Chronolust Temptation [18+] High S*xual Content
Ch.3 The Prize [II]

Hayao’s face softened into a friendly smile, the expression chilling in its falsity, his dark eyes glinting with a predatory edge as he leaned closer to the blonde girl, her trembling form bound on the stark mattress. The stopwatch’s pulse throbbed against his chest, its chain necklace a cold weight, amplifying his control. “Hey, relax,” he said, his voice deceptively warm, “I’m here to help you, okay?”

Her deep blue eyes, wide with terror, narrowed with disbelief, her milk-pale skin flushed with fear as she shook her head, her long, wavy blonde hair shifting. “You… you’re lying,” she stammered, her voice with distrust, her large breasts heaving with each shaky breath. But Hayao’s smile didn’t falter, his hands moving to the coarse ropes binding her wrists, slowly untying them with deliberate care. Her body tensed, her sapphire gaze darting between his face and the door, hope flickering despite her fear.

As the last rope fell away, she sprang up, her naked body a blur as she bolted for the steel door, her blonde hair streaming behind her, her bare feet slapping the concrete. 

But Hayao’s hand closed around the stopwatch, his thumb pressing the button with a faint click. A shimmer rippled through the air, and she froze mid-stride, her hand outstretched, her deep blue eyes locked in a desperate stare, her curvaceous form suspended in time, utterly at his mercy.

Hayao smirked, the artifact’s dark pulse roaring, and crossed the room, effortlessly lifting her limp, frozen body. He returned her to the thin mattress, arranging her with cold delight—spreading her legs wide in an “M” pose, the light muff of her pussy exposed, her large breasts splayed, her milk-pale skin glowing under the harsh bulb. He stepped back, admiring his work, then opened the cell door, letting it creak wide, the dim corridor light spilling in. With another press of the stopwatch, the shimmer faded, and time resumed.

Her scream was immediate, her body jerking as she realized her position, her legs splayed, her vulnerability laid bare. “What—how did I—” she gasped, her blue eyes darting to the open door, disbelief twisting her porcelain face. She scrambled up, bolting for the door again, her naked curves bouncing, her blonde hair whipping wildly. “Let me go!” she cried, but Hayao pressed the stopwatch’s button once more, freezing her just inches from freedom, her hand grasping at air, her expression a frozen mask of panic.

He repeated the cycle, each time dragging her back to the mattress, posing her in increasingly degrading positions—on her knees with her ass raised, legs spread wide; face-down with her wrists pulled back, mimicking bondage; on her back with her hands cupping her breasts, her pussy glistening under the light. Each time he opened the door, unfroze her, and watched her bolt, only to freeze her again, the stopwatch’s power rendering her attempts futile. Her screams grew hoarse, her struggles weaker, her deep blue eyes dulling with each repetition, the artifact’s relentless control breaking her spirit.

After the tenth cycle, Hayao arranged her once more—legs spread, hands pinned above her head, her blonde hair fanned out like a halo—and unfroze her. She didn’t move this time, her body collapsing into the mattress, her sobs wracking her frame, tears streaming down her cheeks, pooling on her milk-pale skin. “Why… why are you doing this?” she whimpered, her voice broken, her large breasts quivering with each sob, her vulnerability absolute.

Hayao knelt beside her, his friendly mask gone, replaced by a cold, commanding stare, the stopwatch’s pulse steady in his hand. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with menace, exploiting her moment of utter defeat.

She swallowed hard, her blue eyes meeting his, brimming with despair. “Amanda… Amanda Wetherspoon,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her body shaking, her blonde hair clinging to her tear-streaked face.

Hayao’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, the stopwatch’s dark magic urging him to reshape her. “Wrong,” he said, leaning closer, his breath hot against her ear. “Until you learn your place, your name is Mai.” The name—his mother’s—felt like a twisted claim, a final assertion of his control. Amanda’s sobs deepened, her eyes closing as the weight of her new reality crushed her, the stopwatch’s pulse sealing her fate in the cell’s cold confines.

Amanda’s sobs echoed in the stark concrete cell, her body slumped on the thin mattress, her milk-pale skin glistening with sweat and tears, her long blonde hair matted against her tear-streaked face. The stopwatch’s dark pulse throbbed against Hayao’s chest, its chain necklace a cold weight, amplifying his control over her shattered spirit. Her deep blue eyes, once vibrant with hope, now stared blankly at the bare wall, her large breasts quivering with each broken breath, her naked curves a testament to her vulnerability. The name “Mai”—his mother’s—hung heavy in the air, a cruel rebranding that marked his dominance, the artifact’s influence twisting his desire into a need to reshape her completely.

Hayao stood over her, his expression cold, the stopwatch’s pulse urging him to push further, to cement her submission. “Say it,” he commanded, his voice low and menacing, leaning down until his face was inches from hers. “What’s your name now?”

Amanda’s lips trembled, a fresh sob catching in her throat as she curled tighter, her bound ankles creaking against the ropes. “I… I’m Amanda,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but it was weak, crumbling under the weight of her despair.

Hayao’s smirk darkened, the stopwatch’s magic roaring as he grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Wrong, you stupid slut,” he growled, his fingers digging into her porcelain skin, leaving red marks. “You’re Mai until I say otherwise. Say it.” He twisted her nipple sharply, drawing a pained gasp, her body jerking against the mattress.

“M-Mai,” she choked out, her voice breaking, tears spilling anew as her blue eyes dulled further, her spirit buckling under the relentless assault. “I’m… Mai.” The words were a surrender, her body sagging, her large breasts heaving as she sobbed, the ropes biting deeper into her wrists.

“Good girl,” Hayao said, his tone mocking, releasing her chin with a shove, her head falling back against the mattress. The stopwatch pulsed in approval, its dark influence feeding his satisfaction, but the artifact’s hunger lingered, urging him to test her further. He stepped back, his eyes roaming her naked form—her spread legs, her glistening pussy, her trembling curves—considering his next move in this twisted game of control.

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