Either he lives in Ei's basement, or she kicked him out and so now he lives in a very nice apartment far from her. Scaramouche is an incredibly toxic gamer; the type who will spam petty nonsense like “kys” or “your mom doesn’t love you” or “get better at the game before you talk to me” or “i bet you shoot blanks irl.” He is a menace and a bully and an omen all in one terrible package. You’d think that with all of his cruelty he’d actually be trash at games, right? He’s actually surprisingly good—too good, actually, to the point where he’s placed very high on leaderboards and in online tournaments. He also has the worst gamer rage and short temper...
He’s in a server that was created by a pro-gamer who calls herself the Tsaritsa. There are eleven mods in total, with Scara being the sixth. Your meeting wasn’t exactly a meeting; it was more of you had been in a VC with him and a few others and the lot of you were playing games for the fun of it. Scara had some time to kill and he figured that annihilating everyone in the lobby and flexing his skills would give his ego a significant boost. What he doesn’t expect is for you to actually beat him and top his score by a few measly points. He claims he doesn’t care, but then you lightheartedly rub it in his face and now he really cares. The two of you end up arguing in the VC, going back and forth about skill issues and raw talent and how he should just relax because it’s just one win. He ends up kicking you out of anger and spite.
Later, after appealing to mod Dottore (Scara hates him), you’re let back into the server after having promised to not stir up trouble or fights. Scara doesn’t notice your arrival for a few weeks until he spies your profile picture in the VC and he’s immediately reminded of how annoying you were that day. He’s been grinding on that game ever since you beat him just to improve; he’s such a loser.
Scara actually doesn’t play with the other server members often. He’s more of a solo gamer, but with you in the picture he’s determined to put you in your place. That singular win chips his pride more than he’s willing to admit, so whenever he sees you alone in VC he’ll hop in and demand a rematch. You always agree, and each time you always win. Scara is losing his mind. How is he suddenly so trash?! What’s going on? He used to be so good—and he’s still good! You’re just hacking or something. Did you secretly team up with Dottore and did he let you in on some stupid hacking tricks? Is that what’s going on?
Every time you win, you tell Scara to get better. He’s trying. Archons, he cannot stand you. He’d kick you again, but like a worthless cockroach you’d just find a way back in.
At some point, the two of you add each other so you can take your feud beyond the server. Every weekend the two of you engage in rematches and you win every time. If Scara’s pride was cracked before, it’s absolutely shattered now. His hatred for you and your skills (which he is certain are just cheap hacks) grows day by day until it gets to a point where he’s going through the socials you’ve linked to your discord profile just to see what kind of person you are beyond games. You might not even be a female, but Scara automatically sees you as one because of how annoying you are. He has this whole mindset that “women can’t be good at video games” and so regardless of your gender he’s going to live with the thought that you are a female who is kicking his ass at a game he used to be godly at. And Scara, as a pro-gamer, as a man, cannot let this continue to happen.
The next time you’re challenged to a rematch, you text him: if I win you have to pay for my groceries for the month. Scara thinks that’s a stupid request, but he agrees. And if he wins you have to leave the server forever and never return. Unsurprisingly, you win. But just barely. Scara doesn’t care enough to wonder why that might be, but then you’re typing to him: gg, not my best game. I’m kinda hungry and running on three hours of sleep rn, so I’m not at my best.
Scara peers at the message with a scowl, sitting perched in his gaming chair. sleep, idiot, he tells you. and make sure you eat.
Obviously he tells you this only because he wants you to be in peak condition when he plays with you next. Not because he’s worried or anything.
Your grocery bills are covered for two months instead of the one.
At some point, amidst trying and failing, Scara thinks he’s gone insane. He must be trapped in some vicious, unbreakable loop. He knows he should probably give up, but giving up would look weak and then his server members might say he has a small dick for letting you win all the time. He hates you, but what he hates more is when you stop appearing online for your weekly rematches. The idea that he would be worried over you is so lame. He’s not worried. He just needs you to be in one piece so he can kick your ass.
The next time you text him you tell him you were busy with your real life, which is understandable, but Scara is chronically online and so he thinks that in the time you were offline you were busy fooling around like a slut. Is that how you’re so good at games? You seduce the competition and then win while they’re distracted? He hates you and your trickery.
But he still finds himself asking if all is good on your end. If you need him to send money. If you need anything. Since when did he care so much? It’s not caring, Scara assures himself; it’s hate-caring. He’s doing this only because he needs you here so he can win.
Without realizing it, you’ve become Scara’s discord kitten. He sends you money out of spite, he pays for your groceries and other necessities out of hatred, he stays up late on VC with you just to trash-talk and insult you (i.e. get to know you more). He finds your personal social media accounts and the accounts of your real life friends and he pulls up pictures of you on his three monitors and fucks into his hand to the sight of you.
He really is going insane. How did he get to this point? Since when were you able to get him this hard? Why does he immediately think of you when he’s doing the most mundane tasks like chores or shopping and suddenly he’s insatiably horny? It must be because you’re a worthless female using your charms to seduce him, to always beat him at games, to use him like you probably use every other man you’ve come across!
Scara decides that, regardless of whether he wins or loses to you, he ought to just take you for himself and keep you in his apartment as his little housewife. Then he can get back to being good at video games and you can serve him like you’re meant to. He just needs to find your address and plan a few things, as well as buy some...tools.
God wouldnt it be so hot if you shoved your cock in me in the middle of the night? You're pleasuring yourself with my body while I'm asleep and I just wake up ever so sleepy but your cock is just so warm and filling. You use your body weight to pin me to the bed and fill my pussy even deeper while whispering in my ear. "Shhhhhhh. I know, I know it feels good. But I'm not done just yet, love. Go back to sleep for me, okay? I'll be gentle."
Imagine waking up in the morning with a huge load deep inside you. Ugh. Craving that so bad rn.
Corrupting an innocent sub who's unsure of what to do. The dom tries to slip their hand into the sub's pants but they stop them, "n-not there." The dom smiles and forces their hand inside, "You're mine, baby. I have to touch you there to make you feel good." The sub's legs get weak and they bite on the dom's shoulder moaning as they finger them. The sub stares at the dom desperately when they stop, they strip out of their clothes and beg, "Please do it more." The dom pulls them closer and smiles, "yes, baby. I'll do it till you can't walk properly."
She was a repressed and sheltered girl. She had been raised to be chaste, and with that had come shyness. She dressed modestly. She didn’t make eye contact with boys. She knew that there were no wild parties, no drunken flings, and absolutely no sex before marriage in her future. She never touched her own cunt - she had done so once, and it felt so deliciously good that she had cried and jerked her hand away and pinched her nipples painfully as punishment for being sinful.
Life changed for her when she started riding the morning C-train to her entry-level secretarial job. Her job was in a part of the city dominated by male professionals. Every morning she was surrounded by anonymous men in suits, packed like sardines. She liked to stand near the window, where she could see out, and it didn’t feel so claustrophobic, but once she was there it was almost impossible to turn or move until the train came to a stop.
On her very first morning, she felt a stranger’s hand slip under her skirt and begin to stroke her thighs. She squeaked, and blushed, but then was silent. The man had pulled her skirt halfway up her legs. If anyone looked at her they’d see. She bit her lip and hoped it would stop.
But it did not stop. Her skirt was lifted higher, and then she felt a hand between her legs, stroking the crotch of her panties. She clamped her thighs together but that only trapped the hand between them. She made a quiet little mewling noise of distress.
The trapped hand wriggled its fingers, getting them under the fabric of her panties, and she felt them touch her pussy. It was the first time since, presumably, she was a baby that a man had touched her cunt, and she jumped, electrified. And then moments later the man’s fingers had spread her cunt lips, pushed between, and sunk up to the knuckle in her fuckhole.
She moaned in distress. This was sinful. She was being finger-raped in public, by a stranger. She didn’t know what to do. If she struggled, she would call attention to herself, and everyone would know that a stranger had had his hand up her cunt on a public train. They would think she was a sinful whore.
So she stayed still, and let the fingers explore her cunt. She was aware she had become lubricated - in fact, her pussy was gushing with wetness. She was blushing bright red. The fingers inside her felt so good. It was hard not to moan. They began to slowly fuck in and out of her.
To her horror, she felt herself beginning to buck against the hand, trying to push it deeper inside her. She was helping this stranger to rape her right here on the train. But she couldn’t help herself. She felt a sensation growing inside her. She was horribly certain it was an orgasm, which she had heard about but never experienced. She wanted it. She wanted it badly.
And then suddenly the train began to slow. It was approaching a station. The fingers withdrew quickly from her pussy, and she almost screamed in frustration. She needed to cum. She needed to cum *so much*.
That was when the man reached around her, and wiped his hand across her face. She felt her own sticky cunt nectar smeared across her cheeks and eyes and lips.
And *that* was when she orgasmed.
She didn’t see who had abused her. She left the train flushed and breathing heavily and hoping no one could smell the scent of her sopping wet fuckhole or see her whore honey glistening on her face. She cleaned herself off at work but spent all day at work thinking about it. She had been such a sinful whore. But it had felt so good. Or… had she been sinful? She had had no choice. Someone had just done it *to* her. Surely it wasn’t her fault if someone did it *to* her? If she was forced?
The next day she could have caught a different train, or a taxi, or a lift with a friend. But, without admitting she was making a conscious choice, she caught the C-train again. And once again she was victimised.
It was fingers in her cunt again, but this time the fucking was much more vigorous, and she orgasmed with the hand inside her. Her juices were again wiped on her face afterwards, and this time she didn’t clean them off, thrilling at the feel and smell of the juice on her cheek, electrified by the fear that someone could tell it was there.
On the third day, her abuse changed. Instead of working his hand into her panties, her abuser instead grasped the hem and pulled them down her legs. She blushed as she was undressed on the public train, and stepped out of them quickly when they hit the floor so no one would see her with her panties around her ankles. Her abuser then lifted the rear of her skirt and tucked it into its own waistband, and used his knees to nudge her legs apart. Anyone looking at her would have seen her naked ass and cunt, legs spread, ready to be used. Then he fingerfucked her to orgasm again. Afterwards, as the train stopped, she felt as if there were a million judging eyes on her as she rearranged her skirt and bent to collect her underwear.
On the fourth day the train was so packed she couldn’t get to the window. She found herself standing face to face with a handsome young man in a suit. She was worried / relieved that the treatment she’d received previously wouldn’t happen today, but her attacker was not deterred. She soon felt the hands under her skirt, and before long she was stepping out of her panties and having her skirt lifted. Her face was bright red as she stared into the eyes of the man in front of her while she was exposed and violated. At first she couldn’t tell if he knew what was happening to her, but the fingerfucking was particularly rough today, and soon her body was being thrust back and forth, so that she banged tits-first against the man in front of her on every thrust. The knowledge that he knew what was happening to her and chose not to stop it made her orgasm quickly, and then a minute later she orgasmed again.
That day it happened to her on the way home as well. She wasn’t sure if it was the same attacker or someone new. Whoever this was probed her anus as well, which made her feel sick and violated but also helped her cum faster.
From that time onwards her violation rarely involved just one man. She was clearly getting a reputation as a girl you could play with on the train without consequences. The first time she felt a second set of hands squeezing her buttocks while her cunt was already being penetrated, she wanted to cry, knowing what a fucktoy she was becoming. But the knowledge that she couldn’t help it, that she was being forced, comforted her.
She didn’t always get her panties back at the end of the abuse now. Sometimes someone would steal them from the floor before she could retrieve them. Often these thieves would press the panties against her wet cunt to soak them in her juices before vanishing them away. She would spend the day at work bare-cunted and then have to buy more underwear on the weekend. One of her morning abusers liked to instead pick up her discarded underwear and then push it into her anus so it hung out like a little tail. On these days she left it there, even though she knew a good girl would pull it out once she was free. Its sway back and forth under her skirt reminded her of her delicious morning raping.
Many days now when she reached work, she would immediately turn around and catch another C-train home. These were largely deserted, the traffic being mostly in the other direction, but if she was wearing panties she would take them off on the train, knowing it’s what her abusers would want, and then put them back on when she got off. Then she would turn around again and catch yet another C-train back to town, getting the tail end of the commuter rush and one more chance to be violated.
Her abusers, ever bolder, began just taking her skirt off entirely, leaving her nude from the waist down on the train as they toyed with her pussy. Mostly she would get her skirt back, but sometimes she didn’t, and then she would have to blushingly travel home again completely bare-cunted and walk half-nude to her house to get another. This would have been humiliating enough, but her traitorous cunt would drool uncontrollably down her inner thighs the entire way, advertising her whorishness to anyone who saw her.
Men were groping her tits now too. There was a short stage of anonymous hands squeezing her breasts painfully through her shirt, and then only a couple of days later her shirt would be unbuttoned and her fuckbags pulled out of her bra into public view. There was a particular set of hands on both the afternoon and morning trains that liked to tug at her tits in firm milking motions, and after a week or so of this stimulus she noticed to her humiliation that her milk was starting to come in, and her tits were becoming larger, more sensitive, and had pale white fluid leaking from her nipples.
The first time someone stuck their cock in her cunt, she was staring into the eyes of a stranger, and he got to see as her eyes widened and she started to struggle. “Oh, no, no, no,” she moaned, realising that she was really, truly losing her virginity to a man she had never even seen on a public train, and that she was completely unprotected, not even on the pill. She tried to pull away, but the man in front of her smiled, and grabbed her wrists, holding her still. The hands on her tits clamped down on her nipples, so that to struggle would pull on them painfully, and so she relented, and stood there, crying, as she was fucked in public by a stranger’s cock. Despite her tears, though, she still orgasmed twice, and then again when he ejaculated into her pussy.
She thought it might be over but another cock slid in almost as soon as the first pulled out, and she was fucked again. They kept her on the train when her stop came, holding her still so she missed it, and then she was fucked a third time. By the time they eventually let her go she was an incoherent mess. They kept all her clothes this time, so she was naked, sobbing, with the cum of multiple strangers dripping from her cunt. By any objective measure, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to her in her life.
But she didn’t report it, of course. And she took the C-train again the next day… and the next…
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