Chapter Text
Keika Takato blinked against the harsh, unrelenting white. It pressed in from all sides—ceiling, walls, floor—like she’d been swallowed by a void of sterile light. No seams, no imperfections. Just endless, blinding uniformity. Her head pulsed with a vague, foggy ache, the kind that lingered after cramming for finals or pulling an all-nighter in the Rokukeikan University library. But she hadn’t been studying. She remembered… what? Stumbling back to her dorm after a late-night club meeting, collapsing onto her bed in her tank top and shorts. Then nothing. Blackout.
She looked down at herself. Contrary to what she had been wearing the night before, she was now dressed in her school uniform. Being a university student, uniforms were not enforced the way they were in high school, but they still sent them to wear during special school events. She hadn’t worn hers since the beginning of her first year, and it was snug on her body. This made her realize someone must have changed her out of her sleep clothes before she wound up here. The thought made her skin crawl.
Her fingers brushed something cold and unyielding around her neck. A collar. Metal, smooth, fitted perfectly—not too tight, but tight enough to make her swallow hard, feeling it shift against her skin. No buckle. No way to remove it. Her heart stuttered. What the hell is this? She sat up, the floor cool beneath her bare feet. No shoes. No phone in her pockets.
Panic bubbled up, slow at first, like water heating to a boil. This isn’t my room. This isn’t anywhere. She stood, legs shaky, and spotted the door—seamless, blending into the wall until she approached.
The light above it was an eerie red, but turned green after a moment. Keika closed her eyes, telling herself to calm down before she did anything rash. She heard it once said that if you have to tell yourself to calm down, it means you’re already too far gone. She stifled this thought and approached the door. It hissed open, revealing a larger chamber beyond.
Her eyes were met with six women. All familiar faces from campus. All wearing the same collars. All looking as disoriented as she felt.
Kanae Hokari was the first to notice her. Keika’s childhood friend, her rock through the chaos of college life—shared cram sessions, late-night confessions over ramen. Kanae’s short hair was tousled, her usual gentle smile replaced by wide-eyed fear. “Keika… oh God, you’re here too?” Her voice trembled, and she took a step forward, as if to hug her, but hesitated, glancing at the others.
Keika’s stomach twisted. Kanae. Of all people. Seeing her like this—vulnerable, scared—stirred something protective in Keika. Why would she be here? Just what was this? Keika swallowed, forcing a nod. “Yeah. What the fuck is going on?”
Miyako Andou stood nearby, arms crossed, her sharp features set in that unyielding determination that made her the undisputed president of a well known sorority. Everyone at Rokukeikan knew her—respected her for her ironclad rules, feared her a little for her no-nonsense enforcement. She looked ready to fight, eyebrows knit in concern.
Rika Makiba, the energetic first-year from the astronomy club, huddled close to Kanae, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. Her usual bubbly energy was gone, replaced by wide, teary eyes. Poor Rika, Keika thought. She’s just a kid—barely 18, fresh out of high school. What is she doing in a place like this?
Natsuki Aoi, their English lit professor, paced a few steps away. She was young for faculty—mid-twenties, trying so hard to project authority in class with her crisp blouses and stern lectures. Now, she looked small, lost, her hands trembling as she adjusted her glasses.
Rinne Byakuya leaned against the wall, her aura intact even here—cold, calculating eyes scanning the room like she was already plotting an escape. Rinne was the RA of the dormitory one building over from Keika’s. Keika had always found her intimidating, that rigid posture screaming “don’t cross me.”
And then Nemu Manaka. The transfer student who’d appeared mid-semester, enigmatic and aloof. Beautiful in a way that turned heads, with an air of mystery that made people whisper. She met Keika’s gaze briefly, her expression unreadable—almost… intrigued? Keika looked away quickly, a flush creeping up her neck. Why is she so calm? Does she know something?
Before anyone could speak further, a voice crackled to life from invisible speakers—flat, mechanical, devoid of emotion. “Welcome, players. The game will now begin.”
The word “game” sent a chill down Keika’s spine. The women froze, exchanging panicked glances. Rika whimpered softly.
“Reading participants. Keika Takato, Major in Psychology. Hokari Kanae, Major in Nursing. Miyako Andou, Major in Political Science. Rika Makiba, Major in Early Childhood Education. Rinne Byakuya, Major in Criminal Justice. Nemu Manaka, Major in Psychology. Natsuki Aoi, the English-Literature Professor.”
Before anyone could speak, the voice continued.
“To escape this facility, you must open five locked doors and reach the surface. Each door requires a key to be inserted into its keyhole. The key is provided in a box that will appear for each round. The unlocker is one of the female participants. The keyhole is Keika Takato.”
Keika froze. The others turned to her in unison.
“The roles are fixed. Keika Takato is the keyhole. The remaining participants are unlockers. For each round, one unlocker will be selected at random. The unlocker must then perform the assigned act using the provided key on the selected keyhole’s designated orifice or body part—mouth, vagina, breasts, anus, or as otherwise specified. Completion of the act unlocks the door. The group proceeds to the next room. Refusal to participate will result in a Game Over.”
Keika’s face burned. Assigned act. Orifice. Key. The clinical language made it worse—made it clinical rape. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. No. Don’t think about it like that. But her body betrayed her: a slow, shameful heat building low in her belly. She’d buried these urges for years—the dark fantasies of being forced, helpless, used. Reading forbidden stories late at night, hating herself afterward. This isn’t fantasy. This is real. People will get hurt.
Rika burst into tears. Natsuki stammered, “This has to be a mistake.”
Miyako stepped forward, fury blazing in her eyes.
“Enough of this bullshit. I’m not playing your sick game. Let us out—now!”
Keika’s breath caught. “Miyako, don’t, we don’t know what will happen if we refuse.” Keika said softly.
The voice ignored Miyako’s demand. She pounded on the wall where the monitor was. “Do you hear me? This is kidnapping! Coercion! I refuse to—”
The lights plunged into darkness.
Screams pierced the void— Rika’s shrill cry, Kanae’s gasp, Natsuki’s sob. Keika’s heart hammered, adrenaline flooding her veins. In the black, her mind raced to forbidden places: What if they force me? What if Kanae has to… or Rinne, with her cold hands… She bit her lip, hard, tasting blood to ground herself. No. You’re sick. This is wrong. People could die.
Light exploded back. Miyako was gone from where she’d stood. Instead, a metal frame had risen from the floor, and she was strapped to it—wrists and ankles bound in unyielding cuffs, a thick gag wedged between her teeth, muffling her protests. Wires trailed across her exposed skin, pads adhered to her chest, arms, legs.
“Withdrawal from the game will result in death,” the voice stated calmly.
Then the electricity hit.
Miyako’s body convulsed, arching against the restraints. Her eyes bulged, veins standing out on her neck as muffled screams tore from her throat. Her muscles locked rigid, spasms rippling through her frame. A dark stain spread across her shorts—urine, uncontrollable, humiliating. The acrid scent filled the air, mixing with the ozone tang of the current.
The others recoiled in horror. Kanae sobbed openly, turning away. Rika covered her face, whispering “No, no, no…” Rinne’s stoic mask cracked, her lips parting in shock. Natsuki ran to comfort Rika.
But Keika… Keika couldn’t tear her eyes away. The sight of Miyako—strong, unbreakable Miyako—reduced to this, writhing in agony, helpless… it sent a forbidden thrill through her. Heat pooled between her legs. Oh God, why? Her secret shame, buried for years: the dark fantasies that plagued her nights. Being overpowered, taken against her will, used without mercy. She’d discovered it in high school, stumbling across illicit stories online, and it had haunted her ever since. She’d never acted on it, never told a soul. It was her deepest, darkest secret—a perversion she hated herself for.
But here… if they have to rape me… The word “rape” echoed in her mind, making her flush deeper. Would it feel like this? Pain and pleasure twisted together? She pressed her thighs together, trying to stifle the growing ache, praying no one noticed her quickened breath.
And then she felt eyes on her.
Nemu. Leaning against the wall still, but now watching Keika with a subtle tilt of her head. Those piercing eyes seemed to see right through her—past the fear, straight to the arousal. A faint smile tugged at Nemu’s lips, knowing, almost inviting. Keika’s cheeks burned. Does she know? How?
The current ceased. Miyako slumped, chest heaving, body twitching with aftershocks. Alive, but shattered—tears streaming down her face, mixing with drool from the gag.
“The demonstration is concluded,” the voice announced.
Keika felt sick from the stench of burnt flesh and the ammonia from the urine trickling from the wooden chair. She turned to Kanae, who was sobbing, and gently held her, consoling her. “We better move into the next room.” Rinne finally spoke, her voice soft and oddly composed for the sight they had just beheld.
The group followed, but Keika stayed behind. Her eyes were locked onto Miyako’s helpless corpse, once so bright and cheerful, now half dead. The realization made her stomach sink, and yet she couldn’t tear herself away from the room.
Suddenly, two arms wrapped around her. She jumped from the sudden contact, and turned to see who could possibly be hugging her at this moment- only to meet the sly eyes of Nemu Manaka.
“Mmm, quite a reaction you had there~” She mewled in Keika’s ear, one of her hands reaching down and sliding up Keika’s skirt, fingers probing her panties. “Ah!” Keika let out a sharp gasp at the sudden contact, her thighs squeezing together.
“You’re soaked. Quite an odd reaction to the sight of a corpse, don’t you think? Don’t tell me you’re actually a sadist.” Nemu purred, her voice slick with conniving intensity as she suddenly licked Keika’s ear, before biting down on it gently.
Confusion whirled in her mind. What…? What was happening? Keika tried to fathom the events leading up to this. She had never really spoken much to Nemu, despite them being in some of the same classes. Why was she suddenly doing this…? She knows. Keika realized with dread. She knows I’m turned on by this situation.
“You have a fetish, don’t you? For violation. Force. Being raped.” The word hung between them, blunt and electric.
Keika’s breath hitched. No one knew. She’d never said it aloud, not even to herself in the mirror. The fantasies started innocently enough—powerless heroines in books, then darker corners of the internet. Videos, stories. Always anonymous, always deleted from her history. The shame after the high.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered, but it came out weak. Her thighs clenched, betraying her again as Nemu’s giggle in her ear sent sparks down her spine.
“Am I? Your body doesn’t lie.” Nemu reached out, spreading her fingers in front of Keika’s eyes, the slickness of her arousal still evident on Nemu’s hands. “In psychology, we call it paraphilia. A form of masochism tied to non-consent fantasies. Common enough, but yours seems… pronounced. And convenient, given our situation.” She leaned in closer, breath warm against Keika’s ear. “As the Keyhole, you’ll be the one
we have to ‘unlock.’ Forced acts on your body. If you enjoy it secretly… well, that makes escape easier, doesn’t it? No real resistance from you.”
Keika’s mind raced, a whirlwind of denial and dark thrill. She’s right. God, she’s right. The idea of the others—Kanae, gentle but compelled; Rinne, cold and precise; even Rika, small and innocent—taking her against the rules of decency… it made her core ache. But admitting it? “Why are you saying this? What do you want?”
“A deal.” Nemu whispered seductively, spinning around to stand in front of Keika. “Three favors. In exchange, I won’t tell Kanae about your secret.” Her smile was like a cat.
Kanae. She was the one person that absolutely could not know. How would her childhood friend react to finding out her best friend was a sick pervert who got off to the idea of being raped?
If she had to comply with Nemu to avoid that, she would.
“Fine.” Keika sighed, biting her bottom lip. Nemu’s grin widened, eyes slanted as she caressed Keika’s cheek. “Good girl. Now, for my first request… Kiss me.”
Keika stiffened. The truth was, she still hadn’t had her first kiss, despite her big age. But losing it like this, right in front of a corpse, in this strange game? Wasn’t ideal.
But alas, she complied. Nemu placed her hands on Keika’s shoulders. She was a bit shorter than Keika, but not by a lot. “Is this your first kiss?” Nemu purred. “Yeah.” Keika muttered. Nemu’s eyes fluttered closed. “Mine too.”
That was surprising, considering what a beauty Nemu was. Their lips met briefly, before Keika pulled away. “Bad girl.” Nemu mumbled, pulling Keika back in before wrapping her tongue around hers. This strange, horrific situation sent a blur of confusion and pleasure through Keika as Nemu’s tongue ravaged her mouth. The kiss was sloppy and wet, not romantic in the slightest. Keika opened her eyes and saw Kanae standing at the door, a look of bewilderment upon her face. Keika immediately pushed Nemu off of her. “Kanae!” She shouted; but Kanae had run off.
A deal with the devil, sealed with a kiss, was just the beginning of this twisted game.