"Junko" had a bit too much to drink

The hours passed. The music got louder, the crowd drunker. Alex was dizzy, his head swimming in a cocktail of cheap liquor and borrowed personality. He was leaning against a wall, fending off a particularly persistent dude dressed as Inosuke, when two other guys, a well-built Kenshiro and a lanky, intense-looking Light Yagami, cornered him.

“You’ve been teasing everyone all night,” the Kenshiro rumbled, his voice low.

“It’s time you paid some real attention to your most devoted fans,” the Light Yagami added, his eyes gleaming with a possessive intensity.

The Alex part of his brain screamed a warning. This was dangerous. These guys were drunk and aggressive. But the Junko part of him felt a thrill of delicious, terrible excitement. Oh, the despair of being cornered! It’s wonderful! They guided him away from the main crush of the party, into a quieter, dimly lit back room where people had stashed their coats. Before he could protest, or even fully process what was happening, Kenshiro pushed him back against a large table, scattering jackets and bags onto the floor. Light Yagami was on him in an instant, his mouth capturing his in a rough, demanding kiss that tasted of whiskey and ambition. At the same time, Kenshiro’s large hands were at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. One popped off, then another. The white fabric was pulled open, exposing the magnificent, perfect cleavage and the full, pale swell of the Junko suit’s breasts.

The sight seemed to inflame them further. Light’s hands were roaming, squeezing his ass, his hips, while Kenshiro’s mouth left his and descended to his chest, sucking greedily at one of the suit’s exquisitely sensitive nipples. A jolt of pure, electric pleasure shot through Alex, so intense it made him cry out. It was a mixture of his own drunken arousal and the suit’s programmed response, a feedback loop that was spiraling out of control. His skirt was pushed up, his panties—part of the suit itself, a seamless extension of the skin—were roughly pulled to the side. He felt the hard, blunt pressure of Kenshiro’s erection pressing against his entrance. This was happening. This was really happening. And a terrifying, exhilarating part of him wanted it. The despair of being used, of being taken by ****... it was exactly the kind of intense, chaotic experience the Junko persona craved.

He was so lost in the drunken, hormonal haze that he barely registered Light Yagami unzipping his own pants. He felt a hand grip the back of his neck, pushing his head down towards Light’s lap. The message was clear. His mind was screaming, a tiny, sober voice of reason lost in a hurricane of **** and alien desire. But his body, guided by the suit’s dark influence, complied.

He was on the table, laid out like a feast. His shirt was open, his breasts exposed, Kenshiro’s mouth still latched onto one nipple while his hand squeezed the other. Kenshiro’s thick, hard cock was buried deep inside his new pussy, fucking him with a steady, powerful rhythm that made the table shake. And at the same time, Light Yagami’s own erection was sliding into his mouth, filling it, forcing him to take it, to suck on it, his own head held firmly in place.

It was a symphony of violation and sensation. The feeling of being stretched, filled, used in every possible way at once was overwhelming. His vision swam, his mind fractured. There was only the raw, physical reality of it: the thick, hard pressure in his throat, **** him slightly with every bob of his head; the feeling of Kenshiro’s cock slamming into him from below, a brutal, rhythmic pounding; the pinching, sucking pleasure at his nipples. A constant, overwhelming stream of sensory data was flooding his brain, and he was drowning in it. Moans and whimpers, half pleasure and half protest, escaped his throat around the cock that filled it. He was coming apart at the seams, losing himself completely in the beautiful, terrible despair of the moment.