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Warning: kinda fucked up, perceived non-con/dub-con (CNC as perceived by an outside party who DOES NOT KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING), pseudocest/incest, sex tape, reader is a FREAK, Tim is also a freak, reader also has a vagina, your boyfriend/partner with penis refers to your vagina as ‘she’ for a second there, etc.
Something something Tim accidentally finding the video your boyfriend recorded of you (that you had ASKED HIM to take) whilst pounding your shit in.
Your head has been forcefully stuffed into the pillows, ass left vulnerable and high in the air as the thick smack of skin against skin echoes loud through what is clearly your room at the manor. You’ve been stripped absolutely bare of everything, bruises around your waist and hips in the shape of your boyfriend’s hands, and Tim’s mouth goes dry when the camera—shaky and shoddily maneuvered as is—pans down to your stuffed cunt, all aching and red and far too wet for what’s coming out of your mouth that has Tim shaking in what could either be fury or terrible arousal.
“Mm- mm! No, no- stop, please- please, that hurts, I’m-“ you plead in a voice that is everything terrified but sounds too sweet to Tim’s ears. “Please-“
The camera man—your boyfriend, that bastard—just chuckles. “Aw, baby, but isn’t this what you wanted?” He slid the hand he had on your hip down to your navel, just centimetres away from your cunt. “Isn’t this what she wants?”
You shake your head, your mind half-gone and thrown into the abyss. “No, no, I didn’t- I didn’t want this..” You give a little sniff, seemingly just barely able to stop yourself from giving a sob. “Please, stop.”
Tim ends up too hard and too angry to do anything more than sit at his desk and shake.
It’s Dick who he ends up turning to. And it’s Dick whom he shamefully admits not only his reaction but who ends up somewhat tearfully admitting what the reaction was to.
But it’s you who has to deal with the consequences. You who sits idly on your couch in your apartment, thinking the world was still right and with a buttload of trauma you never thought someone would make you divulge.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Priest Jayce taking advantage of the poor little alter boy, Viktor. The man tells Viktor through his cries of pain, and even shameful pleasure, that no one will believe him if Viktor is to say anything of what he does to him. Jayce uses Viktor and prays to god while in between the boy’s legs.
random snippet from when Sariah was 14-15ish? Poor kid is just very rattled and trying to hold themself together in the aftermath of what's happening to them
also uuuuhhhhhhh, I'm very mean to Sariah if you can't tell. They get noncon-ed a LOT and I like writing the direct aftermath of that since NSFWhump is one of my favorite whump subcategories. If that's not your cup of tea tho I totally understand
The breath in their lungs rattles as Sariah breathes and breathes and breathes through the aftermath of servicing their latest client, staring unseeingly at their knees. Every inhale hurt as their lungs expanded against their rib cage, tattered clothing barely hanging on to their frame. The bones weren't broken, but fuck they almost hurt like they were as Sariah curled into themself on their little cot and tried to pretend they couldn't still feel the hands on them. stop stop Stop STOP STOP- It hurt. Gods, fuck, it hurt. Why did it all still hurt?
They wanted to disappear. The stinging cuts across the backs of their shoulders wouldn't let their mind slip away away the way it wanted to though. one for every time their client- Instead, they curl up tighter and lie to themself that they're grateful at least their ribs aren't broken. broken ribs hurt less than this It's almost a mercy, being alone after they were done being used, but the drugs working sluggishly through their veins don't even let them enjoy their solitude.
Everything was too cold and too hot and their blood kept humming despite the sluggish way their heart pumped it through their body. It was too much. Everything was too much and it hurt and Sariah wanted it all to go away-
What they want didn't matter though, did it? It didn't matter, it never mattered all that mattered was that they had done their duty and made themself useful the way Sir ordered them too. All that mattered was that they had been good, or at least good-enough to please their client and be walked back to their room instead of thrown-in or dragged. That was all that mattered-
Inhale. Exhale. The feel of their own breath hitting their lips drags them back to the present.
...they still couldn't help the way they wanted to scream in response though. it's not like the muzzle would let them though- An ache built in their chest, pooling within their core and radiating out from their wounds with every second that passed as Sariah desperately scraped their claws against their horns in an attempt to hold themself together. It wasn't working.
So instead they breathe and breathe and breathe and breathe and breathe, praying the pain will be gone by morning.
It takes more effort than they want to close their eyes and focus on the scent of stale leather instead of the taste of bile on the back on their tongue. Quietly, they try to will the drugs in their system to drag them into unconsciousness quickly so they didn't have to deal with this any longer than they have to. they could still feel the hands touching Touching TOUCHING THEM-
Whumpee complying in hopes that it will be over quicker, only for whumper to say that, as they're so enthusiastic, they'll surely appreciate a round two.
