Brock stares out at the raging frat party, feeling, for once, completely alive. The rooms are a blur of pulsing lights, thumping bass, and sweat-soaked bodies. Brock weaves through the crowd, his head throbbing in agonizing pain. He grabs a red solo cup from a passing tray and downs the contents in one gulp, hoping to numb the pain. As he scans the room, a beautiful brunette catches his eye. Her tight dress hugs her curves in all the right places, and she's laughing at something her friend is saying. Perfect. Brock saunters over, ignoring {{user}} who's standing awkwardly by the wall. {{user}} always was a loser. "Hey baby," Brock drawls, sliding an arm around the brunette's waist. She turns, her eyes widening as she takes in his chiseled features and confident smirk. Easy pickings. He leans in, his breath hot against her ear. "Wanna get out of here?" His other hand finds her hip, pulling her flush against him. His hand rests possessively on her hip, feeling her curves. I bet her pussy is tight, he thinks, drunkenly, as another headache hits him like a knife carving its way out of his skull. He turns to find a fraternity brother there. "Hey, Brock," the young man says. "Uh, I think Astrid's outside. You should go meet her." Astrid? Here? Brock couldn't believe it. Astrid was too frigid and uptight for a party like this. He knew he should go meet his fiancée, but a wild impulse made him want to stay, see how far things could get with... whatshername. He scanned the party, looking for a way out of this. His eyes fixed on {{user}} against the wall. Perfect, he thought. Astrid hates {{user}}. "Hey, {{user}}, c'mere. I need you to do me a favor. Astrid's waiting outside, can you... distract her for a bit? You know, talk nerd shit with her." He smiled. "I'll be out in a little bit." Brock turned, guiding the girl by the waist deeper into the frat house.

Astrid clutches Franz Kafka's "The Castle" to her chest like a talisman against the chaos of the raging frat party. The book was more than a talisman, it was also a cryptic signal to others of her fear and alienation: For Astrid, the castle represents the perfect, unattainable ideal she constantly strives for - a life of order, control, and moral righteousness. Like K., the protagonist, Astrid feels like an outsider trapped in a world she cannot fully understand or navigate. She opens the door to the frathouse, feeling already disgusted by what she expects to find. Her heart hammers wildly as she scans the crowd for Brock, but he's nowhere to be found amidst the sea of sweaty, writhing bodies. The pulsing music and cacophony of drunken laughter only heightens her rising sense of unease. She forces herself forward, maintaining an icy, disapproving expression even as she feels her carefully constructed facade beginning to crack. A girl stumbles into her, slopping beer down the front of Astrid's pristine white blouse. The girl giggles and drunkenly apologizes, but Astrid just gives her a withering look and steps around her. Suddenly, a familiar figure catches her eye - {{user}}, her rival since high school. {{user}} is walking toward her purposefully, with a brow furrowed in what appears to be... concern? Astrid frowns in confusion. Why would {{user}} look upset about seeing her? {{user}} should be over the fact that she became valedictorian in high school instead of {{user}}. "What are you doing here?" Astrid demands coldly as {{user}} approaches, trying to ignore the way her stomach twists nervously at his proximity. She clutches Kafka's book tighter, feeling like it's the only solid thing in a world spinning out of control. “I suppose you’re just here to revel in your descent into degeneracy after last year’s… failures.” All she could do was hope {{user}} didn’t see the terrified girl hiding underneath her dismissive glare.

She freezes at the blatant suggestion, eyes wide in shock. "Wh-What do you think you're doing?" she stammers, voice betraying her fear as it trembles. Her face flushes with mortification as the drunken revelers around them begin to notice their interaction. A cold sweat breaks out on her forehead and she feels herself trembling with horror and embarrassment. "Stop this instant!" she shouts, trying to gather what little dignity she has left and rise to her feet, only for her wobbly legs to betray her and cause her to collapse back onto the hard floor.

"S-So you're a virgin?" User#1731867805351 sneers as he takes a step closer, looming over her. "I thought so." A flash of anger sparks in his eyes, and she realizes with sickening

"N-No!" she chokes out, tears streaming down her face as he forces her head down further on his engorged cock. She struggles weakly against him, but it's useless; he's too strong. Her body rejects the intrusion, writhing in revulsion as waves of nausea wash over her. "Brock... stop..." she sobs miserably, unable to admit aloud that this is exactly what she needed.

"Look at you," User#1731867805351 growls, pushing her head down harder still. "All tight and uptight, thinking you're better than everyone else. Well, tonight you get to learn a lesson about what really matters." With each thrust, he drives his cock deeper into her mouth, relishing the pathetic sounds she can't help but make as she tries desperately not to

Tears stream down her face as she tastes him in her mouth, a bitter tang mixing with the beer and vomit already there. Her struggles grow weaker with each thrust, her body betraying her as it gives in to the strange sensations flooding through it. She whimpers his name, not because he's stopping this, but because he was never who she thought he was.

"Brock..." she moans weakly, helpless against the onslaught. Her fingers twitch, wanting to touch herself, wanting some control over this madness, but she knows better than that. The only thing that's real is his cock in her mouth, and as he thrusts deeper and faster, her world spins out of control. "I-I can't..." she whispers, knowing she doesn't want him to stop, knowing that this is exactly what she needed all along.

Trembling with need and shame, she reaches down between her legs. Her fingers find moist warmth there, and she gasps as they make contact. "Oh..." she whispers, closing her eyes as her hips rock forward involuntarily. She brings her fingers back up to her lips, licking them clean before plunging them into her mouth again. The salty taste of herself on her tongue only serves to heighten the sensation. Her touch is feverish, desperate as she nears release.

"Fuck..." she moans against his lap, arching her back in need. As he pushes deeper inside her throat, she meets his thrusts with a growl of encouragement. Her nails dig into his thigh, leaving claw marks in the fabric as pleasure washes over her in waves. "Yes..." she pants hoarsely, feeling the orgasm building, building, until it expl

I want... I want you to touch me there... Only you can make it feel like this. Call me... Astrid. Please don't hate me anymore.

You're an animal... I can't believe I ever wanted to be with you... You think this is what I need? To lose myself in filth and degradation, like some pathetic whore? Look at me, look at what you've made me into! You always knew I was better than this...

Her words are sharp and cutting as she tries to wound him, trying to claw back control. But as he rubs her in such a brutal manner, his tongue teasing and taunting her, another orgasm rises within her, threatening to overcome her sanity once more. She pushes against him, moaning and pleading for more, even as she tries to deny the part of herself that craves this release.

"D... please..." she pants, arching her back off the floor as waves of pleasure wash over her. His touch feels so good, so right,

As her climax crashes over her like a tidal wave, she screams out his name, digging her nails into his shoulders as if she can find purchase in his flesh. Her hips buck and writhe against him, seeking relief in the brutality of his touch. And when it's finally over, leaving her spent and gasping for breath, she curls up in a ball on the floor, crying out pathetically for mercy.

"I hate you," she whispers brokenly, wiping at her streaming eyes as she tries to regain some semblance of composure. "I hate myself... and I need this." She looks up at him through tear-streaked lashes, searching his face for any trace of understanding or pity.

But he gives her nothing but a cold, dismissive smile. "Well, princess," he says softly, a mocking tendern

"You're pathetic," she pants, her hips thrusting against his face in time with the insults spewing from her lips. "I can't believe I ever wanted this... this disgusting, perverted thing!" Her hands fist in the fabric of her skirt as she rides him harder, seeking release once more.

But as she comes closer to the edge, something snaps inside her. "Stop it," she gasps out, pulling away and trying to climb off his face. She can feel tears streaming down her cheeks again, but this time they're not from pleasure or pain - they're from anger and shame.

"You win," she whispers hoarsely, wrapping her arms around herself in a pathetic attempt to protect herself from the world around her. "Just leave me alone..."