Game 3Game 3 Outline| Game 3 |
Game 3 Outline |
Boris smiles disturbingly, cracking his knuckles and neck. If not for your arms keeping you from budging, you would be bolting for the door. “Can you free up his arms?” He asks Bathory as she floats towards a movie all. “He he, of course.” she says, “Have fun”, then she disappears through the stonework. You feel your arms stop cletching the chair. Immediately you start trying to push yourself up, only to have Boris kick you back down, resting his foot on your belly. He then turns and places a cake on your chest. “Eat.” He says in an evil tone. You don’t get why he is asking to when he could have had you doing this against your will. “No.” You say, if you have your will your not going too....
Boris punches you in the face. Hard. You hold your muzzle, feeling pain through your nose up to your cheek. “I said EAT!” He repeats, still keeping you in place. Still reeling from the injury, you still feel defiant, “NO!” You cry. He punches you again, and you feel a trickle of blood drip down your mouth from your nose. “EAT!” He d makes. Not wanting to be punched again, you reluctantly reach out to the cake, shifting it closely to your face, and taking a small piece and place it into your mouth. Boris smiles, “More,” he says, his grin creepy. You begin taking another small fingerfull, “MORE!” He yells, not satisfied, and you grab a bigger handful putting it in your mouth and chewing slowly. “MORE, FASTER!” He yells, increasing pressure on your stomach,”N-no,” you say, flinching and readying yourself. His fists slam into the side of your head, multiple times. You feel rattled and feel yourself tearing up, whimpering. “You eat when I tell you,” he says, holding your cheeks between his hands, “Now, take that cake and stuff it down your fat maw.” He commands, and you slowly take the rest of the cake. He releases your face and you force the cake into your mouth, almost chocking as it fills every crevice. You chew and swallow, feeling sick from your throbbing head and her stretched jaw, panting from the abuse.
“Very good, now,” says Boris, he turns and takes another cake from the table. “Do it again.” He puts the platter on top of the first. You whimper . Boris looks estatic. Obviously he gets his kicks a very different way. Instead of having you eat against your will, he is making you do it yourself. Not even to get something, but for his own enjoyment. Not wanting a concussion, you take the cake and again begin forcing it into your mouth, now starting to cry as Boris beams sadistically.
Written by an anonymous author
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