Start sobbing.

Tears streamed down your face as you began sobbing uncontrollably, the pacifier doing little to muffle the raw, broken sounds. The sleek black vibrator’s relentless buzz against the diaper sent waves of torment through your body, the frilly pink dress a humiliating shroud around your trembling form. The “Crestwood’s Pet” label mocked you as the buttplug and chastity cage tightened with each sob. Emma’s smirk widened, her voice dripping with scorn. “Look at him cry,” she sneered, nodding to Riley. Riley pulled out her phone, her fingers flying as she started a livestream, the screen filling with comments from Crestwood students. “Perfect timing,” she giggled, angling the camera to capture your tear-streaked face and the vibrator’s cruel dance.

Malik crossed his arms, his deep laugh echoing as he watched your breakdown, his presence a towering symbol of your defeat. “Break him more,” he urged, and Emma obliged, increasing the vibrations. The chat exploded with laughter and taunts, some calling you a “queen of submission”. Your sobs grew louder, the dorm a stage for your public humiliation, Crestwood’s dominance broadcasted to an unseen audience.