blush this hard with how much blood she’s lost. As she thinks of it again, her side burns where she was stabbed.

It slips out without her meaning for it to, a hushed, “Am I going to die?”

Maren stares down at her with soft eyes. Bianca is sure she’s lost far too much blood because her first instinct is to kiss Maren until she flashes that charming smile again. She’s delusional. She could roll her eyes at herself.

Maren’s hand comes up to run over the surface of Bianca’s hair. “I’d rather you not,” she says and her eyes dart down to Bianca’s lips, “I think I’ve grown a little attached to you.”

“What, does it get lonely up in this creepy shed?” Bianca nearly giggles at that and abruptly realizes that yes, she has likely lost a dangerous amount of blood, and Maren hasn’t patched her up yet. The realization is like being doused with icey water.

Maren hums, oblivious to the dread gripping Bianca’s heart. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you around,” she muses. “Pretty little thing like you bleedin’ whenever I want.” Maren’s eyes narrow like she’s concentrating on a fantasized version of this, deep in her head.

Bianca isn’t sure if she should keep playing along. She needs out now and her head is so fuzzy she doesn’t know if what she’s thinking can even be trusted.

“My side,” she manages. “Please.”

Although Bianca doesn’t know what she’s pleading for, Maren seems to read her and turns away for a moment.

Without Maren watching her like a hawk, Bianca lets out a massive breath and attempts to prop herself up on her elbows. Any movement that utilizes her abdomen proves nearly too painful to bear, so Bianca slumps back down and tries to examine the spreader bar.

It’s a menacing-looking thing, though that may just be the lighting. Under the glow from the single bulb, the metal looks dark and splotchy, and it occurs to Bianca that this must be well used. Her eyes wander without her permission, landing on Maren’s back as she turned away to fiddle with something on the adjacent table.

Maren has a broad back, which is clear even with her covered in such a heavy sweatshirt. As though she was reading Bianca’s mind, Maren pulls the sweatshirt over her head and drapes it over the back of the chair. Bianca knows that she’s lost too much blood and that the events of tonight have rendered her thoughts useless, but Maren’s build is something to behold. Under that sweatshirt, Maren was hiding a skin-tight black shirt, clinging to her biceps and wide shoulders like a second skin.

Bianca swallows hard and for the umpteenth time tonight, remembers that she has yet to get off. She knows Maren is not to be trusted, but she expected to get off at least once. Then, Bianca wonders if she’s even lucid enough to go through with her plan if she’s getting distracted and thinking things like this about her captor. Bianca sternly reminds herself that she could die and the thought sobers her.

Bianca must have been concentrating hard on her thoughts because Maren huffs a dry laugh. “What? You still mad I haven’t let that sweet pussy cum?”

Bianca’s soured expression says everything that she’s unwilling to voice. Maren snorts at her demeanor and begins patching up Bianca’s side. For whatever reason, Bianca can’t bring herself to watch. She can feel a cool sensation on the heated wound and is shocked at the temperature difference. It must be much worse than she thought. It seems that now is the time that her body decides to make its needs known.

As Maren tends to her with surprising tenderness, Bianca begins to ache in between her legs. The blood loss the stress or the adrenaline has her sensations exceptionally heightened and it's taking an embarrassing amount of effort for her to not make some regrettable noise.

“Yeah,” Maren muses, “wanna keep you around just to see you like this.”

Bianca squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to smile at the thought of that. There really must be something wrong with her. The thought persists as she opens her eyes and drinks in the sight of Maren looming over her, thick arms straining against the tight shirt sleeves. There’s something wrong with her.

“So, you feeling better?” The tenderness is erased from Maren’s tone and it’s glaringly obvious that she’s running out of patience. The way she’s looking down at Bianca— Bianca tears her eyes away and tries to tell herself that she knows what she’s doing.

Maren takes Bianca’s silence as an affirmative and puts her hands back on Bianca.

“It isn’t often that I get to have things as pretty as you bleed,” Maren begins softly, already enamored by the sight of Bianca’s body under her hands. “I wanna enjoy this— Take it slow. I’m kind of glad you were alone. Yeah, it makes it hard on me but this is worth the extra steps. Can’t wait to figure out what I should do with you once you’ve given enough.”

Maren smiles and her eyes are still wild and narrowed. “Can’t have you getting away now.”

Bianca’s head falls back to rest on the table and she nearly jumps out of her skin when Maren moves. She jerks up and watches as Maren stands at the end of the table and stares her down like she’s about to devour her. Never in her life has Bianca felt so objectified. Never has she thought that she would enjoy something like this as much as she does.

“Can’t keep it from you when you look like that,” Maren says. “Just the way you’re looking at me— you’d do anything for this dick right now, huh?”

Bianca can't find the words to defend herself because before she can, Maren grabs the crotch of her jeans and holds something suspiciously large through the denim.

“You want some of this dick?” Maren sneers and moves closer, hands supporting her weight as she leans over Bianca’s body. “You’re gonna have to ask for it, be nice.”

Bianca can’t believe what she’s seeing as Maren unzips her jeans and pulls out a massive black cock. She can’t fathom how she missed it earlier— Maren must have donned it when she stepped out. Maren pulls her waistband down, just enough for the dick to jut out menacingly from her crotch. Bianca is taken off guard when she abruptly realizes that she would beg to have that inside of her.

Bianca pushes what’s left of her pride aside and chokes out, “Please.”

Maren scoffs and runs a hand through her disheveled hair. “Oh, please, I know a slut like you can do better than that.”

Bianca is blushing so hard that she’s beginning to feel feverish. It takes a tremendous effort for her to squeak out, “Please, I want your dick— Please.”

Maren wraps a hand around the shaft of her dick and nods approvingly. “Good, you’re catching on fast. Though, a girl like you probably is used to this, huh?”

Bianca squeezes her eyes shut and nods, trying to ignore how Maren’s words and the sight of her big hand around her dick have her feeling. She is sure that if her pussy is neglected for another second she might explode.

Bianca’s eyes fly open when Maren’s free hand runs along her bare thigh. Maren’s palms are shockingly cold and the sensation forces a whine from Bianca’s throat.

Maren shushes her and begins stroking her dick like she can feel it, slowly and twisting her hand around the fat tip.

Maren must be far less patient than Bianca realized because it doesn’t take long before her dick is poking at Bianca’s pussy. Maren’s staring her down like she wants to impale Bianca on her cock. Bianca catches sight of that expression and figures she wouldn’t mind if Maren treated her like that.

Maren huffs something under her breath before jerking her hips forward, suddenly forcing her dick into Bianca without warning.

Bianca gasps and instinctively winces away. Maren stops her with a massive hand slammed on her thigh. The force there is hard enough that Bianca knows she’ll be bruised, likely in the shape of Maren’s hand.

“Nope,” Maren says, her low tone forcing Bianca to look her in the eyes. “You aren’t gonna squirm or try to get away.”

Bianca bites her tongue— she wants to let Maren know that she’d rather die than get away, but she isn’t so far gone she’d say that out loud.

To Bianca’s surprise, Maren starts with a slow pace, gently rolling her hips and gradually pushing the fat head of her cock deeper into Bianca’s guts. Bianca swears that she can feel nothing but the dick inside of her. It’s thick enough to burn and make her whine as it reaches further. Bianca didn’t see how long it was, but it’s still going, getting pushed in painfully slowly.

Maren’s hands have come to rest at the sides of Bianca’s waist, splayed fingers on the tabletop. She’s hanging over Bianca with her hair forming a soft curtain around her face. Bianca can’t see her eyes but she can imagine that dark expression of hunger and instability on her handsome face.

Bianca’s heart is still pounding away in her chest, throbbing in perfect time with the wound in her side. There are too many contradicting sensations— the ache in her clit as Maren’s cock drags below it, the fuzziness in her head, and the way her chest is heaving with the force of her breaths. Bianca fears she’ll get dizzy just lying there and taking Maren’s dick. It’s an addictive feeling and although she has a plan to get out of this, she isn’t entirely sure she wants to anymore.

Maren’s pace increases the moment she bottoms out, her hands moving to trap Bianca’s waist in a vice grip that has her seeing stars.

From then on it becomes clear that Maren is absolutely in control of the situation. Even if she weren’t bound, Bianca would have no choice but to go limp and take Maren’s dick. As Maren pounds into her, spearing her open with that thick cock, Bianca reflexively arches her back. The restraints burn around her wrists and the cold metal is a firm reminder that her legs are hopelessly trapped.

Maren shoves her face into Bianca’s neck and hisses, “Knew you’d like it.”

Bianca’s mouth falls open to answer and before she can, Maren digs her teeth into Bianca’s neck and doesn’t let up until Bianca lets out a strangled groan. Something warm gushes out on her skin and Maren is lapping it up before Bianca can process it.

Maren’s face stays attached to Bianca’s neck and though she’s lost too much blood to be entirely lucid, she can hear Maren’s nonsensical mumbling into her neck.

“Takin’ my dick so good,” she groans, punctuating herself by digging her thumbs into Bianca’s waist. “Wanna keep you around— fuck, my personal cocksleeve. You’d like that, huh? Doesn’t surprise me, I knew you were a slut when I saw you in there playin’ with yourself like that.”

Bianca’s cunt clenches hard at Maren’s words and she finds herself unable to respond. She isn’t sure what she’d say even if she could speak.

Maren pulls back, keeping her dick inside of Bianca, and pulls her shirt over her head in one swift movement. Bianca barely has time to drink in the sight of Maren’s bulky form looming over her before Maren pins her to the table under her weight.

“You gonna cum?”

Bianca knows she’s close. It won’t take much between her clit rubbing against Maren’s stomach and the dick inside of her. It’s a miracle she hasn’t cum yet and she distantly wonders if the blood loss has anything to do with it.

“Uh-huh,” she groans, “I’m close.”

Bianca feels Maren smile into her neck before nipping at the sensitive skin there. She doesn’t seem to care about leaving marks in the slightest— Bianca knows that if her plan works, she’ll come out of this looking incredibly fucked up.

Still, Bianca’s pussy throbs at the thought of her neck being adorned with little purple hickies and her body scarred and bruised from tonight. She doesn’t think she wants to forget as much as she probably should.

With that thought, Bianca’s clit catches on the soft plane of Maren’s stomach and she’s cumming before she knows it.

Maren pulls back when Bianca whines and shudders under her. Seeing Maren hanging over her, bare skin gleaming with sweat has Bianca straining to hide her face in her hands. Her pussy and side wound are throbbing in tandem.

Maren stands and pulls out, staring down at her cum-covered cock. Absentmindedly, she slowly fucks her fist while staring down at Bianca. She must be a sight to see— Maren looks like she’s going to eat her alive.

Bianca decides that now is the time to kick her plan into action. Her head is feeling foggier by the minute and she isn’t sure if she can stay awake for much longer.

Before she can convince herself otherwise, Bianca frowns and squeezes her thighs together. “Did you not cum?” She looks up at Maren through hooded eyelids, giving her that look that makes all butches weak in the knees.

Maren freezes, her hand stiffening around her dick. It’s almost comical the way her face blooms red. Bianca wishes for the billionth time tonight that the circumstances were different because Maren looks like a nervous girl who’s never done this before (even though Bianca knows better).

Maren swallows hard enough for Bianca to see her throat move and manages a soft, “No,” before taking her hand off of the strap-on.

Without her shirt, Maren still looks massive and imposing, but it’s easier to see her as a person this way. Bianca suspects that her blood loss may have something to do with it, but Maren looks very out of her element all of a sudden.

“I can help you,” Bianca says in that sweet, honeyed voice. She lifts her hands as much as she can and shrugs. “I need out of these though.”

The speed at which Maren moves to untie her would be hilarious if not for the nature of the situation. Maren is still clad in her heavy jeans and a tight sports bra, but it does nothing to hide the blush dusting her shoulders in red.

Bianca’s wrists are rubbed raw from the rope, as she expected, and her ankles throb when Maren frees them from the bar. When she’s completely unbound, Bianca stretches before tucking her knees underneath her chin. Now that she has more maneuverability and her mind is cleared up from cumming, she can see that her side wound is less gruesome than she thought. Maren’s patch job isn’t the best, but the bleeding has stopped and barely soaked through.

Bianca watches Maren stare her down through the corner of her eye. She can’t tell if Maren knows what she’s planning and playing along, or if she just does not know how to react to Bianca’s advances. Either way, Bianca is free and the more time she spends sitting upright, the less foggy her head becomes.

“You want some help with that?” Bianca finds it incredibly easy to slip into this role, gesturing to Maren’s strap and acting coy comes as naturally as breathing.

Maren nods and rises, pulling Bianca off of the table by her hair. The pain barely registers before Maren deposits her on the floor and releases her.

“Yeah, stay down there,” she says, voice low.

Bianca complies and keeps her head down, sneaking glances at her surroundings. The floor is filthy. It’s stained with dark splotches that look suspiciously like long-dried spilled liquid. There are more boxes, some of them taped shut, but Bianca can’t see their contents in the low light. Her eyes move across the ground to stare at Maren’s boots. Scuffed, grimy black leather that seems to absorb the light as she looks at them.

Bianca looks up, hesitant, and realizes that she needs to bide her time. The right moment will come, she just needs to be patient. Her side aches with every movement and the abuse her body has endured is beginning to make itself known with little throbs. Maren is standing over her, black strap proudly jutting out from her hips.

Bianca swallows her pride, tries to tell herself that this is not enjoyable, and asks, “You want me to suck your dick?”

Maren shudders at her words and nods slightly. Bianca doesn’t need to be told twice.

The moment Bianca’s lips wrap around the fat tip of Maren’s cock, wild palms are cupping her head and guiding the strap deeper into her mouth.

Maren mumbles, “Wanna see you choke on it,” above and Bianca swears she can feel the reverberations from Maren’s voice all the way down here.

The concrete floor isn’t doing Bianca any favors, but that dull pain is easy to ignore when Maren is fucking her face as hard as she is. Bianca didn’t think she could get any rougher, but there must be something about getting her strap sucked. Maren’s head is tilted back, chest heaving and shining with sweat. The sight alone has Bianca squirming on her place on the ground, desperately trying to stifle her growing arousal.

“Oh?” It seems that Maren has decided that now is the time for her to look down. “You like that?”

Bianca stiffens instantly and swallows Maren’s dick deeper. Maren’s hand tightens in Bianca’s hair

“I bet you wanna cum again, huh?”

Bianca can’t answer. She does want to cum again, she realizes in horror. Maren steps back, pulling her cock from Bianca’s mouth with a pop. She gestures to one of her boots and grins wickedly.

“Well, get to work.”

Bianca doesn’t get to answer— Maren has her dick pressed against Bianca’s closed lips. When Bianca doesn’t immediately open, Maren pushes her thumb passed Bianca’s teeth and forces her jaw open, muttering, “We’ll have none of that.”

Bianca finds herself unable to argue or move, she’s pinned to the ground solely because of Maren’s cock getting shoved down her throat. It burns, but it still has her shifting forward and positioning her pussy right over Maren’s boot. It takes no thought.

Maren seems to have composed herself even with Bianca salivating all over her dick. Her hands are steady on her head, allowing Bianca to set her own pace and grind on her boot.

The dick tastes like nothing but the smell of Maren is almost suffocating. Occasionally, Bianca takes her too deep and her nose gets buried in the wiry hair just above the strap harness. She has to resist the urge to inhale deeply and let her scent fill her lungs. Bianca falls into a gentle pace, something that can almost trick her into thinking that the circumstances are different.

Every time her throat sucks in Maren’s cock until it bottoms out, Bianca rolls her hips until her clit rubs against the soft leather boot. She should be looking around the room for something to use against Maren, but she’s far too distracted by the slowly growing warmth in her gut. Now would be the perfect time— Maren is delirious, gripping Bianca’s roots and barely keeping herself from fucking Bianca’s throat.

Just as Bianca steels herself, Maren yanks her from the floor and violently deposits her back on the table. As she’s flipped over and her chest is forced to the tabletop, Bianca spots the shotgun, leaning against a chair very near her face. Bianca moves to grab it, but Maren’s hand grabs both of her wrists in a vice grip.

“Couldn’t help it— have to fuck you one more time,” Maren’s voice shudders and her forehead comes to rest on the middle of Bianca’s back. “Just one more time, before I have to have you bleed again.”

Bianca’s side throbs at the words alone and she struggles against the tight grip binding her wrists. Maren grabs harder somehow until Bianca feels like her bones are about to break. With a low groan, Maren snaps her hips forward and starts with a violent pace, fucking Bianca so hard that she’s forced forward with every thrust.

Bianca screws her eyes shut and tries to keep in place on the table. Maren is putting weight into her thrusts, not seeming satisfied unless Bianca whines or is pushed forward by her thrusts. Bianca opens her eyes and sees that she’s slowly inching towards the gun. In a few more thrusts, she’ll be within reach.

Bianca looks at Maren from over her shoulder and gives her those soft, honeyed eyes. “You’re hurting me.” She strains against Maren’s grip and pouts, hating herself because of how turned on she is.

Maren’s face softens, mouth falling from a sneer to a frown. Her grip loosens hesitantly and Bianca pulls her wrists free before shooting her a smile. She can see that moment Maren’s knees go weak and she knows that now would be a perfect moment.

Some awful, quiet part of her insists that she needs to take more. Get fucked as hard as she can before she does this because once it’s done, there’s no going back. Her pussy clenches at the thought and she’s pushing herself back on Maren’s dick before she can convince herself otherwise.

“Oh— fuck,” Maren’s voice is wavering and her hands are poised in the air, unsure of what to do now that they’re not restraining Bianca.

Bianca swallows hard, already rolling her hips back, and says, “You can touch me daddy.”

Maren audibly groans at that and runs a trembling hand through her hair. Bianca wants to push her further and ask if she likes that. You like it when I call you daddy?

Maren’s hands come to rest on Bianca’s ass before giving it a testing squeeze. Then, the dam is broken.

Maren uses her grip on Bianca’s ass to fuck her harder and it isn’t long before Bianca feels like a fleshlight. Maren’s cock is reaching so deep that Bianca isn’t sure if she’s losing more blood. Her head is feeling foggy again and it takes everything in her to not just reach for the shotgun without thinking it through.

Maren’s muttering under her breath, sounding breathless and fucked up. “Takin’ this so good. I could watch your slutty ‘lil pussy suck in my dick all day.”

Bianca arches her back and allows herself to get plowed so hard she’s moved forward. The shotgun is horribly close, but so is Bianca. Her pussy is clenching around the dick, sucking it deeper and those embarrassing sounds are getting harder to hide.

It takes a moment, but Bianca belatedly realizes that it’s her saying, “Go harder, please daddy— I can take it!” Her voice doesn’t sound like it’s her, it’s all high and breathy and so blatantly turned on that it's making her dizzy.

Maren indulges her and snaps her hips harder, putting all of her weight into the thrust and Bianca cums hard as it reaches that spot deep in her. As she shudders on Maren’s cock, her pussy pulsating as she comes down from that high, Bianca notices that the gun is right there.

Bianca lunges for the shotgun, holding the grip so tightly that the leather whines in her hands. Maren blinks, genuinely baffled at this turn of events, and can’t think to do anything as Bianca whips it across her face. The butt of the gun collides with the side of Maren’s head and lets out a horrible crack. Bianca is frozen as Maren stumbles backward with nothing but confusion in her expression. As she sinks to the ground, vicious anger flashes across her demeanor, before she attempts to get to her feet.

Something finally clicks for Bianca, and before she can watch Maren rise, she’s bolting out of the shed door as fast as she can.

It’s raining outside and Bianca is soaked before she’s run two steps. The wind is tearing through the forest so violently that the trees are waving and revealing slivers of moonlight. Bianca is absolutely not dressed for a run for her life through a forest, but she is not about to stay behind and face Maren’s wrath.

She’s come to a stop about twenty feet from the shed and she hears something inside. The mechanical click of the gun being reloaded and a low, ominous groan that shakes her to her very core.

Bianca takes off through the thicket, slapping away low-hanging branches and skidding over mud. The whole time she runs, her heart is beating so loudly that the eerie silence of the forest does nothing to disturb her. Every once in a while, she swears that she can sense Maren close behind her, eyes wild and shotgun aimed at Bianca’s head. Every time she feels this, she runs harder, pushing herself until her sides are burning and her breath is coming more and more erratically.

When Bianca comes to a stop at the edge of a road, her breath is barely coming out in short gasps. Bianca stumbles backward until she’s slumped against a tree. The bark is frigid on her feverish back and her first thought is, I’m going to catch a cold.

The thought brings a shaky laugh from her and she finally relaxes. Somehow, she lost Maren in the wilderness. She must have hit her harder than she thought.

Far above, the bottoms of the clouds are beginning to take on a gentle red glow. The sun is coming up somewhere, and Bianca is alive. She swallows hard and watches the colors bloom in the sky. She didn’t kill Maren and she didn’t exactly hate the experience.

When Bianca makes it back to the cabin, she tells her friends, “Just had a one-night stand. She went kind of far,” and the issue is forgotten. Although Bianca never tells the truth about what happened that night and how she felt about it, Maren becomes a prominent figure in her dreams. Bianca can't lie to herself while she's asleep and she can't help but wonder what would have happened if she had stayed. When she wakes, she stifles these thoughts, but they remain with her, the hidden knowledge that a part of her is still in that shed.

[solsta23]

IM BEGGING!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

butch service top that’s desperate to make me feel good please save me, if you can hear me please save me desperate butch service top

all i can think about is a desperate service top lately likeee

i’m imagining making out is getting heated and they give me a light little spank, so of course i moan

they get excited hearing that so of course i’m imagining them getting all whiny and worked up like “oh baby did you like that? you liked it right? you sound so so pretty, let me do it again for you please”

i nod because i’d never say no to that so they spank me harder. i moan again because what elseee am i supposed to do in that situation?? of course i start thanking them and begging them for more

and of course they’ll oblige me, maybe they’ll push me down to grind on their bulge while they keep going, spanking me harder every time while i whimper and moan for them

like!! imagineeee your butch making you grind against them while they spank you and stutter and whine at you like “good girl” “fuck you’re so cute” “you like that huh? it feels good? want me to keep going?” “harder? you want it harder does that feel- oh yeah it feels way better for you doesn’t it?”

until i’m begging for them to fuck me and they’re begging to be inside me

[solsta23]

Period sex >>>>

giving them the strap while they’re on their period is just another part of butch duties. no i’m not worried about the mess, love, we’ll lay down a towel. you want some cramp relief? i’ll give you some cramp relief. a little blood never hurt anyone, i hear it’s a good lubricant. you’re as irresistible as ever

[solsta23]

[solsta23]

Adding another tumblr crush to my roster because I have no life 😞😞😞

[solsta23]

Okay girls wearing low rise jeans is cool but what about low rise jeans + happy trail?? Like no, you don’t need to shave to wear them you still look gorgeous

[solsta23]

Hello🤗❤️

I hope you are well🌹

Can you help me get my voice heard

and share my family's story?🙏🏻

Can you Reblog my pinned post from my blog or donate 10$?

By helping to reblog my story, you could

save a family from death and war.🌹

Thank you very much🌸

🕊️❤️🌹🙏🏻

I’ll gladly reblog wishing you the best