ARIA

The warehouse doors slammed shut behind us and stayed locked for the entire weekend.

No windows. No clocks. Just red lights, cameras, and an endless rotation of bodies. They gave me water, protein shakes, and cock. Nothing else.

By the second night, I’d already taken twenty-three different men. Some from the Collective, others invited guests. My brand and fresh tattoos were constantly on display, constantly touched, constantly fucked against.

I was on my back on the main platform, legs held wide by two of the guests — thick, rough guys who didn’t talk much. Just used. The one named Drake knelt between my thighs, his heavy cock slapping against...