1: Mireya’s Condition

MIREYA

My body is heating, I’m horny, and want to get laid. All these symptoms are symptoms of the Lust Drug.

I was given a Lust Drug by my best friend in order to lure me into bed with her family butler. She’s doing this because of Phills, my shithead boyfriend.

Ysa wants everything I have. She stole my toys when we were kids, she copied my clothes in school, she copied my hairstyle, and now she wants my boyfriend. She likes Phills, and she wants him all to herself. But the day Phills asked me to be his girlfriend instead of her, my best friend Ysa got jealous.

I touch the drippy substance flowing from my legs, and realized I’m wet. My underwear is completely soaked through, sticking to my skin as the heat waves crash over my abdomen. Every breath feels like swallowing fire. The room is spinning, the walls closing in, but the ache between my thighs is the only thing that feels real. It throbs with a terrifying intensity, demanding a release I can barely comprehend.

"Mireya, stop fighting it," Thomas, the Rothwell family butler, murmurs from the corner.

He is standing by the locked door, unbuttoning his shirt with a slow, predatory grin. Ysa’s twisted plan flashes through my mind. She didn't just want to break us up; she wanted a full scandal to destroy me.

"Get away from me," I gasp, my voice trembling as my knees buckle. I press my back against the edge of the nightstand, my fingers blindly sweeping across the surface until they wrap around the cold, heavy base of a floral vase.

"Your friend said you'd need some company tonight," Thomas says, taking a step forward. He discards his tie, his eyes fixed on my half naked chest, and the way my chest heaves. "Don't worry. I'll take real good care of you."

The Lust Drug pulses fiercely through my veins, screaming at me to just give in, to let anyone touch me if it means stopping this maddening itch. But the anger burning in my chest overrides the haze. I am not letting Ysa win. I am not letting her destroy my life just because she couldn't have Phills.

"Just lie back, Mireya," Thomas commands, lunging across the floor toward me, his hands reaching out to grab my waist.

I stood up from the bed, and hit the vase on the head of the butler, and ran out of the door. The butler followed suit, chasing me down the hallway as I panicked, searching for any escape.

I opened a door, and got in shutting it, locking it tightly behind me. But as soon as I turned around… I saw Mr Rothwell… my best friend hot father.

He was masturbating.

Our eyes locked and I froze. The room felt impossibly small, the air filled with the realization of where I had run. The effects of the substance Ysa had slipped me were blurring my vision, making every shadow seem like it was reaching out to grab me. I could hear my own pulse drumming in my ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the ticking clock on the mantel.

Mr. Rothwell stood in the center of the room, his expression unreadable, his silhouette tall and imposing against the light of his room. I gripped the back of a nearby chair, trying to ground myself as the world swayed. I needed help, but the shame of the situation… and the way the drug was clouding my judgment… made the words stick in my throat.

He stepped forward into the light, his eyes narrowing as he took in my disheveled appearance and panicked breathing.

"Mireya? What are you doing in here?" his voice was a low, commanding rumble.

I tried to explain, tried to tell him about Thomas and Ysa’s, but all that came out was a broken whisper.

"Please... help me." The desperation was real, even if the cause was a chemical haze I couldn't control. “I’m hot, and horny. Make it stop by having sex with me.”

He stood up, but he didn’t stop stroking his cock. He walked to me, his towering frame swallowing me whole. He reached for my chin, and raised it, our lips nearly touching.

“Repeat what you just said.” He asked, his cold eyes still burning into my soul alongside the drugs. 

His right hand still on my chin, while the other hand was gently stoking. He is left handed. Gosh, he didn’t stop.

“Please. Just fuck me, Mr. Rothwell.” I didn’t just repeat it, but I shamelessly begged him like I’m going to die if he didn’t fuck me. Rather him, than the butler.

"Mireya,” he called. His large hand leaving my chin, and grabbing my neck. “I am your best friend’s father. And you are here… begging me to fuck you.” He said, like he’s reminding me incase I have forgotten who he was to me.

I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me. This was the man I had looked up to as a mentor, the father of my supposed best friend. To be seen like this, vulnerable and out of my mind, was a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

“I’ll leave.” I said.

I turned back toward the door, my fingers fumbling with the lock, desperate to find another way out… anywhere but here. He didn’t know it was the effect of the drugs that was speaking. Not me.

But his hand slammed against the door above my head. "Where the hell do you think you are going?"

I leaned my forehead against the wood of the door, tears of frustration and fear finally spilling over. "Just take me," I choked out. "I’m going insane. And the only way it can stop… is if you just fuck me. Why can’t you just do what I asked."

He turned me around slowly, forcing me to look at him. There was a dangerous edge to his gaze now, a possessiveness.

"You really want me to fuck you… huh?" He asked, his eyes burning with a cold, focused intensity. 

“Mr. Rothwell, please—" I gasped.

"Quiet," he commanded, "If I do what you ask of me, I am going to fuck you… to such an extent that when you look back, standing here begging me will be the most non-regrettable thing you have ever done in your life…” he said.

My heart skipped a beat…

“…because, you’ll always want to come back for more of my cock."