Chapter 1: The Devil's Bargain
The fluorescent lights hummed a flat, dead note overhead, bleaching the color from everything. The after-school club room felt like a forgotten storage closet, which it probably was. Mismatched chairs were shoved against walls papered with faded band logos. The air smelled like old soda and dust.
Jenny sat on the worn-out couch, laughing at something one of the guys said. The sound was light, effortless. She tucked a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear, her sweater dress hugging her frame in a way that looked both innocent and intentional. She was the sun in this dingy room, and every guy orbiting her knew it. Their attendance had nothing to do with the club’s supposed purpose—debate, or anime, or whatever it was—and everything to do with her.
Maria watched from a corner, her dark eyes missing nothing. She saw the way David’s gaze lingered on the curve of Jenny’s neck, how Chris nervously adjusted his glasses every time she looked his way. A slow, calculated smile spread across her lips.
She didn’t bother with subtlety. She just walked over to where they were clustered, a few feet from the couch, and dropped her voice to a low, conspiratorial murmur.
“You all look like you’re about to start drooling,” she said, her tone flat. Their heads snapped toward her, a mix of guilt and defiance on their faces. “Let’s skip the bullshit. I know you all want to fuck Jenny.”
David flinched. Chris looked like he’d been slapped. A few others just stared, their mouths slightly agape.
Maria’s grin widened, predatory and sharp. “I can make it a reality. For all of you. Today.”
“What are you talking about?” David whispered, his eyes darting toward Jenny, who was obliviously scrolling through her phone.
“I’m talking about a sure thing. No guessing, no rejection. You get what you want. I get… a little something for the effort.” Maria shrugged, a fluid, confident movement. “So? In or out?”
The silence was thick, charged. David was the first to nod, a quick, desperate jerk of his head. The others followed, one by one, their eyes flickering between Jenny’s oblivious smile and Maria’s unwavering gaze. The deal was sealed before their prey even knew she was in a cage.
Maria moved with purpose. She walked over to Jenny, her posture shifting, becoming friendly, conspiratorial. “Hey, can you help me with something? I think I got my period and it’s a disaster. I need a second opinion.”
Jenny’s face softened with immediate empathy. “Oh, of course! Yeah, let’s go.” She stood up, grabbing her small purse.
Maria led her out of the room and across the hall to the single-stall bathroom. The door clicked shut. The guys stood frozen, listening to the muffled sounds of their voices. Then Jenny’s voice rose, sharp and confused.
“Maria, what are you—give those back!”
There was a scuffle, the sound of fabric rustling. A faint tear. Jenny’s protest was cut off, replaced by a strained, frightened whimper.
The bathroom door opened. Maria stepped out, a neat bundle of clothes in her arms. On top of the pile, clearly visible, was Jenny’s pleated skirt, her sheer pantyhose, and a pair of white lace panties. She held them up to another girl from the club who was lingering by the water cooler. “Ten bucks for the whole set. It’s basically new.”
The girl giggled, fished a bill from her pocket, and took the clothes. Maria pocketed the money, then turned back to the stunned guys. She jerked her head toward the bathroom door. “David. You’re up first. Then you.” She pointed at another.
David moved like he was in a trance, slipping inside. The door closed. Muffled, frantic sounds began almost immediately—sharp breaths, the creak of the toilet lid against the wall, a low, continuous moan that didn’t sound entirely willing. It was over quickly. The second guy went in. The sounds started again, slower this time, more rhythmic.
Maria looked at Chris. “Your turn.”
His heart was a hammer in his chest. He pushed the door open.
The bathroom was small, reeking of cheap citrus air freshener trying to mask something sour. Jenny was pressed against the sink, her body contorted. The only scrap of her clothing left was her white undershirt, but it had been torn completely open down the front, the thin fabric hanging in tatters from her neck and shoulders. Her shoes and little white socks were still on her feet, a bizarre, innocent contrast to the brutal exposure of everything else.
Her eyes were wide, glassy with shock and tears that hadn’t quite fallen. She made a small, choked sound as the guy before Chris finished, zipped up, and brushed past him out the door.
Chris stood there, frozen, taking in the erotic, graphic reality of the scene. The smooth skin of her thighs, the dark triangle between them, the way her chest rose and fell in panicked breaths. The torn shirt was a pathetic banner of a victory that felt like a crime.
Maria’s voice came from behind him, calm and insistent. “Well? You paid for the show. Time for your ticket.”