Hacker Attack

Brooke's fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to drop the leak that would bury some heavy hitters. Then the door blew in. Goons grabbed her, cinched plastic cuffs tight around her wrists and dragged her out. Days later the cell was a fever dream. Water hit her like a slap and she jolted back to life, hauled down the hall again. Now she was naked on a wooden bench, a burlap sack over her head, wrists bound behind her. Christian Wilde wanted the codes. She told him to fuck off. He wrapped a hand around her throat, squeezed until the room dimmed, then grabbed a wooden dowel and cracked it across her thighs and stomach. She stayed silent. He came back with a bucket and pillowcase, pinned her down, and waterboarded her until every breath was fire. Still nothing. Then his phone rang. When he hung up he knew exactly what to do. Next time the sack came off she was standing, hands lashed behind her back. Christian stepped in, flogger hissing across her skin, and rubbed his thick cock between her legs, teasing. He tried fucking the secrets out of her, slamming in from behind, spanking hard while he covered her mouth and nose. She came anyway, once, then twice. On the filthy mattress it got worse. He pinned her, choked her, pounded deep. Every time she fought he switched angles, hit harder, choked tighter. Flipped her face-down, shoved her into the stained ticking and railed her while his palm crashed against her ass. Right when she was about to break he pulled out and offered her his load across her face. She stared up at him, eyes burning, and the last question hung between them: would she take it, or keep fighting?