A Weird Revenge NTR System (Beta)

Rain slashed against Kaito Nakamura's dorm window in savage, unrelenting torrents, each drop hammering the glass like a gunshot, turning the night beyond into a smeared, desolate blur. The storm's fury echoed the jagged, festering wound that had been gnawing at his chest for weeks—a quiet rot he'd buried under denial until it clawed its way free tonight. His cramped room, once a sanctuary of code and solitude, was a prison now, the walls closing in, the air heavy with damp rot and the sour stink of his own sweat.

A desk lamp flickered, its sickly yellow glow sputtering over the wreckage strewn across his desk: empty energy drink cans toppled in sticky pools, a spiral notebook shredded at the edges, wire-rimmed glasses smudged with grime and flung aside. Kaito slumped in his rickety chair, the cheap wood creaking under his wiry frame, his shoulders hunched like a cornered animal. His fingers twitched over his laptop, nails bitten to the quick, leaving faint smears of blood on the keys—restless, unmoored, teetering on the edge of something he couldn't name.

He hadn't planned to dig tonight. It started as a distraction—another sleepless spiral, chasing random links across the web's filthiest corners to drown out the noise in his skull. His black hair hung in greasy, tangled clumps, falling into eyes red-rimmed and hollow from days without sleep. He hadn't eaten since noon, hadn't showered in longer, hadn't bothered with the overhead light. The laptop's blue glare burned into the dark, a lifeline he gripped until he stumbled onto it—a link buried deep in a sleazy forum, no name, just a thumbnail that hooked his gut like a fish on a line.

It loaded slow, a cursed file from some dark-web cesspit, the grainy preview pulsing with a sick promise. His thumb hovered over the trackpad, pulse pounding in his throat, a warning he ignored. He clicked, and the screen exploded with images that ripped the air from his lungs.

Pictures—raw, filthy, unfiltered. Aiko—hisvAiko—her face scrubbed into a blurry smear, but her body laid bare, undeniable. One shot: her thighs splayed wide, impaled on a thick, veined cock, riding it with a whore's rhythm—her long dark hair whipping wild, hips slamming down, her cunt stretched and glistening with sweat and cum. Another: her on her knees, lips stretched tight around a stranger's swollen shaft, head bobbing like a slut in heat, spit drooling down her chin, hands pumping the base with a grip that knew every inch. A third: bent over a stained mattress, skirt yanked up, a guy's meaty hands gripping her hips as he pounded her raw—her ass bouncing, red and slick, another cock shoved in her face, smearing pre-cum across her lips as she moaned for more.

Kaito's stomach heaved, bile surging up his throat, a familiar sickness he couldn't puke out. He scrolled—more pics, more angles, more cocks. Her face stayed a haze, but the mole on her inner thigh, the curve of her ass, the way her tits swayed—he'd kissed those spots, trembling and shy, thinking he was special. It was her. No fucking question.

He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Just stared, fists clenched so hard his knuckles popped, the rain outside thundering like blood in his ears. He'd known she cheated—not this, not the full, disgusting truth—but the signs had been piling up for months like trash in a gutter. Late nights she brushed off with a giggle. Lipstick smeared on her neck he pretended was makeup. The way she'd smirk, eyes glinting, when he asked where she'd been, daring him to push.

He'd let it slide. Every fucking time. She was Aiko—cute, gorgeous, a goddess who'd stooped to pick him, the quiet nerd with the stammer and the hunched shoulders, lost in code at the back of the lecture hall. Skinny, awkward, a nobody. She could've fucked anyone—jocks with biceps, rich assholes with cars, smooth-talking pricks who'd charm her panties off in a heartbeat. But she'd smiled at him, kissed him, let him fumble with her hand like it meant something. He was grateful—pathetic, disgusting, groveling grateful. A girl like her with a loser like him? He'd take the scraps and lick the plate clean.

So he'd ignored it—the canceled dates, the half-assed texts, the rumors slithering through campus like venom. "She's a freak," some meathead had bragged in the cafeteria, elbowing his buddy. "Fucks half the team raw, keeps that nerd strung along for kicks." Kaito had shrunk into his hoodie, face burning, and told himself it was bullshit. She came back to him, didn't she? Crawled into his bed with those soft arms, that teasing laugh, and he'd lap it up like a dog.

Two weeks ago, she'd sprawled across his mattress, head on his chest, giggling at some shitty rom-com on his laptop. Her fingers played with his, tracing his knuckles, her warmth seeping into him. "You're so sweet, Kaito," she'd purred, voice dripping honey, eyes glinting like she meant it. He'd bought her a cat keychain that day—a cheap little thing with a bell, because she'd cooed over some stray once. She'd squealed when he gave it to her, throwing her arms around him, her tits pressing into his chest, her scent—vanilla and deceit—flooding his nose. "You're the best," she'd whispered, clipping it to her bag right there, her lips grazing his cheek. He'd melted, heart thudding, believing every lie she fed him. She was his prize, his proof he wasn't invisible.

Now these pics tore that delusion to ribbons. Her cunt stuffed with some guy's cock, her mouth choking on another—while he sat here, alone, a fucking idiot. His chest caved, a throbbing, hollow ache he couldn't outrun. He scrolled again—her bent over a couch, two guys at once, one slamming her ass, the other gagging her throat, cum dripping down her chin. The rain roared, but it couldn't erase the filth. He didn't close the tab—just stared, breath ragged, hands shaking.

He wouldn't confront her. Never had the balls, never would. She'd keep smirking, and he'd keep eating her shit. "Why?" he rasped, voice cracking, barely audible over the storm. Why him? Why her? He didn't want answers. She was Aiko—his hot, untouchable slut—and he was nothing.

Tears burned his eyes, hot and unstoppable, spilling down his face in messy streaks. He didn't wipe them—just let them fall, soaking his hoodie, dripping onto the desk. He'd forgiven her before—every hint, every lie. She was too perfect, and he'd clung to her like a lifeline. Now that gratitude festered, a rancid knot in his gut. He slammed his fist into the desk—hard this time, pain shooting up his arm, cans clattering to the floor with a metallic crash. "Fuck!" he shouted, voice breaking, raw and wild.

Memories stabbed him—her laugh, her perfume, the way she'd cuddle him after vanishing for days, stinking of someone else's cologne. Last month, she'd blown him off for a "girls' night," ignoring his texts while he waited up like a moron. Next day, she'd breezed in, all smiles, kissing his forehead with lips that'd probably sucked someone else dry hours before. "Missed you," she'd lied, and he'd bought it, nodding like a whipped puppy. He'd spent his last cash on coffee for her that morning—she'd whined about a hangover, and he'd jumped to fix it, glowing when she giggled and sipped it. Now he knew—she fucked around, came on some stranger's dick, and he paid for her recovery.

He scrolled again—her on her back, legs wide, a guy's tongue buried in her dripping cunt, her hands clawing his hair; her ass up, cum splattered across her cheeks, a meaty hand smearing it into her skin while she grinned. Kaito's throat closed, a choked sob escaping. He grabbed an empty can and hurled it at the wall—it dented the plaster with a dull thunk, rolling back toward him mockingly. "Fuck you!" he screamed, voice shredding, tears streaming now, snot mixing with the mess on his face.

He stood, chair scraping back, and kicked it—hard—sending it crashing into the desk. The lamp toppled, bulb shattering with a faint *pop*, plunging the room into near-darkness, the laptop's glow the only survivor. He grabbed his glasses and flung them—they cracked against the wall, lenses splintering. "You fucking bitch!" he roared, fists pounding his thighs, nails digging into his palms until blood welled up. He didn't feel it—just the rage, the heartbreak, the humiliation boiling over.

His phone buzzed on the desk—her text. "Hey babe, crashing at a friend's tonight. See u tomorrow xo." He snatched it, staring at the lie, the "xo" taunting him. Another bed, another cock—she'd probably texted it mid-fuck. He hurled the phone—it smashed against the window, screen shattering, raining glass onto the floor. He didn't care. Let it break. Let everything break.

The pics glared on—her choking on cum, her cunt gaping, her ass red from slaps he'd never dared give. He sank to his knees, fists slamming the floor, a howl ripping from his chest—primal, broken, lost. The rain thundered, drowning his cries, but not the pain.

Then a sharp ping cut through the chaos. Kaito froze, head snapping up, tears blurring his vision. The screen flared red, a jagged popup slicing over the pics—black background, crimson text pulsing like a living wound.

"Is she cheating on you?" it demanded, cold and brutal. His pulse surged, drowning the rain. He knew—fuck, he knew. Crawling back to the desk, he clicked "Yes," finger shaking, breath hitching.

"Do you feel betrayed?" it pressed, relentless. Betrayed? Gutted, flayed, fucked over. He clicked "Yes," a sob catching in his throat.

"Do you want her to suffer?" He stopped, the question a knife in his ribs. Suffer? Aiko? Her laugh flashed—then morphed into these pics, her whoring herself out, laughing at him. Rage flared, hotter than the tears. He'd worshipped her, and she'd pissed on him. His hand trembled. He wasn't this guy—violent, vengeful—but he was done being her fool.

He clicked "Yes." The popup crackled, static snapping like a gunshot. Red text blazed: "Activate Revenge NTR System *Beta*?" Two buttons—red "Yes," gray "No"—no explanation, just the dare.

Revenge? On Aiko—his cheating, cum-soaked goddess? It was sick, insane—but it sank into him, feeding the fire. She'd never know he'd seen. She'd keep playing him, oblivious, while he—what? His finger hovered. He wasn't cruel—not yet. But he wasn't her bitch anymore.

The rain screamed, the room a wreck. He clicked "Yes." The screen went black, swallowing everything. A warped voice rasped, low and sinister: "System initializing… One condition: You cannot break up with her." His breath caught, the rule locking in—cold, unyielding. The air thickened, electric. Something dark ignited in his chest—not just alive, but starving.