LOGINSadieâs POVThree days. Seventy-two hours of pretending I was the same girl Iâd always been. I replayed it every night. Hallieâs flushed face, her muffled moans vibrating around the thick cock sliding between her lips. The way her skirt had bunched around her waist while the second man fucked her from behind in that packed carriage, strangers all around them pretending not to notice. The wet sounds. The degrading praise. The way her legs shook when she came. I hated myself for how wet I got just remembering it. Iâd touched myself raw the first two nights, biting my pillow so my roommate wouldnât hear, coming harder than I ever had in my life while shame burned in my chest. Tonight, I told myself I was just saving money. The train was cheaper than Uber. Thatâs all. I still wore the short pleated skirt and thin white blouse Iâd chosen after changing three times. No tights. No panties. I told myself it was for comfort in the heat. The lie tasted sweet on my tongue as I stepped on
Sadie's POVThe late-night commuter train was always a gamble, but after a long night out with Hallie, it felt like the only affordable option. The carriage was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with tired workers, drunk college kids, and the usual rough-looking men who rode this line because they knew its reputation. Everyone whispered about it⊠the âmolestation expressâ that ran after midnight. Hallie had laughed it off when I suggested taking an Uber.âCome on, Sadie. Live a little. Itâs just a train. Whatâs the worst that could happen?âI clutched the pole tighter as the train lurched forward, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Hallie stood in front of me, tipsy and glowing from the club, her short black skirt riding up her thighs and her tight crop top showing a generous amount of cleavage. She was always the bolder one⊠outgoing, adventurous, fearless. I was the shy best friend, still wearing my modest sundress that reached mid-thigh, cheeks already flushed from one too many
Rileyâs POVI stood outside Jax Ink, the neon sign flickering like a bad decision I couldnât take back. My stomach twisted into knots tighter than the ones Iâd practiced untying in therapy. At twenty-one, I was supposed to be reinventing myself⊠new city, new college friends, finally shaking off the âsweet, innocent Rileyâ reputation that clung to me like cheap perfume. And I was halfway there. Until that little dare. They wanted me to get a real tattoo. Something small but edgy. A delicate crescent moon wrapped in thin, twisting vines, placed just above my right hip on my lower back. It would peek out under cropped tops and make me feel like I belonged. At least thatâs what I kept telling myself on the drive over.The only problem was the artist.Jaxâmy stepbrother. Twenty-six, built like he bench-pressed motorcycles, covered in dark, aggressive ink that crawled up his arms and disappeared under the tight black t-shirts he always wore. Heâd hated me since the day our parents marr
Chloe's POVI spent the entire night trying to scrub Jax from my mind.I showered until the water ran cold. I drank wine. I lay beside my sleeping husband and whispered silent apologies for what Iâd done in that office. But every time I closed my eyes, I felt Jaxâs thick cock stretching my throat, his fingers ruining my pussy, his cum leaking down my thighs. My body ached in the most shameful places, and worse⊠I was wet again just thinking about it.By morning, I knew resistance was pointless.I followed his instructions to the letter. Under my long cotton trench coat, I wore the lingerie heâd demanded via text: a sheer black babydoll that barely covered my breasts, matching crotchless panties, and thigh-high stockings. No bra. No dignity. The cool air kissed my exposed pussy with every step across campus. I felt like a whore walking to her own execution.My hands shook as I reached my office door. The moment I slid the key toward the lock, I realized it was already open.My stomach
Chloe's POV I couldnât move.My body was locked in the office chair, heart slamming against my ribs as the door clicked shut behind the cheerleader. Jaxâs massive cock stood proud in front of him, still glistening with her spit, thick veins pulsing along the shaft. A bead of cum and saliva dripped slowly from the swollen head onto the floor of my therapy office.âDoc?â His deep voice cut through the silence, amused and commanding. âYou still with me?âI opened my mouth to speak⊠to scream, to tell him to leave, to salvage any scrap of professionalism left⊠but nothing came out. My eyes stayed glued to his cock.Jax stood slowly, towering over my desk. His sweatpants stayed pooled around his ankles as he walked around the side of the desk, heavy cock swinging with each step like a weapon. He stopped right in front of my chair, so close that the musky, masculine scent of him filled my lungs. The glistening head of his cock brushed against my lower lip.âDonât be shy pen,â he ordered so
Chloe's POVI rubbed my temples as the door to my tiny campus office clicked shut behind the last athlete of the day⊠a cocky baseball player who had spent forty-five minutes complaining about his âhatersâ instead of engaging with any actual mental performance strategies. Another wasted session. Another reminder that most of these kids didnât take sports psychology seriously.At twenty-nine, I was supposed to be building a respected private practice. Instead, I was drowning in my husbandâs gambling debts, working this underpaid second job at the university just to keep the lights on. Mark and I had fought again this morning⊠another screaming match over money, over his promises that never materialized, over the slow death of our marriage. I was exhausted. Hollowed out. But I still had one more appointment on the schedule.Jax Thompson. Star linebacker. Mandatory session after a string of on-field incidents the coach wanted âhandled.âI expected him to no-show like half the football ro







