Page 21 of Touchdowns and Tinsel

With shaky legs, I rise and slowly lower myself to the floor, my knees sinking into the softness of a warm rug. The unmistakable sound of zippers sliding down pierces the air, and as I focus, I count two. A wave of fear washes over me as I brace for what’s about to happen next.

"Tell me about your stepson, Ms. Saint," Q continues, offering an unexpected command that leaves me utterly speechless.

"What... um, what do you want to know?" I reply nervously, attempting to mentally prepare for whatever is about to come out of this.

"I’ve seen the way you fucking look at him, the way you watch him during every game, how flushed you get when you’re near him," he reveals, sending a shiver of fear coursing through me. "What’s that all about? Huh? Tell me, Noelle, do you have a thing for your stepson?"

An oppressive silence fills the room, broken only by the howling wind battering the cabin, adding an eerie backdrop tothe moment. I swallow hard, reluctant to admit the truth but also wondering how he knows so much about me.

"Remember what happened earlier when you hesitated to answer me? I’m itching to fucking slap that tempting ass of yours again." The amusement in his voice is unmistakable, and it’s clear that he’s enjoying this.

"There... there's, um, nothing to say about that. Nothing is going on with Cole," I stammer, hoping they’ll buy my denial.

"Fucking liar. How badly do you want to fuck him?" Q blurts out, amusement mixed with anger dripping from each word.

"I... I... um, I don’t," I lie, having never confessed it to anyone before.

"Bullshit," he growls, impatience simmering in his tone. "You fucking asked for this by giving me those bullshit answers."

He clears his throat and lowers his voice, nothing but defiance coming out in his words. "Shorty, it's your turn. Start fucking choking her until she decides to be honest."

When he says the name Shorty, my mind immediately drifts to the shorter masked man of the group, but it would only be a guess.

Without even the smallest warning, my jaw is grabbed roughly and forced open, Shorty's grip extra tight, ensuring I won't be able to move my head.

"Open up the rest of the way, Noelle, or I'll force it open," Shorty says, his tone authoritative.

I open up, but not fast enough. Before I can get my mouth fully open, he squeezes it harder, forcing his cock between my lips. I'm overwhelmed as the sudden intrusion pushes me into a whirlwind of sensations—disgust, fear, and an unwelcome flicker of something darker I can’t fully grasp. My instinct is to pull back, to scream, but the grip on my jaw is unyielding, reminding me of my vulnerability—of my powerlessness in this moment.

"Fight back, and I fucking promise you it's going to get much worse," Shorty taunts, his breath hot against my face as he begins to thrust, pushing deeper than I thought possible.

My body reacts against my will, instinctively trying to adjust, trying to breathe through the suffocating weight of his cock blocking my airway.

“Look at her, Q. She’s already loving it.” Shorty smirks, growling with a gleam in his tone that sickens me.

I hate the way that flicker of hot shame ignites in my chest, how my body betrays me even in my disdain.

“Keep going,” Q urges, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Let’s see how far she’ll bend before she fucking breaks.”

I can feel the heat rising rapidly in my cheeks, my mind racing through a myriad of thoughts, a desperate plea for control among the chaos enveloping my reality. But their laughter rings in my ears—no escape, no salvation.

“C’mon, Noelle, beg me to make him stop fucking that tight throat,” Q continues, his tone teasing as if this is all some kind of twisted game. "If you want to come, you need to be honest. Tell us everything you know about Cole."

“I... I can’t,” I choke out, the words mingling with sobs of fear and humiliation.

I can’t. Not now. Not like this. The weight of my secret feels heavier than before—like a lead ball lodged deep within.

Shorty’s thrusts become more forceful, and I feel tears pooling in my eyes, fueled by a mixture of helplessness and rage. I want to scream, to fight back, but my body refuses to cooperate fully, feeling weighed down by ropes that have long since been cut. The state of submission that surrounds me is almost suffocating.

"You see that? She doesn't want to admit it," Q comments, casually observing my struggle. "Let's help her out, shall we? You could make this much easier on yourself, Noelle. Just let it out, you dirty little freak."

The door creaks open again, and I barely notice an unfamiliar man chuckling a distance away from me. Even though I can’t see anything, I can feel his eyes studying me with an unsettling calmness.

"Is she giving you trouble?" He asks, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice.

“Not yet,” Q replies, stroking my hair as if I’m some kind of possession, a toy to be played with. “But she’s hiding something. A little encouragement might draw her out."

My heart races at the threat of more unwanted attention, my thoughts spiraling as I wonder how they could all be so cruel. The callousness in their expressions and laughter sends fragments of my resolve crumbling. From somewhere inside me, a glimmer of defiance ignites, battling against the fear that threatens to consume me.

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