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The Dream 2
Petsa ng paglalathala:
2026-04-17 04:21:07
Pinakabagong kabanata
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The main training hall was dead quiet except for the sound of three women breathing hard. Julian Cross sat on his big chair like a king, legs spread, cock already out and hard in his fist. Adriana, Raven, and Lydia knelt naked in front of him in a line. Collars tight. Bodies marked up from weeks of breaking. Adriana’s long dark hair was messy, ass still bruised from yesterday, Raven’s tattoos looked darker against her pale skin, fresh cane welts on her thighs and Lydia’s perfect fake tits had bite marks, her spoiled face puffy from crying. “Graduation night,” Julian said, voice low. “You three are my best work yet. But only one gets to be the favorite breeder. The rest stay fucktoys. Compete. Show me who’s the most broken.” He snapped his fingers. “Start with each other. Make it sloppy.” The women looked at each other, ashamed. Raven moved first, crawling to Adriana and shoving her tongue into her mouth. They kissed wet and desperate while Lydia watched. Julian stroked his t
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Lydia Sterling had always gotten what she wanted. Daddy’s money, daddy’s lawyers, daddy’s connections. Spoiled blonde with a perfect ass, fake tits that sat high and perky, long legs, and that bitchy pout men usually paid to see. Until her father sent her here as punishment for blowing through another trust fund and fucking the pool boy in the family yacht. Now she was in the “reward suite.” At least that’s what Julian called it. Looked like a fancy hotel room, big king bed, soft lighting, mirrors on the walls and ceiling. But the second the door locked, she knew it was another trap. Julian walked in wearing just black pants. Muscles and scars on full display. He didn’t say much at first. Just grabbed her by the throat and shoved her down on the bed. “Time to learn what real begging sounds like, princess.” He stripped her fast. Ripped the little silk slip they’d given her right off her body. Lydia tried to act like she still had power. “My father will kill you when he finds out h
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Raven Torres was still fighting. Two days in this shithole and she hadn’t broken yet. The other girls kept their heads down, but not her. Tattoos covering her arms and ribs, pierced nipples hard against the thin gray tank top they made her wear, short black hair messy from struggling. She was an activist, an influencer who used to call out bastards like Julian Cross online. Now she was locked in his yard with the rest of the trainees. Today they had them doing “obedience drills” in the open concrete yard. Crawling, kneeling, repeating shit like “I am property.” Raven lasted about ten minutes before she snapped. When a guard told her to kiss the ground, she spit in his face instead. “Fuck your rules,” she snarled, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’re all sick pieces of shit.” The yard went dead quiet. Twenty other women on their knees, watching. Julian Cross walked out from the shadows of the building slow'n calm. That dead look in his eyes made her gut twist,
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Adriana Locke stumbled out of the van with her wrists cuffed behind her back. The expensive black pencil skirt was wrinkled to shit, her white blouse half unbuttoned from the rough ride. Long dark hair stuck to her sweaty neck. She looked exactly like what she was, a high-powered lawyer who just got caught fucking her husband’s business partner in a hotel room. “Move,” one of the guards grunted, shoving her forward into the cold concrete building. She tried to act tough. “You have no idea who my husband is. He’ll bury you for this.” The guards just laughed without caring. They took her down a long hallway that smelled like bleach and fear, then pushed her into a big open room with drains in the floor and shower heads lining one wall. Julian Cross was already waiting. He was bigger than she expected, tall, scarred up, arms crossed over his chest like he had all the time in the world. His eyes were dead cold. “Adriana Locke,” he said, voice low. “Thirty years old. Married.
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The reception hall was still buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses when the doors burst open. *Gunshots The shots sound were louder than they do in the movies--sharp, deliberate pops that sent everyone diving for the floor. Sophia Laurent screamed as rough hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her up from the sweetheart table where she’d been sitting next to her new husband, Mark. She’d only been married two days. Two fucking days. Her white wedding dress—lace and satin, the one she’d spent months picking out—got tangled around her legs as they dragged her toward the exit. The veil tore halfway off, dangling from her pinned-up blonde hair. Mark was shouting her name, trying to crawl after her, but one of the masked men kicked him hard in the ribs and pointed a gun at his head. “Stay down, groom,” the man growled. “She belongs to someone else now.” Sophia fought like hell, kicking and clawing, but the guy carrying her was built like a trucks. He threw her over his shoulder
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The branding iron was already red-hot when Damien dragged her into the back of the barn that morning. Mia was locked in the heavy stocks, neck and wrists trapped, her ass jacked way up high on a wooden block so everything was open and ready. That monster tail plug—the thickest one yet—stretched her asshole wide open, making her belly swell a little every time she breathed. She’d been wearing it nonstop for over a week now. Her hole had given up fighting. It just stayed loose and hungry around the base. Damien ran his rough hand over her branded spot from yesterday’s practice burn, the one that didn’t quite take. “This time it sticks, pony. You’re getting the real mark.” She tried to shake her head, drooling stupidly around the fat bit gag. A weak, broken neigh slipped out instead. That was all she could manage anymore. Real words got punished hard. The iron pressed down right above her left ass cheek. Sssssssssss. The smell of her own burning flesh hit her nose first. Then the
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