The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Time goes by slowly when you’re in bed with your eyes closed and can’t move. Almost without noticing, I phase in and out of sleep, because what else is there to do? Whenever I wake up, I worry that I moved, but I guess that’s the point of the mild relaxant, because I’m still in the same position I was in, on my back, my arms by my side.

Things were so much easier when I was drugged up to my eyeballs with those things they gave me that induced that happy bliss that at some level I miss and at another I don’t. I think of Baudelaire’s Paradis Artificiels and what he would have thought of those drugs, and then I try to remember some of his poetry, because what else is there for me to do. I can only recite a stanza of L’Albatros in my head, and I realize that I’ve forgotten more French than I ever learned.

Time goes by slowly. But I can’t actually tell how slow. I don’t have a clock. I should have asked Sanderson to put something like a metronome in the room, something that would keep time for me without requiring me to look at something. And then I think that it probably would drive me crazy.

I wonder what Daniel is doing at this exact moment. I wonder where he is. Is he even looking for me? Or did he take that job in Texas, and moved on with his life? Maybe he found someone else—I couldn’t blame him. Wouldn’t. But I have to believe he’s looking for me. I have to. I will do my part, do the best I can, and lay a trail for him, and wait for him, and hope he’ll follow it and find me. Because I can’t go to him. Thanks to Biff.

Fuck him. Fuck Biff and that stupid face of his. I hope he burned to death in that fire.

The mental image of Biff shrieking in agony as he’s consumed by a purifying fire keeps me entertained for way too long.

At some point—I have no idea when, it might have been only an hour, it might have been five—Sanderson shows up to keep me company and read to me, the way he used to. It makes me feel better, though I can feel some tension in the air.

At first, I think it’s because of the plan, and the fear he might have about me being here as bait for Gutierrez. And I guess the thought of the Pig getting his hands on me and raping me again doesn’t sit too well with him. Don’t get me wrong, it doesn’t sit too well with me either. But no, turns out there’s another reason for Sanderson’s tension.

In the middle of his reading, he goes off script. I’m pretty sure that he’s still holding the book as if he’s reading from it, but he’s really talking to me.

“Huh, Jennie, I’ve been thinking. A lot. About what you said earlier, and before that, about me, about Beatrice, about us. Huh… and I think you’re wrong. This whole thing with Beatrice, well, she’s nice and all, and yeah, she’s cute, and she’s funny, but she’s got baggage, lots of baggage, and this whole story with Dante and stuff, well, you know, I’m getting too old for this high school stuff. There’s too much drama. It’s like high school all over again.”

I want to slap him, but I can’t risk moving. Is this really the time to do this, Richard? How about we wait for the dangerous stuff to happen before we start discussing your plans for the future? Then again, maybe that’s how Sanderson deals with stress.

“I’m seeing her tomorrow night. We’re going to catch some dinner. And I’ll tell her that we don’t have a thing.” He again sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

“That means we can still run away together,” he adds. “The way we wanted to. I’ve got the meds, and I’ve got an idea where to go from here. And there might even be a way to do it without people setting off to look for you. We just need a discharge, and I think we can get Agnieska to give you one. I’m going to give my two-weeks notice and then we’ll be free.”

For fuck’s sake, Richard, get a grip. If I could move, I’d box his ears. The last thing I want right now, especially if the Pig is taken care of, is to leave this place, because I’m sure—I hope, I pray—that Daniel can track me down here through the clues in that story I sent for publication, as long as I stay put, as long as I remain in one place long enough for him to find me. There’s also the chance that somebody might identify me and get in touch with my family.

But I can’t tell Sanderson any of that, and not only because I can’t fucking move right now. I can’t tell him about the fiancé that’s looking for me and that I miss like nothing else, and because of that Sanderson is going to go and fuck up his life and it’s all going to be my fault.

I’m getting emotional, and I’m saved by the least likely of heroes, the Pig Gutierrez in person coming into the room. He still uses that cologne that smells just a little bit too sweet.

“Well, well, I’m impressed,” he tells Sanderson. “You’ve really done it.”

Sanderson stammers, whether because he’s acting or not I don’t know. “Huh… you know…”

“You must really wanna fuck that little redhead. Can’t blame you. She’s a hot one.”

That was the deal, or so Sanderson said. As far as the Pig is concerned, Sanderson has the hots for Allison, and in exchange for the Pig letting him have some time with her at a party, Sanderson had to find a way to put me back under sedation. Because the Pig can only get it up if a chick can’t put up a fight.

It takes all the control I have not to jump out of bed and choke him. That’s Plan B, if this scenario doesn’t work, by the way: get rid of him the old-fashioned way. Cassandra insisted on that.

Sanderson’s reply is terse. “Huh… yeah…”

I can sense the tension in the room. Sanderson was tense to start with—because of the Beatrice story—and the Pig is also nervous—whether because Sanderson is there or for some other reason I don’t know.

The silence in the room is awkward, and heavy. I want Sanderson to leave, so the Pig can get on with it, get it over with, but Sanderson doesn’t sound like he’s moving. And the Pig is not moving either. I feel his eyes on me.

It’s like a silent fight, and I have no clue why Sanderson is in it. That’s not the plan! Get with the plan! Don’t be chivalrous, for fuck’s sake!

“Well,” Gutierrez says eventually. “A deal’s a deal. Next party, I’ll make sure to have Allison ready for you. If you got a preference what you want her to wear, pass it along. I’ll see if I can accommodate.”

“Huh… thanks.”

I hear Gutierrez turn on his heels and leave the room.

“Fuck,” mutters Sanderson under his breath. I guess he’s just realized what he’s done. He’s driven our quarry off. Way to go, Richard.

“I’m… huh… Look…” He stands up quickly and his chair makes a screeching noise on the hard floor. “Sorry…”

He leaves in a hurry.

Men!

I think I fell asleep.

When I wake up, I’m not alone in the room.

I wonder if I made a sound, or if I moved, or in any way gave a sign I’m faking it, and I wonder who’s there.

All I hear is breathing. I try to calm down, relax, and when I’m centered again I recognize it for what it is. I detect the lingering sweet smell.

The Pig.

Gutierrez is here.

Alone, in the same room as me.

But he’s not touching me.

He’s not even close to the bed.

My eyes are closed, of course, so I can’t see him, but he doesn’t seem to move.

I think he’s just watching me. I can feel his eyes on me, roaming up and down my body, stripping me despite the covers on top of me.

I feel Jennie stir inside, reacting to his eyes, to what I figure he’s thinking, imagining, picturing—him on top of me, my shirt pushed up over my breasts, his hands grasping them, his body between my splayed legs, his dick rubbing up and down against my slit.

Jennie is awake, and she loves the images I can’t help but summon. She wants him, she wants to be his, she wants to submit to him, to let him paw her and use her and abuse her—if she were here right now, she’d be salivating, and doing her best to put herself on her best behavior for him—and what she thinks that the Pig wants is pretty simple—to have her on her hands and knees, ass high, offered, legs spread, everything on display, a study in submission: Come take Jennie, Pietro, take her like the fucking slut she is.

Jennie inside eats it all up, and I’m again grateful for the meds that keep her at bay.

The Pig continues watching me.

I’m waiting for him to come near and slide the covers off my body and touch me. He likes to take my panties off first, slowly, enjoying the sight of that stupid tattoo over my crotch, loving the act of pushing my thighs apart and running a finger over my slit and finding me wet because let’s be honest, I’m always wet now.

But the Pig doesn’t move. His breathing is somewhat ragged, and I can feel the tension emanating from him from where I am, though whether it’s sexual tension or something else I don’t know.

Jennie, ever helpful, is the one who responds: yes, he wants me, yes, he’s thinking about banging me, and yes, there’s something else that’s bothering him and making him nervous. She then goes back to imagining having the Pig fucking her tits and spewing his load all over her chest and her face and scooping it all up and swallowing it to show him what a good submissive little bitch she is.

As I listen to Jennie, I tense up feeling the Pig approach the bed, finally. Even Jennie holds her breath, waiting with anticipation for his hand to touch me. Be cool, I think. You’re supposed to be knocked out.

But the Pig doesn’t touch me. He’s hovering, he’s watching me, I can feel his eyes slides up and down my body. And he’s still nervous. Every move he makes feels twitchy. Like an animal sensing a predator watching him and expecting to be pounced on at any moment.

Does he know? Or even just suspect what’s going on? I cannot put it past him. He’s clearly been taking advantage of patients for a long time, and he’s probably only survived this long by being careful and paranoid. Comparing him to an animal may not be so far off—he’s probably got some primal instinct right now telling him that something’s wrong, without actually knowing what that something is.

The Pig remains watching me for a long time. I want to grab him and scream at him to get on with it! But that would be stupid, of course. So I remain there, on the bed, motionless, while he remains there, on the side of the bed, equally motionless.

When he leaves I allow myself a sigh of exasperation.

Jennie inside lets out a sigh of disappointment.

The Pig doesn’t come back. I get worried, and Sanderson shares my worries the next day when he comes in to check up on me at the end of his shift as part of his nursing duties.

“He’s been cagey,” Sanderson whispers as he adjusts my pillow. “Cassandra talked to him—I couldn’t stop her—and he said something about the visit tomorrow, but didn’t go into the details.”

The visit? Why would the Pig be worried about some business representatives visiting the Institute? Maybe he did figure out that we were setting a trap for him.

“I can’t push him,” Sanderson continues. “He’d get suspicious. I don’t know what’s going on. He’s tempted though. I find him around this hallway all the time, walking towards this room, but turning around, a frown on his face. He just needs a little push to do it. I just know it.”

I can hear the frustration in his voice. He’s doing the same computation I’m doing. The visit is tomorrow. Our main opportunity for getting rid of the Pig, and it’s going to pass us by.

I’m not sure why Sanderson is frustrated, because I’m not sure what Sanderson has invested in this whole plan. For me, though, it doesn’t take Jung to figure out what drives me: getting rid of the Pig means protecting Mouse, and I want to protect Mouse because Mouse, well, is me. She’s the image of me that I have from my time with Biff, from that time where all I was was a sexual toy for men to play with. Saving Mouse is saving myself.

Mouse.

Of course.

I wait for Sanderson to be near my head again, and when he does, I whisper softly, without moving my body and barely moving my lips. “Mouse.”

If Sanderson is startled he doesn’t react, and acts as though my pillow needs further arranging, sighing loudly for an invisible audience. “What?” he asks in the same tone of voice I used.

“Mouse.” I whisper again.

Sanderson’s silence is testimony to how confused he is. I will him to understand what I mean. We’ve talked enough about this plan and about the Pig in the days leading up to this charade that he’s bound to connect the same dots I’ve connected. Come on, Richard. The Pig just needs a little push.

“Mouse! Of course!” He says that out loud, followed by a soft “Fuck!” and were my eyes open I’m sure I’d see him look around worried that somebody overheard him break out of character.

He doesn’t say anything as he finishes arranging the bed and checking up on my fake meds delivery, and only whispers a low “I’ll get to it” while patting my hand before leaving the room.

Nothing happens until the next day.

The day of the visit, the day that representatives from the entities funding the Institute are supposed to show up for their annual review, the day we were planning to broadcast the Pig having his way with me to those same representatives at a ten o’clock funder overview meeting—a meeting Allison found in the internal calendar of the Institute that she hacked into while getting the camera feed setup ready.

I don’t know what time it is. All I know is that I heard the sounds telling my that the morning shift has arrived a while back. For all I know, it is past ten now, and we have lost our window of opportunity. And here I am, stupidly motionless on a bed, unable to do anything. The helplessness I feel is making my heart want to burst out of my chest.

My headache returned during the night, an annoying pressure behind my eyes that’s adding to my discomfort.

And then the door to my room opens.

Tension and expectation is making me want to hold my breath, and it takes all the focus I can muster to breathe normally.

The smell, the footsteps. It’s the Pig!

But again, he doesn’t approach. He remains by the wall, and I feel his eyes on me again. I don’t know if I can take more of that treatment.

It might be too late already. We might have missed our chance. The Pig will stay untouched, and Mouse will be doomed—the guy from the Connelly brothers will swoop in and take her away and bring her to serve out her life of servitude to his cruel masters. Or something.

If it’s too late, then there’s no reason why I can’t get out of bed and throttle the Pig—sure, I’ll get in trouble. But hey, I’m crazy, right? I’m in a fucking insane asylum. What else are they gonna do?

Before frustration gets the better of me and I do something I might regret, I hear the door open again, and I feel the Pig startle.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice rough, puzzled, worried. He is nervous, all right.

There is no answer. I hear soft padding walking up to the bed, and then someone climbs on. It’s not the Pig. I feel a small hand press lightly on my thigh. Mouse.

“I said what are you doing here?” The Pig is getting angry.

Mouse climbs on top of me, straddling me. I can hear her soft breathing, feel her ass on my crotch.

“Cassandra,” she replies in her low voice, which forces the Pig to take two steps towards the bed.

“What?”

“Cassandra told me to come here and—her words—fuck the bitch.” Mouse says this in a soft voice which contrasts with her harsh words.

“What? Why?” The Pig’s anger has given way to confusion.

Mouse takes off her shirt before replying. “To punish me. Because I was disobedient earlier.”

Mouse is nervous, I can feel it in the slight trembling of her body as she slowly lies down on me, pressing her body into mine. And I can understand why—Cassandra probably did send her, to entice the Pig, because Sanderson figured it out as I did. And here she is, trying to entice a man that has dominated her since I don’t know when, and trick him into fucking me—or either of us, really—against his better judgment. He could just order her to leave, and the poor girl would be torn and maybe break apart.

But the Pig says nothing, and doesn’t step away from the bed.

Mouse’s face is above mine, and I expect her to kiss me, but instead I feel her little tongue run up the side of my face, licking me slowly and lightly, over and over again, like a kitten. She grinds herself against me as she licks me, and I have to work hard to avoid reacting because Jennie inside is urging me to grab the small woman’s hair and kiss her hard.

When Mouse lifts her head, she doesn’t turn it, but speaks to the Pig nevertheless. “Cassandra also said that if I ran into you that I should tell you that I’m a disobedient cunt that should be punished however you see fit, sir.”

The way she says sir is bound to do something to the Pig because it certainly does something to Jennie inside, who’s thinking of rather disturbing ways of punishing poor Mouse.

Mouse proceeds to pull off the covers and strip me, which is easy because Sanderson put me in a sort of hospital gown under which I’m completely naked. To help entice Gutierrez, Sanderson said.

I can feel the Pig’s eyes on me as my breasts are freed, my nipples hard in the cool air. I’m starting to get aroused, of course, between Mouse’s body pressing against mine and the Pig leering at me.

I almost gasp when Mouse takes one of my nipples between her lips and sucks on it, and the only reason I don’t is because she made it very clear what she was about to do as she trailed wet kisses up from my belly button to my breasts.

It is even harder to control myself once Mouse settles down between my legs and her lithe tongue dances over my pussy lips the way it did over my face.

She pushes my thighs wider apart, exposing me fully to the Pig, and her fingers join her tongue and her lips, alternating between flicking over my clitoris and digging deep inside my now drenched pussy.

The sound of Mouse’s wet sucking seem impossibly loud in the silent room, but I can still hear the Pig’s breathing picking up. That’s it, Mouse! Keep going. That her ministrations are eminently pleasurable doesn’t make it any less useful. Knowing men, what the Pig is seeing is bound to make him want to join.

The thought flashes in my head: we’re being recorded, and that recording will be broadcast soon—when exactly? what time is it?—to a room full of executives that will get to see me being licked by Mouse, and then fucked by the Pig, and Jennie inside is giddy about the humiliation of it all, and all I can really do is grin and bear it because it is the price to pay.

It’s so easy to just mellow out from the wonderful treatment that Mouse is giving me—the woman is skilled at eating pussy, I have to give her that—that I find myself having to keep from starting to moan and arching my back to help her reach those places inside that feel so good. Her tongue is fantastic, her fingers devilish.

I almost forget about the Pig. It’s only when Mouse speaks to him again—more fingers now take the place of her tongue, and at least one of them starts to stray down between my ass cheeks.

“Are you mad at me, Mister Gutierrez?” Mouse says, and the way she says it tugs at my heart. Because I know that at some level, it’s not an act. The poor woman is a slave to her desires, like everyone on the Ward, and while the drugs help a lot, they can’t obliterate the reality of what they are—I know something about that.

And part of Mouse, a big part of Mouse, really wants to serve men, and gets turned on at the thought of being controlled and forced to do things, and Gutierrez right there is her enabler, and she must want him to take her and tell her what to do and I can tell because it’s right there in her voice—there’s no faking it. And if I had any doubts, Jennie inside quashes them because I can feel her response to Mouse’s tone with a flash of desire to grab the woman’s head by her short hair and force her down on my pussy again, rubbing her face against my juices, spreading them all over her while humping her tongue.

“Did I do something wrong?” Mouse is still talking. “Are you punishing me by not fucking your slut, Mister Gutierrez? Aren’t I a good little bitch for you?”

She pulls her fingers out of my pussy and I hear her suck on them. “Don’t you want to fuck your little bitch, Mister Gutierrez? I’ll be good. Please?”

I want to groan. She’s laying it on way too thick. The Pig is going to fly away. He’s too nervous. Too paranoid.

As if to prove my point, I hear him walk away. Fuck!

I hear him lock the door, then come back.

He shuffles with something in his clothes, and then I hear a click that I can’t identify. “There,” he says, speaking for the first time. “Now we have some privacy.”

“Please, Mister—”

I hear the slap before I feel the air move from his movement. “Shut up, you little slut! You think you’re so clever don’t you?”

He fumbles with his pants, and then more shuffling, and then I hear the sound of Mouse gagging as he lets out a hard breath. It’s not hard to guess that’s the Pig’s just pushed his dick into Mouse’s mouth.

“Watch your teeth,” he growls, “or I’ll knock them all out!” The unmistakable sounds of a girl giving a harsh sloppy blow job fill the room, the wet slaps and gagging noises arousing Jennie’s passion inside of me.

“You thought you could play with Pietro, don’t you?” The wet slaps come faster now—he must be really pounding into Mouse. The whole bed is shaking. I’m hoping Allison is grabbing everything off the camera.

The camera. The Pig’s clicking sound. I remember Sanderson telling me that the Pig has some sort of gadget that he used to turn the camera off. We have completely forgotten about that! He turned the camera off—that’s what the clicking sound was!

“You thought you could tease Pietro around while he’s distracted, didn’t you? Have some fun making a fool of Pietro while he’s trying to set up a deal? Well who’s the fool now, huh?”

A deal? What is he talking about? My guess is that has something to do with why he’s so nervous, something to do with the visit, but what exactly is beyond me.

The slapping sounds stop and all I hear is gagging and choking sounds coming from Mouse, and again, it’s not hard to guess that the Pig has just shoved his dick deep inside her and is choking her. I wonder if I should intervene—he’s not actually going to hurt her, is he? If indeed he blocked the camera, then we’ll need to figure out another way of recording him, and that means making sure he’s not wise to it.

But before I make a decision he lets Mouse go, and I hear her take lungfuls of air, her breathing ragged. But she doesn’t complain.

“Strip,” he tells her. And then I feel his eyes on me. Here we go.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, and I feel his hand running lightly over my pussy, completely exposed between my wide open legs. And my body reacts to his touch. Dammit!

He pushes two fingers inside of me, and I can feel my pussy clench around them. He feels it, and lets out a soft laugh. “I’ve missed you too.” He inserts another finger, and starts finger fucking me slowly but deeply. And Jennie gleefully shrieks inside and wallows in the perversion. “I see you’re already wet for me. ‘Oh Pietro,’” he says in his little falsetto voice that he likes to use, “‘my hungry little cunt missed you so much. Are you gonna fuck it, Pietro? Are you gonna fuck my hungry little cunt good?’ Well, gorgeous, since you ask so nicely…”

He climbs onto the bed, and I steady myself for his assault. I expect him to lie down on top of me and slide into me, and Jennie inside holds her breath waiting for the feeling of the Pig’s cock pressing me open, my whole body betraying me and quivering in anticipation, but no, he doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs my legs, presses them together, and then flips me over onto my stomach. It takes all the control I have to remain limp and not make a sound.

“Oh look at that,” he says, and I hear a growl of lust in his voice. I feel his hands on my ass, caressing my cheeks, rubbing them, kneading them, over and over again.

For someone who was reluctant to touch me not fifteen minutes ago, the Pig has shifted into a more intense version of his old lecherous self. It’s as if a damn burst, as if he was holding back for the last few weeks but now was letting all the steam out. And I was on the receiving end of it.

“I love your ass, gorgeous. Just love your ass.”

He grabs my hips and lifts my pelvis off the bed, and I’m thankful my face is not squashed into the pillow but rather on its side so that I can still breathe. I’ve got my ass up in the air, fully exposed, and the only way I can control the rising sense of shame and associated anger is to listen to Jennie instead squeal in delight at the thought that she will be used in this position just like she wanted.

And the Pig doesn’t disappoint her. With hardly a moment’s hesitation and a high-pitched “‘Please fuck my tight little cunt, Pietro,’” he sinks his cock inside me, pushing the walls of my pussy aside like silk paper, and I hate to admit it but I agree with Jennie that it feels very good.

And the Pig seems to think so as well, because he presses into me and remains there, fully embedded inside of me. He lets out a deep sigh. “Oh that’s fucking fantastic. That’s just fucking fantastic.” He runs his hands over my ass again.

“Come here, you little bitch,” and I guess he’s talking to Mouse, because soon I feel her head on top of my ass, right above where the Pig is spearing me. He’s fucking me with long slow thrusts, the way he likes to do, and Jennie inside loves every single thrust of his.

Once in a while he pulls out of me, and I guess he must slide his cock into Mouse’s mouth because I can hear her slurp it up and feel her head move against my cheeks, and after a few thrusts he slides back inside my pussy and continues fucking me. Jennie inside is taking great pleasure in showing me how she imagines the scene, getting fucked from behind like a dog while another girl is resting her head on my ass and getting to suck on the Pig’s cock whenever he deigns let her.

“‘Fuck me good, Pietro,’” the Pig continues in his usual falsetto as he plows into me. He reaches down on one side and almost without breaking stride grabs a handful of my breast and starts squeezing it hard before pinching my nipple over and over and again.

His hand manhandling my tit as he pounds me is what breaks me.

It starts with a flash of pain behind my eyes—I had forgotten about my headache, which was just a dull drumming, but it’s back with a vengeance.

And then I lose grip on Jennie.

I let out a low moan as I push my ass back to meet the Pig’s thrusts.

He freezes right there, and I can feel Mouse stiffen on top of me as well.

My low moan turns into a whine, and I press my ass back harder. “Don’t stop,” I growl. “Fuck Jennie good, Pietro—fuck her tight little cunt good!”

I can feel the shudder in his body, and while Jennie might think that it’s because of her words, I know better—he’s about to flee, or worse. His nervousness was aggressive earlier, animalistic, and it’s a definite bet that he might get violent if cornered.

And just when I think that Jennie groans loudly and clamps her pussy over the Pig’s cock and press back against him, and I understand that the Pig getting violent is just what Jennie wants, to get him to fuck her as hard as she needs it.

He’s going to bolt, I know.

I fear Mouse feels the same, because I can feel her move and when I open my eyes—because there’s no need for the charade any longer—she’s turned herself on the bed facing the Pig and she’s kneading her breasts so hard her knuckles turn white and she’s whimpering “Please, Mister Gutierrez, are you going to fuck your little bitch now? Cassandra made me prepare my ass just for you. Please!”

I don’t know how much it cost her to put herself forward like that—then again, there is desire and hunger in her voice—but it works because it distracts the Pig long enough for me to flip myself around and wrap my legs around his waist and pull him inside of me.

The drumming behind my eyes gets worse.

“Fuck yes! Fuck Jennie, Pietro! Fuck your slut the way she deserves to be fucked!” Jennie’s driving, and I let her be, sitting back, watching things in case they turn ugly. I—or Jennie, who knows anymore?—grab his head and pull him down to me and I kiss him hard, driving my tongue into his mouth, all the while grinding into him.

He resists. Incredibly, he resists. Makes sense, though. He doesn’t like women when they’re not little submissive plastic dolls that he can play with as he wants.

But his cock remains hard in my pussy, and that’s enough for Jennie, who drives her hips upwards and pulls the Pig harder inside me.

I stare deep into the Pig’s eyes, and I see the—I don’t know what I see—confusion, fear, anger, cycling back and forth? He knows something’s wrong, he just doesn’t know what it is. I grab on to him harder, and Jennie tilts her hips, wraps her legs about his waist, pulling him to me. I let out a growl of desire. The bastard likes it. I can feel it in his cock, hard inside me.

The pressure behind my eyes is making me dizzy.

“Is that what you wanted to do, Pietro?” I ask him in the same falsetto voice he uses. “You wanted to fuck Biff’s Cunt? You wanted to steal Biff’s Cunt away? Is that what you wanted? Steal her? Own her? Tattoo your name on her cunt as well? Is that what you want, Pietro? Add a large slutty Pietro’s Cunt on her? You piece of shit! You fucking piece of shit!”

I can’t control myself—whatever let Jennie out is affecting my emotions, and I scratch the Pig’s face, and I don’t know what’s going to happen but he registers the pain and lets out a shout. He tries to pull away from me, and Jennie loves the feel of his cock moving inside of me, and she laughs, and I laugh.

My head feels like it’s on fire.

“Get off me! Let me go! You stupid bitch! You fucking stupid bitch!” The Pig is in pain, and angry. There are three long bloody streaks on his left cheek. He tries to push me down on the bed, but I’m strong, stronger than he thinks, and my legs are still wrapped around him and all he manages to do is make us fall off. He bangs his head on the floor, and I still hang on to him.

I catch sight of Mouse from the corner of my eye, and she’s leaning against a wall, away from us, watching us, scared. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about anything. I’ve got Jennie inside of me, screaming at the Pig to fuck her hard, and my head is pounding throughout.

I don’t even notice that the Pig is slapping me and punching me trying to escape my clutches but I don’t let go, and there’s some sort of guttural scream that comes from my throat that I hardly recognize as mine.

My head is pounding so hard, Jennie is screaming so loud, it is all a confused mess, a flash of images. It’s like a film, in slow motion but with an accelerated soundtrack. My mind is completely bowled over. I barely notice that there is banging on the door, loud insistent banging with shouts from the other side, and then the door explodes in, and there’s a huge commotion in the room and screams and shouts and people grab the Pig away—security guards?—and he’s screaming and shouting and the guards are screaming and shouting and I’m trying to hold on to him and so is Jennie who’s also screaming and shouting and then I’m alone on the floor and my pussy feels so empty it almost hurts and Jennie wails that she needs a cock, any cock, and she brings my fingers to my mouth and I taste the blood I scratched out of the Pig earlier.

My head is pounding so hard and there’s Mouse holding me in her arms and she’s saying something and I can’t hear her and she’s cradling me and there’s Sanderson on the other side and he’s also saying something and he’s flashing something in my eyes and it hurts but I can’t tell him because Jennie’s driving and Jennie wants him and needs him and begs him to fuck her to death until she’s just a limp rag doll completely bled out because she’s a fucking slut that will fuck anything that moves and anything with a cock and my head is pounding and then my body starts shaking and I bite my tongue and it hurts and then my body starts to convulse and there’s a blinding flash of light and the pain in my head is worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.

And then the whole world goes black.