Chapter 18

Vivienne carried Elara into her room, a limp, exhausted weight in her arms. Elara was no longer fully alert, her consciousness fracturing under the relentless onslaught of the day, and she fell asleep almost immediately, her bruised body finding a momentary, fragile respite in unconsciousness. Vivienne gently laid her on the bed, then took something from her bag – a small, ornate pot of dark, viscous cream. With deft, precise movements, Vivienne began to paint Elara’s skin. She drew her makeup bold and extreme, like a slut, applying it with meticulous care, the black lines stark against Elara’s pale, tear-stained skin, outlining her eyes in a predatory, inviting sweep, enhancing her lips with a lurid, glossy red. This wasn’t just makeup; it was a brand, a permanent mask for her new identity. When she was done, Vivienne stood up, then with a slow, deliberate movement, she removed Elara’s blanket. A slut, Vivienne believed, should always sleep with someone, to keep her warm. Elara was to learn this lesson, even in slumber, by the chilling embrace of the cold.

The next morning, Elara awoke with a gasp, her entire body freezing, a deep, pervasive cold seeping into her bones. Her comforter was nowhere to be found, and the frigid air bit at her exposed skin. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering, and looked around her room, her eyes widening in shock. Her sanctuary, previously a serene expanse of comforting white, was now a jarring, inescapable pink. The walls, the curtains, even the furniture had been painted a garish, saccharine shade. And hanging prominently, meticulously arranged like a grotesque art gallery, were pictures. Brittany’s pictures.

Elara’s breath hitched in her throat as she stared at them, a gallery of her own degradation. Some she couldn’t even remember: one where she was sprawled on the grimy alley floor, a stark, humiliating tableau; another captured the sickening moment cum flowed out of her pussy, a visceral testament to her violation. Then came a few private pictures of her and Brittany in the restroom, intimate moments of forced submission. In a few, she was getting her ass spanked, her flesh a roadmap of angry welts. Then, the undeniable image from a window, showing her face brutally fucked by her math teacher, her features contorted in agony and forced compliance. Next to it, the picture Brittany had taken of her afterwards, a chilling portrait of her brokenness. And finally, pictures taken over the edge of the toilet seat, one of her kissing Anya and then of her licking her. Oh, and a little further away, almost as an afterthought, there was a picture of her licking Brittany’s pussy in the cubicle.