The humid August air of North India clung to everything in the sprawling campus of Delhi Metropolitan College. New students poured in like a colorful river — bright dupattas, crisp shirts, nervous laughter echoing between old brick buildings and newly constructed hostels. Mia Sharma was one of them.

At nineteen, Mia looked every bit the sheltered, well-brought-up girl from a middle-class family in Lucknow. Long, jet-black hair that reached her waist, big doe-like eyes framed by naturally long lashes, fair skin that blushed easily, and a slim yet curvaceous figure that drew quiet glances wherever she went. She had always been the obedient daughter — topper in school, classical dancer, the girl who helped her mother in the kitchen and never stayed out late. But college was supposed to be different. A new beginning. Freedom.

Or so she thought.

On her very first week, she was assigned to the Arts stream hostel. Her roommate, Priya, was the complete opposite — bold, loud, and already well-connected with seniors. Priya had taken Mia under her wing immediately.

“Arre relax na, fresher! College mein thoda masti bhi karna padta hai,” Priya laughed one evening, applying kajal in front of the mirror.

(Arre relax, fresher! You have to have some fun in college too.)

Mia smiled shyly, adjusting her simple salwar-kameez. She had worn western clothes only a few times back home, but here most girls were in jeans and tops. Slowly, she started experimenting — fitted kurtis with leggings, subtle makeup, and open hair.

By the second week, Priya dragged her to the crowded college canteen during lunch break. The place was buzzing with students. Seniors occupied the best corner tables, laughing loudly, while freshers tried to find space wherever they could. That was the day everything changed.

Priya’s senior friends had joined them — two girls and one guy from the final year. They were laughing and teasing the new batch. One of the girls, Riya, suddenly pulled out a small packet from her bag and slid it across the table under a napkin.

“Try kar. Bas ek puff. Tension release ho jaayega,” she whispered with a wink.

(Try it. Just one puff. It’ll release the tension.)

Mia’s heart raced. She had never even seen weed before, let alone smoked it. But the table was full of encouraging smiles. Priya nudged her.

“Bas ek baar, Mia. No one will know. Freshers ka welcome treat samajh le.”

(Just once, Mia. Consider it a welcome treat for freshers.)

Under peer pressure and the excitement of her new life, Mia gave in. She took the small packet in her hand, examined it curiously, and even laughed nervously when Riya cracked a joke about how innocent she looked holding it. In that moment of laughter, unknown to her, a phone camera from three tables away captured everything clearly — her face, the packet, the laughter, the entire scene.

The ones recording were Alex, Jake, and Ryan — the most notorious trio in the college.

Alex Mehra, final year, Business Studies — tall, sharp-featured, captain of the basketball team, and son of a wealthy businessman. He had a natural aura of dominance that made juniors nervous.

Jake Singh, the most mischievous of the three — athletic build, mischievous eyes, known for throwing the wildest parties in his PG.

Ryan Khanna, the quiet but cruel one — muscular, tattooed arms, always smirking like he knew everyone’s secrets.

They had been watching Mia since orientation day. Her beauty stood out — the kind of innocent beauty that made their darker instincts flare up. When they saw her holding the weed packet and laughing with the group, a predatory smile spread across Alex’s face.

“Jackpot,” he muttered, zooming in on his phone. “Yeh fresher toh bilkul perfect hai.”

(This fresher is absolutely perfect.)

Jake chuckled. “Innocent face, but already getting into trouble. Hamari personal randi banane ke liye best material.”

(Innocent face, but already getting into trouble. Best material to make our personal whore.)

Ryan saved the video carefully and added, “Kal pakdenge isko. Akeli milegi toh aur maza aayega.”

(We’ll catch her tomorrow. It’ll be more fun if we get her alone.)

The next day, after the final lecture, Mia received a message on her Instagram from an unknown account. It was a 15-second clip of the canteen video. Her face went pale as she watched it in the girls’ common room.

The message read:

“Third floor, old classroom. 4 PM. Akele aa. Warna yeh video teri mummy ke WhatsApp pe pahunch jaayega.”

(Third floor, old classroom. 4 PM. Come alone. Otherwise this video will reach your mom’s WhatsApp.)

Her hands trembled. She thought of deleting the message, blocking the account, but another clip arrived — this one zoomed in on the packet clearly in her hand. Panic flooded her chest. With tears stinging her eyes, she made her way to the isolated third-floor classroom, heart pounding like a drum.

The door was already locked from inside when she reached. She knocked softly.

It opened. Alex stood there, tall and imposing, with Jake and Ryan behind him, all three wearing dangerous smiles.

Mia stepped inside hesitantly. The moment the door clicked shut and locked, she knew her life as a simple, innocent fresher had ended.

Alex stepped closer, towering over her. He gently but firmly caught her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“Ab se tu hamari personal randi hai, samjhi fresher?”

(From now on you’re our personal whore, understood fresher?)

That was how it began.

Mia had come to college chasing dreams of independence, new friendships, and a bright future. Instead, she found herself trapped in a web of blackmail, lust, and dark desire. The three seniors had claimed her, and they had no intention of letting their new favorite toy go.

From that afternoon onward, every corridor, every break, and every empty classroom became a potential stage for her submission. The sweet, shy girl from Lucknow was slowly turning into their obedient, secret slut — one forced orgasm and degrading command at a time.

And deep down, in the darkest corner of her mind, a part of her had already started wondering how long she could pretend to hate it.