It was a morning. Barely awake, you check your messages, and one of them catches your attention. The sender is unknown to you and calls themselves “Mr. White Rabbit.” The subject line reads: “Join me in the real rabbit hole.” This mysterious title urges you to open the message. Attached, you find a video titled “Like Alice, follow me.” Your curiosity, far too strong, compels you to play the clip.

A background sound rises, as if from a music box, and a figure appears: a man wearing a top hat, a jacket that seems straight out of an old-time circus. When his face fills the screen in a close-up, his eyes transform into hypnotic spirals. A strange sensation overtakes you, as if you can’t tear your gaze away. The man begins to speak: “Hello, Joyce, I am Mr. White Rabbit, the one who dug the burrow you’ve fallen into. From now on, you are trapped, you are mine.” Then your mind clouds over. It’s impossible to tell if you watched the entire video or how long it lasted, because you find yourself standing in your bathroom, with no memory of how you got there.

You think it must be a moment of absent-mindedness. “It’s nothing, maybe just a bit of fatigue,” you tell yourself. Then you see your reflection in the mirror: a headband with pink Minnie Mouse ears, a “Fuck Doll” t-shirt, a cheerleader-style skirt, and pink high heels. “I don’t remember putting this on—what’s happening to me?” you ask yourself, worried. Suddenly, the mirror shifts; your reflection blurs, resembling an underground tunnel. A sound, growing louder, fills the air: it’s the music box melody from the video. From the depths of this hole, a voice rises: “Joyce, follow me, come to me, join me, trust me, I am Mr. White Rabbit.”

All at once, a hand emerges, grabs you, and you seem to fall through the other side of the mirror. The fall is slow and gentle, accompanied by images of you—exposed, humiliated—flashing by like porn videos. Then the fall stops. Your feet touch down on a dirt floor, the light dim. Whispers and heavy breathing fill the air, but you can’t make out who’s there or what’s being said. Then the lights flare on, and you’re under the spotlights, Joyce.

“Gentlemen, welcome to the depths of my burrow. For this night’s ritual, I bring you the queen of sissy sluts, whose body will be used until exhaustion.” You recognize the man speaking these words: it’s the one from the video. He approaches, bowing as he removes his top hat. “Dear Joyce, you’ve talked about it for so long—it was time you truly descended into my burrow. To celebrate your arrival, I will offer you to my friends, to whom I promised a perfect fucktoy.”

You want to speak, but the words that come out of your mouth aren’t the ones you intended: “Oh, it’s a pleasure, Mr. White Rabbit, I am yours. My body and dignity are here to amuse you and satisfy your friends.” “Good girl, good bitch. For now, I’ll sit in my armchair. Give me a beautiful show,” says Mr. White Rabbit, pulling a music box from his jacket pocket and beginning to turn its crank.

As the crystalline melody echoes through the room, your body feels like a puppet on strings, and you kneel without being able to resist. On your knees on the dirt floor, you feel your body tremble under the spell of the music box’s enchanting tune. Its notes resonate, acting like an invisible chain binding you to Mr. White Rabbit. Your eyes, veiled by a hypnotic trance, stare into the void, but your body moves on its own, like a docile doll. Your makeup begins to betray your state; the situation, though uncontrollable, excites you and makes you sweat.

Three men step forward. Without a word, you reach out to them, your trembling fingers guided by some strange instinct. You undo their zippers, pull down their underwear mechanically, revealing their erect cocks. The first is thick, its veins prominent, pulsing with life in your small hand; the second, long and slimmer, twitches at your touch; the third, massive, sports a red glans glistening with a drop of precum. Your will is as absent as your gaze, but your movements are confident. You begin to stroke the first two while bringing your lips closer to the third.

Strangely, you feel like a spectator to what’s happening, with little control over your body. Yet, you feel the heat of the cocks in your hands, the scent of the one with the wet glans so close to your lips. Your mouth opens, engulfing the member that uses you for its pleasure. Your tongue slides over the hot skin, and a muffled moan escapes, betraying your pleasure as you suck with the fervor of a docile whore. Your nimble young woman’s hands caress the others, alternating between slow strokes and rapid back-and-forth. You move from one cock to another, aware that you’re here to drain them, your wet mouth leaving trails of glistening drool. The salty taste, the warmth of these pillars of flesh, all blend together. You feel both absent and present, and you notice the situation makes your clitty leak in your pink chastity cage. Your makeup degrades little by little: the lipstick smudges around the edges of your mouth, and tears from deep throat penetrations make the mascara run in black streaks down your cheeks.

Mr. White Rabbit, seated in his armchair, watches with a smile as sly as it is perverse. The music box rings again, and his voice rises, both authoritative and reassuring: “One of you must empty himself on her tongue, now.” The two men you’re stroking grab your shoulders, their fingers digging into your skin. You feel their strength pinning you in place, your frail body unable to resist. The third man begins to fuck your mouth without restraint, taking your lips like a pussy he can pound at will, then pulls out. With a virile groan, he releases a thick jet onto your outstretched tongue. His hot, salty seed fills your mouth, and you moan at being used as a cum dump. “Swallow, Joyce,” orders Mr. White Rabbit, a spark of vice in his eyes. You obey, and everyone can see you gulp down the cum, a drop escaping the corner of your lips, leaving a new mark on your chin, giving you an even more obscene look.

The other two men lift you like a limp doll and carry you to a low piece of furniture, designed to position you at the perfect height. On all fours, like a bitch, thighs spread, your cheerleader skirt hiked up, exposing your chastity cage—a symbol of an obsolete and useless masculinity. Your ass is offered, vulnerable, like your entire being. One of the men, the one with the long, slim cock, positions himself behind you and penetrates you with a sharp thrust. You moan, your body jolting with pleasure in this lascivious situation. On the other side, the man with the thick cock guides his member to your mouth. You suck it eagerly, your lips sliding over this rock-hard flesh, while the rest of your lipstick continues to degrade.

The man behind you speeds up, his savage thrusts making the furniture shake, its creaks unable to drown out your moans. You feel a heat rising within you, your pleasure intensifying. Suddenly, a spasm courses through you: the milk of your sissy ovaries leaks through your chastity cage, pooling in a puddle of vice on the furniture. At the same moment, the man in your ass groans with pleasure and, shouting, “Take it, you little slut!” he cums, a torrent of hot semen flooding your pussy. Caught in the collective frenzy, the one you’re sucking pulls out and releases thick jets onto your face. The sticky liquid spreads over your cheeks, nose, and forehead, finishing the ruin of your makeup. Your eyes, drowned in mascara, contrast with the rivers of white cum dripping down, as if racing the streaks of rimmel.

The music box chimes again, and you, reacting like an automaton, roll onto your back. Mr. White Rabbit stands and binds your wrists with pink fur handcuffs, a detail so cute for the defiled doll you are. A Black man, massive and muscular, steps forward. His cock, enormous and intimidating, seems to defy the laws of nature. He positions himself between your spread legs, places your feet on his shoulders, and penetrates you without mercy. You scream, your body feels torn by this intrusion, yet you want him to stay buried in your pussy and fuck you. Each thrust is an electric shock, and the initial pain is quickly replaced by a near-orgasmic pleasure that makes you tremble from head to toe. Two other men, stationed on either side, jerk off over your small breasts, their heavy breathing filling the air.

The man with the massive Black cock speeds up, his body glistening with sweat, like a gladiator. Overwhelmed, you feel your mind detaching even further from your body. You are nothing but flesh for pleasure, an offered slut, a perfect fucktoy reveling in her condition. Your makeup is unrecognizable: lipstick mixed with saliva and cum, mascara streaking your face like scars. Finally, the Black man roars and cums, a flood so abundant it overflows, running down your thighs. The other two men, almost simultaneously, release their seed onto your small breasts, their cum splashing your fragile female body.

The men withdraw, leaving you dazed by pleasure and aftershocks, your body glistening with sweat and fluids. The music box chimes once more, and you rise, driven by an invisible force, as you feel cum leaking from your pussy and trickling onto your chest. On all fours, you crawl toward Mr. White Rabbit, who now holds a pink leash that appeared as if by magic. He attaches it to your neck, a satisfied smile on his lips. Between his legs, you raise your eyes to him. Your face, perfectly made-up not so long ago, is now a canvas of obscenity, and your eyes seem lost in an abyss, just as Mr. White Rabbit has made you lose yourself in his burrow.

“Good girl, good bitch,” murmurs Mr. White Rabbit, stroking your hair. Exhausted, used, but strangely at peace, you feel that your mind, like your body, no longer belongs to you. Then Mr. White Rabbit takes the music box and… he waits for the words to fall from your mouth: “Please, Mr. White Rabbit, play your melody again,” for the next chapter to be written…