Lyra’s Descent: A Prude’s Perilous Bet

[Pontrop12]

Teaser: Lyra, a prudish wife, bets big at a club, losing her clothes and dignity in a twisted, painful dart game.
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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.
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Title: Lyra’s Descent: A Prude’s Perilous Bet
Author: pontrop12
Chapter Tags: Eng, Gang, NonCon, Finished, Medium, Punishment, Club, Cuckold
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Lyra’s Descent: A Prude’s Perilous Bet


Lyra had always prided herself on her impeccable composure. At 47, she was the epitome of a prim and proper wife—stuck-up, some might say, with her nose perpetually turned up at anything remotely unseemly. Her body, however, told a different story: curvaceous and voluptuous, with 32K breasts that strained against even the most conservative blouses, and a phat, rounded ass that swayed hypnotically despite her efforts to walk with rigid dignity. She and her husband, Mark, had been married for over two decades, their life a predictable routine of suburban monotony. But tonight, on a rare whim, Mark had convinced her to step out to a dimly lit club downtown, a place buzzing with the kind of rowdy energy she usually despised. “Just one drink,” she’d said sternly, adjusting her high-necked dress that hugged her ample curves a bit too snugly for her liking.
The club was a haze of neon lights and thumping bass, filled with laughter and the clink of glasses. Lyra sipped her first cocktail tentatively, but as the alcohol warmed her veins, she found herself ordering a second, then a third. Her cheeks flushed, her usual reserve cracking like thin ice. Mark watched with mild amusement, but concern flickered in his eyes when she spotted the dartboard in the corner and declared, with a tipsy giggle, “I used to be quite good at darts in college. Bet I could beat anyone here.”
That’s when she locked eyes with him—the local gang leader, a towering man named Jax, with tattoos snaking up his arms and a smirk that screamed trouble. He was surrounded by his crew, a rough bunch of leather-clad men nursing beers and eyeing the crowd like predators. Lyra, emboldened by the buzz, pointed at him. “You! I bet I can beat you at darts. Loser buys the next round… and then some.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her voice carrying a haughty edge that made the room quiet down.
Mark tugged at her arm, his face paling. “Lyra, honey, let’s not. These guys look serious. We should head home.” But she waved him off dismissively, her massive breasts heaving with indignation. “Oh, please, Mark. Don’t be such a wet blanket. It’s just a game.” Jax’s smirk widened as he sauntered over, his eyes lingering on her curves. “Alright, lady. You’re on. But let’s make it interesting—winner takes the pot. How much you got?”
The game began slowly, the sharp thunk of darts piercing the air amid the club’s murmurs. Lyra stood tall, her dress clinging to her sweat-glistened skin, her phat ass shifting as she aimed. She was surprisingly steady at first, her throws landing close to the bullseye, drawing impressed nods from the onlookers. Jax matched her point for point, his movements casual but precise. Mark hovered nearby, whispering pleas for her to quit while she was ahead, but she shushed him each time, her competitive streak ignited by the booze and the thrill. Round after round, the scores climbed, but gradually, Lyra’s aim faltered—her vision blurring from the drinks, her hands trembling just enough to miss the triples she needed.
By the end, she’d lost it all: her purse emptied of cash, bills fluttering onto the table as Jax pocketed them with a grin. Lyra’s face burned with anger, her stuck-up demeanor cracking into outright fury. “This isn’t fair! One more game. Double or nothing!” Jax leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You got nothing left to bet, sweetheart. Unless… how about we play for clothes? Strip darts. Loser sheds a piece each round.”
Mark’s eyes widened in horror. “Lyra, no! We’re leaving.” But she shot him a withering glare, her pride overriding sense. “Stay out of it, Mark. I can handle this.” The crowd cheered as the new game commenced, the pace deliberate, each throw drawn out with tension. Lyra’s first miss cost her shoes, kicked off with a huff. Then her stockings, peeled slowly down her thick thighs, revealing smooth, pale skin. Jax lost a jacket, then a shirt, but Lyra’s luck soured fast. Her dress came next—unzipped with trembling fingers, sliding off to expose her lacy bra struggling to contain her 32K tits and matching panties stretched over her phat ass. The club whistled appreciatively, but she held her chin high, refusing to show shame.
Finally, stark naked, her curves on full display—breasts heavy and swaying, nipples hardening in the cool air, ass jiggling with every frustrated step—Lyra stood defeated, arms crossed futilely over her chest. Jax chuckled, gathering her clothes. “Tell you what. One last throw. Hit the bullseye, you get it all back. Miss… and you serve as a naked human dartboard for a contest between me and your hubby here. Winner gets to tie you blindfolded on that pool table over there, fuck you senseless, and invite whoever he wants to join.”
Mark protested vehemently, but Lyra, seething and desperate, nodded. She lined up the shot, the dart heavy in her hand. The room held its breath as she threw—missing the bullseye by inches, embedding in the outer ring. A collective groan rose, and Jax’s grin turned predatory. “Looks like it’s game on.”
They positioned Lyra against the wall near the dartboard, her naked body trembling slightly from the chill and humiliation. Her massive tits rose and fell with anxious breaths, her phat ass pressed against the cool surface, pussy exposed and glistening unwittingly from the adrenaline. The rules for the human dartboard contest were invented on the spot by Jax, explained in a low, taunting voice: “Three rounds, five throws each per round. Closest to the targets wins points—outer body parts like arms or thighs for 1 point, closer like belly or hips for 2, tits or ass for 3. Bullseye zones: nipples for 5, pussy lips for 7, clit dead-on for 10. No drawing blood on purpose, but grazes count. Highest score after three rounds takes her.”
Lyra’s eyes widened in shock, her prude nature recoiling. “You can’t be serious! This is barbaric!” But the gang held her in place gently but firmly, her arms outstretched, legs slightly parted. She squirmed, her curves jiggling, a mix of fear and forbidden excitement churning in her gut. Mark looked terrified but stepped up, dart in hand, while Jax went first.
Round one: Jax’s throws were calculated, the first dart whizzing past her ear to thud into the wall (0 points, miss). The second grazed her thigh, the sharp tip slicing a faint sting across her skin like a paper cut amplified by adrenaline, sending a hot, prickling wave up her leg that made her muscles clench involuntarily (1 point). Lyra gasped, her body tensing, tits bouncing. “Stop this madness!” she hissed, but her voice wavered, the pain lingering as a dull throb. Mark’s turn: He aimed carefully, hitting her hip with a solid thunk that buried the dart’s point into her soft flesh, a deep, bruising ache blooming outward like a punch wrapped in fire (2 points), then her belly, where the impact felt like a needle jabbing into her core, radiating nausea and heat through her abdomen (2 points), his face flushed with reluctance. Lyra whimpered at each impact, the sting mild but humiliating, her pussy clenching involuntarily as if trying to shield itself. Scores: Jax 8, Mark 7.
Round two escalated. Jax targeted higher, one dart nicking her ass cheek with a slicing burn that felt like a knife’s edge grazing her flesh, the skin quivering and reddening as pain shot up her spine (3 points). Another embedded near her tit, the tip piercing just enough to send a jolt of electric agony through the sensitive mound, making her nipple harden painfully as if pinched by icy fingers (3 points). Lyra yelped, arching her back, her nipples peaking from the rush. “Oh God, that hurts!” she cried, the sensations building into a throbbing pulse that mixed shame with an unwelcome warmth in her lower belly, her stuck-up facade crumbling, a strange heat building between her legs. Mark matched, scoring on her other ass cheek with a dart that dug in like a thorn, the pain a deep, grinding pressure that made her glutes spasm and burn (3 points), and thigh again, reigniting the earlier graze into a fresh wave of stinging fire (1 point). She reacted with sharp intakes of breath, her phat ass reddening and throbbing like it had been spanked raw, breasts heaving with each labored gasp. Scores: Jax 18, Mark 16—Mark trailing slightly now.
As round three dawned, the tension was palpable, the air thick with anticipation and Lyra’s labored breaths. Jax went first, racking up solid points: a tit hit that embedded deep, sending a searing, ripping sensation through the heavy globe as if her breast was being twisted from the inside (3 points), a nipple graze that felt like a needle prick swelling the bud instantly with hot, pulsating agony that made her vision blur (5 points), and a daring pussy lip nick, the dart’s tip slicing into the tender fold like a razor on silk, igniting a white-hot explosion of pain that radiated through her groin, making her knees buckle and her inner walls clench in futile protection (7 points). “Please, no more!” she cried, tears pricking her eyes, the pain a relentless, burning throb that left her slick with sweat and unintended arousal dripping down her thighs. Jax’s total climbed to 33. Mark, now almost losing with only two darts left after his first three throws netted him a modest 10 points this round (bringing his overall to 26), hesitated, his hand shaking. The gap was widening; he needed big scores to catch up.
Lyra, pinned and exposed, felt a wave of fury at the thought of Jax winning—of being at the mercy of him and his gang on that pool table. Her prude mind recoiled from the depravity, but her anger turned on Mark, her voice dripping with venom. “Mark, you pathetic loser!” she spat, her eyes blazing with contempt. “You’re fucking this up, as usual! Can’t you do anything right? Aim for my clit, you useless prick—ten points each, or are you too weak to even try? Don’t embarrass me further, you spineless coward!” Her words cut through the air, sharp and degrading, her cheeks flushed with rage as she shifted her stance as much as the restraints allowed, her thick thighs parting wider. With a furious grunt, she reached down—her bound arms giving just enough slack—and used her fingers to spread her cunt lips apart, stretching the slick, pink folds open, exposing her swollen clit like a vulnerable target in the dim light. The stretch pulled at the earlier nick, reigniting the fire in her lip, a sharp, tearing ache that made her hiss, but she held firm, her 32K tits heaving with each ragged breath, phat ass clenching against the wall, her glare daring Mark to fail again.
Mark nodded, his eyes dark with hidden intent, and lined up the first of his final two throws. The dart flew—missing the clit by a hair, instead embedding into her stretched left cunt lip with a sharp thunk, pinning the flesh taut against her groin. The impact was like a lightning bolt straight to her core, the point burrowing in with a piercing agony that felt like her most intimate skin was being stapled alive, the pain blooming into a deep, throbbing burn that made her legs tremble and fresh tears stream down her face (7 points). Lyra let out a piercing wail, her body jolting, the pinned lip pulling constantly, a relentless tug that amplified every twitch into fresh waves of fiery torment. “You idiot!” she screamed, her voice raw with fury. “You can’t even hit a target that big? Useless! Try again, or I swear you’ll regret it, you pathetic excuse for a man!” Her fingers trembled but held firm, keeping her lips spread despite the dart anchoring one side open, the exposure making her clit throb with anticipatory dread.
His second throw followed, deliberate in its “miss”—striking her right cunt lip this time, pinning it wide just like the left. The dart drove in with brutal precision, the sting a mirror of the first: a hot, invasive stab that felt like molten metal searing her delicate folds, pinning them splayed and unyielding, every breath sending jolts of agony through her groin as the stretched skin protested (7 points). Lyra screamed again, her hips bucking involuntarily, the darts holding her pussy obscenely open, clit fully exposed and pulsing in the open air, vulnerable and untouched, the constant pull creating a maddening, burning itch deep inside her. “Fucking failure!” she shrieked, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’re letting them win, you worthless bastard! You’re nothing!” The misses scored only 7 points each (14 total for the throws), bringing Mark’s final score to 40—but still short. Unbeknownst to her, he’d aimed off-center on purpose, his secret sadism thrilled at the sight of her pinned open like that, her screams and insults music to his ears.
Jax stepped up for his remaining throws, smirking at the display. His final dart sailed true, hitting her exposed clit dead-on, the tip embedding with a precision that sent an unholy explosion of pain through her—a white-hot, shattering agony like her most sensitive nerve bundle was being crushed and stabbed simultaneously, radiating outward in waves that made her entire body convulse, vision spotting black as she howled in raw torment (10 points), sealing his victory at 43. Lyra’s world dissolved into that singular, excruciating pulse, her pinned lips preventing any relief, the pain lingering as a deep, swollen throb that left her sobbing and slick with betrayal from her own body.
Defeated, Mark stepped back as the gang cheered. They hoisted Lyra onto the pool table, tying her wrists and ankles spread-eagle, blindfold tight over her eyes. Her curvaceous body splayed out—32K tits spilling to the sides, phat ass cushioned on the felt, pussy still pinned open by the darts (which they left in for now, adding to her torment with every shift sending fresh stabs through her lips), clit swollen and exposed. Jax mounted her first, his thick cock slamming into her wet, stretched folds with a grunt that ground against the pinned darts, each thrust tugging at them and reigniting the burning pins in her lips. Lyra moaned in protest, “No, please… I’m married!” but her hips bucked instinctively as he pounded her, his hands mauling her tits, squeezing the bruised mounds until the earlier dart wounds ached anew, a deep, compressive pain like her breasts were being crushed in a vise.
His men joined one by one, taking turns—fucking her mouth, pussy, ass in a relentless rhythm. They grew creative, forcing a pool stick into her pussy, the thick, unyielding wood stretching her already pinned-open entrance with a brutal, filling pressure that felt like her insides were being scraped and expanded beyond limits, the friction against the darts sending electric jolts of agony through her groin as she writhed and screamed muffled around another cock. Pool balls followed, one pushed into her ass, the smooth, heavy sphere forcing its way past her tight ring with a popping burn that radiated deep into her bowels, clacking against her inner walls with every movement, creating a humiliating, invasive fullness that made her feel stuffed and violated. A wine bottle was next, its thick, smooth neck forced into her pussy, the cold glass stretching her raw, pinned folds with a relentless, unyielding pressure, the insertion grinding against the darts and sending sharp, tearing stabs through her groin, her body convulsing in overwhelmed ecstasy and pain, the pinned lips amplifying every thrust into a symphony of fiery torment.
Hours blurred; they’d had their fill, her holes gaping and slick, the constant invasions leaving her pussy and ass throbbing with a raw, abused ache like they’d been sandpapered from the inside. Spotting Mark’s arousal—his pants tented, eyes dark with hidden desire—they discreetly beckoned him over. “Join in, man. She won’t know.” Blindfolded, Lyra panted, unaware as Mark approached, his secret sadism surfacing. He’d harbored this fantasy for years: inflicting severe pain on her most sensitive spots while she sucked him, feeling her screams vibrate around his cock.
The gang, impressed by his twisted glee, nodded approvingly. They repositioned her slightly, head hanging off the table’s edge for deep-throating, legs spread wide to keep her pussy exposed. Mark slid his cock into her mouth, her lips stretching around him as she sucked obediently, still blind to his identity. “Mmmph,” she murmured, tasting familiarity but dismissing it amid the haze of exhaustion and pain.
Then the torment began. A gang member lit a candle, the wax pooling as he tilted it over her nipples, dripping hot beads that landed with a scalding splash, the heat blooming into a searing sting that tightened the buds into painful peaks, like her nipples were being pinched by molten fingers, eliciting a guttural scream that hummed deliciously around Mark’s shaft. He groaned in bliss, thrusting deeper. Next, staples from a nearby office stapler—clamped onto her pussy lips around the darts, the metal teeth biting in with a sharp, crunching pinch that felt like her flesh was being pierced anew, the pressure constant and vise-like, amplifying the pinned agony into a throbbing vise that made her hips jerk uncontrollably. Lyra’s body arched, her muffled wails intensifying as Mark felt every vibration, the screams buzzing through his cock like electric pleasure.
“More,” he whispered hoarsely. They obliged: Pool stick ends jabbed roughly at her clit, the blunt tip twisting and prodding the swollen nub with grinding force, each poke sending jolts of crushing pain like it was being hammered flat, the sensitivity turning every touch into fiery explosions that made her thrash wildly. Another man dripped candle wax onto her inner thighs close to her pussy, the molten drops building from tingling warmth to blistering sear, the skin reddening and tightening as if scalded, the proximity making her groin clench in terror. Lyra thrashed, her screams a symphony to Mark’s ears, her mouth convulsing around him in agony, the vibrations intensifying his building climax. They escalated—more wax dripped onto her nipples, the repeated scalding reigniting the earlier burns into fresh, stinging torment; cue chalk ground into her clit for an abrasive rub that felt like coarse salt on an open sore, the grit embedding and stinging with every twist.
As Mark neared his peak, they saved the finale: one of the gang members grabbed a pool stick, positioning himself between Lyra’s spread legs. Her pussy was still pinned open by the darts, her swollen clit and slick folds obscenely exposed. With deliberate force, he brought the pool stick down, caning her directly on her clit with a sharp, cracking strike. The impact sent a blinding, electric shock of agony through her, like her most sensitive nerve bundle was being split open, the pain radiating in white-hot waves that made her entire body convulse, her scream muffled around Mark’s cock. He struck again, this time across her open cunt lips, the stick landing with a stinging slap that tugged at the pinned darts, amplifying the torment into a fiery, tearing burn that left her sobbing and writhing, her hips bucking uncontrollably. The relentless caning continued, each strike on her clit and lips a precise explosion of raw, crushing pain, her body seizing in ultimate torment—and Mark came hard down her throat, the vibrations of her final, broken howl milking every drop, his fantasy fulfilled in the club’s shadowy depths.
As the night faded, they untied her, clothes returned, but Lyra was forever changed—her prude shell shattered, a secret craving awakened in the ruins.




The End
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[Shocker]

Ouch that was brutal, very well told but brutal. Also I don’t even want to think how 32K would look like.