(F4A) I look in the mirror and see a reflection that feels both familiar and foreign. My hair, once vibrant and full of life, cascades down my shoulders in soft waves. I remember the days when I was a beacon of energy, laughter often spilling from my lip nudes
(F/A) Sure i was too old to be Trick or Treating but i still did it, although right now i wish i didn’t. I knocked on the wrong door, the man behind it grabbed me before I could react and covered my mouth with a dirty rag. I woke up only a few minutes
[M4F] BWC ALPHA BULLY, I CAN FEED ANY GIRL I play as the strong bully of your little brother/son/Friend, as you'll try to defende him you'll end up enslaved to my bitchbreaker cock (only submissive sluts far into submion and into cucking dynamic)
(F4A) Within the dimly lit basement, the rough edges of concrete pillars loom around me like silent sentinels. The industrial-style light hanging overhead casts an intense beam on my form, making the shadows dance on the unfinished walls. My breathing is
(F4A)I never thought this would be my reality. Every day, the reflection of my subdued expression in the cold, unforgiving metal serves as a constant reminder of how far I have drifted from the life I once knew. My name is Emily, and I am entrapped in a
[F4A] I want to be a babysitter which get tricked into some games that included getting her tied up. And now im just lying only in my panties hogtied and gagged. Looks like I was getting tortured a lot. There still a carrot in my butt held inside by my p
(F4A) I checked the clock on the wall of the sterile training room—6:00 PM sharp. The sleek, modern room was lined with various high-tech training devices, each one meticulously maintained and sanitized after every session. The metallic sheen of the eq
(F4A) I look in the mirror and see a reflection that feels both familiar and foreign. My hair, once vibrant and full of life, cascades down my shoulders in soft waves. I remember the days when I was a beacon of energy, laughter often spilling from my lip
(FF4A) **Sophia's Perspective:** I remember the first day I stepped into his house. I was seventeen, just a girl tumbling out of the foster system, holding onto the threads of hope that someone out there wanted me. When I met him—our foster father—I