Fear, by far, is the worst feeling in the world. Not heartache. Not mind numbing depression.
Pure, agonizing fear takes the cake.
It’s a cold, December morning. The weather is cruel and unforgiving, but it’s merciful compared to the person chasing him. Tears trickle down his frostbitten face, his body begging for him to take a breather. He’s been running for five miles nonstop through the frosty woods. The snow crunched beneath his bare feet, feeling lost long ago. His naked body is littered in cuts and bruises, bite marks circling his neck.
His lungs beg for fresh air. He swallows handfuls and handfuls of the winter air, telling himself that if he were to stop now, then he would catch him. A merciless man who thrives off the pain of others. He tore him down, stripped him of who he once was, and turned him into a doll perfect for this monster. He managed to escape by seducing this monster, pretending to be a puppet on a string. Hot shame boiled in his body as he did so, but if he didn’t, he would still be trapped underground.
He hears the crunching of snow behind him and he wails. His soul demands him to go further. To run to the highest mountain and get lost in the blasting snow storms. He knows he shouldn’t, but he chances a glance over his shoulder.
The monster is hot on his tail. The white of his eyes show, his veins pulsing out of his orbs. He roars in laughter, his large body coming closer and closer. His body trembles in pure ecstasy. He loves the chase. He loves the hunt.
He loves seeing the fear in his victim’s eyes.
He screams once he sees how close the monster was and pushes himself forward. His body is exhausted. His heart overexterted. The muscles in his calves are overworked and nonexistent, but he goes on. He hasn’t seen his family in months. He misses his parents. Misses his friends. Misses who he once was.
Sadly, he slips on ice.
He lands directly on his back, the air leaving his lungs. He gasps and gasps, thrashing against the frozen floor. He attempts to get back up, but the exhaustion finally catches up with his body. It’s tired, and it doens’t want to move. His legs tingle and fall numb, unable to even twitch. He fights with himself, managing to get onto his elbows and crawl forward. The road is right there. He’s so close.
But then the monster hovers over him, a cruel smile on his face.
“Got ya.”
Peter attends one of the top universities in New York. He got in on a full-ride scholarship, not having to spend a single penny on the expensive school. He excitedly walks around the campus, attending his classes. He’s the first to raise his hand to answer questions. Every single time, he gets it right. Peter pays attention during lectures, typing in notes. He studies his textbook, highlighting sections and quotes. He’s pulled all nighters to pass his tests and quizzes. During projects, he puts in most of the effort, making sure his group passes with flying colors. Every quarter, Peter checks his updated grades, but they never change. How can an A + turn any higher?
His girlfriend, MJ, attends university with him. She’s a sweet girl. Red, soft hair with bangs resting on her milky skin, freckles decorating her nose and cheeks. When she laughs, it sends an arrow straight through his heart. Her blue eyes shine brightly with love for him, and he knows by the time they finish school, he’s going to take her to the beach and propose to her. The love of his life.
They both graduated from the same high school. The moment the caps flew into the air, he wrapped his arms around her small waist and pulled her in for a kiss. She sighed happily, her arms hanging loosely on his shoulders. She pressed her forehead against his and laughed, excited for the next chapter of their lives to begin. Hand in hand, together.
Life is going great. Peter is attending the school of his dreams with the woman of his dreams. He’s in his sophom*ore year in university, busting his ass off to keep up with the high demand of his AP classes. He’s in a couple of school clubs. He works on campus. He’s soon going to do an internship at Alchemx. Everything is going amazing!
But if things are going so well at school, then why is there a problem?
Well, Miguel O’Hara—Mr. O’Hara—is the problem.
Ever since he started attending his class, he’s been failing. The professor is a tough man. He’s in his mid-forties. White streaks in his brown hair. His dark eyes are tired, his expression stone cold. A stubbornness set in his sharp jaw. He doesn’t hesitate to put his students in their place and assign extra homework when he feels like they’re being too dumb. Mr. O’Hara is cruel, but he’s a smart man. The framed degrees on his walls prove it.
Peter stands in front of the door, hesitating to step inside. Mr. O’Hara for some reason has had his focus solely on him. Calls on Peter when he doesn’t raise his hand. Hover over him as he does his lecture, watching him as he writes down notes. His rough hands will lightly graze over his back, or the pads of his long fingers tickle the back of his neck. Peter at first thought he was imagining it. The touches of his professor were light and almost ghost-like, and he was afraid that if he said something, his professor would yell at him for accusing him of something he didn’t do.
All of Mr. O’Hara’s work is done online. Said it’s easier to access and watch over to make sure no one cheats. Peter is sure he puts in the correct answers. He is sure that he’s soaking up the knowledge of the classroom. But, every time he sees the graded results, his heart sinks into his stomach. Some of the answers were changed to the wrong ones. Every single goddamn time. Peter swears he didn’t put those answers in. He attempted to ask Mr. O’Hara about it one day, but the older man gave him a glare, his lips turning down into a deep frown.
“Are you f*cking implying I changed them, Parker?” he snarled. “It’s not my fault you’re dumb. Say something like that again, and I will have you kicked out. Do I make myself clear?”
Peter shrank in on himself, missing the way Mr. O’Hara’s eyes lit up with a cruel glee. “I-I understand, sir. I’m sorry.”
But Peter knows he didn’t click on those answers. Peter is a smart cookie and his memory is perfect. Attending Mr. O’Hara’s class had put him in a haze. He constantly doubts himself. He pulls at his hair, tears streaming down his face as he stares at the 40-50 percentages on his work. He’ll stare at the correct answers, his heart telling him he did choose those. But, Mr. O’Hara doesn’t make mistakes. He’s on tenure, for god’s sake.
Mr. O’Hara knows what he’s doing.
Peter is passing every one of his classes except for Miguel’s. The older man teaches advanced bio-chemistry/engineering. There’s another professor who teaches the same class, but her seats were filled up, so Peter had no choice but to sign up for Mr. O’Hara’s reluctantly. He had seen the reviews about the older man, saw the ‘🚩DO NOT ATTEND IF YOU DON’T WANT TO COMMIT SUICIDE 🚩’. And the worst part? Mr. O’Hara f*cking liked the review. He heart reacted to every negative review about him. This man has absolutely no care in the world.
But Peter knew he had to attend his class. It was required.
It’s nearing the end of the semester and it’s not looking good. Peter needs to pass his class in order to make it to the second semester, and to keep his scholarship. If he fails Mr. O’Hara’s class, he’ll lose the scholarship and he’ll have to go back home. His only family is his aunt May and she was so happy for him when she found out he worked hard enough to earn a scholar-ship, along with stellar recommendations from all of his professors.
How would she feel if he failed? He doesn’t want to break her heart.
Peter takes a deep breath and enters the classroom. He’s five minutes early, and there’s only a couple of other students sitting at their seats. Mr. O’Hara isn’t here yet. He relaxes a bit, his nerves tingling slightly. He sits at his seat, which is in the front row and directly in front of the professor’s desk. He takes out his laptop and logs in, praying this class will go well.
“Come on you slu*t,” Miguel growled, shoving his co*ck down his student’s throat, “if you want to pass, then you have to f*cking sallow.” She gags around his girthy co*ck, trying to pull away, but he keeps a firm grip in her hair, forcing her to stay in place. Her name is June and she’s in her last year at university. Miguel has had his eye on her since her freshman year. Her curvy body almost taunted him for two years. The soft bounce of her breasts, her shining red lips, how her ass seemed to stretch out anything she wore. It tortured him, but he knew if he wanted his way with her, he'd have to wait for her to take his class. He waited patiently, in pure agony, for her to attend his class, and once she did, he made sure to make life a living hell for her.
He called her out during lectures for not paying attention. He’ll make her stand up and declare her stupidity. But, she’ll say it with a hardened gaze, her eyes gleaming in defiance. It made his heart swell. Because he knows once he’s through with her, her green eyes will be empty, void of life. He mocked her for getting poor grades, using her work as an example of what not to do. June spoke up for herself every time, and every time, his dick twitched in his pants. He couldn’t want to wipe that defiant look off her face.
He couldn't wait to destroy her.
June had a reputation on campus for being a whor*. Passed around at parties, doing the college football team, flirting with professors to get her grades up. Those are only rumors, of course. Whether they’re true or not, Miguel will find out personally for himself.
June wore pretty little skirts and tight tops. She was proud of her body. She loved herself. And Miguel wanted to tear her down. Miguel wanted her to hate herself and stare at her body with visible disgust. He waited so patiently for his turn with her. The moment he got her alone in his office during ‘office hours’, he didn’t hesitate to shove her down on his desk and rip off her clothes. He ignored her pleas and sobs and raped her.
Miguel took perfect advantage of her. Any student of his he finds attractive, he takes his time breaking them down before they’re begging on their knees for help. June is— was —a smart student. But his class proved to be too advanced for her. He didn’t have to mess with her grades for her to start failing on her own. She asked for help quite nicely, even if she didn’t want to. He was an ass to her and the last thing she wanted to do was to ask for his help. But, she needed to pass his class. June always carried herself with confidence. She tried to act as if she didn’t care what people had to say about her.
So when he had her bent over his desk, stuffing her full of his co*ck, he laughed at her pathetic state. She was crying, pleading for him to stop. She said it hurt. Miguel is fully aware of how large his co*ck is. He liked prepping his students to take him well, but since she was so defiant and a f*cking bitch, he knew she deserved this. Blood dripped down her legs with each thrust and he shoved her torn up clothes into her mouth to silence her screams.
Junior year was hell for her as it was for her this year. He threatened to get her kicked out if she tried reporting him or switching classes. He also took pictures and videos of her, locking her securly down in his grasp. She’s under his control and he loves it. She no longer wears slu*tty clothes. She wears baggy sweatpants and hoodies. She even stopped taking showers in hopes he’ll stop. But he doesn’t stop.
He never will.
June is choking around his co*ck, tears streaming down her blotchy face as she struggles to take him. His sticky cum drips down her throat and she swallows, trembling. Miguel groans, enjoying the suctioning of her lips around his thick co*ck. Once she milked him dry, he pushed her away. She falls onto the floor, gasping for air. He tucks himself away and buckles his pants, staring down at her in disgust.
“Put your clothes back on and get out of here. And make sure to come back Thursday for your five o’clock tutoring session,” he grins cruelly. “Make sure to wear what I got you. Otherwise you’ll end up in my closet.” His closet is something none of the students he f*cks don’t want to be in. There’s chains, whips, gags, sex toys—almost everything in there. The last two students who disobeyed him were bound and gagged in there, a vibrator pressed against their holes and left in there for hours. He happily sat at his desk, completing his work, listening to their cries.
June is sobbing, crawling around on the floor as she gathers her clothes. Her body is covered in bruises and scratches. There’s noticeable scars from last year, from when he really enjoyed hurting her. He lands a hard smack on her ass, watching the soft flesh jiggle, biting down on his lip when she wails. “Y-Yes, Mr. O’Hara.”
“And don’t be late like you were today. You have no idea how much you f*cking pissed me off.”
Miguel slams the door close behind him, heading to his classroom. He pushes his glasses up on his face, running his fingers through his hair. He’s worked at this university for over twenty years, having gone on tenure during his twelfth year. Miguel didn’t start having sex with his students until he secured the tenure spot. It hurt him physically. He wanted desperately to shove them against his desk, the wall, or lay them out on the floor and f*ck them until they couldn’t walk anymore. He didn’t care whether or not they wanted it.
Miguel cared if he himself wanted it.
Additionally, he worked hard to have an influence over the school. The headmaster is wrapped around his finger. It never mattered what Miguel did. He can full on murder a student and the school will work hard to cover it up and keep him in his teaching position. It’s been done before.
It can most certainly happen again.
An air of arrogance radiates from his body as he takes long strides to his classroom. The moment he enters, all his students fall silent, eyes on him.
His dark gaze slowly runs over the students, lingering on Peter B. Parker.
Peter B. Parker.
Peter B. Parker.
God, how he wants him. Miguel remembers the first time he saw him in his classroom. It was the start of sophom*ore year for Peter. He sat in the front row excitedly, a stupid grin on his jovial face. His eyes shone with pure glee. He wears cute sweaters and plaid pants. His brown hair is constantly a mess. Miguel took his time figuring him out. He’s impressed by what his professors had to say about him. Peter passed every test, excelled during lectures, and even went the extra mile for homework/projects.
Peter is a smart man. He got into this university on a full ride. If he happens to fail any of his classes, he’ll lose it and be sent home. Miguel knows that’s the last thing Peter wants. He looked into his home life and saw how dirt poor he and his aunt were. He bites back a smirk as he walks to his desk.
Miguel purposely messed with his work one day, changing his answers and lowering his grades. Every time Peter entered class after that, he had doubt in his eyes, along with a burning determination to do better. And every single time, Miguel destroyed it, watching how his jovial student turned nervous and upset. He’ll purposely stand behind Peter during his lectures, giving him feather touches. He studied his expression carefully, daring him to say something. But he never did. Peter looked like he was about to lose his mind every time and he loved it.
Miguel can’t wait to utterly ruin his life. He’ll end up as one of the many students in his grasp, who have no choice but to come to his office and take whatever he gives them. Miguel is either very kind or very cruel, and never the latter. Sometimes he thinks about putting Peter in the closet and leaving him there, only bringing him out to feed him.
Like having a little pet.
Today, he’s wearing a light blue sweater with dark plaid pants, and Miguel imagines how stupid he’ll look bouncing on his co*ck, the sweater around his shoulders as he watches his soft skin jiggle and recoil with each thrust. Miguel is going to have him. Finals are near and he plans on failing him.
Unless Peter comes up to him, asking for help, he will fail him and get him kicked out.
Peter types down the notes into his computer as Mr. O’Hara’s voice booms into the classroom. He’s reading from their textbook, eyes scanning the words as he paces around the students. His brow is co*cked slightly. He walks slowly between the rows, going on and going about whatever is in the book. Peter’s fingers slowly type away at the keyboard. He’s trying to pay attention, but he keeps going to the open tab with his grades. He stares at the big fat ‘F’ that haunts his dreams. He’s trembling in his seat, tears threatening to fall.
Mr. O’Hara’s voice slowly fades away due to his pounding heart. His skin is ice, his hands numb. Peter grits his teeth, fighting to keep a cool composure.
Peter needs to pass this class. There’s no way he can fail. He’s worked so hard to get into this school. He spent sleepless nights thinking about this school. He wanted a good career and to make something of himself. His dream is to work at Alchemx and help save people from deadly diseases. If he’s kicked out, there’s no way he can achieve his dreams. Besides, he worked hard for this. Being kicked out will absolutely shatter him.
He places his face into his hands, trembling. His heart is threatening to break apart on him. He already sees the disappointed look in aunt May’s face. The sorrow and anguish. She’s the one who pushed him to better himself in life. She doesn’t have long on earth, and her goal for him is to make something of himself and bring in a steady income so he doesn’t suffer when she’s gone. Peter peers out through his fingers at the screen. If only he could stick his hand into the screen and change the ‘F’ into an ‘A+’ to match with the rest of the grades.
Unfortunately, he didn’t notice Mr. O’Hara hovering behind him, staring at his screen.
“Parker, are you not paying attention?” the professor growled, grabbing his lap top and bringing it to his face. Peter gasps in horror, trying to take his laptop back, but the man twists his body away. He laughs. “Aw, poor baby! Failing so f*cking miserably in my class.” He slams the laptop down on his desk, leaning down around his body to stare at his face. Peter shrinks in on himself from his gaze. Mr. O’Hara’s eyes burn with rage and cruel glee, a smirk on his face. “If you tell me what I was just talking about, I won’t break your f*cking laptop.”
Peter’s stomach twists. “B-Break my laptop? Sir, you can’t—”
“Tell me, Parker, what I was just lecturing in class,” Mr. O’Hara snarled.
Peter winces from the harshness of his words. He closes his eyes, wracking through his memory. But due to the panic of failing, he can’t remember what Mr. O’Hara was saying. He grabs his laptop quickly and hugs it close to his body, shaking in fear.
“I-I’m sorry, sir. Please! I promise I won’t slack off again. Please—” Peter is cut off when he feels Mr. O’Hara’s large hand lightly brush against his crotch. Tendrils of disgust crawled up his body, his stomach leaping. His eyes widen and he snaps his head up. Did he just touch him? But when he looks at his hands, they’re on his desk, gripping the edges. No, no. He swears he just touched him. Or was he imagining it? “I won’t let it happen again..I swear..”
Mr. O’Hara huffs, straightening himself up. “You will stay after class is over. We have urgent matters to discuss, Parker,” he snapped, a bit of spit landing on Peter’s face. Peter flinches, nodding. He opens his laptop back up and goes back to his note page.
Mr. O’Hara returns to walking around the class, eyes on every screen to make sure no one is making the same mistake he did. Peter types his notes again, a lump in his throat. There’s no way he imagined that. Mr. O’Hara’s hand touched his crotch. He shivers in pure disgust, wanting to run and hide. But what if he didn’t? What if it was him who accidentally touched himself?
Only Peter knows what his hand feels like. His hand is slimmer and soft. Mr. O’Hara’s hand is overwhelmingly huge and calloused. Peter breathes a bit heavily, a couple of tears trickling down his cheeks. He pushes away the thoughts and solely focuses on the lecture, telling himself everything will be okay.
An hour and forty five minutes later, class is over. Peter is slumped over in his chair, anxiety wracking through his body. Mr. O’Hara is sitting at his desk, scrolling through his computer and sending out a couple of emails. The class is emptying one by one, every student eager to leave his class. Peter wishes he was among the crowd. He wanted one of his classmates to take him by the hand and drag him out. Soon, it’s just him and Mr. O’Hara.
Alone.
“Come here, Parker,” the older man said coldly, not bothering to look up from his screen. Peter shoves his things into his backpack and slowly walks up to the desk, gulping.
“Sir, if it’s about earlier, I—”
“Did I say you can speak?” Mr. O’Hara snapped, whipping his glasses off his face and glaring up at Peter. He instantly silences, cowering in on himself. The older man clears his throat, turning his screen around to show Peter. It has his scores. He scrolls through past tests and quizzes. He shows him his homework he failed miserably on. “I have to say, you disappoint me. The beginning of the year, you were doing so well. You passed everything with flying colors. What the hell happened?”
You happened, you jackass . “I-I don’t know,” Peter whimpers, hot shame burning through his body. “I honestly don’t know.”
Miguel leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t speak for a moment. His dark eyes glare at Peter, getting angrier and angrier by the moment. “I might as well fail you now. Obviously you won’t pass the final. You’re a lost cause, Parker. And you disgust me. I don’t want you in my class anymore.”
Panic tears through his body. “N-No! Sir, please!” Peter says, tears welling up in his eyes. “You can’t do that. Please!”
“Why? Scared you’ll lose your scholarship?” Mr. O’Hara clicks his tongue. He shuts off his computer and stands up, beginning to gather his things. “Should’ve thought about that before you started slacking off in class.”
Peter’s heart drops to his stomach. He never once slacked off in class. He always paid attention. He took detailed notes. He chose the correct answers. Everything is beginning to fall apart. He slowly looks down at his feet, shuddering out a breath. Peter’s body is light as air. A slight ringing echoes in his ears, tears pricking at his eyes. He can’t. He can’t fail. He refuses to lose everything he worked so hard on.
“A-Any chance I can earn extra credit? Or do you have a study session I can do with you?” Peter begs, following after Mr. O’Hara when he begins heading towards the door. “Sir, please, I’m desperate!” He sounds utterly pathetic and hopeless, he knows that. But he’s scared and hurt. “Please, I’m begging you.”
Mr. O’Hara stood still, his broad back facing him. Peter doesn’t see the cruel smile on his face. Doesn’t see how his dark eyes light up in glee. “You know I don’t give hands out that easily, Parker. Especially to dumbasses like you.”
“I-I know, sir, but I promise you, it’ll be worth your time. I won’t let you down!”
Mr. O’Hara bites back a laugh. He sighs, shaking his head. “Fine. This weekend, I’ll pick you up from your dorm room. There's a cafe I like to go to to do my work. It’s right on the outskirts of the city. We’ll go there and focus on improving your grades.”
Peter nearly collapses in relief. He cries a bit, his heart swelling with joy. “Thank you so much! Mr. O’Hara, I promise you won’t regret this.”
If only Peter knew what his true intentions were with him.
Peter is laying on his small mattress with MJ right on top of him. Her cheek is pressed into his chest, listening to his heart beat. Peter nuzzles his nose into her soft hair, his fingers carressing her back. It’s moments like these that reminds him why he’s still alive. MJ. His beautiful MJ. He remembered being so nervous to ask her out to prom, considering Flash asked her out at the same time. But she didn’t hesitate to choose him. Her face beamed happily, as if she waited for that moment with him her entire life.
Peter pushes her hair back to kiss her forehead a couple of times, smiling against her skin. “I love you so much.”
MJ giggles. She rests her chin on his chest, peering up into his eyes. “I love you more, my handsome nerd.”
My handsome nerd. His heart swells in his chest. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her in for a tender kiss. They stay like that for a moment, right before his phone dings.
Mr. O’Hara
I’m here.
You have five minutes.
Peter sighs, laying his head against the pillow. He almost forgot about the tutoring session he has with his professor. As grateful as he is, he’s nervous. He’s going to spend his Saturday afternoon with the professor who makes his life a living hell. Peter gently pushes MJ onto his mattress, sitting up.
“I’m sorry, babe. Mr. O’Hara is here to pick me up.”
MJ watches him uneasily. She sees how tense her boyfriend is becoming. She purses her lips, sitting up and bringing his pillow into her lap. Peter is gathering his things, checking his backpack to make sure he has everything.
“Peter, do you want me to go with you?” MJ asks quietly. Seeing his pale face is making her stomach twist. “You look very uncomfortable.”
Peter shakes his head. He slips his backpack on, sliding into his fuzzy slippers. “I appreciate it, love, but I’ll be fine.”
MJ lays her head into the pillow. She looks unsure. “Just…text me when you get there, okay?”
“I promise.” Peter gives her a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you later tonight. There’s like forty dollars in my drawer. Make sure there’s pizza when I come back.”
MJ smiles. “I’ll order the extra cheesy pizza just for you.”
Peter is out the door, closing it shut. He quickly jogs down the stairs and out the dorms. He crosses through campus to the street, spotting Mr. O’Hara’s grey and silver car. The professor is chilling in his seat, scrolling through his phone. Peter lets out a deep breath and knocks on the passenger car window. Mr. O’Hara raises a brow at him and unlocks the doors, gesturing for him to come in.
“I was about to drive off,” Mr. O’Hara grumbled.
“Ah, sorry, sir. I was just saying goodbye to my girlfriend,” Peter apologized. He puts his backpack in the back. He notices how bare and empty Mr. O’Hara’s car is. Where is his bag?
“She’s the pretty redhead, right?” Mr. O’Hara asked, starting up the car and driving away.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“She’s visited the classroom to give you gifts a couple of times before,” Mr. O’Hara said flatly. Though he didn’t mind seeing MJ. She has a perky ass.
“Oh, right.”
“It’s going to be a long drive and I don’t do idle chit chat. Put on some headphones or something. And don’t look at me. Your face freaks me out.”
Peter nods and puts in his ear buds. He lays his forehead against the cool glass, listening to the playlist MJ made for him. His head slightly bounces due to the vibrations of the car. He watches as they leave the bustling city and onto the highway. He peers over at Mr. O’Hara’s phone that rests on the dashboard. It’s showing him directions to the cafe. Peter smiles to himself, feeling giddy all of a sudden. All the nervousness washed away to be replaced with relief.
Peter is going to bust his ass off during this tutoring session. He will prove to Mr. O’Hara he’s a hard working, dedicated student.
Miguel knew he wasn’t normal from about the age of five. He stood at the edge of his pool, watching a bunny drown. The poor thing accidentally fell in. His little face studied the creature’s movements, its reactions, its final moments before falling still, lungs and belly filling with water and sinking to the bottom. Any normal kid would freak out and jump in after the bunny, attemping to save its life. But for Miguel, he found the drowning bunny to be amusing.
Later on in the day, he discovered the bunny was a mother. He found her burrow by the fence. He scooped the babies up and tossed them into the water. The baby bunnies mewled in distress, tiny feet kicking wildly in the water. His little hand reached into the water and pushed one down. He held it under water, expression unchanging, and felt it go limp in his hand.
“Miggy?” Conchata, his mother, asked worriedly. “What…What are you doing?”
“Playing,” he said simply.
Miguel abused his first girlfriend during his college years. He pursued—stalked—her. He thought she was beautiful. Thought she would’ve looked wonderful on his arm. He kept following her around, waiting outside her dormroom, even finding out where her parents lived. Not that she knew, of course. She lived blissfully unaware of his actions. He asked her out during winter break and she happily accepted, not knowing what he had in store for her.
Miguel loved control. Control brings him great pleasure. Every aspect of her life, he controlled. From the style of her hair down to the style of her shoe. Wasn’t allowed to have friends. Minimal contact with her family. Hell, he made sure she spoke only twice to her professors. He’s a huge man, and he used it to his advantage against her. Her feelings didn’t matter to him. Only he mattered to him. Miguel broke her down into his own personal puppet.
Until one day, he accidentally broke her.
Miguel dragged her away from one of the parties they attended. He didn’t care about the attention they received from it. He dragged her off to the nearby woods. He shoved her against a tree and screamed at her. About what? God, it was a long time ago. He doens’t remember for christ’s sake. But he remembers the anger. The pure rage boiling through his body. Cold, fiery ice pulsing through his veins. What did she do to make him angry? Who knows.
All he knows is that after he was done with her, she was laying limp on the floor, her ribcage collapsed in on itself. Miguel didn’t mean to kill her. The bitch made him so angry, he must’ve blacked out during his rage episode. Of course it’s her fault. Miguel didn’t do anything wrong.
In his eyes, he can never do wrong.
Miguel went straight to his father, his real father Tyler Stone, about this little issue. Tyler Stone at the time had the police department, city hall, the people—everyone underneath his fat thumb. He easily took care of the problem.
Easily.
Miguel committed murder by accident…who's to say he can’t do it on purpose? His father is in control of the city. He can do anything.
In his lifeless eyes, everyone is like the baby bunnies he drowned in the pool. Weak, helplessly, and utterly useless. Over the course of five years, Miguel committed plenty of murders. He wore different sized shoes each time at the crime scene. Left behind different hair strands. He cut off the hand of a man he held captive and left fingerprints everywhere. Miguel entered the lives of many as one person, and left their lives as someone completely different.
A Fiend.
Miguel believed himself a fiend. He enjoyed the pain and suffering of others. And he will never stop his reign. Not until he’s 6 feet beneath the ground.
Miguel had finished burying June’s body in the ground before he picked up Peter. Yes, the freezing ground of December. She missed her Thursday session, and that was the final straw. He followed her after her late night shift from a bad part of the city and suffocated her in a dark alleyway. He took her body deep in the middle of the words and spent all night digging a deep hole. He tossed her body in and filled it back up. Soon, it’ll snow again, and the snow will cover the spot.
Miguel trembles in excitement as he drives Peter further and further away from campus. Is he truly so gullible? Does he really believe Miguel is taking him to a cafe on the outskirts of the city? What a fool. A cute, dick twitching fool.
Miguel is taking him to the woods. He’s going to park in his favorite spot and rape Peter. He doesn’t care how much Peter cries and pleads. He waited all semester for this. He’s not going to waste his chance with his student. As long as Peter doesn’t try to escape, he’ll live.
But that’s all up to his student.
Peter is bobbing his head to the beat of the music playing from the playlist, tonguing the inside of his cheek. His hands tap against his thighs lightly, sometimes coming up to the air to bang against air drums. They’re about forty-five minutes out now. MJ texted every now and then, checking in on him, and he happily replied to his girlfriend.
Peter is truly grateful for this opportunity given to him. He swore to his Aunt May and his deceased Uncle Ben that he’ll become a man they’ll be proud of. He smiles to himself, gushing over fond memories when Mr. O’Hara takes an exit. He sits up straight, excited, ready to park right outside the cafe and stretch his legs out. But he notices Mr. O’Hara took another exit and turned on a winding road that turned dirt, heading into a forest. His eyes peer over to his professor’s phone and he realizes it’s off.
“Uh, Mr. O’Hara?” Peter quietly asked, removing his headphones. “Is this the right way to the cafe?”
“No,” Mr. O’Hara states simply, his voice eerily calm.
“...are we lost?”
“No.”
“Mr. O’Hara—” Peter is cut off when a large hand squeezes his inner thigh. His breath shudders, shaky eyes slowly trailing down to look at Mr. O’Hara’s large hand on his thigh. It completely engulfs his thigh. His pinky lightly brushes against his crotch and he jumps in his seat.
“We’re not going to the cafe, Parker,” Mr. O’Hara coos, his dark eyes glancing over at him.
A cold feeling sinks into his constricting chest. Peter gulps, trying to remove his professor’s hand off his thigh, but the grip tightens.
“I-I wanna go back to my dorm.”
“Too late,” Mr. O’Hara said.
“Listen, I’m not gay—”
“And that’s my problem, because?” Mr. O’Hara asks teasingly. He continues to drive them further into the woods. The trees, though stark and barren, grow thicker together. The wood curls in on each other, hiding the sky and sun from view. He doesn’t stop driving until they’re away from the cars. The people. Anyone who could save Peter.
“This isn’t funny, Mr. O’Hara!” Peter says, his voice high pitched and cracking. Fear is settling into his body now. His veins are icy cold, his heart beating fast in his chest. There’s a slight ringing in his ears and the world is spinning. “I want to go back now!”
Mr. O’Hara slams on the break harshly. Peter is thrown forward, his seatbelt catching him right before his head slammed into the dashboard. He puts the car in park, unbuckling his seatbelt. He shifts his large, muscular body to face him. There’s a cruel twinkle in his brown eyes and his lips turn upwards into an inhuman smile.
“Parker, don’t you realize that if you fail my class, you will lose your scholarship.” He leans forward, getting close to Peter. Peter leans against the car door, cowering in on himself. Mr. O’Hara doesn’t stop until their foreheads touch. From this close up, he can see the craziness in his eyes. The bloodthirsty lust. “Everything you worked hard for will be for nothing . You will become a failure in your aunt’s eyes, and there’s no way you can afford this college on your own. You are dirt poor. You are a f*cking disgrace. Honestly? The school should’ve never let you in, no matter how smart you are. Because. You. Are. f*cking. Disgusting.”
Peter trembles, tears trickling down his reddened cheeks. The degradation is like multiple rounds of bullets being shot into his chest. Except he’s not dying. “S-Stop.”
“Stop?” Mr. O’Hara mocks his frightened tone. “You want me to stop, Petey? Oh, poor baby!” Mr. O’Hara grabs him by the throat and squeezes. “If you want to make your aunt proud, you will let me rape you.”
Peter chokes, his hands reaching up to grab Mr. O’Hara’s wrists. Miguel sees how small and delicate Peter’s hands are, and it makes his dick twitch. He’s painfully hard from the state Peter is in, and he wants more. He squeezes harder, expecting an answer.
“Well?” he snarls.
“O-Okay!” Peter chokes out, his face a bit purple.
“Good.” Mr. O’Hara lets go of him.
Peter is gasping for air, his hands lightly holding his neck. This is the last thing he expected. He truly believed Mr. O’Hara was going to take him for a study session to help bring his grades up. But no. He was wrong. So painfully wrong. As much as Peter wants to get out and run, he needs to pass. He needs to stay at this school. Aunt May is so proud of him.
And who is he to break her heart?
Mr. O’Hara unbunckles his seatbelt and reaches an arm over to let his seat fall back. Peter yelps, his head lightly smacking the headrest. In a instant, Mr. O’Hara is on top of him. His large body pins Peter’s frail body against the seat. His thick lips crash against Peter’s and he makes muffled sounds of protests. He doesn’t try to fight, though, as he knows his scholarship is riding on this.
Mr. O’Hara licks into his mouth, moaning, grabbing his wrists with one hand and pinning them above his head. His tongue is hot in Peter’s wet mouth. He tastes the strawberry drink he had earlier and he grinds his clothed raging boner against Peter’s thigh. Peter squirms beneath his body, wet noises leaving from their combined lips.
For months, Miguel wanted this. Wanted Peter trapped beneath him, unable to do anything as he does everything to him. His hand slips beneath his sweater and feels his body up. Peter’s body is soft and delicate, nearly feminine. He tears himself off his lips to kiss his neck. He bites and sucks, leaving purple marks on his shivering flesh.
“Mr. O’Hara—”
“Miguel,” he growled against his neck, licking from the base of his throat to his ear. “Call me Miguel.”
“Miguel,” Peter whines. “This is too much!”
Miguel leans above him, smiling cruelly. “Aww, don’t tell me Petey is a virgin. You can’t tell me you haven’t banged that hot girlfriend of yours. I bet her puss* tastes good, huh? Or you’re too innocent to eat puss* like a real man?”
Peter glares at him. “Don’t talk about MJ.”
Miguel chuckles. “Oh, tough guy now, eh?” He lifts his sweater up, exposing his upper body. His pudgy belly is trembling, his chest heaving in and out. Miguel laughs humorlessly, his voice raspy. “What a pathetic body. You look like a girl, you know that, right? A pretty little girl. Bet if you had a puss* it’ll be nice and tight and unable to take my co*ck.”
Peter cringes, squeezing his eyes shut. His cheeks burn bright red in embarrassment. “Please, don’t talk like that. It’s disgusting.”
“Disgusting, hm?” Miguel yanks Peter’s pants and boxers down. His hard co*ck springs up. It’s a bit thin and no more than six inches. “Now this is disgusting.” Miguel slaps his co*ck a couple of times and Peter cries out in pain. “You’re my little bitch now. My pretty little girl.”
Miguel lets go of his wrists to tear off Peter’s clothes. Peter panics, fighting against him, but Miguel slaps him in the face. Peter gasps, his cheek stinging and welting up almost immediately. He holds his cheek, sobbing.
“What a pathetic bitch,” Miguel purrs. He leans down to suck on his nipples. He rolls the buds between his teeth, groaning. His hand massages his other pec, making sure to pinch and tug at his nipple. “Pretty breasts for such a pretty girl.” He sucks into the flesh of his chest, leaving marks. There’s no hair on his chest. Not on his stomach. Hell, there’s hardly anything on his face. “My hairless bitch. Oh, I can’t wait to f*ck you dumb.”
Miguel sits up a bit on Peter’s lap, unbuckling his pants and pulling out his monster co*ck. Peter’s eyes widened in utter horror. Miguel is ten inches in length, his girth thick. Veins pulse out from his shaft. The tip of his co*ck is an angry shade of red and is leaking precum. Miguel moves to sit in the driver’s seat, slowly pumping himself, a cruel smile on his face.
“Be a good little girl and suck my co*ck, Petey.”
“Miguel, that’s too big—”
“Now.”
Peter flinches from the harshness of his tone. He slowly nods his head, shifting his body and leaning down until he’s face to face with Miguel’s giant co*ck. Heat radiates from the dick and Peter hesitantly wraps his fingers around it. He shudders in pure disgust, fighting the urge to gag. He peers up at Miguel through his wet lashes. The older man is waiting patiently, his dark eyes swirling with lust. But he can be patient for only so long.
Peter closes his eyes and wraps his lips around the head, tongue swiping out to lick the precum. He nearly pukes from the taste, but he fights against it. Miguel settles against the car door, his hands reaching down to stroke Peter’s back.
Peter has never sucked co*ck before in his life. Usually, he’s the one receiving head from MJ or he’s eating her puss*. He never had keen interest in sucking another man’s co*ck. His heart was on MJ and MJ only. As he slowly suctions the tip, he feels like he’s betraying his girlfriend at the moment. His sweet, beautiful MJ.
He strokes his dry hand up and down Miguel’s co*ck as his mouth focuses on his head and he receives a hard slap to the side of his head.
“Spit on your hand,” the older man hissed. Peter does exactly as he said, and this time, as he strokes Miguel, his hand glides up and down easier. “Take more of me into your mouth, slu*t.”
Peter whimpers, pushing his mouth further down on Miguel. The older man moans, his fingers entangling into his hair. He’s now moving his head up and down for him, not giving him a choice in the matter. His co*ck makes his cheeks puff out, drool dribbling down the corners of his mouth. Miguel’s co*ck is warm and hot, the veins pusling against his tongue and the roof of his mouth. More tears trickle down his cheeks as Miguel pushes his head down further on his co*ck.
The tip of his co*ck pokes his gag reflex and he tries to pull away, but the grip Miguel has on his head is strong. He forces his head up and down quickly, not caring if Peter is struggling to keep up. He breathes through his nose, trying to focus on anything else. But each time the fat tip touches his uvula, he gags, choking on his co*ck. It’s not until he makes a watery noise that Miguel throws him off. His bare back hits the car door and he yelps, pain radiating from his back.
“You’re so f*cking pathetic,” Miguel growled. His co*ck twitches angrily, agreeing with him. “What kind of bitch can’t handle her co*ck?”
“I-I’ve never done this before,” Peter whispers, feeling small.
Miguel runs his thick fingers through his hair, raising a brow. “A little virgin, that’s right.” He grins, licking his lips. “I’ll be taking your virginity, right? Your ass virginity?”
Peter looks away in shame. “...t-that’s right…”
Miguel claps his hands loudly, whooping. “That’s right! My pretty little vixen, come kiss me.” Peter crawls into his lap and kisses him hesitantly on the lips. Miguel closes his eyes and places his index finger and thumb on his chin, holding him in place as he kisses him back. He moans into the kiss, his other hand touching the small of his back and pressing him against him.
Peter is disgusted with himself. Here he is, naked and sitting on his professor’s lap, allowing the older man to degrade and take advantage of him. With every touch Miguel does, he wants to shed his skin until he’s pure muscle. Until he forgets what the touch of another human being is like.
Miguel slaps his plump ass a couple of times before pulling away. He points to the glove compartment. “There’s a bottle of lube in there. Fetch.” Peter leans back to open to glove compartment, and notices Miguel’s phone is recording the entire f*cking thing. He springs up, sheidling his body.
“You’re recording this!?” he yelps.
Miguel wraps his large hand around his co*ck and squeezes it harshly. “Yup. Now get the lube, my little virgin, or I’m going to f*cking hurt you.” He squeezes his hand tighter and Peter cries out in pain.
“Okay! Okay!” he cries. He opens the compartment and rummages through it. He finds a bottle of water-based lubricant and pulls it out. He hands it over to Miguel, who still has a strong grip on his co*ck. “Here! Just please, stop squeezing me!”
Miguel gives his small co*ck a couple more squeezes before letting go. He shoves Peter down onto his seat, settling between his legs. Miguel looks huge and awkward between the glove compartment and the space in front of the chair. His knees ache, but he doesn’t care. He waited so long for this moment with Peter. He rests Peter’s legs on his shoulders and opens the bottle. He spreads Peter’s asscheeks apart, exposing his tight little hole. Miguel licks his licks, eyes widening.
“So pretty,” he mumbles, leading down to place a couple kisses on the hole. Peter covers his face in shame, his co*ck twitching. He hates how his body is betraying him at this very moment. His co*ck is painfully hard, precum dripping from his tip. Heat radiates through his body and pools in his lower stomach. He’s covered in sweat.
And he wants to die.
Miguel licks his asshole a couple of times and Peter lets out a small moan. He hopes his professor didn’t hear it, but of course he did.
“Is Petey enjoying himself?” he teases, tilting his head up at him. “You’re such a whor*. I can’t wait to hear your cute little noises as I’m f*cking you dumb.” His finger glides against his tight hole, poking it. “Bet if this was a puss*, you’ll be wet and wide open for me. Hm? Don’t you agree?” Miguel laughs darkly, licking his asshole again. “My pretty girl.”He takes a moment to stare up at his soft, delicate body. His body is truly feminine. “My Petey.”
Miguel hovers the bottle of lube a couple of inches above Peter’s taint and squeezes the bottle. Peter shivers as the cold lube trickles down his taint and onto his asshole. Miguel produced enough lube to force two fingers in.
“Ow! Miguel!” Peter cried, his back arching off the chair. “T-That hurt!”
“I know.”
Miguel twirls his two digits in Peter’s asshole and stretches the tight hole open. He places the tip of the bottle between his fingers and pours lube directly into his asshole.
“Ngh!” Peter grunts, his right eye twitching. The lube turns warm within seconds in his asshole. Miguel smiles and begins pumping his digits in and out.
“Perfect. Now you feel like a tight puss*,” he teases. His dark eyes look at his co*ck and he slowly licks his lips. He places the lube in a cup holder and grabs Peter’s co*ck, placing it in his mouth.
“Ah~!” Peter gaspsed, his thighs closing in on Miguel’s head. His mouth is warm and wet around his co*ck and he sucks with much vigor. He’s nearly ashasmed of how easily his co*ck fits in his mouth. MJ usually has a bit of a hard time putting his co*ck in his mouth. Miguel is acting as if his co*ck is a f*cking tic-tac.
Peter struggles to contain his moans. Miguel’s two fingers pump in and out of him, curling and uncurling. He licks and sucks on his co*ck, paying extra attention to his tip. The pleasure overwhelms his trembling body and he arches up, screaming out a moan.
Miguel smiles, happily sucking him off. His free hand sqeezes his plush thighs and reaches up to pull and pinch his nipples.
Peter lets out a string of curse words, squirming, his head moving from side to side. He’s about cum when Miguel pulls off his co*ck and yanks his fingers out with a ‘ pop! ’. Peter breathes heavily, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Hmm, Petey, you’re loving this,” Miguel coos, kissing his neck. “Bet you’re going to love my co*ck even more.”
Miguel crawls up Peter’s body, his legs still on his shoulders. He’s practically bent in half at this point. He pours lube onto his hand and strokes his co*ck, spreading the lube all over it. He positions the tip at his hole, a cruel grin on his face. Peter is about to protest and Miguel attempts to shove it in. His hole is a bit too tight and his co*ck slides right up against his dick and balls. Miguel grunts, biting down on his bottom lip. His hand grips the head rest, right next to Peter’s face, and his other one grips his co*ck.
He places it at his entrance again and pushes. “f*ck, your puss* is so f*cking tight!” Peter cries out in pain, his legs kicking. Miguel is forcing his co*ck into his hole. He groans, his eyes twitching. He thrusts his hips a couple of times to get it in. The fat tip slowly slides in, stretching his hole apart. Peter screams, fists pounding the seat. Once the tip is in, Miguel manages to shove himself fully in, bottoming out. “Ugh, f*ck.” He’s panting heavily, sweat dripping off his nose. “Such a tight hole, Petey.”
Miguel begins to pump in and out slowly, his other hand now gripping the head rest. He moves his hips in circles, getting a proper feel of his asshole. He leans down to kiss Peter, licking into his mouth. Peter grips his shoulders, sobbing against his lips from the pain. Miguel smiles, thrusting into him slowly, enjoying his pain. He pulls his head up and smiles in cruel glee.
Peter is trembling in his seat, hot tears streaming down his red cheeks. His jovial student is breaking. He came into the start of his sophom*ore year with a bright smile, shining eyes, and a determined attitude. Now he’s a sobbing mess, becoming undone on his fat co*ck. Miguel lives for moments like these. Something about stripping a person down makes him happy.
Once Peter’s asshole is properly stretched out, he begins to pound into him ruthlessly. He groans, pressing his forehead against Peter’s. He breathes heavily against his face, dark eyes staring into Peter’s.
“You make a good slu*t, you know,” Miguel moaned. His thrusts are forceful and powerful, making his student’s body bounce. “Mm, Petey, you feel so f*cking good.” He licks the sweat off his face. Miguel feels like he’s about to go crazy. “Oh, you’re passing my class. You are definitely f*cking passing this semester.”
Miguel listens to Peter’s cries turn to broken moans. His fat co*ck is rubbing against his prostate and it’s sending waves of pleasure through Peter. He’s ashamed to his very core, but it’s his body’s natural instincts. It’s not like he wants this. Not at all. Peter hates that he’s being forced to do this, but he’s doing this to pass. Miguel spits on his hand and strokes his co*ck.
“Ah! Miguel!” Peter moaned, squirming beneath him.
“Yeah, baby, you like that? Tell me how much you love it,” Miguel growled, nipping on his nose. “I want to hear you scream your love for my co*ck. Remember, your scholarship depends on this.”
Peter squeezes his eyes shut, choking on a sob/moan. “M-Miguel! I love your co*ck so much! Ah~! So full!”
Miguel smiles, pounding into him quicker. “Good baby~ My Petey. My beautiful girl. f*ck, your puss* is driving me up the f*cking walls!” Miguel squeezes and slaps Peter’s co*ck, pinching the head right before going back to stroking him.
Peter kicks his legs, his body bouncing and trashing beneath him. The orgasam from earlier catches up quickly and he cries out as spurts of his cum spills out onto his stomach and chest. Miguel scoops it up into his hand and forces Peter to lick his hand clean. Watching Peter lick his own cum kicks him into overdrive. He brings Peter down a bit and pushes his thighs down against his chest. He f*cks into him fast and sloppily, his moans mixing in with Peter’s cries.
The car shakes back and forth, the windows fogging up. Miguel doesn’t stop until he drops a fat load into Peter’s asshole, filling him up. Peter shakes, crying as he’s filled with his professor’s cum. Miguel licks his lips, dropping into the passenger seat. He lays his forearm against his forehead, sighing.
“f*ck, Petey, you are the best yet,” Miguel breathes out, looking over at Peter. Peter is trembling, hugging himself for comfort. “I can’t wait for more.”
Peter freezes, slowly looking over at him. “M-More? What do you mean, more?”
“This isn’t a one time thing, Petey,” Miguel chuckles darkly. “You are mine now.” He reaches up to grab his phone and stops the recording, shaking it in his hand. “If you even try to report me to the police or the school, I will leak this. That’s a promise.” He tosses his phone into the back seat, patting his lap. “Now, come here, Petey, I want some sugar.”
Peter’s heart is pounding in his ears. It’s bad enough this happened, and he wants more? Miguel O’Hara wants more?
“I-I’m going to be sick,” Peter said, sitting up. He winces, his asshole feeling like it's on fire. Miguel rolls his eyes and pats his lap again.
“I’m not repeating myself.”
Peter begins to hyperventilate, his entire world crashing down on him. A loud ringing pulses in his ears and he groans, hands covering his ears. His vision is blurry and he feels like he can’t breathe.
Miguel watches in content, a small smile on his face. Peter is acting like a small bunny who realized it fell into the wolf’s trap. He begins to reach for Peter, about to pull him into his lap. Peter screams and opens the door, running.
Oh hell no.
Miguel curses under his breath and gets out of the car, chasing after him. Peter is running through the forest, his body hitting the thick trees. He’s sobbing heavily, screaming for help. But due to his sore state, he doesn’t get very far and he’s body slammed into the ground. Miguel flips him onto his back and wraps both of his hands around his neck, his thumbs pressing into his juglar.
All air leaves his lungs and Peter kicks and thrashes his body, eyes bulging out of his head.
“Don’t you see, Parker!” Miguel screams into his face, shaking his head. “This is all your f*cking fault! You tempted me! You did this! This is all your f*cking fault!” He squeezes harder and Peter drools, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, body slowly going limp. “Why do all of you whor*s do this to me? Why! WHY!”
Miguel is seriously thinking about killing Peter. Oh, the anger pouring through his body is unhealthy. He just wants to rip Peter apart with a knife and spread his guts everywhere. But, he was his best f*ck. And too many people saw him leave with Miguel. Reluctantly, he lets go of his throat and stands up.
Peter gasps for air, convusling on the ground as his lungs fill with air again. Miguel grabs him by the hair and drags him back to the car.
“Oh, the plans I have for you, Petey.”
Miguel opens the door to the back seat and tosses Peter on his back. He grabs his thighs and pulls him up to his hips. Miguel’s fat co*ck springs out of his pants and he shoves himself back into Peter’s tight hole. Peter screams, trying to push him off of him.
Miguel has a tight grip on his thighs and wraps Peter’s legs around his waist, f*cking into his wildly and much renewed vigor. The anger he felt when Peter tried running away made all the blood go into his dick. He’ll admit, he loves the chase. Miguel enjoys it when his victims try to run away from him.
He reaches down to squeeze Peter’s balls and his thumb presses down on his taint. Broken moans and cries escape Peter’s swollen lips. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he hides his face with his hands.
“I’m so ashamed!” Peter wails.
“You should be ashamed,” Miguel growled, drool dripping down his chin. “You’re pathetic. You are a disgrace. You are nothing but a worthless piece of sh*t. You should be grateful I’m doing this to you!”
Peter sobs heavily into his hands. He wishes he was dead. He wishes he just failed the class and got kicked out of school. Anything would be better than this. Miguel places his forehead against his car and groans deeply, slowing his thrusts and spinning his hips in careful circles. Peter’s hole is delicious. It squeezes him, as if it were a puss*.
Miguel shifts his feet and leans into the car, folding Peter in half. He grabs his wrists and pin them on either side of his head.
“Look at me. Look at me as I rape you,” Miguel growled, slapping his hips back into him at a fast, sloppy pace.
Peter bites down on his lips, brows furrowed, tears streaming down his red blotchy face. He maintains eye contact with the older man, his body rocking up and down against the seats. Miguel leans down to kiss him, smacking his lips against his.
He sighs happily, tilting his head and f*cking deeper and faster into Peter. Moans and cries of distress are muffled by Miguel’s thick lips. He uses one hand to hold Peter’s hands above his head and his free one reaches down to grope at his chest. He pinches and plays with his nipples, groaning when Peter’s hole squeezes him.
“Y-You are mine,” Miguel growls, licking his neck. “Mine to f*ck. Mine to use. Mine to f*cking kill. Do you understand, Petey?” When Peter doesn’t immediately respond, Miguel slaps him hard against the face. “I said, do you understand!”
“I-I understand!” Peter wails. Miguel notices his small dick is hard and he jacks him off, laughing.
“ Good girl, Petey. You’re going to be my favorite pet. ”
MJ is angrily stomping to Mr. O’Hara’s office. The day Peter came back from his study session, he hasn’t been the same. All winter break he stayed in bed and cried. MJ tried many times to get him to talk to her, but he couldn’t look at her. He only left bed when Mr. O’Hara texted him.
She knows something happened. She doesn’t want to believe it, but she knows.
Pure hot rage tears through her body as she slams the door open to Mr. O’Hara’s office. He’s at his desk, sipping on a cup of coffe. He glared at her, shutting his laptop close.
“What the f*ck?” he hisses, getting up from his chair.
“I know you did something to Peter,” MJ declared, breathing heavily. Her body is trembling in fury, and she wants to grab the statue off of Mr. O’Hara’s desk and bash his head in. “My boyfriend has not been the same ever since he came back from his study session with you!”
Mr. O’Hara motions for her to take a seat in front of his desk and she does, but she’s sitting on the edge, getting ready to pounce on him.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about. Peter and I spent a couple of hours at the cafe doing work, and I drove him back to his dorm.” Mr. O’Hara walks to the door and closes it, locking it. “Maybe the stress of finals got to him.”
“Bullsh*t!” MJ growled. “I’ve seen how Peter reacts during the weeks of finals. He never acts like this!”
Mr. O’Hara leans against the desk right in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. “Then what is it? Hm?”
“You..You raped him,” MJ growled. Her body is vibrating and she’s seconds away from attacking him. “I hear his cries at night. I caught him one time scrubbing his body clean and it was covered in bruises!”
Mr. O’Hara tilts his head, licking his lips. “You got any evidence I did such a thing?”
“I’m literally taking a class to become a reporter. So you bet your ass that if I need evidence, I’m going to f*cking collect it.”
He hums, pulling out his phone. “Evidence like this?”
Mr. O’Hara shows the footage of him raping Peter and she gasps, jumping out of her seat. Tears immediately spring in her eyes, her heart breaking for her boyfriend. “You sick freak! Delete that!”
“Why would I do that?” Mr. O’Hara shoves the chairs away and backs MJ into a bookshelf, his large body hovering over her small one. She has to look up to meet his gaze, and she’s not backing down.
“I’m going to call the f*cking cops!”
“If you do that, I’m going to spread the video everywhere. Do you know how many photos I have of him? Hm? How many videos? I have a whole collection, bitch,” he growled, slamming his hand against the shelf and leaning down to her level. “Try anything and I will ruin his life even more.”
Tears trickle down her cheeks. “You’re f*cking sick.”
“I’ve been called worse.” Miguel shifts his gaze from her face to her hair and he smiles. He gently caresses her soft hair, taking a whiff.
“ You know, I have a thing for redheads. ”
