Backrooms Level 101 Novels & Stories

Then he pulls out and watches his load spill out of my wrecked pussy, running over my clit and down my legs. He picks the machine back up, calm as anything, and resumes shading my back like he didn’t just fuck me into another dimension. When he’s done, he wipes me down, pulls my clothes back on over my ruined body, and smacks my sore ass one final time. “Session three complete,” he says, voice rough with satisfaction. “Next week we start the lower back. I’m strapping you to the chair, legs spread, and fucking you while I shade right above your ass. You’ll be begging before the needle even touches skin.”

All night, everything from the past played out in my mind like a movie. The next morning. I struggled out of the bedroom with my weakened body. The door to the guest room was open. A piece of lacy lingerie lay at the foot of the bed, clearly visible. I smiled faintly and glanced at the time. It was time to bring this farce to an end.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and stared at the screen. The date blinked back at her. She couldn't believe her eyes. Ten days. She had gone back to the past, just ten days before the apocalypse started. Ara sat there for a long moment, not moving. The memories were too sharp to be a dream. She could still feel the river closing over her head. Still feel the cold. Still hear Ryan's voice, flat and unbothered, telling her she wasn't worth keeping alive. Dreams didn't feel like that. Dreams faded at the edges of the mind. This didn't.

James locked eyes on the fake bundle, then snapped his gaze to my stomach. His pupils blew wide. Lip twitching. "Where's our pup? What did you do? Did you... Did you get rid of her? No. No, no, no—where is she?!" He clawed at the scraps of our mind link, desperate. Too bad it was basically dust—couldn't feel a damn thing. "My pup?" I brushed my belly, calm. "She's right here. Still kicking."

Minnie adjusted the hem of her oversized flannel jacket, nervously tugging it lower as she stood at the front door. The black combat boots on her feet were scuffed at the toes, her magenta-dyed curls tucked under a knit beanie she almost didn’t wear—but in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to walk into her father’s house without some sort of armor. She already knew what was waiting on the other side: her stepmother’s passive-aggressive glances, her sister’s glossy pity, and her father’s complete lack of noticing anything beyond whatever team was playing on the living room screen.