Desperate Digital Decision Ch. 01

Brittney stared at the glowing computer screen, her fingers hovering uncertainly above the trackpad. Her brows knit together, eyes reflecting the eerie white text on a pitch-black background. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to close the tab, shut the laptop, and pretend she had never stumbled across this grotesque corner of the internet. The site looked like something out of a horror story--barebones HTML, no logos, no branding, just an ominous interface of sterile buttons and cryptic text. It radiated wrongness, like a digital infection waiting to sink its claws into her life. And yet... she couldn't look away.

Desperation had a way of making people linger in places they normally wouldn't dare to go.

She was midway through her third year of college, and the financial strain had become unbearable. Her scholarships only went so far, and her parents--already teetering on the edge of disownment due to her choice of major--had long since cut off any monetary support. Her part-time job barely covered groceries and rent, let alone tuition, textbooks, or emergency expenses. Every month was a losing game of subtraction, and Brittney had grown tired of losing.

She wasn't alone in this struggle. Her roommate, Kelsey, was in a similarly dire position--bills outpacing income, debt collecting interest like a vulture watching a dying animal. Jobs were harder than ever to find. Half the businesses in town had replaced their staff with automated kiosks or outsourced work to AI-run platforms. It was like the future had arrived, but it hadn't brought anyone along who still needed to eat.

But Kelsey had found a way to stay afloat.

That's what had led Brittney here--this digital void of a website that promised salvation in exchange for something far more personal than time or labor. The site called itself The Covenant, and it didn't pretend to be anything other than what it was. It claimed--without irony or euphemism--to be operated by a demon. Not metaphorically. Not figuratively. Literally.

The contract displayed on the screen was shockingly plain. A few sentences. A few boxes to fill in. In exchange for her submission--for becoming entertainment for the demon's "audience"--she would be richly compensated. The initial payment, according to the site, would appear in her account the moment her application was accepted. Continued payments would follow, tied to viewership statistics. Yes, viewership--because every encounter was filmed, cataloged, and locked behind a paywall that had thousands upon thousands of active subscribers.

There were no safe words. No scripts. No guarantees. The demon had absolute control once the contract was signed. Brittney didn't need much imagination to know what that meant.

It was sick. It was terrifying.

And it was working.

The number of videos available on the site was staggering. Every clip had thousands of views, hundreds of comments, five-star ratings. People--real people--were clicking "Agree," and their lives were being changed. Maybe ruined. Maybe fulfilled. Maybe both.

She couldn't stop thinking about it.

Brittney felt something coiling tight in her chest as she reread the contract. It wasn't long. It didn't need to be. A few typed words and she'd submit her address and bank information. That was it. Submission wouldn't even guarantee selection--but if she was chosen, she would know. Her bank balance would explode overnight.

She sat in silence, staring down a digital abyss, caught between horror and hope. No one could save her--not her parents, not her job, not the system. And so, heart thudding and mouth dry, she moved the cursor over the final button.

She clicked "Agree."

Brittney sat in stillness; her eyes fixed on the computer screen long after she had clicked the "Agree" button. For a few tense seconds--tense enough to feel like minutes--nothing happened. No flashing lights. No cinematic alerts. No howling banshee screams through her speakers. Just... stillness.

The cursor blinked on the empty page, the silence in her apartment stretching out around her like a rubber band pulled tight. She exhaled shakily, a sharp breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The anticlimax made her feel foolish, like a child who had whispered Bloody Mary into the mirror and then flinched at her own reflection.

"This was unbelievably stupid," she muttered aloud, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loud might somehow wake something up. She closed her laptop with a gentle click and pressed her palms to her eyes. It was done. Whatever game she'd just played, whatever line she had just crossed--it couldn't be undone now.

Still, maybe nothing would come of it. That was the most likely scenario, wasn't it? Maybe the entire thing had been some elaborate joke. Some troll website preying on desperate people. Maybe the "demon" didn't even exist. She forced a dry laugh through her teeth and tried to shove the unease back down into the pit of her stomach where it belonged. It probably wouldn't even be accepted anyway, she reasoned. There were surely thousands of other people who clicked "Agree" every day, hoping to be chosen. Why would she be special?

But just as her nerves began to settle and she started to push herself up from the couch--

Ping.

Her phone vibrated once on the table beside her, its bright screen lighting up the dim room. The sound, so small and mundane, hit her like a gunshot.

She froze.

Something about that notification felt... final. Like the last sound before a door slammed shut behind her.

Heart racing, she reached out and picked up the phone with trembling fingers. Her thumb hesitated just above the screen, unwilling to swipe, afraid to see what waited on the other side. But the suspense was unbearable, so she unlocked it.

It was her banking app. A new transaction.

Her stomach dropped.

The balance displayed on the screen was impossibly large--her checking account had ballooned in an instant. Five figures now stared back at her, cold and undeniable. The amount was precise, neat, and surreal--more money than she'd ever had in one place, and it had arrived without ceremony or explanation.

Her throat tightened.

"Oh... shit," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

She knew what this meant.

This wasn't a joke. This wasn't an elaborate scam. It was real. All of it. Every cursed, cryptic line of that website. Her offer had been accepted. The demon, whatever it was, wherever it existed... had said yes. And now the transaction was sealed. The money wasn't a gift. It was a down payment.

But what happened next? There were no instructions, no follow-up emails, no contracts to sign with blood or gates to hell swinging open in her apartment. Just... silence. The money had arrived, but the demon hadn't.

Yet.

Brittney's mind spun as she tried to piece together what came next. Was she supposed to go somewhere? Reach out again? Wait? The website hadn't specified. It hadn't needed to. Deep down, she already knew. She had crossed a line. The terms had been agreed to. Her consent was locked in.

She looked around her apartment--once a cramped but comforting space--and now it felt foreign. Her walls suddenly felt thinner. The shadows seemed to lean inward. Every creak of the floorboards or hum of the refrigerator made her skin crawl.

She didn't have answers.

But what she did have was the creeping certainty that something--someone--was coming.

And it would collect what it was owed.

That night, Brittney barely slept.

She lay curled under her blanket, stiff as a corpse, one eye open and the other fluttering shut in fitful bursts. Every sound in her apartment became a harbinger of doom. The ticking of the clock on her nightstand was deafening. The low groan of the pipes in the wall made her flinch. A floorboard creaked in the hallway, probably her neighbor, but her pulse spiked like someone had whispered her name in the dark.

She kept the bedside lamp on, though it did little to ease her nerves. The warm yellow glow only made the shadows deeper in the corners of the room, giving them strange shapes that seemed to twitch when she wasn't looking directly at them. Every few minutes, she checked the window, half-expecting to see a face pressed against the glass--or worse, seeing it open on its own, the curtains fluttering like welcoming arms.

But nothing came.

No monstrous figure slithered out from beneath her bed. No clawed hand reached from the wardrobe. No vortex to a hellish realm cracked open in the ceiling to drag her into eternal torment. The night passed as uneventfully as any other.

By morning, she felt foolish. Exhausted, but foolish.

The next few days passed in much the same way. Business as usual.

Classes resumed. She went to work. She answered emails. She laughed, even--once--when her roommate tripped over a laundry basket. There were no dark omens, no blood dripping from the faucets, no nightmares that she couldn't wake up from. In fact, life had improved. Dramatically.

The money in her bank account was still there. Real. Spendable. She paid off her credit cards in full, covered her remaining tuition, and even cleared the back rent she'd been avoiding for months. After that, there was still plenty left over--enough, she estimated, to get her through the rest of her time at college with room to breathe. Her shoulders felt lighter without the crushing weight of debt clinging to them like chains.

And yet... something gnawed at her.

It was subtle, buried beneath the surface like a whisper beneath a crowded room. A tension. A presence. Nothing she could name or point to, but it lingered behind her thoughts like a smudge she couldn't wipe away. Every time she checked her bank balance and saw those perfect numbers, that too-good-to-be-true fortune, she felt a twinge of guilt. Or maybe dread. Like she was living on borrowed time.

But time kept passing, and the silence endured.

By the third night, Brittney found herself genuinely wondering if it had all just been a psychological fluke. A weird dream brought on by stress and desperation. Maybe the site hadn't been demonic at all. Maybe it was just some hyper-advanced, underground fetish network and nothing supernatural. Maybe this was just how the world worked now--strange, twisted, and automated.

So, when she turned out her light and sank into her mattress that night, for the first time since clicking "Agree," she didn't expect anything to happen. She let her guard down. Her thoughts wandered to assignments due, to what groceries she needed, to whether she had time to visit her mom next weekend.

She closed her eyes, unafraid.

And that was her mistake.

Because something did happen.

And it was waiting for her.

Brittney stirred from the depths of sleep slowly, like surfacing from underwater. Her mind was sluggish, tangled in the remnants of a dream she couldn't remember, and her body felt unusually heavy--dull and weighted as though her limbs no longer fully belonged to her. Her eyelids fluttered open, vision blurred by a soft haze, and she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing.

The first thing she noticed was the air.

It smelled... strange. Musky, almost sweet, but laced with something primal--an animal scent that clung to the back of her throat. The temperature was cooler than she expected, causing goosebumps to rise across her skin.

Her bare skin.

That realization hit her like a splash of ice water.

She gasped and tried to sit up, but her body didn't move the way it should. Her arms were stretched high above her head, wrists bound in thick leather cuffs that dug slightly into her skin. They were connected to a taut metal chain that disappeared upward, anchored somewhere above her. Panic struck hard and fast as she yanked at the restraints, but they didn't budge.

The next horrifying discovery followed immediately: her mouth. She tried to scream, but the sound was muffled--choked. Something tight and intrusive pressed across her face and between her lips. A gag. Thick leather straps looped around her head, locking the bit in place and silencing her completely.

Her breathing quickened as she fought the fog in her head. She looked down--or tried to--and confirmed what her senses had already told her. She was completely naked. Her entire body was exposed, the pale skin of her breasts, stomach, and thighs glowing dimly in the low light. Only her ankles bore any sort of covering: matching leather cuffs secured them to ring bolts embedded in the smooth stone floor, forcing her legs wide apart in a humiliating stance that left her painfully vulnerable.

Her heart pounded in her chest. This wasn't some twisted dream.

She was awake.

And she was not in her bedroom.

Her eyes darted around the space, trying to gather details. The room was made entirely of stone--walls, ceiling, and floor--all carved in smooth, unnatural curves, as if shaped by hands far more patient and ancient than human. Iron rings were mounted into nearly every surface, and many bore the telltale scuff marks of chains, straps, and use. It was a dungeon in the truest, most terrifying sense of the word. And it had been designed--not just for confinement, but for a spectacle.

Her body trembled with every frantic tug of her limbs, the soft jiggle of her curves making her feel even more exposed. No matter how she twisted or strained, the restraints didn't give. Her muscles burned with effort and fear, but she remained fastened--on display.

She was alone.

For now.

She wasn't just restrained for the sake of torment. She was being prepared. Presented.

And whatever had brought her here... whatever had accepted her deal... was watching her...

Ahead of her stood a narrow, ancient-looking wooden staircase, each step worn smooth by time and use. It rose toward a door bound in blackened iron, the grain of the wood dark and splintered. It looked like something ripped straight from a medieval fortress--or a dungeon meant to be forgotten. A second door, nearly identical, loomed behind her. Both were foreboding, heavy, and impossibly out of place, though everything about this place already felt like a world apart from reality.

Brittney had no idea where either one led, but every fiber of her body told her that nothing good waited beyond them. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, her body still bound and exposed in the cold silence.

Then came the creak.

The upper door let out a slow, mournful groan as it began to open. Brittney froze, her breath caught in her chest. It sounded like a beast yawning after a long slumber, and something about that sound made her knees want to buckle--even though she couldn't move.

Footsteps followed.

Heavy, deliberate, and slow. The unmistakable sound of boots striking stone echoed in the chamber like a war drum, each step ringing louder as the figure descended. The shadows at the top of the stairs twisted and parted to reveal someone--or something--that didn't belong to the world she knew.

It was humanoid in shape, tall and unnaturally still, its skin a pale slate gray that looked as if it had never seen sunlight. What little clothing it wore appeared ceremonial rather than functional--leather straps across a muscular chest, a tight harness, and polished black boots. But what truly made Brittney's breath hitch was the mask. A solid black, featureless faceplate molded over its head like armor, with two curved horns emerging from the crown.

There were no openings. No eyes. No mouth. No sign of humanity.

Yet she could feel it watching her.

The demon took its time descending, each slow step pounding like a countdown in her ears. She struggled instinctively, her chains clinking dully against the stone floor, but she was going nowhere. The creature knew that. It wasn't in a hurry. There was no need.

She was already his.

Brittney hated to admit it, but the demon had the most perfect male body she had frankly ever seen. It was toned but not too muscular, defined in all of the right areas, and had a girthy cock and hefty balls that were so indescribably attractive that she would have let him stick it absolutely wherever he wanted under normal circumstances. That was probably going to happen anyways...

But this was far from normal.

The demon came to a stop just in front of her, clearly examining every inch of her exposed body despite not having a way to see through the mask. Clearly it saw her perfectly though, and the act of being so exposed and vulnerable to such a perfect looking specimen had an unexpected effect on her. Despite the terrifying nature of her situation, she was aroused.

The demon could see her hardening nipples that clearly demonstrated her arousal, as well as the blush on her pale face, and she was distinctly aware of the growing wetness between her shapely thighs.

The demon tilted its head, a gesture almost curious, as if it could sense her conflicted reactions. Brittney's shame burned hotter than her fear as she realized how transparent her body's response was to this creature. How could she feel this way when she should be paralyzed with terror?

Without warning, the demon reached out one gray hand. Its touch was unexpectedly warm as it traced a line from her collarbone down between her breasts. The contact sent electricity through her body, making her arch involuntarily against her restraints. A muffled sound escaped around her gag, something between protest and something far more damning.

The demon seemed pleased at her response and pulled its hand away. Moving behind her while still taking in every inch of her shaking form, Brittney all but jumped when she felt the powerful figure only an inch or two behind her form. Her back grazed up against his chest and she definitely felt his still flaccid cock graze up against her perfectly round ass.

Before she knew it, the demon's hands slid around her torso and gripped her impressive tits. It was playing with her.

His touch was firm but measured, squeezing and kneading her flesh with methodical precision. Each movement felt calculated, as if he were testing her responses, gauging what made her breath catch or her muscles tense. The demon's thumbs brushed across her hardened nipples, and despite herself, Brittney let out a muffled whimper as he firmly pinched both of them.

The demon's right hand abandoned her breast, trailing downward across her stomach in a lazy, possessive path. Fingers splayed wide, he covered her abdomen with his palm, as if marking territory. Brittney trembled, trying to pull away, but the restraints held her firmly in place as his hand continued its journey south.

When his fingers reached the junction between her thighs, he paused. The moment hung suspended in the cold air of the dungeon. Then, without warning, he cupped her sex, palm pressing against her most intimate place. Brittney's eyes widened, a strangled sound escaping around the gag as her body betrayed her with a rush of wetness.

The demon made a sound then--the first noise she'd heard from him. A low, rumbling chuckle that seemed to vibrate through his chest and into her back. It was a sound of satisfaction, of confirmation. He knew exactly what was happening to her body, how it was responding despite her terror.

In a practiced motion that told her she was far from his first victim, his fingers began to move, spreading her pussy lips wide apart and showing her glistening wetness. The touch sent conflicting signals racing through her nervous system--revulsion and pleasure tangled together until she couldn't separate them. Her hips jerked involuntarily against his hand.

Suddenly, the demon removed his touch completely, stepping away from her. The abrupt absence of his body heat left her shivering, confused. Brittney then heard the door behind her open.

The sound of some rustling could be heard and then she saw a red light activate in front of her... and another one off to the size... and more and more until at least a dozen had turned on. Cameras.

She had forgotten about that part. This wasn't just for the demon's amusement, but she was about to become the entertainment of a crowd.

To keep the show rolling, the demon returned from the room behind her and this time he had toys. Without a word, he stepped in front of her, letting her see what he had brought with him.

In his hands, the demon held an assortment that made Brittney's stomach clench with dread and unwanted anticipation. A riding crop with a leather tip. Nipple clamps attached to each other with a metal chain, and lastly a metallic stick with a red pronged tip. She shuttered just looking at them with a sense of scared arousal she had never experienced before.

The demon set the implements down on a small stone table she hadn't noticed before, arranging them with precise, methodical care. Each placement seemed ritualistic, as if he'd performed this ceremony countless times before. The cameras' red lights stared unblinking, recording her every reaction, her every vulnerable moment.

The masked figure approached her again, this time circling her body like a predator. His fingertips barely grazed her skin as he moved, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. Though she couldn't see his eyes, Brittney felt his gaze like a physical weight, assessing, calculating which tool would extract the most interesting response.

He selected the riding crop first.

The leather tip trailed along her inner thigh, a whisper of a touch that made her muscles tense in anticipation. Without warning, he flicked his wrist, delivering a sharp snap against her soft flesh. The sting bloomed across her skin, and she jerked against her restraints, a muffled cry escaping around the gag.

The demon paused, head tilted, watching her reaction. Then came another strike, this one against her other thigh, perfectly symmetrical to the first. Her body jerked again, but this time the pain transmuted into something else as it radiated through her--a heat that settled low in her belly, shameful and undeniable.

The next strike landed directly across her exposed sex.

Brittney's entire body convulsed, the shock of it sending waves of conflicting sensations through her core. The demon's free hand moved to her face, fingers gripping her jaw firmly as he studied her reaction through his featureless mask. His thumb wiped away a tear that had escaped without her noticing.

Several more hits came, some landing on her stomach, and others landing on her impressive tits which jiggled deliciously. She cried out as two strikes landed perfectly on her nipples as well. He then moved behind her.

The crop's leather tip struck her ass with force that made her lurch forward, the chains rattling with her movement. Each precise blow left a perfect red mark on her pale skin, creating a symmetrical pattern that the demon seemed to admire as his own artwork. The pain blossomed across her flesh, transforming into a tingling warmth that spread through her body like poison--unwanted yet undeniable.

When he returned to face her, Brittney could feel the wetness between her legs had increased, a humiliating betrayal by her own body. The demon noticed too. His hand dipped between her thighs, fingers sliding through her slickness before withdrawing to hold them up before the featureless mask, as if examining the evidence of her arousal. Then, with deliberate slowness, he pressed those same fingers against her gagged mouth, forcing her to taste herself.

Setting the crop aside, the demon retrieved the nipple clamps next. The metal gleamed coldly in the dim light as he approached her trembling form. With methodical precision, he captured one hardened nipple between the teeth of the first clamp. Brittney's eyes widened as the pressure increased, a muffled scream escaping her as the metal bit into her sensitive flesh. He adjusted the tension until her eyes watered, then moved to the second breast.

The chain connecting the clamps hung heavy between her breasts, swaying slightly with her rapid breathing. The demon gave it an experimental tug, sending sharp pain shooting through both nipples. Brittney's knees buckled, but the restraints kept her upright, exposed and vulnerable.

Next came the metal wand. When he pressed a concealed button, the pronged tip crackled with electricity, casting brief blue flashes across the stone walls. Brittney tried to shrink away, terror overwhelming even her unwanted arousal, but there was nowhere to go.

The demon traced the device along her stomach, not yet activating it, letting the anticipation build. Her muscles clenched beneath her skin, her whole-body rigid with dread. When he finally pressed it against her inner thigh, the jolt made her convulse, her screams muffled by the unyielding gag.

He continued his methodical exploration, delivering carefully measured shocks across her body--never enough to cause real damage, but precisely calibrated to dance along the knife-edge between pain and stimulation. Each jolt seemed to rewire something in her nervous system, confusing her body's responses until she couldn't distinguish between agony and pleasure.

Throughout it all, the cameras recorded every flinch, every muffled cry, every involuntary arch of her body. The red lights stared unblinking, capturing her degradation for an unseen audience who paid handsomely for the privilege.

How long that went on for, she had no idea, but she was left overstimulated, moaning and trembling within a short duration. The demon set down his tools. He could tell she was ready.

He snapped his fingers.

On command and moved by some unseen force, her restrained wrists moved backwards with her. Brittney felt like she was about to fall over until her back made contact with a cool leather clad bench she hadn't seen, and she was forced to lay down on it. The chains on her ankle cuffs suddenly popped free and her legs only had a moment of freedom before they were yanked upward, spread wide and secured to metal rings that had descended from the ceiling. The position left her completely exposed, her hips elevated slightly off the bench, her sex fully accessible.

The demon stood between her spread legs; his masked face tilted down to observe her exposed form. His cock stood fully erect now, impressively large and accented perfectly with his impressive balls.

The demon approached the bench, positioning himself between her spread thighs. One hand gripped her hip with bruising force while the other guided his cock to her entrance. Despite her fear, her body had prepared itself, betraying her with a slick arousal that eased his initial penetration.

Brittney gasped behind her gag as the demon's thickness stretched her open. The intrusion was both painful and electrifying, her body simultaneously resisting and yielding as he pushed inexorably forward. Her back arched off the bench, chains rattling as she strained against her bonds. The demon didn't rush--each inch was a deliberate conquest, allowing her to feel every ridge and vein as he claimed her.

When he finally hilted himself completely inside her, he paused. The fullness was overwhelming, bordering on unbearable. She felt impaled, utterly possessed. Through tear-blurred vision, she watched the faceless mask tilt slightly, as if studying her reaction with clinical interest.

Then he began to move.

His thrust started slow and measured, a methodical rhythm that forced her body to accommodate his size. The leather bench creaked beneath them, the sound mixing with her muffled moans and the wet slap of flesh against flesh. The cameras' red lights seemed to pulse brighter, capturing every moment of her violation for the entertainment of unseen viewers.

Without warning, the demon's pace changed. His hips snapped forward with brutal force, driving into her with an intensity that knocked the breath from her lungs. One gray hand wrapped around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her light-headed without cutting off her air completely. The other hand yanked on the chain connecting her nipple clamps, sending sharp pain lancing through her breasts.

The combination of sensations--the fullness, the pain, the restricted breathing--sent her mind spiraling. Her body responded with shameful enthusiasm, inner walls clenching around the intrusion, wetness increasing with each powerful thrust. The demon seemed to sense this shift, the featureless mask angling down to observe where their bodies joined.

He released her throat only to slap her breast hard enough to leave a red handprint. The shock of it sent an unexpected jolt of pleasure through her core. She moaned into the gag, hating herself for the sound even as she made it.

The demon's movements became more forceful, more possessive. He grabbed her hips, lifting them slightly to change the angle, hitting spots inside her that made her vision blur. Through the haze of unwanted pleasure, Brittney realized with horror that she was approaching climax. She fought against it, trying to focus on her fear, on the wrongness of the situation, anything to prevent her body from betraying her further.

But it was useless.

The orgasm crashed through her without mercy, her back arching sharply off the bench, chains rattling as she convulsed around the demon's cock. Her muffled screams echoed off the stone walls as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over her. Tears streamed down her face--tears of shame, of pleasure, of confusion as her body surrendered completely.

The demon took that as his cue. As if able to do it on command, his cock throbbed as he erupted inside her, pumping her full of thick, scorching seed that felt unnaturally hot. Brittney's eyes rolled back as another unwanted orgasm tore through her body, triggered by the intense sensation of being filled. The demon's grip on her hips tightened to bruising force as he emptied himself completely, ensuring not a drop escaped their joined bodies.

When he finally withdrew, his seed leaked from her in thick rivulets, yet strangely, his cock remained fully erect. The demon stood motionless for several moments, observing her trembling, violated form with that expressionless mask. Then, without warning, he snapped his fingers again.

The restraints reconfigured themselves. Brittney found herself flipped over, her stomach pressed against the cool leather of the bench, her ass raised high in the air. Her wrists remained bound, but now they were secured to the front legs of the bench. Her ankles spread wide, chained to the opposite end. The position left her completely vulnerable, her face pressed sideways against the leather, allowing one of the cameras a perfect view of her tear-streaked features.

Understanding dawned with sickening clarity. He wasn't finished with her.

The demon's hand came down hard on her ass, the sharp crack echoing through the chamber. Again and again, he spanked her, until her pale flesh glowed an angry red. She felt his thumbs spreading her plentiful cheeks apart, exposing her most intimate, untouched entrance. Panic surged through her as she felt something cool, and slick being applied there.

When the head of his cock pressed against her tight ring, Brittney screamed into her gag, thrashing uselessly against her restraints. The demon placed one hand firmly between her shoulder blades, holding her down as he began to push forward with relentless pressure. The burning stretch was unlike anything she'd ever experienced--a violation so intense it sent black spots dancing across her vision.

He took his time, allowing her body to gradually yield to the intrusion, stretching her inch by excruciating inch until she was certain she would break. When he finally hilted himself completely, her entire body shook with sobs, overwhelmed by the fullness and the shame of her complete possession.

The demon leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, and reached around to cup her breast possessively. His other hand slid between her legs, fingers finding her still-sensitive clit. As he began to thrust into her forbidden passage, he stimulated her mercilessly, forcing her body to respond even as she tried to resist.

To her horror, pleasure began to build again, twisted and wrong but undeniable. Her mind fractured, unable to reconcile the violation with the mounting ecstasy. The demon's pace increased, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he claimed her final virginity with brutal efficiency.

The cameras recorded everything--her expressions shifting from pain to unwilling pleasure, the way her body accepted him more easily with each thrust, the glistening evidence of her arousal evident on his cock.

By this point, the shame had left her entirely. Brittney didn't care that there were cameras or an audience, or even that there was a demon cock buried in her asshole. It was as if a safety setting in her brain broke, and she fully gave into the situation.

She surrendered completely, her body accepting--even welcoming--each brutal thrust. A strangled moan escaped around her gag as the demon's fingers worked her clit with inhuman precision, building pressure low in her belly once more. The violation had transformed into something else entirely, something that made her hate herself even as she pressed back against him, silently begging for more.

The demon seemed to sense this shift, this breaking point. His rhythm changed, became more deliberate, more possessive. The hand on her breast squeezed harder, pinching her nipple between gray fingers until pain blurred seamlessly into pleasure. Through the haze of sensation, Brittney realized with distant horror that she was approaching another climax--this one building deeper, more intense than before.

When it hit, her entire body convulsed. Her vision whited out, muscles clenching around the intrusion as wave after wave crashed through her. The demon continued his relentless assault, prolonging her orgasm until it bordered on torture, until pleasure became so intense it circled back to pain.

Only then did he allow himself to release, emptying his balls into her second passage with a low growl that vibrated through his chest and into her back.

For several long moments, they remained joined, her body trembling with aftershocks, his perfectly still. Then he withdrew, leaving her empty and leaking, used in ways she had never imagined possible.

The restraints released suddenly, and Brittney collapsed onto the bench, her limbs too weak to support her. The demon's hand came to rest on the back of her head, an almost gentle gesture that felt more threatening than any violence that had preceded it. His fingers worked at the buckles of her gag, removing it for the first time.

She gasped as it came free, her jaw aching, lips dry and cracked. Before she could speak, the demon leaned down, his featureless mask inches from her face.

A satisfied growl was all that escaped him. She took it as a compliment.

The red lights of the cameras blinked off in unison. The session was over.

The demon stepped away, and Brittney felt consciousness slipping from her grasp.

When she awoke, she was back in her own bed, tangled in her sheets, body slick with sweat. For one blissful moment, she thought it had all been a nightmare--until she tried to move. Every muscle screamed in protest, her body bearing evidence of use she couldn't deny. Between her legs, the evidence of the demon's claim remained, sticky and real.

Her phone pinged on the nightstand.

Another banking notification.

The second payment had arrived, even larger than the first. And attached was a message:

"Beautifully done. The views were high on this one, and so will your earnings."

For a moment, Brittney was just praying no one she knew would see the video...