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Summary
“Moan if you want us to keep going,” the first woman breathes in her ear, smelling of cheap perfume and menthols. She squeezes the horn hard, her french tips simultaneously digging into the soft skin of Melissa’s wrist. The breath punches out of Melissa’s chest. Something whites out behind her eyes, and she shivers with the awful realisation that if they keep touching her horns, squeezing, pressing, pulling, she soon won’t want them to stop.
What sick fuck makes this an available option without requiring every consent form on the planet?--
What if bodymodding was a thing and we could have horns and stuff if we wanted? What if they're designed to turn you into a living toy the moment your horns are touched, so other women can do whatever they want to you?
The POV character finds this out the hard way.