Page 11 of Whispers of Ruin

He swiftly snatches a magazine from the table beside me and rolls it up tightly. I am choking in an ocean of terror, tryingto figure out a way to get out of here and realizing there is no possibility of evading whatsoever.

In a fury, he tugs my pants down, stripping me away with a single, ruthless pull. The masked man throws me one last feral look before thrusting, without any warning, the rolled-up magazine sharply into my pussy, the impactful force causing it to split open with an excruciating suffering. The tears I had fought so hard to restrain begin to spill down my flushed cheeks.

I cry silently, too stunned by the situation to make a sound. I can feel the firm pressure of his cock against my belly.

He pulls my legs up, positioning them on each side of his waist. My back slams against the wall with such power that the shelves shudder and books crash to the floor in a chaotic clatter. The pages crumble, tearing lightly into my flesh, leaving behind a trail of severe pain.

Simultaneously, the tip drives farther, pushing me to the edge of the unbearable, fueling a surge of wild euphoria. A war rages within me. Every rational part of my mind screams that this is wrong, that I should be disgusted, terrified—anything but this. And yet, my body betrays me for a darkness temptation.

I want to blame him. I want to convince myself that this is manipulation, that he has twisted my desires into something I would have never wanted on my own.

But the truth is far worse.

Because I do want this. Not just the act itself, but the way it makes me feel—powerless, yet exhilarated, humiliated, yet seen. There is something intoxicating about the way he controls me, the way he strips away my walls without permission.

Am I sick? Broken? Or is this just a part of me I have refused to acknowledge until now? The thought should repulse me, but it only ignites the fire he has already set within me.

With a sharp tug, he grabs my ponytail, yanking my head back. His hot breath grazes my face as he leans in, his lips dangerously close to my ear.

“Tell me, little fox, that you are not feeling loved right this second, and I will call you the worst fucking liar to have ever existed.”, he murmurs, his low, haunting voice slipping under my skin like an uncontrollable shiver.

“How… How can you even talk about love?”, I shoot at him crying uncontrollably. “You act like a total savage and yet, you dare talk about love?”

He lets out a small sarcastic laugh.

“If I were not a gentleman and actually a savage like you say, you would have screamed so violently that the very walls of the library would have shaken, resonating your complete agony. Your mind would have fled, and you would have cried out to God, pleading with every fucking ounce of your being for Him to end this insufferable torment until the moment I would have shut you up forever myself.”

I laugh hysterically. “You REALLY think you’re a gentleman? How can you be so delusional?”

I sense his hand sliding out the magazine cautiously and press it against my chest.

“If I can make you drench a newsmag in so much cum, I allow myself, without shame, to take the title of gentleman.”

He lets the wet object drop, its soft, damp thud against the cold black-and-white floor sounding louder than it should. He walks away, but after a few steps, he stops, glancing back with a vicious smile.

“And that,” he says with mockery, “would make you the brat, little fox.”

Tucked away in a shadowed corner of the quiet street, I take a slow drag from my cigarette, letting the smoke travel in my lungs before flicking the butt into a storm drain. The glow dies instantly, swallowed by the undercity below.

Mira should step out any second now, heading off to work, completely unaware that the moment she locks her door behind her, I will be slipping inside. I have a gift for her, and I have spent enough time watching her to know her patterns, her habits.

The door to her apartment closes softly behind me and I stop for a moment, taking in the space's calmness. I notice the pristine order of her surroundings, every object carefully placed. Not a hint of personality, no signs of who she really is, just what he would approve of, I’m guessing.

She has her tiny painting room, and that is it. If she were mine, I would give her a goddamn manor—let her occupy every inch with whatever she wants.

I cross the corridor that leads to her bedroom, where the untouched bed stands, a quiet reminder of just how long it has been since it has seen any proper use. I cannot fucking wait to change that—to have her beneath me, rolling her eyes until she screams my name for all the neighbors to know what a little whore she is. To fill this room with my scent, my presence, my cum. A mark that will leave no doubt—Mira belongs with me.

Beyond the fact that I am going to give her the best damn orgasm she ever had in that bed, I stand here for a specific reason. I learned about a masquerade charity event days ago, piecing it together from snippets of conversation.

It was not difficult—Julian’s name has a way of surfacing when she talks about her plans. She will be on his arm tonight, smiling for the cameras, playing the part of the perfect girlfriend. I know I can’t stop her from going. But I can make sure she wears exactly what I want her to.

That is why I am here, to place carefully the red dress I selected that will command every eye in the room. A piece of fabric that, draped over Mira’s voluptuous body, will possess the power to mesmerize even the most hardened of hearts. A daring slit climbs high up her thigh, the satin slipping like liquid over the curve of her hips, pooling at the floor.

And the neckline—bold, daring, and exquisitely cut—showcasing the undeniable allure of her generous breast. The dress of all dresses, the one I have meticulously chosen to leave an impression on everyone who dares to look—a silent command disguised as a gift.

For the mask, I could not get past the opportunity to give her the sumptuous appearance of the innocent animal she always reminds me of with her magnificent hair.

A fox—mylittle fox.

---