Caught in Time
Copyright© 2025 by SpankLord40k
Chapter 12
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 12 - Elara must endure a brutal, endless cycle of humiliation, trapped in a nightmare orchestrated by the people around her. Their cruelty, fueled by a mysterious curse that binds them all. But a subtle change suggests that this cycle may finally be broken. This story weaves together multiple universes, parallel realities, magic, and harrowing themes such as sexual violence and brutal punishment. This is my first ever story, so bear with me and enjoy. Note that this story builds up slow.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Teenagers NonConsensual Rape Slavery Heterosexual Fiction Horror School Science Fiction Paranormal Magic Incest Mother BDSM DomSub MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Rough Sadistic Spanking Torture Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Black Male White Male White Female Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration First Facial Fisting Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Tit-Fucking Water Sports Body Modification Public Sex Teacher/Student Nudism Revenge AI Generated
Before she could head for the door, Brittany was in her way, a sly smirk on her face. With expert, almost brutal efficiency, she made sure Elara’s makeup was perfect again, masking the lingering signs of tears and recent exertion. “Great job in there, Elara,” Brittany purred, her voice a low, chilling whisper of approval. “I’m so very proud of you. Your mother will be pleased with your new accomplishments.” The words felt like a fresh wound, a perverse twist of praise on an already agonizing day.
Just as Elara stepped out of the school’s suffocating confines, her phone vibrated violently in her pocket. She pulled it out with a shaky hand. Vivienne. The name on the screen sent a fresh jolt of terror through her.
She answered, her voice a small, wavering thing. “H-hello?”
“Elara? What’s going on?” Vivienne’s voice was sharp, a tight thread of anger and concern. “I can’t pick you up today, something came up. I expect you home in exactly one hour. If you’re late, you know what happens. Don’t disappoint me.” The line went dead before Elara could even form a coherent response.
Elara stared at the phone, tears welling in her eyes, blurring the harsh reality of her situation. She was stuck. An hour’s commute, and no bus drove directly to her isolated home. It usually took a solid fifty minutes by car. Her body ached, her back pulsed with a searing pain that made every movement agony, and she was utterly terrified of Vivienne’s “punishments.” She looked back at Brittany, who stood watching her from the school entrance, a cold, assessing gaze fixed on Elara’s trembling form.
“Please, Brittany,” Elara choked out, her voice a desperate plea, thick with unshed tears. “Please, can you ... can you take me home? Vivienne ... she’ll kill me if I’m late. My back ... I can’t even sit on a bus for that long.”
Brittany’s lips curled into a slow, cruel smile. “My dear Elara, I have no time for such trivial matters. My day is done. Besides,” she paused, her eyes raking over Elara’s tear-streaked face and disheveled clothes, “you’re a big girl now. You’re learning to be resourceful. And resourceful girls find their own rides home, don’t they?”
Elara stared at her, horrified. “But ... but how? Mom always picks me up! I don’t have money for a taxi!”
Brittany laughed, a harsh, dismissive sound that grated on Elara’s raw nerves. “Money? Who needs money when you have a body like yours, Elara? You’re a slut now, remember? A proper slut knows how to use her assets. Hitchhike. And you’ll offer payment in kind. Show me what you’ve learned. Prove that this day hasn’t been a complete waste.”
Elara’s eyes widened in despair. “No! I ... I can’t! Please, Brittany, don’t make me!”
“Oh, but I will, Elara,” Brittany purred, her eyes gleaming with malice. She pulled out her own phone. “And to ensure you’re truly resourceful, you’re going to put your phone on speaker and in your pocket. I want to hear every sordid detail of your commute home. Every offer, every exchange. Consider it a live performance for your mistress. If I hear anything less than complete obedience, or if you fail to secure a ride, your punishment will be far more ... creative ... than anything you’ve experienced so far. Now, go. The clock is ticking.”
A tear rolled down Elara’s cheek, a desperate, traitorous sign of weakness. Brittany’s gaze hardened. “Don’t you dare cry again,” she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. “I’ve just fixed your makeup.”
Elara fumbled with her phone, her fingers clumsy with dread, putting it on speaker and shoving it deep into the pocket of her torn denim skirt. The raw fear that consumed her was a cold, suffocating blanket. She limped out of the school gates, heading towards the main road, her legs aching, her back a searing inferno. Every painful step was a testament to the brutal day she had endured, and the terrifying uncertainty of what lay ahead.
The afternoon sun felt harsh on her skin, mocking her misery. The occasional passing cars seemed to mock her desperation, their drivers oblivious to the nightmare she was living. She stood by the side of the road, her thumb awkwardly raised, feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable. Every minute that passed was a tightening knot of dread in her stomach, bringing her closer to Vivienne’s inevitable wrath.
A beat-up, dark blue sedan, old and rattling, finally slowed and pulled over a few yards ahead. The window hummed down, revealing an older man in his fifties, with thinning grey hair and a tired, craggy face. His eyes, surprisingly observant, lingered on her torn clothes and smeared makeup, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.