His Private Swim Sessions - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading His Private Swim Sessions, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of His Private Swim Sessions.
Despair consumed me like a raging inferno. This time, there was no way out—I was trapped.
Vincent Roland took his sweet time. After dumping me onto the counter, he casually pulled out his phone and started scrolling, as if he had all the time in the world.
Just as I began to wonder what twisted game he was playing, he lifted the phone and aimed it straight at me.
Click. Click.
The sharp sound of the shutter cut through the air as he snapped photo after photo.
Still not satisfied, he switched to video mode, continuing to film me like some sick trophy.
I frantically tried to cover myself, but he just grinned—wider, crueler—before pinning my hands against the wall, forcing me to endure his relentless recording.
The humiliation burned through me. Tears spilled down my face, hot and unstoppable.
Only when he'd had his fill did Vincent finally lower the phone, smirking like he'd won some perverse victory.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, then flashed me a smile so chilling it made my skin crawl.
By then, I was spent—physically, emotionally. No fight left in me.
As Vincent rubbed his hands together and leaned in, I could do nothing but squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the inevitable.
"Come on, at least pretend you're into it..."
Strangely, my lack of reaction seemed to bore him. His movements slowed, almost lazy.
"Give me something... What's the point if you just lie there like a corpse?"
His fingers dragged over my skin, prodding, taunting—trying to force a reaction.
But I was hollow. Numb. No matter what he did, I stayed limp, unresponsive.
"Fine. Have it your way. But remember—this isn't forced. The video proves you wanted it..."
His words twisted my stomach into knots.
Vincent leaned in closer, finally ready to take what he wanted—
Then—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The door shook under the force of urgent knocking.
But Vincent didn't even flinch. His focus stayed locked on me, his sickening grin never fading.
Vincent Roland took his sweet time. After dumping me onto the counter, he casually pulled out his phone and started scrolling, as if he had all the time in the world.
Just as I began to wonder what twisted game he was playing, he lifted the phone and aimed it straight at me.
Click. Click.
The sharp sound of the shutter cut through the air as he snapped photo after photo.
Still not satisfied, he switched to video mode, continuing to film me like some sick trophy.
I frantically tried to cover myself, but he just grinned—wider, crueler—before pinning my hands against the wall, forcing me to endure his relentless recording.
The humiliation burned through me. Tears spilled down my face, hot and unstoppable.
Only when he'd had his fill did Vincent finally lower the phone, smirking like he'd won some perverse victory.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, then flashed me a smile so chilling it made my skin crawl.
By then, I was spent—physically, emotionally. No fight left in me.
As Vincent rubbed his hands together and leaned in, I could do nothing but squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the inevitable.
"Come on, at least pretend you're into it..."
Strangely, my lack of reaction seemed to bore him. His movements slowed, almost lazy.
"Give me something... What's the point if you just lie there like a corpse?"
His fingers dragged over my skin, prodding, taunting—trying to force a reaction.
But I was hollow. Numb. No matter what he did, I stayed limp, unresponsive.
"Fine. Have it your way. But remember—this isn't forced. The video proves you wanted it..."
His words twisted my stomach into knots.
Vincent leaned in closer, finally ready to take what he wanted—
Then—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The door shook under the force of urgent knocking.
But Vincent didn't even flinch. His focus stayed locked on me, his sickening grin never fading.
End of His Private Swim Sessions Chapter 8. Continue reading Chapter 9 or return to His Private Swim Sessions book page.