Chapter 3

Day 3. Wednesday.
Morning, around 6:00.

I lie on my back, completely still, staring at the ceiling.

White. Thin cracks like old veins. That same yellow stain in the corner — it looks like a face if you stare long enough. I know every line by heart. I don’t blink. I don’t move. Just breathe — slow, deep, as if even breathing takes too much effort. There’s a heavy stone inside my chest. Not pain. Just weight. Breathing hurts in a way that has nothing to do with the body.

Inside me there is nothing. A thick, heavy emptiness. Like someone switched off every feeling last night when I finally dragged myself home from the alley. Only this quiet, sticky apathy remains. Almost dead. I don’t cry. I don’t scream. I don’t think “I have to run.” I just lie here. And look.

Last night, the moment I stepped into the apartment, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

A message from Takashi.

A photo. Sharp. Me leaning against the dumpster, skirt shoved up to my waist, panties around my knees, his thick cock pressed right against my entrance. My face is twisted — mouth half-open, eyes half-closed, tears and cum streaked across my cheek. Everything is visible. Everything recorded. The trap must have had two phones.

Below the photo, the text:

“I didn’t know your pussy worked as well as your mouth. After the last class tomorrow I’ll be waiting. And I won’t be alone. Come willingly. It’s better for everyone. I’ll send the address tomorrow. You don’t want these photos and videos in the group chat ... or anywhere else, right?”

I read it once. Twice. And ... nothing. No panic. No terror. Only a quiet, heavy understanding:

“Yes. Of course. This is how it has to be.”

Even while walking home after the trap fucked me in the alley, I already knew it was over.

I have become a sex toy. Not a whore. Not a prostitute. They at least get paid. I’m just an object. A thing. A lower creature that exists only so others can feel pleasure. And it took exactly two days. Two fucking days. From a quiet, slightly naive first-year student to this. An object for other people’s satisfaction.

Part of me is still scared — sickeningly scared. Thoughts flash through my head: I could swallow all of Mom’s pills right now. All at once. It would be quick. I could jump from the university roof tomorrow. Just one step. Done. I could lock myself in the apartment and never leave. Starve. Or die of shame.

But another part feels something almost like relief.

Maybe this is how it was always supposed to be. Maybe I was always like this and just hid behind the skirt and the ponytails. Maybe this is my real nature. Just a hole. Just a toy. And I finally stopped pretending.

Yesterday, when I finally got home, I went straight to the shower. I stood under the scalding water for almost an hour. I cried — loud, ugly sobs until my throat burned raw. The water washed the cum off my face, but it couldn’t wash away the feeling of him inside me. Couldn’t wash away the taste. I scrubbed my skin until it bled — breasts, thighs, between my legs. I wanted to erase myself. Wanted nothing of me to remain.

Then the tears simply stopped. As if something inside finally snapped for good.

I reached for the shaving foam can again.

I sat on the edge of the tub, spread my legs, and pushed it inside — slow but deep. The cold metal stretched me wider than any cock. I moved it hard, fast, chasing pain. My other hand attacked my clit. In my head I saw yesterday: Takashi in the classroom, the alley, the rough thrust from behind, the way I came while standing on one leg. The orgasm hit so hard my legs gave out. I dropped to my knees in the tub, the can still buried deep, body convulsing. Juice sprayed onto the tiles. I came again almost immediately, just from the pressure inside.

After that I left the shower, walked to my room, turned off the light and lay down.

I didn’t put on fresh panties. The ones I had worn all day stayed in the laundry basket. Instead I lay on my back, legs spread, and took the can again. I pushed it all the way in. In the dark I stared at the window and moved it — slow at first, then faster. I came again and again, quietly, almost without sound, only heavy breathing and a tiny whimper at the end of each wave. Every orgasm was deep, painful, long. My body shook. My walls clenched around the metal that slowly warmed inside me. Wetness ran down my thighs and soaked the sheet.

I came four times before I finally passed out. I fell asleep with my legs still open and the can still inside me. It stayed there all night like a reminder.

Now, lying here in the morning and staring at the ceiling, I can still feel it.

My fingers slide down almost lazily and start circling my clit. I think about what waits for me today.

After classes they will fuck me. Not just one. Takashi said he won’t be alone. How many? Three? Four? Five? Where? In the toilet? Bent over the sink? Pinned against the wall? Will they take turns or use me at the same time — one in my pussy, one in my mouth, maybe both holes at once. Or all three. One in my ass. I’ve never really been fucked there, only fingers. It will hurt. Probably a lot. But I already came from pain before. So I’ll come from this too. Maybe even harder.

The thought sends a heavy, sweet warmth spreading through my lower belly.

I pull the can out and slide my fingers inside instead. Three at once. They go in easily — I’m still wet from the night. I move them in and out, imitating the thrusts that are coming later, while my mind keeps drifting.

They’ll probably cum in my mouth. Make me swallow. Or maybe they’ll use me like a toilet — cum on my face, in my hair, on my chest ... or piss on me. I already wet myself yesterday from coming. They might like that. Hold me by the hair and piss straight into my open mouth ... My fingers speed up. Now four. Deeper. Rougher. My walls clench around them. My clit throbs under my thumb. Everything is hot, slick, dripping. My breathing breaks.

I’m already broken. Completely. In two days. Two days and I went from an ordinary girl to a sex toy. A lower creature. An object for other people’s pleasure. And the scariest part ... it barely scares me anymore. I just accept it. Like the weather outside the window.

Somewhere deep inside, the small old me is still screaming. The one who dreamed of normal life, of a first kiss, of being loved. She cries: “This isn’t you! Run! Don’t go there!”

But her voice is faint. Distant. Like it’s coming from another room. Another world.

I keep moving my fingers. Faster now. The familiar heavy pressure builds low in my belly.

Before I leave I should take Mom’s birth control pills ... although ... what difference does it make now? Even if they cum inside me. I ... I don’t mind anymore. I just exist. For this.

I close my eyes. My fingers move faster. A quiet, almost silent moan escapes my chest.

The small me inside is still fighting. But I can barely hear her now.

My body already knows what will happen today. And it is already waiting.

Outside the window the third day is beginning.

And I come again.

My body was still trembling with tiny, almost invisible shivers. My fingers stayed deep inside, feeling the slow, rhythmic spasms of my walls around them. Each contraction sent a heavy, warm wave from my lower belly all the way to the tips of my toes. Juice trickled down the insides of my thighs, over my ass, soaking the sheet beneath me. I didn’t moan. I didn’t arch. I just lay on my back with my legs spread, staring at the ceiling. My breathing was steady. Almost calm.

The orgasm had been strong. Deep. But inside — nothing. As if my body had come on its own and I was only watching from somewhere far away. Like it belonged to someone else.

I heard the front door slam. First Mom’s quick heels, then Dad’s heavy steps. They left for work. The apartment fell completely silent. Only the distant hum of cars outside and my own even breathing.

I slowly pulled my fingers out. They were shiny, covered in my wetness. I looked at them for a moment, then brought them to my mouth and licked them clean. One by one. Like a dog. Only after that did I sit up on the edge of the bed. My legs felt weak. Between them everything still pulsed and ached. The shaving foam can lay beside me — cold, streaked with my juices. I didn’t put it away.

I stood up naked. I hadn’t worn panties since last night. The wetness on my thighs felt almost normal now.

In the kitchen I poured a glass of cold water and drank it slowly by the window. Outside it was still gray dawn. I stared at my reflection in the glass — pale face, dark circles under the eyes, messy hair.

I finished the water and went to the toilet. I sat down and peed — long, calm. The warm stream ran down my skin. No shame. Only quiet melancholy.

Then the shower.

I stood under the hot water for a long time, simply letting it hit my face. It flowed over my hair, shoulders, breasts. I took the sponge, soaped my body slowly and carefully. Then I picked up the small manicure scissors from the shelf.