A Perfect Virgin

Chapter Eleven | 11

Content and/or Trigger Warning:

This chapter contains sexual assault and mature language which may be triggering to some readers.

There's a graphic depiction of violence and violation of consent which shouldn't be mistaken for pleasure or the right depiction of a BDSM scene.

A Scene is safe, sane, and consensual with a lot of dialogue, but this one was written with gross exaggeration to create hate and disgust for plot purposes.

Please, don't leave nasty comments.

And no kink-shaming, or slut shaming.

If you keep reading, I wish you good luck, you will need it.

This chapter is not a BDSM scene and the things done in this chapter aren't good to be tried at home.

Hey, not everyone finds degradation sexy.

* * * * *

Arrgh!

Get up, Andrea.

It's just a nightmare.

Bellatrix can not let some autonomous gurus kidnap you as though it were a horror movie right?

I sigh, nodding when the realization of the established situation hits me hard in the face.

There's no turning back.

This lavatory stinks like seaweed and a blend of dead fish which nauseates me more than any kind of fermented brand of urine.

The discomfort prompts me to gulp the lumps at my throat which doesn't end well.

A watery paste forces itself to my gut, extends to my nostrils and throws all my stomach content onto the floor.

Some leaks through my lips and down my throat, leaving me with severe irritation that burns my skin.

I'm now a smelly mess.

Jeez, fuck these psychopaths.

There was no need to swallow the lumps at my throat and still throw up all the food content in my stomach.

Moreover, there's a strict male voice that seeks to milk answers of who knows what from me, but the knots in my belly twist in such a way that has me balling my heavy eyes for relief.

I can't wait to be out of here in one ample piece, all kicking, and alive.

"You've got the wrong person. Just let me go." I cry out when an enormous hand squeezes my throat and lowers my head to the toilet pot, threatening to plunge my face into dry poop if the orders to respond are disobeyed. "I've committed no wrong. I don't do drugs. Why are you keeping me hostage?"

As if cuffing my arms behind my back wasn't enough to satisfy their devilish desires, they also blindfolded my eyes with a red ribbon and restricted my legs with a wire as soon as the plastic bag around my head was taken away.

"Shut up!"

The man who holds onto my neck fumbles with something and positions it beneath my chin.

From its coldness, quick maneuver, and sharp edges, anyone can tell that a blade is being held at my throat. "If you dare to misbehave one more time, just one more time, there's no guarantee of survival. Get ready for your funeral."

The fear of losing my life trips to the pressure spots in my toes, prompting nerves to pull in distress. "Just tell me the fuck what it is you need from me!"