Kate
Copyright© 2026 by Drabbles
Chapter 10: Breaking Point
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 10: Breaking Point - What happens when you try to defend the wrong person? How do you recover when everything you wanted to believe was wrong? One woman's journey.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Fa/Fa Ma/Ma Drunk/Drugged Rape BiSexual Incest Mother Son BDSM Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging AI Generated
Kate woke to her phone vibrating violently on the nightstand. She reached for it groggily, squinting at the screen. 6:47 AM. Seventeen missed calls. Thirty-two text messages.
Her stomach dropped.
The first message was from a coworker: “Kate, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
The second was from her cousin Linda: “Oh my God, Kate. Are you okay? Have you seen?”
The third was from a number she didn’t recognize: “Slut.”
Kate’s hands started shaking. She opened her email. The subject lines made her blood run cold.
“Is this you?”
“I can’t believe what I just saw”
“You need to see this”
With trembling fingers, Kate clicked on a link someone had sent. It took her to a revenge porn site, and there—right on the front page—was a thumbnail image of her face.
Kate’s vision blurred. She clicked, and the video started playing. It was from her first night with Matthew—the night she’d gone back to his apartment, desperate for comfort. Someone had filmed through the window or hacked a camera. The angle was grainy but clear enough. Clear enough to see her face. Clear enough to see everything.
She scrolled down. More videos. Dozens of them. All of her. All from those nights she couldn’t remember.
Kate ran to the bathroom and vomited.
By the time Matthew and Alex woke up an hour later, Kate had seen enough to destroy her. She sat on the bathroom floor, her phone clutched in her hand, tears streaming silently down her face.
“Kate?” Alex’s voice came from the bedroom. “Kate, where are you?”
They found her there, and one look at her face told them everything.
“He posted them,” Kate whispered. “He posted all of them. Everyone can see. Everyone knows.”
Matthew took the phone from her hand and looked at the screen. His face went white, then red with rage. “Jesus Christ.”
“There are more,” Kate said, her voice hollow. “So many more. People I know. People from work. From—” Her voice broke. “From my book club. They paid him. They paid him and they—”
She couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say the words.
Alex pulled Kate into her arms while Matthew scrolled through the videos, his jaw clenched so tight Kate could hear his teeth grinding.
“We’re calling Detective Chen,” Matthew said. “Right now.”
But Kate barely heard him. She was remembering the faces she’d seen in those videos. Tom from accounting, who always smiled at her in the break room. Her neighbor, Mr. Peterson, who’d helped her carry groceries just last month. A man from her gym whose name she didn’t know but whose face she recognized.
They’d all seen her. Used her. Paid her son for the privilege.
And now everyone else could see too.
The worst video Kate found herself unable to stop watching, even though each viewing destroyed her a little more.
In it, she was asleep in her bed, wearing an old t-shirt. The camera was steady—on a tripod, probably. Timmy entered the frame and carefully pulled back the covers. He pulled up her shirt, pulled down her underwear, and positioned himself between her legs.
Kate watched her own unconscious face as Timmy’s head disappeared between her thighs. Watched as her sleeping body began to respond—her breathing changing, her hips shifting slightly. Watched as her face, still asleep, contorted in pleasure.
And then she heard it. Her own voice, thick with sleep, moaning: “Timmy.”
On the video, Timmy lifted his head, his face triumphant. “That’s right, Mom. You’re mine. Your body knows it. You came for me. You said my name.”
Kate’s sleeping body shuddered through an orgasm she’d never known she had, and Timmy’s laugh was cruel and possessive.
The video ended.
Kate watched it again. And again. And again.
“Kate, stop.” Alex tried to take the phone, but Kate held on.
“My body responded,” Kate whispered. “I said his name. I—”
“You were unconscious,” Matthew said firmly. “You were drugged. Your body’s physical responses don’t mean anything.”
But Kate couldn’t hear him. All she could hear was her own voice moaning her son’s name while he violated her.
The breakdown was total and complete.
Kate couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop crying. She sat on Matthew and Alex’s couch, Luna’s head in her lap, and stared at nothing while her phone continued to buzz with messages—some supportive, many cruel, all unbearable.
Her boss called. “Kate, I think you should take some time off. Just until this ... blows over.”
Her mother called, her voice tight with judgment. “I don’t understand how you let this happen. What were you thinking?”
Strangers called, having found her number somehow. Some offered sympathy. Others offered graphic descriptions of what they’d like to do to her.
Matthew changed her number. Alex deleted her social media accounts. But the videos were still out there, spreading, being shared, being commented on.
“I can’t go back there,” Kate said on the second day, her voice hoarse from crying. “To my house. I can’t ever go back there.”
“Then you won’t,” Alex said immediately. “You’re staying here. With us.”
“I need to sell it,” Kate continued, as if Alex hadn’t spoken. “I need it gone. I can’t own that place anymore. Too much happened there. Too many—” She couldn’t finish.
“We’ll call a realtor tomorrow,” Matthew promised. “We’ll handle everything.”
That afternoon, they drove to Kate’s house with empty boxes. Kate couldn’t go inside. She sat in the car with Luna while Matthew and Alex packed her clothes, her toiletries, her important documents. They worked quickly, efficiently, and when they emerged with boxes and suitcases, Kate felt a small measure of relief.
She would never sleep in that bed again. Never walk those halls. Never exist in the space where so many violations had occurred.
It wasn’t enough. But it was something.
The therapy session three days later was the hardest thing Kate had ever done.
She sat in Dr. Walsh’s office, unable to meet the therapist’s eyes, and tried to explain what she was feeling.
“My body betrayed me,” Kate said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I had an orgasm. I said his name. Even unconscious, even drugged, my body responded to him.”
“Your body had a physiological response to physical stimulation,” Dr. Walsh said gently. “That’s not betrayal, Kate. That’s biology.”
“But I said his name—”
“You were unconscious. Dreaming, perhaps. Your conscious mind had no control over what you said or how your body responded.” Dr. Walsh leaned forward. “Kate, listen to me. Physical arousal, orgasm—these are autonomic responses. They can happen during assault. They can happen during sleep. They don’t mean consent. They don’t mean desire. They don’t mean anything except that your body has nerve endings that respond to stimulation.”
“But everyone saw,” Kate sobbed. “Everyone saw me respond to him. They think I wanted it. They think—”
“What other people think doesn’t matter. What matters is the truth. You were drugged. You were unconscious. You could not consent. Nothing your body did while you were in that state reflects on you or your character.”
Kate cried through the rest of the session, and Dr. Walsh let her, offering tissues and gentle words and the steady presence of someone who understood trauma.
At the end, Kate said something she’d been thinking about for days.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.