Rose becomes the star of the show

The moment Rose heard what the hypnotist had said, she seemed to come back to life, but the expression on her face was nothing Peter had ever seen before. Her eyes were still glassy, but now they held a seductive glare. She looked out at the crowd of men with a lazy, sultry smile, the kind that didn’t belong on his sister’s face. The brown skinsuit clung to her like a second skin, tight across her chest and hips, the little “Beer” label stretched over her tits. She walked toward the nearest guy, a shirtless man in a cowboy hat and jeans, hips swaying more than they needed to.

“Hey there, cowboy,” she said, voice low and thick. “Wanna have a taste of me?”

She pressed her body into him before he could answer, rubbing her chest and hips against his bare stomach. Then she leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth, open and messy, like she was starving for it. The cowboy made a surprised sound but didn’t push her away. His hands landed on her waist and stayed there.

“Whoa whoa!” the man in the purple devil mask called out, laughing. “Seems like Miss Beer Bottle packs quite the kick, doesn’t she? The neat thing about this beer though, folks, instead of getting you wasted, the more you ‘drink’ her, the drunker she becomes!”

Almost on cue, Rose broke the kiss. She stumbled backward a step, giggling, one hand coming up to her mouth like she was trying to catch the sound. “Wh-o wan-ts another chug of meeeee,” she slurred, loud enough for half the room to hear. Her legs wobbled. She took two more unsteady steps and fell sideways into a group of guys sitting at a low table near the edge of the purple carpet. Plastic cups tipped. One of the men caught her around the middle before she hit the floor.

Peter’s stomach turned. He tried to move again. His feet stayed planted on the floor. His arms felt like they were filled with wet sand. He could only watch as the guys at the table pulled Rose up and dragged her forward until she was bent over the table on her back. She laughed, the sound loose and stupid, and tried to push herself up on her elbows. One of the men put a hand between her chest and kept her down.

“Open her up more,” someone said. Peter didn’t see who. Hands grabbed at the skinsuit. Fingers dug into the fabric at her lower stomach and yanked. The material tore with a sharp rip. Cold air hit the skin just above her pussy. Rose made a soft, drunken noise but didn’t fight. Another pair of hands grabbed the suit higher up, at the side of her ribs, and tore again. The rip ran under her arm. The man on that side leaned in immediately and pressed his mouth to the bare skin of her armpit, sucking hard. Rose jerked and giggled louder.

“Fuck, she tastes like strawberrys” the guy muttered, then sucked again. One of the other men dropped to his knees beside the table, grabbed her ankle and pulled her foot toward him. He yanked the shoe off and shoved her toes into his mouth. Rose’s leg twitched. She let out a wet, slurred moan that turned into another laugh. Her head hung off the far side of the table. Her eyes were half-closed now, unfocused. The man who’d torn the suit near her pussy ripped it wider until the whole lower half of the suit was hanging in tatters, exposing her from waist to knees. Someone else pulled the shredded fabric off her shoulders, leaving her chest bare.

Peter’s breath caught. He couldn’t look away from his sister’s tits. They spilled out of the torn suit, round and heavy, nipples hard in the cold air. One of the guys at the table leaned over her and closed his mouth around a nipple, sucking hard enough to make his cheeks hollow. Rose moaned again, louder this time, her body arching slightly off the table.

“Damn, this bitch is soaked,” the guy kneeling near her hips said. He spread her legs wider and shoved two fingers into her pussy. Rose gasped, her hips bucking. The men laughed.

“Think she wants another ‘round’?” someone asked.

Peter shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to force himself to believe this was some kind of joke, that his sister was acting. But her face gave her away. The slack-jawed, drunken smile. His sister never drank alcohol, she had chosen the outfit just because she found it funny. The way her body moved, clumsy and eager at the same time. Peter knew this wasn’t an act. The hypnotist had done this to her. He’d turned her into a toy for the men to use.

“Let’s give her what she wants,” the man at her chest said. He began sucking even harder. The guy between her legs pulled his fingers out and dug his tongue into her pussy. Rose’s head lolled to one side, her lips parted, her eyes glazed over. She didn’t fight. She just moaned and spread her legs wider.

Peter’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He stared at his sister being devoured by strangers, her body exposed and used, and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. He felt useless. Sick. Angry. But most of all, he felt stuck.

The man in the devil mask stepped forward, clapping his hands once. The sound cut through the noise. “Alright, folks! Let’s move on to our next volunteer! Miss Beer Bottle here can stay right where she is and finish her ‘tastings’!” He turned back to the line of people still standing on the carpet. Some of the audience members had wandered off, drawn to the scene around Rose. Others stood there, waiting to see what would come next.