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She’s sitting on the same device that took her cherry, back straight, eyes forward, fingers clenched around the arms of the ornate chair.

Unlike last time, she doesn’t fight.

For one, her pussy is accustomed to being invaded now. Secondly, she knows there’s no use.

“You look so good like this,” Pace tells her, petting her hair back. “Finally, a good little pet.”

Decker and Wright dropped their dicks long enough to move the table, allowing space for our brotherhood to get a good view of what comes next.

“How…” Her voice cracks and she swallows. “How much longer?”

Lex is the one to step up, speaking more to the frat than to her. “Stage one of the cleansing is complete. Her womb has been purified before you. Now, it’s your turn, PNZ. Do your duty to your Princess.” His eyes are dilated into two black orbs. Tomorrow, we’re going to have to deal with that. But tonight, I let him train those blown pupils on her as he sneers, “Bathe her in your seed.”

Her gaze springs up to meet his, widening with a dejected sort of horror. “What?”

But the men in front of her are already clambering to their place in line, just like Monday offerings. There’s a certain familiarity in the sounds in the room. The rustle of fabric, the low groan of desire. The intoxicating scent of hormones and sex. I’ve spent years surrounded by it, exposed to it in locker rooms and dorms with peeling beige paint on the walls. Listening to my brothers rub a quick one out before going to class, or helping one another out through a long night. There’s no shame here. It’s part of what makes us brothers. And this event will only seal the bond, ultimately making East End stronger.

She wants to cry. I can see it in the way her face crumbles. But her eyes flick to the room, and she doesn’t. Even when Lex sets everything in motion by gesturing to the first in line, announcing, “Let the cleansing begin,” Verity smashes her lips together, refusing to speak. The camera has been trained on her once again, but she won’t look into it. If I had to guess, she’s putting on a fake face for them–her Dukes.

No one in the room is buying it.

Wright is first to step up, an excited glint in his eye as he stops in front of the throne, cock in his hand. He jerks it roughly, jaw clenched as he stares at her tits. It’s not often we get to see a Princess on this throne completely unclothed, and it seems to do it for him, because he’s grunting with release before Verity even has a chance to prepare herself for the first hot splash of his nut.

She flinches.

Hard.

I can see it ripple through her, and when she whimpers, I know it’s not because Wright is painting her chest. It’s because the phallus inside of her is pushing against her insides. Eyes squinched shut, she turns her face away, chest jerking with another of those stifled sobs. A final ribbon of cum lands on her collarbone, and Wright groans as he watches it drip down to her tits.

“For my beautiful Princess,” he says, breathless. “May she reign.”

He stumbles away, hitching his pants back up.

Next is Decker. He’s a big fucker–the team’s meanest D-man. His hog is short but girthy, and when he towers over her, reaching over her shoulder to grab the back of the throne, it’s just as much about dominance as it is strategy.

His cum lands on her chin.

“For my beautiful Princess,” he says, smirking. “May she reign.”

The next few are quick–some of the two-pump Freshmen who got started jerking their cocks before anyone else. They look excited and horny as fuck, pumping their cum onto her sloppily. One of them barely manages to hit her at all, twitching like a goddamn tweaker as his cum dribbles out of his cock like it’s half-asleep.

Lex scoffs as he bumbles off. “Keep it quick,” he demands, eyes narrowed down the line. “Get your cocks out and start jerking. We have other shit to do tonight.”

By the tenth guy, Verity has stopped flinching.

Her eyes are empty as she takes another, a rope of cum painting a slash against her pale cheek. The room has grown hot with everyone’s quick breaths and surging hormones, the scent of it already thick enough to choke me, let alone her.

But she’s not crying anymore.

She’s nothing.

I watch her take load after load from a brotherhood of panting breaths and slapping flesh, saliva being spat into palms, animalistic grunts and ragged groans, and I know that she’s finally defeated.

It’s the only thing that eases this ugly, gnarled thing that’s been growing inside of me since I saw her on that video, giving up the part of me I’d so freely given to her–forhersafety. The hardest thing to face is that it isn’t just shame twisting me up inside. It isn’t only the knowledge that I’m a fucking idiot for telling her. It’s something worse than that. Something deeper. Something new, yet as old as the air I’m breathing.

For once, I get to hurt the person who hurt me.

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