Chapter 8: BBC Initiation
The notification sound from Tiff’s phone was a gunshot in the perfumed silence of the dorm. Evie, still on the floor, flinched. Tiff snatched the device, her eyes scanning the screen. A slow, predatory smile spread across her gloss-smeared lips.
“He says yes,” she breathed, her voice thick with triumph. She turned the screen to show Evie: a single, pulsing thumbs-up emoji from a contact saved as ‘DARIUS 😈🍆’. Below it, an address and a time: Tonight. 9pm.
A cold, electric current shot through Evie’s stomach, tightening the hollow ache into a sharp point of anticipation. The remains of Ed Finch tried to surface, a panicked whisper of what are you doing, but it was drowned out by a roar of pure, submissive need. The video had been an audition. This was the callback.
Hours bled away in a haze of preparation. Tiff scrubbed the smeared makeup from Evie’s face only to repaint it with even more meticulous, exaggerated care. “Gotta look pretty for Daddy,” she cooed, blending dark shadow into the crease. She dressed Evie in a cheap, black lace bodysuit that dug into the hips and left nothing to the imagination, paired with heels so high walking was a precarious act of surrender. Each click of the stilettos on the linoleum hallway floor that evening sounded like a countdown.
Darius’s place was in a squat, brick building on the edge of campus. The door swung open before Tiff could knock.
He filled the doorway. The description hadn’t done him justice. Darius was a sculpture of contained power, tall and broad in a tight white tank top that strained over his chest and biceps. Intricate tattoos snaked down his dark arms. His gaze, heavy-lidded and appraising, swept over Tiff before landing, and staying, on Evie. It wasn’t a look of affection or even curiosity. It was the look of a man examining a tool, checking its fit for a specific job.
“Come on in,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. He stepped back, and they entered the neon-lit studio.
The air was warm and close, thick with the smells Tiff had described—cologne, old pizza, and underneath it, a musky, organic scent that was uniquely him. Anime posters leered from the walls. The bed was a chaotic island in the center.
“So you’re Evie,” Darius stated, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. He made no move to touch her. His eyes were everywhere at once: on the lace struggling over her curves, on her shaking knees, on the terrified, eager glint in her heavily made-up eyes.
Tiff pushed Evie forward. “She’s your biggest fan. Showed her your pics. Watched the video you sent me from last weekend with that cheerleader. She’s been practicing.”
A slow smirk played on Darius’s lips. “Yeah? Practicing what?”
Evie’s mouth was desert-dry. She tried to speak, but only a squeak emerged.
“Her throat,” Tiff answered for her, her hands settling on Evie’s shoulders from behind. “And that fat ass of hers. It’s built for you, D. Natural. Wasted on a boy.”
Darius’s eyes darkened with interest. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Let’s see the practice, then.”
He didn’t move. The command hung in the air. Evie stared, paralyzed, at the bulge already prominent in his gray sweatpants. Her mind went blank, white static of fear and want.
Then Tiff’s hand was in her hair, gripping tight, and she was shoved down. Evie’s knees hit the rough carpet, a jolt of pain. Her face was plunged forward, nose and mouth pressing against the thick, warm fabric of his sweats. The smell was overwhelming here—salt, skin, man. She made a muffled sound.
“Open your mouth, dummy,” Tiff whispered fiercely from above. “Worship it.”
Darius watched, his expression one of cool amusement. He shifted, helping, pulling the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers down in one fluid motion.
Evie’s first real sight of him stole the air from her lungs. It was a piece of anatomy that defied simple description. Thick, dark, and heavy, curving upwards against a defined stomach. Veins snaked along its length. It was unreal, a weapon. The phantom memory of the dildo in her throat seemed like a child’s toy.
Tiff pushed again. “Kiss it. Tell it hello.”
Evie’s painted lips, trembling, brushed against the hot, smooth skin of the shaft. A low groan vibrated from Darius’s chest. The sound went straight to Evie’s core, sparking a pathetic twitch in her own confined, ignored flesh.
“Use your words, sissy,” Darius commanded, his voice softer now, laced with a taunting pleasure.
“H-hello,” Evie stammered, her breath puffing against him. Then, driven by a instinct deeper than thought, she stuck out her tongue and licked a slow, tentative stripe from base to tip. The taste was clean, salty, profoundly other.
“Good girl,” Tiff purred, her fingers massaging Evie’s scalp. “Now get it wet. Make it shiny for me.”
Evie obeyed, lapping at him like a kitten at milk, her sloppy, inexperienced kisses coating him in saliva. She took the head into her mouth, her jaw straining immediately at the girth. She gagged, spit dripping.
“Deeper,” Darius grunted, and his hand joined Tiff’s in her hair, not guiding, but holding her in place. He pushed up into her mouth. Evie’s throat opened, a reflex beaten into it by silicone, and she took him, inch by impossible inch, until her nose was buried in his trimmed pubic hair. Tears welled in her eyes, streaking her makeup once more. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need to.
“Look at that,” Tiff marveled, her own breathing quickening. “Born for it.”
They used her. Darius set a brutal, face-fucking pace, his hips pumping up into the wet, tight heat of her throat. Tiff knelt beside them, her hands busy. She tugged the crotch of Evie’s bodysuit aside, exposing the small, limp clit that was all that remained of Ed Finch.
“Aw, look at the little thing,” she giggled. Then she slapped it. A sharp, stinging blow.
Evie jolted around Darius’s cock, a muffled cry escaping her. The pain was bright, shocking, anchoring her to the humiliation.
“Does the sissy like that?” Tiff teased, slapping it again, then rubbing the sting with her thumb. A confusing bolt of pleasure-pain shot through Evie’s groin. She was hard, a tiny, throbbing knot of sensitivity utterly divorced from the violent penetration of her face.
Darius pulled out of her mouth with a wet pop. Evie gasped, drool and pre-come slick on her chin. “Turn her around,” he ordered, his own breath ragged. “I want that ass.”
Tiff maneuvered Evie onto her hands and knees on the carpet, facing the bed. She yanked the flimsy lace of the bodysuit down, fully exposing the round, pale curves she’d so often praised. Darius knelt behind her, his hands gripping her hips, his thumbs digging in. The broad, spongy head of his cock pressed against her.
There was no gentle preparation. The violation from the night before had made a path, but he was so much more. He pushed.
Evie screamed. It was a raw, tearing sound. The stretch was incendiary, a burning split that erased every other thought. He worked himself inward with short, brutal thrusts, each one forcing a choked sob from her lips.
“There it is,” Darius growled, bottoming out inside her with a final, devastating shove. Evie felt stuffed, impaled, her body forcibly reshaped around him. Tiff lay down on the carpet in front of her face, smiling up at her.
“You’re taking it all, baby,” Tiff said, her own fingers sneaking under her skirt. “Your pretty bussy is finally getting what it needs.” She reached up and pinched Evie’s clitty, rolling it cruelly between her fingers as Darius began to move.
The pace was punishing. Each withdrawal was a vacuum of emptiness, each slam forward a seismic shock. The slap of his skin against hers was loud, rhythmic, obscene. Tiff kept playing with her clit, slapping it in time with Darius’s thrusts, the dual sensations overloading Evie’s nervous system into a continuous loop of agony and degrading pleasure.
“You’re a sissy,” Tiff chanted, her eyes glazed. “You’re Darius’s sissy. This is your job now.”
Darius’s thrusts became erratic, deeper, harder. One hand gripped her hip, the other tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her head back. “Take this fucking seed,” he snarled, his voice guttural.
The hot, sudden flood inside her was a claiming. It filled the impossible space he’d carved, a final, wet branding. Evie’s body convulsed, a weak, dribbling release spurting from her clitty onto Tiff’s waiting fingers, untouched by anything but shame and the violent rhythm of the cock in her ass.
Darius pulled out, and the sensation was a profound, aching loss. Evie collapsed onto her side, a mess of sweat, spit, tears, and come. She was gaped, open, dripping. The carpet scratched her cheek.
Above her, she heard the rustle of clothing, a low chuckle. Darius’s voice, calm now, said, “She’s got potential. Keep her trained.”
Tiff’s face appeared in her blurry vision, beaming with pride. “See? I told you you were special.”
Evie closed her eyes. The last fragments of Ed Finch, the boy with the shy smile and the coding homework, dissolved into the sticky, neon-dark air of the apartment. There was no going back. The hollow ache was gone, replaced by a deep, sore, and perfectly filled emptiness. She was what they had made her. Nothing more. Nothing less.