Trigger warnings: Non-consent, blackmail, revenge porn, dubious consent, high school bullying, humiliation, degradation, and a forced D/s dynamic.

Note: This story, including all names and people, is entirely fictional and not based on any real life experiences or events.

If you like this story and want to read more, you can find a list of all my stories here!💜 You can also find a list of the parts of this story whenever they are published.🥰

Eight years ago

Cole, age 18

Poppy and Brendan are fighting.

I’m trying my hardest to both stay away from them and to not eavesdrop, but with their lockers so close to mine and the volume with which they’re speaking, it’s impossible to not listen in.

It shouldn’t make me happy, but I can’t help the little smile grazing my lips at the way Poppy’s tearing Brendan a new one.

“You’re so fucking careless,” she says. “If you say you’re coming over at 8, you can’t then waltz in at 10, drunk out of your fucking mind.” She’s pissed, and god how I wish I could back her up right now.

“Babe, I said I’m sorry.” He sounds exasperated, like he can’t believe this is a big deal to her.

“Sorry isn’t good enough. Do you know how pissed my dad was?”

“Your dad’s an asshole anyway. “

There’s a pause, one which I imagine Poppy fills by glaring at Brendan. After a minute, she finally says, “Fuck you.”

She walks off, and I can’t help but turn my head and watch her go, my eyes snagging on her ass, so perfect looking in the skinny jeans she wears.

But I don’t get to look for long before I feel Brendan shoving me against the locker. “Fuck you looking at?” he demands before letting me go, leaving me to pick up the papers I dropped on the floor.

I sigh as I watch him chase after her. I shouldn’t care, not with how I’ve already ruined any chance at friendship I had with her, but I still feel invested.

It takes more effort than I’d like to admit to turn the other way and walk to my next class, away from Poppy and Brendan.

I’m still set on avoiding them but knowing that Poppy’s mad at him gives me a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I’d have a chance with her.

Now

Poppy, age 26

“Brendan?”

“We should meet,” he replies, short and to the point, only frustrating me further. But if this isn’t confirmation that it’s him, then I don’t know what is.

Still, his tone just makes me angry, and there’s zero hesitation when I reply, “The fuck we shouldn’t.” I’m still hurt over how we ended our relationship, and I don’t understand what in the world he could want from me now.

He chuckles, like he expected that. “Look, Poppy. I wanted to apologise for how our relationship ended. Okay?”

A stunned silence fills the air. I don’t know what I expected, but I certainly wasn’t expecting that. Which is exactly why I find it so hard to believe. “Why are you telling me this now? Why did it take you eight years to apologise?”

He gives a long sigh, but I can’t tell if it’s a frustrated sigh or not. “Can you just please meet with me? I have some things I want to say, and not over the phone.”

“What, calling me a whore over the phone wasn’t good enough for you?”

The line goes quiet for a long while, and I briefly wonder if he’s hung up on me, but then he says, “That was a mistake.”

No apology, just a simple that was a mistake.

I sigh. “Look, I’m not interested in whatever the hell you–“

“I’m in Seattle, Poppy.”

“Okay? Why should I care about that?” Him being in the same city as me doesn’t change how much I do not want to meet with him. If anything, it gives me good reason to lock myself indoors at all hours of the day.

“I…I moved here. Can you meet me at the café down the street from your place tomorrow at 10?”

I sputter for a second. “How do you know where I live?”

He winces, like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “I just did a little bit of looking is all.”

For the third time, the line goes quiet, and I suspect he won’t fill it. With a sigh, I relent. “Fine. But if you’re just going to fuck around and waste my time, I’ll be out the door in a second.”

“Thank you,” is all he says before he hangs up.

The next day, I slowly open the door of the café Brendan spoke of, cringing a little at the way the bell above the door announces my presence.

I’m a little early, but so is Brendan, so his eyes shoot up to mine as soon as my feet are inside. His eyes are alight, but there’s something else behind the look he gives me I can’t quite place.

Once I get closer to the booth he’s claimed, I finally get a good look at him. Brendan looks exactly the same as I remember him.

He’s still fit, though at 26, the muscles on his body don’t stick out as much as they would’ve at 18. His hair is a little longer, and a little messy and damp, like he just got out of the shower. He’s cleanshaven and his lips are tugged up into a hesitant smile.

He looks almost…nervous? Which is way too fucking weird for me, considering how he called me a whore last night.

His hand extends, and part of me panics and thinks he’s about to try to shake my hand, but he just gestures to the seat opposite him.

I take it, and his fingers wrap around a cup of coffee in front of him. “I ordered one for you too,” he says, tilting his head towards a cup of coffee in front of me.

Even from here, I can see it has way too much cream in it for my liking, but I take it anyway with a begrudging “Thanks.”

An awkward silence fills the space between us, but I’m not going to break it. He dragged me down here, so if he wants to talk, he should start.

But he takes his sweet ass time. It’s only when I’m halfway through my shitty coffee that he finally speaks up. “So,” he starts, extending the vowel as though he’s rearing up for something. “How have you been?”

How have I been? Well, up until a few weeks ago, I was doing great, up until the guy I used to bully barged into my life and turned me into his slave.

“Good,” I say with a shrug.

He nods, and his eyes narrow at how I didn’t repeat the question back to him. “Well,” he says, adjusting in his seat. “That’s good. I’ve been doing great.” He says it with a grin, like he wants me to be jealous of how good he’s been doing since we broke up.

Whatever.

Before he can say another word, I say, “What do you want, Brendan?”

He rears back in surprise, and I roll my eyes at the way he looks shocked that I want to know why he’s been nagging me for this long. After a few seconds, he leans in and says, “I wanted to apologise, like I did yesterday, and I wanted to ask what the hell you’re doing with Cole Beckett of all people.”

I don’t miss the way he’s only actually apologised once, but I choose to ignore it. “I don’t see how that’s your business.” He goes to speak, but a thought occurs to me before he can say anything. “Wait, how the hell do you even know about him and me?” Saying him and me makes it sound like we’re an item, and I hate the sound of it, but I can’t take it back now.

He gives an unkind smile. “I saw pictures of you two at a party a few weeks ago. God, you were looking at him like he hung the moon for you.” His tone isn’t admiring or sweet, it’s pure venom, like it disgusts him.

I scoff. “I don’t see how this concerns you, Brendan.”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “It doesn’t. But believe it or not, I care about you, Poppy.” I barely keep from rolling my eyes, because of all the things he’s said, that is definitely the most unbelievable. “He’s bad news. I’m just trying to warn you.”

“Warn me against what?”

“Him. You know as well as I do that he’s bad news.”

Maybe he is now, but he certainly wasn’t back when Brendan knew him. Back then, he was just a defenceless kid. He’s bad news now, something I know better than anyone, but Brendan has no way of knowing that. Not that I’m interested in telling him a word of our…deal.

My eyes narrow on him. “You haven’t seen him in eight years. You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Defending Cole feels weird, but part of me can’t stand how Brendan is dragging him through the dirt despite Cole never doing anything towards him.

“You remember how he was in school, babe. He–“

“Don’t call me that,” I interrupt.

He holds in hands up in a surrendering motion. “Okay,” he says with an amused smile. “But you know that he had a crush on you. Don’t you remember the time he broke into your house?” I do, but technically that was never outright confirmed. “Do you really think he’s changed since? He’s probably over the moon that he’s finally gotten you, and now he’s going to use you and toss you away. I just know it.”

“Okay,” I reply, because I have nothing more to say. Brendan doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, and even though he’s right that he’s just using me, he doesn’t have any good reason to believe that anyway. “Is that all?”

He looks at me with disbelief before he shakes himself out of it. “I…” He hesitates, nervously wringing his hands. “Let me take you out.”

I laugh, I can’t help it. “What?”

“Like I said, I’m sorry for how things went down in school.”

“But not for what you did, right?” If ever there was a non-apology.

He doesn’t answer, so I take the liberty of scooting out of my seat and standing. “It’s a no, Brendan. If that’s all, then we have nothing more to talk about.”

With that, I turn on my heels and march out of the café, feeling more annoyed than ever.

I don’t hear anything from Brendan for all of the following week, thankfully. I only realised a few days after our meeting that I forgot to block his number, only to realise he’d stopped calling. So, I’m taking that as a sign that he’s going to leave me alone now.

Hopefully.

Cole, of course, has not been able to leave me alone. He still fucks me whenever he wants to, and if I thought last Saturday was a sign that he cares about me, then he’s certainly proved me wrong. Just like he promised, he doesn’t give a shit if it’s inconvenient for me to have him fuck me or not. If he wants it, he takes it, and I just have to put up with it. He won’t make me come, either. Not that I ask for it, no matter how much my body begs for release, but the fact that he was happy to give me an orgasm last Saturday, but it doesn’t even occur to him now doesn’t feel great.

To be honest, it feels like we made progress last Saturday. When he defended me, then made me come on his fingers as a way of making me feel better, I could almost trick myself into believing he does care about me.

But he obviously doesn’t. And I still need to find a way out of this mess.

Which is why when I wake up on Saturday morning with a text from him, my heart flutters with nerves and excitement.

Cole: Come over tonight at 7.

He follows that up with his address, and it’s extremely difficult to not take the small amount of hope this gives me and run with it.

He’s invited me into his home. The home where he has all his shit, like his phone, computer, hard drives. Everything. If I can just convince him to let me sleep over, I can try to look through his stuff to delete the copies of the video and I’ll have a real shot of getting out of this.

He didn’t give me any other details, so I decide to pack an overnight bag, just in case. I dress in a simple pair of jeans and a tank top, just in case he wants to burn my clothes or something, and I do some minimal makeup before I head out the door.

It's not far from my place, but I take my car anyway, and when I get to his apartment complex, I put in the code to the parking garage he sent me and take the elevator up to his door.

When I knock and he opens the door, I’m taken aback by everything.

I’m immediately hit by the smell of something absolutely delicious. I can’t tell from here what it is, but whatever it is, it’s difficult to keep from moaning, just at the smell.

That’s why it takes me a second to take in the presence before me. Cole is dressed in a well-fitted black button-up shirt, though his sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms. His legs are clad in a matching pair of skinny jeans, with a brown leather belt.

And…he’s wearing an apron. A bright pink apron that says Princess in big, sparkly letters.

“What in the world is that?” I ask, laughing. I can’t help it, he looks ridiculous, but it’s sort of…endearing? Which is weird to say about him, I know.

He looks down at himself, as though forgetting what he himself chose to wear. “Ah, that,” he says, and he actually smiles. “My little sister got it for me a few years ago and insisted I wear it whenever I cook.” He shrugs. “How could I not?”

Oh, god. My poor fucking heart.

As Cole gestures for me to enter, I can’t help but ask. “How old is she?”

“Twelve, but she got this for me when she was six.” His eyes become a little hazy.

“She doesn’t live in Seattle?”

He shakes his head. “No, she still lives with our parents.”

“You miss her.” A curt nod. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know why I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so fucking invested in this man and his sister.

After a small silence, he gestures for me to enter his apartment.

It’s not a very large place, being pretty much exactly what I imagine a single man in his 20s to live in. The living room and the kitchen are together in one room, though there’s somehow enough room for a couch, a TV, and a dining table, which has been placed next to the windows.

The city looks gorgeous from here, and together with the soft lighting filling the space, Cole’s apartment is surprisingly cozy.

I walk over to the stove to take a look at what he’s cooking. “You’re making lasagna?” I ask in disbelief.

He laughs. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I just didn’t know you could cook.” I shake my head. “It’s just so strange. It doesn’t fit your vibe.”

He comes up next to me, shifting me to the side so he can grab the tray and stick in the oven. “Why?”

“Sorry,” I rush out, realising how rude that sounded. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. It’s good that you can cook.”

“But,” he says, closing the oven and hanging up the oven mitts. “You don’t like my vibe, then?”

“That’s not what I–“ I stop myself, realising I’ve talked myself into a corner. His vibe is something it feels strange to give voice to, but for some reason, Cole decides to give voice to it for me.

“I get it. I’m forcing you to fuck me.” He smiles with amusement, but there’s a hint of frustration in there too. “My vibe is that of a monster. And monsters don’t cook, right?”

I’m getting frustrated, because he’s hit the nail on the head, but for some god forsaken reason, I can’t help but feel bad that he says this about himself. Maybe it’s the hint of pain in his eyes, or maybe I just have way too much empathy, but either way, I hate how awkward this has gotten.

Thankfully, Cole fills the silence. “Take a seat, Poppy.” He gestures to the dining table, and I take the seat at one end of the table. “You want some wine?” he asks over his shoulder while looking through one of the cabinets in the kitchen.

I almost make a joke that he wants to get me drunk so he can fuck me, but I stop myself, realising it’ll probably land flat at best. Instead, I say, “Sure.”

Cole pours the wine, and for the next few minutes, we make some stilted, but easy-going conversation until he finally takes the lasagna out of the oven.

It smells so fucking good, I feel my mouth salivating so much it’s nearly overflowing by the time the plate appears before me on the table. Still, I wait for him to take off his apron and take the seat on the opposite side of the table before I dig in.

And god damn it, it tastes even better than it smells. I moan when I feel the first bite coating my tongue, briefly forgetting that it’s probably not very appropriate to do so. When I look up, I see Cole eyeing me with a little smirk.

“Good?” he asks, and I nod.

“Cole, this is amazing.” I barely get the words out before I shovel another bite into my mouth.

He chuckles and lifts his own fork to his mouth. “I’m glad.”

“How did you learn to cook like this?” I ask.

He finishes chewing then puts his fork down to reply. “I had a girlfriend a few years ago, and we lived with one of her friends for about a year.” I can’t stand the way my heart squeezes at the mention of a girlfriend. I immediately want to ask what happened with her, but I keep my mouth shut while he finishes talking. “I started cooking for them and found that I really enjoyed it.” He shrugs. “It’s nice, serving people a good meal. And when they react like you just did, I can’t help but feel happy that I made someone else happy.”

Crimson shades my cheeks at the mention of the moan I made, but I don’t acknowledge it. Instead, I ask the question I wanted to ask earlier. “So…you mentioned a girlfriend?” I awkwardly look down at my plate and grab another bite.

He doesn’t answer, not until I look up into his eyes again. “Jealous, Poppy?” he says with a smirk.

“No, just making conversation,” I lie.

He shakes his head on a chuckle. “We weren’t together long. A little under two years.”

“What–what happened?”

“She cheated on me.” The words sound hollow, but there’s no grief or pain coating them.

“I’m sorry,” I reply, honestly, because despite what Cole is doing to me, I don’t think he deserves to have gone through pain like that.

“It’s fine. It was years ago, don’t worry about it.” He goes back to eating.

A minute goes by of awkward silence before I ask the question I’ve been wondering since I saw the dinner he made. “Why are we here, Cole?”

He stops his fork halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why did you invite me here?” I gesture to the apartment, then to the food. “Why did you make me a delicious dinner? Why aren’t you just bending me over the table and fucking me? What’s the point of serving me dinner?”

It takes him a while to reply. “Maybe I just wanted to do something nice for once,” he says. “And besides, don’t think you’re leaving here without my come between your thighs.”

He casually eats the last bit of his food while heat creeps up my neck at the promise, but I still ask, “But you could do that anyway. Why do you want to be nice to me?”

He shrugs. “Believe it or not, Poppy, but sometimes people are nice just because they want to be.”

A frustrated groan escapes me. “I know, but you know what I’m really asking, Cole.”

“I know, I know.” He wipes his lips with his napkin, and I take the last bite of my food. “Believe it or not, I’m not a complete monster. I may want to fuck you whenever I want to, and I definitely enjoy having power over you.” He pauses, his eyes dropping to my chest for a second just because he can. “But you’re human too. I’m not interested in breaking you or turning you into a mindless cocksleeve.”

I sputter. “Mindless cocksleeve?”

He smiles. “I said I’m not interested in turning you into that.” His grin grows wider when I glare at him. “Look, if you want to twist this into something that makes sense to you, just tell yourself that this is to keep me on your good side so it’s easier to keep you under my thumb.”

He says it so casually, like the suggestion should be a comfort to me. But how can it? He sounds so sincere, like he genuinely just wanted to be nice to me tonight, and when he offers me a lifeline like that, it just makes me believe his sincerity more.

It's just like last Saturday all over again. When he’s not using me, he’s just such a nice guy. He’s impossible not to like, like when he wears his sister’s apron or cooks me a nice dinner. How am I supposed to deal with him when one minute he’ll fuck me until I cry and the next he’ll serve me a homecooked meal?

Cole stands and clears the table, neatly stacking the dishes in the dishwasher, then he turns back to face me. “You’re staying the night,” he says.

I almost laugh at the demand, because it’s exactly what I predicted he’d say. “I figured. I brought an overnight bag.”

He doesn’t smile. Instead, he walks up to me with fire in his eyes, and I only realise what he wants when he pulls me up into his arms and crashes his lips into mine.

He groans, and I’m right there with him, relishing the taste of him. His hands grip my waist, searing my skin with his touch, and his hands slowly trail up to my breasts.

He breaks the kiss when he grabs them, and he looks almost disappointed. I give a smirk when he reaches under my shirt to unclasp my bra. He pulls it out from beneath my shirt and tosses it to the floor, then his hands go right back to grab at my breasts.

I moan, because fuck me, the way he grabs my body like he owns it shouldn’t feel this good.

He pushes me down onto the table, now free of obstacles. When my back is flush with the cool surface, he kneels between my thighs, and I look down at him with confusion.

He pulls my jeans down my body, and my breath hitches. He hasn’t eaten me out since that night he recorded us, so it’s shocking he wants to do it now.

His eyes meet mine, and they’re so intense I can barely keep from looking away. “I need to taste you, Poppy.”

Oh lord.

The way he says need sends pure fire through my veins, and when he drags my panties down my legs, leaving them bunched around my knees, I feel how wet I am between my thighs.

And when he licks up my entire slit, it doesn’t take long before I come apart. And for the next while, Cole takes his time exploring my body before he sheathes himself inside me and comes as deep inside me as he can possibly get.

It’s 2 am, and I’m wide awake.

Cole is snoring softly next to me, fast asleep, and I’m carefully removing his heavy arm from my stomach.

After fucking me on the table earlier, we went to bed, and I made damn sure to not fall asleep yet. This might be my only chance to delete the video.

I slowly creep out of bed, casting one last glance behind me to make sure Cole is still asleep. Once I’m confident I’m not about to get caught, I grab his phone from the bedside table and make my way out of the bedroom.

I noticed his laptop was sitting on a little coffee table in the corner when I came inside, but I spend a few minutes looking around for other electronics. But beyond a Kindle and a gaming console, he only has his phone and the laptop.

Okay, so that’s good. It means he can’t have the video anywhere but on these two devices.

After some consideration, I decide to go through his phone first, but of course he has a passcode. I rack my brain for what it could possibly be, and after stalking his Facebook for a while, I’ve tried every birthday it could be without success.

I make a quiet groan when the phone locks for a few minutes, but decide to use the time to access his laptop. Unlike his phone, there’s no password, and I quickly open his files.

There’s not a lot in here, which isn’t surprising, since the laptop seems new. Maybe it’s a work laptop? There’s still a bunch of personal stuff on here, like a folder specifically for pictures of his family.

I can’t help but snoop, and my heart warms at the sight of all the pictures of him and his little sister. They must be years old, so he must’ve transferred them over to this laptop when he bought it. There’s a few of them at Christmas time, and the meta data says the earliest one was taken eight years ago.

Fuck, that was the Christmas I spent with Haley. She talked me into it just so she wouldn’t have to be alone with her family, and it was awful.

At least Cole had a good time, it seems. Despite the bullying he went through back then, he looks nothing but overjoyed at spending time with his sister. In one photo, she’s giving him a kiss on the cheek, and the grin on his face is so wide I can’t help but copy it on my own face.

The reminder that at the same time as this photo was taken, I was bullying him with a horrible boyfriend makes my eyes squeeze shut, tears pricking the backs of them.

It takes me a minute to calm myself down and shake myself out of it, and I remind myself what I’m doing here.

I look through his folders again, and finally find something. It’s labelled Poppy, which can only mean one thing.

When I open it, I immediately see what I’m looking for. It’s a video file, and when I open it, my own moans sound out loud. I hurry to turn down the volume, and then I immediately delete the video, making sure it’s not laying around in some back-up folder somewhere as well.

I sigh. One down, one to go.

I put the laptop away and grab the phone, now back to being unlockable.

Something occurs to me then. Cole seems…weirdly obsessed with me. And considering nothing else has worked, I decide to try my own birthday.

I gasp when the phone unlocks. “Holy shit,” I mutter to myself, because why the hell is my birthday his passcode? Why would he do that?

I shake my head to clear my thoughts to get back to looking for the video. It doesn’t take long before I find it and I quickly delete it, then do the same in the back-up folder.

I kick my head back. I’m free. Assuming there’s no other copies anywhere, I no longer owe Cole anything. There’s nothing he can do if I refuse him.

I put the phone away and take a few deep breaths. I don’t feel safe yet, not while I still have to sleep in Cole’s bed and pretend everything is fine tomorrow morning.

But I’m fucking free.

I stand and stretch my limbs. I feel sore from the way Cole fucked me earlier, and I’m only dressed in some flimsy pyjamas.

I’m also tired as fuck from staying up so late, so after a minute, I put the laptop back where I found it and head back to the bedroom.

But just before I get to the doorway, Cole steps out, a terrifying expression on his face.

“Cole,” I stutter, quickly hiding his phone behind my back.

“Poppy,” he replies, walking up to me. “What are you doing?”

“I needed to pee,” I lie. My heart is beating so fast I worry he can hear it, and for a second I think he has by the way his eyes narrow.

“You know I have the video saved digitally, right?”

My heart drops.

“Wh–what are you talking about?” My voice is quivering and weak, terror and dread coating every syllable.

He steps even closer, so close that my breasts push against his chest with each breath, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. “I heard you,” he explains. His phone is still gripped tightly behind my back, and without breaking eye contact, his hand goes behind my back to grab it.

Tears prick my eyes, and my head drops at the way he so easily caught me.

He gently pries the phone from my tight grip, and when I look up at him again, his face has a small, condescending smile. “You think I’m that fucking stupid?” he asks, his face coming impossibly close to mine. “I told you, Poppy. You’re not escaping me.”

I go to reply, to beg for him to not release the video, but the only sound that leaves my lips is a desperate cry when he grips my hair. He leads me by the hair to the dining table, and he aggressively bends me over the edge.

He pauses, both of us breathing heavily. After a moment, he leans over, rubbing his erection against my ass, and mutters into my ear, “You try that shit again and I won’t hesitate to post the video, I swear to fucking god.” He nips my ear between his teeth, making me cry out.

In the next moment, he yanks my pyjama shorts down my legs. “I thought you’d have learned by now that I fucking own you, Poppy. You’re my property. No matter what you do, you will always be my little sex slave.” He grips my panties, ripping them off my body so hard that they tear. “Now keep that pretty little mouth shut while I take what’s mine.” His words are all growls, like he’s a beast revealed now that I provoked him.

And in the next moment, my eyes close in resignation when I feel the tip of his cock push into me.

Thank you for reading! Sorry these are taking a while😬 I'm doing my best to get these done in between other stuff, but I hope you enjoy these whenever I post them!💜