The Yellow Queen

You slap your wallet shut, smothering the image of Johnny behind faux patterned leather before shoving it into your pocket. The glare on your face is challenging. A silent spitting at his feet as you look him up and down, drinking in the height and broadness of him like the mere size of him is a challenge. A threat.

"Can I help you?" Short. Cutting. You don't trust him, and he doesn't blame you. A stranger in a pub with his chest nearly up against your back as you try to order a drink after a long week of work.

"Maybe."

Your distaste at his lack of tactfulness screws the features on your face until your fingers are curling. Simon's not sure why, but he wouldn't mind the taste of your knuckles against his cheek, bone pushing flesh into his teeth until the blood floods his mouth to wash down the aftertaste of you.

"How do you know 'im?" Simon questions, chin tilting up as his words die down.

"The fuck are you talking about?" you bite.

"Johnny. MacTavish."

Recognition freezes over your features until your fingers are tracing over the thickness in your pocket where his old teammate (No, something more, someone more. An importance he doesn't know how to utter but something that burns through him all the same) resides like an urn upon a mantle.

"Do you know him?" You answer his question with another one. Simon refuses to speak until you're breaking, eyes falling to the floor, teeth catching between your lips. "He was my donor."

Your response only stirs up more confusion in Simon's mind. "Donor?"

"Yeah, like…" You awkwardly glance around the area before your fingers move up to the collar of your shirt and then gently pull down. You're not showing much that he cares to look at, except the scar. It's long. Vanishing beyond where you refuse to show, it spans the length of your sternum. A straight line, still puffy. Still healing. "My heart donor."

Everything makes sense. Why he's drawn to you. Why you have a picture of Johnny in your wallet. It's so fitting of him to give up the best parts of himself. That man gave you a gilded heart so you could continue to draw breath all while his stopped deep in that tunnel, too far from the Scottish highlands he always spoke so fondly of. Now, his Johnny resides within you—so deep he's not sure he can dig him out.

"Let me buy you a drink," Simon offers, fingers twitching. "I can tell you everythin' you wanna know 'bout 'im."

You fold easy. Tissue paper caught in the rain, dissolving at the mere touch of his fingers against your arm, leading you towards a private booth once you've both got a proper pint in your hands. He tells you everything. The pristine details of it, anyway.

Johnny's a hero. A good man. Died fighting for what he believed in, and apparently continued to save lives even after his death. You got to taste the fruit of his labor. You taste it every day in the blood running through your veins, pooling on your tongue, warm and tangy. Simon wonders, if he shoved his mouth onto yours, would he be able to taste him? The essence of the man he loved to get lost in?

A few more pints later, and you share your side of the story. It was a birth defect that got you like this. Sick your whole childhood, it wasn't caught until it was nearly too late for you. Hospital stays, missed school days, the loss of friendships and events that should have been special but were tainted by medication and needles. Johnny's heart isn't your first. In fact, it's your third. Complication after complication—a body that rejects all the help that's shoved inside of it.

"It's been almost three years since the transplant, and I've never felt better," you admit, speech slurred, eyes shining with the tears you've been fighting back the whole conversation. "I've tried to meet his family, but either he doesn't have any, or they want nothing to do with me. I guess I can't blame them. I get to live because he died. How fucked is that?" You wash a sniffle down with a gulp of beer before you wipe your mouth. "You don't know how nice it is to meet you, Simon. I can't thank you enough for this. For letting me know more about Johnny."

He likes the way you say his name. He likes how it sounds like him saying it. Cotton swirls in Simon's head as heat flushes throughout his body, superheating his loins until his hips are rolling in his seat.

If you note the change in his demeanor, you don't say anything. Your ignorance only makes the space in his pants tighter.

"How 'bout we take this back to my place, yeah?" Simon prompts. He would shove his fingers in your mouth at the way you nod at him—glassy-eyed and slow—if there weren't so many people around. "Good boy."

It's easy getting you on his bed. Your clothes slide off of your body as if the very weaving of the fabric comes undone at the hungry prodding of his fingers. When you're undressed, he can't help but trace the path along your sternum to feel the raised skin that slices through you. An old war wound. A roughness he recognizes like stubble on the inside of his neck. Johnny's heart jumps out at him like he's kissing him. Trying to break free. Trying to return to where he should be.

Simon stares down his nose at you while he unfastens his trousers, pulling himself free, hot and eager. His thighs knock against the edge of the mattress as he beckons you forward with two fingers. "C'mon, you know what you gotta do. 'Nless you want it to tear."

He can see how your head spins in the way your eyes are unable to lock onto one place for longer than half a second, and it only worsens as you crawl towards him. Your mouth is on him quick. Tongue lapping along the underside of his cock as you bob your head and hum at the sourness of his skin.

If he closes his eyes and leans his head back, Simon can almost pretend your mouth is Johnny's. You're a bit softer around the edges than he was, and he wishes you'd use more teeth, but the fantasy alone is enough to get the tension building in his abdomen as his thighs begin to shake. It's been a long time. Too long. He feels the end arriving before he's even had the time to enjoy this.

Rigid fingers curl into the back of your neck as Simon pulls out of your mouth. You cough and spit drips down your chin as you stare up at him, trying to catch your breath. A smile breaks over your lips as his fingers gather the mess before he's digging in the back of your throat. He goes until you choke. Until you gag. He yanks his fingers out with a content chuckle.

"Atta boy."

Your brows draw together. "I'm not a-"

Your protest is silenced with his cock in your mouth again. This time, he doesn't allow you to bob your head, but rather forces himself until he's reaching the back of your throat and then holds himself there as his still wet hand reaches for your rump. You try to squeal as his fingers prod the tight ring of your ass. There's little give to you, but Simon's always been good with breaking things in.

"Not a what now?" Simon asks facetiously as he manages to stretch you out on one, lonely finger. "Not a boy? Got a boy's heart in ya, yeah? My boy's heart. I already know everythin' 'bout ya, handsome."

It's easy to spin you around when you're already intoxicated. Body stumbling, crumpling on your stomach, hands desperately attempting to claw at your mouth as you suck in as much air as your lungs will allow. Simon's weight dips down on either side of you once he's managed to shuck his trousers off. Hairy thighs pressing your own together as he paws at your ass until your hole is exposed enough for him to butt up against. There's no amount of wiggling that you can do that will knock him off course.

"W-Wait, not there, please," you beg. You squeeze so tight around him that it's difficult for Simon to get the head in. He grunts as he pushes through despite your whimpering. "I can't, not there."

"Just shut up 'n let me have this, yeah?" Simon grunts, now halfway in. "I'll give your cock all the attention it wants afterwards."

Your moans are animalistic. Grunting, teeth biting into the bedding, fingers curling until your nails pierce flesh—primal. Just like him. As Simon begins to piston into you, it's all he can imagine. Him. His boy. His Johnny.

"Missed you so fuckin' much," he hisses through his teeth, fingers curling deep enough into your hips to dent the bone. "What'd I always tell ya, huh? Gonna find ya in every life. Not gettin' away from me."

Simon comes without warning. It shudders through your body until he's spilling into you with no care for the weak cries that wet your nose. He can hardly keep himself up, and when you collapse underneath the weight of him, he follows not too far after you. Body curling over yours, head resting between your scapulas as he tries to catch his breath. Dull teeth nip at you in places you can't reach yourself, but you don't say anything as he continues to mutter words you wish you could cut from his vocabulary.

My boy, good boy, did so well. Don't worry, I found ya, here to take care of ya again. Can't do much without me, huh?

The two of you lie there long enough for your cries to die down as you quietly mourn the ache of your body instead. Content with the silence, Simon stays where he is, ear pressed against your body, listening to each heartbeat reverberate through you.

With each lub-dub, lub-dub that hits the side of his face, he can only hear:

John-ny…

John-ny…

Nikolai smiles down and pats your head, as sweet as sugar, as if you weren't bound wrist and ankle in a cheap plywood box, laying naked on a padded bench with your lower half sticking out of a similar padded hole- everything accessible, vulnerable, and Nikolai kisses your cheek where tears are spilling down.

"Oh sweetheart, don't cry. I promise, it's just a little while and then your family's debt is paid- you'll make me quite a lot of money, I think. And I'm not a cruel man, no one is abused here-" You stifle a hysterical little laugh. "-and I have good friends to come and, oh. The English words never feel right." His smile curls, becomes sharper. "Break you in, precious girl," and he pinches your nipple and pats your cheek and leaves, the door closing at his back, and you're left in the box with only a small light in the corner, and a camera in the other, it's little red light blinking steadily.

You can't stop the tears. You're scared and cold and want to go home, never mind the debt, you never agreed to this, to be- to be sold, laid out like meat on a table, and you begin to sob and yank uselessly at the soft cuffs. Padded as well, smooth black leather, and it hits you that you're not the only one to be held here- not the first, and not the last.

There's mens voices nearby, out of range to hear clearly, and you pull harder. It's a whole group of them, deep voices getting louder, and then it's just thin wood separating you from them. You can't see at all, not even a glimpse through the hole your body is shoved through, and your pleading kicks up when two big, strong hands grasp your thighs and stroke down to your pussy.

"No," you gasp, "no!" But the hands don't stop, a man's voice saying something aside to another and then, thumbs spreading you open, a wet tongue licks right up over you to your clit and sucks.

Your hips jolt and you arch up off the bench, sobbing, and strain against the cuffs. A smack to the inside of your thigh makes you yelp. "Settle the fuck down," a man growls, lips on your pussy, and sets back to licking. Someone else laughs.

A fist pounds on the cubicle, making it shake. "Count yourself lucky he won the draw, girl," someone else says, "he's a munch for fresh cunt. Any other of us would be fucking you bloody for a starter." Someone else protests, that they'd treat you right, and your pussy aches under the assault of a mouth determined to pull your soul through your clit.

It's relentless, the hot firm pressure, and when a finger slips into your pussy to the first knuckle you whimper as your body answers it, clenching down, legs and hips all trembling. "Please stop," you whisper, choking on tears, but your clit throbs instead, and there's a tiny responsive lift of your hips when the finger draws out and then a little further in.

You shriek when they all cheer, and more hands grope at your thighs and pinch at you, someone shoving their hand up across your belly to palm your breasts. You flinch, squirming, and your next sob breaks on a moan.

The tongue dips and sucks at your clit, your pussy clenches, you're unable to stop it now- the way your hips relax and lift, chasing pleasure, while someone tickles the sole of your foot- your toes curl in, and they keep it up, as hysterical giggles start to break loose in your chest. Too much, hot mouth and wet pussy, your foot straining in the cuff, the hands touching and stroking and teasing, and there's an ache in your belly that gets tighter with every pounding heartbeat.

You barely even hear them over your panting breaths. "Oh, I think she's gonna go," someone drawls, and as the mouth on your pussy grins against you and sucks so hard your back arches, moaning, someone else licks across the sensitive skin under your knee, a tongue curls across the toes of your foot not being tickled- and you heave out a gasping, ragged moan and come in a hot pulse of pleasure, energy dripping out of your pussy along with your cum as your body sags on the bench.

You whimper when your clit is released, throbbing, and feel the slick wet squeeze of your pussy clench on the finger still gently stroking it, soft movements completely at odds with the way you're bound, the reality of the situation outside the heat in your belly. Thick fingers move up and down your pussy, petting it, and then you're shrieking and jolting from the bench again as both feet kick wildly, trying to escape the tickling, as it travels up and down your leg. The wild bursts of laughter sound unhinged to your own ears, what does it sound like to them- what do you look like, dripping pussy and your body swinging as you flail uselessly? Your chest heaving, squeals and sobs spilling past your lips, and a fresh wave of humiliation and fear builds with the second growing ache in your belly.

"No- no, stop-!" You beg, and instead get a hand on your stomach, tickling and pushing in turn, the hard, callused heel of their palm bearing down under your navel. They know, you realize, and sob through their laughter as you struggle so hard your shoulders pull in a sharp ache. Your stomach twists. You're still so wet from coming that the glob of spit landing on your clit barely registers under the other onslaught of sensations, but then- fingers pinch and rub your clit, there's multiple bodies crowding around you, holding you still as you shriek and beg for mercy, and then the first hot spurt of piss escapes your body- and then another, and another, each half-scream of laughter and despair urging it out of you, until the ache in your clit peaks and you come with a squeal and gush of slick cum and pee all puddling down between your thighs, soaking the bench, a relief so sharp it hurts, your cheeks burning with humiliation even as your pussy clenches and pulses, feeling swollen and heavy between your thighs.

You gasp for breath as the onslaught finally ebbs, gentle touches now tracing down your thighs and around your hips. Someone lifts your ass and squeezes it, spreading wet fingers over your skin. "There we go, good fucking girl," someone says, and sticky lips touch the thin skin over your ankle. "Not so bad huh? Does that feel better?"

Your head shakes back and forth even though they can't see you. "I wanna go home," you whimper, and this time Nikolai is who answers, his voice rough and low.

"Go home? When you haven't even begun to keep your end of the bargain? Should I have set you out for the regulars and let you cry on their cocks first after all?" He pauses, then slams a fist to the wall- you shriek. "Well? You'd rather be raped bloody? Eh?"

"No!" You wail, and then something rubs at your pussy- something thicker than a finger, hotter, slick at the head. "No, no wait- wait please, I can't- I haven't ever, I'm a virgin, please don't do this!" Your belly is tight and shaking, all the forced lassitude gone as your legs are bent back further, pressed to the wood of your- coffin, it suddenly feels like, not a cubicle or box but something suffocating.

The groans that answer you come with slick wet sounds, hands on cocks you realize, and Nikolai laughs. "Oh, we're aware, sweet girl," he says, "why else would I want you and not your house, or cars, or other labor? You're going to make me lots of money, even if the Ghost is who first gets you ready," and the thick cock is starting to push in, fighting your body's resistance. It hurts, a sharp sting that grows worse as he drags at your ass and hips, moving you on the bench.

"Nik, can we pull her out? Want a taste of those tits," someone says, and through your tears you hear an affirmative- and then Nik is in the box with you, unbuckling the cuffs on your wrists so swiftly you don't have time to react before they're crossed behind your head and rebuckled around the legs of the bench. You yank at them, metal rattling, and Nik kisses your cheek, dodging your head as it thrashes- you want to bite him.

"Ready?" He says, not to you, and hands grip your hips and the bench under your ass. "Now!" He says, and shoves forward on the upper half of the bench- you're pushed out, ribs and chest popping through the hole in the wall, leather squeezing over your breasts before they're suddenly assaulted by groping hands, pinching fingers- and you open your mouth on a wail as your pussy is forced down onto the waiting cock, the heavy fat length of it huge and throbbing as your pussy strains, resists, and then is breached fully with a sharp internal pop of flesh, a new ache to join the one in your chest, your ankles and thighs as your legs strain, the pain in your nipples as they're pinched and twisted.

"Fuuuck, so fucking tight, Nik," someone groans, the man fucking you, his hips sliding back and forth, grinding his cock into you. Your back arches, the only movement left to you. Nik cups your cheek in his hand, smiling down as you plead with him through the blurry layer of tears on your eyes- and then he braces his arm against the wooden front of your coffin, pulls out his cock, and drags the slick head of it over your face, your eyes, smearing the tears with it.

"Suck," he says, and lays it on your tongue; you limply drool around it as the man at your pussy grips your thighs and starts to fuck his cock deeper, hard pounds of his body that make your head spin. Someone plucks your nipple and then there's another cock being rubbed over it, broad hands cupping your breast and squeezing it, crushing it down on your chest under the weight of another big, heavy body, another leaking cock. Hands play with your stomach, your other breast, someone digs their fingers into your armpit, making you flinch.

And even in the midst of the pain and the fear and the begging, your pussy- still slick and swollen, still wet, every thrust growing wetter as blood is churned up inside you- starts to heat again, nerves teased with every slap of heavy, muscular hips to your skin, every time your clit is teased and rubbed by questing hands, even the stinging pain starting to fade and be eclipsed. Your hips raise up, as a soft sound squeaks out around Nikolai's cock on your tongue, and he grins and smacks at the front of the box again.

"Ghost! Feel that?" He asks, and pumps his cock further into your mouth; at the same time a hot, wet mouth seals over one of your nipples and sucks at the tender, swollen peak. Your head swims. "I told you virgin pussy could come if the girl is ripe for it." His free hand curls over your throat, a steady pressure, and he turns your head and starts fucking into your mouth, shallow thrusts that leave spurts of precome on your tongue, even as Ghost mutters something to the others and then begins- the whole box shakes, it's too- much- hard and fast and overwhelming, your breath catches- your clit is smacked against his groin as he bottoms out, a deliberate grind every time, your pussy sore and pulsing and squeezing around the huge cock forcing it to stretch, ruined and soaked and gushing, you can feel the mess of blood and slick splattering on your thighs, down your ass, and Nik wedges his thumb into your cheek, between your teeth, to keep you from biting down when you come with a groan and a trembling, shaking rush of heat and pleasure-pain, as Ghost echoes you and the first hot spurts of cum pump into your belly, into your sore, fluttering pussy, the slick mess of it all smeared by rough hands across your stomach, your breasts, sucked off fingers with appreciative moans.

Ghost withdraws and Nikolai keeps his thumb in place. "Good girl," he praises, and strokes his cock with his other hand now, "big girl, all grown up. No more cherry to pop. Say thank you that I let my friend do it and not a customer." He pulls hand and cock away, rubbing the head of it on your lips. You mumble something, disconnected, the little shivers running up and down your spine making your limbs tremble. "Eh, good enough."

He leaves you there, steps away with his cock still out and hard, and you weakly gasp for breath, floating as the men speak and murmur, as Ghost's cock slips out of your pussy as it clenches.

Then two hands stroke down your thighs, and another cock notches at your pussy, pressing in against the sting and flutter of abused flesh, and you find you can still cry more tears- new, burning hot ones, as your pussy burns under another pounding cock, another relentless forced entry into your body, no debt could be worth this, this humiliation and pain and misery- and even as the cock pounds into you, sharp snaps of the man's hips that draw him nearly out then fast back in, someone lays their head against your belly, nuzzles at your skin, and then a tongue flicks over your clit even as your pussy is fucked, a gentle little touch that you strain to keep feeling, little candle-flame flutters against the fire deep in your belly.

Your hips lift to chase the tongue, squirming when the cock withdraws, and you whine and moan wordlessly when the man's mouth seals fully over your clit and sucks. Hot-wet-tight-good, pure pleasure after the pain, and you gasp and roll your body into it mindlessly. A beard scrapes your breast, another wet mouth on your nipple again, and even faster than before you find the heat winding up tight, the little whimpering sounds in your throat bubbling up, and you're so close to coming and it's so good, nothing but pleasure and heat and you need it- you're hurting so much and you need something good, something sweet and easy-

The mouth vanishes, and the cock is back, pounding harder than before, and your voice cracks on a wail of despair, begging not to go home or to stop but:

"Please! please please I need it please let me cum please please cum please-!!"

"No," Nikolai says, his voice rough, and you realize he's the one fucking you now, his cock splitting you open, and you clench and shudder as he groans and fills you with his own cum, flicking your clit with his thumb like striking a match, too sharp and harsh to tip you over the edge.

Another third cock, this time with the slick folds of your pussy thumbed apart so your clit throbs alone, untouched, the burning pain sharp again inside you as the ruined flesh is pounded, fucked, used- so wet with cum now that it drips down your ass and joins the mess of your own piss and cum from before- and your eyes roll when someone else steps into the box, grips your head, and forces his cock into your mouth.

"There you go," a soft voice urges you, rich with an accent you can't place with your brain upside down and cum-soaked, "come on, let me in- open that little throat for me."

You choke, gagging, and the thick head of his cock pushes against the opening to your throat. You can't see his face, only a piece of his stomach, the edge of his opened jeans, and your pussy clenches down tight, burning and stinging, as your throat squeezes and is forced open as well, a second virginity ripped out of you. You gag, thrashing, and the cock pops free, stroking over your tongue before pounding into your throat again.

Your stomach rolls, nausea building as your gag reflex is pounded, but every time you nearly heave the man pulls out, strokes his cock over your tongue, prods at the inside of your cheeks- you're swimming in an ocean and going under the waves every time, pain and despair rippling down through you as any small pleasure vanishes, and you sob weakly when the man twists his hand in your hair and yanks, forcing you to swallow around him, and pumps thick, bitter cum into your throat, paints your tongue with it, your pussy clenching around another load of cum puddling inside you, dripping out.

You whimper when Nikolai pats your thigh and reminds you, "two more! I brought four friends. Almost done, more than halfway now, pretty girl." The man gripping your hair laughs.

"Aw, Nik, shoulda seen her face- fucking heartbroken."

Nikolai's head comes around, he's a blurry, massive bulk in your vision, as he thumbs a bit of cum off your lips and rubs it into your hair instead. "Aw, poor thing. Pussy sore?" Your head sags in a vague nod. It hurts. It's so sore it's fluttering, unable to close now, just a solid ache and throb from clit to hole.

He kneels, and pinches your ear, making you look at him. "A choice then, for being so good and coming on their cocks. You can get your pussy fucked twice more," you whine, "or, pay attention- you let the last two have that tight little ass instead."

There's twin moans outside your box. "Christ, Nik, I don't care what she says, if ass is available I'm taking it!" One snaps. "Waiting half the fucking night."

Nikolai smiles again, sharp toothed and nasty, and drops your head to bounce to the bench. "Hm, yes. Go ahead," and your mouth drops open on a long, soundless moan as fingers slick in your own cum and theirs prod down under your pussy, find your ass, and shove inside, two thick burning brands forcing even more of your flesh to stretch, to strain and tremble, hovering on the edge of a terrible, tearing pain.

The fingers thrust and roll in and out, sawing at you, and your belly clenches with a twisting ache. More slick is squeezed from your pussy with a hand on your lower belly, a thumb flicking your clit to make you whine, and all of it mixes into a wet, sticky mess that makes your skin crawl.

"Please no," you whisper, watching the ceiling spin, the camera and it's light uncaring as you blink tears down your temples. "No, I can't, I can't," but the camera keeps watching as the hot head of a cock is lined up, a finger in your pussy prodding and stroking, finding the sore, aching nerves inside, and as you flinch and whine it presses further in, breaching the tight rim of your hole, and a little weak spurt of piss is forced out of your bladder as the man bears his weight down on you, groans and swears and slowly forces the full length of his cock into your ass.

It burns, worse than your pussy, your body clenching and shaking to try and get it out again. Too much, too big and hot and awful, your sore pussy clenching on the finger in it only because the whole entire mess of your used flesh is clenching, trying to force the intrusion out.

It doesn't work.

He only grinds in deeper, moans and plays with your pussy, stroking your clit, urging more slick cum down to soak the base of his cock as it moves in you. It feels like it's in your lungs, and someone else sighs and drags their hand over your belly, up to cup your breast, and tenderly thumbs your nipple.

Slow, solid pumps of his hips, soft little rubs on your nipple. Your brain can't figure out what to focus on, the pain or the too-light distracting touch following it, forced to stay present and feeling it all, and you hiccup around a cry and drool cum down your cheek when there's a wet, hot splash across your breasts, trickling down to your throat, under the edge of the padded hole and into your hair-

They're pissing on you.

Another splash of it, and you give up. You can't even try and fight it, can't force the cock out of your body or their piss off your skin or even make the torn, bloody insides of your pussy regrow- you're a used up fucked up piece of flesh to pay off a debt, you'll be handed off to paying customers once these sadists are finished and you won't even know when you'll be free again.

Your own piss joins the puddle of theirs, wetting down between your legs, and all the tension drops out of you at once. The man in your ass groans, finding it easier with less resistance, and his hips snap to yours faster, wetter, chasing his pleasure. Someone looks in on you, though you can't see who, and makes a satisfied sort of noise.

The hot cum in your ass isn't even a surprise, or a new humiliation, just a notch in the long list of misery unfolding in front of you. Why not make your ass burn and tear and squeeze out more cum? Why not stretch your hole to the breaking point and spit inside it, groping hands and fingers pinching at you, smacking your pussy, your clit.

Your ankles are uncuffed, your wrists cross as you're rolled over to lay flat on your stomach, and now your ass is more available- and they take advantage, heavy palms slapping across your cheeks, your thighs, sharp cracks on your flesh until you make a thin, weak cry, skin throbbing and burning, and then the last cock is forced into your aching hole, the cum and slick and blood all smearing together as he fucks you hard.

He's harder than all the others, cruel with it even past what you had already endured- his fingers jab into the soft, bruising flesh of your ass, pinch so deep into your thighs your muscles jerk and spasm to break his hold even as your mind slips further away. A big hand cups your face, turns you to look up, and a stream of piss flows into your mouth, making you choke and sputter, as two fingers join the cock ripping your ass apart.

You whimper and try to spit it out, but the hand crushes down over your mouth and nose, forcing you to swallow, the awful salty taste sticking to your tongue, in your nose, as your body swings between giving up and survival.

Giving up wins again, and your head drops down to the bench again, lungs burning, dark spots floating in your eyes. Your ass is a burning mass of pain, your pussy close behind it, and the man digs in a third finger and comes with his other hand under you, pinching your clit so hard lightning crackles through you and whites you out and finally nothing at all, just the peace and bliss of a long dark tunnel with nothing at the end.

-

You wake in pain, head pounding, still laid on the bench but pulled fully inside your box now. The cuffs are gone but the evidence remains, bruises and marks and the sticky, half-dried evidence smeared on your skin, the stinging, burning ache between your legs, in your throat. You moan, trying to sit up, and you shift your legs and realize there's something inside you, something thick and heavy in both your holes, forcing abused skin and flesh to stay stretched and open.

A new horror starts to trickle in when Nikolai comes back inside, his cock back in his pants but that same smile on his face. "Sleeping beauty," he says, "have a good rest? Feel better?"

You stare at him dully. Whatever he's put in you or decides to do to you- what does it matter?

He shrugs when you don't answer. His hand comes down on your arm, urges you to stand even as you gasp, lightheaded, swaying on your feet. You feel weak as a baby stumbling to the door. "A good first night, I think. You'll go clean up and rest now, and I will fetch you for work when ready." He guides you down a dark hall and to another small room, the same camera in the corner, a bed, a shower on the other side. You yelp and collapse when he pushes you into it, and turns on a hard jet of cold water.

"Fucking- get! Off!" You snap, wriggling, but your shoulders scream and you stop, panting, your throat clenching as his cock rubs against you again. It's thick and hot and musky, sweaty, gross and dragging and he's not even got anything on under his pants, just fabric worn thin by time and a heavy cock.

He rubs again, this time angling his hips so that the tip of his cock ruts under your cheekbone, forcing your jaw to drop down. You blink past the haze over your eyes, tracking desperately for someone else to come help, see that he's going too far, but the few people also working out look away. No one wants to piss off the Ghost when he's enjoying himself.

Ghost keeps grinding, his cockhead pulsing against your cheek, and for a moment his grip relaxes- you push up hard, ignoring the burning pain in your shoulder, and manage to twist around enough to get a knee under you, kick up, come on get up get up-

Slam goes Ghost onto your ribs, thighs bracketing your neck and head, rolling you into your back, and you shriek when his cock and balls settle fully over your face, a hot sweaty suffocation that sends you into a panic immediately.

"Nice try,' he praises, muffled, and you feel him shift around. He's kneeling over your head, hips canted as he lifts them to let you gasp, each massive hand pinning your wrists at your sides, before dropping down and smothering you under his cock again. "Do it again, go on. Really struggle for me."

Sick humiliation burns in your belly as he laughs. You kick, shove up with your hips, pull with your arms, wriggle and thrash and through it all his cock just throbs across your cheek, growing heavier and fatter. Ghost uses his thighs to move your head back and forth, grinding where he wants, now and then a little mocking tease filtering into your ears through the slabs of muscle squeezing them.

"Is that all you got?"

"You were so determined, where'd that fire go, eh?"

"Aw, is princess getting tired?"

You pant under his weight, chest heaving, slick with sweat and ready to cry. You just want him off. You want his big stupid cock off your face and his hands off your wrists and his sneering mocking eyes off your body.

Then the tip of his cock drags slow over your lips, the stretched-thin fabric damp and musky and you taste it, just a little, a droplet smearing and you instinctively lick it off, and your hips buck up, sealing your doom.

Ghost pauses, and you clench and shiver and pray he brushes it off, but that's not who he is, and his cock pulses another drop onto your lips. You refuse to lick at it this time, nose full of the hot smell, the rich sex musk that's got to be all over your skin now, in your hair, and then find yourself gasping when the two big thighs shift back and you're suddenly freed, splayed on the floor staring up as Ghost stands, grinning under his mask down at you.

"Stand up, princess," he says. "Another round and I might give that cunt a reward."

You snarl up at him, burning up with the ache and heat of it, the humiliation of being pinned and used to rub off, the humiliation of liking it, and jolt to your feet, throwing yourself at Ghost with every screaming cell of your body.

It doesn't work.

He pins you again, too easily, his time rolling you with his legs crossed behind your neck, shoving you face first into his groin, hands scratching and pulling at his thighs, and you gasp and shudder when he flexes so his cock jumps, straining the fabric of his pants, your mouth buried in the hot, airless pocket between cock and balls. Your lungs ache, you kick at the mat and pound your fists on his thighs, and the low groan he makes when you struggle slides down your spine and settles between your thighs in a pounding ache.

"There you go, princess, get a nice long sniff," he says, and squeezes his thighs. Your head spins. "I see that cunt leaking from here. Fucking pathetic."

Your body is burning up, lungs and belly and cunt all together, eyes stinging with tears, and you sag limply as you give in, yield it up, let Ghost drag his cock over your cheek and his balls over your lips, the fluttering pulse in your throat choked off. The little bits of air you have are thick with his scent. You whine and whimper and beg like a useless little rag, blinking wetly as your eyes roll, and Ghost groans and grips your head in both hands, hauling you up for a moment before dropping your open mouth down on the head of his cock.

You suckle at it, clumsy with the lack of air, with the pleasure moving syrup-slow in your veins, and taste the thicker hot spurts of precome leaking through cotton, fat round cock throbbing as your lips and tongue move over it, and Ghost bobs you up and down, cursing. You suck in a breath when he releases the grip of his thighs, and a thick thumb wedges between your teeth, pushing back and stretching your cheek, jaw aching.

His other thumb wipes the tears from under your eye, then presses in, making you wince as your eye is squished in. It hurts, a sharp pain that only grows until you whimper past his thumb, and he smirks down at you and spits.

It's hot and wet and gross, and your whole cunt throbs. Slick and pathetic and leaking into your shorts.

Ghost takes his thumb off your eye, and pops the waistband of his sweats down, his cock dropping out. Heavy and fat and long, too big in your mouth, your tongue curling under as you struggle to take what he gives you.

"You bite me," he warns, "and I'll choke you out and piss down your throat." You moan, he laughs, and then he locks his thighs in again and takes his thumb from your teeth, and you're swallowing his cock into your throat by force, choking, gagging with it, your arms and legs pushing back and your belly convulsing, you're going to puke and there's no where for it to go-

Ghost opens his legs and you moan out a stuttering, broken noise as you come off his cock, tongue drooling out, throat clenching and aching- and then you're back down again, nose buried in the thick blond hair at his base, grinding into it, and one of his hands comes around under you to feel the way your throat bulges out.

"That's what you need huh, just a nice fat cock to, to choke on," he pants, and bobs you up and down, not leaving your mouth this time, the mess of pre and drool soaking his pants. "Hold it in, princess, you can't fight me- too weak for that," and you choke out a desperate little noise as he drives into your throat faster, speed over depth. You cling to his legs, either to pull him off or keep him close, you don't know anymore. Your head is spinning, the lights are flashing. You think you're passing out. You might throw up still. You want to come.

There's a coil winding tighter and tighter inside you. Ghost grunts above you, his belly flexing, the smooth curves of his muscles arcing over you, sleek with sweat, his shirt stained dark in his pits and around his neck. He pulls his cock out and pumps it over your cheek, rubbing the swollen head against your nose, precum spurting into your nostrils. His eyes are dark and hot and mean, using you, and his crossed ankles push into your back, forcing your spine into an unforgiving arch, and his hands grab your wrists again and pull your arms out straight as his cock sinks fully into your throat again, sealing it up.

Your jaw aches, your hips roll, the pressure of throating Ghost's cock makes your head pound. He groans and his cock throbs in your mouth, the smallest grind ensuring your throat is continually clenching around it. A breathless shudder rolls up your spine. A bubble of precum pops at your nose, the last iota of breath escaping. There's a twist in your stomach, a convulsing spasm, and Ghost grunts over you, the bones of your wrists creaking in his hands.

"Aw, princess, did you piss yourself or squirt?" He says, his voice warbling like he's underwater, the grey-black of his mask and clothes and eyes spreading like smoke across your vision. "Not that I fucking care..."

-

You wake up in a puddle, slick and cum and piss, semen clogging your throat as you cough, wheezing, raw and burning from throat to cunt. There's more cum streaking over your cheeks, sticking to your hair, the globs of it dripping off your tongue and splashing into the mess you'd made.

You're alone, even Ghost gone, just your aching, shuddering body and the mess on the mat, a throbbing ache in your chest and throat. A matching one in your cunt, clenching in your soaked shorts, an orgasm you can't remember. You wince and slowly crawl off the mat, use a bench to sit up, grabbing one of the folded gym towels to hold across your face.

There's a note next to it, pinned to the wooden bench with a sharp, narrow folsing knife.

Clean up after yourself. 0500 tomorrow, here.

You crumple the note in your fist and flick the knife shut with shaking fingers, and breathe into the towel, soaking in the hot damp mix of sweat and cum and tears, a sharp little clench in your cunt, and stagger up to wipe down the mat, another towel down your legs for the worst of that, and fling them into the laundry bin on your way out.