As Kenna navigates her second week, she comes to a disturbing realization: the internship program is plagued by a pervasive culture of exploitation. What she initially thought were isolated incidents of being taken advantage of now appears to be an open secret, with the staff seemingly expecting and encouraging the blurring of professional boundaries.
As she got ready for another day at Saxon and Associates, she felt a familiar blend of anticipation and apprehension. Her determination to climb the corporate ladder remained unwavering, and she was resolute in her approach. She chose a loose-fitting, short sleeved black shirt that concealed any hint of cleavage, a deliberate decision given the tendency of her male colleagues to misinterpret even the slightest suggestion of immodesty. Paired with a conservative white skirt featuring a black striped pattern, her outfit exuded professionalism and restraint, a calculated attempt to navigate the complexities of her workplace while maintaining a sense of personal integrity.
The morning unfolded with routine tasks, but a request from Phil in the art department added a welcome deviation to her schedule. He had asked her to catalog some pieces for a *********** group of high-value clients, a task she tackled with enthusiasm. With the cataloging complete, she headed out to deliver the documents. Once it was dropped off, she made her way back to her office to tackle the remaining paperwork, her gaze intersected with that of a man moving in the opposite direction. He was noticeably younger than the average employee, his dark suit and slender black tie exuding an air of polished professionalism. His eyes were both piercing and indifferent at the same time, conveying a sense of indifference that was both captivating and unnerving, as if he could see right through her without being remotely interested in what he found.
"Hey, one second," he said, beckoning her over with a wave of his hand. Kenna was taken aback, but she stopped to talk to him, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You're the new intern, right? Your name is Kenna, right?" he asked, his eyes locking onto hers.
"Yes, very nice to meet you," she replied, her tone polite but guarded. "I joined last week. What's your name?" She was wary of his intentions, her trust in people, especially men at S&A, having been eroded over time.
"Can you follow me this way," he said, his hand gesturing for her to follow him. "I have something to show you." He led her to a door in the hallway, a small sign reading "supply room" in plain letters. Kenna wondered what could be so interesting in a room filled with office supplies. She had already seen her fair share of mundane staples and paper clips. He pushed the door open and guided her inside, his movements confident and assured.
She stepped cautiously into the room, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. He flicked a switch, and a set of small lights on the ceiling sprang to life, casting a faint glow over the space.
As he stepped inside, the sound of the door locking into place was unmistakable, and Kenna's heart skipped a beat as a wave of fear washed over her. She realized, too late, that she had made a grave mistake in trusting this stranger. She spun around to face him, and her worst fears were confirmed. His face was now twisted into a lecherous grin, his eyes roving over her body with an unbridled lust that made her skin crawl. The air in the room seemed to thicken, and Kenna's instincts screamed at her to escape, but her feet felt rooted to the spot, unable to move as she was trapped in this small, locked room with a man whose intentions were clearly sinister.
"Hey beautiful," he said, his voice low and smooth, but laced with a hint of menace. "My friends tell me you've really been great at the internship program. I saw you last week and really thought that Justin made a great choice picking you. I have to say, I've been hoping we might run into each other." He took a step closer to her, his eyes locked on hers, and she backed away, her mind racing with uncertainty. The small room seemed to be closing in around her, with no escape route in sight. Boxes of papers, staples, and other supplies surrounded her, and a small desk stood alone, devoid of a chair. She felt trapped and vulnerable, with no clear way to defend herself. The thought of fighting back crossed her mind, but she hesitated, aware that her position at the company was precarious, and that any misstep could lead to her termination. Yet, the audacity of these men continued to grow, and she couldn't help but wonder if she was being pushed to her limits.
“All I want is a blowjob. I was on my way to a meeting with Mr. Smith, so it will have to be quick.” Without any decorum, he unzipped his pants, unbuckled his belt and started to pull them down while moving closer to her. Kenna was now back up against the wall, wondering what to do next.
With a brazen disregard for her consent, he reached out and grasped the back of her neck, his fingers wrapping around it like a vice. He applied pressure, forcing her down, and she felt herself being pushed to her knees on the cold, unforgiving concrete floor. The motion was almost automatic, as if her body was responding to his commands without her mind's consent. As she looked up, he swiftly pulled his underwear down, and his half-hard cock sprang out, pointing accusingly at her face. The sight was jarring, with this man, whose name she didn't even know, still dressed in his suit jacket and tie, yet exposed in the most intimate way. The contrast between his polished attire and his crude actions was stark, and Kenna couldn't help but feel a wave of revulsion wash over her. How had her life taken such a dark turn, she thought, as she gazed up at this stranger's erect penis, forced to confront the harsh reality that she had become a mere object, a means to an end, sucking dick after dick of random men just to cling to a job that seemed to be slowly suffocating her.
"Open your mouth, you sexy girl," he growled, his voice low and menacing. Out of fear for both her job and her safety, she slowly parted her lips, her eyes locking onto his with a pleading expression, hoping against hope that he might suddenly come to his senses and spare her this degradation. But instead, he simply gazed back at her with a mixture of lust and contempt, his eyes glinting with a cruel light. With a slow, deliberate motion, he slid his cock into her mouth, until it rested on her tongue, the sensation making her stomach turn. As he began to slide in and out of her mouth, she tried to pull away, but he grasped the back of her head, his fingers digging into her scalp, holding her in place. "Yeah, suck that dick you slut," he moaned, his voice dripping with perversion, as he continued to thrust into her mouth. "Careful with those teeth, I want to feel more tongue," he panted, his breathing growing heavier.
"Play with me," he whispered, his words a twisted mockery of intimacy, as he forced her to submit to his twisted desires. "Stroke my balls," he commanded, his voice husky with arousal, as he continued to slide in and out of her mouth with a relentless rhythm. "Come on, slut, make me feel good," he urged, his words dripping with a twisted sense of entitlement, as if he believed he had a right to her submission. Despite his coarse language, he didn't thrust too deeply, and for that, she was grateful, as it spared her the humiliation of gagging on his cock. Yet, even as she felt a twisted sense of relief, she couldn't shake off the feeling of being reduced to a mere object, a tool for his pleasure, devoid of any agency or autonomy. As her mind struggled to cope with the degradation, it instinctively went into defensive mode, focusing on the practicalities of survival, thinking about how to bring this ordeal to a swift end. She knew that the sooner she could placate him, the sooner she could escape this nightmare. With a sense of detachment, she reached up with one hand and began to stroke the base of his dick, her fingers wrapping around it with a gentle, practiced touch. At the same time, her other hand drifted down to his balls, where she gently massaged his hair-roughened balls, her fingers moving with a soft, soothing motion, as if trying to coax him into a state of release, and thereby, bring an end to her own torment. As she worked to please him, her mind recoiled in horror, unable to comprehend how her life had taken such a dark and twisted turn, forcing her to surrender her dignity and self-respect to the whims of a stranger.
As she continued to stroke the base of his dick and massage his balls, he groaned in pleasure, his hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm, as he fucked her mouth with a steady, deliberate pace. His cock slid in and out of her lips, the head rubbing against her tongue, and the shaft gliding along her cheeks, as he reveled in the sensation of her mouth wrapped around him. Despite his obvious arousal, he didn't seem to be in a hurry to come, and instead, appeared to be savoring the experience, drawing out the pleasure for as long as possible. He began to move his hips in a circular motion, as if trying to stimulate every nerve ending in his cock, and she felt her jaw start to ache, as she struggled to accommodate his movements. Her mouth was filled with the salty, musky taste of his skin, and she could feel the texture of his pubic hair rubbing against her nose, as he continued to thrust into her. As the minutes ticked by, she started to feel a sense of numbness, as if her mind was disconnecting from her body, and she was simply going through the motions, trying to survive the ordeal. Her eyes began to glaze over, and her thoughts grew distant, as she focused on the sensation of his cock moving in and out of her mouth, and the sound of his labored breathing, as he groaned and muttered in pleasure. Despite his obvious enjoyment, he still didn't seem to be close to coming, and she wondered how much longer she would have to endure this, as he continued to use her mouth for his own pleasure, without any regard for her own feelings or well-being.
She could feel his movements becoming more erratic, his hips jerking forward with increasing urgency, as he finally began to approach the climax. His breathing grew heavier, and his groans became louder, as he thrust into her mouth with a reckless abandon, his cock swelling to its fullest extent. She could feel the pressure building, as he prepared to unleash his load, and she steeled herself for the inevitable, her mind recoiling in horror at the thought of what was to come. And then, in an instant, it happened, as he let out a loud, animalistic grunt, and his cock erupted in a massive, pulsating spasm, releasing a torrent of semen into her mouth. The fluid flooded her, filling her mouth to overflowing, as he continued to thrust into her, pumping out load after load of his thick, creamy ejaculate. She felt her cheeks bulging, as her mouth struggled to contain the sheer volume of his semen, but it was no use, as the liquid spilled out of her mouth, running down her chin, and dripping onto the floor. The sensation was overwhelming, as she felt his hot, sticky fluid coursing down her throat, and pooling in the back of her mouth, threatening to choke her. She gagged, as her body instinctively tried to expel the invader, but he held her in place, his fingers grasping her head, as he continued to pump out the last of his load. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he slowed to a stop, his cock still twitching with aftershocks, as he pulled out of her mouth, leaving her gasping for air, her mouth and chin smeared with his sticky, white semen. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock, and her face pale with disgust, as he gazed back at her, a smug, self-satisfied smile spreading across his face.
She wiped her mouth clean as this man casually pulled up his underwear and pants, tucking his dress shirt in while she remained on her knees, trying to process what just happened.
"Thanks," he said, his voice dripping with a casual, almost dismissive tone, as he patted her on the face with a condescending familiarity, before turning around and heading towards the door. The sound of the lock disengaging was like a cold slap, as he pulled the door ajar, and she felt a wave of trepidation wash over her, as he suddenly stopped in his tracks, his voice rising in conversation with someone on the other side of the door. Her heart sank, plummeting to the floor, as she realized that there was indeed someone waiting outside, and she felt a creeping sense of dread, as she wondered if she would have to face this person, her shame and humiliation on full display. Panic set in, as she frantically scrambled to her feet, her hands flying to her face, as she tried to compose herself, smoothing out her disheveled hair, and attempting to repair the damage to her makeup, which she was sure was now smudged and smeared. Her face felt flushed, her skin burning with embarrassment, as she struggled to regain some semblance of dignity, her eyes darting towards the door, as she tried to prepare herself for the worst, her mind racing with the terrible possibilities, as the conversation outside continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. The sound of his voice, calm and collected, was a stark contrast to her own turmoil, as she stood there, frozen in anxiety, waiting for the inevitable, her heart pounding in her chest, like a drumbeat of doom.
What happened next left her utterly stunned, as the first man swung open the door, and with a sweeping gesture, invited a second man into the room. The newcomer was impeccably dressed, his shiny leather shoes gleaming in the light, his dress pants crisp and well-pressed, and his suspenders and tie perfectly knotted. But it was his face that truly caught her attention, strong and confident, yet with a receding hairline began to make its presence known. As his eyes met hers, a huge smile spread across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and his lips curling up in a triumphant grin. The first man, seemingly satisfied with the handover, walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, and leaving her alone with this new stranger. The second man, his smile still plastered on his face, reached back, and without a word, locked the door, the sound of the mechanism clicking into place, echoing through the room like a death knell. Kenna's mind recoiled in horror, as she thought to herself, "Oh god, not again," her body tensing, as she prepared for the worst, her heart racing with anticipation, and her senses on high alert, as she wondered what this new man had in store for her. The air in the room seemed to thicken, as the silence between them grew, heavy with unspoken intentions, and Kenna felt herself becoming trapped, with no escape from the events that were about to unfold.
“You’re not quite done here.” The man's approach was deliberate and menacing, as he closed the distance between them, his eyes fixed on hers, his face a mask of unyielding intent. Kenna's back hit the cold wall again with a jolt, stuck in this small room, as he forced her to retreat, her body instinctively trying to escape the impending threat. His hands rose, and he began to grope her small breasts, his fingers probing through the layers of her bra and top, sending shivers of revulsion down her spine. She stood frozen, her mind racing, as she struggled to find her voice, but her words remained stubbornly trapped, refusing to escape the prison of her lips. The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the sound of her own ragged breathing, as the man's hands continued their exploration, his touch igniting a fire of fear and humiliation within her. Without a word, he grasped her shoulders, his fingers digging deep into her skin, as he pulled her towards the desk, spinning her around until she faced the dull, mundane papers on the wall, detailing inventory and supplies. The sudden movement left her reeling, her mind struggling to keep pace, as she felt herself being manipulated, her body bent to his will. A hand on her back pushed her forward, applying pressure, until her chest was pressed against the cool surface of the desk, her face inches from the pile of papers, her eyes staring blankly at the meaningless words and numbers. Inside, a scream was building, a primal, desperate cry, but it remained trapped, locked behind a wall of shock and fear, as she lay there, helpless and vulnerable, at the mercy of this silent, looming figure.
As the man's hands reached beneath her skirt, Kenna's body tensed, her mind bracing for the inevitable. She knew what was coming, but the anticipation only seemed to heighten her sense of dread. A whimper escaped her lips as he pulled up her skirt, the fabric bunching around her waist, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. His hands then grasped her panties, sliding them down her legs with a slow, deliberate movement, the cool air caressing her skin as the fabric pooled around her ankles. With a detached air, he lifted one foot at a time, removing the panties from her legs, his fingers brushing against her skin in a way that made her shudder. He heard him toss her panties to side and land on the floor. The casual gesture seemed to underscore her powerlessness, and she felt a surge of humiliation course through her veins. He kicked at her shins, his foot nudging her legs apart, until she was splayed flat against the desk, her skirt riding high up her hips. Her heart racing, Kenna felt her pulse pounding in her ears, as she lay there, once again exposed and helpless, with no way to protest or escape the stranger's gaze. The air seemed to vibrate with tension, as she waited, frozen, for what would happen next, her body trembling with anticipation and fear.
The sound of zippers being lowered, the metallic click of suspenders being unlocked, and the soft rustle of pants dropping to the floor, all blended together to create a sense of inevitability, as Kenna's mind prepared for the worst. Her gaze remained fixed on the papers in front of her, the words and numbers blurring together as her thoughts turned inward, her body tensing in anticipation. She had been in this situation before, but the familiarity did little to ease her discomfort, and the silence that hung in the air only seemed to heighten her sense of vulnerability. The sound of the man spitting, a harsh, guttural noise, made her wince, as she realized he was using his saliva as a makeshift lubricant, a crude and ungentle gesture that made her feel like an object, rather than a person. Her eyes screwed shut, as she waited for the inevitable, her body bracing for the impact, her mind racing with thoughts of escape, of resistance, but her limbs seemed frozen in place. Moments later, she felt the gentle nudge of his cock, as it probed between her pussy lips, a soft, tentative touch that belied the violence of the act. Kenna bit her lip, waiting for what would come next, her body trembling with anticipation, as the man's cock began to exert a gentle pressure, seeking entry, seeking to claim her as his own. The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the sound of her own ragged breathing, as she waited, frozen, for the moment when he would push forward, and she would be lost to his desires.
Without a word, he thrust into her, his invasion sudden and brutal, causing Kenna to grip the desk with desperation, her fingers digging into the surface as a raw, primal moan was torn from her lips. The sound echoed through the air, a haunting expression of her shame and distress, as her body was ravaged, her autonomy stripped away. He held himself still for a moment, his presence deep within her, as if savoring the moment of conquest, before his hips began to move, pistoning back and forth with a ruthless predictability. Each stroke sent shivers of pleasure and pain through her body, a jarring reminder of the brutality of the act, as the tools and items on the desk rattled and clattered in time with his movements. The noise was a harsh accompaniment to Kenna's grunts of frustration and shame, as she was forced to endure the humiliation, her body responding to the stimulation even as her mind recoiled in horror. The sensation was a twisted mix of pain and pleasure, a cruel reminder of her powerlessness, as she was treated like a mere object, a thing to be used and discarded at the man's whim.
“Mmm, that pussy feels so good,” he moaned, his voice low and husky, as he continued to thrust into her. He would pull out almost slowly, but then thrust into her as hard and fast as he could, the rhythm sending shivers down her spine. Slow out, fast in. Every time, the desk would shake and she worried that somebody out in the hall could hear them, the noise echoing through the silence like a betrayal.
“Take my cock, you whore,” he growled, his fingers digging deep into her shoulder, holding tight so he could push in even harder. The pain and pleasure mixed together, a toxic cocktail that left her reeling.
“You like that cock?” he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance, as he continued to piston into her. “I love fucking you nice and hard,” he declared, his words a harsh reminder of her powerlessness. He was a real talker, this one, and he clearly had no concerns about anybody listening in from outside the supply room door.
“Does it feel good, baby?” he asked, his voice mocking, as he thrust into her again. “Does my cock make you feel like a dirty little slut?”
Kenna tried to respond, but her voice was trapped in her throat, unable to escape. She was frozen, unable to move or speak, as he continued to use her, his words and actions a cruel reminder of her helplessness.
“Answer me, bitch,” he growled, his fingers tightening on her shoulder, as he thrust into her again. “Does my cock make you feel good?”
The question hung in the air, a challenge, a demand, as Kenna struggled to find her voice, to respond to the man's taunts. But her words remained trapped, locked behind a wall of fear and shame, as she was forced to endure the humiliation, her body responding to the stimulation even as her mind recoiled in horror.
Suddenly, she felt his hand move from her shoulder and take a firm grip of her hair, pulling her head back with a sharp jerk. The pain was searing, and she couldn't help but cry out, her voice cracking with desperation.
“Oh god…that hurts. Please stop,” she begged, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a desperate plea. She was no longer able to hold it in, her emotions raw and exposed as she felt his grip tighten, pulling her head back further.
With his other hand, he gave her ass a hard slap, the sound echoing through the room like a crack of thunder. The pain was intense, and it was too much for her to bear. The tears started to roll down her face, hot and unstoppable, as she felt her body begin to shake with sobs.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as she felt his grip on her hair tighten again. “Please stop. You're hurting me.”
But her words were met with silence, his only response a harsh laugh, as he continued to thrust into her, his movements relentless and unforgiving. The pain and the shame were overwhelming, and she felt herself becoming lost in a sea of despair, unable to escape the horror of what was happening to her.
As the stranger released his grip on her hair, her face fell back onto the desk, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of her skin. She felt a momentary sense of relief, but it was short-lived, as he took both hands and gripped her hips, his fingers digging deep into her flesh. With a newfound intensity, he increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and more frenzied.
The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, a cacophony of flesh and wood, as the desk creaked and groaned beneath them. The noise was almost deafening, a harsh reminder of the brutal act that was being perpetrated. She felt like she was being consumed, her body pounded relentlessly, as she lay helpless and trapped.
She thought of nothing but escape, her mind racing with the hope that it would be over soon. She prayed for it to end, for the stranger to finish and leave her be, to release her from this living nightmare. But as the moments ticked by, she felt like she was trapped in a never-ending cycle of pain and shame, with no escape in sight.
The stranger's breathing grew heavier, his grunts and groans filling the air, as he pounded into her with increasing ferocity. She felt like she was being torn apart, her body stretched to its limits, as she waited for it to be over, for the agony to cease. But until then, she was at his mercy, a helpless victim, forced to endure the brutal onslaught of his desire.
“I’m going to come deep into that tight pussy of yours,” he growled, his voice low and menacing, as he continued to thrust into her with reckless abandon. “I bet you can’t wait for my come, you little slut,” he sneered, his words dripping with contempt and degradation.
A few thrusts later, she felt him push in until he was deep inside her, his body tense and rigid as he prepared to unleash his climax. She felt a sense of dread and revulsion, her mind recoiling in horror at the thought of what was about to happen.
And then, with a loud groan, he let go, his body shuddering as he dumped his load into her. She whimpered quietly, her eyes closed in shame and humiliation, as she felt his warm seed spill into her. The sensation was vile and degrading, a stark reminder of her powerlessness and vulnerability.
As he stood there, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his climax, she felt a sense of disgust and loathing wash over her. She was trapped, pinned beneath him, as he continued to pant and groan, his chest heaving with exertion. The smell of his sweat filled the air, a noxious and overpowering odor that made her stomach churn with nausea.
As he pulled out slowly, she could feel his come start to leak out of her, a warm and sticky sensation that seemed to seep into her very being. She lay there, exhausted and in shock, her body feeling battered and bruised, as she heard the sound of him getting dressed behind her. The rustle of clothes, the zip of his pants, and the sound of suspenders being put back on all seemed to echo through the room, a stark reminder of the brutal act that had just been perpetrated.
She didn't dare move, her body frozen in a state of numbness and terror, as she waited for him to leave. She couldn't look at his face, couldn't bear the thought of seeing the man who had just raped her, who had violated her in the most brutal and degrading way possible. She felt a sense of shame and humiliation wash over her, a deep and abiding sense of horror that seemed to seep into her very soul.
A moment later, his footsteps could be heard as he walked away, the sound of his shoes echoing through the room. She heard the door open, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness, and then the sound of it closing again, a soft click that seemed to signal the end of the nightmare. But as she lay there, alone and broken, she knew that the trauma and the pain would stay with her, a constant reminder of the brutal act that had been inflicted upon her. The silence that followed was oppressive, a heavy and suffocating blanket that seemed to crush her, leaving her feeling small and helpless.
As she stood up, smoothing out her skirt to regain a sense of dignity, she took a deep breath to calm her racing thoughts. Her eyes fixed on the door, she began to walk towards it, hoping to escape the confines of the supply closet. But just as she reached out to grab the handle, the door swung open, and a man stepped inside. He was dressed in a crisp dress shirt and tailored slacks, his features youthful, with a boyish face that made it difficult to determine his exact age. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with tension.
As his hand reached back to lock the door, a sense of dread washed over her. The sound of the click seemed to echo through the small space, sealing her fate. Not again, she thought, a desperate plea to a universe that seemed determined to torment her. This was the third time she'd found herself in this horrific situation, and the weight of it threatened to crush her. The urge to scream rose up in her throat, but she knew that giving in to it could have disastrous consequences, silencing her seemed the only way to survive, at least for now.
The stranger's hands cradled her face, his lips descending upon hers in a passionate, yet gentle kiss. The stark contrast between this tender moment and the brutal assault that had preceded it just moments before left her reeling. Her arms flailed out to the sides, unsure whether to push him away or surrender to the unexpected intimacy. As his hand slipped between her legs, his middle finger began to stroke her with a soft, exploratory touch. Despite her initial hesitation, she found herself continuing to kiss him, her body torn between revulsion and a twisted sense of curiosity. As one of his fingers slowly slid inside her, a wave of mortification washed over her. Would he be able to tell that she was still slick with the come of the previous man's violation, a tangible reminder of the trauma she had just endured? Did he even care?
As he broke the kiss, his eyes locked onto hers, burning with an intense desire. "You are so incredibly hot," he whispered, his voice low and husky. With a gentle yet firm pressure, he guided her towards the desk, the same surface where she had been brutally raped just moments before. The memories of that trauma still lingered, but his words, "I can't believe how gorgeous you are," seemed to momentarily distract her from the pain. As he felt him hike up her skirt, exposing her vulnerable flesh, she felt a sense of detachment wash over her. He lifted her onto the desk, his hands grasping her hips as he positioned himself between her legs. With a swift, urgent motion, he undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled them down, revealing a rock-hard erection that seemed to pulse with anticipation. The sudden exposure of his arousal seemed to heighten the tension, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with expectation.
As he reached down to grasp his erect cock, his eyes never left hers, his gaze burning with an unrelenting passion. With a deliberate slowness, he began to slide into her, his shaft gliding through the slick, wet folds of her pussy, still lubricated by the residue of the previous man's violation. The sensation of his cock entering her was almost palpable, as if the air itself was thickening with anticipation. As he started to fuck her, his thrusts were long and deep, using every inch of his length to penetrate her, to claim her. His hands, strong and sure, grasped both of her ass cheeks, holding her firmly in place as he drove into her, his fingers digging gently into her flesh. The sound of their bodies moving together, the soft slap of skin on skin, filled the air, a primal rhythm that seemed to underscore the intensity of the moment. With each thrust, he seemed to be claiming her, possessing her, his cock a potent symbol of his desire. His hands, holding her in place, seemed to be the only thing keeping her anchored, as if she might otherwise float away on a tide of sensation. As he continued to fuck her, his movements were almost hypnotic, drawing her into a world of pure, unadulterated sensation, a world where nothing else existed except the two of them, lost in the primal dance of sex.
As he leaned in close, his warm breath danced across her skin, sending shivers down her spine. "You are the hottest girl I have ever fucked," he whispered, his voice low and husky, the words sending a spark of excitement through her. Even as he continued to thrust into her, his hands began to roam, his fingers grasping the hem of her top and slowly pulling it up, exposing the lacy edge of her bra. The cool air kissed her skin, and she felt a shiver run down her spine as he gazed at her, his eyes burning with desire. "Take your bra off," he commanded, his voice low and urgent. "I want to play with those tits." Kenna hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face, but then her hands moved, reaching back to unclasp the delicate hooks of her bra. As the fabric slid away, his hands were instantly upon her, cupping her breasts, squeezing them gently as his index fingers and thumbs began to play with her nipples, teasing them into hard, aching peaks. The sensation was almost overwhelming, the gentle tug of his fingers sending sparks of pleasure through her, even as his cock continued to drive into her, claiming her with every thrust. His hands, warm and sure, seemed to be everywhere, touching, teasing, and tantalizing her, drawing her deeper into the vortex of their passion.
As he continued to play with her nipples, his fingers rolling them between his thumb and index finger, Kenna felt a wave of pleasure wash over her. Her small breasts seemed to swell in his hands, her nipples growing harder and more sensitive with every touch. She arched her back, pushing her chest towards him, inviting him to explore her further.
His mouth descended upon her, his lips wrapping around one nipple as he sucked it deep into his mouth. Kenna gasped, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through her body. His tongue danced across her nipple, teasing it with gentle flicks, and she felt herself melting into his touch.
As he continued to suckle her, his hands began to roam, one hand sliding down her belly, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist. The other hand remained on her breast, his fingers still playing with her nipple, sending shivers of pleasure through her.
Kenna's eyes fluttered closed, her body surrendering to the sensations that were washing over her. She felt herself being drawn into a world of pure pleasure, a world where nothing else existed except the two of them, lost in the dance of sex.
The stark contrast between this man and the last one was like a breath of fresh air, a respite from the brutal storm that had ravaged her body and soul. While the previous man had been a force of nature, violent and unyielding, this one was a gentle breeze, soft and soothing. His touch, though still unwanted, was like a warm caress, a stark departure from the harsh, cruel handling she had endured before.
As he continued to thrust into her, his movements were almost tender, a gentle rocking motion that seemed to lull her into a state of trance-like submission. It was as if her body, still reeling from the trauma of the previous assault, had begun to differentiate between the two men, responding to the gentle touch with a spark of curiosity, even as her mind recoiled in horror at the thought of what was being done to her.
The contrast was jarring, a cruel twist of fate that seemed to highlight the complexities of human nature. Why was it that one man could be so brutal, so devoid of empathy, while another could be so gentle, so seemingly caring? And why, oh why, was she, a victim of circumstance, drawn to this man, even as she knew that she shouldn't be? The questions swirled in her mind, a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to consume her, even as her body continued to respond to the gentle touch, a betrayal of her own desires, a cruel mockery of her own vulnerability.
As he began to accelerate his pace, his thrusts growing more urgent and insistent, she felt her own body start to respond in kind. The sensations that had been simmering beneath the surface began to build in intensity, a growing tide of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her. Despite the circumstances, despite the fact that she was being taken against her will, she found herself becoming lost in the moment, her body craving the release that seemed to be within reach.
As he fucked her with increasing fervor, she felt her arms instinctively wrap around him, pulling him deeper into her. It was as if her body had developed a mind of its own, overriding her initial resistance and surrendering to the primal urge for pleasure. Her eyes drifted closed, and she let herself be consumed by the sensation, her mind narrowing to a single point of focus.
The world around her melted away, leaving only the two of them, lost in a sea of pleasure. She felt herself climbing higher and higher, the tension building to a almost unbearable degree. And then, in a burst of ecstasy, she was overcome, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm. She bit her lip, stifling a scream of pleasure as she pulled him close, her legs wrapping around him like a vice.
As he sensed her release, he seemed to be drawn into his own, his body responding to hers with a primal urgency. With a deep, guttural groan, he thrust himself into her one final time, his hips locking into place as he poured himself into her. "Oh fuck...I'm coming...I'm coming so hard," he gasped, his voice a raw, ecstatic whisper that seemed to vibrate through every cell of her body.
As he threw his head back, his eyes closed in rapture, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain. His moan was like a wild, animalistic cry, a sound that seemed to come from the very depths of his being. The sound was like a spark to dry tinder, igniting a fresh wave of sensation within her. Kenna felt her own orgasm, which had begun to subside, suddenly flare back to life, her body responding to his release with a renewed burst of pleasure.
Once again, she felt herself pulling him close, her legs wrapping around him like a vice as she tried to draw him deeper into her. She was lost in the sensation, her body singing with pleasure as she felt him pulsing within her. For a moment, she was lost in the pure, unadulterated joy of release, her body singing with pleasure. It was as if nothing else mattered, no thoughts, no fears, no doubts. All that existed was the sensation, the feeling of being alive, of being connected to this man, to this moment. And as she rode the wave of her orgasm, she felt a sense of surrender, a sense of abandon, that she had never experienced before. It was as if she had given herself over to the pleasure, allowing herself to be consumed by it, and in doing so, had found a fleeting moment of freedom.
As he spoke, his words dripped with satisfaction, his tone implying that he had just experienced something truly exceptional. "Wow, that was incredible," he breathed, his voice still husky with pleasure. "I can see why everybody is talking about you." The phrase was meant as a compliment, but to Kenna, it was a harsh reminder of her situation. She felt a sting of humiliation, a sense of degradation wash over her as she realized that she was nothing more than a topic of conversation, a piece of office gossip to be shared and discussed among her coworkers.
The thought of all these men, comparing notes about her, discussing her as if she were some kind of commodity, made her stomach turn. She felt a wave of nausea rise up, and she had to fight to keep her emotions in check. She turned to the side, unable to meet his gaze, no longer able to look at this man who was still inside her. The intimacy of the moment, the closeness they had shared, was suddenly replaced by a sense of distance, a sense of disconnection. She felt like she was just a body, a vessel for their pleasure, and not a person at all.
As she lay there, she couldn't help but wonder what they said about her behind closed doors. Or at least, she hoped they were behind closed doors. The thought of her coworkers, men she saw every day, discussing her in such a way, made her skin crawl. She felt like she was living in a nightmare, a never-ending cycle of degradation and humiliation. And as she turned away from the man, she knew that she had to find a way to escape, to break free from this toxic environment and reclaim her sense of self-worth.
As he pulled out of her with a wet sound, he stood tall, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to dress. Kenna, meanwhile, slid down from the desk, her skirt falling back into place as she searched the floor for her panties. Not able to see them, she couldn't help but wonder if the second man had taken them as a twisted souvenir, a memento of their illicit encounter. Her bra, however, was still intact, albeit slightly askew. She struggled to reconnect the clasp, her fingers fumbling with the delicate hook.
"Let me help you with that," he said, his voice low and smooth as he stepped closer. Kenna turned around, and he deftly reconnected the clasp, his fingers brushing against her skin. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he touched her, but she pushed the sensation aside, focusing instead on pulling her top back into place.
As he turned to leave, Kenna reached out, her hand on his arm. "Wait," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "How is my face? Is my makeup a mess?" She asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice.
The man’s eyes locked onto hers, his gaze burning with intensity. "You look incredible," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "Seriously, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He paused, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just so you know, my name is Marty."
Kenna's eyes met his, a spark of connection flashing between them. "My name is Kenna," she replied, her voice steady.
Marty's smile grew. "I know."
As Marty blew her a kiss and smiled, Kenna's eyes remained fixed on the door, her sole focus on escape. She had to get out of this supply closet, away from the constant stream of men who seemed to be waiting in the wings. Every hesitation, every moment of uncertainty, had allowed another man to enter, to take advantage of her. But she was determined to break free.
As Marty started to close the door, Kenna darted forward, her hand shooting out to catch it before it could shut. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, peering out into the hallway to get her bearings. The bright light was almost blinding after the dim confines of the closet, but she didn't have time to adjust. She stepped out into the hallway, her eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger.
As Kenna emerged from the supply closet, her eyes scanned the hallway, and her gaze landed on Marty walking towards a group of men near the end of the hall. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized one of them, the second man in the supply closet, the one who had taken her with such brutal force. He was standing to the left, engaged in conversation with another man, but as their eyes met, he nodded in her direction, a sly grin spreading across his face. The other man followed his gaze, and together they turned to look at her, their expressions twisted into smirks. Kenna's heart sank as she caught sight of something that made her blood run cold. A flash of pink peeking out of the second man's pocket. Her panties. She was certain of it.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins as she realized she had to get away, and fast. She didn't wait to see what the men would do next, didn't wait to find out if they would try to stop her. She turned on her heel and quickly headed in the opposite direction, her high heels clicking on the ground as she made her escape. The sound was like music to her ears, a symphony of freedom as she finally broke free from the supply closet that had been her prison, her rape room, for what felt like an eternity.