Chapter 3: Chapter 3
The recognition hit like a stomach punch, the girl’s familiar face from the welcome party—wide, terrified eyes now smudged with glitter—locking onto mine for one endless second. Duke, the lanky one, followed our gaze and snorted. “Why all the whores are international students?” he mused, his hand still on the redhead’s shoulder. Jaden chuckled low, a sound of pure agreement. “These Asian whores are easy,” he said, eyes scanning the three newcomers. “They’re already intrigued by BBC, always complaining on the apps about the boys back home.” His words carved through the bass, factual and degrading.
The Indonesian girl, Lila, flinched as if struck, her sequined top shimmering with the tremor. My own shame doubled, reflecting in her horrified expression—she saw me, and I saw myself through her. Tyrone grabbed a beer, his voice a rough bark. “Proves it,” he said, gesturing with the bottle toward me, then them. “They come begging for it.” The other guys laughed, a chorus of validation that shrank the room.
Lila’s eyes pleaded with me for some escape I couldn’t provide. Jaden stood, stretching, and nodded at Tyrone. “Your turn’s over. Share.” The command was casual, absolute. The redhead whimpered as Buzzcut pulled her closer, his mouth finding her neck. The trap, now crowded, snapped fully shut. I knelt, stranded between the taste of Tyrone and the wreckage of Lila’s hope, the hypno’s promise now a shared, living prison.
I knelt, stranded between the taste of Tyrone and the wreckage of Lila’s hope, the hypno’s promise now a shared, living prison. Jaden snapped his fingers, the sound cutting through the thick air. “Enough staring. Everyone, get comfortable.” His command unraveled the tense silence.
The room erupted into a chaos of grabbing hands and startled gasps. The redhead’s protest was smothered by Buzzcut’s mouth, a zipper rasped open, and a wet, sucking sound followed. Lila tried to back toward the door, but Tyrone caught her wrist, yanking her toward the stained couch. “Your turn, Princess,” he grunted.
A sharp tear of fabric echoed—sequins scattering on the carpet like discarded scales. Someone moaned, a low, performative sound that was answered by a slap of flesh. The bass from the speakers thumped, a relentless heartbeat beneath the new, rising symphony. A zipper hissed, denim hit the floor, and a girl whimpered, “Wait, please—”
The sound was swallowed by a deep, guttural groan. The orgy started. The sound of sex could be heard everywhere now, a layered cacophony of slapping skin, ragged breathing, and choked cries that wrapped around the thumping music. To my right, the redhead was bent over the desk, her fishnets torn, each thrust jolting her body with a rhythmic, wooden creak. To my left, Lila lay pinned beneath Tyrone, her eyes screwed shut, his every grunt punctuated by the soggy squeak of couch springs.
Jaden watched it all from his perch, sipping his drink, his eyes eventually landing on me. “You’re not a statue,” he said, his voice calm amidst the bedlam. He nudged my shoulder with his foot. “Make yourself useful.” He gestured toward Buzzcut, who was driving into the redhead with focused, mechanical intensity. “Finish what you started earlier. Show him how a good slut works.”
The command spliced through the noise, clear and direct. I crawled across the gritty carpet, the sounds of the others a blur around me.
I crawled across the gritty carpet, the sounds of the others a blur around me. A hand clamped on my ankle, yanking me back—Tyrone’s grip, iron and unforgiving. "Where you think you’re going?" he grunted, his breath hot on my neck.
He flipped me onto my hands and knees, the carpet fibers scraping my palms. I felt the blunt, insistent pressure of him against me, not waiting, not asking. He pushed in, a撕裂ing stretch that stole my breath, my vision whiting out for a second.
The rhythm started, deep and punishing, each thrust jolting me forward with a wet slap of skin. In the middle of that brutal pleasure, my gaze found Lila across the room. Jaden had her pinned against the wall, her sequined top gone, eyes wide with terror.
A sharp worry pierced through my haze—she looked so small, so broken. But as Jaden positioned himself, her fear melted into something else, a desperate, yielding openness. I felt a sudden, perverse happiness bloom in my chest: she was going to feel it too.
Jaden drove into her with one smooth, relentless motion. Lila’s back arched, a choked gasp tearing from her lips, and then a hot, clear stream erupted from her, soaking Jaden’s thighs and the floor below with a sound like a shaken soda can popping open. The room seemed to pause for a beat, the only sounds the squelch of Tyrone’s pace and Lila’s ragged sobs.
"Holy shit!" Buzzcut laughed, pulling out of the redhead to stare. Duke whistled, low and impressed. "Look at that, she’s a fountain." Tyrone grunted above me, his rhythm never faltering. "Told you these international ones can’t handle it."
Jaden looked down at the mess, a smirk twisting his lips. "Pathetic," he said, his voice cool and dismissive. "You squirting like a little bitch after one stroke?" He pulled out, leaving her shuddering against the wall. "Clean it up," he ordered, not specifying who, the command hanging in the air thick with sweat and shame.