Support group

https://buymeacoffee.com/ramvo666x 

Support group for tinies

By Ramvo

Disclaimer: all characters in this fictional story are of legal age, 18 or older.

There’s a new world order. One unexpected consequence of the collapse of several Earth’s ecosystems was that female humans began growing, getting higher, stronger and more dominant, while males were decimated and remained the same size. The female-dominated society began ruling and changing the dynamics of power and males had to adapt in order to survive. Women have grown into dominant, horny and mischievous giantesses that enjoy to use males as sex toys, pets and ornaments.

This story takes place when all females are now 50-feet towering giantesses in average, and males are only considered toys and pets. Julian goes to a support group for males, there, he and another dozens men share their experiences, emotions, traumas and conflicts about being used and abused by huge females all the time.

Characters:

1. Dan. the youngest of the group in his early 20s, he has been recently”adopted” by Wendy a young giantess that enjoys using him like a sex toy and treats him rather roughly.

2. Greg. the most veteran in his late 50s. he’s been in captivity all his life and has been traded several times. now he is mostly a pet for a giantess in her late 40s but frequently she also uses him as a sex toy. he is the responable for the group and moderator of the group

3. Josh. in his late 20s, he still has hope to escape. he’s been living with a family of a mother and twins which use him as a sext toy, pet and plaything.

4. Zach. in his late 30s he is the most vocal about being used like a plaything over and over by his girlfriend-owner.

5. Hank. in his early 40s he is mostly used as a plaything in a house where most giantesses are friendly. he also has been used like a sex toy many times before.

6. Jim. he used to be a rogue tiny but he was caught by a young giantess and now is part of a family of 5 giantesses that keep using him in all kinds of ways .he is in his late 20s.

7. Ray. in his early 50s he has been traded and used in all differente manners too.

8. number 8 can’t remember his real name because his owner only calls him weakling. 

9. Tom. in his early 30s he “works” at a massage parlor where he spreads oil and cream on the bodies of the giantesses clients, but he is also used as a sex toy there too.

10. Carl, in his mid 20s he lives in a sorority house in a giantess college, there he is part of the amusements for the giantesses, along with other 10 males. he is afraid of the parties at the house because the giantesses get too wild and rough with him and the other males.

The basement room smelled of old coffee, sweat, and the faint metallic tang that clung to every male after too many hours pressed against giantess skin. Twelve folding chairs formed a rough circle under a single hanging bulb. Greg sat at the head, late fifties, shoulders permanently rounded from decades of being carried in pockets and palms. His voice was steady when he spoke.

“All right. Same rules. No names of owners unless you want them said. Speak when you’re ready. Or don’t. Coffee’s on the table.”

Dan went first. Early twenties, still soft around the eyes. He kept rubbing his wrists.

“Wendy’s twenty-two. Same as me. She got me last month from the adoption center. First night she stripped me, laid me between her tits and just… bounced. Kept saying I was the cutest little vibrator she’d ever owned. When she came she squeezed so hard I blacked out. Woke up sticky, still stuck to her skin. She laughed and called me a good boy. Does that every night now. Sometimes she makes me lick her until my tongue goes numb, then uses me to fuck herself while she watches TV. Says I twitch better than the real toys.”

A few men shifted. Zach, late thirties, leaned forward, voice tight.

“At least she calls you a good boy. Mine doesn’t even bother with names half the time. She just grabs me off the nightstand, shoves me up her cunt and rides until I’m half-crushed. Then she drops me in the sink to rinse off and goes to sleep. Last week she left me inside her all night. I woke up still buried, her thighs locked around me, and she was grinding in her sleep. When she finally pulled me out she was annoyed I was limp. Told me I was supposed to stay hard for her. Like I had a choice.”

Jim snorted. Late twenties, the scars on his arms still pink.

“Try living with five of them. I used to run. Thought I was smart. Then the youngest one, nineteen, caught me in an alley. Now I’m the house pet. Mornings the mother uses me to wake the girls up—just slides me between their legs and lets them hump until they’re awake. Afternoons the twins take turns. One of them likes to sit on me while she studies. Full weight. I can feel her getting wetter the longer I struggle. Nights they pass me around like a joint. Last weekend the oldest made me fuck her ass while the others watched and bet on how long I’d last. I didn’t. They laughed so hard the whole bed shook.”

Hank, early forties, spoke quieter.

“Mine aren’t mean. That’s almost worse. The three of them treat me like a favorite toy. They oil me up, pass me between their hands, make me kiss them everywhere while they giggle. Last night the oldest one—mid-thirties—laid me on her tongue and just… sucked. Slow. She kept telling me how sweet I tasted. When she finally swallowed me down to her throat I thought I was done. She held me there until I came, then coughed me back up onto her palm and kissed my head. Said I was her little cum-dispenser. Then she let the other two take turns. They were gentle. That’s what gets me. They actually care. And I still can’t walk straight the next day.”

Ray, early fifties, rubbed his face.

“Been traded six times. Each one different. The last owner before this one used to keep me in a jar on her nightstand. Every night she’d take me out, work me into her ass with two fingers, and leave me there while she slept. I’d wake up half-suffocated, coated, and she’d pull me out, wipe me on the sheets, and go to work. Never even looked at me. Current one’s nicer. Mostly keeps me in her cleavage all day. When she gets bored she makes me eat her out under the table while she has lunch with friends. They know. They just smile and ask if I’m being a good little tongue.”

The man who couldn’t remember his name sat with his knees drawn up. Greg nodded at him.

“You don’t have to—”

“She calls me Weakling,” the man said. Voice flat. “Every time. ‘Come here, Weakling. Open your mouth, Weakling. Stay still while I sit, Weakling.’ She likes to pin me under her and just… grind. Slow circles. Hours. She talks to her friends on the phone the whole time. Laughs when I start crying. Says it makes her wetter. I don’t know how long I’ve been there. I stopped counting when she stopped using my old name.”

Tom cleared his throat. Early thirties.

“Massage parlor. Officially I just spread the oil. Unofficially every client gets a ‘full service.’ They book the private rooms. I get stripped, oiled, and used however they want for the hour. Some just want me to fuck them. Some want me in their ass. One regular likes to make me eat her out while she grinds my face into the table until I can’t breathe. Management doesn’t care as long as the tips are good. Last week a group of three came in together. They took turns using me until I couldn’t get hard anymore, then just held me against their cunts and humped until they finished. Left me shaking on the table. The next client walked in while I was still covered.”

Carl hadn’t spoken yet. Mid-twenties, eyes red.

“Sorority,” he said. “Ten of us in the house. Most days it’s not bad. They carry us around, make us lick them while they study, stuff us in their panties for class. But parties…” He swallowed. “They get drunk. Or high. Or both. Last Saturday they lined us up on the coffee table. One of the seniors just… sat. Full weight. I heard something crack. They were laughing. Another one grabbed me after and shoved me up her cunt so hard I blacked out. When I woke up they were still going. Taking turns. Passing us around. One of them came so hard she almost crushed the guy she was using. He didn’t move after. They just… put him in a shoebox and kept partying. I’m scared of Friday.”

Silence. The bulb buzzed.

Greg looked around the circle.

“Anyone else?”

Josh, late twenties, finally spoke. He’d been staring at his hands.

“I still think about running. The twins are eighteen. Their mother is forty. They keep me in a drawer most days. Pull me out when they want to play. The twins like to race—see who can make me come first with just their tongues. Their mother likes to use me after. She doesn’t even get undressed all the way. Just pulls her panties aside, pushes me in, and rides until she’s done. Then she puts me back. Wet. Shaking. I keep telling myself one night I’ll slip out the window. But every time I get close one of them picks me up, kisses me, and says I’m too cute to lose. And I… I stay. Because part of me likes it. And that scares me more than anything else.”

No one answered him. Outside, somewhere far above, a giantess laughed—low, warm, and enormous. The sound rolled through the walls and settled over the circle like a hand. 

Greg exhaled.

The silence after Josh’s confession stretched until the bulb’s buzz felt loud. Greg finally cleared his throat.

“Anyone want to answer him? Or keep going?”

Zach’s jaw worked. “I used to think the same thing. First year with her I kept a little knife I stole from the kitchen. Told myself I’d cut my way out of whatever pocket or drawer she stuffed me in. Then one night she caught me holding it. Didn’t even get mad. Just laughed, took it, and spent the next three hours using my own knife handle to fuck me while she watched herself in the mirror. Said if I wanted something hard inside me that bad, she’d make sure I got it. After that I stopped planning. Now I just try not to scream too loud when she decides she wants me in her ass instead of her cunt. She likes the sound, but if I get too loud she gags me with her panties and keeps going until I pass out.”

Hank shifted in his chair. “Mine don’t do that. They… talk to me. The youngest one, she’s twenty-six, she carries me everywhere in her bra. Says she likes feeling me squirm against her when she walks. Yesterday she took me out at the grocery store, right there in the produce aisle, and made me lick her while she picked tomatoes. People walked by. Some of them smiled. One woman asked if she could borrow me for a minute. My owner said sure. Let the stranger hold me against her crotch through her leggings and grind until she came. Then she handed me back, thanked her, and put me right back in her bra. I could still taste the stranger when we got home.”

Jim leaned back, arms crossed over the fresh bruises. “At least yours ask. The five of them don’t. Last night the mother decided she wanted all of us—wait, no, just me this time—to help her ‘relax’ after work. She stripped, sat on the edge of the tub, and had the oldest daughter hold my legs open while she pushed me in. Said I was tighter than the toys. The twins took turns holding my head under the water every time I started to yell. When she finally pulled me out I was coughing and she was still going, rubbing me against her clit until she finished. Then she tossed me to the youngest and told her to clean me up. The girl used her tongue. Slow. Careful. Whispered that she was sorry while she did it. I almost believed her until she got bored and shoved me back inside her mother for round two.”

Ray stared at the floor. “I’ve had ones who apologized too. Doesn’t change what happens after. One owner—mid-forties, real soft voice—used to cry after she used me. She’d hold me against her chest, pet my hair, tell me she didn’t mean to squeeze so hard. Then the next morning she’d do it again. Harder. Like the apology gave her permission. Current one doesn’t bother with that. She just keeps me in her mouth most evenings. Lets me rest on her tongue while she watches her shows. Every so often she sucks. Not enough to finish me. Just enough to keep me hard and desperate. When the credits roll she finally lets me come down her throat, then spits me into her palm and goes to bed. I sleep in the wet spot. She likes the smell in the morning.”

The man called Weakling spoke again, quieter this time. “She doesn’t even pretend it’s about me. Last week she had friends over. Four of them. They took turns sitting on the couch with me under them. Not even inside. Just pinned under their asses while they talked about work and dating. Every time one of them shifted I got crushed a little more. One of them got wet. I could feel it soaking through her panties onto my face. She laughed and said Weakling was making a mess. My owner told her to grind it out. So she did. For twenty minutes. I stopped trying to breathe after the first five. When they finally stood up I couldn’t move my legs. They left me on the cushion until morning.”

Tom rubbed his oil-stained fingers together. “Parlor’s getting worse. New manager wants ‘specialty packages.’ Yesterday a client paid extra to have me tied to a wooden spoon and used like a dildo while her friend watched. They took pictures. Said they were sending them to their group chat. I was still tied to the spoon when the next appointment started. The new girl just shrugged, oiled me up again, and kept going. Management docked my ‘pay’ because I didn’t stay hard the whole hour.”

Carl’s voice cracked when he finally continued. “One of the other guys in the house—Marcus—he tried to hide during the last party. They found him in a shoe. The girl who pulled him out was so drunk she didn’t notice she was sitting on two of us at once. Me and him. I felt his ribs give. She came anyway. After, they put him in the freezer because they didn’t know what else to do. He’s still there. They keep saying they’ll ‘deal with it’ after midterms. I’m sleeping in the same drawer as his stuff. Every time I close my eyes I hear her laughing.”

Dan had been quiet since his turn. Now he looked up, eyes glassy. “Wendy found out about this group. She thinks it’s cute. Said if I keep coming she’ll start sending me with little notes for the rest of you. Last night she made me practice. Held me against her clit and told me to beg out loud like I was talking to all of you. Made me describe exactly how she was using me. When I finished she came so hard she almost dropped me. Then she kissed me and said I was her favorite little group-therapy toy.”

Greg looked around the circle. The coffee had gone cold. Outside, a distant door slammed—fifty feet up, the sound still rattled the basement windows.

“Next week,” he said. “If any of us can still walk.”

The bulb hummed. No one had spoken for a while. Greg watched the circle, the way some of them wouldn’t meet each other’s eyes.

“We don’t have to talk about what they do to our bodies,” he said. “Not if that’s not what’s sitting on you tonight.”

Zach’s laugh was short and ugly. “What else is there? I keep replaying it. Not the part where she shoves me in. The part right before. When she’s got me on her tongue and she’s looking at me like she already knows I’m going to cum. Like she’s already won. And I do. Every time. Then she puts me inside and I can feel myself still twitching and I hate that she can feel it too. I hate that some part of me is still trying to please her even after I’ve already given her what she wanted. I go home and I tell myself I didn’t have a choice. Then I get hard thinking about the way she looked at me. I don’t know which part is worse.”

Hank stared at his hands. “Mine thank me. That’s the thing I can’t get out of my head. After. They’ll hold me and tell me I did so well. That I made them feel good. And for a second I believe it. I feel… useful. Then I remember I came because they licked me until I couldn’t stop, and they used that to fuck themselves, and the ‘thank you’ is just another way of keeping me soft. I catch myself wanting them to say it again. I hate that I want it.”

Jim rubbed at a bruise on his forearm that hadn’t faded. “The youngest one apologized last night. After she and her sister took turns. She whispered it while she was cleaning me off with her tongue. Said she knew it hurt. I almost said it was okay. The words were right there. I had to bite my tongue to keep them in. Because if I say it once, I’ll say it every time. And then I won’t even have the part of me that still knows this is wrong. I’ll just be whatever they need me to be so they can keep feeling like good people while they use me.”

Ray’s voice was flat. “I stopped fighting the mouth thing months ago. She makes me cum, she puts me in, she rides. I just… go somewhere else. I count the cracks in the ceiling. I try to remember what my own name sounded like when someone else said it. Sometimes I come back and she’s already finished and I’m still inside her and I don’t remember the last ten minutes. I used to think that was better. Now I think I’m disappearing in pieces and I won’t notice when the last piece is gone.”

The man who only answered to Weakling spoke without looking up. “She peed on me again. Held me under her the whole time. I kept thinking about how warm it was. How heavy. How I couldn’t move and didn’t have to decide anything. When she was done she called me a good boy for staying still. I felt… relieved. That she’d said it. That I’d done the one thing she wanted. I lay there after and I realized I was grateful she hadn’t crushed me harder. Grateful. I don’t know what that makes me.”

Tom’s fingers kept moving, rubbing at nothing. “At the parlor they take pictures now. After. When I’m still tied to whatever they used. I saw one of the photos. I didn’t recognize my face. I looked… calm. Like I was fine with it. I keep wondering if that’s what I actually looked like or if that’s just what they wanted to see. Either way I can’t stop thinking about it. I jerked off in the supply closet afterward. Hated myself the whole time. Came anyway.”

Carl’s knee bounced. “Marcus is still in the freezer. They keep saying they’ll take care of it. I sleep in the same drawer as his clothes. Every time one of them pulls me out I wonder if they’re going to put me back or if I’m next. And the worst part is I keep hoping they pick me. Because if they pick me, at least I know what’s happening. The not-knowing is worse. I caught myself getting hard yesterday when one of them walked past the drawer. Just from the sound of her feet. I wanted her to open it. I wanted her to use me so I wouldn’t have to sit there wondering. I don’t know how to live with that.”

Dan hadn’t moved. When he finally spoke his voice was small. “Wendy told me she loves me. After. While I was still inside her. She said it like it was obvious. Like of course she loves her favorite toy. And I… I said it back. I didn’t mean to. It just came out. She smiled. Kissed me. Told me I was perfect. I’ve been saying it in my head ever since. Trying to figure out if I meant it. If some part of me actually loves her for doing this to me. Or if I just said it because I knew it would make her happy and if she’s happy she won’t hurt me as much. I can’t tell the difference anymore. I don’t think there is one.”

Greg let the quiet sit. Rain tapped against the high windows. No one looked at anyone else.

“Same time next week,” he said. “If you still want to be here.”

No one answered. The bulb kept buzzing. Somewhere above them, a door opened and closed. Footsteps—slow, heavy, unhurried—moved across the floor over their heads and faded. None of the men looked up.

The circle was quieter than usual. A few of the men had cleaned up more than they needed to. Greg noticed. He didn’t comment.

“Benefits,” Zach said, almost defiant. “That’s what we’re supposed to talk about tonight, right? Fine. I don’t have to work. I don’t have to cook. I don’t have to wash my own clothes or figure out what I’m eating. She picks me up, she feeds me, she puts me wherever she wants me. When she’s done she wipes me off or sticks me under the tap. I don’t decide any of it. Some days that feels like the only part of my life that isn’t exhausting.”

Hank nodded slowly. “Mine oil me. Every morning. They take turns. One of them will hold me against her thigh and just… rub. Slow. Up and down. She says it helps her stretch. I can feel the muscle move under her skin. It’s warm. Heavy. I don’t have to do anything except stay where she puts me. After a while I stop thinking about what comes next. I just feel the drag of her skin and the way she sighs when she finds the right spot. It’s the closest thing I get to quiet.”

Jim’s mouth twitched. “The mother likes me on her ass. Not inside. Just pressed between her cheeks while she walks around the house. She’ll reach back and adjust me so I’m right against her. Says I keep her warm. I used to hate it. Now I know exactly how to shift so she makes that little sound in her throat. She’ll stop whatever she’s doing and just stand there, rocking. I can feel her getting wetter. Part of me is proud of that. I know how to make her stay still. For a minute I’m not just something she’s using. I’m something she’s paying attention to.”

Ray stared at the floor. “I got good at the clit. Didn’t mean to. She used to just shove me wherever. Then one night she was frustrated and she held me against it and told me to figure it out. I did. Tongue, lips, the little bit of suction I can manage. Now she expects it. She’ll pull me out of her mouth, put me there, and wait. I know the rhythm she likes. I know when to go softer so she doesn’t finish too fast. When she cums she holds me there and shakes. I can feel her pulse against my face. After, she pets my head and calls me useful. I like being useful. I also know that if I ever stop being useful she’ll find someone who is. So I keep getting better at it.”

The man called Weakling spoke without lifting his head. “She uses me on her breasts. Pins me between them and squeezes. Not hard enough to break anything. Just enough that I can’t move. She’ll walk around like that for an hour. Talking on the phone. Laughing. I can hear her heartbeat. Smell her skin. She doesn’t even remember I’m there half the time. But I’m fed. I’m warm. No one is asking me what I want for dinner or whether I’ve done my stretches. When she finally takes me out she always licks me clean. Slow. Like she’s checking I didn’t get dirty. I don’t have to clean myself. I don’t have to decide if I’m dirty. She decides. Some nights that’s the only reason I sleep.”

Tom rubbed his thumb across his palm. “At the parlor the regulars request me now. Not for the fucking. For the other thing. One of them likes me to rim her while she gets her shoulders worked on by someone else. I’ve gotten… precise. I know how long to stay, when to press, when to pull back so she doesn’t cum before she’s ready. She tips extra. Management noticed. They started scheduling me for the longer appointments. I don’t have to find clients. I don’t have to negotiate. I show up, I do what I’m good at, they put me back in the drawer when the hour’s over. I tell myself the extra food and the private room on slow days make it worth it. Then I remember I practiced on my own hand for a week so I’d be better at it. I wanted to be better at it.”

Carl’s voice was low. “One of the girls in the house lets me stay in her bed if I make her cum first. Just with my mouth. She doesn’t even put me inside. She spreads her legs, puts me where she wants me, and reads while I work. If I do it right she lets me sleep against her thigh after. Warm. Safe from the others. I started timing it. Learning exactly how she likes the pressure. Last night I made her finish twice. She stroked my back and said I could stay until morning. I lay there and I felt… proud. Like I’d earned something. Then I realized I’d spent an hour learning how to please her so she’d let me exist next to her without being passed around. And I was grateful. I still am.”

Dan hadn’t looked at anyone. “Wendy doesn’t make me do chores. She doesn’t make me talk if I don’t want to. She feeds me from her plate. Lets me sleep in her cleavage when she’s studying. Yesterday she held me against her breast and just rubbed. Slow circles. Said it helped her focus. I could feel her nipple get hard against my stomach. I didn’t have to perform. I didn’t have to make her cum. I just had to be there. And I liked it. I liked not having to decide anything. I liked that she was using me for something that wasn’t sex and I still felt… kept. I keep waiting for the part of me that hates it to get louder. It doesn’t. It just gets quieter every time she remembers to feed me before she uses me.”

Greg let the silence stretch. Outside, the rain had stopped. The building above them was still.

“Anyone want to say the quiet part?” he asked.

No one did. A few of them shifted in their chairs. One of them—Josh, who hadn’t spoken—kept his eyes on the floor and his hands clenched tight enough that the knuckles had gone white.

Greg nodded once. “Next week, then.”

The chairs were in the same circle. The coffee was the same. What had changed was how long it took anyone to speak.

Josh broke the silence. His voice was careful, like he was testing the words before he let them out.

“I thought about leaving again. Really thought about it. Waited until the twins were in class and their mother was in the shower. I got as far as the windowsill. Then I heard her turn the water off and I climbed back into the drawer before she could notice I was gone. I lay there with my heart hammering and I realized I wasn’t scared of her catching me. I was scared of what would happen if she didn’t. If I actually got outside and no one came looking. No one to feed me. No one to decide where I sleep. No one whose voice I already know how to listen for. I stayed in the drawer until she opened it. When she picked me up I was shaking. She thought I was cold. She put me between her breasts to warm me up and I… I let her. I wanted her to. That’s the part I can’t say out loud without feeling sick.”

Zach stared at his hands. “I caught myself waiting for her last night. Not dreading it. Waiting. She was late getting home and I kept listening for the door. When she finally picked me up she was tired. Didn’t even fuck me. Just held me against her neck while she scrolled on her phone. I could feel her pulse. Smell her shampoo. And I relaxed. Actually relaxed. Like my body had decided that as long as she was holding me, nothing worse was going to happen. I hate that my body trusts her more than I do. I hate that part of me was disappointed when she put me down and went to sleep without using me. Because at least when she’s using me I know where I am. I know what I’m for.”

Hank’s shoulders were tight. “One of them got sick this week. Fever. She kept me in bed with her the whole time. Not for sex. Just… there. Pressed against her ribs so she could feel me breathing. She’d wake up coughing and reach for me without opening her eyes. Like checking I was still real. And I stayed. I didn’t try to move even when my arm went numb. Because if I moved she might think I didn’t want to be there. And if she thought that, she might stop reaching for me. I lay there counting her breaths and I realized I was afraid of her getting better. Afraid she’d go back to only wanting me when she was horny. The sick version of her needed me for something else. I don’t know what that says about me. I don’t think I want to.”

Jim rubbed at his wrist. “The youngest one started talking to me. Not orders. Just… talking. About her day. About a boy in her class she likes. She holds me in her palm while she does it. Sometimes she forgets and her thumb strokes my back. I answer her now. Little things. Enough that she keeps going. Last night she fell asleep with me still in her hand. I could have climbed out. The window was open. I didn’t. I lay there and listened to her breathe and I thought about how quiet it would be if I left. How no one would tell me what they did that day. How I’d have to figure out food again. How I’d have to decide, every single hour, what happened next. I stayed until morning. When she woke up she smiled at me like I’d chosen her. Maybe I did.”

Ray’s voice was low. “I know her schedule better than she does. I know she’ll want me on her clit after her shower. I know she’ll want me in her ass if she’s had a bad day. I start getting ready before she even reaches for me. Tongue loose. Breathing steady. And when she cums—when I feel her shake and hear that sound she makes—I feel… settled. Like I’ve done the thing that keeps the day from going wrong. If I don’t do it well she gets short with me. Puts me away early. The drawer is cold. I practice on my own fingers when she’s out so I don’t mess it up. I tell myself it’s just survival. Then I catch myself hoping she’ll have a bad day so she’ll need me longer. I don’t know when hoping started.”

The man called Weakling didn’t look up. “She forgot to feed me yesterday. Got busy. I waited in the drawer until dark. When she finally remembered she was sorry. Actually sorry. She held me against her breast and let me nurse while she apologized. Warm. Full. Her heartbeat right against my ear. I cried. Not because I was hungry. Because she’d noticed. Because for ten minutes I wasn’t Weakling. I was something she was worried about. She wiped my face after and called me her good boy and I wanted her to say it again. I still do. I’d rather be her good boy who sometimes gets forgotten than be nothing to anyone.”

Tom’s hands were still. “A client canceled yesterday. I had an empty hour. Management let me stay in the back room instead of the drawer. No one touched me. No one told me where to put my mouth. I sat there and I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I kept listening for someone to call my name. When the next appointment started and she asked for me specifically I felt… relieved. Like the day had a shape again. I made her cum twice. She booked me for next week before she left. I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget. I don’t want to forget.”

Carl’s knee had stopped bouncing. “The girl who lets me stay if I make her cum—she didn’t pull me out last night. I waited. Listened to her laughing with the others down the hall. I got cold. I got scared she was done with me. When she finally opened the drawer she was drunk and she just wanted to sleep. She put me on her stomach and passed out. I could have left. The house was loud enough no one would’ve noticed. I stayed on her stomach until morning because the alternative was lying in the drawer wondering if she’d ever open it again. In the morning she woke up, felt me there, and smiled. Said I’d kept her warm. I smiled back. I meant it.”

Dan’s voice cracked on the first word. “Wendy asked me if I wanted to stay. Not stay in the house. Stay. With her. She was holding me against her chest after she’d used me and she just… asked. Like it was a real question. I said yes before I could think. And then I started crying because I realized I didn’t know if I’d said yes because I was afraid of what would happen if I said no, or because I actually wanted to be hers. She held me tighter and told me I didn’t have to decide anything else. That she’d decide for both of us. And I was grateful. I’m still grateful. I keep waiting to feel like I’ve lost something. All I feel is relief that I don’t have to keep pretending I might leave.”

Greg looked around the circle. No one met his eyes for long.

“Dependency isn’t the same as safety,” he said quietly. “But it can feel like it. Especially when the alternative is deciding everything alone.”

No one argued. Above them, the building was quiet. A single set of footsteps crossed the floor overhead—slow, familiar to at least one of the men in the room—and stopped. Whoever it belonged to didn’t call down. They just stood there for a while, then moved on.

Greg waited until the sound faded.

“Next week,” he said. “If you still need the room.”

To be continued?