/vt/ - Virtual Youtubers

As promised, Luca rape.

Luca has always been sure of himself. There was no reason why he'd have to be cautious in public; he's tall, muscular, and has an almost hypnotizing presence wherever he goes. He talks to strangers like old friends, and old friends like family... Although maybe this indiscriminate friendliness is ill thought out.
It had to happen eventually.

He's been talking with the same person all night, sat in the back booth of his favorite club. There's no reason to be suspicious; they're friendly and well-spoken, even if they don't talk about themselves much. They're dressed smartly and even made the bartender laugh. Why should he be suspicious when he returns from the restroom and they hand him a whiskey? It's a nice gesture. Luca accepts it gratefully.
It isn't too long until he begins to feel strange. A sudden, consuming drowsiness hits him like a wave, and he's vaguely aware of the tumbler slipping out of his grip, of the dull thud of thick glass on mahogany. His companion asks him if he's okay; he mumbles that he needs to go home. Vision blurring, he lets himself be led to his car. He sits down and everything goes black.

Luca's next memory is of a terrible nausea. He tries to sit up, but he can't, his torso too heavy to lift; he tries to reach for the water beside his bed, but with a creeping horror realizes that his arms are tied above his head, secured with a belt. With a great effort he opens his eyes.
There's someone straddling his thighs. His unclothed thighs. Their hands are on his waist and they're moving down.
He tries to yell, but only a soft slurring comes out. He tries to fight against the rudimentary handcuffs, a motion that would normally be easy for him, but every movement feels sluggish and heavy.
"Stop," he manages to choke out as the person he trusted takes his limp dick into their hand. The sensation is fuzzy but distinctly unpleasant.
"No," he protests. It takes all of the effort he has. It's no use - his pleas go ignored.
His vision starts to go dark again as they press inside him, a suffocating sensation knotting in his stomach. Not now, he thinks to himself in dulled panic, not while they're doing this... But he can't fight the sensation. With a final, cloudy "why?" he slips back under.

Luca awakes alone. The morning sun only serves to highlight how disheveled his bed is, a pillow still propped under his hips and the sheets crumpled on the floor.
His heart sinks as he puts together his fuzzy recollections. His ass hurt. His wrists, now untied, were sore from where they'd been kept in place. Yet his car keys, left on the bedside table, and the dried cum on his inner thighs were the only indication someone else was ever there.
His eyes well up with tears, although even he's not sure if it's from shock or upset. He doesn't let himself cry, though. What would that do? It was already over. He couldn't even remember his assailant's face. Maybe he can convince himself it never happened, he thinks. Maybe if he took his own advice and "just keep pogging". Maybe if he repeats his usual morning mantra it'll wipe away everything that happened, like a spell.
He sniffles. His voice comes out broken.
"I love mornings."