Twisted Ivy

Chapter 7: FOLDER 003

I shouldn’t have clicked it. 003. But my hand moved before my mind caught up. My thighs were still sticky. My head still swimming with the sound of Leo’s voice begging for Jasper in the dark. My skin still warm from knowing I had something that could make someone bleed. I clicked it anyway.

The folder opened. Only four videos this time. High-res. Crisp thumbnails. Not amateur. Not stolen. Professional. Expensive. Someone paid for these. Or made them.

I hovered over the first one. Didn’t even read the file name. Just pressed play. The screen went black. Then... chains. Glinting. Polished. Tight around wrists pulled taut above a girl’s head. Her skin already pink. Her lips already swollen. Her eyes covered. And a man behind her, bare to the waist, black gloves on, slow like a threat. He didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. He dragged the crop down her spine like he was writing something. Then tapped the inside of her thigh. Once. Twice. Her body flinched but she didn’t make a sound. He hit her. Once. Clean. The sound cracked.

I gasped. My hand clenched the edge of the desk. The towel I’d wrapped around myself earlier had already loosened. My n****e brushed the cold air and stood up like it was listening. Another hit. Another breath sucked through teeth. His voice, finally, low and deep— “Good girl. Now beg.”

I paused it. Not because I was scared. Because I was wet. Too wet. The kind that soaked into the chair. The kind that made me feel like I’d sat in a secret.

I clicked the second one. Different girl. Same man. This time she was gagged. Hands tied behind her back. Knees red from the floor. She didn’t cry. Didn’t flinch. Just opened her mouth like she’d done it a hundred times and knew exactly what came next. He choked her. Just once. Slow. Gentle. Like it was a dance. She didn’t gag. She moaned. And I felt it between my thighs before I even realized I’d spread them again.

Fuck. I didn’t even like this kind of s**t. I thought. Or maybe I didn’t know what I liked. Maybe I just hadn’t been introduced properly. Maybe I wanted to know what it felt like to be tied. Tamed. Owned.

I pressed play again. This one started with a kiss. Sharp. Hard. Brutal. Then a collar. Then a slap. I pressed pause before I came. Again. My p***y was throbbing. My fingers clenched. My breath uneven. And I was sweating through the towel now. The fabric clinging to my back, chest flushed, n*****s raw.

I should’ve stopped. I didn’t.

I clicked the fourth one. And this time it was just audio. Just her voice. Moaning. Crying. Begging. “Please… harder… yes… yes… please…” Then his voice. “You’ll take what I give you.” I pressed my thighs together so tight they ached.

Then I stood up. Walked to the bathroom. Splashed water on my face. Didn’t dry it. Didn’t speak. Didn’t look in the mirror. Just stood there. Breathing. Burning. I couldn’t stop seeing it. The collar. The crop. The hands around her throat.

I went back to the room. Sat down. Opened another tab. Started searching. Words like bondage... domination... control... obedience. Watched more. Didn’t touch myself this time. Just watched. Until my p***y hurt from not being touched. Until my n*****s pulsed against the cotton of my shirt like they wanted to be bitten.

Until the knock. But I didn’t hear it. Because I had headphones on.

Until the door opened. Because I hadn’t locked it.

And by the time I turned, Jasper was already standing in the room. Watching me. Watching the screen. Watching the girl get choked while she whispered “please” through the gag.

And I didn’t move. I didn’t pause it. I didn’t close the laptop. I just sat there... panties soaked... pulse breaking open... as he looked at me... and smiled.

I didn’t close the laptop. Didn’t pause the moaning girl on screen, her throat red from the collar, her breath catching like she was proud of being ruined. Jasper didn’t speak. He walked in like he’d been here before. Like this room was his. Like I was. His boots were quiet. His shadow louder. He stood behind me for a second. Maybe two. Maybe a thousand. I could feel the heat of him at my back. Could smell him. Smoke and threat and something dark that made my p***y throb like it had something to prove.

“You’re not as innocent as you act,” he said finally. Not angry. Not surprised. Just observant. Like a man pointing out the weather before he set the world on fire. I still didn’t speak. Couldn’t. My n*****s were already stiff, brushing the inside of my shirt with every shaky breath. My thighs clenched. My c**t twitched like it heard him before I did. He moved closer. His fingers touched the edge of my towel, where it had fallen open just enough to expose the dip of my collarbone. He didn’t pull it off. Just traced. Slow. Patient. I gasped. He smiled.

“You like that?” he murmured. “That kind of pain? That kind of control?” I didn’t answer. But my breath gave me away. My hips shifted. My legs rubbed together, instinct chasing friction like it was the only god I had left. He moved behind me, knelt down, mouth close to my ear, and said... “I want to make you come without ever touching your pussy.” My whole spine jerked. My n*****s pulsed so hard it hurt.

And then he proved it.

His hands came up around me, fingers sliding under the towel, palms flat against my ribs. Not groping. Not squeezing. Just heat. Just contact. My body arched. I whimpered. He pressed one palm to my chest. His fingers brushed the underside of my left breast. My n****e stood harder. And then he whispered “I won’t even touch your c**t. You’ll beg without it.”

He didn’t lie. He didn’t touch it. But he touched everything else. Ran his knuckles along the side of my neck. Pressed two fingers into the soft flesh between my breasts. Dragged them slowly, deliberately, around the outer curve. Never touching where I wanted. Just circling. Just testing. My thighs shook. I tried to stay still. Tried to pretend I had control. He pinched the skin just above my n****e. I moaned. It broke out of me, cracked, shameless. My whole body jerked like a puppet cut loose. He didn’t even smirk. Just leaned in, mouth at my jaw.

“You’ve been touching yourself to me, haven’t you?” he said. I said nothing. He moved his hand higher, barely brushing the underside of my n****e with one knuckle, slow enough to make me want to scream. “You want to be tied up like her? Want to wear that collar? Want to be dragged by your hair through a room full of men who want to own you?” I moaned again. Not yes. Not no. Just heat and ache and surrender.

He kept going. One hand pressed lightly against my lower stomach, the other ghosting over my ribs, my breasts, my arms. Never going lower. Never going where I needed. But I was soaking. I was twitching. He pinched the inside of my thigh... not even near my pussy... and i was already cumming. Hard, silent and violent. It tore through me like a confession I couldn’t swallow, my muscles locking, my eyes blurring. He hadn’t touched my c**t. Not once. But I’d drenched the chair. My body had betrayed me again.

He stood up. Fixed the towel over my chest like a man dressing his kill. Then leaned close one last time, his mouth barely grazing the shell of my ear. “Next time... you’ll thank me for not f*****g you.” Then he left. Didn’t wait. Didn’t look back. Left the laptop open. Left my body wrecked. Left my mouth parted like I was still trying to catch the name of what had just happened to me.

And all I could think was... He didn’t even kiss me, but I came like I’d been wrecked from the inside out.

I didn’t touch myself after he left. Couldn’t. Didn’t need to. My legs still trembled. My n*****s still throbbed. My p***y was so wet I could feel it drying sticky against my thighs like the echo of a confession. It wasn’t just orgasm… it was ruin. And not the kind you brag about. The kind you bury. The kind you lie to your diary about because even the page would blush. I washed slow. Like I was washing off someone else’s fingerprints. Didn’t look in the mirror. Didn’t speak. Dressed in silence. Lips still parted. Legs bare under my skirt. I should’ve worn something safer, thicker, something that didn’t remind me I was already claimed. But I didn’t. I wore the shortest one. And no bra. Because f**k pretending I had dignity left.

I slung my bag over one shoulder. Headed for class. The halls were quiet. Too quiet. Then it happened... low voices. Behind the west staircase. Just barely. Like whispers leaking from behind stone. “… she wasn’t supposed to know…” “… Jasper said he’d take care of it…” “… if she walks in, we start over…” The hair on my arms rose. I didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look back. But I heard it… that name again. Lucien. Not loud. But sharp enough to slice through everything.

Something was happening. Something tonight. And I knew, with every cell in my already f****d body, that whatever it was... I was going to walk straight into it. Ready or not.