My body betrays me completely, another orgasm building impossibly fast after the first. My cunt clamps down on Cyrus’s invading length, milking him, begging for more without words.
“She’s coming again,” Cyrus growls, his voice rough with awe. “Fuck, I can feel her squeezing my cock.”
The world narrows to this moment—to being filled and stretched and used by two masked strangers who’ve hunted me down like prey. I should be terrified. Instead, I’m flying apart, surrendering to the savage pleasure of being caught.
Ace suddenly withdraws from my mouth, his cock glistening with my saliva as I gasp for air. My relief is short-lived as his hand shoots out, fingers gripping my chin with surprising gentleness despite the steel beneath his touch. He forces my face upward, making me look directly into his eyes.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice lower, more intimate than before.
I comply, unable to look away even if I wanted to. Behind me, Cyrus continues his relentless pace, each thrust pushing me forward slightly, but Ace’s grip keeps me steady, focused on him.
“Tell me,” Ace says, his thumb brushing my bottom lip, “do you like this? Like being a little fuck doll for two brothers?”
The crude question should shock me, should make me recoil in shame. Instead, heat floods through me, intensifying the pleasure Cyrus is giving me from behind. Something in Ace’s eyes—a vulnerability beneath the dominance—makes honesty impossible to avoid.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word scratching my raw throat. It’s humiliating how true it is, how much I’m enjoying being caught between them. “God, yes.”
A dangerous smile curves his lips. “Open your mouth.”
I part my lips obediently, not knowing what to expect. My breath comes in short pants as Cyrus hits a spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
Ace leans closer, his eyes never leaving mine, and deliberately spits into my open mouth.
The act is filthy, degrading—and sends a shock of arousal so intense through me that I moan loudly, the sound reverberating around us. The intimacy of it, the claiming, breaks something open inside me.
Ace’s eyes darken as he watches me swallow, my cheeks burning with shame and desire. The hunger in his gaze strips me bare in ways his hands haven’t yet.
“Fuck, you really are a little slut for us, aren’t you?” he says, voice rough with wonder. “Our perfect prey.”
I can’t deny it, can’t lie—not when my body betrays me so completely. I whimper as Cyrus slows his pace behind me, making each thrust deliberate and deep.
Ace brings his cock toward my face again. I open my mouth instinctively, eager to please, but instead of sliding between my lips, he slaps the heavy length across my cheek. The wet sound echoes in the room as he does it again, harder this time.
“Look at you, begging for it,” he says, tracing the head of his cock over my parted lips.
The degradation should horrify me. Instead, I feel another rush of wetness between my thighs, clenching around Cyrus, who groans in approval.
“She’s fucking soaked,” Cyrus tells his brother, his rhythm faltering. Without warning, his palm connects with my ass in a stinging slap. I cry out, back arching as the pain blooms into startling pleasure.
He spanks me again, harder. “You’re our whore now,” he growls, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. “For the Hunt and however long we want you after.”
His possessive claim sends a shudder through me. The thought of belonging to these two men—being used and wanted by them beyond these seventy-two hours—shouldn’t thrill me the way it does.
“Say it,” Cyrus demands, landing another slap on my reddened flesh. “Tell us who you belong to now.”
“You,” I gasp, as Ace’s cock traces my cheek again. “I’m yours—both of yours.”
Somewhere beneath the haze of pleasure and pain, a clear thought pierces through—I know exactly why I’m responding this way. Why I’m surrendering so completely to these two masked strangers who hunt women for sport.
Something in me recognizes the broken pieces inside myself, jagged edges that fit perfectly with their cruelty. The way I crave this loss of control isn’t normal; it’s the echo of every moment choice was taken from me before.
“I’m yours,” I repeat, the words bitter and sweet on my tongue as Cyrus continues his relentless pace.
Foster homes. Dance instructors who pushed too hard. Relationships where I was valued for my body but never my mind. Every person who took pieces of me without permission has shaped this desire to be taken, claimed, owned.
Ace’s eyes narrow, studying me as a tremor runs through my body. Can he see how my trauma bleeds into pleasure? How I’ve learned to transform violation into power? My responses aren’t freedom but chains from a past I’ll never escape.
“You’re thinking too much,” Ace murmurs, his voice almost gentle compared to his actions. “I can see it in your eyes.”
