Poor Homeless Girl Losses Her Virginity To A Dog in Exchange for Millions
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The Last Offering: Zuri and the Curse of the Guardian
In the shadows of a city that never slept, lived Zuri, a 17-year-old girl rendered invisible by poverty. She slept under Bridge 47, her only possession a hidden bag, her only shield her virginity, which she guarded fiercely, having learned early on how to run from the predatory world.
It began on a rainy Thursday. Zuri, shivering under the bridge, saw a luxurious black Rolls-Royce stop. A woman, stunning and deadly, descended, holding a black umbrella like a scepter.
“You’re beautiful,” the woman said softly. Zuri flinched. “I’m not selling anything,” Zuri snapped. The woman smiled, unbothered. “I’m here to offer.” She pulled out a bar of heavy gold and set it on the wet concrete. “Your body, one night, one creature. You’ll never be poor again.” Zuri’s instinct screamed no, but the image of the gold, a tangible end to her starvation, haunted her. The next morning, facing thugs, Zuri ran—and crashed right into the woman. She took Zuri’s silence as consent. Without understanding why, Zuri stepped into the Rolls-Royce.
The Unmaking of Zuri
The ride was silent, leading to a sprawling mansion marked with strange, glowing symbols—the same eye symbol from the woman’s card. Inside, the mansion was a world of black marble, crystal serpents, and silent servants dressed in red. Zuri knew prisons didn’t always come with bars.
The woman in gold corrected her name: “Tonight you are the offering.”
They led her to a warm chamber where velvet curtains lined the walls, and a steaming bath glowed faintly. Zuri protested, but the door sealed shut. Maids stripped her carefully and submerged her into the bath. The water was thick, syruplike, and as it touched her skin, every scar from years of running shimmered and faded. Her past life was being erased against her will.
Dressed in a translucent gown, they placed a velvet collar around her throat, a single golden chain dangling down. Zuri tore at it, but the chain tightened, a constant reminder.
“You are the offering,” the woman repeated. “And tonight the Guardian will take what the world has never given you.”
The velvet curtains parted, revealing a throne of obsidian. Upon it sat a shadow, massive, silent, breathing. Its eyes, not human eyes, glowed faintly: red, then blue, then red again.
The woman whispered: “You will give him what he needs. In return, you will have millions. You’ll never be a ghost again.”
The Guardian rose from the throne. Zuri saw him clearly: not a man, not a dog, but something in between. His body was massive, covered in shimmering fur, his jaw sharp, his teeth too long, yet his posture was hauntingly human.
“You are mine,” he spoke, his voice echoing like thunder inside her mind.
Zuri’s body shook, but she forced defiance. “Stay away from me! I’m not an object!”
“Bold,” he murmured. “The others begged. You defy.”
Her hunger betrayed her. A silent banquet appeared, and Zuri, defeated by starvation, crawled to the table and ate like an animal.
“Hunger betrays you!” the Guardian said. “Survival always costs something.”
Drained by food, fear, and exhaustion, Zuri sank to her knees. The Guardian lifted her effortlessly, carrying her toward the throne. He laid her down. Zuri squeezed her eyes shut.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt me.”
The Guardian’s voice softened for the first time: “Hurt is all you’ve known. Tonight, you will know something else.”
🩸 The Trial by Blood
The next morning, Zuri woke in silk, her shame overwhelming, but her hunger gone. In a black box were bundles of dollars and a bar of gold. A note read: “This is the first taste of your freedom. The Guardian.”
He appeared, no longer the towering beast, but a man draped in black robes, his silver hair flowing, his eyes still faintly glowing blue. He revealed his past: he was Isle, a powerful prince cursed by a scorned priestess for his cruelty and pride, transforming him into a monster bound to his throne.
“She swore I would remain between man and monster until a girl untouched by the world, yet broken by it, gives herself to me—not in duty, not in fear, but in choice.”
Isle explained that the first night had only been the “first key”—the body. “The heart,” he said simply, “is the final lock.”
Zuri resisted, but she was haunted by the voices of past “offerings” who failed, their whispers echoing from the mansion walls. Isle revealed the “mirror of curses,” showing her his agony. She learned that their fates were tied: her defiance hurt him, but if the curse broke, both would be lost.
The curse soon escalated, demanding a trial. In a vast, domed chamber, Isle forced Zuri to face her own past trauma—a horrific vision of herself as a younger girl being cornered and abused under the bridge.
“You cannot run from this,” Isle urged. “Face it!”
Zuri screamed, lunging at the shadows of her abusers, her resolve solidifying in a raw cry of defense. The vision shattered. She had faced what broke her and lived.
🛡️ The Choice That Broke the Curse
The true climax came during a moment of profound agony for Isle. His body convulsed violently, twisting back towards his full beast form. The chains that adorned the hall lashed out, coiling around him. The priestess’s face appeared in the mirror, laughing: “Love him and he consumes you. Reject him and he consumes himself.”
Isle, snarling, managed a single word: “Run!”
Zuri, facing the raw, terrifying choice, stepped forward instead. She stood before the writhing, chained beast. “Isle,” she whispered. “Fight it. You said regret is the seed of power. Then regret me. But don’t let this curse make you less than what you were.”
For a heartbeat, the beast froze. The chains snapped. Isle collapsed, his form shifting back to a balance between man and monster.
The curse demanded one final price: blood. The priestess appeared, holding a black obsidian dagger, demanding a free sacrifice to break the final chain. Isle urged Zuri to kill him to free herself.
Zuri picked up the dagger, but instead of turning it on him, she turned it on herself. She pressed the blade to her palm, slicing deep. Blood dripped onto the marble. Her voice cracked: “If blood is the price, then it will be mine!”
The collar at her throat blazed and shattered. The mansion screamed as the curse broke completely. Isle, fully human again, cradled her wounded body. “You saved me,” he whispered.
🌻 The First Queen of Her Own Story
The mansion imploded, collapsing into a torrent of light and dust, obliterating the priestess’s lingering shadow and every remnant of the centuries-old torment. When the dust settled, only Isle, now entirely human, and Zuri remained.
Isle, trembling with relief, kissed her forehead. He looked at her with vulnerable, human blue eyes. He was free.
“You are the girl who broke the curse, the last offering, and the first queen of your own story,” he told her.
Weeks later, Zuri stood barefoot in the middle of a city square. Using the money, she established a home for the girls who slept where she once had, under bridges, in gutters. She was not invisible; they called her Mother Zuri.
At her side stood Isle, no longer cursed, but simply a man who smiled only when he looked at her. They had both learned that love, even when born in blood and chains, could become the ultimate freedom.
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