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Alex could no longer endure it.The numb cold in his lower abdomen, the touches, the feeling of helplessness—everything became too much. His breathing grew heavy, his chest rose and fell frantically, and finally, he collapsed under the pressure.

“What do you want from me?!” he screamed, his voice muffled by the sleep mask and headphones but still full of despair. He yanked at the plush handcuffs that bound him to the chair, but they held him fast. He couldn’t move an inch.

“Stop! Leave me alone! I can’t take this anymore!” Alex’s voice quivered with panic and anger as he lashed out blindly with his legs, but the restraints held him immobile. The pop songs in his headphones continued to blare incessantly, their squeaky voices and sweet melodies forming a grotesque contrast to his inner torment.

Once more, he tried to free himself, jerking at the handcuffs until his wrists hurt. The chair creaked under his wild tugging, but the cuffs were sturdier than they looked. Alex’s screams grew louder, his voice cracking. “Why are you doing this to me?! Stop, please! What did I ever do to you?!”

But nothing happened. No answer, no sound, no movement. The invisible presence he had felt before seemed to have vanished, and Alex’s screams echoed unanswered through the darkness imposed by the sleep mask over his eyes. It was as though the silence was laughing at him, driving him further into despair.

His body slumped back into the chair, exhausted, his energy spent. Tears ran down his cheeks, his throat felt raw. “I can’t… I just can’t anymore…” he finally whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Alex sat utterly spent and motionless on the chair, the cuffs still locked around his wrists, the sleep mask still covering his eyes, and the pop songs in his headphones continued to pound away relentlessly.

His body trembled slightly, his throat was dry from shouting for so long with no reply. The silence around him felt oppressive, until something happened that wrenched him from his apathy.

He felt it first in his hair. Fingers—soft, but moving with deliberate precision—slowly glided through his long, brown strands. The touch was gentle, almost soothing, but Alex’s nerves were so frayed that even this tender contact made him flinch. The fingers seemed to intentionally comb through his hair, tidying it, admiring it, even playfully twirling individual strands around themselves.

“What now?” Alex wondered in panic, his senses suddenly on high alert, his heart beating faster. He wanted to say something, to ask who was there, but before he could utter a word, the next thing happened.

A hand lightly took hold of his cheek, tilting his head gently upward. Then he felt it—warm, soft lips suddenly pressed against his own. The kiss was surprisingly intense, long, and almost overwhelming. Though Alex’s eyes were covered by the mask, they went wide with shock. He tried to turn his head away, but the hand held him in place, not with **** but with enough control that he couldn’t escape.

The taste on the person’s lips was sweet, a hint of vanilla or strawberry, and the kiss left a sticky residue on his own lips. When the person finally pulled away, Alex felt something heavy and thick remain on his lips. “Lipstick…?” he thought, confused, before realizing that his own lips must now be heavily made up.

He cautiously ran his tongue over his lips and could feel the creamy, smooth texture of the lipstick. It was applied thickly, and he knew it must be a glaring, vibrant color. “Oh God… what’s happening here?!” he asked himself desperately, trying to organize his thoughts.

Then he felt the fingertips again, playfully stroking his hair back before they slowly ran along his cheek. Whoever it was kept him in the dark on purpose, blind, deaf, and helpless, while the pop songs in his ears continued to bizarrely underscore the scene.

Alex was beside himself with fear and anger.

That blow had thrown him off balance, but his rage was greater than his shame. He panted and tried to gather his thoughts before finally speaking loudly, in a trembling voice:

“What the hell do you want from me?!” he cried, his voice shaking but filled with despair. “You already have everything! You control my life; you’ve taken my dignity! What else could you possibly want?! Why are you doing this to me?!”

His words were like a helpless protest, a **** attempt to get answers where he knew there would be none. “Are you satisfied with this? Do you want to break me? Is that your goal?” He felt his throat grow raw, tears burning in his eyes, but he held them back despite the humiliation.

He slumped over, the pain on his cheek still throbbing slightly, and his voice grew weaker: “Please… I don’t want this anymore. Just tell me what you want from me, and then leave me alone.”

His words hung in the air, while the silence of the pop songs in his headphones continued to surround him. Alex didn’t know if his words would make any difference. But at that moment, all he had left was his voice—and that small ounce of courage that remained.

His screams echoed through the room, through the isolated darkness in his head.

The pop songs blaring in his headphones were nearly drowned out by how loudly he screamed. Then—suddenly and without warning—he felt a sharp, painful slap across his cheek.

Smack!

The slap came so unexpectedly that Alex went silent. His head jerked to the side, his cheek began to burn instantly, and his lips quivered. He gasped, momentarily unable to breathe. The silence that followed the slap was overwhelming, broken only by the muted thumping of the pop songs still mercilessly booming in his ears.

Whoever stood behind him had had enough of his rebellion. The slap wasn’t brutal, but it was firm and unmistakable. A clear message: “You are not in control.”

Alex swallowed hard, his mind racing. “That was real… that was actually a slap…” His face felt hot, and not just from the impact. Shame, mixed with fear, overwhelmed him. He still couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything except the pop songs, and he had no idea who had just struck him.

He wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat. His entire body shook as he tensed in the chair. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he didn’t want to cry. Not now, not in front of this invisible stranger who was treating him like a toy.

The fingertips that had previously run gently through his hair touched him again, this time softly stroking his stinging cheek, as if to soothe the pain—or to mock him. Alex flinched slightly, but he knew that any further resistance would only bring worse consequences.

It was too much for Alex. When he suddenly felt hands fiddling with his bra, slowly pulling the straps over his shoulders, panic began to rise within him. The lace of the bra lightly scratched his sensitive skin, and the touch made him jerk. He trembled, his hands clenching the armrests, his heart pounding faster.

“No! Stop! Leave me alone!” he screamed, his voice breaking with despair. Tears gathered in his eyes, hidden by the sleep mask, but he couldn’t hold them back. The touches felt invasive, as though any last shred of his control was being stripped away.

When the bra was finally unclasped and slipped down, Alex felt the cold air on his bare chest. He squirmed desperately in the chair, trying to free himself from the handcuffs, managing somehow to shove away one of the hands touching him.

But that small rebellion was immediately punished.

A sharp, solid slap struck his other cheek, harder than the one before. His head was turned to the side, and he felt the burn spreading across his face. The tears he had tried so desperately to hold back now flowed uncontrollably. His lips trembled, and a faint sob escaped him before he could suppress it.

“Stop resisting, princess,” was the unspoken message he heard in his mind. It was a clear demonstration of power, a sign that any form of defiance was futile.

Alex slumped, his shoulders quivering as he whispered almost inaudibly, “Why… why are you doing this to me…?” The words came out broken and quiet, nearly swallowed by his sobs. His mind was torn between shame, pain, and the unbearable feeling of helplessness.

The hands returned, this time more cautiously but no less determined. They ran over his shoulders and down his back, as though intending to soothe him—or simply to show dominance. Alex dared no further resistance. He was too exhausted, too frightened, and the repeated slaps had made it clear he had no chance of escape.

It was as though his body had entered a reality of its own—one that felt increasingly foreign to him.

Alex sat motionless, tears still fresh on his cheeks, while his chest began to throb slightly. He felt a touch, soft yet strangely intense, directly on his nipples.

The fingertips that touched him circled slowly, applying light pressure before withdrawing and then gently stroking again. A tingling sensation spread, one Alex couldn’t categorize. It wasn’t clearly painful, nor was it clearly pleasant—somewhere in between, unsettling yet strangely engrossing.

He tried to breathe deeply, but his chest rose and fell more quickly, and then he noticed that something was different. “What… is happening?” he thought in panic. He tried to ignore the touches, but the sensations became sharper, almost like a throbbing emanating from his nipples.

It wasn’t just the touching—there was more to it. Something about his chest felt different, but he couldn’t see; the sleep mask still sealed him in darkness. His heart raced as he tried to make sense of this vague sensation. His chest felt… swollen? Maybe even more sensitive?

Alex bit his lip, shaking his head slightly as if to dispel the thoughts. “That’s impossible… I’m imagining things…” But the fingertips, still playfully working on his chest, made him believe that possibility less and less.

Another wave of tingling washed over him, and Alex felt his body react slightly to the touches, whether he wanted it to or not. A deep sense of shame enveloped him as he realized he had no control over what was happening to him. “What… have they done to me?” he asked himself again as the touches continued, unsettling him more and more.

It was a strange sensation that Alex couldn’t initially make sense of.

Something cold, smooth was being attached to his nipples, almost like little suction cups. He felt the material gently latch on, creating a slight vacuum. The feeling was unexpectedly intense, sending a tingling through his body that he couldn’t control.

He flinched, his breathing quickened, and although his mind rebelled in shame and confusion, he couldn’t deny that the sensation was… strangely pleasant. The vacuum intensified with each moment, gently pulling on his sensitive nipples, and Alex’s head tilted back slightly as he fought against his body’s involuntary reaction to this unfamiliar stimulation.

“What… is that?” he thought, letting out a faint gasp. The tingling grew stronger and broader, and he felt his nipples become more sensitive under the constant suction. The feeling was intense but not painful—on the contrary, a warmth spread through his body, confusing him even more.

He wanted to resist, to shut off this foreign stimulus, but he couldn’t. His hands were still trapped in handcuffs, and the sleep mask kept him in the dark. All he could do was sit there and endure whatever was happening—or, to his shame, perhaps even take some involuntary pleasure in it.

Alex bit down on his lip to stifle another sound, but the gentle drawing sensation and the building and releasing of the vacuum caused his thoughts to blur. “No… I can’t like this…” he thought in panic, but his body betrayed him. The warmth inside him spread further, and he noticed his muscles slowly relaxing, as though he were slipping into a trance-like state.

The soft hissing of the vacuum, cycling on and off repeatedly, was the only thing he heard besides the pop songs in his headphones. It was as if everything was designed to confuse and manipulate him—and Alex felt himself giving in, bit by bit. “Why… does this feel like this? Why am I enjoying it?” he asked himself desperately, becoming ever more aware of his own helplessness.

It took only a few seconds before Alex felt someone behind him again.

The hands that had been on his chest now moved to his head. They slid through his hair, grabbing the smooth, long strands made so soft and silky by Miriam’s shampoo, and began to tame them.

Alex couldn’t see what was happening, but he felt his hair being divided. The hands worked precisely, pulling the strands taut and starting to braid them. He shivered slightly when the hair ties were tightened and felt them tug at the ends of his hair. The pop songs in his headphones felt even more absurd as he sat there, helpless and exposed, while someone styled him like a doll.

“What is this about?!” he thought, his heart pounding faster, the shame almost unbearable. Just as he opened his mouth to protest—or maybe to let out one last **** plea—he suddenly felt something hard and cold press against his lipstick-covered lips.

His protesting whimper was cut short as the ball gag was pushed firmly between his lips. The ball was large, just big enough to **** his mouth open and stop him from speaking. The taste of rubber filled his mouth, and the gag’s straps were secured tightly behind his head, giving him no escape.

Behind the mask, Alex’s eyes widened in shock. He tried to turn his head away, but the straps held the ball firmly in place. A muffled, stifled sound escaped his throat, an attempt at protest that was barely more than a suppressed whine.

The hands behind him seemed pleased with their work. They gave his braided hair a final tug to ensure it was neat and tight, then softly ran over his head as though calming him. But the message was clear: Alex had no more room to argue. Any complaint or refusal would simply be silenced.

He felt his chest still pulsing under the gentle suction of the devices, while his lips were now held open by the gag. His heart pounded with panic, and his thoughts whirled. “Why are they doing this? Why… why me?” The shame he felt was overwhelming, but the helplessness made it worse.

The pop songs in his headphones continued, cheerful and innocent, while Alex felt he was being pulled deeper and deeper into a spiral of humiliation.

Isabella walked down the street with a mixture of arrogance and annoyance, her immaculate, shiny ponytail swaying behind her with every step.

She wore a tight, perfectly ironed blouse and a knee-length skirt that made her stance look even more severe. In her hand, she held a folder containing Alex’s assignments—tasks she believed someone else should have been delivering.

“Why me?” Isabella thought irritably as she approached the house. “Just because I’m supposedly so reliable, Mrs. Avas dumps this nonsense on me. As if I have nothing better to do.” She rolled her eyes and sighed theatrically.

“Alex… that new guy who doesn’t even really fit into the class,” she continued in her thoughts, passing a small front yard. “He doesn’t show up, and now I have to bring him his homework too? Seriously, what does Mrs. Avas expect? That I tutor him as well?”

Isabella stopped in front of Alex’s house, giving it a disdainful once-over. “Not even so bad for someone who seems so lost,” she muttered before stepping up to the door. She raised her hand to knock, hesitated for a moment, then furrowed her brow and looked around. The house was quiet—too quiet. No movement behind the windows, no sounds from inside.

“Is he even here?” she wondered, sounding annoyed, and sighed again. “Great, if he’s not going to open the door, then I’ve come all this way for nothing.”

She knocked on the door, once, twice—no reaction. She took out her phone and scrolled through her messages, looking for some explanation why Alex wasn’t responding. But then she noticed something odd: The front door wasn’t fully closed. A small gap yawned between the door and the frame, as if someone had left it ajar on purpose.

Isabella paused in front of the open door, glancing uncertainly between it and the quiet street.

That crack in the door looked strange—almost inviting, but in a way that made her slightly uneasy. Her fingers fiddled nervously with the folder in her hand while she wondered what to do.

“Why is the door open?” she asked herself, brow furrowed. “Is he really so careless that he just leaves it wide open? Or… does he have company?”

For a brief moment, she considered just turning around and going home. She could hand over the assignments at school tomorrow, right? But then she remembered Mrs. Avas, who had specifically asked her to deliver the materials to Alex in person. She really didn’t feel like listening to a lecture about being a responsible classmate.

“Well, I’m already here,” she muttered under her breath, giving the door a gentle push. It swung open slowly, and a soft creak broke the silence of the house. Isabella cautiously peered inside, her eyes trying to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings.

“Alex?” she called, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. She remained on the threshold, her heels just barely crossing into the entryway. Her gaze swept over the impeccably tiled floor, the neat furnishings, and the almost clinical sense of order that greeted her. It felt like the home of someone who left nothing to chance. Yet the atmosphere felt… off. Too still, too empty.

“It’s me, Isabella! Mrs. Avas sent me with your homework.” She raised the folder slightly, as if someone hiding inside could see it. But no answer came, just the same strange, all-pervading silence.

She took a careful step into the house, her heels clicking softly on the floor. The cool air sent a small shiver down her spine. “Why do I feel so uneasy here?” she wondered, looking around.

The door behind her slowly swung shut without a sound, and Isabella jumped slightly at the quiet click of the latch. She shook her head as if to dispel the thoughts creeping into her mind.

“Alex, are you there?” she called again, louder this time. Still, there was no response.

She looked up the stairs leading to the upper floor, then down the hallway stretching further into the ground floor. She bit her lip, torn between advancing and retreating.

“Maybe I should just leave the folder here… but if the door was already open…” she thought, feeling her pulse quicken.

Her curiosity grew, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself. “What if something happened? Or… what if he’s just sleeping or ignoring me?” She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and decided to walk a few steps further inside.

“Alex? Hello?” she called once more, now with a hint of determination, as she ventured deeper into the house.