Hear No Evil - Part Two

It was their Dungeon Master that pierced the lull, where the others were glum Isaac’s girlfriend’s face held a satisfied smile. A knowing smile.

“Due to the defeat of the companions tasked with guarding her royal highnesses, the rogues capture the Princess Emma, whilst Sarah and Martha manage to escape into the woods.”

The friends were staring at her now, incomprehension written across all their faces as to why she had chosen to cut the story short as soon as it had begun, but the raven-haired girl seemed to not care.

“You can come in now boys!” Emma yelled.

Suddenly, six men jogged down the steps of the basement, startling the boys and girls sat at the table. The strangers were wearing black tunics and hoods, faces hidden by thin black veils. Rogues. They were meant to look like rogues.

Regardless of their hidden faces, it was obvious who these men were; Grant’s massive frame was unmistakable. Knowing that, Isaac could pick out Ryan, Matthew… All the boys of the Friday night group, except for Owen and himself. While the group was still too surprised to respond, Emma began to dish out orders, a smirk embedded in her face. This was all planned.

“Due to your defeat, the companions should head upstairs to Isaac’s bedroom, whilst I suffer the consequences of your failure.”

Her narration was making no sense, what the hell was going on?

“Emma, what are you talking about?” Isaac’s voice was strained, his mind already beginning to realise what was about to happen.

“Go upstairs, Isaac.”

And so it was that Isaac found himself in his bedroom, listening to his girlfriend getting fucked in the basement. The group offered Isaac some sympathetic glances whilst they listened to Emma’s shrieks of pleasure, but he refused to meet their gaze. Tears brimmed at his eyes, blurring his vision as he folded himself into a ball on his bed. Mike tried to pat his back, but Isaac shoved his friend’s comforting arm away.

This was the next logical step of her domination; Emma had already proven that not only did he not care if she slept with others, but that he actively wanted her to do so, and now she would prove that he didn’t care if others knew this fact. It was as if he were a piece of marble, and her a sculptor, slowly chiselling away at his rugged self until he became exactly what she envisioned.

The walls seemed to shake with his girlfriend’s cries, reverberating with every euphoric scream that emanated from the basement below. His bedroom filled with the incomprehensible sounds of ecstasy; a constant, white noise to the friends’ awkward silence. Occasionally, the feminine lamentations were overpowered by more masculine ones, deep groans of satisfaction that penetrated Isaac’s skull.

The others were looking at him, trying to judge his reaction as they heard the love of his life get pounded below. He couldn’t bear to see their confused expressions, so he hid his face in his arms, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. His mind felt like it had been broken into a thousand pieces, the stress of the situation was an unstoppable **** pressing into his glass mind, threatening to make him mould to it or shatter.

Still, the sounds of sex flew upwards from below, like a perverse symphony reaching the rafters; the constant pounding of flesh its beat, the gluttonous wails of gratification the rhythm, and Isaac’s sobbing the melody.

“SO FUCKING GOOD!” The first coherent words to be heard from Emma since their journey upstairs. For Emma and Martha, this seemed the tipping point for their leaving.

“Alright, that's it. I'm done. You can tell Emma that this whole thing is disgusting, and I don’t want a fucking piece of it. She doesn’t get to drag us into her sick games without our permission. I’m going.”

The girls' exit was all the encouragement the boys needed. Whilst Mike and Ben left in silence, Owen could not help himself to a final snide dig.

“If Emma needs a dessert after that big meal she’s having, get her to come over to mine.”

Isaac was too emotional to respond, just grateful that their pitying stares would be away from him. For a while he just sat there on his bed, listening to every haunting noise, his mind dulled to reason by the ceaseless emotions washing over him. Slowly, the noises grew more hushed, until the house was once again tranquil.

As he made his way downstairs to the basement, the entire house was filled with a disturbing silence, broken only by the occasional creak of the stairs underneath his shaking legs and his heavy breathing. There she was, like a fallen angel, strewn across the table, facing upwards with limbs spread far apart such that he could see every inch of her used anatomy. They were alone, neither one of them acknowledging the other.

Emma’s white dress had been torn beyond recognition, strands of its remains wrapped around her body like vines made of white cloth, damp with sweat and clinging to her pale white skin. His girlfriend’s chest heaved upwards and downwards with exhaustion, her lungs rattling as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes stared mindlessly at the ceiling, frosted over and unmoving. Her body was slick with perspiration, it covered every inch of her radiant surface like a thin film, making her glow underneath the yellow light. The brunette’s hair was in disarray; strands of the dark fibres sprung upwards at every angle, with most of its mass lying atop her face, obscuring her emotions from Isaac’s view. The laurel wreath that had once adorned her beautiful mane lay broken next to her, as if she had made it to be symbolic of what occurred.

Emma’s breasts were still pert with arousal, covered in thick blobs of semen that spanned her lovely frame from her neck to her cunt. The semen still flowed into her every rivet like rivers in a valley, bending with her curves and gently flooding her abdomen with pallid seed. The unmistakable crimson imprints of hands slapped against pale flesh covered her thighs and buttocks, like a reminder of her subjugation branded onto her ivory exterior. Her pussy was inflamed and gaping from its endless penetrations, cum slowly dripping out of its beaten pink folds and streaming like a waterfall onto the wood below.

For a while, Isaac simply stared at his vanquished love, gazing at her whilst she lay thoroughly used and splattered in other men’s juices. Men that he knew.

A quiet voice came from the drained girl, almost too soft for Isaac to hear.

“Do you still love me, Isaac?”

“Yes.”