The bass throbbed through Christina’s bones. She’d dressed for this—a sheer top with no bra, her nipples hard and visible, and a leather miniskirt so short her bare ass peeked out when she bent. No panties. Total slut mode. Three tequila shots later, she was stumbling out with Mark, a guy with hungry eyes who’d bought her drinks. He flagged a taxi. Then two more men, his friends, piled in. Her drunk buzz soured into fear.

“I should go,” she slurred, hand on the door.

Mark’s grip was iron on her thigh. “Mysakova, don’t fucking play hard to get,” he growled in her ear. “We’re gonna wreck that cunt like the last cheap whore you are.”

The taxi pulled into traffic. Hands were on her instantly. One stranger, reeking of cigarettes, shoved his thick fingers under her skirt, finding her bare pussy lips. “Fuck, she’s already wet,” he grunted. Another yanked her top down, her tits spilling out, nipples pinched and twisted. The driver didn’t even glance back. Christina moaned, a mix of terror and unwanted arousal. Mark forced her head into his lap, unzipping his jeans. His cock, thick and veiny, slapped her cheek. “Suck it, bitch,” he commanded, and she took him into her mouth, gagging on his salty pre-cum.

At the hotel, it was a blur of shoves into a stale-smelling room. They threw her on the bed. Mark ripped the skirt off. “Look at this hungry slit