Wrong choices

[LaLia]

Teaser: It was one of those spring days when the air smelled of freshly mown grass. The holidays still lingered like a gentle breeze, a few carefree days before the final year of school began. I had earned them: the sun, the sea, and the golden, endless light of Egypt were barely a week behind me. My 18th birthday, celebrated under palm trees, had felt as if the world had stood still for a moment, just for me.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.

The images in this story are screenshots from the game "Jessica's Choices - Origin" by DoAdventures Games. Link to Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/DoAdventuresGames
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Index:

• Chapter 1

• Chapter 2

• Chapter 3

• Chapter 4

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Title: Wrong choices
Author: LaLia

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I was inspired by a PC game for the following story. The plot is based on the game, but combined with my own feelings and thoughts, and the plot has been expanded upon in some areas.
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Wrong choices

Should I take the bus or the subway?



It was one of those spring days when the air smelled of freshly mown grass. The holidays still lingered like a gentle breeze, a few carefree days before the final year of school began. I had earned them: the sun, the sea, and the golden, endless light of Egypt were barely a week behind me. My 18th birthday, celebrated under palm trees, had felt as if the world had stood still for a moment, just for me. Today I was back home. And even though it wasn't Cairo, but just my hometown, the afternoon promised to be good. I had arranged to meet a friend in town. We were going to have ice cream and chat, and stroll through the shops a bit. Nothing major, but it felt good to be back.

"Hey, don't you want to put something on?" my dad called after me as I walked out the door.
"No, it's fine!" I called back.

The sky was blue, the weather seemed perfect. The denim skirt was just right—not too short, but just enough to allow me to feel my legs, and the white top with the thin straps. I liked the way the black bra peeked out a bit underneath. It was sexy, but still on the safe side. I knew I'd attract attention, and I liked that game… most of the time, anyway.

I was faced with a choice: the longer route to the subway, which would get me there faster, or the nearby bus stop with a longer journey time. I was lazy today, so I took the bus. The wrong decision, as it turned out later. The closer I got to the stop, the more I felt the wind, which was much cooler on the streets here than I had expected. Holy crap… I must have misjudged it. A slight chill came over me as I stepped into the bus shelter. At least it was sheltered from the wind.

"Aren't you cold, girl?" an elderly lady with a friendly face asked me.
"No, everything's fine," I replied, and we exchanged a few inconsequential words. I felt goosebumps rising on my arms.

Then I noticed him. He'd just been standing outside, a cigarette between his fingers, and now he too stepped into the booth. A man, about fifty years old, in a dark gray suit. Smart shoes. Shiny hair, streaked with gray. He looked like someone who spends too much time in bars and knows too much about himself.

I barely paid him any attention, but something about his posture, the way he looked out of the corner of his eye, made me wary.

I felt him approaching.
Too close.

His breath—warm and strange—brushed against the back of my neck. I held my breath. Was that...? No, I was probably just imagining it.

Then something touched my heel. Lightly. The tip of a toe. I flinched, barely visible, but stayed standing. An accident. Definitely.

But then a hand slid fleetingly up my skirt. From behind. So fleetingly, it was almost like a breath. But I felt it. And I knew at that moment: This was no accident.

My heart rate increased. I didn't know if it was from anger or from that uncomfortable feeling that comes with fear. I took a step forward, closer to the old lady, creating space, feeling my stomach clenched. I wanted to get away. I wanted to see the damn bus. The seconds dragged on.

But there was another touch. On my side, right where my top left a small patch of skin exposed. This time gentler, but bolder.



I seethed. The anger mingled with fear, but I didn't let it win. I turned sharply.

"It would be nice if you couldn't stand quite so close behind me," I said. politely, but as firmly as I could.

His face. Dark eyes, a crooked grin. He nodded almost imperceptibly, his gaze lingering on my cleavage for far too long.

A shiver ran down my spine. I turned around again, gritted my teeth, and felt my hands shaking. Anger, disgust, this feeling of being at the mercy of others—I hated it.

Then the bus finally arrived. I could have jumped for joy; I was so relieved. But as soon as I got on, I realized it was packed. Working people with annoyed faces, students with headphones and coffee cups, elderly ladies with shopping bags… and not a single free seat in sight. So, all I could do was grab one of those handrails. I had to stretch a little to grab the handrail above me, and in doing so, my top rode up considerably. I felt the cool air on my stomach and briefly fretted that I hadn't put anything on. I didn't want to show that much skin, not in this overcrowded sardine can of a bus.

I turned toward the window, simply to keep the aisle clear—out of politeness and because at least that way I wouldn't be constantly bumped into. Or so I thought.

But then a group of teenagers stormed onto the bus, laughing, pushing each other. The bus driver was already muttering something annoying, but the crowd just grew denser. I felt the mass start to move, body to body. Directly in front of me stood a guy in his thirties. I had only briefly noticed him when I got on—dark T-shirt, a beginning beard, headphones in his ears. He wasn't conspicuous; I'd already forgotten about him.

Until now. Because when the bus jerked forward, I was pressed against him. Only a few centimeters separated us, my hands gripped the handlebars tighter. I felt his body tense slightly, and I instinctively tried to gain some distance, but it was useless. It was too crowded.

And behind me—there was someone. Too close. I could feel his breath, that soapy, warm smell that seemed all too familiar. My stomach was clenched.

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

I turned my head slightly, hardly daring to look around properly, and there he was. The sleazy guy from the bus stop. The same gray-black hair, the crooked grin, the feigned disinterest that concealed too much intent. And his gaze... was glued to me, as if I were part of his private entertainment.

Only now did I realize I was wedged between the two men. In front of me was the guy with headphones, behind me was the guy who had already annoyed me at the bus stop. I couldn't move. I felt both bodies. The bus rocked around the curve, the mass shifted, and I was pushed forward, my chest brushing against one of the men's bodies, my butt against the man behind me.

I gritted my teeth. My heart was beating way too fast, a mixture of panic, anger, and that helpless feeling I hated. I briefly considered raising my voice, whether I could say anything, but it was so cramped, and I was afraid it might get even more awkward. Maybe I was imagining it all. Maybe it really was all just a coincidence. The bus was overcrowded; it couldn't be avoided.

And yet, deep down, I knew it wasn't a coincidence. Not with the guy behind me.

His breath came closer to my ear. I felt a fleeting touch on my hip, almost as if he was testing how far he could go.

I swallowed. Damn it, I had to get out of here. I'd get off at the next stop. Anywhere. I'd rather walk than endure this much longer. I closed my eyes, counted the seconds until the next stop, and vowed to take the subway next time.

The bus rocked over the uneven road, and the voices and sounds around me blurred into a muffled roar. I tried to concentrate on something. On the handrail in my hand, on the sound of the squealing tires.

But then it was no longer a fleeting touch. His hands. On either side of me. His thumbs were warm and firm against my skin, right where my top had slipped. The other fingers rested on the denim of my skirt, far too firmly, far too naturally. My whole body tensed, my breathing caught, an ice-cold stab crawled up my spine.

His breath was right on my neck. I could feel every breath, as if it were a poisonous, invisible cord wrapping around me. His chest pressed against my back, and I felt his body. Every movement, every small change.

And then—as if this were all a set-up—I saw the man in front of me suddenly take the headphones out of his ears. There was this knowing grin in his eyes, this disgusting understanding. The two knew each other. I just knew.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to escape. But there was nowhere to run to.

I lowered my gaze, staring at my feet, at the gray floor of the bus, at the dirty grate beneath my shoes. My stomach was clenched. I just wanted to disappear, to sink into the ground, to cease to exist.

And then I felt it.
A hand on my throat. His fingers slid under my chin, compelling, demanding, and pulled my head back against his shoulder. My gaze returned to straight ahead. I hardly dared to blink. The world around me seemed to stand still.



My eyes shot open, unable to control my lips—they trembled. My fists clenched so tightly that my fingernails dug into my palms.

I wanted to say something. Anything. But before a word left my lips, I heard his voice.

Deep, rough, close to my ear.

"Be quiet, or it'll really hurt."

At that moment, something inside me collapsed. I was frozen. Paralyzed. My mind raced; my body seemed to no longer belong to me. I couldn't say anything, do anything.

Then he grabbed my arms. Roughly, demandingly, he pulled them behind my back. He held me with just one hand, and I realized I was physically completely inferior to him. I couldn't defend myself.

The man in front of me leaned forward. I felt his proximity. His nose brushed my neck, and I sucked in the air. I closed my eyes. I didn't want to hear, didn't want to feel, didn't want to be there.

"She smells good," he breathed, his voice dripping with disgust.

His lips touched my neck very briefly. A cold shiver ran through me, I flinched, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs.

"Shhh..." came another whisper from behind, his voice dangerously soft.

I stood there. Trapped. Caught between these strange bodies. My head screamed, but no sound came from my lips.

"Let... me..." I whispered. My voice was shaky, weak—but at least it was a word that dared to escape my lips. I felt my throat burn, as if I hadn't used it in ages. I had no idea if I'd said it out loud or if it was just a thought that had accidentally wandered into the world.

But the man in front of me just grinned. That slimy, deceitful grin that spoke louder than words. No trace of guilt, no insecurity, just this disgusting certainty that no one would intervene. That they could do whatever they wanted.

And instead of finally leaving me alone, I felt his hands touch me too. How they moved to the sides of my breasts and squeezed them together. He was touching me now as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Warm, firm, demanding. I trembled even more, the shock and fear surging inside me like a black wave. I bit my lower lip so hard that it hurt for a moment.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I wanted someone to see something. Someone.

I looked to my left. There was an older woman with a shopping bag, staring out the window as if she didn't want to notice anything. To my right, a man staring into his cell phone. Two rows further, a young woman with headphones. No one was looking. No one.

Again, I felt my head pulling back. More forcefully this time, with a jerk that almost knocked me off my feet. My neck tensed, I looked up at the ceiling, the neon lights seemed to blur in my view, I heard my own gasp.



"Ahhh..." escaped me, an involuntary sound—and yet too quiet, too pitiful to overcome the background noise of the crowded bus.

No one turned around. No one asked what was wrong.

The man in front of me became even more ruthless. His hands tightened, gripping my breasts more ardently, as if I belonged to him, as if he had every right to do so. His fingers dug through the fabric of my top, into my skin, without shame, without haste.

I felt my body tense. My mind screaming, my thoughts swirling, while cold sweat beaded on my forehead.

I was just a silent flicker somewhere in this crowded, indifferent world.

And as I stared up at the sterile, too-bright ceiling, I wondered only one thing:
Why isn't anyone looking?

The man behind me had now let go of my arms. For a tiny moment, the thought flashed through my mind that I might be able to break free—that I might find space to squeeze between the strange bodies. But then I felt his breath on my ear again, that harsh, too-close breath.

"Hold still," came the quiet, calm voice, yet with a sharpness that left no doubt it was a threat.

My legs wanted to jump, my body practically screamed to escape, but something inside me was frozen. A paralyzing fog that prevented me from reacting. I felt his hands go to my sides again. Warm, demanding. His fingers slowly moved forward and rested over my stomach.

I held my breath.
My whole body was tense, every muscle electrified. My heart was pounding so loudly that I thought someone would hear it.

Someone.

But still no one responded.

I didn't dare move. I felt the tears burning in my eyes, even though I tried with all my might to hold them back. I wanted to be strong, didn't want to show how much this was affecting me. But my knees went weak, my mind raced.

The younger of the two men continued. His hands were where they should never have been, and there was nothing I could do. The bus hit a bump, and I swayed slightly, bumping into one, then the other, as if I were just a puppet in a far too cruel game. "She's got great tits, too," he murmured, and I felt a hard cock pressing against my butt from behind.

Then I looked shocked again. A hand slid under my skirt. For an endlessly long moment, my heart seemed to stop. I felt his fingers over my panties, tracing the contours of my labia and pressing against my entrance. This disgusting moment made me shiver and collapse inside. At the same time, other fingers from the front of me tugged at the straps of my bra, trying to pull it off. With horror, I felt my thong being pushed aside. A finger touched my pussy.

It was too much. At that moment, something clicked in my head. A pure survival instinct, wild, unfiltered, raw. Without thinking, without considering, I jerked my head back with all my strength. A dull, squelching crack as the back of my head hit his nose.

A groan of pain.

I felt his grip abruptly release me. The hand under my skirt slipped back, the pressure behind me eased. He staggered, one hand on his face, blood dripping onto the floor.

My body vibrated with adrenaline. I was shaking, my breath racing. I couldn't hear anything but my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Then the guy in front of me. That grin was still there. As if he wasn't done yet.

But then I pulled my leg up, swung my knee, and rammed it into him with all my might, right where it hurt the most. A guttural sound, somewhere between a gag and a gasp, escaped him. His eyes widened, the grin giving way to pure agony. He curled up and fell to the ground, his hands protectively in front of him.

A storm of fear, disgust, and anger raged inside me.

But I was free. The people around me had finally noticed. Heads turned. Frightened faces. A few screamed. A woman held her hand over her mouth. A man shouted something—I couldn't understand the words, the noise in my head was too loud.

I had to get out of here. Immediately.

In a panic, I pressed the red stop button, repeatedly, as if I could stop the whole world. The bus was approaching a stop. I saw the yellow sign flickering in the sun, and I knew: this was my escape route.

My legs barely obeyed. They trembled, feeling strange. I pushed through the crowd, feeling their gazes, hearing the whispering, the sudden babble.

The bus doors hissed open. I stumbled out, feeling the asphalt beneath my feet, the warm, dusty air on my skin. I ran, blind, aimless. Away from this bus, from these hands, from these gazes. Would they follow me?
The thought sent an icy shiver down my spine.

I ran as fast as I could, my legs feeling heavy, my breath burning in my throat. I felt sweat running down my back, even though I was cold.

I kept glancing around, hardly daring to look back for more than a second, afraid of spotting one of them. I could almost feel them, as if their eyes were still on me, as if their fingers were still on my skin.

Left... now left.
I turned, almost tripped over a small curb, and caught myself at the last moment. The street was narrower here, and shadier. Fewer people. Maybe better, maybe worse—I didn't know.

Right.
Another alley, a few more meters, away from the main road. Away from view.
No idea where I was. I barely knew this part of town. The street names meant nothing to me; the houses all seemed the same. Gray facades, peeling paint, somewhere a loose metal sign rattled in the wind.

I had to get away. Go on. Don't stop.

Every time I looked behind me, I thought I saw movement. A shadow. A footstep. My mind was playing tricks on me, but I couldn't help it. I didn't dare just stop.

My chest heaved. I felt the hot tears streaming down my cheeks as I continued running, aimlessly, just away from the place I had just fled. My hands trembled; my knees threatened to give way.

Then...
A small backyard. An open gate between two houses. Without thinking, I slipped through, pressed myself against a rough brick wall, and sucked in the air as if it were the first time I'd breathed. My heart was still racing, but here—in the shadows, hidden from the street, it was a little quieter.

I listened.
Nothing.
Only my own breathing, the distant roar of the city, and the pounding of my blood in my ears.

I slowly lowered myself against the wall. My legs wouldn't go any further. I was shaking all over. I wrapped my arms around myself, holding on tight because otherwise I would have fallen apart.

Were they still behind me? Or had I lost them?
I didn't know.
But I was alone now.
And that was all that mattered for now.

[Shocker]

Oh she liked the game alright, until somebody started changing the rules in her without her knowing. I absolutely loved the build up, and if absolutely nothing else would be happening to her, this would still be an excellent story. Knowing you and your writing I do expect her to make some more decisions, getting herself deeper into trouble.

While usually not a big fan of pictures in stories, you made excellent use of them here, the one with the look of desperation managed to convey the situation perfectly. To be completely clear, the story would work without them, your style is very detailed in it’s visuals, but that picture greatly enhances the experience.

[HistBuff]

That's a strong atmosphere of suspense the reader's left with at the end of this chapter. This could lead to many outcomes... so let's see what happens next! You're using short, simple sentences that fit the story's style. Lots of insight as to how the girl's feeling. Just being in close proximity to a man she finds unattractive will be enough for a girl to become really uncomfortable, let alone getting touched right down to her labia. At first, I wasn't sure whether the guy in front had bad intentions or he was just there by accident.

[Interception]

The whole mood was captured brilliantly, and the images fit really well here, too. The protagonist is very pretty, and the shot with the panicked look is great. What's the name of the game?

[LaLia]

Oh she liked the game alright, until somebody started changing the rules in her without her knowing. I absolutely loved the build up, and if absolutely nothing else would be happening to her, this would still be an excellent story. Knowing you and your writing I do expect her to make some more decisions, getting herself deeper into trouble.

While usually not a big fan of pictures in stories, you made excellent use of them here, the one with the look of desperation managed to convey the situation perfectly. To be completely clear, the story would work without them, your style is very detailed in it’s visuals, but that picture greatly enhances the experience.

Yes, we've often had different opinions about the images. I like them as a stylistic device to provide visual appeal, and it also makes the story more eye-catching. Of course, it's doubly easy here when the game already provides the images.

And of course, much more happens.

That's a strong atmosphere of suspense the reader's left with at the end of this chapter. This could lead to many outcomes... so let's see what happens next! You're using short, simple sentences that fit the story's style. Lots of insight as to how the girl's feeling. Just being in close proximity to a man she finds unattractive will be enough for a girl to become really uncomfortable, let alone getting touched right down to her labia. At first, I wasn't sure whether the guy in front had bad intentions or he was just there by accident.

A situation that could happen anywhere, any day, and that you, at least as a woman, unfortunately experience from time to time. I think that makes the story all the more exciting, because it's easy to put yourself in the story. And if it was still a secret, I like cliffhangers.

The whole mood was captured brilliantly, and the images fit really well here, too. The protagonist is very pretty, and the shot with the panicked look is great. What's the name of the game?

Jessicas Choices - Origin

[LaLia]

Was escaping to the backyard the right decision?

"Hey, no services in front of my door!" a female voice suddenly tore me from my thoughts. I jumped and looked up in surprise. My mind was still full of the recent chaotic experiences, and I hadn't even realized where I was standing. "Get out of here!" I heard as a door opened slightly, and a woman stepped out into the small courtyard.

I had to blink twice. Her outfit... it didn't fit the dingy, gloomy alley I'd landed in. She was wearing a skin-tight, red lace bodysuit with such a low neckline that I couldn't help but glance over it. She was wearing long red, hold-up stockings and shiny red pumps that shimmered dully in the dim light. Definitely not street wear.

She approached while I was still squatting there, trying to collect myself. Her gaze scanned me, and I felt like she took in every detail of me in a matter of seconds—the short miniskirt, my smudged mascara, the summery top. I certainly looked like I didn't belong here. Or worse: like I worked here.

"No shops?" I asked, irritated, looking into her dark, almond-shaped eyes that complemented her long, dark brown, curly hair.

She snorted softly and put a hand on her hip. "Where do you think you are, sweetie?"

I frowned. "I don't know... I'm lost." My throat was dry, and I heard a slight note of uncertainty in my voice. I decided it was better not to say a word about what had happened on the bus.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "In the red-light district, sweetheart. I thought you'd have the nerve to stand at my door to steal my customers."

I blinked. Did I look like...? The thought made me swallow. Sure, after the incident on the bus and the run across halfway across town, my outfit was... let's say, damaged. I quickly pulled my miniskirt down a bit and shook my head. "No, really. I... I got lost. I was actually headed for the city center."

A skeptical silence hung between us. Then she slowly seemed to believe I really wasn't prostitute. "You're really far away from there." Her voice sounded a little less sharp now. "Should I call you a taxi? Don't you have a cell phone with you?"

My heart sank into my stomach. Damn. My cell phone. I automatically reached behind my back, for the small pocket on my miniskirt—empty. Shit. It was gone. Stolen. Probably by one of the guys on the bus. And in the handy-case were my monthly pass, my ID... and the money I had with me.

I couldn't stop my lower lip from trembling slightly. "Damn... no. It was here... someone must have stolen it."

She took a deep breath. "My name's Vivian, by the way." She held out her hand. "If you like, you can call me. You look like you could catch your breath anyway."

A small, grateful smile crept onto my lips. "I'm Jessy. Thank you... I really wouldn't know what else to do."

"And you look thirsty," she said with a now friendly smile and gestured for me to follow her.

I hesitated for a moment, but honestly—what choice did I have? I had nothing on me, and I was miles from home. So, I slipped through the heavy front door into the house, which smelled of perfume, stale smoke, and old wood. Vivian climbed the creaking stairs ahead of me, and I followed her, my thoughts a jumble, while her butt bounced with every step before my eyes. Her bodysuit barely concealed her ample yet perky butt.

I had no idea yet that the next few hours would turn into a nightmare.

Then we entered her room—and I swallowed. The entire room was decorated in deep red and dark black. The walls shimmered slightly; heavy curtains closed off the window from the outside world. A sofa stood at the side of the room, in front of it a low glass table on which packets of condoms, lubricant, and a few sex toys lay carelessly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I couldn't help but run my eyes over the objects. Some I recognized immediately, others... I had to look twice. My gaze wandered further. The large, expansive bed against the wall seemed almost overly opulent, with red satin sheets shimmering in the dim light. I couldn't help wondering how many men she'd had sex with there. Then I noticed an elongated, upholstered stool that seemed somehow out of place—too low, too unusual. It didn't take much imagination to guess what purpose it might serve.



"Just sit down." Vivian's voice pulled me out of my stare. I chose the sofa, which at least offered some distance from the bed and the table. She handed me a glass of water, and I gratefully accepted it. My throat felt dry.

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to collect myself. Then it occurred to me to call my parents. Luckily, I at least had the landline number memorized. Vivian pointed me to an old-fashioned landline phone on the dresser. I typed in the number and waited. Nothing. The dial tone went blank; no one answered. Maybe they were in the garden, maybe they were out. Their cell phone numbers... damn. I only had them saved in my phone. I didn't know them by heart.

I hung up and shook my head. "No one's answer." Vivian shrugged. "It can happen. You can stay a little longer; my shift doesn't start until later anyway." She sank down next to me on the sofa, crossed her legs, and her red pumps flashed in the light. I slowly calmed down. We started chatting a little about trivial things. Where I came from, what I wanted in the city, and she told me a bit about her neighborhood—carefully, with a few hints, but never too deeply. As if she'd learned never to give too much away.

Meanwhile, my gaze repeatedly slid involuntarily over the pictures on the walls. Large format works of art, erotic photographs and illustrations. Some very revealing, some dark and raw. One picture showed a bound, blindfolded woman, her head thrown back, while hands reached out from the shadows. Another showed a man and a woman, only vaguely indicated, but clearly in a moment of complete surrender or submission.

I felt hot and cold at the same time. The whole room was exactly how I had always imagined a room in a brothel to be. Erotic, strange, a little threatening. I didn't know if I felt uncomfortable—or strangely fascinated.

Vivian noticed my gaze and smiled a little crookedly. "Pretty direct, isn't it? It's my domain."

I forced a crooked smile back. "It's... special."

"Welcome to my world, Jessy." Her voice sounded a little quieter, almost thoughtful. And I wondered if she had truly chosen her life—or if it had chosen her. I took another sip of water as the time passed.

"Vivian?"
The voice was rough, masculine, and echoed dully through the thin door of the room. I jumped, an icy shiver running down my spine. Vivian's face instantly lost all smile, her gaze became rigid, her lips pale.

She had locked the door. I saw it clearly, even heard the key turning in the lock a few minutes ago. But now the knocking against the wood was louder, a threatening knock that made my stomach clench.

"Who is that little blonde bitch you brought into your room without asking?"
The voice was louder now, angry, with an ugly undertone that left no doubt: This man was dangerous. I felt Vivian trembling next to me. She turned to me, her gaze cold and fearful at the same time. The confident, lascivious Vivian from before was gone. I saw panic in her eyes, sheer fear.

"Ricky, get out of here." Her voice was quiet, but there was a bitter attempt to sound calm and determined. I heard the tremor in it.

Ricky.
The name alone made my blood run cold, even though I'd never heard it before. The way she pronounced it... like someone who knew any wrong move could arouse the wrath of a predator.

"Come on, you can't bring such a sweet little doll here without introducing her to us."
He laughed. A short, dirty laugh that made me shiver.

Suddenly, I felt Vivian's hand grip mine. Her fingers were cold.
"Be quiet," she whispered hastily, barely audibly, and I felt her fear now erupt in me. I didn't know who this Ricky was exactly, but every fiber of my being told me: He was someone you'd better not contradict.

"Come on, I'll pay for her too. 200 euros."
My eyes widened. My heart was pounding in my throat. I looked back and forth between Vivian and the door, as if I could see through the wood what was waiting for us.

"Who's that?" I asked quietly, the words almost catching in my throat.

Vivian swallowed hard. "Ricky. One of the pimps."
Her voice was barely above a whisper before she turned back to the door.

"I said, get out of here. She's not for sale. She's just a girl off the street."

"Bullshit, Vivi. Anyone can be bought."

His voice was close now, almost as if he were leaning against the door.

"I'm offering 250 for an hour. You know, that’s a good deal.”

My stomach was lurched. I stared Vivian. I felt my hands shaking, my whole-body tense, ready to run away—but where to? We were on the third floor, the window barred. I just wanted to get out of here.

"No, not her, Ricky. I only offered her a chance to call me."

Vivian's voice was now barely above a whisper. I admired that she was still speaking at all.

"If she's here, she's for sale. And if not, she's fair game."

A sentence so filthy and threatening almost made me sick. I felt a hot rage building inside me, overwhelming me with a force that overcame all fear.

A moment of silence. Heavy, like before a thunderstorm. You could feel Ricky still standing outside, waiting for an answer.

"Okay. 300."

Something inside me snapped. I couldn't take it anymore.

"Not for 100, not for 300, and not even for 1,000 euros, asshole!"
The words shot out of me, louder than I intended. I could feel the tremor in my voice, but I was too angry to hide now. I was seething inside. The disgust, the fear, the confines of this room, this man behind the door—all of it erupted in that one sentence.

The next moment, Vivian had pressed her hand firmly over my mouth. Her eyes burned with panic, a silent accusation in her gaze.

"Do you want to kill us both? Don't make him angrier," she hissed at me. Her words were whispers, but they cut harder than any slap.

Another moment of calm.

But you could feel Ricky still standing out there. His presence was almost tangible, a dark shadow behind the door, lurking, unpredictable.

"Okay, Vivi..."
The voice was calmer now, almost feigning composure, and that's exactly what made it worse.
"Then I'll have to talk to Tom about you not following the rules."

A stab ripped through the air, so sharp I could almost feel it physically. Vivian instantly turned chalk white. Her gaze, which had just been filled with silent panic, now gave way to horrified horror. Her lips parted slightly, but she couldn't utter a sound.

Who was Tom?
I didn't know him, but from Vivian's reaction, I immediately knew this man was even more dangerous than the one outside the door. Her skin had drained of color, her hands trembled more violently as she braced herself against the back of the chair.

"If he tells my pimp that I didn't open the door for him, I'll be in real trouble."

Her voice was just a whisper, as if even saying the sentence was too much. She looked at me, pleading, as if searching my face for some way out, some saving grace neither of us had.

"300 euros is a lot of money for that... maybe you should consider..."
Her words came hesitantly, brokenly. I recognized the fear, but also the desperate calculation in them, the survival in a world where you've long since lost all control.

I shook my head violently, feeling tears welling up in my eyes, from fear, from anger, from helplessness.

"No. Never. I'm not a..."
I couldn't finish the sentence. It was as if just saying it took my breath away.

And Ricky again, patient as a hunter who knows his prey has no choice.
"All right. I'll go get the spare key now."
He laughed softly.
"You have a moment to think about it."

His footsteps receded, muffled on the worn hallway carpet. I heard them slowly retreating, and yet I knew: He would come back. With the key.

Vivian swallowed hard, grabbed my shoulders. Her hands were ice-cold, her eyes frozen with fear.

"If he comes back... he'll come in here too."
She spoke it like a death sentence. No opportunity for discussion, no hope for a solution. It was a fact.
The moment hung heavy between us. Outside, it was silent. But it was the kind of silence in which the next sound would be worse than any other.

"So, either you accept his offer, take the 300 euros, or..."
Her voice trailed off even more before she continued. "...he'll take what he wants. Jessy, he'll fuck you, there's nothing you can do about it."

I understood her words, and yet, she couldn't be serious.

"I'm back." Ricky's voice sounded again, and shortly afterward, I heard a key being inserted into the keyhole from outside.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I can't stop him." She gently placed a hand on my head, on my cheek. Seconds before Ricky would enter the room, as if she wanted to apologize to me for what was about to happen.

[LaLia]

Fight, flee or submit?

Slowly, with an agonizing squeak, the key turned in the lock, and a short time later, the door was forcefully pushed open. There he stood, Ricky, who probably fulfilled every stereotype. That of a pimp, but also that of a bouncer or boxer. 6'3" tall and over 220 pounds, his shirt stretched over his muscles but also his stomach, his arms strong, his gaze evil and piercing. He looked at me like that, grinning, his gaze wandering over my body.

The seconds seemed to stretch. I heard footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Heavy. They were getting closer. With every step he took toward the room, my heartbeat going faster, harder, as if it were about to burst from my chest.

Then the click of the key in the lock. The door opened a crack, and there he stood. Ricky. His face was striking, his eyes small and watchful, a grin on his lips that boded ill. In one hand he held the spare key, in the other a half-smoked cigarette.

"So, blondie... have you decided?"
His voice was silky, dangerously quiet, the kind of tone that gave you goosebumps.

What choice did I have?

Submit?

Take 300 euros?

The thought alone made my blood run cold. No.
I couldn't. Not with my conscience. Not with my pride. It was as if I were betraying myself, as if I were losing something no one could ever give me back.

Fight?
One look at him was enough. He was at least a head taller than me, his shoulders broad, his hands like vices. Even if I surprised him, I stood no chance against him. It would have been an unequal, hopeless duel. One in which I was a pawn.

There was only one thing left:
Flee.
I was fast. Athletic. Agile. Maybe I could outrun him, outsmart him.

One try. All or nothing.
"Please, Ricky... leave her alone."
Vivian's voice sounded pleading, so fragile, as if she were about to simply collapse.

But Ricky only had eyes for me. I saw him move, raise his hand—and reach for me.

I dodged, leaping sideways, my heart pounding in my ears as if it were trying to give me courage. I felt the air on my cheek, heard his surprised sound as I slipped away from him.

I rushed to the door, felt the cold handle beneath my fingers. Almost.
For just a moment, it seemed as if I might escape.

But Ricky was faster, more agile than he looked. A powerful arm shot forward, grabbed me roughly by the waist, and yanked me back. I screamed, kicked, and punched, but it was useless. He already had me, his hand gripping my wrist so tightly it hurt as he pressed me to the ground, his weight holding me down. His grip was iron-like, my attempts to resist laughable against his raw strength. I felt my breath catch; panic constrict my throat.



His grip tightened even further. I felt his arm wrap around my neck, hard and relentless, a massive forearm that felt like a vice. He pulled me toward him, pressing my back against his chest. The stench of cold sweat and nicotine filled my nostrils.

"Get out of here, Vivi. Leave us alone."

" His voice was a stern, dark hiss that was little more than a command. No discussion, no argument possible.

I could still hear Vivian whimpering softly. Then footsteps. Hesitant, slow. The door closed. And that was the last sound I consciously perceived. A painful tug in my neck, the pressure on my throat growing stronger. I gasped for air, desperately trying to push his arms away, but it was as if I were fighting against a wall of iron.

The world around me became spongy.
My limbs grew heavy.
My head pounded.

One last attempt to ram my elbows against him, anything—but my movements were jerky, powerless. I felt my knees give way.

Then everything went black. Everything sank into darkness.

I woke up again. I had no idea how long I'd been gone. It could have been a minute... or an hour. Time no longer existed here, not in this stuffy room that smelled of fear and old smoke.

The first thing I felt was pain.
A dull, throbbing burning in my ass, eating through my body.

Then I heard it.
A heavy, rattling wheezing.
The slapping of skin on skin, dull, repeatedly.
And in between, this quiet, agonizing squeaking... like an old, worn-out bed, creaking with every movement. Always at the same rhythm. Incessant.

My stomach was clenched. I didn't want to know what was happening here. But I knew long before my mind was willing to accept it.

That stabbing again.
A sharp, cutting pain in my ass. For a few seconds, I didn't understand anything. My body screamed, my mind clinging to the darkness from which I had just emerged.

Why...?
What...?
No...

Slowly, I forced myself to open my eyes. My eyelids were heavy and sticky. It took every ounce of strength I had left.

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I looked at myself in the mirror and recognized my own body. Naked and helpless, I lay before it, my arms dangling limply from the bed, my butt sticking up. Behind me, I recognized Ricky, lying on top of me, panting and gasping. I felt him moving inside me, and I suddenly realized what was happening.

He was fucking my ass. He penetrated me deeply and brutally, without regard for my pain and helplessness. Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized I was at his mercy. I couldn't resist; I could only lie there and let it happen. The humiliation and disgust were overwhelming, but I couldn't do anything.

Again and again, he pulled his cock almost completely out, only to brutally ram it back into me. I could barely bear the pain; his cock was huge, and my ass wasn't meant to be fucked. But he showed no mercy, fucking me harder and deeper. I screamed and cried, clutching the bed, but it was all no use. He just laughed and continued raping me, without regard for me.
He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, leaving me helpless. I screamed as he penetrated me faster and harder. My whole body shook as he brutally fucked me. I saw in the mirror how my breasts bounced up and down in time with his thrusts. He licked my neck, lightly bit the skin, and then roughly massaged my breasts. I winced as he twisted my nipples hard between his fingers.

The pain and humiliation were overwhelming, but I couldn't fight it.

His breathing became louder and faster, his moans came panting, and I knew he was close to climaxing. Suddenly, he pulled me out and roughly pulled me onto all fours. I cried out as, without warning, he entered me again. My tears dripped onto the bedsheets as he fucked me harder and faster.

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I could feel and hear my ass slamming against his hips as he drove deeper and deeper into me. The pain was overwhelming, but I couldn't do anything about it. But finally, after a long time, he finally gasped loudly and came in my ass. I felt his warm cum running inside me and felt disgust and shame rising within me.

I trembled, breathing heavily, and crying as he stood up and lit a cigarette. Only now did I notice that cum was not only running from my ass, but also from my pussy. I touched myself there with one hand, felt it now, and whimpered softly. He laughed when he saw me realize that he had raped me before while I was unconscious.

"Don't think it's over yet," he said, laughing as he stood by the open window, taking a drag on his cigarette, and then looking back at me curled up in the fetal position on the bed.

"Bitch, I'll fuck you until I've had enough," he growled, grabbing my hair roughly. I cried out as he dragged me off the bed and slammed me onto the floor. I knelt before him, my knees aching from the previous thrusts.

"Please, not again," I gasped, but he just laughed and roughly grabbed my jaw with his hand.

"You haven't given me enough, you whore," he said, forcing my mouth onto his cock. I gagged as he thrust deep into my throat, but he held my head tight and fucked my mouth hard and brutally. Tears streamed down my face as I helplessly followed his rhythm.

I didn't know how much longer I could take this. My whole body ached, my mouth was sore, and I felt like I was going to pass out at any moment. But he didn't stop, he fucked me harder and harder until I finally collapsed and begged him to stop.

I couldn't believe it, he still wasn't finished with me. Roughly, he pulled me up by my arms and positioned himself behind me. I could feel his hard cock throbbing against my pussy, and without another word, he thrust into me.

I screamed, but my voice was almost hoarse from all the screams before. He fucked me hard and deep, his cock filling me. I felt like I was going to break, his rhythm was so brutal. My body felt heavy and broken, my muscles exhausted, and my pussy burned from the friction.

But he still wasn't finished, he kept fucking me until I finally collapsed and he collapsed on top of me, gasping, before he came inside me once more and left me lying there on the floor. Used, my body glistening with sweat, the cum leaking from me. I closed my eyes and everything spun.

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[Claire]

I should have showered after I read this, not before... *sigh*

[Shocker]

Well written, from a pragmatic point of view, she should have submitted she would have received 300 Euro and still wouldn't have been fucked more than she did. Of course that's not a decision anybody would take in the heat of the moment, not with the chance of escape still present.

Absolutely loved that 3rd chapter, for some reason I had overlooked chapter 2 going online, hence my lack of response.

[LaLia]

I should have showered after I read this, not before... *sigh*

Never shower before reading this.
But I felt the same way while writing, and before that, while playing.

Well written, from a pragmatic point of view, she should have submitted she would have received 300 Euro and still wouldn't have been fucked more than she did. Of course that's not a decision anybody would take in the heat of the moment, not with the chance of escape still present.

Absolutely loved that 3rd chapter, for some reason I had overlooked chapter 2 going online, hence my lack of response.

Hmm, yes, would you act like that or not? Good question...I think you'd be too proud, and who would expect it to end like that? The interesting thing about the story/the game is that the choices influence the further course of events. In the game itself, there's the option right at the beginning to not take the bus at all, and then the game takes a completely different course. Likewise, you can choose "submit" in that situation, and it leads to a different ending.

The next part will probably be out this weekend. I've been a bit busy the last few days.