The Debt

Disclaimer - Distressing, dark, disturbing themes. Please avoid reading if you are triggered easily. Please don't read if under 18.

You're sitting in your room upstairs, doom scrolling while a gentle breeze wafts lazily past your open window. It's a warm afternoon, and you're in loose, comfy clothes. Your free hand is under your top, playing idly on your skin as your scroll.

You hear the crunch of gravel under car tires, and it sounds like a few cars are driving up to the house. You take a peek out the window, but don't recognise the two black SUVs pulling up in front of the house. Probably someone who worked with your daddy.

You were never quite sure what your boyfriend did for work. A small, bookish man, tired and with glasses, he was private about his work but always seemed to be working. Whatever he did, it paid well. You live in a beautiful two storey house on a decent sized block, with trees hugging the fence line and creating your own secluded little area.

You shrug and go back to scrolling.

You hear voices from downstairs, and the front door being thrown open. Quite roughly, you notice. The voices are louder now, almost yelling. You can't hear what they're saying, but even so there's a threatening edge to it.

Then a thud, and a yelp of pain. Even muffled and fuzzy through the floor, you recognise your dad.

You go to your door and open it as quietly as you can. You don't see anything on the landing, but you can hear the voices more clearly from outside your room. You can make out something about money, though it's still indistinct. You creep forward to the railing, and you can make out a little of the scene playing out below.

Two men stand flanking your boyfriend, holding his shoulders with thick, muscle-bound arms. Tattoos twine and dance across their rough skin. You can't get a good look at your boyfriend because a tall man stands with his back to you, blocking your view. He's less tattooed than the other two, and seems to be doing most of the talking.

"Fuck you man, where's my money?" he growls, pushing his face very close to your dad. You can make out a black eye, and a splash of red that could have been from a bleeding lip. "You made a deal. 'There's no way we could lose!' says the weasel, 'You'll get it back double!' says the fucking weasel! Well, where is it?" He open palm slaps your daddy across the face. "I get nothing from your blood, why should I give a shit if you bleed? You owe me motherfucker, and I'm gonna take what I'm owed."

Then a rough hand grabs you by the throat, and a man you didn't see before starts dragging you towards the stairs. He doesn't bother to cover your mouth.

The hand on your throat is rough and strong. You can feel the callouses against your skin. His forearm appears from the corner of your eye, and is thick and muscular, with tanned skin and dark hair. For a split second you're frozen while your brain works out what happened, and in that split second you can smell this man, your captor with his hand on your throat. He smells like expensive cologne and cheap whisky, and the faintest hint of exertion and fresh sweat. And underneath it all, more than a smell, is lust. You can feel this man's lust in the breathing on your neck. You can taste it in the scent of his sweat, you can feel it in the movement of his rough fingers clasped on your throat. Your heart catches a beat for a moment, both with cold fear and a little mingled arousal at the closeness and lust. And then the split second is over, and your brain kicks into gear.

You thrust your left elbow backward into his gut, and try to push yourself forward, out of his grip. It's towards the stairs, but you'll catch yourself. Or you'll fall. But he won't have you anymore, right?

Wrong.

He grunts in pain when your elbow connects, but you feel hard musculature under his shirt, and your blow doesn't seem to have any impact. You do manage to wriggle free though, thrashing and fighting your way loose and tumbling down the first few stairs. Then he grabs you by your left arm, drags you to your feet and pins your body tight against his.

"Feisty little brat aren't you?" his harsh voice growls in your ear. "Elbow me like that again and you'll be sorry." He then walks the rest of the way down the stairs, half dragging you still pinned against him. You can smell him much more strongly like this. The scent of lust is stronger now, tangibly permeating the air and his touch. Again, something about being held and helpless makes your breath catch, and you feel a slight flush creeping down your body, finding a home between your legs. You've never been treated like this - everyone you've been with has been soft and treated you gently - and you don't know how to feel about this mixed fear and increasing arousal at being completely helpless before this man.

And then, suddenly, he releases you, and throws you to the ground at the base of the stairs. It takes you a second, but you realise you're at the feet of the man threatening your boyfriend. You look up from your crumpled heap at his feet, and see a tall, thin blond man, noticeably lacking in tattoos compared to everyone else in the room. He was quite handsome, with piercing blue eyes and sharp but fine features. His long hair was tied back in a messy bun, and he alone wore a buttoned shirt. It was clean and white, except for a few small red spatters on the sleeves.

He looks down at you, amused by your struggle. "Well well boyfriend dearest, what do we have here? A beautiful little brat of a girlfriend. She's lovely." He crouches down and leans in close to you, looking you closely in the eyes. He very gently runs a finger down your jawline, crooking it at the last moment and softly lifts your chin with his thumb and crooked forefinger. "What do you think, sweetie? Your love has made some mistakes, are you going to help him pay for them?"

He stands, quickly, and turns back to your dad. "You heard me. Are you going to pay us what you owe us, right now?" The two men flanking him don't visibly move, but they seem to loom over him threateningly at the words. "Or will she pay your debts for you?"

You look up at him, thoughts of rebellion fading for the moment as you look up at your boyfriend. He seems small and defeated. With a mixture of horror, dread and this new sense of burgeoning lust you can't explain, you realise what he's going to say before he does. You try to fight it, to get up and run, but a kind of hot, prickly excitement washes over your body. You're wearing a light shirt and no bra, and you can feel your soft pink nipples hardening at the idea of what they're going to do to you - again to your horror and shame. You're not supposed to want this. But you do. The realisation comes as kind of a shock. You want this. Fuck. Ok ok ok. Fuck.

Your boyfriend, small and pathetic and defeated, looks down, unable to look you in the eyes. He shakes his head. "Her." The betrayal sticks in your stomach like a cold weight. It's awful, but squashed and muted compared to the heat you feel. You shift your legs very slightly, and realise you're a little wet already, on the floor in the face of what's about to happen to you.

"Boyfriend dearest, you made the right decision," he says, making a show of a comrade-ly pat on the shoulder. "We'll take good care of her."

As he's talking, you try your best to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the heat between your legs and try to get up and run. You make a weak effort, and before you take even two steps, the ringleader grabs your shirt and it tears down the back. The other man behind you catches you by the throat again, and almost throws you back to the ringleader. He effortlessly, almost gracefully catches you and tears the rest of your shirt open, down the front this time. Your cheeks burn red and you make an effort to cover your soft exposed breasts with your arms. Your useless shirt is hanging off you, covering nothing and swaying gently in the same breeze that burns like fire on your exposed skin.

"Someone get me a marker," he calls, as he grabs a fistful of your soft hair. "Can you feel my cock against your leg, you little brat? You're gonna get very fucking familiar with that cock very soon." Someone hands him a marker, and he scrawls roughly across your tits. "Bought and paid for," and "Grope me." Then he grabs your face and growls "hold still," before writing on your face. You can't see what, until you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror down the hall.

Your hair is a mess, your face is flustered and you're flushed red and breathing heavily. There's writing on your breasts, scrawled roughly across your skin. And on your face, a series of arrows on your cheeks, pointing to your mouth, and the words "fuck hole #1".

"Look at the little slut, admiring her makeup," the ringleader grins to the other men. "Her nips are hard too, she must like what she sees." More flushing from you. He traces the back of his hand up your stomach, eliciting a shiver from you to follow his touch, up and up to your right breast. He brushes the erect pink bud, then squeezes it tight and twists, forcing a gasp from you.

He pulls you upwards, bidding you to your feet by your poor twisted nipple, effortlessly controlling your body with only thumb and forefinger. When you're standing in front of you, he caresses your cheek again, then slaps you hard across your face. The sting ricochets inside your head, and before you have time for a thought, you find yourself turning back to him and spitting in his face.

He blinks, a little shocked. Two of the other men in the room move to restrain you but he waves them off. He looks you in the eye, his cold blue eyes meeting your defiant gaze, delicately wipes the spit off his face and onto your chest, smearing the ink a little. "You've got a fucking mouth on you, you little brat. Good thing too." He grabs your face, wiry fingers gripping your jaw and smooshing your mouth and lips together, and pulls your face an inch from his.

"We're gonna take every little bit that your daddy owes us out of you, you little cunt. Do you understand that." Still defiant, you nod. "Look at you, you can't wait to start paying up can you? Well for every bit of lip you give us, every struggle, every time you try to hold your little legs closed, you earn another bruise. Got it?" Another nod, with all the defiance you can muster.

"Good. Now take off the rest of your clothes. You're gonna be our little slut today, start acting like it."

You look him in the eye, and hold your head up high. You can feel the ink drying on your face, and your nipple is sore but is strangely tingling, and your cheek still smarts from the slap. Trying to mask your mix of fear and excitement, you slowly shake your head.

He slaps you again, hard and without warning this time. You stagger a little, caught unprepared by the force of the blow. Your face must be red now, but you almost don't feel the pain, it just feeds into this growing sensation of pain and pleasure mixed into one. That feeling is almost scarier to you than the men in front of you, that elation, that bright and visceral sense that you want more. You want more. You can take them, and you realise that you want them to do their worst to you. You catch yourself picturing their worst, and instead of fear and dread, you feel excitement, arousal, and a craving for more.

You catch yourself, and stand back up straight, looking him in the eye. He slaps you again, harder than before, and a soft groan of pleasure escapes your lips as you take it. A hungry look comes into his eyes at this. He grabs your throat, forces you to your knees, and unbuttons his black trousers. You struggle against his grip, not wanting them to know how desperately you now know you want this. You fight fiercely, but you're unable to break free - you almost do, and another set of hands grabs your arms and leaves you no leverage. Another man is standing to the left of the ringleader, and you notice him unbuttoning as well.

The ringleader pulls his hard cock out, springing up from his pants. It's straight and thick quite long, slightly wider in the middle of the shaft, and the head swollen and a dark, almost purple colour. The whole thing is rock hard. You only have a moment to look at it before it's shoved roughly into your mouth as it hangs slightly open. He grabs a fistful of your hair and pushes your head down on that throbbing cock until the head pushes against the back of your mouth and threatens to slip past into your throat. You've always had a fascination with deep-throating, but never been able to push it past that point.

He holds you down on it for a moment, then pulls you up, holding you off him and holding you back for a moment. Your mouth is still hanging open and you're in shock a little at him just using you like that - shock that's compounded when he spits in your still open mouth, and pushes you back down on that cock. This time, he uses you like a fucktoy, thrusting into your mouth and repeatedly pressing you down on him and pulling you up, still using that fistful of hair to control you. He groans and pulls back and out of you, releasing his grip. You almost fall, but the other man next to you grabs you and shoves his own cock into your open slut mouth.

His is longer but not quite as thick, with a slight upwards curve. He fucks your mouth for a moment, and you hear as though from far away, a "gluk gluk gluk" noise drifting past your ears. "That's me" you realise. "I'm the slut making those noises." The realisation hits you, again. You've never thought of yourself as a slut before, but right now it's all you want to do to be a slutty little fucktoy for these men. You try to snap yourself out of it - as much as you can while your mouth is used as a warm wet fuckhole - but you're not able to shake the sense of yourself as a slut right now. You have to try and fight it, fight them.

When he pulls his cock out this time, the ringleader grabs you again and goes to take his turn on your hole. You close your mouth and try to pull away, but he grabs your hair again and pulls you back, and slaps you across the face a few times. "Where the fuck do you think you're going, whore?" He asks, a smooth voice at odds with the ugliness of his words. "We've only just started to take what we're owed from you."

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