.Cricket.

Your day always starts the same way. You open your eyes to the most amazing sight - your boyfriend Joel sleeping peacefully next to you in a beautifully furnished bedroom flooded by golden sun rays. Your heart overflowing with love, heat simmering in your lower belly, you watch him quietly for a few minutes, and it might seem creepy to some, but you just can’t help yourself — Joel’s too gorgeous not to stare. You get mesmerized by his long lashes, his beautiful nose, his plush lips, soft and inviting, that often brush against your ear when he whispers something naughty to you—

Fuck, your pussy’s amazing.

You’re takin’ me so well, baby.

That’s the pace, keep it when you jerk my cock.

He tells you sweet things, too —

Dinner was delicious, thanks.

I love the way you iron my shirts. Could never do it myself.

Be a doll and take the trash out.

Doll. You feel warm and fuzzy when he calls you that. You feel pretty. Wanted. Loved.

Today’s a big day. Joel’s younger brother Tommy is coming for a visit. He still lives in Austin and is going to stay for just one night at Joel’s big house, then heading to another city on business. Having never met him before, and with Joel rarely talking about his younger brother, you’re excited to finally meet Tommy and get to know him.

A lot needs to be done and you can’t stay in bed for too long, so as soon as Joel opens his eyes, you give him a quick kiss, ready to get up.

But Joel doesn’t let you - with a raspy ‘Morning, doll’ he pins you to the bed and deepens the kiss. Like almost every morning he makes love to you just the way you like it -slowly and steadily, his quick breaths tickling your ear.

“Touch yourself,” Joel commands and you push your hand between the bed and your body. Joel’s chest pressed to your back, his hips moving back and forth with a perfect rhythm, your finger is swirling around your wet clit, and soon you’re both coming, your soft moans filling the bedroom. Joel pulls out immediately and gets off you.

“Gonna be late for work,” he mumbles, padding to the bathroom to take a shower.

You spend a few moments in bed, basking in the post orgasmic glow, before getting up.

After making breakfast for Joel and sending him off to work, you start getting ready for Tommy’s visit. You go grocery shopping, then cook and clean all day, making sure every dish on Joel’s menu is perfect, every surface in the house sparkles.

You finish everything on time and when Joel returns home, you’re waiting for him already dressed for the dinner.

“Tommy's on his way from the airport,” Joel says as soon as he sees you. He loosens his tie and comes up to you. His warm hands glide up and down your arms, his eyes intent, and he asks, “Is everything ready?”

“Of course, my love. The dinner, the guest room, all done. How do I look?” You twirl for him, showing off the dress that he’s chosen for you to wear today.

“Perfect.” His compliment makes your heart skip a bit and you kiss Joel with your smiling lips.

When Tommy arrives you rush to the door to greet him.

“Hey there, gorgeous!” the man exclaims and gives you a tight hug. Your body tenses with the way he holds you so close and you gently pull away from him before introducing yourself.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he waves your name away like it’s an annoying fly, and feeling confused and hurt, you slightly raise your brows, watching him walk past you to hug his brother, but then your eyes lock with Joel’s and, scared to upset him, you smile watching the men reunite.

During dinner you watch Tommy with great curiosity. He seems nice, all jokes and smiles, but the way he’s treated you at the door doesn’t sit right with you. Trying to swallow the bitter aftertaste of the introduction, you take a sip of wine, listening to Tommy speak about his new business venture. Joel hums from time to time while eating, asks a few questions, but judging by his body language you feel that your boyfriend is skeptical about his brother’s success.

A few times you catch Tommy looking at your cleavage, his hand sometimes brushes yours on the table. This unwanted attention, the touches of the man you’ve just met, it all makes you uncomfortable, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind, so you don’t give it too much thought, telling yourself that Tommy’s just being overly friendly.

Once during the conversation with your boyfriend Tommy mentions a woman’s name in passing and your ears perk up.

“Oh! Joel’s never told me that you have a girlfriend.”

Tommy looks confused for a second but then gives you a charming smile.

“I don’t often talk about women with Joel.”

You nod, realizing why it might be the case. You think of Joel’s ex - the woman who had a child with him many years ago and then cruelly abandoned them both. Sarah’s all grown up now and Joel’s done the best job as a single father, but he often has the harshest words for that woman, and you don’t blame him one bit. How could she do that? You’d never hurt him like that!

Silence falls over the dining room, and trying to light up the mood you say cheerfully,

“I hope you at least heard about me, Tommy.”

“So much, beautiful,” he purrs. “And only great things.”

With a soft smile Tommy brings his hand to your cheek and rubs it with his thumb.

Your breath hitches, but you give him a polite smile and quickly look down at your plate, breaking the unwanted contact.

After the dinner, you clear the table and wash the dishes while the men relax in the living room.

When you join them, Joel pulls you into his lap. His eyes are a little hazy, just like Tommy he’s got a glass of whiskey in his hand, a cigar in the ashtray on the coffee table. The smoke makes your eyes itchy, but you don’t say anything. Instead you wrap your arms around his neck and beam at your man like a cat enjoying the sun. You love him so much, your heart can explode.

“Dance for us, doll,” Joel leans in and whispers in your ear, his leg moving with the rhythm of a Fleetwood Mac song.

You throw a glance at Tommy who’s sitting in the armchair, his eyes trained on you, and drop your head down, your hand running over Joel’s cashmere sweater.

“Oh… I don’t know.”

“Please, baby. Wanna see you dance.”

You can never say ‘no’ to your boyfriend, so you sigh and get up. You take a few steps away from the sofa and start dancing shyly at first, feeling the men’s full attention on you, but then you close your eyes and let the music guide you. Your embarrassment forgotten, you sway your hips to the tune, moving your body freely, a happy smile blooming on your face.

Suddenly you jerk when two hands circle around your waist and you open your eyes to find Tommy standing in front of you. He gently pulls you close to him and starts dancing with you, his arms snaking around your torso, his hands on your lower back.

Still moving with the music, trying not to show how uncomfortable you’re, you step away from him, but he quickly gets behind you and presses his body to yours. His chin rests on your shoulder, while he’s swaying together with you. You’re waiting for Joel to stop his brother, but he doesn’t. Instead he’s watching you two dance with a light smile on his glistening lips.

If Joel’s fine with it, you should be, too, you think, and let Tommy place his palms on your hips, but you almost squeak when he slightly bucks his hips and his hard bulge pokes your ass.

You throw his arms away and return to the sofa, lying with a forced smile,

“Sorry, I feel dizzy. Too much wine.”

You sit next to Joel and cuddle up to him, searching for safety in the warmth of his body, panicked thoughts swirling in your mind.

Why is Tommy behaving like that? You’re his brother’s girlfriend, for god's sake.

Probably unaware of the reason for your torment, Joel notices your unusual behavior and offers,

“How about you go upstairs and lie down?” Meanwhile Tommy plops back into the armchair, looking like nothing has happened.

“Yes, I’ll go. Sorry, Tommy,” you mumble, getting up.

“It’s ok, pretty. I’ll see you,” He winks at you before you head to the bedroom.

When the bedroom door closes behind your back, you stand still for a few moments, finally able to breathe freely. The dinner has gone seemingly fine but Tommy’s behaviour and Joel’s indifference left you confused and upset. Why did Joel ask you to dance? You’ve danced only for him before and now you feel dirty.

The men’s loud laughter is still heard downstairs when you leave an en-suite bathroom, wearing a sheer nightgown with nothing underneath. The garment barely covers anything - Joel always buys you the sexiest sleeping clothes, loving when nothing stops him from taking you in your sleep.

You need to go to bed but can’t - your head full of thoughts, your chest heavy.

You’re standing in the middle of the room, nervously fumbling with the hem of your short nightie, when you hear the men coming up the stairs, talking loudly.

“Finally,” you breathe out with relief. You desperately want to be with Joel and peacefully fall asleep in his arms, safe and secure. You expect Tommy to go to the guest room, but when the bedroom door swings open, you see both brothers.

Terrified of Tommy seeing you practically naked, you squeak and quickly jump on the bed. You pull a comforter over your body and stare at the men, your eyes widened and scared.

“I told him to go to hell,” Joel finishes his story, walking in, and they laugh as if not seeing you.

“Joel,” you mewl pathetically, your voice shaky and quiet. “I’m not dressed.”

“S’ok,” he throws, barely glancing your way, and disappears in the bathroom.

You swallow loudly, your eyes following him out of the room. Feeling extremely uncomfortable, you contemplate hiding under the covers.

To make matters worse, Tommy walks up to your side of the bed, a drink in his hand, places it on the nightstand and unceremoniously plops next to you, his palm splayed inches from your covered thigh.

He’s so close, you smell alcohol and tobacco on his breath.

“Why you still up, beautiful? We thought you’d be asleep already.”

He smiles at you playfully and you drop your gaze under his intent stare.

“Wanted to wait for Joel.”

Tommy chuckles, as if your discomfort gives him pleasure, and getting fed up with his audacity, you lift your head and stare him right in the eye. Not hiding your anger, you say coldly,

“Tommy, the guest room’s ready for you. Why don’t you go there and get some rest?”

The man raises his brow, but then leans even closer to you and whispers,

“The night’s still young. And I haven’t had my fun yet.”

His expression makes blood freeze in your veins — his lips are twisted in a wolfish grin, his pupils are blown out, and when his big hand squeezes your thigh over the comforter, terror grips your heart. You’re so scared you want to scream, but you see Joel leaving the bathroom and hope slightly soothes your soul. He'll surely stop this. Whatever this is.

Joel comes up to the foot of the bed, his belt undone, his cheeks rosy with alcohol. He tilts his head watching you, seemingly not minding that his brother is sitting next to his almost naked girlfriend.

Instead of putting an end to Tommy’s illicit behavior, Joel makes matters worse.

“C’mere,” he says calmly, beckoning you with his hand.

You’re blinking up at him, your mouth agape.

“Joel, I’m not clothed...”

“Come. Here.”

The tone of his command leaves no room for an argument, and when Tommy scoots back, you take a sharp breath and obediently slip from under the comforter and pad to your boyfriend.

You’re terrified and embarrassed, your tits and ass on full display for Tommy who definitely ogles you, judging by his low grunt, but your legs carry you to Joel and you stare up at him, all your muscles tense.

The man gives you a smile but it doesn’t warm you. Instead you feel that he’s enjoying your fear and confusion as much as Tommy.

“Why…?” you whine, but Joel interrupts your question as he pulls you close and kisses you, his tongue breaching your lips and licking into your mouth with hunger. You are desperately clenching his sweater with your trembling hands, trying to hide in the cage of his arms. Joel slides his hands down your back and grabs your asscheeks, pulling your nightie up and exposing you even more.

“Joel!” you yelp and step away from him, hastily covering your butt.

“The fuck you’re doin’?” Joel gruffs, his face in a scowl, while you’re shaking like a leaf, your hands pressed to your booming heart.

“Tommy’s here.”

Joel grits his teeth and with one step crosses the distance between you two. His hand painfully grips your arm, drawing a sob out of you, and you start trembling, scared and small under his fiery stare.

“I don’t give a damn who’s here! You’re mine and I’m gonna do whatever I want with you!”

With an annoyed growl he twists your arm, roughly manhandling you to bend over the bed. Your cheek lands on the sheets, and you cry out, not understanding what’s happening, why he’s hurting you. Joel’s fingers clench around your wrist and he’s holding your hand pressed to your lower back, rendering you unable to move.

“Who owns you?” He booms over you and you whine,

“You-you-you…I’m yours!”

“That’s right.”

You hear clothes shuffling behind you, followed by a sound of a zipper. Terrified, you turn your head to Tommy, and find him sitting comfortably, his back against the headboard, watching you with an amused expression on his face. Your misery seems to entertain him, a wink from him thrown your way is a sign of his cruel mocking, and in an attempt to stop it, you mewl,

“Joel, please, can Tommy leave first?”

“If he wants to…,” Joel chuckles. “Ya wanna leave, Tommy?”

The younger man doesn’t break the eye contact with you as he replies,

“Nah, ‘d rather watch you take it, sweetheart.”

They both chuckle and you sob, when a realization hits you - it’s really happening, it’s not a nightmare, especially when Joel’s hot cock lands on your naked asscheek. To your dismay, the horror you’re experiencing doesn’t stop your pussy from getting wet, and Joel moans, sliding his crown up and down between your folds, coating it with your slick.

“That’s my girl,” Joel coos, but you don’t feel happy to have pleased him. His words feel like a slap to your face. His hand splayed on your back pushing you down, he shoves his fat cock into your pussy in one go, and you hiss at the burn of the stretch.

“No, please..” You beg, not understanding why the person you love is doing this to you, but Joel leaves your plea without an answer and starts fucking you — sharp thrusts hit your ass, sending his cock deep inside you.

“How’s her pussy?” Tommy asks before grabbing his glass and taking a swig.

Without a pause, snapping his hips fast and hard, Joel groans, “Perfect.” He’s rutting into your cunt for a few moments, growling, making your front slide back and forth on the bed until he stills and you hear - “Wanna see?”

His words send another wave of panic to your heart and as soon as he lets go of your arm you try to move away from him, but he barks,

“Bed! On your back! Legs spread!”

Your insides freeze, but your body immediately follows the commands. Your back hits the bed in seconds and your legs open up as if on their own.

What’s happening to me? You panic, lying on the bed, seeing Joel grab his glistening cock at the base. The sight of his long member usually sends pleasant tingling through your body, but now it terrifies you, draws another surge of tears out of you.

“Don’t mind me, you two,” Tommy mutters, getting up, and for a second you hope he’ll leave, but he doesn’t. Instead he lights a cigarette and stands by the bed, drinking and smoking.

Seemingly pleased with your submission, Joel starts undressing, and soon fully naked, his hard cock bobbing, he climbs on the bed and settles between your parted thighs.

You swallow loudly and stare at Tommy.

“Eyes on me!” Joel gruffs and your head whips in his direction. Your faces inches apart, Joel’s hovering over you, caging you against the bed with his broad body.

With Tommy visible only in your peripheral vision, you’re staring up right into Joel’s eyes, the eyes that seemed so kind. They were your whole world, now they look more like the eyes of a cruel stranger, who’s using your body like you’re worth nothing to him. Mean nothing.

Tears are streaming down to your temples, pooling on the pillow by your head, they’re sliding into your throat and you swallow them, but don’t stop, can’t stop Joel taking you against your will right in front of his brother.

Your boyfriend pierces you with his cock again and his thrusts are slower now, not fueled by anger but there’s nothing sweet about the way he’s fucking you.

Why-why-why—-Why are you doing this? Your eyes are screaming to Joel, who’s watching your pain like it’s his favorite show. Indifferent to your dreadful thoughts, he leans down and licks the tears off your cheekbone.

“Hnggg….So real,” he growls and crashes his lips against yours. This kiss is different from his usual caress, soft and gentle, now it’s charged with violent hunger and depravity, bringing nothing but fear to your heart.

From the corner of your eye, you see Tommy walk around the bed, and with terror you realize that now he has a perfect view of your pussy swallowing Joel’s cock again and again.

Overwhelmed with embarrassment and wishing to drop dead right this second, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to distance yourself from the horrible reality. But Tommy doesn’t let you.

“Fuck me, she’s so damn wet. Mine doesn’t get like that.”

Joel scoffs, “She’s much better than yours.” Then he whispers into your ear,

“Told ya to look at me, ain’t I?”

You mutter a quick ‘yes’ and open your reddish eyes.

“Gave her too much freedom,” Joel complains to his brother through heavy breaths. “Now I need to repeat myself a hundred times.”

Tommy chuckles and Joel pushes his face against your neck. You know he’s close. With his head out of the way, you can see Tommy now— standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes obsidian and full of lust, his cigarette discarded, his glass empty.

A terrifying thought makes you nauseous - is he waiting for his turn?

You burst into tears at the thought and cry harder, scared and hurt, and Joel grunts but doesn’t stop plunging his cock in and out of you. His thrusts become frantic, and when he holds you so tight you can’t breathe, his cock begins spilling cum into your pussy. While he’s pumping you full, you push your face into his naked shoulder and take full lungs of his scent, seeking comfort anywhere you can find. Even from your tormentor.

After his balls are drained, Joel pulls out and kneels on the bed between your shaking legs.

“See?” He pushes your thighs down, opening them wider, and turns to Tommy. “She took my fat cock and still tight.”

Tommy comes up closer and you cover your face with your hands as the men are staring right at your freshly fucked pussy.

“Fisted her what…? Two weeks ago?” Joel reminisces, pushing his fat fingers into your wet hole and slowly moving them in and out. “Next day she was as tight as a virgin.”

“Wow,” Tommy comments, nodding and smoking.

Joel keeps playing with your filled cunt for a few moments, scissoring it with his fingers, stretching it more, and you can’t help but get aroused. You whine softly, but right before a climax hits you, Joel pulls his fingers out, wipes them on your inner thigh and gets up.

With shaky hands you grab the comforter and try to cover yourself, but Tommy tuts at you.

“Stop it, baby, don’t hide from me.”

“Fuck you,” You spit at him through tears, and tug the material over your body. Tommy rubs his cheek and smirks,

“Feisty kitten.”

Joel chuckles, taking his sweatpants out of the drawer.

“Need another drink. Have fun,” he mumbles to Tommy, heading to the door, and when the younger man starts unbuttoning his shirt, you jump out of the bed and run after Joel.

“No-no-no-no…,” you plead, grabbing his strong arm. “Please, don’t let him…”

Instead of helping, your boyfriend shoves you away from him with fury in his eyes and roars,

“Who d’you think you’re?! Bed!”

To your greatest horror, your legs obediently carry you back and you fall on the sheets, your nightie riding up, your leaking pussy on display again.

Joel betrayed you. The only person you love stabbed your back with a knife and keeps twisting the blade. But what’s even scarier is the fact that your body betrayed you as well, and now you’re nailed to the bed like an offering to the cruel monster, being unable to run away. All you can do is quietly cry, as Tommy pulls his pants down and retrieves his cock out, blurred in your wet eyes.

“How do you want her?” You hear Joel ask his brother with an indifferent tone as if he’s offering him an appetizer.

“Missionary’s fine,” Tommy says, already kneeling on the bed and moving towards you.

“Spread your legs!” Joel gruffs and they fly apart. “Don’t fight him. Unless…,” Joel raises his brow at Tommy and the younger man shakes his head.

“No, let’s keep it simple today. I can’t have scratches all over my face at the meeting with the investors.” The men laugh before Tommy lowers his voice and adds,

“Or you can just give me the tablet.”

Joel frowns.

“Why would I do that? She’s mine.”

“Just for one night.”

“No. Never.” Joel’s definite answer shuts Tommy up. You don’t understand anything they’re talking about, your mind frozen with fear. Joel turns to you and gives you a final command, “Be a good girl,” and leaves the room.

Tommy’s stiff cock slides into you with ease, so the only pain you’re feeling now is your soul being ripped in shreds.

Joel’s ‘Be a good girl’ rings loudly in your head. You don’t want to follow his order, you want to scream and thrash, throw Tommy off you, but your body won’t listen to you. Your limbs weak, your brain obedient, you’re splayed on the bed with your nightgown bunched up around your waist, the neckline pulled down, and your naked tits are bouncing with every thrust of Tommy’s hips. His fingers dig into your thighs, as he’s closely watching your face, twisted with horror, wet with tears.

After a minute of fucking you, he leans down and his lips press to yours. His kiss is much softer than the one Joel’s given you, but you can’t enjoy it, your lips stay tightly shut.

Tommy pulls away with a groan.

“Ughh. Let’s make you less of a prude.”

He pulls out and walks on his knees to the edge of the bed, then opens Joel’s nightstand drawer and grabs a tablet. You’ve seen Joel’s work tablet many times, but he prohibited you from touching it.

“It’s Joel’s..,” you say weakly. “Don’t.”

But Tommy doesn’t listen to you. He taps the screen a few times, his brows pinched in concentration, and then his face lights up.

“Ah! Here it is!”

He swipes, mumbling ‘Sex drive - up’, dirty talk - on!’ and looks at you intently.

Something changes.

Your lower belly starts burning with fire but it’s not pain you’re feeling. It’s something pleasant yet tormenting, something overwhelming and powerful. Suddenly the man next to you, who’s been terrifying you seconds ago, looks like everything you’ve ever desired. Like your savior. You want him, no, need him to quench your thirst, to put out the hot waves rippling through your body.

Your back arches off the bed, you lips open up and you moan wantonly,

“Ahhh, come to me, baby! I need your cock!”

Tommy laughs with triumph and rushes to return between your legs, which are opened widely now, inviting him in.

Filthy images invade your mind, your core pulsates with excitement, and your hands fly to your tits as you start desperately twitching your nipples, before Tommy’s length spreads you open and you scream with pleasure,

“Yes! So big! I can feel you in my belly! Oh baby!”

“Yeah? Love this cock, sexy? It's better than Joel’s, ain’t it? He doesn’t give you what this pretty pussy needs. Tommy will fuck you good, beautiful, don’t ya worry.”

He grunts, increasing the pace, kneading your tits, and then slides his hand down along your front. His thumb finds your clit, and he starts rubbing it, fucking you relentlessly. You whimper, rising fast to your peak, and fireworks explode in your mind when you hear him offer,

“Want it rough, sweetie?”

You nod with eagerness, lust clouding your mind, and chant,

“Yeah, slap me! Slap my pussy, slap my tits, please-please-please!” You beg for any stimulation he’ll give you, and Tommy grins before his wide palm lands on your soft breast. A loud clap rings in the room followed by your squeal, his hand hitting your nipple, setting your core ablaze.

“Oh my god! Pussy now. She wants it too!” you whine, raising your hips and spreading your folds with your fingers, presenting your clit to your boyfriend’s brother.

Tommy slaps your mound first, but the second slap hits your soft bud and he keeps spanking your cunt again and again until it’s puffy and you’re wailing in ecstasy.

Slap-slap-slap!

Your folds are coated with Joel’s cum and your slick, but it doesn’t stop Tommy from making a mess of his hand, slapping your hungry pussy. Finally something snaps in your belly and you start shaking and crying, clenching around Tommy’s still moving cock.

“Fuck, yes! Look at you! Coming right on my cock! Good girl!” Tommy praises you, panting heavily, as he keeps stabbing you with his stiffness and you know that soon his cum will join Joel’s and oh! your whole being craves it madly.

“Inside, baby! I want to be full of you. Give me every drop! Please!” You’re choking on your pleas, with lust still having full control over your mind and body.

Tommy drops his head back and moans, ready to spill his load inside you, but suddenly Joel storms in, wearing nothing but his sweatpants.

“What the fuck?!” He roars, making Tommy and you jerk and freeze, as if you’ve been caught cheating.

“What d’you do to her?!” Joel furiously stomps to the nightstand and grabs his tablet. “Gonna fucking kill you, Tommy!”

He starts quickly tapping on the screen, his eyes throwing daggers at his brother every other second.

“I just wanted her to enjoy it!” Tommy tries to explain throwing his hands. “She’s always so scared and prudish!”

“She’s not a whore like the rest of ‘em!” Joel screams, shaking the tablet, and immediately contradicting his words, you moan,

“Joel please fuck me, too! I want both of your cocks shoved in my sloppy pussy!”

Tommy mumbles, ‘that’s hot’, but Joel grits his teeth staring at you with disgust. Not minding his rage, you start moving your hips back and forth fucking yourself on Tommy’s cock, desperate for another release.

“Fuckin’ asshole!” Joel growls, side eyeing Tommy, who’s not stopping your movements, but instead enjoying them. You lift yourself on your elbow, your free hand flying to Tommy’s stomach, and you glide your palm over it, while he’s fucking you. You smile up at him, your gaze full of lust, and he leans down for a kiss, but Joel taps the screen one more time, and the second Tommy’s lips touch yours, your smile drops and you fall back on the bed.

“Shit!” Tommy growls, watching your eyes go wide and fill with tears, your lips tremble, your arms cover your naked breasts.

With his cock still inside you, Tommy turns to Joel and grumbles,

“How’s this better? She’s crying again.”

Your head darts to Joel, your eyes pleading. You love him so much, you still love him so much.

He’ll help you.

He’ll stop Tommy.

But Joel doesn’t. He returns the tablet back into the drawer and sits on the bed next to you.

“Come fast and get the fuck out of my bedroom,” he throws at Tommy, who scoffs, roughly grabs your hips and starts fucking you, his teeth greeted.

“Look at me,” Joel tells you softly and you do. His face is shaking in your eyes because of Tommy’s furious thrusts, but you’d rather focus on him than on the man abusing you this moment.

Soon Tommy stills and shoots his cum deep in your core, adding it to Joel’s load. He pulls out roughly, gets off the bed and starts putting his pants on.

You’re not looking at him, your eyes full of Joel.

“She’s my good girl,” Joel mutters quietly, to Tommy or to himself, you have no idea. “She’s not a slut like my ex. She doesn’t want other men.”

You shake your head, sobbing quietly, and Joel leans down to kiss your cheek.

He licks off the wetness and his lips travel to your mouth before he kisses you, tangling his tongue with yours.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You finally have the guts to ask when he parts from you.

“Because I can,” Joel replies like it’s the easiest thing to understand. “Because you’re mine and I like seeing you cry when someone else fucks you.”

“He’s messed up, sweetie,” Tommy chuckles and bends down to slap your naked thigh, getting your attention.

Joel glares at him and Tommy asks,

“Why don’t you tell her? Who she really is?”

“Who am I?” You ask weakly, your eyes darting between the two men, your lip shaking.

“Jesus. Do you have her intelligence at zero, Joel?”

Then he bends down and explains slowly as if you can’t understand simple words,

“You are his companion robot, sweetie! His pretty little sex toy that he loves to break from time to time!”

Joel shakes his head, but doesn’t deny his brother’s words.

“What?” You mutter weakly, trying to think.

The tablet

The control Joel has over you

The way you follow his every command

As the realization is gradually sinking in, you start moving away from Joel, until you curl up into yourself, shaking, mumbling a constant ‘no-no-no-no…’

Joel’s watching you closely, not rushing to comfort you, but rather studying your reaction.

“Always hate this part,” Tommy says, throwing his shirt on. “But you love it, sick fuck.” He chuckles and pads to the bathroom.

You’re alone with Joel now. He’s sitting quietly by your side, his intent gaze set on you, while your head is about to explode. They must be kidding. They’re lying to you. You can’t be … that.

You feel pain. You feel love. You love Joel.

“I love you,” you murmur, staring up at your boyfriend, as if trying to break the spell that has turned him into your owner. But it doesn’t help.

Joel nods as if he’s heard it a thousand times, and he probably has, and reaches for the drawer again.

He makes you sit up and shows you the program that controls you. With your tearful eyes you see the settings that can change you — your mood, your personality, your intelligence. What you like, what you hate, who you love…

‘Joel Miller’

While he’s talking, Tommy emerges from the bathroom and announces that he’s leaving.

Still shocked to your core, you barely feel Tommy kiss the top of your head, but hear him say to you,

“Tomorrow you won’t remember anything, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

The thought that this night can happen again makes you start crying and Joel kisses your cheek and pulls you onto his lap. He’s holding you close, while you’re sobbing into the crease of his neck.

He sighs and says quietly,

“She broke me, doll. I loved her and she broke me. Now I can break someone who loves me. Again and again.”

“Does it make you feel better?” You ask, trying to search for any consolation. Joel takes a deep breath but remains silent.

You’re crying quietly in his arms until he yawns and mumbles,

“Let’s go to sleep. M’exhasted.”

You want to scream at him HOW CAN I SLEEP NOW? HOW CAN I DO ANYTHING? But you don’t.

Instead you listen to Joel. You clean yourself up, change your nightgown and get into bed with him as if this nightmare of a night hasn’t happened. But it has and now your soul is nothing but a black empty hole.

After giving you a soft good night kiss, Joel taps something on his tablet and your vision goes to black.

The next day you wake up to the most wonderful sight - your boyfriend Joel, sleeping peacefully next to you. You watch him for a few minutes, your heart overflowing with love, your belly full of butterflies.

The story is inspired by the movie Companion (2025). I highly recommend watching it if you haven’t.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story!💞

MASTERLIST

Shell-shock has you by the throat, making you swallow thickly beneath a flared breath, trying to keep cool, the same way you would when encountering any other wild animal—no sudden movements—talking to him just so, like a beast who could and very likely would kill you if you weren’t very, very, very careful.

“Hi…”

His lips move, talking to you, but you’re unable to catch any of it over the sound of your own blaring heartbeat. Ears ringing, rushing with blood, feeling faint, looking at the ghost-of-suppressed-past as if he’d come only to remind you of what you can’t forget.

“Grab coffee with me?” he asks eagerly, eyes bright, beaming, loud, looking as surprised as you felt, though without the fear, to have bumped into you like this—like a scene straight out of a movie. 

It’s all odd and nothing short of terrifying. But even odder and more horrifying still, there’s a smile on his face—giddy looking, of all things.

It was a good imitation of normalcy. You’re sure, from an outsider's perspective, it couldn’t have looked any different from two estranged sweethearts stumbling into each other, a much-awaited long time, no see. And yet, despite the effort, none of it relieved the feeling of being robbed at gunpoint. 

“Uh—I was just, uhm…” You struggle to find the words. Your throat is like a dry well, heaving up empty buckets, delayed in answering the first question, “Heading home.”

Eerily sharp, inspecting you like a security screener, his eyes don’t dither, and neither does his voice—pressing on, just as keenly as before, insisting, “My treat? For old times' sake?”

You can’t help but regard it the same way you would the gun being cocked. “Uhm…” Praying to whomever might take pity enough to listen to you, while you empty your purse for all the measly value that it’s worth. 

“Okay.”

You’re led away by a grip on your wrist. It’s not too tight—nothing you wouldn’t be able to rip yourself free from if you tried—but for some reason, it still feels impossible. It’s the same when he ushers you down on a seat by a tiny two-seater table inside a cute sundae cafe while he goes to stand in line to order. Despite the many inner voices, some whispering and others screaming, telling you to go now that he’s got his back turned, you remain right there, statuesque, trying to remember how you’d usually make your feet move, but coming up empty-handed with a feeling of utter foolishness that all but jeers at you, telling you that you only have yourself to blame.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just bought the most expensive thing,” he returns with two flamboyant, syrupy mocha coffees topped with whipped cream and marshmallows, sitting down opposite you. 

“That wasn’t a brag—I’m just—I don’t know what to say…”

He seems nervous, too. Or no, not nervous, but excited, sitting strangely straight-backed on the tiny wooden café chair, both his hands wrapped around the acrylic of his cup, fingers locked, glistening wet with dewdrops dripping down its sides—it’s impossible to tell if any of it’s genuine or not.

You don’t touch your own. Actually, you don’t do anything. You just end up sitting there. Waiting, wondering, in anxiety, still rattled by the shock, partly in disbelief, thinking—hoping—you only fell asleep in your cubicle back at the office and are having the strangest nightmare you’ve had in a while.

“You’re nowhere to be found,” he suddenly states after your silence, making you snap out of your ponder, blinking at him, still startled to see him sitting there, in the flesh. 

You can only muster up a “What?”

It makes him laugh—an awkward, slightly impatient type of laugh. “I mean.” He scratches the back of his neck and looks off to the side as if sheepish about something, explaining, “I couldn't find you anywhere on social media.”

Your face blanches anew.

He’s been looking for you? The thought makes your gut twist even tighter. You knew he would, but still? Has he been looking for you all this time? Did you really just stumble into him at random, or was all of this some twisted act? Why? What does he want?

Why can’t he just leave you alone?

You grab your drink, if only to let the taste of sugar distract you. Answering curtly, “Oh, yeah, I don’t use my real name anymore. So many scammers and stuff, you know...” You take a sip, aggressive enough to give you brainfreeze—thinking anything’s better than this burn that’s all but consumed you from head to toe.

He lifts his drink up to his mouth as well. “Smart girl. Glad to see you finally protecting yourself.”

You both drink for another long pause.

He drums a beat on the table while looking up at the ceiling, then out the window, in some way looking like he’s thinking up things to say, and in another way looking like he’s holding himself back from saying what he really wants.

He looks older—you notice against your will—bigger. Not surprising, given the years that have passed since you last saw each other, but still, you’d have thought he’d never grow out of that ever-present and ever-cocky smile of his. Right now, he seems, somehow, somewhat normal, sitting there—dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt. You don’t know why it strikes you as odd. It isn’t, really. You’re sure he wore the same things back then, but still, it seems off for some reason.

You suppose, what’s weird about it is that it makes him look like any other average person you would bump into on the street, even when he’s the farthest thing from it. 

It just doesn’t make much sense—none of it.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asks suddenly, once again popping the awkward silence like an overinflated balloon at a little girl’s birthday party. 

You keep waiting for a high-pitched cry to break out. 

It’s those types of questions—trivial nothings anyone would ask anyone. Anyone but him. In his mouth, it’s a script, like an actor treating the world as his stage. He does it well, though—fitting in—he always has. But you know better this time than to believe it, having experienced it first-hand, how it only runs skin deep.

“Good,” is all you offer. Forgetting to return the question.

He doesn’t seem to mind. Unbothered, continuing on with his dialogue as if on cue, “Must have been hard moving away. Dropping everything like that. So suddenly.”

It’s more probing than his previous ask, more personal—but you’d say it alludes to more about him. Something about his tone, something accusational, something not quite polished enough to suit that fluffy exterior, making way for a bit of the real him to peek through, enough to make a fresh chill run down your spine.

You don’t have an immediate answer. Too caught up in the feeling of imminent threat—at the edge of your seat waiting for him to lose patience, as if he’d lunge at you from across the table, uncaring of the people around—even though, logically, you know he’d never do anything in public. Your thoughts from earlier return. Why is he doing this? What does he want? Why? All these years later, why can’t he let you go?

There’s another airy laugh before he flashes you a big grin. “I have to admit,” he says, chuckling. “It kind of felt like you were running away from me.”

He says it as a joke, but you know it isn’t. It’s got clear intentions—he wants to make you squirm, to make you beg, to apologize, to cry, and do all those things you used to do when he got upset.

A part of you still wants to, feeling like it’s the safest option. You almost indulge it, but instead you steel yourself. After all, you ran away from him for a reason.

And all these years later, you’re not about to go running back.

“I just needed to get away, is all,” you excuse. “I’d been so cooped up, I barely knew who I was or what I wanted out of life.”

It’s not really a lie. Then again, it’s also far from the full truth of it. And by the looks of him, you both know it. The way he eyes you calmly—hunting and hauntingly. That fluffy exterior, like sheep-skin on a wolf, peeling away, too rotted to hold itself together.

“Hmph.” Tilting his head, he eyes you condescendingly. “Yeah, you always were a bit of an airhead, weren’t you? Always following me around like you didn’t know where to go without me,” he grins, speaking as though it’s all fond memories. “Not that it ever bothered me, of course. Actually, I kind of miss it. Don’t you?”

You nearly flinch, almost making your drink fall and crash onto the ground, wishing you’d just left when you had the chance. If only you’d been able to shake the shock out of your body enough to allow your feet to move.

“It's a long time ago,” you say, voice thin, looking into the foam halfway down your fountain glass as you take another sip. Wherever the conversation is headed is not somewhere you want to go—especially with him leading the way.

“What does that mean? You don’t remember?” he snickers, knowing you do. 

“We used to have so much fun…” His voice slips into a lower murmur, spilling your shared secrets over the table-top. “You’d sneak me in through your bedroom window at night. I’d have to climb your rose-wall like you were Rapunzel. Tch—you were so cute, shushing me, thinking your parents were gonna wake up.”

You stay silent as he laughs.

“Yeah, always such a goody-two-shoes. Remember how much you choked on your first drink? Granted, I’d maybe overshot the vodka on purpose. Your first smoke was just as bad, but shit—your first hit of the good stuff was the worst. You couldn’t stop coughing, and after your fourth hit, you weren’t even able to move. But I took good care of you, didn’t I? Getting you into your PJs and tucking you in tight. You remember?”

He doesn’t really give you any time to answer or stop him.

“I almost got you to take your first tattoo as well if you hadn’t been such a scaredy-cat. Tch—but no worries, I took a lot of your other firsts to make up for it.” Humming, his eyes go lazy—pictures of it all playing out behind them. “You really let me get away with everything… Like a Barbie doll—you’d let me dress you up the way I liked, and undress you wherever and whenever I wanted.” 

He takes a moment to admire your face, all flushed and pouty, avoiding looking back at him, before he grins with another sly scoff. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” 

You think you might get sick if you stay any longer, and still, nothing—not even the feeling of that all-too-familiar collar being clasped around your neck—is enough to convince your body to get up and leave while he continues to tighten the leash.

“You’re right,” he admits when you don’t say anything. “It is a long time ago. It’s just… looking at you makes it feel like yesterday.”

You could say the same. Although you can’t say those would be the memories you’d choose. Or, at least, you wouldn’t have phrased them like that. Rather, you remember the time his hand left a bruise around your throat so deep you had to wear a scarf for two months waiting for it to disappear, and the way he’d lick and suck on it every time you were alone—telling you he was kissing it better when he was actually just making it worse. Or the time he didn’t allow you to wear a sweater to a party, forcing you to choose between leaving it in the car or walking home by yourself all the way to the other side of town, and the way he’d shown you and your bra off to everyone inside when you’d conceded—later praising you with sweet nothings and heated kisses in an off-limits bedroom even when you were begging him to take you home. Or that time he’d knocked your father’s teeth out in the driveway for having warned him to stay away from you. Or how, when you’d told him you had decided you were getting the abortion, he’d called you a baby-killing bitch, and said he’d never look or speak to you again if you went through with it.

You’d made sure he stood by those words. You’d made a decision and packed your bags, leaving your childhood home behind you with goodbye kisses to your parents, promising them you’d keep in touch despite moving as far away as your savings would allow. You took the first job you could get and worked your way up with only a high school degree to back you up.

You’d erased all traces of yourself—practically faking your own death. 

And you hadn’t seen him since.

“Give me your contacts?” he asks, pulling his phone from his pocket, spinning it around, and sliding it across the short distance of the table separating you.

“Your phonenumber,” he clarifies. “It would be nice for us to catch up. It’s been so many years, I was beginning to fear we might never get the chance.” 

You can’t really say that you agree. But the sight of his phone already in front of you, waiting for you to indulge him, somehow and someway, you still don’t have the guts to say no to him, even when typing up the numbers feels no different from signing a deal with the devil.

Finally—and thankfully—he releases you a short while after that.

He’d offered to walk you home, but you made up an excuse on the fly about going to see a friend—not sure if you were convincing or not. 

Paranoid, you still get on the subway to another part of town, now a little happy about the crowd, before hailing a cab to take you back.

The stairs up to your apartment feel like an eternity, even as you rush up the flights. Your hands, cold and slightly trembling, struggle to put your key in the lock. And when you finally step inside, you instantly collapse against the door, breath knocked out of you, shaking from head to toe.

A phantom in your stomach makes the tears rush down your cheeks like acid rain, corroding the skin in its wake. It’s every emotion at once—shame, guilt, anger, terror.

You’re overreacting, you’re aware. But it doesn’t help. Thoughts racing, telling you you’ll have to move again, even farther away this time, maybe even out of the country, to someplace faraway he’ll never find you. But how did he find you? If he found you once, he’ll do it again. Meaning you’re not safe. There’s nowhere you can go. It’s only a matter of time before he hunts you down again, and again, and again, and again.

You clamber across the faux wood, running to the kitchen cabinet to pull out that bottle of wine along with a glass, topping yourself off to the very brim. A few drops spill over onto the floor in the rush.

A pling comes from the floor while you drink, making your eyes snap to view it—whole body on edge and convinced it was something deadly, only to see your phone where you’d left it on its back, screen lit.

You stare at it, regarding it with apprehension. Then, despite not wanting to move, your feet take you with them anyway, slowly walking over until you’re standing right above it, spotting an unknown number at the top, followed by an unwanted text.

it was good seeing you

made me realize how much I really miss you

maybe I can see your place this weekend. wanna know what you’ve been up to…

anyway tell your friend hi, and call me when you get home. let’s plan another…

There’s more to the messages, but you can’t see it without opening the chain. You only stare at it as it is. Reading it over and over. Unsure what you’re looking for outside of wanting it to go away until the screen goes back to black, snapping you out of it.

You end up leaving it there—choosing to walk yourself over to the couch instead. But you don’t really know what to make of yourself once you’re there, either—whether you want a sitcom as company or if you prefer the silence.

The silence gives room to more thoughts, and too many of them are bad, so you put on the first recommended thing.

More plinging from the floor disturbs your binging. Still, a full five twenty-minute episodes pass before the singular plings are exchanged with ringing. 

You let it ring until it stops. Ignoring it without pausing the show in front of you. You just keep drinking your wine, staring at the screen without catching any of the contents, as more plinging and ringing chimes from the floor.

You close your eyes, and a couple of stray tears slip free from your waterline. You don’t even dare move. Sitting there, stiff and scared and helpless, like you’re back in time and still just a hopeless girl stuck beneath his thumb.

Funny enough, it’s when the noises stop for a full episode that you finally get your legs to move, slipping out of the blanket you’d wrapped yourself in, toes numb against the cold floors as you walk back over to your phone. You don’t know why—you still don’t want to look, but an indescribable urge all but forces you to open the chain, eyes peeled as you scroll through a mile of messages, each one worse than the one before…

it was good seeing you

made me realize how much I really miss you

maybe I can see your place this weekend. wanna know what you’ve been up to all these years without me

anyway tell your friend hi, and call me when you get home. let’s plan another date

don’t mean to blow up your phone, but your accounts are private, you need to accept my friend request

I know you’re with a friend, but it only takes a minute to reply

you should get better at checking your phone. what if it was something important?

pick up the phone, I need to talk to you

I’m not angry, I just really want to hear your voice

answer me

why are you being like this? we had a nice date and now you’re just going to ignore me?

you haven’t changed at all you know that? you’re still that same flighty fucking bitch you always were

answer the fucking phone right now

I swear if you keep ignoring me I’m gonna come over and make you regret it

Breath shallow and weak on your upper lip, you stare in deafening silence as another message is typed up. Three dots jumping, slowly compared to the rapid beat of your heart.

last chance

You almost toss the phone away when it rings, but manage to maintain your grip, breath coming out heavy—so heavy that the screen catches dew on every outtake. Finger hovering over the green button, somewhat itching to slide it, but remaining placid until the ringing eventually dies out, reverting back to the text chain. 

You click the number at the top, slowly tapping Info, then the two red words at the bottom, blocking him. Then, you go back to the cartoon still playing on the TV and re-drape yourself with your still-warm blanket, hugging yourself tightly. Eyes sliding to peek at your phone now and again, relieved to see it simply lying on the coffee table, calm as usual.

You spend the weekend inside, ordering take-out. Using your computer to check out if you’ve left anything to be found online that could help him find your address if he somehow managed to check out your socials despite you blocking all his advances. You don’t think so, but still, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s somehow able to track you. It’s all silly, but even so, you end up deleting your accounts across every platform just in case, not even leaving your phone number in the end, thinking you’ll get a new one as soon as you can.

You consider staying home sick on Monday, but you wind up going anyway after double-checking that the office website and Facebook page hadn’t publicized your name or picture anywhere. 

Still, you’re a nervous wreck all day, hardly getting any work done, even when you skipped lunch to sit in your cubicle. You keep wracking your brain with the same question—how’d he even find you in the first place? Was it really just some fucked up coincidence? Is that even possible? For him to just suddenly show up out of the blue, multiple cities away from the last place you saw him so many years ago? Had you maybe mentioned you wanted to move here? You’re certain you didn’t, you’re certain this place wasn’t even on your radar before you made the decision. Did your parents tell him? No, they wouldn’t, right? Maybe not on purpose. Using the work computer, you check out their profiles. But, just as you’d requested, there isn’t a single post about you or the few times they’ve flown out to visit you. Actually, scrolling through, it’s squeaky clean from top to bottom, so much so that it’s as if they didn’t have a daughter at all.

It doesn’t make any sense. How the fuck did he find you?

Well… it wasn’t easy…

The contractor he paid was one out of a dozen others before him. He suspects the first eleven were amateurs who only did a deep dive through the web, as if he couldn’t do that on his own. But this last guy, he was legit. A lot more expensive, too, but after years of trying to find you, he wouldn’t complain, especially when the guy somehow managed to track you down in less than two days' time. 

He could barely believe it once he pinged him in the middle of the day with a picture of you—candid, you looked to be on your way somewhere, probably home with the somewhat tired look on your face, dressed in drab work clothes he’d never picture you in, older now and still, you were as beautiful as the day he lost you.

And, after so many years, he’s not about to let you slip away again. No matter how stubborn you are.

He watches you climb the stairs outside your building, tired in your step. You’d stayed late at the office, made him wait all day until dark, but somehow it was fitting. Romantic, in one way, and deserved in another—hunting you while you’re all alone at night. This way, he could make you pay a little, freak you out, scare you—get you to really regret it.

“Hey.”

You whip around like a bunny who’d heard a twig snap—eyes round, hand down your purse, stopped in the middle of fishing for the keys.

“What—what are you doing here?”

You sound worse than you did at the cafe. Just like his own, you’ve let the mask slip. Might as well, given there’s no one else but the two of you around.

“Why’d you block me?” He ignores your question in favor of posing his own. It’s a stupid thing for you to ask, anyway, given how obvious it is.

“What?” you continue to act stupid, still with your hand in your purse, trying to be smooth while you carefully feel around for your keys as though he can’t see exactly what you’re doing.

“You blocked me,” he clarifies, standing at the bottom of the short ten-step staircase, looking up at you. “Why?”

He can spot you swallowing thickly, in fact, he thinks he can even hear it, followed by your cheap excuses, all spluttered out like nervous word-vomit, still trying to keep up the charade in fear of the reality staring you in the face, “Oh–well, you know, I'm sorry–I sorta just keep touch with close friends so—”

“No boyfriends then,” he states—this time, fully like an accusation.

Your shoulders hike, and goosebumps break out across your arms. Still, you try to stay strong. “You’re not-”

“Careful.”

A heavy silence ensues at that. 

The wind blows softly through the empty street. Everyone’s either eating a late dinner or already in bed with a movie. Meanwhile, you’re here, on the steps, looking down at him, waiting for a sudden air-strike or alien invasion—anything to make it break the deafening quiet.

When nothing happens, you find no other option but to break it yourself. Mustering up the courage, you finally break the act, asking him what’s been on your mind all along, “What do you want?”

A grin breaks out across his face then. Stating the obvious, “I want you to invite me in.”

Your hand whitens with the death grip you're giving your bag, stiffening up like a cadet trying to put some bite into her bark. “And if I say no?”

The smile curls, becoming something vile. “I’ll invite myself.”

You whip around, keys in a panicked hand, stupidly jabbing at the lock with no tact to make it work. 

“Don’t.” He’s behind you before the first tear drops, and you let out a choked whimper, feeling his presence at your back like something from a horror movie. “Don’t make me angry.” He cyphons the chills out of you, voice tepid and smooth right at your ear, speaking to you like a lover. “You don’t want that. I don’t either… Just invite me in.”

You sniffle, biting back a cry, shaking against his chest as he wraps both arms around you.

Feeling possessed, you fiddle with the keys against the lock again, hand shaking so much that you drop them on the floor. Startled, you rush down to pick them up, promptly and still as clumsily trying for the lock.

Arms around you, his cold hand grasps yours, steadying it as he helps you slide the key in place, turning your hand in his, twisting it until the lock comes undone. He puts his paw on the knob and pushes down, letting the door swing in.

Another paw on your waist guides you inside with a steady nudge.

You black out as you climb the stairs one step at a time, feeling the rhythmic repetition lull you into catatonia. This time, when you reach the door, he confiscates the keys from your hand, and you let him, only silently watching as he effortlessly puts them in your lock.

“You know… I’ve been trying to find you for a while,” he mumbles against your neck, nosing your jawline, lips on the underbelly of your chin. “A really long while.” 

You jolt as the door slams to a close behind you, feeling faint—as though he’s about to bite your throat out now that he finally has you alone. And yet, despite your body being immobile in light of the impending death threat, all he does is hold you, murmuring more words against your ear.

“It makes me feel like—I don’t know... maybe you were hiding from me.” You hold your breath, feeling stormed by his voice, twisting about in your head, leaving little room for anything else. “Do you really hate me that much?”

Overwhelmed, in some last-ditch effort, you try pushing him away while shaking your head, needing to get away, needing space to breathe, to think, to stop this urge of playing dead like you’re some helpless animal stuck on a hunter’s jaws.

But he only clicks his tongue at the attempt. Letting you go with a harsh push that has you drop to the floor. He follows quickly, on top of you, with a fierce grip around your throat.

“I told you already, don’t do that,” he repeats—tone tighter now, vexed. “I don’t want to be rough with you, but I will if you make this difficult.”

“Please–” you squeak, both hands wrapped around his wrist, trying to pull him off without succeeding.

He only tightens the hold as he leans down, teeth gritting, “Please, what? What do you think I’m gonna do that’s so goddamn bad? I’m genuinely curious, please what?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling spit fly from his gnashing, barking the words at you with his face only a short foot away.

“You afraid to say it or something?” he laughs, something just shy of unhinged. “Is he gonna kill me or fuck me—that’ what you’re thinking?”

There’s a silence. You keep your eyes closed while it prolongs—not sure what you’re waiting for—the latter or the former. 

“I should kill you,” he says then. “Fucking off the way you did—my kid in your belly and all. What the fuck did you do, huh?”

You croak with another cry, stabbed with that same feeling from before, strangling your guts into unbearable knots.

“Yeah, thought so.”

You don’t even notice his hand when it lets go of your throat and joins the other in cradling your face—tenderly, but cagingly, holding you steady as you choke on your own onslaught of tears.

“How about I let you pick, hm?” he says, voice suddenly soft again, as if there’s kindness in giving you a choice, like he’s asking if you’d like chocolate or ice cream. “Which one do you want? Either I kill you—” His thumbs rub your cheeks while his forehead dips against yours. “Or we make a new one.”

The proposal doesn’t ease your sobbing, only further spurs it on as the ache inside gets twisted anew.

And still, he presses on, “Answer me, which is it?”

You shake your head, a sniveling mess, struggling to breathe, drowning under the pressure.

“Wow…” he grumbles coldly. “You’d really rather die?”

Letting go of your face, he straightens himself, looking down his nose at you like you’re this pathetic thing before abruptly scoffing, “Tch, it's not like it’s anything new. I mean, let’s be real, how many times have we done it, huh?” There’s a new sharpness to his tone as he continues, seething at you as he lays both hands down flat on either side of your head, catching your hair beneath his fingers. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve met a bigger slut than you, always begging to get fucked. That was always your answer to everything. Whenever you made a mistake, you’d make it up to me with sex, whenever I was upset, you’d calm me down with sex, whenever I wanted to talk to you about us, about our future, about wanting to make you my wife, my world, my fucking everything, you’d always shut me up with sex.”

He’s panting by the end of it—both in the same state, heaving for air through the thick of it. The touch of something hot dripping on your face makes you finally open your bleary eyes, blurry vision slowly focusing on the sight of his own reddened ones staring back down at you.

“Did you ever even love me? Hm? Even just a little?” his voice cracks as he asks it. Impatiently demanding your answer this time with tightness in his throat, “Come on, answer me.”

Still, you remain silent in shock as you try to make sense of the expression on his face and how it, despite everything, still has this godawful ability to make you want to reach out and give him every part of yourself in the hope it’ll be enough to make him happy.

“Answer me!”

This time, as he bangs his fist down next to your head, the answer all but springs out of you like convicts in a prison break, “Yes! Yes, I loved you—I love you… I–” It all pours out of you like it’s something you’ve been holding back since the day you left—feeling like a deathbed confession, this white-hot guilty burden you’d been denying, trying desperately to convince yourself wasn’t true.

“You lying to me?” he pushes, as needy as it is threatening, with lips down by the corner of yours and hand back to caressing your throat. 

“No–no, I’m not lying–” you promise, putting your own hands by his pulse and cheek, looking at him as all those old feelings retake their rightful spot inside you, festering like a sickness you never fully got rid of. “I love you, I really–”

He kisses you then, and you, feeling desperate for any type of comfort, accept it with greed.

“Yeah?” he asks against your wet lips, gruffly, tasting you with rightful abandon, like he’s only retaking something that’s always belonged to him.

And you indulge him, beyond tired of fighting, you accept the crude peace of surrender all too easily. “Yes–”

He smiles against your kisses, grinning widely with a low snicker, pulling your lips between his teeth before letting go. Brow to brow, nose to nose, he takes your puffy eyes in with his.

“Then I forgive you.” 

♡ BNHA – Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kuro, Atsumu ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ WB – Suo

"And again."

His words are resonant and commanding, the rich timbre of his voice cutting through the dimly lit palace bedroom in a way that makes your spine shiver. The only other sound audible to your ears is the panting of your breath, coarse and wet, as you try to regain your composure.

You're kneeling on the ground naked as Acacius stands before you, one meaty hand fisted in your hair. His erect cock, thick and slick with spit, is mere inches from your face. It has only been a minute since he stalked into your room and practically threw you to the marble floor, but you already look a wreck - saliva and tears dripping down your chin and onto your chest, your eyes glassy and your lips swollen. You can smell the faint scent of the perfumed oil he bathes in underneath the stench of his sweat.

You're terrified, your mind scarcely clinging to reality as your sense of self preservation keeps your body upright on your knees. You don't know how you're going to endure this for much longer, physically or mentally.

It's not that you are a stranger to carnal pleasure. You have had some experiences with a man or two in your village during moments of passion hidden within secret nooks of hazy summer afternoons. You had been emboldened by youthful curiosity and lust in those times; those thrilling trysts had given you the perfect opportunity to explore your body and the pleasures it could experience, especially with a man.

But nothing has prepared you for what General Acacius is currently subjecting you to. You have never pleased a man with your mouth like this before. In fact, you aren't even sure how a man can derive any pleasure from such an exercise of aggression.

But then again, General Acacius is not the average man. And your pleasure is not the focus of your role as his mistress. He had made it clear the first time he took you that all you were expected to be from this point on was a vessel for his cock.

He towers over you now, his burly body naked, scarred flesh and hulking muscle on display like a Roman God. The silvering curls of his hair are damp with sweat and stick to his forehead. His lips are slightly parted as his chest rises and falls with his breaths, head tilted downward to watch you with steely brown eyes that blaze with savage wantonness.

"I said again," he barks out, giving your head a tight shake and making you shriek in pain.

He's becoming impatient with you - a dangerous thing to risk with a man like the general, but you aren't purposely being defiant. The last thing you want is to earn his ire but you're struggling to withstand his tortuous pursuit of gratification. You have witnessed him in battle, have seen first hand just how ruthless and barbaric his nature can be, and you have come to understand that his sexual appetite is just as sadistic.

You must stall for a second too long, for Acacius pinches your nose between his fingers, making you instinctively gasp for air. He takes the opportunity to jolt his hips forward and stuff his cock back inside your mouth until the head taps against the back of your throat.

You gag instantly and try to jerk your head away, your nails simultaneously digging into his thighs, but his hold on your hair is like an iron anchor, making it impossible for you to escape.

"Hold it."

You can't do anything but obey him. You stare up at him with wide, panicked eyes, willing him to have mercy on you. After a few excuriating seconds Acacius takes his fingers away from your nose, generous enough to let you breathe. You try your best to inhale through your nostrils but your sinus feels clogged and the intrusion of his cock between your lips is too suffocating for you to concentrate.

"Deeper."

He pushes your head further down his length, stretching your lips painfully. The head of his dick stabs into your throat, causing you to splutter and gag even more. You screw your eyes shut while your stomach muscles tense as you fight the urge to vomit.

"Good," Acacius lets out a gravelly moan. "Good whore."

His hand remains threaded through your hair while the other one shifts to cup under your jaw, his fingers squeezing firmly to keep your mouth pried open. He then begins to rock his hips back and forth slowly, guiding the head of his cock to saw in and out of your throat in lesiurely strokes, never withdrawing from your mouth. It slides heavily over your tongue, saliva pooling around the velvety underside and dripping from the corners of your mouth. His ballsack slaps rhythmically against your chin, sticky and wet with your spit.

All you can do is succumb to his will and just take it. You are vaguely aware of a pulsing sensation inside your cunt, your muscles involuntarily tightening and unclenching in time with his thrusts.

It's humiliating.

"Stay just like that, whore." Acacius orders you, only the slightest hint of breathlessness betraying his detached veneer. "I will continue to train you until every one of your holes can take me without resistance."

His words are like an arrow straight to your heart. Until just a few days ago you were a free woman living a simple existence in your ancestral village, full of joy and promise, surrounded by your loved ones. You were content with your humble life. You took pride in contributing to the community, labouring as every other peasant did in order to enjoy the wealth of fresh fruits, vegetables and produce.

But it all changed when the thunderous sound of galloping horse hooves and men's voices cut through the peaceful backdrop of your settlement. With the swoop of a single Roman sword your idyllic world was slashed to shreds. Everything you held dear, including your very identity, was cruelly snatched from underneath you and defiled and obliterated right before your eyes.

And now here you are, imprisoned as a sex slave and on your knees to service the very man responsible.

This was the second time Acacius had come to your chambers since imprisoning you. He had left you ruined and weeping that first visit, stuffed full of his cum and leaking all over the lavish sheets of the magnificent bed you were to sleep on from now on. You aren't sure how long it has been since then, if he had left the city to conquer another township or had remained in Rome.

You don't even know how much time has passed since the fateful day the Roman army decimated your village; you have no concept of time except from the rising and setting of the sun outside the locked windows of your balcony. The world continues to exist outside of the four walls of the opulent room you have been confined to, while you resign yourself to the life of a mistress to the most infamous war general in the land. 

The cold marble floor bites your kneecaps while tears leak from your eyes, warm and stinging as they trickle down your cheeks. Acacius continues to fuck your face with the same measured momentum, drawing a constant rivulet of mucus from your nose and filthy gurgled retching from your throat. His massive hand on your jaw is like a vice holding you in place and you can already feel the bruises that will surely bloom under the weight of his calloused fingers.

His hands are so wide and thick that he could crush your face with ease, you think. If you want to survive you have got to try get through this, just long enough for him to cum. You plant your hands onto your thighs and dig your fingernails down in an effort to distract yourself from the assault. Your nails imprint into your flesh, determined to pierce the skin and cause a flare of pain, to give your mind something else to focus on instead of the violation of your body.

The strategy works, and what seems like several minutes pass by. All that can be heard in the room is the guttural retch of your throat being abused and the repeated wet smack of his balls, punctuated by the occasional groan from Acacius.

Your mind floats away from your physical being. You become disconnected, so much so that you don't register your top teeth unexpectedly scrape over the ridges of his cock. You don't realise your mistake until he hisses angrily, then suddenly releases your face from his grip to land a prompt slap to your cheek.

Your eyes fling open, vision blurred and dizzied. An anguished wail escapes from the raw ravages of your throat as a burst of pain explodes at the side of your face and radiates all throughout your cheekbone.

"Are you really so careless, or do you think yourself brave enough to wound me?" he growls, yanking at your hair and causing your scalp to prickle painfully. "Answer me, you little slut."

"I'm sorry!" You croak, gasping for air through panicked breathes. "I-I didn't mean to!"

Using his grip on your hair Acacius hauls you up onto your feet, his actions more swift than your muddled brain can comprehend. He shoves you backward onto the bed and you let out a shocked cry when your back hits the mattress with a thud.

"It seems I have yet to properly break that spirit of yours," he huffs down at you, his lip curled upward in reproachful irritation. "But I assure you, it is no matter of concern to me - in fact, I will very much enjoy being the one to tame you."

Despite the fear churning inside your stomach, his threatening words trigger a flame of indignation to lick at the nape of your neck. You have to bite your tongue to fight the impulse to argue back, to question the lack of logic in his accusation. Did he really believe that you had purposely tried to injure him, despite being so much younger and exceedingly inferior in physical strength?

You ball your hands into fists, tears of frustration welling within your eyes. Was it not clear that you had tried so hard to appease him by being pliant and submissive? You bite your lower lip and will yourself not to cry. It would be pointless to cry or argue. Arguing would do nothing but further provoke Acacius's temper and give him a solid reason to hurt you; although, you suspect, he would gladly do so with or without a legitimate excuse.

"Open your legs," he orders.

You tilt your head up and stare past his head of curls to look up at the cream white ceiling, unable to meet the intimidating icy gaze of his brown eyes. You obey and part your legs wide enough to display your cunt to him. He plants his knees on the bed inbetween your legs, the shadow of his massive frame shrouding you like a beast of prey descending upon its defenceless victim.

Acacius takes hold of one of your legs and hoists it upright so that your ankle rests against his shoulder, then positions himself closer to the apex of your thighs. He fists his cock and drags the head up and down over your clit, making your breath catch in your throat at the dull spark of pleasure that unexpectedly curls within your belly.

You wonder vaguely if the general has been with many women; if he has lain with willing partners or taken only slaves, if he possesses a harem or prefers to use only one woman at a time. He's undeniably attractive with his regal aquiline nose and tanned skin - surely he wouldn't be lacking in attention or proposals from the opposite sex, be they from the noble society or from amongst the commoners. You wonder if he is married, if he would treat his potential wife with as much cruelty as he does you.

"Let's see if your cunt remembers her master," Acacius purrs, voice husky with desire.

You tangle your hands in the silk sheets beneath you, a surge of dread coursing throughout your body. When you feel the heat of Acacius's cock head against your opening, your pelvic muscles instinctively sieze up. He had left you bleeding and swollen last time and you're terrified that he will leave you just as ravaged and broken.

He attempts to push inside your pussy but you're too tight and he fails to penetrate you even an inch. He tries twice more without success, tsking under his breath before he spits a wad of saliva onto one of his thick fingers and slides it unceremoniously into you. You whimper quietly, involuntarily clamping down on his digit. He growls, annoyed, and begins scissoring it in and out of your hole, slowly breaking you open.

"You can either open yourself for me or I can tear you apart doing so," Acacius mutters coldly. "It makes no difference to me."

You take a deep breath and exhale shakily. He's going to fuck you whether you're prepared or not, and for your own sake you must do whatever you can to lessen the pain. You move your other leg open further to try spread your lips, a wordless gesture that signals your submission.

Acacius removes his hand from your core and grips his cock once more. You take another deep inhale when he lines back up against your hole, then exhale slowly when he successfully begins to push inside of you. Even though his movement is unhurried, the burning stretch is agonising and you croak out a distressed cry.

He rolls his pelvis against yours, feeding half the length of his cock into your pussy. He pulls his hips back but then plunges forward again, coaxing another wrecked sob from the depths of your lungs.

"You're still so tight," Acacius remarks, a hint of amused intrigue in his voice.

He thrusts back and forth, over and over, until your pussy has finally stretched enough for him to smoothly drive his fat dick in and out of you. A symphony of your tormented, tear filled moans accompany every stroke, mounting to an unrestrained screech whenever he knocks against your cervix. You hear a satisfied rumble reverberate from his chest.

"There is no sweeter sound than that of you keening for me like a bitch in heat."

You truly feel like a bitch in heat, being so thoroughly dominated and degraded as Acacius pounds into you with animalistic vigour. The warmth of his body is stifling, and droplets of his sweat spill from his brow and drop down onto your jiggling tits. His rhythm doesn't falter for even a second, not even when he brings his hand to his face and spits saliva over his fingertips.

You don't realise his intention until you feel his spit soaked finger swirl around the outer ring of your asshole. He slips it inside suddenly, and you squeak in shock. You curse, wincing at the uncomfortable sensation of something foreign breaching your back hole.

"This will be my next claim to conquer," Acacius announces with a cocky smirk. "Will you be ready, pretty one?"