A modern retelling of a classic story from a time long past. Following in the footsteps of Tiffany Daniels, Kylie Morgan stars in her own story. In the end, it's a classic blackmail story within a modern setting. AI-assisted story telling. All characters are over the age of 18.
Chapter 4
The next morning, Kylie stared blankly at her locker door. Amid the usual clutter, a single folded slip of paper—identical to yesterday’s—waited. Her fingers brushed it, cold dread pooling in her gut. With trembling hands, she unfolded it. "Have fun at practice today, " it read, Harrington's sterile font twisting the innocuous words into a venomous promise. She crumpled it instantly, shoving the paper deep into her pocket like a grenade pin.
In English class, Jameson’s smooth voice slithered through Shakespearean analysis. Kylie hunched over her notebook, sketching frantic spirals. Then Jameson paused, his gaze slicing toward her like a scalpel. "...Much like Lady Macbeth’s futile cleaning of imaginary stains, " he mused, eyes locked onto hers. His smirk widened faintly. "Some compulsion remains... undeniable. Even amidst, he paused, letting the word hang, "convulsing guilt. Or perhaps, " he added softly, leaning on his desk, "a stolen climax buried deep." Kylie flinched as if struck, her pen gouging the paper. The bell’s shriek was a mercy. She bolted from her seat, shoving past startled classmates, fleeing into the crowded hall.
Harrington materialized beside the gym doors like summoned smoke. Kylie froze mid-stride, her breath catching. "Going somewhere?" His voice cut through the locker chatter, low and intimate. She stammered, "I—I have to get to practice, Mr. Harrington." He tutted softly, his hand closing around her bicep. "In here now, " he murmured, steering her toward a narrow janitorial closet. She stumbled as he shoved her inside, the door clicking shut behind them. Dank shadows swallowed them both, the sharp tang of bleach thick in the air. Harrington pinned her against cold metal shelves. "Are you wearing panties?" His breath warmed her ear. Defeated, she whispered, "Yes." He chuckled, dark and soft. "Consequences require reminders." His fingers dug into her waistband. "Drop your pants."
Kylie obeyed mechanically, trembling fingers fumbling with her sweatpants’ drawstring. They pooled around her ankles. Harrington’s pocketknife flashed silver, its snick echoing sharply. He sliced through the delicate lace of her peach-colored panties, another favorite ruined, and tucked the damp fabric into his jacket. "Now, to help you recall..." He produced a small tube, unscrewing it to reveal icy-blue gel. Dipping two fingers deep, he coated them thickly. "Raise a leg." She lifted her shaking leg, hooking her foot on a low shelf. His slick fingers dragged slowly over her mound, spreading chilling menthol. She gasped, muscles clenching—then cried out as he thrust one finger shallowly inside and pinched her clit hard, smearing it in gel. "Enjoy practice, " he purred, stepping back. The door opened, flooding the closet with hallway light before he vanished as Kylie scrambled to cover herself back up.
Inside the gym, Kylie limbered up desperately, stretching her hamstrings deeper than usual to distract from the icy burn searing her nethers. The menthol gel felt like frostbite layered over Harrington’s invasive touch, a cruel taunt masquerading as a "reminder." Maya bounced over, adjusting her cobalt leotard straps. "Ugh, Coach Miller had us running sprints after beam drills!" she groaned, oblivious. "And guess what? Ezra finally asked me out! He wants to take me to that new pizza place Friday!" Maya beamed. Kylie forced a smile, relief flooding her at the mundane chatter—anything to drown out the phantom whispers and the frigid ache between her legs. "That’s... great, Maya, " she managed, focusing on Maya’s excited blush instead of the lingering sting.
As Kylie took her starting pose for her floor routine—arms lifted, chin high—her gaze instinctively swept the near-empty bleachers. Harrington and Jameson sat side-by-side in the front row, Harrington’s arms crossed, Jameson leaning forward with predatory focus. Her breath hitched. The haunting Irish melody began, and Kylie launched into her sequence—a leap, a pirouette—but her landing faltered, legs wobbling. Coach Miller’s sharp bark sliced through the music: "Landing’s loose, Morgan! Tighter core!" Kylie stumbled into her next tumbling pass, the icy burn flaring violently with each impact. Her mind flashed to Jameson’s velvet voice praising her throat’s "cadence, " and she froze mid-cartwheel, crashing gracelessly onto the spring floor. Harrington’s smirk was a blade twisting deep.
When she looked up again, Harrington and Jameson were gone. Maybe I'm just imagining things, she thinks to herself. Coach Miller stormed over, her whistle bouncing against her chest. "Get up! Focus!" She jabbed a finger toward Kylie’s rear as she struggled to rise. "And tuck that butt tight—you’re flaring like a damn peacock!" Humiliation scorched Kylie’s cheeks hotter than the menthol’s bite. Jaw clenched, she shoved herself upright. She inhaled sharply, locking her trembling muscles. For the finale, she hurled herself into a double back tuck—landing hard, ankles jarring, but flawlessly vertical. The coach gave a curt nod. "Better."
The locker room echoed with distant chatter. Kylie headed straight for the showers, locking herself in the farthest stall. Scalding water pelted her skin, steam billowing as she frantically scrubbed at her thighs. She rubbed viciously at the raw sting where Harrington’s gel still burned her skin, the menthol’s chill finally dissolving beneath the heat. Her fingers slid lower instinctively, brushing her pussy. A jolt of phantom sensation made her snatch her hand back like she’d touched fire. "No, " she hissed under the spray, squeezing her eyes shut. She rinsed faster, the water sluicing away suds and shame.
Wrapped in a towel, Kylie avoided the fogged mirror. She dressed quickly: sweatpants, hoodie, no underwear of course. At her locker, she grabbed her backpack, its familiar weight settling across her shoulders. As she slammed the metal door shut, her phone buzzed.
See you in 5 minutes
No sender name. No punctuation. Just those five words in sterile black font. Ice flooded her veins.
She knew exactly what it meant. Room 202. Oblivious students swirled around her, laughing, shouting, slamming lockers. Kylie moved like a sleepwalker through the current, feet dragging towards the science wing. The hallway grew quieter, emptier. The fluorescent hum intensified. Outside Room 202, she hesitated, hand hovering over the cold knob. Taking a shallow breath that tasted like chalk dust she pushed inside.
Harrington and Jameson leaned against opposite filing cabinets, bathed in the harsh overhead light. Harrington’s arms were crossed, Jameson cradled a mug of steaming coffee. Their conversation died instantly as she entered. Four eyes raked over her – Harrington’s sharp, assessing, Jameson’s hooded, lingering on the swell of her chest beneath the hoodie. “Ah, punctual, ” Harrington stated, pushing off the cabinet. Jameson took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving her. “Remarkable recovery on that dismount, ” Jameson murmured, his voice smooth as velvet. “Such resilience...” Harrington nodded curtly. “Competitive spirit, despite earlier... distractions.” His gaze hardened. “take off your jacket.”
Kylie’s fingers trembled as they found the zipper of her hoodie. The metallic zzzzzip echoed sharply in the silent room. She shrugged the thick fabric off her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms and pool onto the floor beside the desk. Clad only in her leotard and sweatpants, the air prickled her exposed skin. She avoided their stares, focusing on the linoleum floor. Swallowing hard, she made her way to the desk. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths. Harrington’s shadow fell over her.
He caught her arm before she could lift herself onto the wood. "Not there today, " Harrington intoned. His voice was low, deliberate. He steered her away from the desk toward the center of the room. "Strength and stamina today, " he announced. "On your knees." Confusion flickered across Kylie’s face as he pressed down firmly on her shoulder. Her gymnast’s muscles obeyed instinctively, folding her into a kneeling position. The cold floor bit into her knees through the thin leotard fabric. She knelt between them, head bowed, cheeks burning crimson. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Shame scorched her neck and chest. She lifted her gaze slowly, cautiously. Harrington was unbuckling his belt with precise, unhurried movements. Beside him, Jameson mirrored the action, his fingers sliding smoothly over his expensive leather buckle. Kylie’s eyes widened slightly—a doe-like look of raw uncertainty. Harrington’s zipper rasped downward. Jameson’s button popped open. The sound seemed amplified, filling the room. Kylie flinched, dropping her gaze back to the floor. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap. Harrington cleared his throat. "Eyes up, " he commanded softly. "Pay attention." She obeyed, forcing her chin up. Jameson’s smirk was faint, predatory. Harrington’s expression remained stern, detached. "The lesson, " Harrington murmured, his voice dropping to a gritty whisper, "is endurance."
Kylie blinked rapidly as Harrington pushed his trousers and boxers down together in one fluid motion below his hips. Jameson followed suit, stepping out of his own pooled trousers. Twin erections sprang free—Harrington’s thick and flushed, rigidly pointing toward her face; Jameson’s longer, paler, pulsing faintly with each heartbeat. Kylie’s breath caught sharply in her chest. Panic flared, hot and blinding. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle a whimper. Tears welled instantly, blurring the obscene vision before her. She squeezed her eyes shut instinctively, unsure what to do.
Jameson snorted, a harsh, dismissive sound. "Get your hands up here, stupid girl, " he snapped down at her, the cultured eloquence entirely vanished, replaced by cold authority. "I know you can't wait to get your slutty mouth around our cocks, but that'll have to wait." The sudden shift—the crude word slicing through his usual velvet tone—jarred Kylie. Her breath hitched, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. Tentatively, she opened her eyes as she raised her right hand, fingers visibly trembling. Her arm seemed impossibly heavy. She'd never willingly touched a penis before. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached toward Jameson’s erection—the closest one hovering inches from her face. Her fingertips brushed the hot, taut skin, flinching away instantly as if burned. "Slowly, " Harrington murmured, his own gaze fixed on her trembling hand. "Softly. Grip it." Kylie obeyed, forcing herself forward again. Her slender fingers wrapped tentatively around Jameson’s shaft. The heat shocked her. The texture—soft skin over rigid hardness—felt alien, terrifying.
Kylie felt paralyzed, focused solely on the terrifying heat and pulse beneath her trembling right hand wrapped around Jameson. A soft, choked sob escaped her lips. "Put that other hand to use, Kylie, " Harrington’s stern voice cut through her haze. "Grab my cock." Her left hand jerked upward instinctively. Her gaze flickered wildly between Harrington’s stern eyes and the thick, flushed shaft inches from her cheek. Her knuckles were white where she gripped Jameson. Slowly, achingly, her left hand lifted. Her fingers stretched out. The tip of Harrington’s cock bumped against her palm. She recoiled slightly. "Now, stroke us, " Harrington growled, the command uncompromising. Kylie gasped, squeezing her eyes shut again as she curled her fingers around the base of Harrington’s erection with bruising force, a reflexive clench born of fear, not control. Both men groaned softly, Jameson a low rumble, Harrington a sharp intake of breath, as her trembling hands held their rigid flesh, the gymnast’s grip strong and desperate.
She didn’t know what to do. Instinct screamed to pull away, but Harrington’s unspoken threat, the footage, her father’s rage, locked her bones. So she froze, fingers rigidly encircling them, trembling violently like a trapped bird straining against a cage. "Move, " Jameson hissed, his velvet voice replaced by icy impatience. "Jerk us off. Pretend you're churning butter." Panic clouded Kylie’s mind. She’d never done this before. Never touched a man like this. Her hands clenched tighter, knuckles pressing painfully against the shafts, and then she began to wiggle her wrists rapidly back and forth—a frantic, meaningless tremor transmitted through her stiffened fingers and palms. It felt like trying to shake off a spider clinging to skin. Harrington’s groan turned into an exasperated sigh. "Stop that, " he commanded sharply. "You’re not polishing a trophy." Kylie froze again, breath catching. "Stroke it, " Harrington instructed, his tone shifting to unnerving calmness. "Up and down. Slowly. Use your whole hand."
Tears tracked silently down Kylie’s cheeks as she forced her fingers to relax their death grip. She focused on Harrington first, sliding her left palm slowly up his shaft, the skin smooth and hot beneath her touch. She reached the swollen head, slick with pre-come, and shuddered violently. Then, she slid her hand slowly back down to the base, forcing her thumb to circle slightly where she’d gripped before. A low groan escaped Harrington. “Better, " he murmured, his gaze fixed intently on her face. She repeated the motion—up, down, tentative yet deliberate—on Harrington. Then, shifting her focus with agonizing slowness, she mirrored the motion on Jameson with her right hand: a slow upward glide, fingers brushing the sensitive ridge beneath his head, followed by a trembling descent back to the base. Jameson drew in a sharp breath, his hips pushing subtly against her fist. "Consistency, " Harrington urged softly. "Maintain the pace." Kylie’s arms ached, her shoulders burning with tension, but she kept moving—slow, dragging strokes, her hands sliding up and down their lengths in a clumsy, terrified rhythm.
Jameson watched her glistening hands work, her knuckles white despite the gentler motion. "Spit, " he commanded abruptly, his cultured voice utterly devoid of warmth. Kylie flinched, her strokes faltering. "On them, " he clarified coolly, nodding toward his shaft held loosely in her palm. "It’s pretty dry." Humiliation scorched Kylie anew. Harrington’s gaze remained fixed on her parted lips. Gathering saliva felt impossible; her mouth was desert-dry. She forced her tongue against the roof of her mouth, gathering what she could. Leaning forward slightly, she spat weakly onto Jameson’s cockhead—a small, glistening blob landing near the tip. "Again, " Jameson demanded, unmoved. "More." Kylie did so, leaning closer, spitting more forcefully onto the shaft Harrington held. The saliva dripped down. "Now keep stroking, " Harrington ordered, his voice thick. "Use it." Kylie obeyed, squeezing her eyes shut against the shame as she resumed the jerking motion on both of them, her wet palms now sliding more easily—and sickeningly—over their hardened cocks, the slick sounds filling the silent room. Kneeling between them, she jacked them off, her slender gymnast’s arms moving mechanically, tears dripping silently onto the cold linoleum floor beneath her knees.
Harrington’s voice cut through the rhythmic sounds. "Kylie, " he murmured, "Have you ever given a handjob before?" Kylie’s heart slammed against her ribs. She shook her head frantically back and forth, her cheeks flushing crimson. "No, sir, " she choked out, her voice barely audible. Harrington’s lip curled in a dismissive smirk. "It shows, " he stated flatly, his gaze hardening. "Clumsy grip. No rhythm. Embarrassing." The words landed like blows. Jameson chuckled darkly beside her, shifting his weight slightly, his cock pulsing hotly against her slick fingers. "Fix it, " Harrington demanded coldly. Before Kylie could react, his hands descended. He grabbed the high collar of her leotard and yanked violently downward. The sturdy fabric tore audibly, peeling away from her shoulders and chest until it bunched around her waist. Kylie gasped, her bare breasts suddenly hanging free, taut and vulnerable in the harsh light, her nipples hardening instantly against the chill air drifting through the room. She instinctively tried to hunch forward, but Jameson’s sharp "Keep stroking!" froze her movement.
Kylie’s arms burned as she kept moving—up, down—on both shafts, her exposed breasts trembling slightly with each jerky movement. Harrington studied her flushed face intently. "Focus, " he snapped suddenly. Kylie flinched, her rhythm stuttering briefly. Instantly, Harrington’s rough thumb and forefinger flicked sharply against her left nipple—a sharp, stinging snap that made her cry out softly. "Don’t stop, " Harrington growled. Kylie gasped, fighting back a sob, forcing her hands back into motion. The slick slide continued—Harrington’s thick shaft in her left hand, Jameson’s longer one in her right. She tried to steady her trembling arms, tried to find the monotonous rhythm Harrington demanded. But fear and uncertainty blurred her focus. Her pace slowed slightly. "Pathetic, " Jameson muttered. Kylie flinched again. This time, Jameson’s knuckle flicked out—a swift, hard tap against her right nipple that sent a jolt of sharp pain radiating through her breast. Kylie whimpered, tears streaming freely now. She clenched her jaw, her hands moving faster, harder, a desperate bid to avoid the next flick. "Consistency, " Harrington reminded her coolly, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Maintain it." He watched her frantic motions, the flicker of pain in her eyes each time she faltered and earned another sharp sting on her hypersensitive skin. The cruel rhythm settled—strokes punctuated by stinging flicks—as Kylie knelt exposed, her hands working and her bare chest offering silent targets for their torment.
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, blotting out the terrifying sight of them looming over her. All her concentration narrowed to the screaming ache in her shoulders, the trembling fatigue in her wrists, and the relentless, slippery glide in her palms. If she kept moving... if she kept the pace fast and steady... the sharp snaps against her nipples would pause. Her mouth hung slackly open, breaths shallow and ragged, tasting the stale air thick with cologne and exertion. Every tiny dip in her rhythm, every hesitation, brought another sharp flick—Harrington’s thumb or Jameson’s knuckle landing with precise cruelty on her tender buds. Pain bloomed fresh each time, hot and sharp, pulling choked whimpers from her throat. She poured everything into her arms—disciplined gymnast’s muscles recalling vaults and leaps—pushing through the fire in her shoulders. Faster. Harder. Keep the strokes smooth. Avoid the sting. Avoid the sting. Her world shrank to the motion of her hands and the fragile hope that compliance might end the torment sooner. Sweat beaded along her hairline, mingling with tears, running down her cheeks.
Suddenly, Harrington’s hand stopped flicking. Instead, his palm engulfed her entire left breast—rough and possessive—squeezing the firm flesh brutally tight as she stroked him. Simultaneously, Jameson’s fingers tangled sharply in her hair, holding her bun tight in his grip.
A thick, unfamiliar warmth pressed firmly against her bottom lip, nudging upward past her teeth. Kylie recoiled violently, her eyes flying open. Her hands froze mid-stroke on both cocks, fingers instinctively curling inward as she stared wildly down. Two. Only two shafts pulsed wetly in her palms. Yet, something hot and rigid pushed against her mouth. Confusion tore through her terror—a jagged bolt of disbelief as dhe dropped both hands instantly, jerking her head back sharply, her eyes flying open. Her gaze flew upward past Harrington’s sneering face.
Standing directly before her, where moments ago only empty air had been, was a naked stranger. His thick erection bobbed obscenely inches from her face, slick with her own spit. Kylie gasped, but unable to scramble anywhere as Jameson maintained his grip on her bun, the torn leotard bunching painfully around her waist. Her knees scraped harshly against the cold linoleum. “Ah, ” Harrington chuckled darkly, releasing her breast to gesture lazily at the newcomer. “I see you've met Ben.” The stranger grinned, stepping closer, slapping his cock wetly against Kylie’s flushed cheekbone as she flinched away. “Our resident IT specialist, ” Jameson added smoothly, his hand still twisted in her hair, preventing escape. “You can thank Ben for the clarity of your little video, ” Harrington taunted, his voice dripping malice. “And for ensuring it reaches every admissions office, and your father... should you disappoint us.”
Kylie stared, mute with horror, at Ben’s unfamiliar face—ruddy cheeks, thinning brown hair, eyes bright with predatory glee. She’d never seen him before—not in the hallways, not in the auditorium, nowhere. Yet here he stood, naked and grinning, cock swaying near her mouth like a threat made of flesh. Her mind reeled: How? When did he enter? The door hadn’t opened. The filing cabinets offered no cover. It was as if he’d materialized from the shadows Harrington and Jameson cast. Ben reached down, rough fingers gripping her jaw, forcing her slack mouth toward him. “Open wide again, sweetheart, ” he rasped, his voice thick with anticipation. “Time for a proper introduction.” Kylie whimpered, tasting stale air and terror as his thick head pressed insistently against her lips. Behind her, Harrington and Jameson laughed—a dark, unified sound that echoed off the sterile walls of Room 202.
Her gymnast’s reflexes kicked in before conscious thought. Kylie jerked her head back violently, clenching her jaw shut while pressing her palms flat against Ben’s thighs, shoving with every ounce of coiled muscle strength. “No!” she choked out, saliva spraying as she twisted away. “Please—I don’t want this!” Her eyes darted wildly between the three men, pleading. Ben’s grip tightened on her hair, wrenching her skull forward until her neck screamed. “Shut her up, ” Harrington snapped, his voice a whip-crack of command. “Get that cock in her mouth.” Jameson leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. “And grab ours again, ” he hissed, fingers tightening painfully in her bun. “Now.” Kylie froze, caught between a sob and a scream, as Ben’s slick, swollen head breached her lips, forcing her teeth apart with bruising pressure. She gagged instinctively, tasting sweat-salt and musk as he pushed deeper. "If you bite, the video goes out, " warned Harrington.
Kylie fought blindly, muscles straining—hips bucking nothing, head thrashing beneath Ben’s relentless thrust. Her hands flailed wildly, nails scraping uselessly at his thighs. “Grabbie!” Harrington roared, punctuating the order with a sharp slap across her exposed breast. The sting jolted her. Whimpering, Kylie obeyed, her right hand fumbling back onto Jameson’s rigid shaft, her left groping blindly toward Harrington’s. Her fingers closed around them again, slick and hot. Above her, Ben chuckled darkly, grinding his hips forward. “There’s a good slut, ” he murmured, the praise acid in her ears. Her jaw ached unbearably as he began shallow, insistent thrusts—slow at first, then deeper. Each push forced her throat open wider, his pubic hair scratching her chin. Tears streamed freely, mixing with drool and precum dripping down her chin. She focused on the rhythmic slide of her hands—up, down, up, down—a monotonous anchor against the suffocating intrusion filling her mouth. Ben’s thrusts settled into a gentle, almost languid pace; Kylie choked silently around him, her body trembling like a plucked wire.
The room dissolved into a grotesque ballet: Harrington and Jameson towering above, hips subtly rocking into the frantic strokes of Kylie’s hands—Harrington’s grip alternating between squeezing her breast and guiding her wrist. Ben stood directly before her, pelvis pumping softly against her face, his thick cock sliding smoothly in and out of her unresisting mouth now. Her eyes squeezed shut against the horror, breath rasping wetly through flared nostrils whenever Ben pulled back slightly. The only sounds were the slick schlick of cocks on her flesh, Ben’s soft grunts, and her whimpers. Saliva pooled at the corners of her stretched lips. Her knees burned against the unforgiving floor. She felt split apart—mouth violated, hands trapped, breasts exposed and sore—yet she choked down each thrust, jerked each shaft, hoping numbness would swallow her whole before the "lesson" escalated again.
Ben’s grunts deepened. His thrusts grew sharper, less rhythmic, driving the thick head harder against her palate each time. “Mmh... getting close...” he groaned, fingers tightening painfully in her hair. Fresh, hot tears tracked freely down Kylie’s cheeks, mingling with the drool and precum coating her chin. The viscous mixture dripped steadily onto her exposed collarbones and upper breasts, leaving cold, sticky trails that glistened under the fluorescent lights. Harrington chuckled darkly, watching the mess spread. “See that?” he murmured to Jameson, “She’s leaking.” Ben suddenly pulled almost entirely out, leaving just the swollen tip resting on Kylie’s lower lip. A thick strand of saliva-slick precum bridged her upper lip and his cockhead. “Heard you guys needed lube?” Ben smirked, his eyes flicking pointedly down to her saliva-smeared chest. “Plenty right here.”
Jameson’s grip on her scalp tightened instantly. “Gather it up, ” he commanded, his voice sharp. Kylie froze, releasing both shafts with trembling fingers. “Now, ” Harrington snapped, grabbing her wrists, “Scoop it up. Use what you’re dripping.” He forced her left hand down toward the mess running between her breasts. Kylie whimpered, breathing on Ben’s tip as she obeyed, dragging her fingers through the slimy mixture of tears, spit, and Ben’s precum coating her skin. The sensation was revolting—cold and sticky. Harrington shoved her slickened hand back onto Jameson’s waiting cock. “The other one too!” Jameson barked. Trembling violently, Kylie repeated the motion with her right hand, smearing the mess onto Harrington’s shaft before resuming her jerking strokes. The wet glide became obscenely slick, amplified by fluids scraped directly from her violated body. Ben chuckled above her. “Perfect, ” he murmured, hips snapping forward, filling her mouth again.
Ben seized her head tightly, fingers digging into her temples. “Swallow it all, bitch!” he snarled. His thrusts became brutal, piston-like, battering the back of her throat with deep, choking jabs. Kylie gagged violently around him, eyes bulging, but he held her locked in place, grunting with each savage plunge. “Oh, yeah. Take it!” Harrington roared, hips jerking against her slippery hand. Ben’s rhythm fractured completely—wild, uncontrolled lunges. A guttural groan tore from his throat as his cock swelled impossibly thick. The first hot pulse hit her gag reflex directly. Kylie convulsed, choking on the thick, salty flood as Ben roared, emptying himself in frantic spurts deep down her throat. Semen overflowed instantly, flooding her mouth, spilling past her stretched lips in thick ropes that joined the mess on her chest. Ben held her impaled, spurting relentlessly, until he finally sagged back with a satisfied sigh, dragging his slick shaft across her lips and leaving her gasping, throat coated in his release.
Instantly, Harrington shoved Kylie’s trembling jaw towards Jameson’s rigid cock. “Switch!” he barked. Ben stumbled aside, wiping his spent dick on her shoulder while Jameson stepped forward. Without preamble, Jameson gripped her chin and plunged into her warm, gaping mouth. Kylie spluttered, tasting Ben’s thick residue mixed with Jameson’s scent. “Keep pumping” Harrington sneered, slapping her hand back onto his own shaft. “Stroke him too! Show him gratitude!” Her other hand fumbled blindly for Ben’s softening cock as Harrington grabbed her wrist and slammed it onto Ben’s sticky flesh. Jameson began a slow, deliberate rhythm above her, each thrust pushing deeper than Ben’s frantic assault, stretching her bruised throat muscles again. “Hold her steady, ” Harrington commanded Jameson coolly. Jameson obeyed, clamping both hands on her head, thumbs pressing painfully behind her ears. Kylie whimpered around the thick intrusion, her hands moving mechanically—up-down-up-down—on both shafts, lubed with fluids scraped from her skin and dripping from her face.
Jameson’s thrusts remained measured, almost clinical. He watched her tear-streaked face intently, his gaze cold and analytical. Kylie’s choked gurgles intensified as Jameson deliberately angled upward, grinding his tip against her soft palate with each inward push. Jameson increased the depth slightly, then paused, holding himself fully sheathed. Kylie’s throat spasmed violently around the intrusion; her muffled gagging intensified. Jameson sighed, a sound of pure satisfaction. “Perfect... complete submission.” He resumed thrusting, deeper now, but slower, savoring the tight, wet resistance. “She’s priming herself... milking it already.” Kylie’s hands faltered slightly on Ben and Harrington’s shafts. Ben growled, pinching her nipple sharply. “Keep stroking!” he snapped. She obeyed, choking anew, trapped between Jameson’s relentless penetration and the punishing glide in her palms.
Jameson’s rhythm hitched. A tremor ran through his thighs. “Close...” he hissed, his voice strained. He slammed home, burying himself to the root, and held there, his knuckles white on her skull. “Open your throat!” he commanded. Kylie tried—a futile, panicked flex—but her gag reflex seized violently as Jameson roared, erupting in thick, scalding pulses directly into her esophagus. Semen surged instantly, flooding past her capacity. It overflowed her mouth, bubbling thickly from her nostrils in twin streams that burned her sinuses. Her eyes rolled back, choking silently on the internal deluge. Harrington laughed, thrusting harder into her tightening fist. “Look at her!” he barked at Ben. “Leaking from her nose!” Jameson groaned, pumping the last spurts deep inside her. He withdrew slowly, his cock glistening, as Kylie gasped wetly, semen dribbling from her nose and overflowing her slack lips. Her hands continued their frantic, automatic strokes on Ben and Harrington’s shafts, terrified of the flicks—mechanical, relentless—even as her body shuddered with silent, suffocating coughs.
Harrington shoved Jameson aside roughly. “My turn.” He grabbed Kylie’s jaw, slick with Ben and Jameson's cum and her own saliva and tears, and forced her mouth wide. “You need more, slut?” he sneered, positioning his thick cockhead at her entrance. Without waiting, he shoved forward, ramming past her teeth and deep into her bruised throat. Kylie choked instantly—a wet, desperate gurgle buried beneath his flesh—her body instinctively recoiling, hips bucking backwards on the cold floor. Harrington gripped her hair, holding her impaled as Jameson leaned down, his face inches from hers. “That’s right, ” Jameson hissed, his breath hot against her ear. “Choke on it, you filthy little cocksucker. You love choking on dick, don’t you?” Kylie’s eyes widened in mute horror. She tried shaking her head, a frantic denial trapped behind Harrington’s thrusting shaft, her throat convulsing wildly around him. “She does, ” Ben chuckled from behind, squeezing her breast painfully. “Look how her throat milks him.”
Harrington began a brutal pace—short, deep jabs aimed at her gagging reflex. “You love it!” he snarled between thrusts, spittle flying. Kylie gagged violently, unable to breathe, tears streaming anew. Jameson’s hand clamped over hers on his cock, forcing her fingers to squeeze tighter. “Stroke it!” Jameson yelled. Harrington slammed deeper. “You’re nothing but a hungry, greedy whore!” Ben added, twisting her nipple cruelly. Kylie recoiled internally, bile rising with the violation. No! The denial screamed silently in her mind, louder than the wet choking sounds she made. Harrington pulled back slightly, letting her gasp a single, ragged breath. “Oh, she is, ” he commented, his cock poised threateningly at her lips. “Maybe we should just send out the video now, show everyone how big of a slut she is.” Terror surged, cold and paralyzing. She opened her mouth—to plead? To breathe?—but Harrington just thrust back inside instantly, stealing her voice. “Pathetic, ” he spat, resuming his punishing rhythm. “She can’t even tell the truth.” Below, Kylie’s hands trembled violently on Jameson’s shaft as Harrington filled her mouth, her throat, her world with nothing but the taste of degradation and the suffocating certainty that tomorrow would be worse. Her vision blurred. The cold floor. The stench of sex. The harsh lights. Harrington’s grunts. It all dissolved into a suffocating haze. Her limbs felt leaden, disconnected. The frantic stroking of Jameson’s and Ben's cock slowed, her fingers slackening. Ben’s grip on her breast tightened painfully, anchoring her briefly in the horror. “Stay with us, slut, ” Harrington hissed, slapping her cheek lightly. Kylie flinched, forcing her eyes open. The room swam. Harrington thrust hard, burying himself deep. “Focus!” he roared as he dribbled spit onto her upturned face. Her hand fumbled back onto Jameson’s shaft, mechanically resuming the slippery glide. But her mind floated—detached, fractured—a fragile raft adrift on a sea of violation. Ophelia... Dad... Gymnastics... Fragments of her stolen innocence flashed behind her eyelids. She clung to them, desperately, as Harrington choked her screams silent.
Harrington’s hips hammered forward, his knuckles bone-white where he gripped her skull. “Getting... close... you fucking...!” he gasped, each word punctuated by a savage thrust that made her teeth rattle against his flesh. His rhythm shattered into erratic lunges. A guttural roar ripped from his chest as he slammed deep and held, impaling her throat completely. Kylie’s eyes rolled back, vision darkening at the edges. Then came the flood—hot, thick jets erupting directly into her esophagus under immense pressure. Her body convulsed violently, gag reflex utterly overwhelmed. Thick semen surged upwards, instantly flooding her nasal passages. It erupted from her nostrils in twin, burning streams. Simultaneously, streams overflowed her forced-open lips, cascading down her chin and dripping onto her already sticky chest. Harrington groaned long and low, grinding his hips against her face, ensuring every last pulse emptied deep inside her. “Drown in it... you filthy... cum dumpster...” he snarled, shuddering as he spent himself against her palate. Jameson’s laughter and Ben’s approving grunt sounded distant, muffled beneath the roaring in her ears and the suffocating tide filling her head. Harrington finally sagged back, panting heavily. With a deliberate, wet schlock, he pulled his softening cock free from her mouth. Strings of thick semen stretched between his tip and her trembling lips before snapping. Kylie’s head dropped forward limply, her neck muscles giving out.
Released, Kylie crumpled forward onto her hands and knees on the linoleum. Her trembling hands instantly slipped away from Jameson’s and Ben’s shafts. She gasped desperately, retching violently. More semen mixed with bile sprayed onto the floor beneath her. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably. “Look at her, ” Jameson chuckled, stepping back to admire the wreckage. “Covered in filth.” “Disgusting, ” Ben added. Harrington straightened his trousers with chilling detachment, looking down at her shuddering form. “A perfect little cum rag, ” he stated coldly. Kylie’s breath hitched in ragged sobs. Consciousness flickered like a dying bulb. The harsh fluorescent light dimmed, then surged blindingly bright. Their voices—Jameson’s velvet malice, Harrington’s clinical cruelty, Ben’s predatory satisfaction—echoed around her, distorted and fading. “Pathetic slut...” “Probably loved it...” “Broken in whore...” The words sliced through the haze, each insult landing like a physical blow. She tried to crawl away, muscles unresponsive. Her cheek pressed against the cold, wet mess on the floor—a mixture of semen, spit, and tears. Darkness beckoned, soft and merciful. She floated toward it, the vile names chasing her down into oblivion. “Leaking...” Harrington’s voice was the last thing she heard before the world dissolved into merciful silence.
— --
Cold seared her cheekbone. Kylie gasped awake, gulping air like a drowning swimmer breaching surface. Her throat scraped raw as. Disorientation slammed into her—where was she? The harsh fluorescents overhead burned her eyes, illuminating sterile cabinets and anatomical posters. Room 202. The realization hit like ice water. She lurched sideways, trying to push herself up. Her palms slid treacherously in a cold, viscous puddle soaking her sweatpants leg and pooling on the floor—a thick mixture of drying semen and saliva. Her stomach roiled. “Oh god...” she choked, scrambling backward frantically. She struggled, slipping twice in the slick mess, before finally managing to haul herself upright against the unforgiving cinderblock wall. Her head swam, vision blurring as she fought for breath, her ribs aching with each inhale. Across the room, Harrington sat behind his desk, fingers steepled calmly under his chin. His cold eyes watched her struggle impassively, tracking her every flinch and tremble. “Comfortable?” he asked softly, his voice slicing through the thick silence.
Kylie flinched, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. She tried to shrink away, pressing her spine deeper into the rough concrete. Harrington leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly. His gaze traveled deliberately from her semen-streaked face down to her trembling hands, still tacky with fluids. “I trust you absorbed... important lessons today, ” he murmured, tapping a pen lightly against the desk. Kylie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the phantom sensations—Harrington’s brutal thrusts choking her, Ben’s cock battering her throat. The taste of their combined release still coated her tongue thickly. She shuddered violently, bile rising again.
Harrington rose smoothly and crossed the room. Each step echoed sharply in the silence, deliberate and predatory. Kylie froze, breath catching as his polished shoes stopped inches from her curled legs. He pulled a clean white rag from his pocket—the kind used for wiping lab equipment—and extended it toward her. “Here, ” he offered calmly. Tremors racked Kylie’s frame as she stared at the cloth. Her arm trembled uncontrollably as she reached out, her fingers brushing the crisp fabric. She snatched it away quickly, clutching it to her chest like armor.
"Why?" Her voice cracked, raw and desperate. Tears welled, blurring Harrington’s impassive face. “Why are you doing this to me?” She pressed the rag against her sticky cheekbone. “What... what did I ever do to you?” The plea ripped from her throat, sharp with anguish. Harrington tilted his head slightly, studying her tear-streaked face. His lips curved into a gentle, almost paternal smile—a bizarre contrast to the semen drying on her chin. “Because we can, ” he replied smoothly, his tone as soft as velvet.
Harrington crouched before her, balancing effortlessly on his polished loafers. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear—his fingers lingering deliberately against her damp temple. “Tonight was required, ” he murmured, thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. His breath smelled faintly of mint and expensive scotch. “But it doesn’t have to be like this again. Resistance makes it... unpleasant for everyone.” His hand slid down to her throat, not squeezing—just resting possessively against her pulse. “You wore panties today, ” he chided lightly, tapping the hollow of her collarbone. “After I explicitly told you not to. That defiance... that’s what earned you the menthol. A reminder.” His fingers trailed lower, ghosting over her hoodie’s zipper. “You can resist a little—it’s more fun for us that way—but we always get what we want.”
Harrington exhaled, almost sympathetically, and rose to his full height. He extended a hand. “Play the game, ” he said simply, “and we let you go.” Kylie stared at his outstretched palm—clean, manicured, the same fingers that had violated her throat moments ago. A hysterical laugh bubbled in her chest, but it died as he flexed his fingers impatiently. Shakily, she reached up. His grip closed around hers, hauling her upright with effortless strength. "Break the rules, and we punish you, " he said methodically. Her legs wobbled violently; Harrington steadied her with a firm hand on her elbow. “Clean yourself up” he instructed, nodding toward the lab sink. “Then I’ll drive you home.”
The ride passed in suffocating silence. Harrington hummed along to classical radio, one hand draped casually over the steering wheel. Kylie pressed herself against the passenger door, arms wrapped tightly around her middle, staring blankly at the passing streetlights. When he pulled into her driveway, he didn’t cut the engine. “From now on, ” he said smoothly, “wear the green leotard. The one with the mesh back.” Kylie’s breath hitched. His smile widened fractionally. “And no panties. Obviously.” He reached across her, popping the door open with a soft click. Cold night air rushed in. “Sweet dreams, Kylie.” She fled without a word, her sneakers slapping against the pavement, his low chuckle chasing her all the way to the porch.