Tim recieves a text

Tim was still in the kitchen when his phone buzzed.

He had been looking for Jasmine for two hours. The house was too loud and too crowded. Every time he tried to move toward the living room someone blocked the path with a drink or a conversation. He had checked the porch, the hallway, even the bathroom line. No sign of her. Her bag was still against the wall where he had left it. Her coat was still on the rack by the door.

He pulled his phone out, expecting a text saying she had stepped outside for air or gone back to the car.

Instead there was a single message from her number. No words. Just a private link.

Tim frowned and opened it.

The video loaded on a dark background. The first frame was Jasmine on her knees, but not the Jasmine who had walked into the kitchen earlier. Her hair looked longer and lighter. Her lips were swollen and shiny. Her breasts were much larger, barely contained by a tiny pink top that crossed over her chest and left almost everything exposed. A short pink skirt was bunched around her waist. Heavy makeup made her eyes look bigger and emptier.

She was looking up at someone standing in front of her.

Tim’s thumb froze over the screen.

The video played.

He watched her take a thick black cock into her mouth like she had done it a hundred times. He watched saliva run down her chin and onto her new tits. He watched her eyes stay glassy and focused on nothing but the cock. When the man turned her around and bent her over a table, Tim saw the way her body had changed: the thicker ass, the way it moved when she was fucked. He heard her soft, broken voice thanking the man and begging to be used.

He watched her get fucked in the ass while cum from an earlier round still leaked out of her pussy.

He watched her look straight into the camera afterward and say, in a slow, empty voice, that she was a dumb bimbo who had come there for big black cock.

The video ended.

Tim stood in the noisy kitchen with the phone still in his hand. The music from the living room kept going. Someone laughed behind him. A sophomore asked if he was still on ice duty. Tim didn’t answer.

He stared at the black screen where the video had been.

His first clear thought was that it had to be fake. Some kind of deepfake or edited joke. But the way she moved, the way she sounded, the small mole on her left shoulder that had always been there, the overnight bag still sitting three feet away from him… none of it looked edited.

He tried calling her number. It went straight to the automated message.

He texted her.

No reply.

He looked toward the door that led down to the basement games room. It was still closed.

Before he could take a step, Logan appeared at the edge of the kitchen, calm as ever, like he had been waiting for the exact moment the video finished.

“You watched it,” Logan said. It wasn’t a question.

Tim’s mouth opened, then closed. His face felt hot. He couldn’t find the right words.

Logan’s voice stayed even. “Did you like what you saw?”

Tim’s first instinct was to say no. To demand answers. To ask where Jasmine was and what they had done to her. Instead the images from the video kept looping behind his eyes: the way her new body moved, the empty look on her face, the soft broken way she thanked the man using her. Something in his chest twisted. He hated that the answer wasn’t simple.

“…Yeah,” he said finally, the word coming out low and reluctant. “I did.”

Logan studied him for a second, then gave a small nod.

“Then you should see the rest in person. Come downstairs.”

He turned and started walking toward the basement door without checking if Tim followed.

After a long moment, Tim put his phone away and did.