It began as a dare.
The fraternity house was loud that night, music thundering through the walls, the air thick with beer and sweat and secrets. Parties in this place always had a way of turning reckless after midnight, when inhibitions loosened and the games grew dirtier.
Mason, the youngest pledge, sat in the circle with his head bowed, a red Solo cup trembling in his hand. His cheeks were already flushed, whether from the liquor or the weight of being the target, he couldn't tell. All eyes were on him. Older brothers leaning forward, grinning, waiting for him to crack.
"Your turn, pledge," one of them jeered. "Truth or dare?"
Mason's voice was barely audible over the music. "Dare."
The roar of approval made his stomach twist. He already regretted it, but it was too late.
"Good choice," said Blake, the fraternity president. His smirk was cruel, the kind that promised trouble. "I dare you to strip naked in front of everyone here." And then, he glanced toward the couch, where two girls in short skirts were watching with wicked smiles— "You're going to let her decide what happens next."
Laughter broke out. Mason's stomach dropped.
The girl Blake had pointed to; tall, brunette, with glossy hair and a mouth painted dark red uncrossed her legs slowly. She was no stranger here; her name was Harper, and she had a reputation. She thrived on spectacle, on making boys squirm.
Now her eyes glittered with interest as they locked on Mason.
"Well," she drawled, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Let's see what you've got."
The chants began almost instantly. "Strip, strip, strip!"
Mason's hands shook as he set his cup aside. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck, the weight of every stare pressing down on him. His pulse thundered in his ears as he tugged his shirt over his head, exposing lean muscle and pale skin. Catcalls rang out.
He hesitated at the waistband of his jeans, his fingers fumbling. Shame and arousal battled inside him, a storm that left him trembling. The laughter cut deeper than he expected, but so did the thrill, the forbidden heat of being seen, of being forced into vulnerability.
When he finally pushed his jeans down and stepped out of them, the room erupted.
He stood there in nothing but boxers, his body taut with humiliation, every muscle rigid. He wanted to run, to disappear but Harper's gaze pinned him in place.
"Not done," she said coolly, crossing her arms. "Lose the rest."
The room fell into a hush.
Mason froze. He felt like his skin was burning, like every secret he had ever kept was about to be stripped away with that last piece of fabric.
But he couldn't say no. Not here. Not with everyone watching.
His boxers slid down, and the room exploded again. Wolf whistles, crude jokes, laughter that cut through his chest like knives. His face burned scarlet.
And yet he was hard.
That was the worst shame of all.
Harper rose slowly from the couch, her heels clicking against the floor as she crossed the room. The crowd parted, giving her space like she was the queen of some cruel ritual. Mason couldn't move.
She circled him once, her gaze roaming shamelessly over his exposed body, lingering where it made him ache the most. She smiled, wicked and knowing.
"He's blushing," she said, her voice pitched to the crowd. "Look at him. Sweet little pledge, naked and hard just because we told him to be."
Laughter erupted again, but Mason barely heard it. Shame and desire tangled inside him until he couldn't breathe.
Harper leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. "Do you like this?" she whispered, soft enough that only he could hear.
He shuddered. His voice broke. "I… I don't know."
She smiled against his skin. "Oh, you do."
She turned back to the others, her voice loud now. "Let's make him beg."
The crowd howled their approval. Someone handed her a phone, and Mason's heart stopped when he realized she was recording.
"Hands behind your back," Harper commanded.
His body obeyed before his mind could catch up, his arms folding behind him, his shoulders trembling with the strain. She prowled around him again, her fingers grazing his chest, his stomach, lower still, until he gasped aloud.
The crowd jeered. Mason bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, humiliation blazing hotter with every second.
But he was trembling for another reason too. Every brush of her hand sent fire through him. Every cruel word made him harder, needier, trapped between the sting of shame and the ache of desire.
"Tell us how it feels," Harper taunted, her voice lilting with mockery. "Tell your brothers how much you love being used."
Mason's throat was dry. The room spun. He wanted to deny it, to scream but when he opened his mouth, a moan escaped instead.
The sound drew another roar of laughter.
"Say it," she demanded. "Say you love it."
He squeezed his eyes shut, humiliated beyond words. But the pressure was unbearable, the weight of the moment crushing him until the truth spilled out.
"I love it," he gasped.
The room went wild.
From then on, he was theirs. Harper toyed with him mercilessly, pushing him to the edge of every limit he didn't know he had. She made him kneel while she stood over him, tracing her nails across his skin, praising and mocking in the same breath. She teased him until his body shook, until he begged without pride, his voice breaking while his brothers jeered and filmed.
The shame was exquisite, unbearable and addictive.
Because even as tears burned in his eyes, even as laughter echoed around him, he had never felt more alive.
When it was finally over, Mason collapsed back against the couch, his body limp, his face buried in his hands. The party had moved on, the crowd drifting back to their drinks and games, leaving him shaken and raw.
Only Harper lingered.
She crouched down in front of him, her voice suddenly soft, intimate. "You'll never forget tonight, will you?"
His throat worked, but no words came. He could only shake his head, the truth burning too deep.
She smiled, her hand stroking his cheek with surprising gentleness. "Good. That's the thing about shame, Mason. Once you taste it, you'll always come back for more."
That night, alone in his bed, Mason replayed it. All the laughter, the humiliation, the way Harper's touch had made him ache despite everything.
And he realized, with a shudder, that she was right.
The shame was his new addiction.