#hostelmate | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kylorengarbagedump · 5 years

Text

No Accounting for Taste (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: Where the eyes should be, there is a void bordered by rows of chrome lines, and the mouth is muzzled by a flat, carbon slate. It is as human as it is inhuman, an echo of something familiar, like the look of death on the face of a stranger.

Heart pounding, you speak, your voice creaking inside of your throat. “What the fuck is happening?”

The voice that responds crackles inside the mask, mutated and mechanical. “Something very unfortunate for you.”

Word Count: 7100 (oops)

Warnings: Literally everything. This is NSFL. Rape, verbal abuse, literal torture, graphic violence, death. This is a Red Room fic.

Characters: Kylo Ren x (Fat!)Reader A/N: Hello, and welcome to the actual Worst Thing I've Ever Written. I went through this for a few reasons--one, just to prove to myself that I could, two, out of spite, and three, to gift this work to my beautiful friend @daddyrenn / @rosalinaballerina. She has listened to and supported me for like, years now, which is crazy, and I realized I never wrote her anything to thank her. So, here ya go, cupcake. I love you so much, and I hope you enjoyed this.

I also hope that whoever else enjoys gross nasty shit like this enjoyed it. It was really cathartic for me to write, so, I'm happy to put it out there for anyone else. Love y'all so much! Thank you for all of your support all these years. <3

laetus_lacrimosa: when’s the show starting?

blueeyeswhited: are you new here? he’s always late

laetus_lacrimosa: it’s been 30 minutes already

xwaifusayorix: yup

laetus_lacrimosa: i’m paying how much for some dickhead who’s always late?

mg3453: hopefully not as much as the rest of us

kyloren has logged in.

kyloren: Five minutes. Bidding at .52 btc begins now.

kyloren: Any other complaints will be addressed by me. In person.

kyloren has logged out.

A droplet of water hits your forehead, and your eyes open. The lights are still on, but you are alone.

The roof is leaking, and not just over your bed, but in several spots across the room. You’re not particularly surprised--you hadn’t paid a fortune for the hostel, but to wake up to cold rain was still not an expected consequence. Sighing, you sit up, wipe your head, and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Thankfully, your mattress is entombed in plastic.

Your brain spins. You’d wanted to sleep through the storm, but it doesn’t seem like that will be an option. And you’re not sure if you can manage sitting on your bed, alone, for the next however many hours. The last time you’d tried it, your legs ended up with a bunch of knife-slashes from the three-inch blade you keep in your backpack. The rest of your hostelmates have abandoned you, apparently, but there’s no surprise there. A knot in your throat grows thick. You can’t run away from your inferiority.

Planting your face in your hands, you draw in a deep breath, hoping the air will quell the burgeoning volcano in your chest. They left because you had said you wanted to sleep. That doesn’t mean you’re inherently uninvited from wherever they went. In fact, you could get up and meet them right now, if you wanted. And want you do.

You stand, shaking the jitters out of your fingers, and step through the sleeping quarters to the living area. Under the heavy rhythm of rain, you hear music, like a stereo blasting from inside a wave--and in its direction, flashing, rainbow lights. A party. A grin tugs at the corners of your lips. That didn’t sound like such a bad way to pass the time. Better than sitting in your room, alone. You snatch a hoodie from your bag and slip on your flip flops before darting through the storm, skipping over stone and sloshing in the tiny puddles already pooling in the grass. And after a few hops, you see it, beyond the curtains of rain: a tent, a safehouse by the shore.

By the time you reach it, your grin is erupting into a full smile, laughter eking out of you as you pull the hood off your head. You can’t remember the last time you’d run through the rain. And as the lights splash onto your face, you realize that you can’t remember the last time you’d danced, either. The music is spirited and electric, a classic reggaeton beat under lyrics in a language you don’t understand. Before you know it, you’re sliding further into the tent, looking for familiar faces, your hips rolling to the beat

You spot a younger woman you’d shared a few light-hearted conversations with this afternoon--she looks totally trashed, but she’s definitely having a good time. Hopefully, being drunk allows her to be even more forgiving of your social awkwardness. But before you reach her, a hand on your shoulder halts you, and you yelp into the noise, whirling around to face the intruder.

“Evening,” he says, sounding as if he’d somehow whispered into your ear from feet away. “Thought you wouldn’t make it.”

“Hey, yeah, I did!” You search his face, brow furrowed. It’s a handsome face--hazel eyes, dark hair, full, pink lips--and it’s on top of a tall, muscular frame. But somehow, you don’t remember him. You’re more self-centered than you thought. “I’m so sorry, can you remind me who you are?”

A tight grin crosses his face, and your name rolls off of his tongue in mock-disappointment. “Really? I’m hurt.”

“Aw, no!” Frowning, you latch onto his forearm, trying to placate him. It’s thick and firm in your grip, and a shudder crawls up your spine. “I’m so sorry! I’ve just been… kind of off. Remind me, please!”

Smiling, he tugs you closer, and your cheeks grow hotter. “It’s Kylo.”

You nod. “Ohh, okay! Hi, Kyle!”

“No,” he says, “Ky-lo.”

“What?” Your face twists, and you turn your ear toward him. “Kylo?”

“Yes,” he replies, and his breath brushes your face. “You’ve got it.”

Hiding an idiotic giggle, you inch back. “This is kind of cool, huh?” What you can’t hide is how your gaze travels his body. All he has on are black jeans and a black t-shirt that clings to his thick chest and arms. Fuck, he’s built. “I mean, uh, the party.”

“The what?”

You cup your hands around your mouth, shouting over the music. “The party!”

“It is.”

Kylo stands there, staring, his eyes like voids, absorbing every flash of color in the tent. Under his gaze, your heart throbs, and in the back of your skull, the reptilian bit of your brain catches flame, screaming. But you can’t figure out what it’s telling you. Is it to run? Or to stay?

“Let’s dance,” he says, and barely waits for your nod before he curls one of his large, strong hands around yours and spins your back against his chest. Now you are on fire, your hips rocking with his, your face ready to melt when he leans his lips close to your ear. “Have you ever been to El Salvador before?”

“No!” Heat courses through you when you realize how loud you’ve been. The black-sand beaches of El Salvador weren’t your first choice for a runaway destination. But they happened to fit the three primary criteria: cheap, secluded, and U.S. dollar-friendly. Squeezing his hand, you tilt your head. “I mean, um, no.”

“Really? I come here all the time.” Kylo tugs you closer. The air seems thicker, now. “It’s beautiful.”

“I think so too.” Your palm is slippery, and you adjust your grip again.

Kylo’s mouth scrapes the shell of your ear. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

Silent, you nod.

He leads you through the rain back to the hostel, through the living area and into the sleep quarters. You wait by the doorway as he saunters over to his bag, his shirt sticking to the rippling muscles in his back. Holding a sigh, you chew your lip. Kylo reaches into his backpack and pulls out a wine bottle--it’s wrapped and corked, brand-new--and urges you over with a nod. Lizard-brain wailing, you oblige.

“Where are you from?” Kylo is peeling the foil from the bottleneck while he speaks.

You glance at your feet. “The States.”

“Mhm.” The foil floats to the floor. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

“What?” Head snapping up, you meet his gaze. It’s empty. “No, no. Not at all. What?”

“I meant where in the States.” His fist is tight around the wine. “Given your accent, though--New Jersey?”

“Philadelphia.” Blush creeps onto your cheeks.

“Really,” he says. “Say w-a-t-e-r.”

Your lips twist into a mock-frown. “Wuder.”

Something twitches on his face. A grin, you think. “Right.” Kylo twists the cork, easing it free. “What does your family think of you traveling alone?”

“Oh.” Your thoughts tangle. For some reason, you want to lie. “They, uh, they’re okay with it.”

“Hm.” A pause, and he locks you in his stare again. “They don’t know, do they?”

“Um…” A swift twist and tug, and the cork pops out. You flinch. “No,” you admit. “They don’t.”

Kylo shrugs. “No shame in that.” He sits on the bed, beckoning you with a nod. “Sit. Have a drink.”

You gnaw your lip again, looking at your backpack. You consider grabbing your knife, just in case. He’s incredibly fucking hot, and you’d love nothing more than to hop on what you are sure is his massive dick, but something about it seems wrong. But you aren’t sure if what you’re feeling is real discomfort, or your own fucked-up brain working to deny anything good might ever happen to you.

“I don’t know… Something seems weird about a strange drink from a strange man.”

Kylo smirks. “You saw me open it. And besides…” He pauses to take a long swig, the knot in his throat bobbing with each gulp, and then pulls off with a short gasp. You find yourself wanting to swallow, too. “I hope that’s satisfactory.”

Sweat beads at your nape. “Uh…” Shrugging, you shuffle over and sit next to him. He radiates heat. After the rain, that seems particularly inviting. “Sure. Why not.”

You wet your lips and tip the edge of the bottle into your mouth, the lukewarm liquid spilling out. It’s tart and dry with a lingering salty tang, and you wince as you swallow, smacking your tongue against your palate. You pause for a moment, waiting for the inevitable wooziness and unconsciousness to hit--but they don’t. Maybe he isn’t full of shit. Warmth ebbs through you, and you look over at him, holding out the wine.

“Weird taste. What is that?”

His eyes scan your figure. “You didn’t like it.”

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head. “That isn’t it. It’s just weird and salty. I’ve never had anything like that before.”

“Hm.” Kylo blinks, gaze flitting to the bottle, then back to you. He takes it from you and has another drink, imitating you by smacking his tongue. “That’s what it is.” He does it again. “You’re aerating it. Don’t do that.”

You raise a brow. “Really? I’ve never heard of that before.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes. “You’re fucking with me.”

He presents the bottle. “Try it.”

Pouting, you grab it, taking a long, slow drink, and pull off, fighting the urge to--how did it he put it?--aerate. But you still taste salt. Your brow furrows, and you look at him. The sirens in the back of your head are deafening, now, and you swallow, fingers starting to tremble. You glance at the wine, but the label is in Spanish.

“Um, hey, so… what… what is this? This wine?”

Kylo’s blank gaze meets yours. “Oh. Right. I forgot you asked.”

“Yeah. I did.” Your heart slams against your ribcage.

“It’s gammahydroxybutyrate.”

Shaking your head, you play it over in your head. “Gammahydro--what? What? Kylo--” You reach for him, but you miss. “What the fuck?”

He is flat. “Ecstasy.”

The next thing you remember is hitting the floor.

Darkness is torn from your face, and a matrix of light blinds you, pain leaking from you in gasps as your ears are swallowed by a shrieking whine. Groaning, you shift, attempting to jerk away from the brightness beyond your lids, but your arms stall, your body rocking into the chair. Wait--the chair? You kick, but your legs strain against the bonds around your calves. Wincing, you bow your head, waiting for the ringing in your skull to die before you even try to remember what the hell happened. Then, shade, interrupting the assault on your eyes, cooling your skin for a brief moment. A grunt escapes you; your lids flutter open.

Light is a halo around shadow, the figure in front of you the shape of a man, if men are shaped how you remember. Your vision is water, the sound dull, like you’ve been plunged into a shallow tub. But as it clears, you make out details. He is tall, broad, muscled, wearing… black. A black tank top, black leather pants, black boots, all melting in the murky slime of your brain. The one detail you can’t discern is his face--because it is obscured by a mask. Where the eyes should be, there is a void bordered by rows of chrome lines, and the mouth is muzzled by a flat, carbon slate. It is as human as it is inhuman, an echo of something familiar, like the look of death on the face of a stranger.

Heart pounding, you speak, your voice creaking inside of your throat. “What the fuck is happening?”

The voice that responds crackles inside the mask, mutated and mechanical. “Something very unfortunate for you.”

“What? What are you talking about?” You want to shout, but every bit of effort you make to speak or move is tripled against the weight of your scrambling consciousness. “Let me go. Please. What the fuck is happening?”

He is silent. Your gaze darts around the room--the floor is dirt, the walls are blank, and there isn’t a single window that you can see. To your right, a large, flat screen displays text… lines of it, you think, discussing something. A chatroom. You see one of the names--kyloren--and your blood turns to ice.

El Salvador. The wine. Ecstasy.

Kylo.

Before you can speak, your gaze catches the lines on the screen moving, talking. And they’re talking about you.

laetus_lacrimosa: i love how fucking scared she looks

blueeyeswhited: it’s awesome. she has no idea what’s about to happen

gawinulim11490: what are the limits?

mg3453: are you serious?

xwaifusayorix: lol

Your stomach lurches, and Kylo moves, the light burning your vision again. You squint while your pupils adjust, and see that he’s walked to a terminal where a camera and laptop are arranged. The acid in your belly roars like a wave, eroding your esophagus and singeing the back of your throat, and your chin quivers, quakes resonating to your toes. Fighting your fear, you overcompensate, instead, and glare at the camera, hocking a thick wad of mucus and spitting it at your captor. It falls short, a glob in the dirt. Kylo doesn’t seem to even notice, but the chatroom has.

blueeyeswhited: she’s an animal

gawinulim11490: like every other female who doesn’t get her way. strip them of their privileges and they resort to this.

xwaifusayorix: lmao are you an incel

kyloren: Bidding begins at .29 btc. Open now for the next 30 seconds.

As he types this, the screen explodes with chatter. From what you can tell, there are five people in this room, watching you. Bidding on something. They spit out different numbers, trying to one-up each other in a value you don’t recognize. .88 btc, 1.46, 2.19. The integers climb and climb.

laetus_lacrimosa: 2.93 to strip her and cut her fucking nipples off.

xwaifusayorix: oh shit

mg3453: yeah i withdraw, i wanna see that lol

Breath flies out of you, and you choke. “What? What the fuck? What the fuck is this? What the fuck?”

kyloren: Going once. Twice.

No other person speaks.

kyloren: 2.19 btc to watch. Beginning now.

Kylo clicks something, and the chatroom changes. One, two, three of the people who had been in the previous room appear in this one. Kylo appears to adjust the camera pointed at you and turns, pulling a knife from his belt.

You whip your head back and forth, straining at your bonds, toes digging into the dirt, hips twisting to rock the chair. “No, please, stop, what are you doing. Please stop. Kylo, or whatever your name is. Please don’t do this. Please--”

He doesn’t appear to respond, but grabs the back of the chair, stilling it while he slides the knife underneath your shirt. The metal is ice on your skin, and you shiver, whimpering as tears blur your vision. You can’t stop your chin from trembling, your heart from wanting to explode out of your chest. Kylo turns the blade to the ceiling and rips, standing to the side so the camera catches when your belly, chest, and breasts are uncovered. Noise wants to escape you, but it doesn’t--you can only whisper as the tip of the knife shreds the hem of your top.

“Please… please stop…”

If he is moved in any way by your display, his only reaction is to tear the fabric to the side, making sure the entirety of your torso is exposed for the three strangers watching you on camera. Snot slips out of your nose, and you whimper, a chill washing over you. Kylo stares at you--or at least, you think he is. The inability to identify any hint of humanity from his facade makes your blood run faster.

The pause is only brief, however. He grabs the chair again, and slips the tip of his knife underneath your shorts. You want to struggle, but the threat of a blade against your belly paralyzes your limbs. All you do is sob while slices open the front of your shorts, digging the knife into the fabric of your crotch until the mound of your pussy peeks out. You thank your stars that you’re fat enough that your belly sits on top of your thighs, but Kylo sighs.

“I forgot how fucking fat you were.”

Growling, he takes the knife and rips open the hems on your sides, tearing the fabric away so that your front is now completely naked to the camera. After that, he bends forward, working at the bonds at your feet, and for a moment, there is a tease of relief. The ropes--or zipties, or something, you can’t tell--come off, and your heart roars with adrenaline. You pitch forward, attempting to leap up, but the chair only squeaks, and Kylo’s head snaps toward you.

“Fuck you!” With a shriek, you try to drive a heel into his shoulder, but he snatches your ankle in a large, gloved hand, and before you even move your other leg, that one is seized, his strength so overpowering that you wilt in his grip, collapsing against the chair.

You realize that was his goal, now, all along, while he spreads your legs wider, revealing your cunt to the camera. Another sob wells up in your chest, and you wiggle in protest, feeling helpless as he rebinds you to the chair. Under his breath, you hear him laughing.

“There we go,” he murmurs. “It’s so much easier when you behave.”

“Fuck you.” Your breath shudders in your chest. “Please stop.”

Through your tears, you glance over at the chat--and immediately wish you hadn’t.

blueeyeswhited: christ she’s so fucking disgusting--her body is a fucking mess. has anyone ever actually fucked that? lmfao

mg3453: her tits are fucking embarrassing. she’s in her 20s and they’re already sagging to her pussy

gawinulim11490: are you kidding. her tits have looked like that since she was a teenager. her body is just fucked up.

laetus_lacrimosa: females actually do this to themselves

The terror and anguish inside of you boils, and you glance over at Kylo. You see nothing but a silhouette of darkness.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” You’re spitting, now, snot and saliva soaring from your face. “You’re all sick pieces of shit! Fucking sick misogynistic pieces of shit!”

xwaifusayorix: LMFAO

blueeyeswhited: “misogynist” is she a fucking feminist LOL

gawinulim11490: yes she is, but she doesn’t know the first thing about it. she’s a fucking idiot.

You hate that person in particular. They seem to know you. They talk about you like they’re an expert. You glare at the camera.

“Fuck you, whoever you are. I swear to god, when I get out of here, you will fucking pay for this!”

xwaifusayorix: lol

mg3453: well it makes sense that she looks like that now if she’s a feminist

laetus_lacrimosa: cutting off her nipples will be an improvement

Out of the corner of your eye, Kylo moves toward you, and you snarl. “Fuck you. Don’t even come near me.”

“You have no choice in that matter.”

He tosses the knife, catching it by the handle, and grips the chair again. Heart in your throat, you cry out, thrashing against your bindings, muscles tensing and untensing as words and spit fly, unfiltered.

“Please! Please, fuck no! Don’t do this! Don’t fucking do this Kylo please fuck don’t do this! Please!”

Underneath the mask, you hear a low, quiet laugh. Kylo stands behind you, steadies the chair against his body, and grabs one of your tits, pulling the skin of your areola taut. Your breath is rapid, drool streaming out of your mouth as you scream again, begging him to spare you. He brings the knife to your flesh, and you thrash, trying to slam your head back into his hips, hoping to knock him off balance.

Grunting, he crushes your breast in his hand, making you squeak. “Might not be smart to struggle while I have a knife so close to your chest.”

Face crumpling, you release a shuddering whine, tensing as you watch the knife pierce your flesh.

Searing pain streaks through your nerves, echoing in your fingers and toes, and you screech, throwing your head back in broken sobs while cuts through the layers of skin. A warm fluid spills down your abdomen, pooling in the crevices of your thighs and dripping onto the floor. Your teeth pinch your lower lip, lids shut tight as he carves through you, jolts of hot pain hitting you with each millimeter of skin removed. You can’t decide if you want to go to sleep or wake up.

Your breast flops against your stomach as the last bit of your flesh is removed, and you hear him toss it onto the ground. The thought of opening your eyes makes your stomach turn, but you find yourself cracking open a lid.

Blood has painted you in crimson buckets, and the fleeting pace of your heart is only making it pump out faster. Gasping, you feel faint, and close your eyes again, focusing on your breath, hoping to slow your heart rate so you don’t bleed out. Your entire body is pulsating, and you are trembling--you don’t want to go into shock, either.

Kylo clutches your other breast, tweaking your nipple in his fingers. Another laugh rumbles under the mask, and he cuts into your skin once more. The pain is duller, this time, your adrenaline still spiked and your brain focused on keeping calm. Yet you feel like a fish, filleted live on television, strands of hanging skin snipped and ripped from you, and you are bathing in warm fluid pumping from your own heart. Your second breast drops, and you groan, dizzy. It’s a lot of blood, leaving you--you don’t even need to look.

“That’s an issue,” says Kylo. His voice sounds filtered through water.

You hear rustling, and then the flicking of something--a lighter--and your lids pop open. Dread sinks into your bones when you watch him wipe his knife on his pants and hold it over an open flame. Whinging, you shake your head, the tears coming again.

“No, no, no no no…” You heave, swallowing vomit. “Please, no, no, we can do a tourniquet or something, please, no no no…”

“You’d rather bleed out?” His voice is dull, even under the modulator. “Besides,” he says, spinning the knife over the lighter. “We need you awake for every part of this. Otherwise it isn’t any fun.”

Vomit threatens again, but you swallow, shuddering. “Fuck you.”

Kylo releases the lighter and moves forward. Before you can even protest, he presses the flat end of the blade against your wound, and you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks, shivers wracking your body as blinding pain whites your vision. A sob crawls out, and then another, and another, before you are heaving, drooling, and wailing in desperation. You try to breathe, but can’t, gasping and whining for air--and you finally vomit, hurling onto your chest, the rest bubbling out down your chin in an acidic burble.

“Stop. Stop, please,” you wheeze. “Please, just stop.” A rare breath fills your lungs, and you cough. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

The weight of his gaze heavy on your frame as he re-heats the knife over the flame. “Because someone paid someone to pay me.” He steps forward and cauterizes your other wound, and you screech again, agony wracking you as your skin sizzles and pops under the heat. The smell of burnt flesh permeates. You want to vomit again.

Finished, Kylo wipes the knife on his pants again and puts it back into the sheath on his belt. You are quaking with terror and pain, sweat has drenched your lower back and hair, and you are still trying to focus on your breath. Kylo clicks something at his terminal, the rest of the voyeurs are back in the chat.

blueeyeswhited: holy shit she looks fucked up

laetus_lacrimosa: dumb fat bitch lol

mg3453: this is exactly what all these commie cunts deserve

gawinulim11490: don’t compliment her by insinuating she knows anything about being a communist.

xwaifusayorix: lmao shit

Your head is spinning. Is that it? With the bidding done, are you just going to be tossed out like this? Maybe he won’t even let you go.

“Kylo, please…”

Then, he types.

kyloren: Bidding open again. Starting at 2.93 btc. Open now for the next 30 seconds.

mg3453: 2.93 to shut her up. rape her mouth and make her vomit again

blueeyeswhited: nice

gawinulim11490: he’ll rape her?

xwaifusayorix: lmao cuck

laetus_lacrimosa: he’ll do anything--he’s a monster

kyloren: Going once.

gawinulim11490: i’ll double it. 5.86 btc to rape every disgusting hole. choke her. make her lick cum off the floor. remind her how repulsive she is.

Your heart sinks into your gut. Your mouth is dry.

kyloren: Going once. Twice.

kyloren: 5.24 to watch. Beginning now.

The chatroom changes in the same way it had before, only now all five people who had been in the chat before slowly join. After the last person appears, Kylo turns, pulling the knife out from his belt once more. You can only swallow, staring at him with pleading, wet eyes, hoping that if you seem pathetic enough, he’ll let you go, or spare you, somehow, with any hint of kindness.

When he cuts you free of the chair, you kid yourself into thinking, for a moment, that he’s done just that. You swivel to try and look at him, to catch his intention, but find yourself horrified when you turn to see him pulling his cock out of his pants, guiding his hand up and down the hardening shaft.

Heat licks up your spine, and you babble something nonsensical before shaking your head, blinking away the tears.

“Bend over the chair.” His voice is even darker, more commanding, under the mask.

You don’t want to bend over the chair, but you are so weak and tired, the thought of what might happen if you don’t bend over the damn chair is even more terrifying. You try to move, but find yourself slipping on your own blood. Puke hits the back of your throat again, and you gag.

“Bend. Over. The chair.”

“I’m trying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry who?”

You pause, and stare up at him. Static has blanketed half your brain. I’m sorry…

A flash of black leather smacks you hard across the face, and you whimper, too exhausted to even grasp at yourself in shock. “You’re sorry who?” he asks, again.

Clenching your quivering chin, you look at the ground, the dirt spattered with your blood. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Much better,” he says. “Now move.”

“Yes, sir,” you mumble.

You sit up, and the parts of your shirt that hadn’t been shredded stick to your sweat. Your shorts, however, stay on the chair, matted a dark red. When you try to stand, wooziness slams you, and you stumble, grabbing onto the chair as your vision doubles, spinning out like a car wreck. Part of you wants to look at the chat screen--see what they are saying--but the other part turns with tiny steps until you are facing the side of the chair. Wincing, you lay yourself across it, ass in the air, knees off the ground. It’s hard to be still, as the seat is still slick with your blood.

“Let’s see if we can find your pussy in all of this mess.”

Leather gloves grip your ass, and you close your lids, wishing that you wouldn’t shiver as he pushed aside the hills of your flesh to find your cunt between your legs. You thought back to when you’d met him at the club--you would’ve happily had consensual sex with him, then.

“You really thought I wanted to fuck you?” he says, as if he’d read your mind. “Answer me.”

Your cheeks flush with fire. “Um… I, uh, guess I did…”

Thwack--your ass and hips jiggle with tremors of pain. He just fucking spanked you. “You what?”

Choking back, a sob, you say, “Yes, sir. I did.”

He laughs with an inhuman derision. “You’re fucking pathetic. I would never be desperate enough to fuck something like you.”

Kylo’s fingers dig into your hips, and the head of his cock pokes between your thighs--but before he can drive himself inside of you, you glide off the chair and collapse in a pile on the ground, and you retch while your burned tits scrape the dirt. Dust erupts in clouds, and you roll to avoid the pain, particles getting into your mouth, forcing a cough.

“Fuck,” you groan. “Fuck…”

Through your fit, you look up at Kylo, who is still stroking his cock--now fully erect. Your heart drops even further. It’s enormous.

“Get up, bitch.” Behind the mask, you know he’s smiling. “Get back on the chair.”

You push yourself up on buckling elbows, dragging yourself like a corpse back onto the chair. Shaking, you drape yourself across it, and Kylo once more grapples your hips. The warm, throbbing head of his dick slides across your legs, seeking out your cunt, aching to tear it open and make you scream. You bite your lip, grimacing in anticipation--but when he thrusts, you lose grip on the chair again and tumble back onto the ground, rolling onto your back while you stifle a whine.

“Stupid whore.” Kylo kicks you in the stomach with the toe of his boot, and you heave, curling into a ball. “Can’t even stay on a chair.” He sighs, his erection bobbing in need. “But you’re used to being fucked like an animal, aren’t you?”

“What--”

Kylo pounces, clutching a fistful of your hair as he whips you around, shoving your face straight into the dirt. You moan in pain, drool dripping in globs from your face, caking your mouth and cheeks in mud. Gloved hands pull your legs apart, and then a hard, thick cock is pushing at the folds of your dry cunt. Grunting, Kylo cranks your head back, his voice low in your ear.

“Not wet for me yet?” A smothered laugh. “That’ll change soon.”

Gasping for breath, you almost beg for him to stop--but then he rams into you, ripping through your walls, and you screech, bucking against him, arms flailing. He lays his entire weight on top of you, like a boulder pressing you to the ground, and curls his fingers in your hair before thrusting again. A throttled shout escapes you, and Kylo’s other hand wraps around your throat, strangling any other noise. All you can do is slobber as tears trickle along your jaw.

“Mm, fuck,” he hums into your ear. “I feel you getting wet. You like this, don’t you?”

A long, agonizing pull out, and then another excruciating drive in. Shame seeps out of your pores as you realize--he’s right. The base of his dick pulses when he seats himself inside of your pussy, and your body reacts, walls instinctively squeezing. He laughs, tugging you somehow closer, the cold muzzle of his mask settling in the crook of your neck.

“That’s right,” he says. “You feel like a whore.” He drags out, and slams back in. “You look like a fucking pig.”

Kylo finds his rhythm, punishing you with his dick as he growls into your ear, hand just tight enough around your throat to keep you conscious while you fight for lucidity through the pain. Your pussy is wet, now, a humiliating and automatic reaction to the painful fucking he’s forcing upon you. It’s only then that you can actually process it--he’s raping you. This is all actually happening. The realization is almost anesthetizing--you can’t feel your face anymore, anyway, you think it’s been numbed with tears--and any sound you make escapes as guttural, animalistic sobs.

“That’s right, little pig,” he says. “Squeal for me.” Kylo releases your neck to smack the side of your face, and the sharp pain provokes something inside of you--you squeal, like a rutting, dirty farm animal, and when he returns to choke you, you squeal again, in shame. He snickers. “Good pig…”

The constant raking across the dirt has rubbed your body and pained nipples raw, making every movement above you torturous. Kylo pumps deep into your cunt, piercing your cervix over and over and over, his breath leaving in dark, mechanical huffs. You want him to cum so badly, just so this will be over. In angst, you groan, loud and long.

“It feels that good?” he asks. “You love taking cock, don’t you? You’ll take it wherever.”

Kylo pulls out, but before relief hits you, you feel the tip of his slickened cock pass over your asshole. Horrified, you groan again, but in his grip, under his weight--you are weary, helpless. You can only whine and screech in protest as he presses against you.

“You want it so badly. You’re fucking disgusting. But I knew that the second I realized you wanted to fuck me.” He huffs when he pushes the tip of his dick into your ass, and you grunt in pain. “You were so desperate. So lonely.” Another thrust, deeper, more unbearable. “And those cuts on your legs…” A hard, deep thrust this time, and you howl. “Do you think anyone actually wants to give you attention?” He pauses. Smacks you, and gasp. “Do you?”

Voice ragged, you reply, “N-no… No, sir…”

Kylo tugs you back and slams his hips against your ass, and you wail in agony as he splits it open. It feels hot and cold and empty and full all at once. You are dizzy with pain and exhaustion, overcome while he pounds you, fucking into you harder than before. His cock is hard and sharp, a nail trying to splinter you like a board.

“Go on, pig,” he growls. “Squeal for me like the filthy little swine you are.”

He slaps your cheek, and like a stupid, trained pig, you squeal--a horrible, wretched sob that scrapes its way out of your throat. Another moan leaves him, and he gives you two hard thrusts before pulling out of your ass, his dick like sandpaper against your sore flesh. You gag, and then yelp as he yanks you to your knees by your scalp. He is quick, smacking the side of your face to part, and then shoving his dirty cock straight into your mouth.

You retch, the taste revolting, but Kylo grips your skull in both his massive hands and fucks down into your throat, your hair his reins. There’s a visible urge to let his head fall back and cum, but he fights it, locking with your stare behind his mask. Water spills over your cheeks again, your eyes rolling as you fight your own urge to pass out. It is almost impossible to breathe with his thick dick constricting your airway, stretching your jaw, making you drool.

“Such a good little squealer… Almost made me cum.” His voice is uneven, now, his thrusting erratic. “This is all you’re good for, isn’t it? And you’re barely good for this.” He slaps you. “Stay awake, cunt.”

Gurgling against his erection, you nod to the best of your ability. Your compliance has you wanting to throw up, too, but there has been too much to fight--knowing it is almost over, you want him to hurry so you can leave and forget him forever. After a lot of therapy, probably.

“Fuck… fuck--”

Kylo’s hips pitch, and he groans, pulling out of your mouth and jerking his cock as it twitches in front of your face, holding your head still. A gasp, a groan, and he climaxes, jets of hot cum splashing your eyes and lips, mixing with spit and tears and dirt. Sighing, he squeezes the last drops of his release from his dick, wiping them on your face and shoving you back into the dirt.

You hit the ground and shatter, the pent-up fear and adrenaline pouring out in broken, weeping breaths. Part of you wants to cover your face with your hands, but the other part is too disgusted to touch any reminder of his presence.

“Clean it up,” comes Kylo’s voice.

It is an echo in the chamber of your bawling. You can do nothing but wheeze, ache, and cry. There is nothing left in you to do an ounce more.

But Kylo is unsatisfied with this. “Clean it up.” His foot collides with your stomach on the final word, and you screech, crying harder.

You fold into a ball, trying to block him from your private break-down. The crying is uncontrollable, at this point, all you can do is ride the waves of anguish. Then you hear Kylo snarl.

Pain explodes in your skull when he stomps on it, jamming his heel into your temple, and he kicks you again, knocking the air from your lungs. “Clean it up, you filthy bitch.”

Coughing, you try to nod, acknowledging his order, shivering while you pull yourself up from the floor. Every part of you aches, resonating with pain and the tremors of torment. Glancing at yourself, you are covered in blood, dirt, spit, vomit, and semen. You can’t bring yourself to view the chat screen. What have they been saying this entire time? You suppose it doesn’t matter.

Swallowing what scraps are left of your pride, you wipe the caked semen off of your face, gathering it in dirty clumps and dragging them onto your tongue. The taste is acrid, bitter and salty and dry and sticky--and you heave trying to finish the first glob. Closing your lids, you persist, steeling your stomach as you clean your face of every last viscous drop of his semen. As you finish, you open your eyes, blurred tears clear, and see the chat.

blueeyeswhited: holy fucking shit

mg3453: that was fucking incredible

laetus_lacrimosa: i knew she could take a big cock

gawinulim11490: what a fucking whore. she fucking loved it.

xwaifusayorix: like every other female, lol

laetus_lacrimosa: look at her cunt, it’s so fat and wet

blueeyeswhited: what kind of feminist loves being raped? lmao

gawinulim11490: she does. she’s a fucking joke. i told you that she’s not a real feminist. she’s a boring, joyless, leftist cuntbag.

mg3453: goddamn lol. are you sure you’re not an incel?

gawinulim11490: fuck off.

Their words don’t bite, as they did at first. You’re too fucking tired to care. Glancing over, you see that Kylo has already tucked himself away, and is making his way to the terminal. This had to have been the last part. Surely his plan is to sign off and let you go. Surely…

kyloren: Bidding opens at 5.86 btc. You have 30 seconds.

Adrenaline again. “No.” You try to scramble toward him. “No, no!”

blueeyeswhited: cut her fingers off. 5.86 btc

kyloren: You’ll need more than that.

xwaifusayorix: 7.86 to cut off her toes

laetus_lacrimosa: 9.44 to cut her guts out

xwaifusayorix: oh fuck lol

You slump onto the ground. They’re not going to stop until you’re dead. Heart skipping out of your ribs, you claw to Kylo’s feet, curling your arms around them, scratching the leather like a hopeless cat.

“Kylo, please… please, don’t…”

kyloren: Going once.

“Please, Kylo, sir, please, please, please…”

kyloren: Going twice.

“Kylo… sir, don’t do this…”

gawinulim11490: 15.73 to cut the dumb bitch’s head off. spare the world of another fat leftist idiot.

Breath freezes in your lungs. No one else in the chat says a word.

kyloren: Going once.

kyloren: Twice.

He pauses, you think, for a second longer. You don’t dare speak.

kyloren: 11.79 to watch. Starting now.

The chat switches, and the only one who joins is the person who bid.

You hug Kylo’s legs, trying to hold him, pleading and pleading for him to release you. It is mostly gibberish, nonsense strung together with despair. God, you didn’t want this, you realize now, if you were let go you’d be better, you’d do better, you’d do whatever you needed so that you were never hated this badly again. On some end, you must deserve it, if someone is willing to pay money over and over to see you brought to this.

Beyond your sorrow, you feel Kylo moving, dragging you across the ground while he moves in front of the camera. Without a word, he gnarls his fingers in your hair, wrenching you to your knees, twisting your body so you kneel facing the camera. You are sniveling, and just as silent as him.

It’s not that you think, perhaps, you deserve to die. It’s that you realize that it is inevitable. It is, you hope, the same revelation that hits a cancer patient after a grim diagnosis, or the one that blinks into the mind of a driver during a head-on collision. The same revelation that perhaps only half of the population is lucky enough to have, before they collapse or bleed or pass in their sleep. And here you are, having it now--you are about to die at the hands of this monster. At least you’ll finally be free.

Kylo stands behind you, and you hear a hiss and metal squeak. To your left, a heavy thump. Fingers still tangled in your hair, he snaps your head up, and you see his face again. For a moment, you can’t understand why he’s done this--but you realize the camera must only see you.

His eyes are voids. Yet he looks just as pretty as you remember. You should’ve known that no one this attractive had good intentions for you.

Then the blade of his knife slices into your neck, and you sob--but the blood is hot, spurting in a river, and you feel his fingers tighten in your scalp, and then another tear in your flesh, and you choke on your blood, coughing and sputtering and twitching in pain, and everything is fuzzy, and numb, you can’t feel your fingers, or your body, or even feel your breath, and soon you know you aren’t breathing youaren’t seeingand everythingis blankandemptyandblack.

blueeyeswhited: oh fuck that’s a lot of blood

laetus_lacrimosa: not exactly a clean cut job

mg3453: look how upset she was lmao

gawinulim11490: she deserves it.

gawinulim11490 has logged off.

mg3453: shit. good show anyway.

xwaifusayorix: i still think that guy was an incel

laetus_lacrimosa: incels don’t have cash like that, idiot

xwaifusayorix: true.

xwaifusayorix has logged off.

laetus_lacrimosa has logged off.

blueeyeswhited has logged pff.