Page 17 of Touchdowns and Tinsel

“Where am I?” I muster enough courage to ask, desperately hoping for some peace of mind.

“It’s a surprise,” one of them replies, his piercing gaze locking with mine, sending an unsettling chill down my spine.

“What happened?” I venture again, grabbing at any answer that might ease my confusion.

“This is what you wanted, Noelle. Isn’t it?” The realization strikes me—it's Q, the man I met online. It has to be.

“Q?” I ask nervously, my pulse racing so loudly I can hardly hear myself.

“In the flesh, Little Freak,” he laughs, leaning closer to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip.

“It was you all along? At the school?" My confusion deepens, amplifying the throbbing in my head. "This was a setup?”

“You got your fucking wish, Noelle. Don’t start freaking out now, not when you were the one who begged to be kidnapped," another masked figure interjects angrily, resentment lacing his voice.

Q takes a few steps back, beckoning the others for a private conversation. I feel the grip of fear and panic tightening inside me, helplessly forced to witness everything around me. I can’t believe I wished for this. I can’t believe I confided my deepest secret to a stranger and expected nothing to come of it.

I berate myself internally, feeling utterly pathetic as I lie here—naked and restrained—with my vulnerability on full display for these four masked figures. The thought of Nicholas, or even Cole, learning of this moment fills me with dread and humiliation. Yet, amidst the fear, a flicker of intrigue stirs within me, as twisted and reckless as it may be.

One of the masked figures turns away from the group, pacing slightly as he talks in hushed, furious tones. I strain to catch snippets of their conversation, the tension palpable in the air. My heart skips as I hear my name; the way they use it echoes like an insult, a reminder of everything I never wanted to become.

"Did you really think we’d let you go after this?" Q says as he walks back over to me, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Not after all your little fantasies plastered across the internet. We’re just giving you the experience you asked for."

The blood drains from my face. My fantasies? Each word cuts deeper than the last. I had thought I was safe behind a screen, hidden from judgment, never imagining that my reckless yearning for adventure would lead me into this hell I now inhabit. A piece of my soul groans in despair.

“Result's not what she expected, huh?” The third figure croons mockingly. I can barely make out his features, but his voice brings a wave of nausea.

“Enough. This is what she wantsandneeds,” Q interrupts, his voice calmer, as if asserting control over the chaos. “We’re not here to hurt her—at least not too much,” he adds with a laugh, as the others chuckle with him.

Sweet relief mingles with terror; it's hard to discern which emotion is more dominant. What twisted game are they playing? Somewhere beneath my terror, a fragment of curiosity begs to be acknowledged. I’ve always loved the thrill of danger—the way my pulse races at the thought of the forbidden. But this? This is a nightmare. But it’s one I secretly wanted.

Suddenly, the first figure approaches me, hovering over me with intent. The mask hides his features, but I feel his eyes burning into me. “You have a choice, Noelle," he declares, his voice deceptively soothing. "You can surrender to it, embrace this side of yourself, and maybe—you’ll even have a sliver ofcontrol. Or...” He pauses ominously, letting his words linger in the air. “Or we can make this a lot worse."

The implication behind his words sends fresh chills racing through my body. I’ve often toyed with the idea of submission—of surrendering my will for the thrill of giving in—but this isn’t just a fantasy anymore. This is a reality stitched together by fear, power, and a dismissal of my autonomy—my reality.

“What do you want from me?” I try to keep my voice steady to sound unbothered, but the tremor betrays me. They exchange glances, a silent agreement passing between them.

Q steps forward again, his gaze softening slightly. “We want you to explore your desires, Noelle. This is an awakening for you. You can greet it with trembling fear or with open arms. Your choice will shape the rest of your time here. We could make this pleasurable, or we could take satisfaction in your suffering.”

The knot in my stomach tightens. Part of me screams to fight back, to resist against the binds that keep me anchored in this horror, but another part—the darker, hidden side—whispers to let go. It reads their excitement like a tale filled with shadows and pleasure—wrong, twisted pleasure.

"I... I don’t know." The words surprise me.

I’m being pulled in two directions, each fork in the road leading to vastly different outcomes. Would I really have the chance to flirt with the edges of my darkest fantasies, or is it all just a cruel game disguised as liberation?

Q’s eyes morph into a predatory glare, sensing my hesitation, “Let’s take a little test then. We’re not monsters, Noelle. You get to decide how far to dip your toe into the darkness. Just remember—you can scream, and some of that control will slip away.”

I shiver in response, grappling with the gravity of what he’s suggesting. Can these dark figures really help me discover a partof myself I’ve always suppressed? Or is surrendering to them just a quick descent into further chaos and despair?

The finality of my decision looms, hanging like a knife over my head. I take a deep breath, feeling the air catch in my throat. “What happens if I choose to play your game?”

“You plunge into a world of possibility." Q's voice quivers with excitement, and a hint of mischief glimmers in his eyes. “And we promise—it’ll be unforgettable.”

As he leans in, closer than ever before, my heartbeat quickens, and the weight of my choice suddenly feels heavier than the shackles on my wrists. I may not have control now, but perhaps within this abyss, there’s a flicker of freedom waiting just for me.

"Twenty-four hours of nothing but pleasure await you, Noelle, but you're not the one in control here," the shorter masked man of the group says, causing a stir to tingle between my thighs.

"Meaning?" I casually ask, shifting on the couch, trying to sit up.

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