75. Midnight Dare

Trigger Warnings: Group sex environment (orgy), non-consensual restraint (bondage), breath play (choking), facial abuse, double stimulation (pussy/anal), and extreme explicit language.

Olive

The air in the Sigma house basement was thick enough to chew on-a cocktail of expensive cologne, cheap vodka, and the metallic tang of pheromones. I shifted on the velvet sofa, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I'd heard the rumors about the 'Midnight Truth or Dare' parties, but I'd always assumed they were urban legends, the stuff of campus folklore meant to scare the freshmen.

But as the grandfather clock in the corner chimed eleven-thirty, the atmosphere shifted. The music slowed to a low, bass-heavy thrum that vibrated in my marrow. The circle of twenty students grew tighter. I was sitting between a girl I barely knew and a guy from my psych lit class, but my eyes were locked on the man across the room.

His name was Thorne. He was the kind of guy your mother warned you about-sleeves of intricate, dark tattoos climbing up his muscular forearms, a jagged scar through one eyebrow, and a gaze that felt like it was stripping you bare. He hadn't said a word all night, but he'd been watching me with a predatory intensity that made my pussy give a treacherous, wet throb.

"Olive," the girl leading the game chirped, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," I whispered, my voice sounding small in the cavernous room.

"I dare you to kiss Toby. For a full minute. Tongue and everything."

Toby was a blonde, athletic frat boy sitting three seats down. He grinned, leaning in. I felt Thorne's gaze sharpen, the air around him suddenly feeling ten degrees colder. I leaned over and pressed my lips to Toby's. It was a fine kiss-tasting of beer and mint-but it felt like nothing compared to the heat coming from across the circle. When I pulled away, Thorne's jaw was set so tight I thought his teeth might crack.

"Midnight," someone shouted.

As if on a cue, the lights dimmed to a deep, crimson hue. The game was over. The social pretenses were gone. Couples began to merge into a singular, writhing mass of bodies on the sofas and rugs. I felt a surge of panic, my instinct to run fighting against a sudden, paralyzing curiosity.

A hand wrapped around my wrist, the grip like iron. I was yanked out of my seat and dragged toward a darkened alcove near the back of the room. Thorne shoved me against the cold stone wall, his body pinning me in place.

"You like kissing other guys, Olive?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. His breath smelled of bourbon and raw, masculine intent. "You like giving away what belongs to me?"

"I... I didn't know," I gasped, my hands finding the rough denim of his jacket. "Thorne, we've never even spoken."

"I've been marking you for months," he growled, his hand finding my throat and squeezing just enough to make my vision spark. "And tonight, everyone is going to see exactly who you belong to."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of black silk cord. He didn't ask. He spun me around and bound my wrists behind my back, the silk biting into my skin. He forced me to look out at the room-at the writhing bodies, the flashes of pale skin, the sounds of wet slaps and moans that filled the air.

"Watch them," he commanded, his hand sliding down to the hem of my skirt. "Watch how they use each other. Because I'm going to use you ten times harder."

He ripped my lace panties away, the sound of the fabric tearing a sharp punctuation to the chaos. He unzipped his jeans, and his cock sprang free-thick, dark, and already pulsing with a desperate, heavy need. He didn't waste time with foreplay. He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, and shoved himself into my mouth.

I choked, my eyes watering as I accommodated his massive girth. He was relentless, his hips driving into my face as he forced me to gag on him. "Yes... take it, you little slut. Show me how much you want to be punished for that kiss."

He pulled out, a string of saliva connecting my lips to his tip, and flipped me over. He shoved me onto a leather armchair, my bound wrists making it impossible to brace myself. He reached into a drawer nearby-a drawer filled with toys left for the party guests-and pulled out a thick, black vibrating dildo.

"Since you like having more than one person's attention," he mocked, "let's see how you handle two things at once."

He shoved the dildo into my ass hole, the thickness of it stretching me to the absolute limit. I let out a long, shattered cry as the vibration hummed through my bones. Before I could adjust, Thorne guided his real cock to my pussy and drove into me with a single, grounding thrust that surged deep against my interior.

The double sensation was a sensory overload. I was being stretched from both ends, my body a map of pleasure and pain. Around us, the orgy was in full swing-I could see a girl being worked by two guys on the rug, and a couple joined in a frantic rhythm on the sofa. The sights and sounds fueled my own descent into the madness.

"You're so tight, Olive," Thorne panted, his pace becoming a frantic, driving force. "Your pussy is screaming for me, while your ass hole is clenching that toy. You're a natural-born whore, aren't you?"

"Yes! Oh god, Thorne! Fuck me! Breed me!" I screamed, my head tossing back and forth.

He reached around and grabbed my tits, his thumbs flicking my nipples until they were hard, angry peaks. He began to suck on them, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammered into me. The friction of his skin against mine was a white-hot spark, a raw, animalistic energy that made me forget everything but the man holding me captive.

"You're going to carry my seed home tonight," he hissed, his hand tightening on my throat. "You're going to feel it leaking out of you while you dream about what I did to you."

He flipped me into a missionary position, my legs hooked over his broad shoulders. I looked up at the ceiling, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Thorne was a force of nature, his thrusts hitting my G-spot with a clinical, focused intensity.

"I'm close!" he roared, his voice a primal, guttural sound of triumph. "I'm going to fill you up, Olive! I'm going to mark your pussy so no one else ever dares to touch it!"

"Give it to me! Please! I want your cum! Breed your slut!"

I increased the pace of my hips, my pussy milking him for everything he was worth. I felt the white-hot spark of my own climax beginning to bloom-a tension so tight it felt like I was going to explode.

"I'm coming! Look at me!" Thorne commanded. “Argh! Fucking take it.”

He pulled out of my pussy just as I hit my peak, my body racking with a series of violent, rhythmic spasms. He grabbed my hair and forced me to look at him. He began to stroke himself frantically, his eyes blown wide.

"I'm going to cover that pretty face!"

He erupted. A hot, thick stream of cum hit my forehead, splashing down across my eyes and my lips. He fired again and again, the white, hot mess coating me in a layer of his possession. I stayed there, bound and covered, listening to the moans of the room around me.

Thorne untied my wrists, but I didn't move. He leaned down and kissed me, the taste of his own cum and my arousal on his lips. "Consider yourself claimed, Olive. If I see you near another guy, the punishment will be much, much longer."

He stood up, zipped his jeans, and walked back into the crowd, leaving me on the chair, heavy, sated, and completely ruined. I looked at the room-at the chaos of the orgy-and I knew that I would never be the same girl who walked through those doors at eleven.