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You're laying down in the world's shittiest beanbag chair, back contorted in an uncomfortable position. The beads inside keep slipping away, making way for your ass to reach the floor, uncomfortable and hard, ruining the entire point of the beanbag. Any other day, in any other situation, you'd just opt to sit on the floor, but you've had so much to drink lately, and Roxie's arm is around you, keeping you in place. You shift around a little more, trying to make the beanbag work, before opting to roll over and lay yourself on top of its chest, making a little content sigh as you do. Its friends are gathered around in a circle, talking about some mundane something or other, you don't really know, you stopped paying attention to them a while ago. You've only ever been with Roxie in one-on-one situations until now and honestly you don't care much for its friend, but the alcohol is making you feel so so nice and its chest is so so warm so who cares.
As you wrap your arms around its chest, you hear the voices get closer and someone pokes you.
"Is she awake?" Someone asks. You groan in response.
"Guess so. How much did she drink?"
Roxie's chest vibrates against against your cheek as it answers. "I gave her a couple shots of vodka, and I think she had a beer before you guys showed up."
The other person hums in response, as if considering what it just said carefully. A short moment later, they poke you again and speak to you directly for the first time tonight.
"Hey, you awake?"
"mmmyeah" You respond, unsure of what exactly they want.
"You wanna hang out with us? You've been straddling Roxie all night."
You don't, really want to hang out with them, but they are Roxie's friends. If you're gonna spend any more time with it, and god knows you'd like to, you should probably get to know them. You roll around, head spinning from the alcohol, and let out a little burp as you look at everyone through the messy strands of hair in front of your face. The two other people in the room giggle at you, it makes you blush a little.
Peony is the shortest trans girl you've ever seen, although you're not even sure if she's a girl. Probably some fucked up amalgamation of gender. You vaguely remember her pronouns being something with he or it. Its pronouns, you correct yourself. It had gone on about gender earlier tonight but truthfully you were to out of it to listen, though you'd probably agree with everything it said. It seems too dressed up for just hanging out in someones living room, but you can't say you don't fuck with it. Shiny black boots that add an extra 5 inches to its height, skirt just above the knees, fishnet sleeves, and some crop-top for a band you've never heard of, probably something local based on the quality of the print.
Next to it is Anya, whom you're sure is a trans girl, also overdressed for the occasion. Ankle-length sundress, black Mary Janes, and ginger hair flowing to her ample chest, freckles dotting her nose and under her eyes, you have to admit she's really cute. You wanted to introduce yourself to her when she and Peony arrived, but you'd been too shy, and drunk, to do so. From what you can gather, her and Peony are a thing, maybe? You're not really sure, but as much as you're here for Roxie, you hope that you and Anya can connect a bit more. She's the one currently looking down at you, smiling in your face, making you extremely aware of how silly you look in your jeans and t-shirt.
Finally there's Roxie, the reason you're here in the first place, sitting next to you and wrapping its arm possessively around your waist, holding you close. Drop-dead gorgeous, it's wearing a leather jacket, vegan, of course, covered in patches. Trans symbols, local bands, and political slogans. Black ripped jeans and also wearing boots, you're realizing that everyone in this room seems to have their shoes on still besides you. You'd met it a few weeks ago on grindr, the first person to text you back in months. Your first two hookups, of course, were out of this world, and even though you don't know how serious it wants things to be, you cling onto it like a girlfriend would, eager to please.
"Ssorry, just feeling kinda... ummm... tired" You mumble, brushing the strands of hairs out of your face as you look at them. Roxie giggles next to you. You like being the center of attention, especially surrounded by such cute company.
"You're just so cute, we wanna get to know Roxie's cute new toy a little more." Anya explains.
"T-Toy?" You stammer, caught off guard by the flirting. You and Roxie weren't committed to each other in any sense of the word, but you didn't think that its friends were going to flirt with you so much. "I-I guess?" You stare down at your lap and smile sheepishly as you blush even more. Looking up to Roxie to silently inquire approval for the new pet name, it smiles and nods back at you, letting you know to go along.
"It's been telling us all about you, we couldn't wait to get our hands on you too." Oh. Did they want to have sex? You hadn't really prepared for that. You don't think you mind the idea, but it's surprising nonetheless.
"Hands on me?" You slur. "L-Like how?"
"Like this." Roxie responds, using its arm behind your back to shift you over its lap, enveloping you in its long arms, covered in barcodes, both faded and still fresh. You yelp as you feel something hard press on your ass, but more pressing is the arms wrapping over your shoulders, grabbing onto the bottom of your shirt and slowly picking it up.
"Ww-wwha!!" You yelp, as you're taken by surprise. Suddenly conscious of your bare tummy being exposed to all the girls in the room. It's already enough to make you into a stammering mess, but once Roxie lifts the shirt over your head and exposes your barely-budding chest to the room, you feel a familiar heat spread down from your stomach to your groin, tension building up in your panties.
All you're able to do is stammer and move to cover your chest with your arms, but Roxie pins them down, and you're too drunk to fight back. Okay, truthfully it could easily overpower you even while sober, a fact that it's used in your previous hookups.
Peony and Anya are staring in front of you, cooing at your bare chest, bonding over your exposed body together like you're some art installation they're viewing on a date.
"You're so cute you know," Peony starts, "I wonder why you even think you need to cover your chest, it's not like there's anything to show off there."
"II-I've been on estrogen t-two years!!" You whine. All it does is make all three of them laugh.
"Two years and this is all you have to show for it?" Peony continues, your face turning red. "By two years I was already an A cup." It takes your nipple in between its middle finger and thumb, lightly squeezing. Your arms try to reach to stop it, but Roxie's grip on you is too strong, and your wrists start to hurt. "Do you even have a cup size? Does it even count as having tits if they're this small?" Tears start welling up in your eyes.
"I-I. You said I'm cute!" You whine.
"Did we say you weren't?" Anya snaps back, sweet but sharp. Oh. The warmth spreads more, and your pants feel tighter.
"Yeah, Roxie definitely has a type." Peony says, taking back control of the conversation. "I wonder if you're also its type down there." It continues, hand trailing down to the zipper in your pants. Your legs buck as you try to get it to stop. You can rationalize being shirtless, it's like they said, your chest barely counts as breasts, but you can't rationalize them seeing you down there. You've never been naked in front of more than one person. The haze of the alcohol dulls the terror a little, keeping you from shouting at Peony to stop, and all that comes out of you mouth is some sort of a mix between a whine, a cry, and a moan. You also can't help but realize how Peony's touch lights your skin on fire, even through the layer of the jeans and panties. Maybe you do want this, you tell yourself.
Anya giggles while Peony rubs you through your pants, more and more noises spilling out of you, because of the alcohol, of course. You can't help but realize at this point that Anya is keeping your feet down on the ground and you have no way to get out of this situation. Your mind starts down a more sinister train of thought, trying to wade through the alcohol to reach the conclusion that maybe you are not in the safest situation right now. Scattered realizations such as the fact you didn't tell anyone where you are, the knowledge of just how inebriated you are, and fuck wait aren't you not supposed to have sex with someone who's drunk? Is this sex?
But it doesn't matter, because now you realize your pants have been pulled down and Anya's hand is rubbing your dick through your panties, fingers threatening to slip in and touch you directly at any point. You would never say it, but you secretly think Anya is the prettiest one here. She's definitely the most your type and fuck now her fingers are definitely touching your dick directly and she's so fucking good, thumb pulling down your foreskin and finger running around your tip, the pressure so so good and when she lightly, ever so lightly, grazes it with her thumb your hips buck and you moan and fuck how is she so good at this no one has ever touched you like this before.
Everyone is laughing now, you were too busy to notice before, but all 3 girls(?) are laughing at you, smiles intimidating and predatory. Anya giggles most of all.
"I bet Roxie didn't touch you like this, did it?" She asks, knowing the answer already. You blush as you remember Roxie's hand in your hair as it fucked your throat until you couldn't breathe, it was only 3 days ago after all. Roxie made you feel small, pathetic, and useful, a combination you loved. But right now, the way Anya is touching you, it makes you feel like a woman, a need so carnal, intimate, and deep in your soul that you're practically ready to profess your love to her.
Or maybe you're just drunk. It's probably that.
"Spread her out on the floor." Peony says, as Anya stops touching you, making you whine and cry a little. Pathetic. Roxie, having been doing nothing but holding you still up to now, takes a more active role once the beanbag is slid out from under you (thank god), and you're left shirtless, your pants thrown to the other side of the room, and your panties hooked on only your left ankle. Pre trails down your dick and your face is flush, for reasons anyone can surmise at this point, and you realize that no one has to hold you down anymore. You don't like the implication that they've assessed you as too incapable to flee, no longer requiring restraints, but you know they're right. Or maybe you just miss Roxie's vice grip on your hands. You whine and squirm on the carpet, heart pounding and blood pressure all over the place. You know if you stand up you'll probably faint thanks to your useless body. Whatever, this is great, you tell yourself, I'm having a threesom- and then a boot crashes into your ribs.
You howl in pain and immediately move to cover your side, but you're drunk and stupid and slow and before you even can another boot crashes into your ribs. Was it Roxie or Peony? You don't even know because fuck your ribs hurt so bad and it feels like your heart just stopped and you're moaning and leaking all over the floor and your eyes just rolled back like some kind of whore. God dammit. You are so fucking useless.
Your arms eventually figure out what they're doing and cover your chest, but it honestly doesn't even matter at this point because there's three of them and they're laughing as they take turns kicking you and hearing your stupid fucking whines and moans and talking amongst themselves.
God look at her dick she's leaking so much.
Do you think it's from when you fingered her Anya?
No fucking way! She's totally a painslut. Listen to her moans.
You groan and curl in on yourself and the alcohol really isn't helping right now because your elbow just brushed against your dick and it is so so sensitive and it makes you moan and all you can think about is more of that and now you're rubbing yourself on the floor like some kind of animal while they all take a break from kicking you to laugh at how pathetic you are. They're all saying things, words even, but you don't process them, you already know what they're saying. What they're probably saying, but maybe you're wrong because you hear the word roofie and that can't be right, and oh my god you were listening to what they were saying and that doesn't even matter anyways because Roxie just stomped down on your ankle and that hurts way more than anything else so far.
You scream and it stomps again and again and you hear something crack and now you're finally really worried because you think you broke something but maybe it's the alcohol? Who know's you're just a stupid girl, you tell yourself, except no you didn't because that was Anya's voice and she's giggling.
You look up, tears in your eyes, your left ankle swelling, screaming in pain so much it drowns out the pain in your ribs and you see Peony grab Anya forcefully and press her up against the wall and you wish you could be both of them. Pressed up against the wall Anya moans as Peony's right knee is placed just under her groin and you can see her rub herself against its knee and moan and fuck you wish that were you making Anya feel like that, but oh right Roxie is breaking your ankles.
"Fucking look at me. Ignore those fags." Roxie mutters in your face, leaning down to meet you eye level, still in your periphery. You don't listen because why would you, everything in your brain is so fucked right now and all you care about is hearing Anya moan and then Roxie slaps you.
"Look. At. Me." It growls and you comply. Its eyes are scary now and you're so sorry for what you did.
"Ii-'m sorry Ii lookeat anya ii" You get out before Roxie sighs exasperatedly and stands up to peel Peony off of Anya who's just fucking herself on its knee at this point.
"I need you two to behave if we're gonna do this tonight. You can frot over her body later if you want. Let's get her to the basement." It says and all you can focus on is the word body oh my god. Roxie isn't going to kill you, right?
"BNboydy?" You mumble, why are your words so bad. And. Dumb? Why can't you talk alcohol doesn't usually do this to you, but it doesn't matter because Peony and Anya quit being faggots and gather around you, Roxie and Peony lifting you up from your armpits while Anya giggles and bites on her thumb in obvious arousal.
Roxie looks at you while it carries you, eyes clinical in a way you haven't seen before. Something about its expression changes, concern maybe, hopefully for you.
"Where's your phone?" It asks. That's it? You groan but don't answer anything. It slaps your face again.
"Where's. Your phone?" It asks again. Angry. Still, only groans come out, maybe you have a concussion and you just can't talk anymore.
"Why do you care?" Anya asks, curious.
"Need to know if someone knows where she is." Roxie explains. "Makes things harder for us if someone does."
Oh.
They're definitely gonna kill you.
You're not even that upset about it though. You feel calm. You feel like nothing would upset you at this point. Anya says something about getting the phone and you're so upset at yourself for having fingerprint unlock but, not that upset.
You sort of lose memory here and there as you're dragged to the basement, vaguely remembering someone pressing your thumb against your phone, before hearing them all laugh. Probably at the fact you have nobody to tell where you are. Maybe the police will track me once someone realizes I'm missing, you think, remembering something you once heard about locating phones via cell towers, but you know that's wishful thinking. That's what they do when someone who matters disappears, not something like you.
Eventually they drop you, from only a few inches high, but your head still slams against a cold concrete floor and the ringing and sharp pain from it wakes you up. Your ankle hurts again, you have no idea what is happening and you just want to go to bed, when lights flash on and you find yourself in front of a white background with a camera pointed at you and you clearly read too much fucked up porn online because you immediately know what's about to happen to you.
You're about to be turned into a snuff film.
Roxie laughs at the look spreading across your face, the sheer amount of panic the situation is bringing you overriding the alcohol and whatever-the-fuck-else that may or may not have been you just hearing things that is currently floating around in your brain. Your breath picks up again and you feel so hot under the lights, they're boiling you. Sweat beads up on your forehead and you try your best to lift yourself up, managing to move your head to an upright position by some will of god. Unfortunately, you immediately fall back down and the room erupts in laughter. Peony and Anya are making out again and Roxie is fiddling with the camera, eye to the viewfinder while you fight your body to no avail. All you're doing is tiring yourself out, your body is sweatier, which you hate, and the panic that motivated you to get up by this point has been smothered by the cocktail in your mind.
Roxie peels Peony off Anya and whispers something to it, pointing at you. Peony makes its way over to a cabinet in the corner of the room, rummaging through what you can only imagine are bins. Thoughts flood your mind as to what it could possibly be pulling out. You have no idea what people use in real snuff films, you've been too scared to look at one, but you have ideas. Of course, you think of a gun, which is crazy, because that's insane and there's no way that's going to happen to you but of course it does because Peony is walking back to you, knife, gun, and zip ties in hand and you start bawling like a child. Its hands wrap around you, and you can't help but notice how much weaker it is than Roxie. You wish it were Roxie tying you up, you think to yourself, or Anya. As your hands are pulled behind your back and zipped up your mind latches onto Anya, in the corner of the room, and you can't help but wonder why she's participating in all of this. Roxie and Peony, you can definitely imagine making a smut film of you, you think to yourself, but Anya seems too sweet, she shouldn't be here.
Peony is done zipping you up and it lifts you by your arms, hooking you to something just above your reach, making you either hang or stand on your toes. You mewl and whine and settle on hanging when the pain from your ankle is too strong to stand on it, even though the pain on your hands is even worse than Roxie's vice grip. Roxie is done adjusting the camera by now, and Anya is latched onto Peony's arm again, giggling as they say something to Roxie about hurrying up. Roxie hits a button and a red light on the camera is staring at you.
It's now that it finally sinks in, for real, that in under an hour you are going to be dead. You're still not fully getting it, the concept of mortality being too much for your fucked up little brain at the moment, but part of it makes it through to you. You think about your cactus at home, and realize you won't be there to water it tonight. You realize you're never going to take your estrogen shot tonight, you aren't going to open your messaging app and text your friends online. They're never going to be able to text you again either. The thought of your small group of online friends never finding out what happened to you makes your heart sink. Will they try to look for you? You know they won't, though. You know when a girl like you goes missing online it only ever means one thing. It's not like you hadn't thought about it, talked to people about it. You'd be reduced to a statistic, a false one, you realize.
You think about your transition never being done, you think about your family, whom you still hate even now, realizing you died, good riddance, they'll probably say. You think about never finishing that game you always wanted to make, never learning how to make a game. You think about all the fucking little things you kept putting off and you're so upset at yourself because now you'll never get to do them because some stupid grindr hookup is making a snuff film out of you, making you into a snuff film.
You're sobbing ugly tears. Childish, stupid, scared, ugly tears. Peony laughs at you, Roxie is saying something to the camera, and Anya, fuck.
Anya is staring you in the eyes, fingering her pussy, which she has, by the way.
Her pupils are so wide, wide enough you wonder if she took something too. Her breath is shaky and her smile looks so evil you wonder if it'll kill you. You've been so worried about Roxie and Peony and yet Anya is here fucking herself to a near orgasm while you cry about your mortality and the worst part is that you're glad. You're glad she likes you. You're glad her attentions finally on you and off of fucking Peony and when her eyes close and she shudders and moans and screams and her neovagina clenches around her fingers you're happy you got her off. In your own way.
Peony laughs at Anya, calls her a slut and you hate Peony. You hate her so much and fuck it who cares about her pronouns at this point because you hate how she grabs Anya and that should be you. You hate Peony and Roxie for reducing Anya into this, for dragging her down here and making her watch them kill you. Your teeth clench and Peony notices because her eyes lock onto yours, a deep sadistic shit-eating grin spreads over her face while she grabs Anya's fat ass and sinks her long and unkempt nails into it, clawing over it and making Anya moan and cry. You hate this. You hate how Anya's skin slowly turns red over where Peony's nails run, you hate how she ruts against Peony's leg like the stupid whore she's been turned into and you hate how badly you wish you could do that to her. Peony keeps it up, eventually sinking her nails so far in that blood drips down, and you thrash against your restraints as Peony just laughs at you. When you think you can't take enough of this shit, an arm behind you reaches around and a searching line of pain explodes across your chest. Shit. You forgot about Roxie
Roxie is once again wrapping its arms behind you, breath on your neck, left hand grabbing your ass while its other hand slides a scalpel across your chest in a slow, clearly practice manner. You wonder if its scars were done like this. You sob as more lines are cut across your chest, some curved, some horizontal, some vertical. Roxie is drawing so much blood from you, pooling at your feet, and Peony is still off to the side, and you see it goring Anya's ass in front of you and you can't even bother caring be cause every single line that Roxie cuts brings your attention back to it.
You can't help but notice how surprisingly gentle Roxie has been about all of this. Your previous two hookups, obviously less intense, had it practically defiling you, panting and moaning like a wild animal. Right now, it's poised, calm, and its breath is steady as it carves into you, moving from your chest down to your stomach. Its arms, so long, slicing intently, now seem almost elegant, practiced, and graceful.
You hate that.
Roxie is done now. It tosses the scalpel off to the side and Anya slides her dress back over her legs as she and Peony come to look at its work. You look down too, but you can't make out what they're looking at, the blood is too messy, and the position makes it hard to make out what it is. Roxie must agree because it pulls out a cloth from its pocket and begins wiping off the blood on your chest. The cloth is wet, and stings, and you realize it's an alcohol wipe. Why she's disinfecting you, you have no idea, maybe it's because of how broken your whimpers sound as the pain flashes over your chest. It's the worst pain you've been in tonight, but you can barely manage more than a whimper as your body slumps down, weight on your wrists, like a piece of meat all 3 girls are admiring. When Roxie steps back, admiring her work, you can finally make out the symbols. They're letters, spelling in sharp, but intentful letters:
ROXIE'S
TOY
You don't like how that makes you feel. Disgusted, no disgusting, of course, but worse than that, you feel less than human. You feel like an object, probably intentionally so, but you still hate it, in the back of your mind. You hate how much it makes sense, how much is clicks. You hate how much of a revelation it feels like, how it feels like something you should have known a long time ago. How it makes you feel like life finally makes sense. How much less scared it makes you of the fact you're about to die because, as everyone knows, objects aren't alive.
Everything clicks into place for you, and you find your escape. This is it. You aren't alive, you aren't a person. You're a toy. Roxie is just going to break her toy. That's fine. Sure, it's sad when you break a toy, but it's not a huge deal. It's not a huge deal that Roxie is going to kill you.
So why is Anya the one holding the gun.
Roxie and Peony have stepped back now, and Anya is on your right, at point blank range. She's saying something to you, but you can't exactly make out what. You haven't been able to make out words for a while now. But you can make out the expression on her face, the same expression she made when she fingered herself. Hungry, amused, and worst of all sane. Her eyes are filled with clarity, there isn't a bit of remorse or delusion in her face. You realize why Roxie and Peony didn't make her help with anything else, why she's been allowed to do what she wants.
She's the only one who can pull the trigger.
Her hand caresses your cheek as she angles you in the direction she wants, you imagine what she's considering. The best angle for the camera, how to get the blood splatter on the background juuust right, and you can't think of how you're going to look. Will you look pretty, in your final moments? Will you look like a woman? You wonder who's going to see this movie, if it's going to be posted online or not. You hope whoever sees it sees a woman. That's all you can wish for at this point.
Anya is satisfied with your position, her hand leaving your cheek. Slowly, she leans in and plants a kiss on your lips, finally satisfying you. In all your delusion, all you can do is smile back at her, and finally her expression turns soft again.
In your final moments you see Anya's expression soften, returning to the peace from the start of the night. You tell yourself it's love, that she loves you in her own twisted way. She brings the revolver up to your mouth and you open your mouth to comply. It's going to be over soon, the part of you that's still sad about your impending fate doesn't matter. Everyone knows you can't be sad after death.
You feel the metal in your mouth, you taste the rust.
You smell the blood, you see Anya's smile.
You hear a ba