Amber’s alarm blared at 6:00 AM, slicing through the haze of what she’d hoped was just a fucked-up dream. The memories rushed back—Gus’s fingers inside her, Cooper’s thick cock jerking off above her face, the way they’d made her say it: “I’ll get fucked to pay off daddy’s debt.”
Then she saw the proof. Dried streaks of cum flaking on her stomach, tacky between her small breasts. The robe she’d worn last night hung loose, barely covering her. No belt—Cooper had torn it off when he’d forced her legs open. Oh my God. That really happened.
She collapsed back onto her pillow, the weight of it crushing her ribs. Tonight. Some strangåer is going to take my virginity because my father is a drunk who can’t pay his debts. She forced herself up, shaking her head like she could rattle the thoughts loose. “You can do this. Run. School. AP Calc test—” Fuck. The test. The absurdity almost made her laugh. Prioritize calculus when your body’s been sold.
She let the robe slide to the floor, standing naked in front of her mirror. Her reflection was a mess—freckled shoulders tense, but her fingers traced her nipples with a curiosity that made her breath hitch. She looked to see if the red handprint from Cooper’s slap on her thigh was still visible, but it wasn’t. Her fingers skimmed down to her ginger curls. They’re making me wax bare today. The thought sent a weird throb through her—half-dread, half something hotter. But I like my curls.
She’d kissed boys before. Sneaked around with a few, even let Jason from the robotics club grope her under her shirt in his car. He’d begged to fuck her, his hands shaking as he’d unbuttoned her jeans. She’d said no—too scared of Dad finding out, too scared of being that girl. She’d briefly let him get his hands into her pants and try to push a finger in before she was able to regain control. I was way too tight. I promised I’d let him touch me soon. That poor boy.
Now, staring at her naked body, she wondered: Would it have been better if I’d let Jason do it? At least it would’ve been my choice. But then her stomach twisted. No. Then Dad would’ve had his legs broken. Or worse. She threw on her purple sports bra and running shorts, the fabric snug against her skin. Downstairs, her dad’s chair was empty—just a whiskey-stained dent in the leather and the sour stench of his failures.
The pavement pounded under her feet, but her thoughts were louder. Will it be clinical? Bend over, get it done, ten minutes and he’s out? Or will he take his time? Her stomach clenched. Will he kiss me? Jason’s kisses had been sloppy, all teeth and too much tongue. What if this guy’s worse? Her pace picked up, sweat beading at her hairline. Will he be big? Like, porn big? She’d only ever used her fingers, and even that was rare—too scared I’d push too deep. Will it last 20, 30, 40 minutes? Missionary? Will he make me suck him? What if I’m not good and he rejects me?
A car honked, snapping her back. She swerved onto the sidewalk, heart hammering. Focus. But the questions kept coming. Will it hurt? Everyone says it hurts. But what if I’m too tight? What if I bleed on him? Her face burned. Will he care? Or will he just wipe it off and keep going? Will he be patient? Her thighs rubbed together, the friction sending an unwelcome jolt through her. Why am I wet right now? She gritted her teeth. It’s just nerves. It has to be. But then, darker: What if I like it?
By mile three, her body was slick with sweat, her mind still racing. She slowed as she approached home, letting her heart rate settle, her running shorts clinging to her ass. She bent into a forward fold, stretching her hamstrings, and a traitorous thought slithered in: Do people fuck like this? The run had cleared nothing.
Upstairs, the shower scalded her skin—punishment or preparation, she wasn’t sure. She lathered her breasts first, fingers circling her nipples. Will he touch them like this? They stiffened instantly, and shame burned her cheeks. She hated how much she’d liked it when Cooper twisted one last night. Hated even more that she’d done the same thing to herself so many times in the dark, imagining rougher hands than her own. The soap slid lower. She hesitated before washing between her legs, but the moment her fingers brushed her folds, she felt it—that slick, oily wetness. Fuck. I’m going to be like this all day, aren’t I?
Curiosity won. She pressed a finger to her entrance, and as always, she was so tight—it felt like resistance. Tonight, she’d be stretched wide, fucked, her first time over. A weird grief twisted in her gut. She almost pushed further, but the clock on the bathroom wall screamed at her. Bus. School. Test. She tore herself away, drying off with rough, hurried strokes. The pink dress was soft against her skin, the matching lace bra and panties a small comfort. At least she’d feel like herself for a few more hours.
Downstairs, the kitchen was empty except for a note propped against the cereal boxes:
“Honey— Had to fly to Chicago for work. Back in a few days. $100 on the counter for food. P.S. Might have a friend stop by the house—just tell them I’m out of town. Love, Dad.” The paper crumpled in her fist. Unbelievable.
The bus groaned to a stop, and she climbed on, hyperaware of every pair of eyes tracking her. Freshman boys slouched in their seats, their stares sticky as syrup. I wonder if virgins glow in the dark like expired yogurt. Bet that kid with the acne cream hasn’t even seen a real vagina. But the one with the varsity jacket? Probably fucked his girlfriend in the equipment shed after prom. Does she fake moan? Do I have to fake it tonight? The girls were worse. The sophomore twirls her hair—I wonder if she’s given head. Does she swallow? Would she judge me for getting paid to do it? The quiet girl reading Sylvia Plath—virgin for sure. Or maybe she’s got a secret older boyfriend who fingers her in his car. Do normal girls like that? Amber’s own thighs clenched, her damp panties clinging. Can they smell how turned on I am? Is that why that girl just scooted away?
Calc was a lost cause. Numbers bled together as her body hummed with distractions—the chafe of her bra strap, the throbbing between her legs, the way her pencil snapped when she imagined his hands spreading her wider than any math problem. What if he’s got a gross mole down there? What if he lasts two seconds? What if I scream and he likes it? The bell rang, her test half-blank. First F of my life. Won’t be the only thing I’m taking tonight.
The coach cornered her at her locker after school. “Tina’s out. Need you till six with the freshmen.” Oh perfect. Sorry, Coach, can’t spot back handsprings today—gotta go get my pussy waxed for a mobster’s breeding appointment. She nodded dumbly, her mind screaming salon, waxing, seven o’clock—but what was the alternative?
The gym reeked of sweat as girls practiced headstands. She adjusted one girl’s wobbly stance, then froze. There, between the girl’s legs—a wet spot on her leotard. Oh god. Is that how I look right now? Amber’s own leggings were soaked where her thighs met. Can they see? She didn’t dare look down. 5:45 PM. Fuck. Fuck! She shoved the girl toward the showers and ran.
The late bus crawled. Her skin itched with sweat and shame. By 6:30, she was tearing at her clothes before the door shut behind her. The shower was cold—no time to warm up—but the instructions echoed: Salon. Waxed bare. White dress. She hadn’t done any of it.
The Uber would be here in four minutes. She peed quickly, then yanked the dress over her damp skin, fingers fumbling with the straps. Will he care that I’m not smooth? Will he make me shave myself in front of him? Is he going to punish me? What kind? Will I like that? Her reflection showed only wide eyes and bitten lips. This is really happening.
The Uber’s leather seat stuck to her thighs as Johanna drove. 4.9 stars. From Colombia. I wonder how she lost her virginity. What turns her on? She’s pretty—boyfriend? Girlfriend? She studied Johanna’s ringless fingers. Has she ever fucked a passenger? The car stopped. “Here you go,” Johanna said, too cheerful. Oh. We’re here.
7:20 PM. The mansion loomed, windows glowing like predator’s eyes. You could fit my whole house in one window. Her finger hovered over the bell. This is it.
The door swung open before she could press it. Gus’s face was thunder. “Hi,” she whispered, voice cracking. His hand shot out, fingers digging into her bicep. Ouch! She stumbled inside, the door slamming behind her. The foyer smelled like lemon polish and cigars. Rich people smell. Then—CRACK—his palm split her cheek.
“What did I tell you?” Spittle hit her chin.
Her head snapped sideways, pain flaring. Gymnast reflexes—move! She dodged the second swing.
Big mistake.
Gus snarled, grabbing her hair. “Try that again, cunt.” He yanked, her scalp screaming, and shoved her face-first into the couch. Tears burned. So much for being gentle.
“Instructions.” He loomed over her. “Say them.”
“D-Don’t be late—”
“Were you?”
“Yes, but school and—”
“Don’t. Care.” His finger poked at the tear in her dress. “New?”
“I like this one! No time—”
“Waxed?”
Tears fell. “No salon.”
“What happens if you disobey me?”
“Punishment,” she whispered.
“LOUDER.”
“PUNISHMENT!”
Gus turned, dialing. She sat frozen, listening:
“She’s here… Broke every rule… Belt? Ass and tits… How many?… Filmed?… Cooper’s here to hold her down… Bound to the bench? Postpone till tomorrow… Take her to Donna myself… Yes, sir, I know you’re upset.”
Her mind short-circuited. He’s ordering my punishment like a Chinese takeout order. “Number 12, extra pain.”
Gus hung up, smiling. “Good news. The boss says we can fix this.”
She stared. Fix?
“Drink first.” He handed her rum and coke—her favorite, how’d he know?—as Cooper set up the tripod. The camera’s red light blinked.
“Listen, kid,” Gus crouched to her level, “you fucked up big time. Deal’s off tonight. Puts Daddy at risk.” His thumb brushed her tears. “We punish you now. Tomorrow, the investor pops that cherry. Walk away…” He let the threat hang. “Interest accrues daily.”
She nodded. Stupid bimbo nod. Like agreeing to egg drop soup because they’re out of wonton.
“Turn around.”
She obeyed, facing the wall. His fingers found her zipper—zzzzip—the sound like skin peeling. The dress slithered down her arms, pooling at her feet. Cool air prickled her bare skin, her nipples hardening further. Cooper’s grin widened behind her.
“Bra.”
A flick—snap—the clasp gave way. She clutched it, but Gus yanked it away. “Not a new bra. Tch.” It hit the floor.
“Panties.”
His thumbs hooked the waistband. She tensed, but he took his time, dragging the cotton down her thighs, letting it catch on her knees, her calves, before dropping. Exposed. Every freckle. Every flaw.
“Turn.”
She faced them, naked. The camera’s red light glared. Cooper’s gaze crawled over her like ants. Traitors. Her nipples tightened under their stare. Between her legs, slick heat betrayed her further. Why am I wet? Why does my body like this?
Gus pressed the drink into her hand. “Come *********** the belt.”
The mahogany cabinet’s key turned with a click. Her breath stopped.
Inside: a thick leather belt (notched like a tally), a polished cane, nipple clamps with delicate chains, fur-lined cuffs, a veined dildo, plugs ranging from small to oh-God-no. Porn nightmares made real.
Gus ***********ed the belt, testing its weight with a swish. “Let’s sit.”
Back on the couch, the rum burned her throat. Gus’s meanness softened. “How do you feel?”
Feel? Shock. Fear. Arousal. Disappointment. Why disappointment? Because part of me wanted it tonight? “I don’t know.”
“Ever been spanked?”
“My uncle. Bare-bottom. A lot.” The memories flashed—his hand, her squirming, the shameful heat afterward.
“We’ll belt your ass black and blue,” Gus said. “Then your tits. Boss’s orders. Be glad he didn’t want your pussy—that’s for the investor.”
Tears rolled. “Why my… my…”
“Say it. Tits.”
She looked down. “Tits. Why my tits?”
“Because he likes marks.” He leaned closer. “Here’s the deal. We could just start belting you. Or… we warm you up first. Spanking. Slow. Get the blood flowing.” His thumb brushed her inner wrist. “We’ll rub your clit. Make pleasure outlast pain. Train your body.”
She stared. He’s describing this like hiking boots—which pair hurts less.
“So?” Gus raised an eyebrow. “Warm-up?”
Amber nodded.
Cooper’s lap was warm beneath her belly, his erection pressing against her mound. His palm rubbed her ass—slow, almost soothing—before spreading her legs for Gus to see.
“Christ,” Gus muttered. “Soaked.” His fingers slid through her folds, collecting her wetness. “We’ve been looking for a girl like you.”
Then—CRACK—Cooper’s hand split across her left cheek.
Pain flared. She gasped, memories crashing—Uncle’s spankings, the way her body arched, the slickness after.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Her stomach danced on Cooper’s lap, her ass burning. Red handprints bloomed. Then his fingers found her clit, circling—oh God—and she moaned, loud and broken.
What’s wrong with me?
Cooper alternated—spank, caress, twist her nipples—until her ass glowed red and her juices coated his hands. The room reeked of sex.
“Stand,” Gus ordered.
She wobbled, eyes downcast.
“Look at him. Say thank you.”
Tears streamed. Arousal dripped. “Thank you, Sir, for punishing me.”
The punishment bench loomed—padded leather, straps at the wrists and ankles. No escape. They bound her spread-eagle, her pussy on display, wetness glistening.
WHAP!
The first belt strike split the air. She screamed.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
Gus crisscrossed her ass with the belt, each strike a white-hot brand. He flicked her clit between blows, her body writhing—pain, pleasure, too much, not enough.
“Two more,” Gus growled.
The final strikes bruised deep. She sobbed, her ass a canvas of angry stripes. Gus smoothed cream over the welts, his fingers almost gentle. Then—oh no—his thumb brushed her asshole. How long until that’s auctioned off?
On the couch, legs spread, pussy exposed, Gus loomed. “Know what’s next?”
She nodded, glassy-eyed.
“You’re turned on, aren’t you?”
Horror flooded her. He knows.
His fingers stroked her mound. She arched, chasing his touch. “Say it.”
“Yes… please… let me cum.”
“Touch yourself,” Gus ordered. “The faster you cum, the fewer hits.”
The belt cracked across her tits—less force than her ass, but God, her nipples! She rubbed her clit frantically.
The belt cracked again across her tender tits as she frantically rubbed her clit, the pain and pleasure mixing in a dizzying cocktail. Cooper positioned the camera for a close-up of her desperate fingers working her swollen clit while Gus delivered another stinging blow to her abused nipples.
“Faster,” Gus commanded, watching her hips buck. “Unless you want more stripes on these pretty tits.”
She doubled her efforts, her fingers a blur as the belt fell again—this time directly across her left nipple. The pain was blinding, but somehow it only made her wetter. What’s wrong with me? Why does this feel good?
Cooper groaned, stroking his cock with her juices still glistening on his fingers. “Gonna cum all over your marks,” he panted, his fist pumping faster.
The belt struck again just as Cooper’s release splattered across her bruised breasts—hot, sticky stripes painting her tortured flesh. The final lash came as her orgasm ripped through her, her back arching off the couch as she screamed, “I’m cumming!”
The pleasure was terrifying in its intensity, her body convulsing as wave after wave crashed through her. She kept rubbing even as she came, prolonging the sensations until she collapsed, spent and shaking.
Gus smiled down at her, the belt discarded. “Good girl. Now rub his cum into your bruises like I did with the cream on your ass.”
Her hands moved automatically, smearing Cooper’s release across her aching tits while they watched. The humiliation burned hotter than the belt marks.
When they helped her stand to face the mirror, the damage took her breath away. Her ass and tits were a mess of purple and red welts, her pussy still fluttering with aftershocks. How am I supposed to have sex tomorrow? There’s no way I’ll survive it.
But as Gus squeezed her shoulder and said, “Rest up. Tomorrow’s the main event,” the most horrifying thought of all surfaced: Part of me can’t wait.
To be continued.