"Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger, This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die."

The chalk scraped against the blackboard, but Brock wasn't listening to the lesson. He was admiring the curves of Helena's back, the way her tailored waist skirt struggled gloriously to contain the generous swell of that ass. Her voice was a mere background hum to accompany the grace of her shifting hips… He was tracing that line with his tongue.

"So, can anyone tell me why Romeo. In his despair, chooses the potion?”

Ms. Helena is a potion, I wonder what she smells like. No, tastes like after a workout. Mmmmmm 

A warm, familiar breath tickled his ear from the seat next to him. "Wake up, sweetie," a whispered voice that belonged anywhere else but a lecture hall.

“How about you, Brock? Do you have anything other than my scent?”

His eyes jolted, his mind went blank. Brock opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked around the class for an answer, only to see his mom sitting next to him, her eyes full of warm amusement. "Mom? What are you doing in my class?" And damn! Does dad know about this schoolgirl uniform?! Lucky bastard!

Mom just giggled and leaned closer. "Of course he doesn't know, silly-boy. Now wake up, Brocky."

The room dissolves. A gigantic pair of breasts cast a shadow over the classroom. 

CRASHHH!

A ruler smashes down, destroying his desk. “Brock Daniels–” Ms. Helena roared, looming over the class. 

WAKE UP!

------------------------

Brock's eyes cracked open. The first thing he felt was a shocking, biting cold of his comforter's absence on his groins, and the heavy, pinning weight of a body directly on his rock-hard morning wood. A low, guttural growl vibrated through his shaft and down to his balls. He blinked, the contest of Ms. Helena vs mother in schoolgirl uniform faded like smoke. Dammmn… A blurry shape loomed above him. 

The growl came again, a wet, hungry sound that was anything but… Human. Mmmmmmm… Mom, is that you? A woman was standing over him, she had a beautiful drooling smile with a slack jaw open. Smooth green skin covered in scars. And the most delightful scent of lavender and rotten meat… Opaque white eyes? Brock’s vision sharpened, and his blood turned cold. It was mom. wearing the tattered, blood-stained silk nightgown he'd last photographed her in.

ZOMBIE! MOM'S A FREAKING ZOMBIE!

He screamed. His arms shot up, palms flat against her shoulders, shoving with all his might. But, it was useless. She was an immovable body of dead weight, her strength was horrifying. As she snarled and pushed down, her face descending toward his throat, her body shifted. The torn neckline of her nightgown gaped, and her massive, heavy breasts swung free, spilling across his chest. A jolt, electric and wrong, shot through him. The weight was immense, a terrifying pressure that stole his breath, but it was a pressure he had fantasized about for years. 

Dammit. I dreamed about this moment so differently. 

He felt the pebbled texture of her cold nipple drag across his skin, and a sick thrill cut through his panic. In his fantasies, her flesh was warm, alive. This was a perversion of that dream, it was better. The sheer weight of her, the object of a thousand secret jerk-off sessions, was now the thing threatening to crush him. His cock throbbed in ecstasy. 

But something was in the way.

As she forced her body down, her stomach pressed against the rigid, fleshy barricade of his own cock. It was the only thing holding her back. Her dead, unyielding flesh was no match for the sheer, unyielding length of his big-cock. She grunted in frustration, a mindless beast confused by the obstacle between her and her meal. She couldn't get close enough to bite. She couldn't shift her weight to get past it. His erection was the only thing keeping him alive.

He was losing. Her strength was overwhelming, her weight and the suffocating softness of her breasts slowly pushing the air from his lungs. And then, just as her cold breath ghosted across his face, the fight drained out of him. The world without her... what was the point? He stopped struggling, his arms falling limp at his sides. He looked into the hungry growling face of the woman he loved.

"Mom," he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek. With a ragged breath, he spoke. "Mom, I love you. Not just... not just like a son. I love your cooking. I love your hugs. I love your smile. And I... I love your massive boobs. Your humongous butt. Watching your hips when you walk. Your feet, and the way you paint your toenails. God, I love the smell of your dirty panties too..." His voice cracked in his throat. "A world without you... Is not a world worth living!"

He closed his eyes, a final, broken smile on his face. "So just do it, eat me, or whatever. I love you Brenda..."

But his mother, the zombie, didn't bite. With a frustrated snarl, she shifted her weight, trying to lunge past the fleshy barricade pinning her to his chest. Her body slid up, and Brock felt the slick tip of his cock drag down the soft plane of her stomach. She grunted, a mindless beast and pushed up one last time to get at his face. 

It was the opening she needed. The opening his big-dick needed.

SQUELCH

Her body came crashing down. But her teeth never found his throat. There was a wet, tight, impossible heat engulfing his cock. A sound ripped from her throat, not a growl, but a long, shuddering moan. An identical sound, a virgin's gasp of shock and pleasure, tore from Brock's lips.

His eyes squeezed shut, bracing for the end. But this... this wasn't death. A wave of warmth, more intense than anything he'd ever felt, on his cock. Is this what dying feels like? he thought, his mind reeling. Shit, why did nobody ever tell me this? Or is it just the feeling of getting eaten up by your own mother? It kinda feels like... Jerking-off… But better…

His zombie mom was a beast of conflicting instincts. Her target was denied, replaced by a new, more potent sensation. As she moved, something was changing. A searing heat bloomed from his cock, a life-giving fire that was forcing its way into her dead core. Her movements, initially jerky and mechanical, became more fluid, more purposeful. She was no longer just trying to escape; she was trying to consume. He heard her breathing change from the guttural growls to something resembling human gasps as she began to ride him in earnest. Her massive ass slammed down, taking every inch of his monstrous cock until, with a wet, percussive thump, the head speared through the tight barrier of her cervix and sank deep into the waiting channel of her womb. 

PLAP-PLOP-PLAP

Her dead limbs trembled not with weakness but with reawakening nerves. With each downward plunge, he felt her internal muscles clench around him, not with zombie strength but with a desperate, involuntary human response. Her humongous ass, a thing he had only ever dreamed of, rose and fell with increasing rhythm, the flesh becoming warmer, softer, more alive with each wet slap against his thighs. The frame groaned in protest with every punishing impact. 

SHLAP-PLOP-SHLAP

A jolt of electric pleasure shot through Brock. Mmmmmm Yeahhh Mooommmm

The zombie instinct flickered. The hunger was a dull thrum, drowned out by a new directive. The slick fluid leaking from the boy inside her was rewriting her impulses. Eat... her brain moaned. ...FUCK... her body answered. She was riding him, a desperate pursuit of the feeling his big cock forced into her.  

THWAPPP-SQUEEELCH 

Brock's eyes were still shut, his hands gripping her thick thighs. He was instinctively thrusting his hips up to meet hers, matching the rhythm as she dropped her wide hips down his huge cock. He wasn't thinking, he was just feeling. The wet heat, the rhythmic pressure, the sounds she was making. It was the most exhilarating moment of his life. He could feel something building deep inside him, a pressure he'd coaxed out himself countless times, but this was a tidal wave. With a final, soul-crushing downward thrust of her huge ass, the pressure burst. 

Uwaaah! “Mom!" he cried out, his eyes flying open for a second as he blew his load deep inside his mother's convulsing pussy.

She collapsed beside him, her entire body going rigid, then limp. A long, shuddering sigh escaped her lips, ghosting across his cheek before... silence. Brock, panting and covered in sweat, lay there, a blissful, stupid smile on his face. He had died. I think? And it was amazing.

Brock's eyes fluttered open. He wasn't dead. A familiar ceiling of glowing star stickers he'd put up as a kid was still there. He turned his head, and his breath caught. His mom was lying beside him, not a monster, but just... Mom. Her chest rose and fell with the soft, steady rhythm of deep sleep. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and when they made contact with her arm, it wasn't cold, but warm and pulsing. The sickly green was gone, replaced by the peachy tone he knew from childhood. She was cured.

His eyes traveled down to her massive, bare breast right next to his head, a warm, soft mountain of flesh. A wave of pure, exciting joy washed over him. It was a miracle. A dream come true. He didn't hesitate. With a triumphant whoop, he dove face-first into the valley of her cleavage, motorboating with the giddy excitement of a kid on Christmas morning. Mmmph-Mmmph! he cheered into her soft skin, his hands coming up to fondle the incredible weight of her M-cup breasts. He was still alive! This was the best day of his life. 

But after a few minutes of heaven, a familiar sensation drew him away. The post-nut-clarity. He pulled away, panting, and looked down. His cock was still hard and a mess. It was covered in a thick, sticky sheen of his own cum, mixed with something else... His eyes followed the single, glistening strand that connected his tip to his mom's pussy, which was peeking out from the torn ruin of her nightgown. Her cunt was oozing with his cum, a thick steady river of it flowed from her and onto the sheets.

It finally clicked. The moan. The bouncing. The heat.

Oh my god, I fucked mom. Hell yeah! Take that dad!

Brock grinned and scrambled over the side of the bed. He fished out a locked metal box containing his: his Ultra-Secret, Not-Girly-At-All Diary. He flipped to the bucket list and wrote:

"MAJOR LIFE GOAL REACHED: FUCKING MOM AND LOSING MY VIRGINITY. TAKE THAT DAD, I’M GONNA MAKE HER ADDICTED TO MY COCK!"

He was so consumed by his triumphant entry that he didn't hear the low guttural groan behind him. He didn't see the shadow fall over him. A cold, dead hand grabbed his shoulder, and Brock let out a high-pitched squeal of pure terror.

------------------------

He looked up into the face of his mother, Brenda. There was no violence in her eyes, only a soul-deep horror as she stared at her own hands. "Brock! Oh my god, what was I about to do to my poor baby?" she cried, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, smothering his face against her chest and surrounding him with the soft, overwhelming weight of her ample breasts.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," Brock said, his voice muffled against her skin as he shamelessly nuzzled deeper into her cleavage, melting into her warmth. "But... do you remember anything?"

Brenda's shuddering calmed, and she placed a soft, trembling kiss on his head. "Only... only that I had to get in here to eat my sweet little bear," she whispered, her voice cracking. A deep, burning blush spread across her cheeks as the memories flooded back, every depraved confession, every detail he'd whispered, including the part about her stolen underwear. 

Brock pulled away, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his face as he rose to his feet. He puffed out his chest. "Well, I saved you, Mom. With my cock." He looked her naked body up and down, his gaze possessive. "I guess that makes me the man-of-the-house now."

Brenda gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "I... I thought that was my imagination." Her eyes drifted down, past his stomach, and landed on his huge semi-erect cock. Her eyes widened even further. It wasn't just big; it was a monster.

That's when Beatrix, with a feral snarl, burst through the bedroom doorway. She lunged, but her foot slipped on a discarded t-shirt, sending her tumbling forward. Her mouth opened in a zombie snarl as she fell, and instead of biting his thigh, she impaled her face directly onto his massive cock, taking a third of it down her throat in one go. 

AHHHHHH! “MY DICK! SHE'S GONNA BITE IT OFF! HOW AM I GONNA FUCK MOM AGAIN!" Brock shrieked in terror. 

SHLURRP-GRK-GLURRK 

But the bite never came. Instead, a strange sound filled the room. It started as a wet, choking noise, then transformed into a low, rhythmic gurgle. Brock's shrieks of terror began to melt into guttural moans. His hands, which had been raised in defense, slowly came to rest on the back of his sister's head. His eyes rolled back into his head.

Brenda crept forward in horrified disbelief, pressing her massive, soft breasts firmly against his back. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she leaned her head over, her cheek touching his, trying to make sense of the sight. Her warm breath tickled his ear as she stared, utterly confused. Her sweet Beatrix, her zombie daughter... she was deepthroating her brother. And from this close, she could see everything: the way her daughter's throat bulged and worked around his shaft, the blissful look on her son's face, the impossible size of him stretching her esophagus. 

GURRG-GURRG-GLUP-PLOP

The sound of the final pop echoed in the sudden silence. Brock's eyes, which had been rolled back in bliss, slowly focused. He looked down at his sister, who was smiling a vacant, blissful smile before slumping sideways onto the floor, asleep and cured. A wave of triumph washed over him. He had done it again. He then felt a presence at his side, a familiar warmth and the soft tickle of breath on his ear. 

He turned his head to see his mom, Brenda. Her expression was of awe, a raw, undisguised hunger that had nothing to do with brains. But everything to do with big-dicks. She had seen her daughter take a horse size cock down her throat and drink a copious amount of his cum, and she wanted next. 

As Beatrix slumped to the floor, Brenda's hand shot out, completely ignoring her daughter, to wrap her fingers around the massive, glistening girth of his shaft. Her fingers couldn't even meet. She leaned in, kissed his cheek, and her hungry whisper. "I hear you fantasize about me, Brock. Show mommy what you do to me." 

A slow, lazy grin spread across his face. He didn't answer with words. He spun his mom around, gripping her wide hips, and bent her over the side of his bed. She spread her legs apart with eager anticipation, reaching between her thighs to guide his massive cock inside. He was already rock-hard again. He lined the slick head up with her entrance as she stroked the tip, her own hips rocking back, desperate for him. 

He was about to ruin his mother when a new sensation made him freeze. A warm, wet pressure was bathing his balls. He looked down. Beatrix was awake, her eyes clear and full of adoration. She was lovingly kissing and sucking his testicles, her tongue swirling in a way that made his entire body clench and a fresh drop of pre-cum bead on the tip of his cock. 

Brenda looked back over her shoulder, a devious smile on her face. "What's the matter, Brocky? Scared of Mommy's pussy?" she purred, reaching back to spread her cheeks wide, exposing her slick entrance as she wiggled her ass.

That was all the invitation Brock needed. With a guttural groan, he slammed deep, burying every inch of his monstrous cock in his mother's hungry cunt. He began a hard, pounding that shook the entire bed. He gripped her love-handles, his fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh of her waist, and watched her humongous ass rippled with every powerful thrust, then clenched tight as if to keep him from pulling back. 

PLOP-PLOP-PLOP

The sight, the feel, the sheer reality of it all was too much. He was a virgin, after all. With a loud, desperate cry, he slammed in one last time and emptied himself inside her, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

Brock pulled out, his cock still rock-hard and glistening with their combined fluids. Before Brenda could even catch her breath, Beatrix was there, her eager mouth sealing over his tip, sucking away the last drops of his cum. Brock let out a groan, then, with a swift, decisive movement, he pulled free from his sister's lips and slammed back into his mother's waiting cunt. He leaned over her, his voice a low growl against her ear.

"I'm only getting started."

Brenda screamed, a mix of shock and pure ecstasy, as he immediately set a punishing pace. Beatrix mewled. "Soooo, what about dad?"

Brenda was lost in a haze of pleasure, her son's thick cock stretching her in ways she'd never imagined. Between moans, she managed to gasp out, "Yeah... him?" Then, as a particularly hard thrust made her eyes roll back, he panted the final, definitive words. 

"Sorry Mom, but I'm not saving Dad."

CW: Added a dubcon tag as the woman is surprised by the additional men but does consent to it

Link to Part 1: The Visitor [M40s/F30s] [gentle dom] [praise] [straight] [oral] [anal] : r/EroticWriting

Connie awoke to a cock being pressed against her lips. It took her a moment to remember where she was and whose cock it was. Rick, she thought to herself as she opened her mouth and took his member inside of her. It tasted funny, but then she remembered he’d fucked her pussy and her ass the night before, he must not have showered yet. She looked up into his cool blue eyes as he slid more of himself into her willing mouth. Gagging on his dick, she did her best to take it all; Rick was the perfect man for her and she knew she only had a couple of nights with him.

Her pussy dampened as he patted her head and said, “Good girl.” She bobbed up and down faster and harder, the wet sounds of oral sex filling the room. Connie got more into it, positioning herself so she could cup his balls as she sucked his member. Working her tongue over the head and shaft as she took every inch of him into her mouth she relished his moans and gasps.

Rick started thrusting his hips, plunging his cock as deep into Connie’s mouth as it would go. He had woken up next to her, aching and rock hard. Seeing her beautiful nude body next to his he couldn’t help but have some fun before work, he didn’t have a lot of time so a face fuck was on the menu for breakfast. It would have to do for now, he knew they’d have more fun tonight. Her talented tongue combined with his fucking caused him to cum quicker than he had expected; he didn’t warn her but simply grunted as he filled her mouth with cum.

Connie gagged as his cum flooded her mouth; the now familiar salty taste turning her on even more. She wanted, needed him to fuck her. Swallowing as quickly as she could, she managed to take it all without spilling a single drop. 

Rick smiled down at her and she felt herself blush, “I have to shower head to the office,” he told her, “I left a copy of the room key for you and if you want to stay for a while and order room service, feel free.” Connie felt a slight sense of disappointment that all he wanted was a blow job. Seeing the look on her face, Rick smiled, “I’ll be back by 5, and I expect you to be here. I’ll have some… surprises.” He leaned in and gave Connie a kiss, he could taste the remnants of his own cum on her lips.

***

Connie enjoyed the free room service before heading to her own job at a coffee shop downtown, not far from the hotel. The entire day all she could think about was Rick; the way he felt, the way he smelled, the way he tasted. Her pussy was damp her whole shift; she even spent part of her lunch break on the toilet stroking herself to a light orgasm. She texted a picture of the mess she’d made to Rick, only for him to reply, Naughty girl, you’re going to need to be punished for that. The words made her want to masturbate again, but she knew she had to save herself.

After work, she walked to the hotel Rick was staying at; it was only 10 minutes from her work. She arrived in the lobby a few minutes before 5, but waited until her phone read 4:59 before heading up to his room. As the elevator doors opened and she walked towards his room, she felt nervous again; she deeply wanted him but worried about what her punishment might be.

Pressing the keycard against the lock, it beeped and turned green and she entered his hotel room once more. Rick stood by the bed, smartly dressed in a polo shirt, sports coat, and black jeans; Connie was disappointed he wasn’t naked. She noticed that the bed now had restraints attached to each of the four bed posts and Rick was holding a blindfold. “Strip, slut.” He ordered her.

Connie obeyed, pulling off the loose fitting white shirt revealing her sensible grey bra which she unhooked and dropped to the floor, allowing her large tits to drop free from the restraint. They sagged slightly and Connie could see Rick lick his lips as she started to pull down her black pants. She had taken her panties off earlier when she masturbated and hadn’t put them back on, so her pussy was on full display as she kicked her pants off her legs. 

“On your hands and knees,” Rick ordered as soon as she was naked. Connie got on the bed and Rick strapped her wrists and ankles to the bed, leaving her vulnerable and on display. Then the world went dark as he tied the blindfold around her eyes. The straps were padded and comfortable despite restricting her movement. As she sat there, prone and on display, Rick started caressing and kneading her pale, round ass.

“How was your day?” He asked as casually as if they were colleagues meeting in a break room instead of virtual strangers with her tied up in a hotel room.

G…good,” she gasped, moaning slightly as he spread her ass cheeks, “It was slow at the coffee shop today.”

Leaning in close, he enjoyed the scent of her desire, but resisted the urge to lick her; that would come later. “I’m glad,” he said before suddenly getting off the bed, “Well, I have to meet a couple of clients for drinks down in the lobby, I’ll be back later.”

“Wh… what?” Connie gasped, realizing he intended to leave her here alone all tied up.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, she could hear the smugness in his voice, “I’ll be back soon and I’ll leave you some company.”

Wondering what he meant, Connie heard a low buzz and felt a vibrator enter her soaking pussy. “AHHHHHH!” She cried out. Rick held the u-shaped WeVibe for a moment, making sure it would stay in place. He had set it on its lowest setting which would tease her, but hopefully not cause too many orgasms. Connie heard the door close as he left, the feeling of the small vibrator on her clit causing her to pant and moan.

She didn’t really know how long Rick had been gone for when she heard the sound of the door opening and she was a quivering, soaking mess. The vibrator had brought her to an orgasm at one point, but slipped out afterwards and teased her by buzzing uselessly on the bed. “Rick, please I need cock!” Connie cried out into the void around her.

“You’re a cock hungry slut, aren’t you?” He replied, asking her a question to which he already knew the answer.

“Yes!” She cried, “I need to be fucked!”

“Beg, beg for any cock to fuck you.” He commanded.

“Please,” she said, her body quivering, “I need to be fucked, any one right now, I’m so desperate and needy.” 

She heard the sound of a belt and pants falling to the ground and felt the weight of Rick getting on the bed behind her. Wiggling her ass, she was inviting him to fuck her, his strong hands grasped her hips and thrusted in; filling her in one motion. “AHHHHHH!” She cried out, he felt different than the times they had fucked last night but she couldn’t tell why. Maybe a little smaller? Maybe the drinks weakened his erection? Whatever the difference she didn’t care, she had a cock inside of her and that’s all she needed at the moment.

He started thrusting, short, deep strokes, barely pulling out before thrusting back in. His hands caressed and kneaded her ass, spreading her cheeks as he fucked her. “Ohhhh yessss,” she hissed as her pussy flooded, coating his cock with her juices. The feeling of him being inside of her made her convulse, thrashing against the restraints which held her in place. He started fucking her harder, her ass jiggling with every thrust inside. 

“Oh god, oh god, yes fuck my slutty cunt!” Connie cried out, her heavy tits swaying with every jab of his cock into her. “I’m… I’m… AHHHHHHHHH!” She cried out as she came again, her pussy gripping the cock causing him to explode inside of her.

“You’re right Rick, she is a hot piece of ass,” a strange voice called out as a hand slapped her ass.

“What… what’s going on, where’s Rick?” Connie asked in a panic, he was here before.

“It’s okay, I’m right here.” She felt his hand pat her head, comforting her, “Remember that fantasy we had about me bringing friends over to fuck you?” Connie nodded, listening, “Well, when I told my friends here that I had to leave drinks to go back to my room they asked why and I invited them up.”

“B… but I didn’t know,” Connie cried out in the dark, blindfold still covering her eyes.

“Shhhh,” Rick said and patted her head again, “You had fun, didn’t you? This is something you’ve always wanted, always craved.”

Connie thought for a moment, she did love it, and knowing it was a stranger was causing a tingling sensation deep in her loins. Seeing her reaction, Rick continued, “Now, would you like my other friend to have a turn? Or should I send them away?”

Connie could only nod, her needy little pussy wanted more. She felt the other man climb on top of the bed behind her and slowly fill her; his friend’s cum acting as lube as his cock stretched her. This man felt slightly bigger than Rick, almost but not quite uncomfortably so. 

“AHHHHHH,” She gasped loudly as the man started slowly rocking back and forth, letting her stretch to accommodate him. She felt a sting as his hand came down hard on her ass, he was being gentle with her cunt but hard on her ass.

Knowing that Rick’s ruse was over, the man’s deep voice talked dirty to her as he worked her pussy. “Mmmm, been a while since I had a whore this tight,” He laughed as he started really fucking her.

“I’m… not… a… whore!” Connie gasped as he worked her tight cunt, but the man’s crude talk was turning her on even more and he knew it.

Reaching over, he grabbed her hair and pulled on it as he fucked her, “That’s right, you’re a slut who’s not getting paid for this.”

She gasped and moaned as his thrusting got more and more intense; her pussy barely able to handle it after her previous orgasms. The pleasure was overwhelming as the stranger mauled her ass and took her pussy. “Such a tight cunt,” he moaned, “Damn girl.”

“Own my little pussy!” She cried out, “Fuuuuuuuck!” She felt the man lean over her, reach around and grab her tits, pinching her nipples. Being used like this felt so good, she had never even come close to this fantasy and now it was coming true and she couldn’t help but cum once more. “AHHHHHHHH!” She cried, “P… please stop!” Her pussy was overwhelmed from the multiple orgasms and teasing she’d endured. 

The man pulled out and she heard the telltale sounds of someone jerking their hard cock. “Yes, cum for me,” she said, “Cum all over my ass!” A moment later she was rewarded by feeling globs of his warm cum coat her ass. She quivered in place and collapsed to the mattress, moments later she felt her restraints being untied and the blindfold taken off. She saw Rick’s smiling face as well as the two men who were with him; one was a younger Asian man, lean body, handsome face with short cropped black hair, the other was another white man, maybe a little older than Rick with slightly long gray hair and a goatee. Both of their soft cocks were slick with her juices and their cum.

Leaning in, Rick kissed her deeply on the lips, before whispering, “You did great.” 

Connie gave him a smile, “Thanks, sir.”

“Think you can clean them up before they go?” Rick asked.

Connie got off the bed and approached the men, smiling at them. Dropping to her knees, she took the Asian man’s uncut cock into her mouth first, he stiffened and filled her mouth as she sucked her juices off of him. The man definitely broke any stereotypes she might have had about Asian men, as he was clearly the largest of the three. “Oh yes, suck my cock girl.” He moaned as she worked her mouth up and down him.

Reaching over, she stroked the other man’s slippery cock; the cum coating her hand as he, too, stiffened for her. She moaned around the stranger’s dick, realizing she still didn’t know anyone’s name except Rick as she worked the two men back into erection. Taking her mouth off of the Asian man’s cock with a loud pop, she moved to the other man, whose slightly smaller circumcised cock she easily took into her mouth. It tasted different, she realized, because this man had cum inside of her, she was tasting both of them. She stroked the other cock while she sucked off this one, her tongue swirling around the head of his penis.

After a few minutes, she pulled her mouth off of him, and leaned back, bearing her tits in their direction. Gripping both cocks, she stroked them, “Come on boys, cover my big tits!” The men moaned and grunted as she jerked them off, their second orgasms of the night approaching. The Asian man came first, shooting his cum all over Connie’s chest, much as he had covered her ass earlier. Thick globs of white cum dripped off of her body onto the hotel’s carpeted floor. With one down, she put her mouth back on the other’s cock, bobbing up and down furiously almost demanding he cum for her. 

“Mmmmm yessss,” he moaned and she felt his cum start to fill her mouth; she gulped and swallowed, the load was manageable and she got it all down without making a mess before collapsing back on her ass on the floor. She giggled as Rick approached her with a wet cloth to clean herself. As she wiped up, the two men got dressed and he escorted them to the door. Connie went to the bed and collapsed on it, laying on her back, sore and satisfied; that’s when she noticed Rick approaching, having stripped himself down.

“Baby, my pussy is so sore.” Connie said with a sigh.

“What about your ass?” Rick said with a smile.

Lifting her legs, she replied, “All yours.”

Approaching the bed, Rick hooked Connie’s legs onto his shoulders and pressed the throbbing head of his cock against her puckered asshole. “Ahhhhhh, fuck.” She gasped as she felt his cock head stretch her ass and press into her rear channel. Staring up at him, she saw the look of gentle determination as he slowly pressed himself inside of her; she had never been ass fucked in missionary before, it made things feel romantic. 

“Good girl,” he comforted her as she took every inch of him inside of her, “You’re my little butt slut aren’t you?”

“Ahhhhhh, yes sir.” She quietly moaned.

He slowly started withdrawing his cock until only the head remained, then slowly pushed back in. Rick knew he wouldn’t last long, seeing Connie get fucked by his two clients had him aching, so going slow was not just to go easy on her but to help him last. He found a rhythm; slow strokes out followed by quick ones into her ass, making her curvy body jiggle each time he filled her. 

Connie thrashed about under him, moaning and gasping, “Oooooooh sirrrrrr, you feel so good in my ass!”

Rick reached down and strummed her clit with his thumb as he fucked her ass; making her moan even harder. Despite being sore and exhausted, Connie felt one last orgasm welling up in her body. “Ohhhhh goddddddd!” She cried out, “I’m cummmmmiiiinnnggggg!” Her body convulsed and thrashed as she came one last time; as she came she felt the flood of Rick’s hot cum filling her asshole and felt satisfied that she was able to get him off.

Rick collapsed on the bed next to Connie and grabbed her, pulling her body tight to his. She moaned weakly as he did so, loving the feel of being wrapped in his arms. They held each other close as Rick planted gentle kisses along her neck before whispering, “You did so good.”

Connie smiled and started drifting off to sleep, slightly saddened that they only had one more night together…

The End

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You eventually found your socks.

That achievement apparently exhausted the evening's excitement for at least five minutes.

You followed me into the kitchen wearing nothing but them, the steel plug still in place from the office, and climbed onto one of the stools while I started getting dinner organised.

"What are you making?"

"Spaghetti bolognaise."

You looked disappointed.

"What?"

"I don't know. I was expecting something more sophisticated."

"It's Friday night."

"You're conducting an entire weekend of research and feeding your subject spaghetti."

"Our research."

"Sorry. Our extremely sophisticated research."

I pointed the wooden spoon at you.

"Keep talking and you're getting toast."

You grinned.

There was something wonderfully ridiculous about the situation. Less than an hour earlier we'd been in my office. Now I was chopping an onion while you sat naked at the kitchen bench wearing nothing but socks.

It should have felt bizarre.

Instead, you already looked remarkably comfortable.

That was distracting in ways I hadn't anticipated.

It wasn't simply that you were naked. I'd seen you naked before.

It was seeing you naked while doing something completely ordinary.

You weren't posing for me. You weren't waiting for an instruction. You weren't in the middle of an experiment.

You were sitting on a kitchen stool asking whether I'd put enough garlic into the bolognaise.

Every time you shifted position, my attention betrayed me.

You crossed one leg over the other.

Uncrossed them.

Leaned forward onto your elbows to inspect what I was doing, your breasts moving naturally as your weight settled against the bench.

I looked.

Of course I looked.

You caught me the third or fourth time.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You were staring at my boobs."

"I was not."

"You absolutely were."

"I'm cooking."

"Apparently very slowly."

I looked down at the onion.

Then back at you.

"I have a naked woman sitting three feet away from my chopping board."

"You made the rule."

"An obvious tactical error."

You laughed.

I went back to chopping.

"Wine?"

Your face brightened immediately.

"Now you're conducting proper research."

I opened a bottle and poured us each a glass.

You accepted yours and curled your fingers around the stem.

The glass was cool enough that a faint mist of condensation had formed against it.

You lifted it towards me.

"What are we drinking to?"

I considered it.

"Friday."

"That's boring."

"The weekend?"

"Predictable."

"Not getting bolognaise sauce on the furniture?"

You laughed.

"Important."

Then you held your glass towards mine.

"To our research."

I touched mine against it.

"Our research."

The glasses made a soft chink.

We drank.

The wine changed the kitchen somehow.

Not because either of us had consumed enough for it to matter yet. It was more atmospheric than chemical: Friday evening, the smell of garlic and onion beginning to fill the room, tomato bubbling quietly on the stove, a bottle of wine open on the bench.

And you.

Naked except for socks.

Sipping wine and watching me cook.

It felt absurdly domestic.

I liked it.

Possibly too much.

I went back to the sauce.

You began offering completely unsolicited advice.

"More garlic."

"There's plenty of garlic."

"That's not a thing."

"It absolutely is."

"More garlic."

I ignored you.

Then you wanted to know what else was going into the sauce.

Then whether I'd made it before.

Then why I was putting that much oregano in.

Eventually you simply sat there sipping your wine and watching me move around the kitchen.

Every time I turned towards you, your eyes seemed to be somewhere on me.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I'm observing."

I stopped stirring.

"You've stolen that as well?"

"I'm learning from an expert."

"Terrifying."

You smiled into your glass.

I turned back to the stove.

Then glanced over my shoulder.

Still watching.

Interesting.

By the time the pasta went into the boiling water, we'd each consumed perhaps half a glass.

I was draining the spaghetti when you spoke again.

"Sir?"

There was something about the exaggerated politeness that immediately made me suspicious.

"Yes?"

"I'm concerned."

I looked over.

"About?"

"My dinner."

I glanced at the saucepan.

"It seems fine."

"Not the spaghetti."

You gestured towards me.

"Your clothes."

I looked down at myself.

"My clothes?"

"Spaghetti bolognaise is notoriously messy."

"Notoriously?"

"Very dangerous food."

"I see."

"And that's a nice suit."

I turned slowly towards you.

You raised the wineglass to your lips.

It didn't conceal the smile.

"I'd hate for you to ruin it."

"How thoughtful."

"I care about these things."

"Clearly."

You took another sip.

"So perhaps you should take it off."

There it was.

For a moment I said nothing.

Then I understood what was actually happening.

This wasn't about my suit.

You wanted me naked.

You'd seen parts of me, certainly. You'd touched me. You'd had me in your mouth.

But you'd never actually seen me completely naked.

And instead of simply asking, you'd invented an occupational health and safety crisis involving spaghetti.

I liked your solution considerably more than I should have.

"You've thought this through."

"Safety first."

"Naturally."

I deliberately returned my attention to the saucepan.

The silence lasted just long enough.

When I looked back, I caught the smallest uncertainty in your expression.

You were wondering whether I was going to let you have what you'd just asked for.

Then I nodded.

"All right."

Your eyebrows lifted.

"Really?"

"If you're that worried about my clothes."

"Extremely worried."

"Then you'd better undress me."

That stopped you.

Only briefly.

Then you put down your wine.

"Yes, Sir."

You slipped from the stool and came towards me.

There was nothing hurried about it.

You'd engineered this situation entirely for yourself, and now that you'd succeeded, you seemed determined to enjoy every second of your victory.

You started with my tie.

Your fingers loosened the knot before drawing the silk slowly through my collar.

But instead of putting it aside, you held it between both hands.

"Nice."

"It's a tie."

"It's silk."

You ran it through your fingers, apparently appreciating the texture.

Then you looked at me.

That little smile appeared.

Before I could ask what you were planning, you drew the silk slowly across one bare breast.

The tie slipped over your nipple.

You shivered slightly.

Then did it again.

Deliberately this time.

The smooth fabric travelled over one nipple and then the other while your eyes remained on my face.

You weren't simply enjoying the sensation.

You were watching what it did to me.

That interested me.

"You're supposed to be undressing me."

"I am."

"That appears to be my tie on your breasts."

"I'm looking after it."

"Of course."

You smiled and let the silk fall over the back of a chair.

Then your fingers went to my shirt.

One button.

Then another.

And another.

You could have opened it in seconds.

You didn't.

You seemed to enjoy the gradual reveal, opening the shirt a little more each time until eventually you spread it apart and looked at my chest.

The performance disappeared briefly.

Your expression became curious.

You pushed the shirt from my shoulders but stopped before removing it completely.

Your fingertips travelled across my chest.

Your thumb brushed one nipple.

Slowly.

I inhaled.

Your eyes immediately flicked to mine.

You'd felt the reaction.

More importantly, you'd seen it.

Your thumb passed over my nipple again.

"Interesting."

I stared at you.

"You really have stolen my line."

"I'm observing."

"Apparently."

You leaned forward and kissed my chest.

Then finally pulled the shirt from my arms.

My belt came next.

You unfastened it without taking your eyes from mine.

Then the trousers.

You opened them and slowly lowered them.

And went down with them.

That was deliberate too.

By the time you were crouching in front of me, the teasing smile had returned.

You pushed my trousers over my hips and down my thighs.

Then stopped.

Instead of continuing, you leaned forward and kissed the inside of one thigh.

My muscles tightened.

Your eyes lifted.

Another piece of information collected.

You kissed me again.

Higher this time.

Then the other thigh.

You alternated between them, taking your time while my boxer shorts remained the final barrier between what you could already see and what you had engineered this entire ridiculous safety exercise to reveal.

"You're taking a remarkably long time to save my suit."

"Thoroughness is important, Sir."

"Apparently."

You smiled against my thigh.

Then your fingers caught the waistband of my boxer shorts.

You peeled them slowly downward.

And stopped.

For the first time, you were seeing all of me.

Not beneath a restaurant table.

Not through an opened pair of trousers in my office.

Naked.

Completely.

Your teasing expression disappeared.

For several seconds you simply looked.

And that affected me more than I'd expected.

There was nowhere to hide.

Nothing between us.

No urgency requiring either of us to do anything.

You could simply look at me.

So you did.

Your gaze travelled slowly over my body.

I watched your face while you did it.

I'd already experienced things with you that were objectively far more sexual than standing naked in a kitchen.

Yet somehow this felt more revealing.

You looked up.

Our eyes met.

Neither of us made a joke.

For perhaps five seconds, the game simply stopped.

It was just you and me.

Naked.

Looking at each other.

Then the corner of your mouth lifted.

The moment broke.

"Much safer."

I laughed.

"Thank God you were here."

"I may have saved your suit."

"A humanitarian."

"I do what I can."

You stood.

And now we were both naked.

I retrieved my wine.

You collected yours.

We touched glasses.

"To workplace safety," you said.

"This isn't your workplace."

"Kitchen safety, then."

"Much better."

We drank.

Then I served dinner.

For approximately three minutes, we ate like normal adults.

That may have been a record.

You were halfway through telling me something when I noticed a small spot of red sauce on the upper curve of your breast.

"Hold on."

"What?"

"You've made a mess."

You looked down.

"Oh."

The surprise was genuine.

That was what made what happened next important.

The first one really was an accident.

I leaned towards you.

"Hold still."

I cleaned the little spot from your skin.

It should have taken a second.

I allowed it to take longer.

When I sat upright, you were watching me differently.

"All clean?"

I inspected the spot.

"Yes."

"Excellent."

You picked up your fork again.

So did I.

But something had changed.

I'd seen the moment you discovered another possibility.

I wondered what you were going to do with it.

I didn't have to wait long.

Another minute passed.

Maybe two.

You were talking.

I was eating.

Then:

"Oops."

I looked over.

A single long strand of spaghetti lay across your other breast.

I said nothing.

First I looked at the spaghetti.

Then at your fork.

Then at you.

You attempted innocence.

"Sorry, Sir. I made a mess."

I kept staring.

You held the expression remarkably well.

"Accident?" I asked.

"Terrible accident."

"Tragic."

"I know."

Silence.

Your mouth twitched.

There.

Caught.

I shook my head.

You were trying not to grin now.

"Hold still."

You obediently returned your attention to your plate.

Apparently we were both going to maintain the fiction.

I leaned towards you.

The spaghetti had left a streak of sauce across your breast.

I dealt with the mess slowly.

Very slowly.

You attempted to continue eating.

That was my favourite part.

You lifted another forkful.

I continued my unnecessarily thorough cleaning.

Your fork paused.

I looked up.

You looked down.

Neither of us said anything.

Then, with obvious determination, you put the fork into your mouth and continued chewing as though this was an entirely normal dinner.

I nearly laughed.

You swallowed.

"Are you finished?"

"I'm trying to be thorough."

"Very professional."

"Health and safety."

"Of course."

Eventually I sat upright.

You looked down at yourself.

Then at me.

"Better?"

"Much."

I picked up my fork.

"Try to be more careful."

"I'll do my best."

The innocence was gone now.

You were openly grinning.

And I realised something.

You'd turned dinner into a game.

Your game.

Which meant I could play back.

I didn't immediately know how.

That made it better.

I returned to dinner.

We talked.

We ate.

You finished most of your wine.

And all the while, somewhere in the back of my mind, I was looking for an opportunity.

Then I saw it.

A particularly long strand of spaghetti.

I looked at you.

You weren't watching.

Perfect.

A little preparation.

A little patience.

I arranged my own ridiculous culinary accident.

Then I calmly returned to dinner.

You didn't notice.

Not immediately.

That made waiting considerably more entertaining.

Five seconds.

Ten.

You said something.

I answered.

Another few seconds.

Then I cleared my throat.

Quietly.

You looked at my face.

I said nothing.

Your eyebrows drew together.

Then your eyes followed mine downward.

Stopped.

You stared.

There was a wonderful moment when you simply couldn't maintain the game.

A small laugh escaped you.

You pressed your lips together.

Looked at me.

Then down again.

You took a breath and recovered your composure.

"Oh dear, Sir."

I waited.

Your eyes were sparkling now.

"Your cock needs a clean."

"Apparently."

You reached towards me.

I gently caught your wrist.

"No."

You looked up.

"Don't get your hands dirty."

Understanding appeared immediately.

Your eyes went down again.

Then returned to mine.

That wicked little smile was back.

"How should I clean it?"

"Use just your mouth."

You slipped from your chair.

No hesitation.

But no hurry either.

That seemed to be becoming your speciality.

You positioned yourself between my legs and inspected the absurd mess I'd supposedly made.

"You're very careless, Sir."

"Apparently spaghetti is dangerous."

"I did warn you."

You dealt with the problem with considerably more patience than removing pasta could possibly justify.

But what affected me most was the eye contact.

Every few seconds, you looked up.

Checking.

Watching.

Seeing what your attention was doing to me.

Exactly as I had watched you in the office.

You weren't simply playing my game anymore.

You were learning how to make your own.

Eventually you sat back and inspected your work.

"Clean."

"Are you certain?"

Your eyes narrowed.

"Don't push your luck, Sir."

I laughed.

You climbed back into your chair.

Picked up your wineglass.

Took a sip.

Then calmly returned to your dinner as though nothing remotely unusual had happened.

I looked at you.

You caught me.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I'm observing."

That made you laugh.

Dinner had officially ceased pretending to be dinner.

We did eventually finish eating.

Somehow.

The bottle was lighter. Our glasses were nearly empty. The remains of bolognaise sat in our bowls, and any pretence that the later spaghetti incidents had been accidental had long since disappeared.

You stood and reached for my plate.

As you bent forward, I gave your arse a playful smack.

You straightened with an exaggerated little whimper.

Then looked over your shoulder at me.

"Sir."

"What?"

"Was that necessary?"

"Absolutely."

"I see."

You collected my plate.

Then, because apparently you couldn't simply walk anywhere normally anymore, you made the journey to the kitchen sink considerably more seductive than transporting two dirty plates reasonably required.

I watched.

Naturally.

You put the plates into the sink.

Then turned.

Caught me staring.

"Sir."

"What?"

"You're doing it again."

"I'm observing."

"Research?"

"Always."

You laughed and came back to sit beside me.

For a while neither of us moved.

The kitchen was warm from cooking.

Garlic, tomato and herbs still lingered in the air.

The wine bottle stood between us.

Dinner was finished.

We were naked, fed and comfortable enough that neither of us seemed particularly conscious of the nakedness anymore.

And that might have been the most intimate part of the entire evening.

This had started as my weekend.

My invitation.

My rules.

But dinner hadn't belonged entirely to either of us.

You'd started it.

Spaghetti bolognaise is notoriously messy.

I'd accepted the invitation.

Then we'd kept answering each other.

One ridiculous escalation at a time.

There hadn't been a plan.

There hadn't been rules.

There hadn't even really been roles.

You'd wanted to see me naked, so you'd invented a reason.

I'd understood what you were doing and let you have it.

An actual accident had given you an idea.

You'd turned it into a deliberate provocation.

I'd retaliated.

You'd accepted the challenge.

And somewhere between all of that, we'd spent most of an hour simply eating spaghetti and talking.

Four days.

I'd known you for four days.

Less than a week.

Yet somehow sitting naked beside you after dinner felt almost alarmingly natural.

That was becoming the part I hadn't planned for.

Not the sex.

Not the games.

The ease.

I picked up my glass and finished the last mouthful.

You watched me.

I looked at the bottle.

Then at you.

"Up for another glass of wine?"

I am 18+ and all participants and characters must be 18+

« Life as a criminal is stressful sometimes. Even when you do get to relax there’s so much to worry about. And especially when you’re the head of a huge crime family, operating in more than one country! Sure you have billions of dollars, the ability to mostly do whatever you want whenever you want, a huge lavish home and incredible amounts of expensive possessions…But nobody to share it with! You can’t trust most people of course, they’d simply steal from you. Seek to gain wealth off you, especially the temptresses that tend to frequent men of your stature and profession. You need a woman you can trust. A woman you can control. A woman you have a proper existing bond with! And strangely you know the perfect one…the beautiful Batgirl who’s been pursuing you and trying to put you behind bars Since she arrived in town. She's feisty and masculine And after discovering her identity, the penguin knew he had found the perfect formula for the ideal Obedient little bird… 
Several weeks later, In the opulent dining hall of the Penguin’s mansion, the air was thick with an aura of power and control. Barbara Gordon, once the fearless Batgirl, swept into the room like a vision of elegance and submission, her transformation into the Penguin’s little bird complete.

Her gown, a masterpiece of pink satin and lace, hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating her newfound femininity. The corset bodice cinched her waist, emphasizing her hourglass figure, while the delicate gloves adorning her hands added a touch of refinement. Her makeup, expertly applied, highlighted her features with a sultry allure, her cherry lips a striking contrast against her porcelain skin. And around her neck, a choker collar adorned with sparkling diamonds, engraved with the words “Little Bird,” a testament to her servitude to her master.

As Barbara approached the Penguin, who held court at the head of the table, his associates turned their attention to the stunning redhead in awe. Gone was the tomboy heroine they once knew, replaced by a vision of submission and obedience that left them spellbound.

With a subtle gesture, the Penguin welcomed Barbara to his side, his touch possessive as he delicately took her gloved hand in his own. As she seated herself at his command, he leaned in, his hand gently cupping her chin as he bestowed a tender kiss upon her red lips. In a voice barely above a whisper, Barbara murmured “I’ve missed you master. Your little bird is bored without you.” »

Hello ! Would anyone be interested in doing a detailed rp where the penguin (you) discovers batgirl’s identity and decides to blackmail her into working in his club at night and becoming his submissive and obedient little bird. (no one liner, and long term) Sub4Dom

I’d love to play a prompt where an incredibly wealthy and successful mob boss like the penguin decides he needs a trophy wife to share his life and wealth with! So he kidnaps an incredibly successful and beautiful young up and coming Heroine to become his pampered, spoiled doll. She’s so pretty after all. Best not to waste that aspect of her doing hero stuff when she could be living a life of luxury in a golden bird cage. She’s like a pet. A bird. So pretty, delicate and needing to be kept safe! Anybody that dares harm his pretty bird? They’d have him to answer to….

I would like to make a rp where a tomboy heroine finds herself trapped in a brand new environment that is unknown to her where she will have to learn to adapt to it. The idea is to emphasize her new life as the property of a powerful and intimidating man in the rp for example with the clothes she will wear as his concubine or the things she will have to do.

Indeed one of the things I expect from this rp is the training and the formation she will receive to make her his perfect Princess, obedient, graceful and feminine, in short everything she would have hated to become! Maybe her master will decide to give her a new pet name? Maybe she will be forced to stay still and silent for hours, tied up or in an unpleasant position to learn respect and discipline? Maybe she will be Forced to act like a cute four-legged pet or dance to entertain her master? So many possibilities and don't hesitate to give me your ideas!

The idea of this rp is really to have the classic pattern of a beautiful heroine falling into the hands of a (disgusting), perverted man. I want the rp to have a slow build up and break down so that there is eventually some sort of Stockholm syndrome, I also want Barbara to be fully aware of what is happening to her but unable to do anything about it, making things even more interesting.
If you don't want to use the Penguin, no problem! I'd love to hear your ideas! Maybe a yakuza or a mafia mob or something else?
In this rp the main themes will be feminization/blackmail and corruption, the idea is really for me to turn her from a tomboyish, feisty heroine into a sexy, girly trophy wife belonging to the man she hated the most.

The aim of this RP is to provide an in-depth look at the life of a mob’s trophy wife, especially Barbara, who will become his most prized possession. She will learn to accompany him to major events and to be displayed like the rare little bird for all to see, making her master proud and even more powerful.

For example, the Penguin could be having a business meeting with other members of his organisation or other powerful mobs and Barbara could enter the room dressed in a sexy pink dress, stiletto heels, make-up and the most beautiful jewels while she sits on her master's lap attracting the gaze of all the men in the room who have no idea that she has her holes filled at the same time...

I'd like to start at the top, before my character ends up so broken and submissive. We could explore her trials and humiliations, following along as she gradually realizes being a good girl is her best option.

So for the main of this rp I was thinking of:
\-Petplay (bird-kitty-puppy)
\-Force Feminine sexy Clothing
\-light Bondage
\-NonCon fantasies (, blackmail, forced, unwillingly)
\-domplay
\-slave training
\-Misogyny/feminization/domestication/reeducation
\-Gags
\-Slavery/ugly bastard/stockholm syndrome
\-Slow breaking/forced romance
\-Orgams denial/cum play
\-sugar/spoiling
\-Vibrators, buttplugs and other toys
\-humiliation/Ddlg
\-corset/high heel costume
\-collar/leashes:
anal,breaking, corruption, makeover, , brainwashing, outfit/makeup/haircut control,
Limits: vore, incest, feet, vomit, shrinking. I just like when proud tomboy heroines are forced to dress as girly, slutty \^\^

Please send a detailed message (PM) of what you expect from the rp, your and limits as well as your idea for the rp. Also include the words "My Precious New Little Bird" so I know you read everything

The more exciting, vivid, and creative you are, the better chance you have at getting a response.

18+ only. I’m looking for a long-term, literate partner who wants a dark ERP built on revenge, not on romance and not on a payout. The fantasy is simple and ugly: two women who thought money made them untouchable, finally forced to swallow what they did. I want humiliation with teeth, class resentment, and a man who does not forgive them just because they are pretty, polished, or rich. He is not here to be bought. If you want a soft redemption arc, a tender love story hiding under the blackmail, or a gardener who can be silenced with a check, this is not that post. I want Tamara and Ashley brought down in their own house, used, embarrassed, and reminded that the fortune does not protect them from someone who has proof and wants to watch them break. You don’t need a novel every time, but one-liners kill the mood for me.

I want to play Tamara. A woman of humble origins whose first marriage left her in pieces. Then George arrived, an old, wealthy man who pulled her and her daughter Ashley, who is twenty-two, out of poverty. For years the two of them lived off him without much effort: the beautiful house, the money, the easy cruelty of women who had finally climbed high enough to look down on everyone else. George discovered the hidden affair. When he threatened to leave Tamara without a dollar, she made sure that didn’t happen. Now the inheritance is hers, the house is hers, and Ashley is still under her roof, just as spoiled and just as sure that nothing can touch them. It should be easy. It isn’t. The gardener has proof. Not rumors: evidence of what Tamara did and of the life both women were living before George died. He hasn’t gone to the police. He does not want money. He wants to humiliate them.

That’s where I want to start. You would play the gardener, or another man who ends up holding that leverage: a lawyer, a private investigator, someone from her past. She has the money and the house. He has the secret, and he is not interested in selling it back to her. I want revenge. I want those two rich bitches humiliated in their own home, stripped of the dignity they bought with someone else’s fortune, forced into bargains that exist only to degrade them. Tamara thought she had won. Ashley thinks she is still protected by her mother’s new money. I want both of them corrected.

The tone I’m after is dark, adult, and vicious under the surface. Tamara is calculating, not cartoon-evil, which makes it better when she starts losing. Ashley is twenty-two, used to comfort, used to being shielded, and old enough to be dragged into the same mess. The gardener is rude, blunt, with dirt on his hands and little interest in being charming. He can be patient, bitter, unexpectedly sharp, as long as he feels like a real threat and not a man who will melt the moment one of them cries or offers him a number. I’m interested in the contrast between their new-money life and the man who knows every corner of the property and holds a file that could ruin them. We can let him insert himself into the house, put Ashley in the room instead of leaving her off-page, make Tamara watch her daughter lose the same arrogance she taught her, or let the two women turn on each other once the pressure gets ugly. I write in first or third person, past or present; I’ll match you. What I need is for the house, the garden, and the humiliation in a room to actually exist.

Tamara stands at the upstairs glass wall with the composure of a woman who has learned to occupy a house without raising her voice in it. She wears a fine cream cotton shirt, fastened to the collar, sleeves rolled neatly to mid-forearm. It is tucked into dark, simply cut trousers, no showy belt, and on her feet are low dark leather shoes, clean. Her hair is gathered in a low, orderly knot. At her ears, two small pearls. At her wrist, a thin watch. No sheer silk, no play of neckline, nothing that would suggest a woman on display. She is dressed the way a person dresses when she believes elegance means not having to persuade anyone.

In her left hand she holds a porcelain cup. With the other she rests lightly against the glass and looks out at the garden. She is not looking for anyone. She is checking, as she does every morning, that everything is in its place.

She sees him.

The gardener is still between the beds. He is not bent to work. He has no tools in his hands. He is looking at her. Not with the quick glance of a man waiting for instructions, but with a fixity a man in service should not allow himself. Tamara does not flush and does not draw back. She only tightens her mouth slightly. That gaze offends her not because it finds her attractive, but because it is out of place. In this house the eyes of the staff are meant to stay down. George tolerated it. She does not.

She has never liked that man. George, for reasons she always considered weakness, kept him on. He said the man knew the land, that he was reliable, that he had been there for years. Tamara saw only a remainder of the past: a presence tied to the old master, not to her. George is gone now. The house has another mistress. It is time to put things in order and to clear away what belonged to another era, including the gardener.

She sets the cup on the console under the window. She adjusts her collar with a dry gesture and goes downstairs without hurry. Mistresses do not run. Ashley is still asleep upstairs, twenty-two years shut in an orderly room, and Tamara already thinks she will have to speak to her later about how staff are managed. She crosses the sitting room, opens the glass door, and feels the garden air, damp and earthy. He is still there. He has not moved away.

Tamara stops on the threshold and looks down at him from the first stone step. When she speaks, her voice is calm, precise, and does not rise.

“You have not been working this morning. I have been watching you for ten minutes.”

She does not raise her tone. She does not need to. In her mind the decision is already made: this house is no longer George’s, and George’s things — including the men he kept out of habit — no longer belong here. She has come down to remind him of that. She does not yet know, or will not know, that the man’s gaze is not only insolent. It is the look of someone who holds something in his hand and has not come to apologize.

If the setup interests you, tell me who you want to play, how you’d take that opening or a short sample of your writing, and your limits. Low-effort “hey wanna rp” messages will be ignored.

Part 1

In my first confession, I talked about discovering LoveCraft, an adult multiplayer game, and how I went from playing a male character to creating a beautiful female avatar I call Plava.

What started as an opportunity to create a woman I found attractive became something unexpected. I began genuinely enjoying playing as her, embracing her personality, and experiencing the attention she received from other players.

But I hadn't expected my first sexual encounter as Plava to involve another man.

Or how much it would excite me in real life.

A Quiet Day at Love Angeles

I was still relatively new to playing as Plava and was trying to experience everything the game had to offer.

Rather than rushing around looking for sexual encounters, I wanted to slow down, explore, socialize, and see what happened naturally.

That's how I ended up at Love Angeles nude beach.

I decided to relax there completely naked, enjoying the scenery and the freedom of being in a virtual world where nudity was perfectly normal.

There was also a little curiosity involved.

What would happen if I simply lay there as Plava, doing nothing particularly inviting, and let other people decide whether to approach me?

Apparently, I was about to find out.

The Stranger Beside Me

While I was relaxing, a male avatar settled down on a beach towel nearby.

I thought he was attractive.

I also had a suspicion that choosing a spot near me wasn't entirely accidental. Maybe he'd noticed Plava and decided to see whether he could get her attention.

I didn't know him, and at that point I had no idea where our interaction might lead.

If I remember correctly, he was the one who spoke first.

It began innocently enough, with the usual small talk. How was I doing? How was my day?

Nothing unusual.

But as the conversation continued, something changed.

We started exchanging little remarks that could have been innocent if you took them at face value.

Except neither of us was quite being innocent.

There was a playful rhythm to it. A little teasing, a little suggestive humor, and just enough ambiguity to leave the other person wondering.

It became a game of seeing how far we could push the conversation without directly saying what we wanted.

Eventually, we started complimenting each other's bodies.

The attraction between our characters was becoming pretty obvious.

And I was enjoying every minute of the banter.

When I Decided to Make a Move

What I remember most is that he wasn't simply pressuring me into an interaction.

We were both participating in the flirting, both responding to the little hints the other person dropped.

And although he had approached me, I believe I was the one who finally nudged things toward something more intimate.

That's something I still find interesting.

Here I was, a man in real life, playing a beautiful female character, enjoying a flirtatious exchange with another male character.

And rather than sitting back and waiting to see what happened, I wanted to explore where the attraction would lead.

Before long, we'd moved beyond flirting.

We began using the game's interactive adult animations, but we didn't remain out in the open for the entire experience.

We eventually moved into one of the nearby private beach huts.

Becoming Plava

For me, what made the encounter memorable wasn't simply the adult animations.

It was the roleplay.

I didn't want to treat the encounter as a sequence of buttons and animations. I wanted to respond as Plava and make the interaction feel like an experience between two characters.

Fortunately, he was willing to participate in that side of things too.

The teasing and banter from the beach carried into our private encounter.

I found myself becoming increasingly immersed in the situation.

I wasn't thinking only about the fact that I was operating a female avatar. I was responding through her, imagining the experience from her perspective, and enjoying the feeling of being wanted.

At moments, it genuinely felt as though I was her.

And that's when the experience started affecting me outside the game.

The Unexpected Real-Life Reaction

I became genuinely sexually aroused.

Enough that I started masturbating while our virtual encounter was taking place.

What surprised me wasn't simply that an adult game had turned me on.

It was the situation that had done it.

I was a man, playing a woman, participating in a sexual scene with a male character.

And I was enjoying the experience enough to become physically aroused in real life.

I hadn't expected that.

The closest comparison I could make was watching pornography, except this time I wasn't a passive viewer.

I was controlling one of the characters.

I was making choices, participating in conversations, and helping shape how the encounter unfolded.

And the character I was controlling was the woman.

That combination of immersion, roleplay, and being involved in the encounter made the experience surprisingly powerful.

Afterward

When the encounter ended, we didn't simply disappear from each other's worlds.

We spent a little more time talking and eventually exchanged friend requests.

We even crossed paths again later at a party. We recognized each other, chatted briefly, and went our separate ways.

Nothing sexual happened between us again.

But I certainly remembered our first meeting.

What stayed with me was how naturally I'd slipped into playing Plava and how unexpectedly arousing that virtual experience had become.

It also left me with questions.

Was I excited by being desired as a woman? By the immersive roleplay? By the feeling of participating in something that normally would have been happening on a screen in front of me?

Or was it some combination of all those things?

I didn't have a definite answer.

And I wasn't sure I needed one immediately.

What I did know was that I'd discovered a completely different way to experience an adult game.

I started LoveCraft as a man who wasn't having much luck connecting with other players.

Then I created Plava.

And there I was, having just experienced my first intimate virtual encounter as a woman, surprised not only by what had happened but by how much I'd enjoyed it.

I was beginning to realize that playing Plava could take me into experiences I never would have expected when I first downloaded the game.

And this was only my first encounter.

Friday's ten o'clock lecture finished at eleven fifty-two.

I knew because I checked the clock while answering the last question, even though I'd been conscious of the time for most of the morning.

Conscious of you, too.

That had been considerably harder to disguise.

Every now and then, while talking through the material or answering a question, something from the previous night would surface without warning: your mouth around my cock beneath the restaurant table, the taste of your pussy on my fingers, the way your body had tightened beside me when the vibrator finally pushed you over the edge.

I'd spent the morning pretending none of that had happened.

So had you.

Mostly.

You had arrived at the lecture looking entirely normal. Calm. Organised. Notebook open, pen ready, sitting in the third row slightly to my left.

You'd even given me the same polite smile I might have received from any other student.

That should have warned me.

For the first forty minutes, you were impeccable. Almost suspiciously so. You took notes in that neat handwriting of yours, listened attentively and asked one perfectly reasonable question about the reading.

Nothing to suggest that less than twenty-four hours earlier I'd had my fingers buried inside you while you struggled to keep quiet in a restaurant.

Nothing to suggest that the phrase chocolate brownie now meant something entirely different to the two of us.

Occasionally I'd look towards you and find you already watching me.

Each time, you'd hold my gaze for perhaps half a second.

Then your eyes would return innocently to your notes.

I thought that was the game.

I was wrong.

About forty minutes into the lecture, I was explaining one of the more tedious points on the slide behind me when I looked towards you again.

You were already watching me.

Your legs were crossed.

Nothing unusual about that.

Except this time, when our eyes met, you didn't immediately look away.

You slowly uncrossed them.

It was such a small movement that nobody else had any reason to notice. Just a subtle shift in your chair, one leg moving away from the other.

But you had chosen your position carefully.

Third row.

Slightly to my left.

The desks and the students around you blocked everyone else's view.

Mine was perfect.

Your knees separated.

And there was nothing beneath your skirt.

No panties.

Just you.

My sentence stopped halfway through.

Completely.

For perhaps two seconds I stood at the front of the lecture theatre with absolutely no idea what I'd been saying.

Two seconds isn't long.

Unless you're standing in front of a room full of people who are waiting for you to continue speaking.

Then it's an eternity.

You gave me nothing.

No grin.

No raised eyebrow.

No theatrical acknowledgement that you'd just deliberately exposed yourself to me in the middle of my lecture.

You simply lowered your eyes to your notebook again.

Your pen touched the page.

The picture of attentive innocence.

I looked at the slide behind me.

Right.

That.

"Where was I?"

Someone near the back supplied the point I'd abandoned.

"Thank you."

A few people laughed.

I recovered.

Barely.

I continued the explanation, forcing my attention onto the material while being intensely aware of you sitting three rows away.

Only after another minute did I risk looking again.

Your legs were crossed.

Your pen moved steadily across the page.

Perfectly innocent.

Except for the tiny curve at one corner of your mouth.

You knew exactly what you'd done.

And you knew it had worked.

I loved it.

Last night I'd been the one making you struggle to maintain your composure in public.

Apparently you'd decided Friday morning was an appropriate time to return the favour.

That changed the rest of the lecture.

Not visibly.

Nobody else would have noticed anything.

But every time my eyes travelled across the room and approached the third row, some part of my brain wondered what you were going to do next.

You did nothing.

Which, I realised eventually, was the point.

You'd fired your shot.

Now you were going to sit there behaving perfectly while I dealt with the consequences.

Clever girl.

When eleven fifty-two finally appeared on the clock, the usual end-of-lecture chaos began. Laptops snapped shut. Bags were zipped. Chairs scraped across the floor as conversations resumed at full volume, filling the room with Friday energy and competing weekend plans.

Someone called goodbye from halfway up the aisle and I lifted a hand in acknowledgement while gathering my notes.

You were still in the third row.

Packing slowly.

That, I suspected, was deliberate.

I waited until your bag was over your shoulder and most of the room had cleared.

"Could you stay behind for five minutes?"

You stopped.

Your hand tightened slightly around the strap of your bag.

"Am I in trouble?"

"Five minutes."

The smile returned.

"That sounds ominous."

"Everyone else can go."

You sat again.

I turned my attention to the handful of students still lingering around the front. One wanted clarification about an assignment. Another somehow transformed a thirty-second question into a five-minute conversation.

I answered them both patiently while remaining acutely aware of you waiting behind them.

Eventually the last student disappeared through the doors.

Someone was still talking loudly in the corridor. We could hear half the conversation, punctuated by laughter and footsteps.

Neither of us moved.

We waited.

The voices gradually receded.

The footsteps disappeared.

Silence settled over the lecture theatre, broken only by the faint hum of the ventilation system.

You looked at me.

I looked at you.

"Five minutes," you reminded me.

I closed my laptop.

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?"

There was a moment's hesitation.

Not because you didn't know the answer.

I could see you trying to work out why I wanted it.

"No."

I let the silence remain between us for another second.

"That's the right answer, my good girl."

Your expression changed instantly.

It was subtle enough that nobody else would have noticed.

I did.

The slight widening of your eyes.

The tiny intake of breath.

The way your lips parted before you spoke.

"Sir..."

"When you've finished your studies for the day, pack an overnight bag and meet me in my office at six so I can continue my research."

Your eyebrows rose.

"An overnight bag?"

"Yes."

"How overnight are we talking?"

"Friday night. Saturday night. I'll return you to civilisation on Sunday."

"Return me?"

"If you've behaved."

You folded your arms.

"That's reassuring."

"Six o'clock. My office."

You studied me.

"What's happening at six?"

"My research continues."

You laughed.

"Of course it does."

"Six o'clock."

"What should I pack?"

"Whatever you normally need for a weekend away."

"That's remarkably vague."

"It isn't complicated."

"You've clearly never seen me pack."

"I'll take the risk."

You stood and swung your bag onto your shoulder.

At the door, you stopped.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Should I be nervous?"

That made me consider my answer.

I could have told you exactly what I had planned.

But where would be the fun in that?

"Anticipation is permitted."

You smiled.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know."

You shook your head and walked away.

Just before the door closed, I heard you mutter, "Arsehole."

I smiled.

Six hours to go.

 

At five fifty-eight that evening, someone knocked on my office door.

I looked at the clock.

Then deliberately waited.

A second knock came, slightly more insistent.

"Come in."

The door opened.

You stepped inside carrying an overnight bag.

And smiling.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Not nervous.

Not uncertain.

Smiling.

The second thing I noticed was that you'd changed clothes. Nothing extravagant, nothing that screamed weekend of debauchery. Jeans, a fitted top and a jacket. Sensible enough that nobody watching you cross campus would have given you a second glance.

I did.

The jeans fitted you extremely well, hugging your hips and arse closely enough that my eyes lingered there before travelling upward.

The top was thin.

Thin enough that it did very little to disguise the fact that you weren't wearing a bra.

Your nipples made two small, unmistakable points beneath the material.

You caught me looking.

Of course you did.

Your smile widened.

You closed the door behind you.

"Lock it."

Click.

The small sound changed the atmosphere immediately.

You turned.

"You're early."

"Two minutes."

"Still early."

Your eyes narrowed.

"You've used that one before."

"I liked it."

"I noticed."

You crossed the office and placed your overnight bag beside the chair.

It landed with a soft, heavy thump.

Two nights.

For some reason, hearing the weight of it hit the floor made the weekend feel more real.

I looked at the bag.

Then at you.

"Everything you need?"

"I think so."

"You think so?"

You adopted an expression of exaggerated concern.

"Actually..."

"What?"

"I may have forgotten something."

I waited.

Your attempt at innocence lasted perhaps three seconds.

Then that wicked smile appeared.

"Oops, Sir."

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and pulled them down just enough to expose the smooth skin of your hips.

No elastic.

No lace.

Nothing.

"I forgot to pack any panties."

I stared at you.

Then I laughed.

"Forgot?"

You tried to maintain the innocent expression.

It didn't work.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I seem to remember you forgetting them before ten o'clock this morning."

That broke you.

Your smile spread into a grin.

"Maybe I forgot them last night."

"Every pair you own?"

"Apparently."

"Remarkable."

"I'm very forgetful."

"You nearly made me forget what I was teaching."

"I noticed."

There it was.

Confirmation.

"You did that deliberately."

"Did what?"

I stared at you.

Your eyes danced.

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sir."

I shook my head.

You stepped closer.

Close enough that I could smell the faint trace of your perfume.

"Are you disappointed?"

"Devastated."

"Sorry, Sir."

You didn't sound remotely sorry.

And that was what I liked most.

You hadn't merely followed my instruction to pack a bag.

You'd started playing hours before I'd invited you away for the weekend.

The lecture hadn't been accidental.

The panties weren't an omission.

You'd spent the day thinking about this.

Contributing.

Inventing.

Testing me back.

I stood.

For a moment neither of us spoke.

The humour was still there, but something underneath it had shifted.

At lunchtime the weekend had been an idea.

Now you were standing in my locked office with an overnight bag beside the chair.

Sunday suddenly seemed a very long way away.

"Before we leave," I said, "we're going to do some more research."

"Of course we are."

"Control tonight."

Your expression sharpened.

"What kind?"

"The kind where you discover what your body does while your brain is trying very hard to behave."

You considered that.

"That doesn't sound remotely fair."

"Science rarely is."

"That's not how science works."

"Take off your jeans."

That ended the argument.

For perhaps half a second you simply looked at me.

Then your hands moved to the button.

There was something different about watching you undress this time.

Less uncertainty.

More confidence.

You knew why you were here. You had chosen to come back. Better still, you'd arrived already inventing ways to tease me.

You undid the button.

Lowered the zip.

Then pushed the denim slowly over your hips.

My eyes followed it down.

You stepped out of the jeans and nudged them aside with your foot.

No panties.

You hadn't been bluffing.

And you were already wet.

The lips of your pussy glistened beneath the office lights, moisture shining along the soft folds.

I stepped closer.

The smell reached me before I touched you.

Warm.

Musky.

Faintly sweet.

Not perfume.

Not soap.

You.

The scent was stronger now that there was no clothing between us, carrying with it an immediate sensory memory of the previous night: my face between your thighs, your taste coating my tongue, the smell of your arousal lingering on my fingers afterwards.

My mouth actually watered.

You noticed me staring.

"Well?"

"Turn around."

You did.

I opened my desk drawer and retrieved the steel plug I'd bought specifically for the weekend.

You glanced back when you heard the drawer close.

Your eyes dropped to my hand.

Then returned to my face.

I let you see it.

Cold polished steel. Smooth. Heavy for its size.

"Another variable," I said.

You laughed softly.

"Of course it is."

I took my time.

There was no need to rush.

I let you understand what I wanted, gave you the opportunity to decide you were ready, and only then moved behind you.

The steel was cold against your skin.

You flinched at the first touch.

"Cold."

"I noticed."

"Very scientific."

"Everything is data."

"Arsehole."

I smiled.

Slowly, carefully, I worked the plug into place.

Your breathing changed as your body adjusted to the pressure, your fingers curling against the edge of my desk while I gave you time to accommodate it.

Then the widest point slipped through.

Your body closed around the narrower stem.

The polished base settled between your cheeks.

I stepped back.

You stayed still for a moment, apparently taking inventory of the unfamiliar fullness.

Then you looked over your shoulder.

"Well?"

"Interesting."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring at my arse."

"I'm observing."

You groaned.

"Research?"

"Exactly."

"You need new material."

"Turn around."

You faced me again.

The movement made you briefly aware of the plug in a different way. I saw it in your expression.

"Comfortable?"

You shifted your weight experimentally.

"Yes."

"Good."

"Now what?"

"Now I want to see how good your control actually is."

Some of that newfound confidence wavered.

"Meaning?"

I smiled.

"You'll find out."

I lowered myself to my knees.

That was when your scent really reached me.

It was warmer between your thighs, richer than it had been from across the room. I could smell your arousal clearly now, the intimate musk of your wet pussy mixed faintly with whatever you'd used in the shower earlier.

I put my hands on your thighs.

Your skin was warm beneath my palms.

I leaned closer.

My breath touched you before my mouth did.

You shivered.

I deliberately waited another second.

Then I ran my tongue slowly through you.

The first taste was light and salty-sweet, your wetness already slick enough that my tongue slid easily between your folds.

I did it again.

Slower.

This time I lingered.

Your taste grew stronger as I gathered more of your pussy juices onto my tongue, warm and musky and unmistakably human rather than some ridiculous confectioner's metaphor.

I liked that.

I liked that it tasted like you.

I liked even more that every slow stroke of my tongue seemed to produce more of it.

I groaned against you.

"If I could bottle your pussy juices and sell them, we'd be millionaires."

You laughed, already breathless.

"Is that your new pickup line?"

"It's the truth."

"That's disgusting."

"You're smiling."

"Shut up."

I licked you again.

Your laughter dissolved into a small gasp.

The experiment quickly became less about the plug and more about whether you could maintain your composure while I concentrated entirely on your pleasure.

I didn't rush towards your clit.

That would have been too easy.

Instead I explored.

The soft inner folds of your pussy were slick against my tongue. I drew one gently between my lips, sucking until I felt your hips twitch, then released it and moved to the other.

Your taste remained on my lips.

When I breathed through my nose, I could smell you at the same time.

Taste and scent blurred together until I was completely immersed in you.

You shifted your feet slightly farther apart.

I smiled against your pussy.

"Helpful."

"Shut up."

I pushed my tongue between your folds again.

Your response was immediate.

I fucked you shallowly with it, feeling your entrance tighten around the tip of my tongue, then withdrew just as your hips began trying to follow me.

"Fuck."

"Control."

"I have control."

"Of course you do."

I moved upward.

Around your clit.

Not quite touching it.

Your thighs tightened around my shoulders.

You tried sarcasm.

That lasted surprisingly well.

For a while you still managed little comments whenever I paused.

Then your sentences became shorter.

Then they became individual words.

Eventually even sarcasm deserted you.

Your fingers found the edge of the desk.

I could feel the tension building through your body before I could see it: the muscles in your thighs becoming harder beneath my hands, your breathing turning shallow, the tiny involuntary movements of your hips whenever my tongue passed close to your clit.

I kept learning.

A little more pressure here.

Slower there.

A firmer stroke produced a gasp.

A lighter one made you chase my mouth.

Every reaction told me something.

By the time I had you properly close, you were gripping the desk and glaring down at me as though I'd personally invented frustration.

"Sir."

I looked up.

"Yes?"

"You're doing that deliberately."

"Doing what?"

"You know exactly what."

"Use your words."

Your glare became murderous.

I smiled.

You laughed despite yourself.

For perhaps three seconds the tension broke.

Your shoulders dropped.

Your mouth curved into a grin.

Then I put my mouth back on you and the laughter disappeared.

Your body tightened.

I felt it before I saw it.

Your thighs tensed around me.

Your stomach contracted.

Your hips became less controlled, small movements turning into unmistakable demands.

This time I didn't pull away.

I sucked your clit into my mouth.

Your entire body jerked.

I flicked it rapidly with my tongue while reaching around you with one hand until my fingers found the cool steel base of the plug.

I pressed against it.

The pressure travelled through you.

"Oh, fuck."

Your voice cracked.

I kept the same rhythm.

Your pussy was wetter now. I could taste the difference every time my tongue slipped down from your clit and travelled slowly through your folds. There was more of you there each time… warm, slick juices gathering against my tongue, your taste becoming stronger as your arousal built, salty-sweet and musky and unmistakably yours.

I dragged my tongue through you again, deliberately collecting your wetness before carrying it back up to your clit. Your juices coated my lips now, then my mouth and chin, warm against my skin. Every time I pressed my face more firmly between your thighs, I could feel that slippery warmth spreading against me.

And I fucking loved it.

I loved being able to taste how turned on you were. Loved knowing that the wetness covering my mouth hadn't been there when I'd first knelt between your legs… that your body was producing more of it because of what I was doing to you.

I pulled back just far enough to breathe, my lips wet with you, then looked up at you.

"You taste fucking incredible."

Before you could answer, I buried my face between your thighs again and slowly licked your juices from your entrance all the way back to your clit. I looked up at you.

"Cum for me."

That was all it took.

Your control vanished.

Your orgasm hit hard enough that you folded forward over the desk, hands gripping the edge while a broken sound escaped your throat.

I kept my mouth against you.

Your clit pulsed beneath my tongue.

The muscles in your thighs locked around me.

Your pussy contracted in quick involuntary spasms, and then something else caught my attention.

Movement.

Behind you.

The polished base of the steel plug shifted outward.

Only slightly.

At first I thought I'd imagined it.

Then another contraction rolled through you.

The plug moved again.

Outward as your muscles bore down.

Then, as the contraction released, your arse drew it back inward.

I stared.

Another contraction.

Out.

Then back in.

Out.

Back in.

The movement was small but unmistakable.

For several seconds my supposedly scientific brain became completely fascinated by what I was seeing.

I could watch the orgasm travelling through you.

Not metaphorically.

Physically.

Every contraction changed the tension in your body. Your pussy clenched. Your thighs shook. The muscles around the plug pushed it outward and then gripped it again as they relaxed, the polished steel appearing and retreating between your cheeks in time with the spasms.

I hadn't expected it.

That made it even hotter.

You were still trembling above me, barely aware of what I was watching.

Gradually the contractions weakened.

The movements became smaller.

One last pulse pushed the plug fractionally outward.

Then your body relaxed and drew it snugly back into place.

You stayed folded over the desk.

Breathing.

I remained where I was for a moment, my hands resting against your thighs.

Then I stood.

I gave you time.

No teasing.

No instructions.

Just time.

Eventually you turned your head and looked back at me.

"Well?"

I smiled.

"Interesting."

"Oh, fuck off."

I laughed.

"Very interesting."

"I hate your research."

"No, you don't."

You slowly straightened.

Your face was flushed. Your eyes had that slightly unfocused look they always seemed to acquire after a strong orgasm, and a fine sheen of perspiration had appeared along your skin.

"No," you admitted.

Then came the smile.

"I really don't."

I stepped closer and kissed you.

Not as another experiment.

Not because I wanted something.

Just because I wanted to kiss you.

You responded immediately.

My mouth still tasted of you.

You must have noticed.

The kiss deepened for a moment, your hand settling against my chest while my fingers rested at your waist.

When we eventually separated, you stayed close.

Your eyes dropped to the front of my trousers.

Then lifted back to mine.

"My turn?" you asked.

There was enough enthusiasm in the question that I didn't need to ask what you meant.

You sank to your knees.

What followed was less about control and more about reciprocity.

You took obvious pleasure in reversing the focus.

My trousers opened beneath your hands.

You freed my cock, already hard from everything I'd just watched and tasted, and wrapped your fingers around it.

Your hand moved once.

Slowly.

Your eyes remained on mine.

Then you leaned forward and took me into your mouth.

Wet.

Hot.

Immediate.

I exhaled sharply.

Your lips closed around my shaft while your tongue moved underneath, and the sensation of your mouth after spending so long concentrating on you nearly overwhelmed me immediately.

You knew it.

That was the worst part.

Or possibly the best.

Your eyes looked up at me while your mouth worked steadily, and there was something unmistakably pleased in your expression.

Smug.

Very smug.

You drew back slightly.

Then took me deeper again.

I put one hand against the desk rather than touching your head.

You controlled the pace.

That seemed important.

Your mouth was warm and slick around me, your lips sealing firmly around my shaft as you moved. Each time you drew back, your tongue followed underneath me, keeping contact until you reached the head, where you slowed and circled it deliberately before sliding your lips back down.

Your saliva had already coated my cock, mixing with the precum at the tip until everything was wet enough that your mouth moved over me almost effortlessly. I could feel the difference whenever you changed the pressure of your lips or flattened your tongue against the underside of my shaft, every small adjustment suddenly magnified by the slippery warmth surrounding me.

There was something about the sound of it too. The quiet wet movement of your mouth in an otherwise silent office, followed by the change in your breathing whenever you pulled back far enough to take a breath.

Then you looked up at me.

That nearly undid me more effectively than anything your mouth was doing.

Because there was nothing passive in your expression. You were watching me just as closely as I'd watched you earlier, paying attention to every breath, every twitch, every involuntary tightening of my body and learning exactly which movements affected me most.

You circled your tongue around the head again, slowly this time, collecting the precum there before closing your lips around me and sinking back down.

My hand tightened against the edge of the desk.

You noticed.

Of course you fucking noticed.

And the satisfaction in your eyes told me you'd just discovered another useful piece of research.

My composure became increasingly theoretical.

You noticed that too.

Of course you did.

At one point you stopped.

Just stopped.

I looked down.

You released me slowly enough that your lips dragged along the shaft before the head slipped free.

Your mouth remained close.

"How's your control, Sir?"

I stared at you.

Your eyes sparkled.

"Research," you added.

That nearly broke me.

"You think you're funny."

"I know I'm funny."

"Continue."

You smiled.

"Yes, Sir."

Then your mouth closed around me again.

Whatever illusion of professional dignity remained in my office did not survive much longer.

When I finally came, there was no disguising it.

My whole body tightened above you, the muscles in my stomach pulling hard as the first contraction hit. My cock pulsed inside your mouth and the first thick strand of cum shot down your throat.

You stayed exactly where you were.

Another contraction followed almost immediately.

Then another.

Each one made my shaft pulse visibly and sent another hot strand into your mouth. There was more than you could simply take without reacting; I felt you pause and swallow around me, your throat working as you cleared enough before the next pulse filled your mouth again.

Fuck.

Feeling you swallow while my cock was still twitching inside your mouth almost made the contractions stronger.

Another spurt.

You swallowed again.

By then there was enough cum that you couldn't keep all of it sitting in your mouth. You had to deal with it as I gave it to you, swallowing between the heavier pulses while keeping your lips sealed around my shaft.

The intensity gradually began to fade. The hard contractions became smaller, each pulse weaker than the one before it, until eventually there was nothing left except the occasional involuntary twitch of my cock against your tongue.

You still didn't pull away.

You kept me in the warmth of your mouth and continued moving gently, your tongue soft against me now, easing me through the oversensitive aftermath until even the last contraction had passed.

Only then did you slowly release me.

You sat back against the desk looking thoroughly pleased with yourself.

For a few seconds neither of us said anything.

The office smelled different now.

Warm skin.

Sex.

The faint trace of your perfume.

Your beautiful pussy juices still lingered on my mouth, and when I ran my tongue across my lower lip I could taste you there.

I handed you some water.

You drank.

I drank.

The coldness was startling after everything else.

For several minutes we simply existed together in the quiet that followed.

No experiment.

No game.

No need to fill the silence.

Your breathing gradually settled.

So did mine.

Eventually your eyes moved towards the overnight bag.

"So."

"So?"

"Campus house."

"Campus house."

"Two nights."

"Unless you've changed your mind."

You looked at me.

"No."

There was no hesitation.

That mattered more than I expected.

I nodded towards your clothes.

"Get dressed."

You blinked.

"That's unexpectedly disappointing."

"You'll survive."

"I suppose I can endure the hardship."

You pulled your jeans back on.

No panties.

The denim settled directly against your still-sensitive skin, making you shift slightly as you pulled them into place. The plug remained seated inside you.

I noticed the tiny adjustment in your posture.

You noticed me noticing.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

I smiled.

"Research."

"Fuck off."

I packed my laptop, checked the office and switched off the lights.

Then we left together.

 

The journey to the house changed the atmosphere again.

That was intentional.

No games.

No instructions.

No experiments.

Just conversation.

For the first few minutes, the ordinary world felt almost absurd after what we'd just done. Campus was quieter now, the working week bleeding into Friday evening. The air outside was cool enough that you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself.

I knew what you had beneath those jeans.

Nobody else did.

There was something strangely intimate about that knowledge.

But I left it alone.

We talked about food instead.

You wanted to know whether I'd actually bought enough for two people or whether my great weekend plan involved living on coffee and takeaway.

"I bought groceries."

You looked genuinely shocked.

"You planned meals?"

"Some."

"Oh God."

"What?"

"This really is serious."

"Because I bought groceries?"

"That's basically commitment."

"Don't get carried away."

You laughed.

"What did you buy?"

"Food."

"Excellent. Very specific."

"You'll see."

"You didn't just buy steak, did you?"

"No."

"Beer?"

"No."

"Instant noodles?"

"I'm beginning to regret inviting you."

"You'd miss me."

"I've known you less than a week."

"And?"

I looked at you.

You smiled.

That was becoming dangerous.

Not the sexual games.

Not the obedience.

That.

The ease of it.

Four days.

Less than a week, and already the conversation could slip from sex to groceries to insults and back again without either of us seeming to notice.

By the time we reached the campus house, the office already felt strangely distant.

I unlocked the door and let you enter first.

You stopped just inside.

For all the teasing we'd done, this was different.

You weren't visiting for an hour.

You weren't disappearing back to your own room when the game finished.

Your overnight bag contained two nights.

"Welcome."

You looked around.

"So this is where the mysterious research happens."

"No."

You turned.

"No?"

"Apparently it happens in restaurants and offices."

You laughed.

I closed the door behind us.

The house was quiet.

Warm.

Private.

For the first time since you'd arrived at the restaurant the previous evening, there was nobody nearby we needed to think about.

No waiter.

No other students.

No colleagues in adjoining offices.

No Uber driver.

Just us.

Oddly, I didn't immediately want to do anything with that privacy.

Instead I showed you around.

The kitchen first.

You inspected the groceries with far more seriousness than they deserved.

"You actually bought vegetables."

"I occasionally eat them."

"I'm learning so much about you."

"Research."

"That's my line now."

"Absolutely not."

Then the living room.

Bathroom.

Bedroom.

I showed you where the towels were, where you could charge your phone and, most importantly, which cupboard contained the coffee.

All painfully ordinary things.

Somehow that made the weekend feel more real than anything we'd done in the office.

Sex was easy to compartmentalise.

Showing someone where you kept the clean towels was different.

Eventually we returned to the bedroom.

You placed your overnight bag beside the bed.

I watched it settle against the floor.

Then I looked at you.

"There's one more rule."

You slowly turned.

"I knew there was going to be a rule."

"One rule for the house."

"Only one?"

"For now."

You folded your arms.

"Go on."

"While you're staying here this weekend, you're naked."

Your eyebrows climbed.

"Completely?"

"Completely."

"For the entire weekend?"

"While we're in the house."

You considered that.

"Bathroom?"

"Naked."

"Kitchen?"

"Naked."

"Living room?"

"Naked."

"Sleeping?"

"Naked."

You looked thoughtful.

"What about cooking?"

"Naked."

"That seems like a workplace health and safety issue."

"This isn't your workplace."

"You have an answer for everything."

"Usually."

You pointed at me.

"Socks."

I stared at you.

"What?"

"Do socks count?"

I laughed.

"You are negotiating socks?"

"It's Friday night. Melbourne gets cold."

"Fine. Socks are permitted."

"Excellent."

"Anything else?"

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it again.

The joke remained in your expression, but something underneath it had changed.

You looked around the bedroom.

Then at me.

Then down at yourself.

Accepting the rule meant accepting something larger than another game.

Not just tonight.

Tomorrow morning.

Saturday afternoon.

Saturday night.

Sunday.

An entire weekend in which the normal barrier of clothing simply wouldn't exist between us.

You looked back at me.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

No hesitation.

You reached for the hem of your top.

Slowly, you pulled it upward.

Your stomach appeared first.

Then your bare breasts.

There was no bra underneath.

Of course there wasn't.

I'd known that from the moment you'd walked into my office.

You drew the top over your head and tossed it onto the bed.

Then you undid your jeans.

Pushed them over your hips.

Stepped out of them.

And you were naked.

No panties to remove.

No bra.

You had arrived at six o'clock wearing remarkably little beneath your clothes, and now even those final layers were gone.

For a moment you simply stood there.

Not posed.

Not performing.

Just naked.

Your skin still carried the aftermath of the office: a faint flush across your chest, nipples firm in the cooler bedroom air, the polished base of the plug still visible between your cheeks when you turned towards the bed.

Then you looked at the overnight bag.

Slowly, deliberately, you gathered everything you'd just removed.

The jacket.

The top.

The jeans.

That was it.

You folded them and placed them inside.

Then zipped the bag closed.

The sound was strangely final.

I watched you straighten.

"So," you said.

"So."

You smiled.

"Your research weekend starts now."

I shook my head.

"No."

Your eyebrows rose.

"No?"

I stepped closer.

"Our research weekend starts now."

Something softened in your expression.

It lasted only a second.

But I saw it.

Then the sarcasm returned.

"Fine. But if I freeze to death, your methodology is going in the ethics complaint."

"You negotiated socks."

"Good point."

You immediately crouched beside the overnight bag and unzipped it again.

I laughed.

"What?"

"You lasted approximately ten seconds."

"My feet are cold."

"You've been naked for twenty seconds."

"Exactly. It's already started."

You began rummaging through the bag.

Completely naked.

Looking for socks.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched you.

Friday had begun with you sitting in the third row of my lecture theatre, looking perfectly innocent while deliberately making me forget what I was saying.

Now your clothes were packed away beside my bed, you were kneeling naked on my bedroom floor arguing about thermal regulation, and we still had all of Saturday ahead of us.

The office had been my experiment.

The restaurant had been my game.

But somewhere along the way you'd started playing back.

The uncrossed legs.

The forgotten panties.

The jokes.

The questions.

How's your control, Sir?

And now this.

Our research weekend.

For once, I wasn't particularly interested in planning what happened next.

We had the whole weekend to find out.

I was already wet when he told me to get on the bed. He didn’t touch me right away. He just stood at the edge and watched while I lay back and spread my legs for him.

“Hands above your head,” he said. “Keep them there.”

I did. He got between my thighs and started with his mouth, slow enough that I kept shifting. Every time I moved he stopped completely and waited until I settled again. He kept talking the whole time, low and calm, telling me I was doing good and that I wasn’t allowed to come yet. I got so close twice that my legs started shaking. Both times he pulled back and made me wait.

“Ask,” he said the third time I got close. “Ask me properly.”

I did. He went back down and didn’t stop this time. I came with my hands still above my head and my thighs trying to close around him. He stayed there a few seconds longer after I finished, then stood up and looked at me.

“You can move your hands now,” he said. “Next time you’re going to wait longer.”

I was still catching my breath when he ran his hand over my thigh once more. My arms were tired and I was still sensitive, but I didn’t move until he told me I could.

I want her
To pin her down on the mattress
With my body pressed on her’s

Swinging my stretched hips
Like wawes of gasoline
Upon a burning fire

I want her
throath collared by my hand
Slowly tightening my grip
As she turn her head to me
While her moans begins to grow
Like flower trough her lips

I’ll keep buring all my flesh
Swating on her arched back
Till the night comes to and end
And we’re both burnt down to ash

[~2000 Words]

Blurb: After his regular hours, Cedric works as a part-time masseur. He mentioned this once to his boss, Julie. Maybe twice. Thrice, at most. At a Halloween party among colleagues, they sneak upstairs for a quick demonstration. Narrated by a conspicuous observer.

~~~

It was a perfect fall evening. Dusk had fallen, and the wind whistled as it buffeted the window. Gaudy music and cheering drifted up from the party downstairs.

On a night like this, masks slipped, and lines got crossed.

~~~

They came stumbling in, speaking in hushed voices. She was diminutive, disguised as a cat, her clothing thin and scant. He was far outside of her weight class, impersonating a large bat, with a plush cape.

The room was barely lit by the moonlight. More stumbling, followed by a giggle. The woman landed on the bed, sitting down, while the man hovered. Neither paid attention to my presence.

Oh, by the way - I’m Jack. The pumpkin on the windowsill, in case you also didn’t notice me.

“Do your thing, Cedric,” the woman said. “Show me those golden hands you always talk about.”

“Someone’s gonna notice we’re both gone, Julie,” Cedric whispered back, taking place behind her on the bed.

“We’re not the first ones,” Julie replied lazily. “And I don’t exactly stand out in a crowd.”

He stood out, though, looking regal with his cape, all black and burgundy.

Julie moaned as soon as he put his hands on her neck. Needy. She took on a very catlike, submissive pose. Cedric could easily have sunk his teeth into her delicate flesh. Instead, he dug his fingers into her muscles, and made her purr.

“You’re taut as a violin string, boss,” Cedric said.

Her cat-ears tickled his stubbled cheek as she shifted.

“Don’t remind me of work,” she groaned. “Where do you think all that tension comes from?”

Definitely not the only source of tension in the room.

His eyes were narrowed in concentration, hers closed in bliss. Everything about Julie was pale and slender. Everything about Cedric was gruff and dark. Apart from his skilled hands.

“Maybe you need massages during office hours,” he said, in a tone I recognized as playful.

“Or we do it after hours, and I approve your overtime,” she said, sounding a lot more serious. “For once.”

Julie’s dress had a zipper on the back, all the way down. Cedric gently tugged on it, exposing more of her back and shoulders, his hands resolutely kneading her knotted muscles.

“I could do better if I had some oil,” he said, showing his fangs in a menacing smile.

“Is it necessary?” Julie muttered, reluctant to move.

“Maybe we should continue another time -”

“No. We shouldn’t,” she interrupted. “Christine must have some, in a drawer.”

She stood up with a groan, clutching her purse and smoothing out her dress, which had ridden up. As she rummaged around, Cedric paced softly around the room. He noticed his cape still trailing him, and took it off. Right in front of me, he stopped, gazing out the window.

And then he spotted me.

“Cute,” he murmured. “Let’s add some atmospherics.”

A warm feeling spread through me, as he lit the candle I held inside. In the orange glow, he looked nothing like a bat. Gone was the menace, and he now looked mostly harmless. I understood why Julie felt comfortable presenting her neck to him.

“Found something!” Julie said triumphantly, and slightly too loud, before clamping her mouth. She held up a tub of massage cream.

Her lips were also redder than before, and the edges of her breasts more visible against the edge of her dress. Even her cat ears stood straighter. Cedric did not seem to notice the retouches.

“Cream me up, Scotty,” Julie said, plopping herself down on the bed again.

The words hung in the air for a second.

Cedric blinked.

I would’ve blinked, if I could.

“... that was inappropriate,” Julie added, cringing. “Tell me if I make you uneasy.”

A strange thing to say. Both had been uneasy from the moment I saw them.

“Horrible pun, but I won’t rub it in,” Cedric chuckled.

Julie sniggered, lowering her zipper down to the middle of her back. She brushed her hair out of the way. Huddling forward, she surrendered to his ministrations once more … showing no trace of lingerie underneath her dress.

The cream looked expensive, the tub full of esoteric symbolism. I imagined a strong, herbal smell spreading through the room, as Cedric spread it firmly over Julie’s delicate skin. His fingers skirted the edges of her unzipped dress, occasionally flitting just below.

“Hmmm … I feel myself loosening,” she purred. “Maybe I should add this to your job description.”

“Beats working customer service,” Cedric replied, smiling. He remained outwardly composed, his hands steady, but stole fleeting glances at her body. Down her dress. Over her shoulder. It was hard not to look.

“I can be a difficult - oomph, yeah, right theeere,” Julie moaned. “Bit lower.”

Cedric, his hands slick and shiny, pinned her body with his knees, to pull the zipper further down. Further than necessary. Like a hawk, he watched her reaction, the small shiver that ran through her body, then dug his fingers into the muscles of her lower back.

“Hmm. Fuck. That feels good,” she added. “Don’t stop.”

“It works even better if you lie down, actually,” Cedric said smoothly.

Without comment, Julie let herself fall dramatically, face-down onto the bed. It creaked upon impact, even if she couldn’t have weighed much. Cedric winced at the ruckus, shushing her.

“Sorry,” she said, in an exaggerated whisper.

For being a cat and a bat, these two were horrible stalkers.

Her dress had ridden up further, the part that was still zipped together now barely covering her butt. Cedric swallowed, taking in the view, before regaining his composure. He noticed, now, that she wore nothing underneath.

Then, he straddled her.

Julie’s face, hidden from his eyes, lit up.

Firmly, he resumed kneading her lower back. She played out a symphony of moans and purrs, as well as groans, when his bulk pressed her deeper into the bed sheets.

Crack. Thud, thud.

Footsteps in the hallway.

Focused too much on the touch of skin on skin, Cedric and Julie didn’t notice the footsteps until they reached the door. He looked panicked. She looked resigned.

A knock sounded.

“I’m … taking a nap!” Cedric said loudly.

Julie stared straight ahead in disbelief. Cedric seemed confused at his own response. Even I could have come up with a better lie.

“Sure, uhm, sleep tight?” a mature, womanly voice answered. Her footsteps moved on, followed by other, heavier footsteps.

“Sounded like Cedric,” a male voice chuckled. “Wonder who else was in there.”

We heard a door open and slam shut again in the distance.

Cedric groaned, wanting to bury his face in his hands, except they were full of cream. Julie wiggled her body around so she could look at him, with what I thought was disapproval. She held the front of her dress in place with one arm.

“A nap? Really, Cedric?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“What else was I supposed to say?” he whispered back.

“Uhm, the truth? We aren’t doing anything shameful, are we?” she bit back. “Unless …”

“Unless what?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Unless … you are … having shameful thoughts?”

Checkmate. Boy, was I wrong about the disapproval. Her voice could have buttered a toast right now.

He reached out, tucked a hair behind her ear, then caressed her cheek in one smooth motion.

“What if I do?” he whispered. Tilting her head back, he leaned in for a kiss -

With a swipe of her claws, she swatted his hand away.

“Say it,” she said hoarsely.

“Say what?” Cedric asked, swallowing hard, looking for a way out.

“What you’re thinking,” she said, looking him fiercely in the eyes. She still lay pinned underneath him, between his legs.

The only way was in.

“I want to … rip that sexy cat costume off of you,” he answered, his voice unsteady for the first time. “All evening, I’ve been staring, fantasizing -”

“I know,” she said. “Who do you think this slutty cat costume is for?”

A boyish grin took over his face, eyes glinting, as he leaned in for another kiss. With her eyes closed, her plump bottom lip dangling, Julie surrendered this time.

Short, wet, hard and eager kisses echoed through the room.

“You taste like raspberry,” Cedric muttered, smiling.

“That’s the vodka,” Julie muttered back, her fingers walking along his arms. “What’s your next move, sexy vampire?”

“I was thinking of … pulling your costume off … ,” he said, while his fingers caressed her neck.

“Missed your chance earlier,” she said softly, wiggling out from under his body until she sat in front of him. The front of her dress hung very loose around her chest. “Could’ve just unzipped me all the way … and massaged me everywhere.”

Even sitting down, he towered over her. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her in for another kiss, slow and smoldering.

“Do I get another chance?”

“No.”

With her hands flat against his chest, she pushed him down onto his back, and climbed on top of him. She undid the final part of the zipper herself, letting her costume slide off.

She tossed it onto the floor.

Cedric’s gaze was hungry. The kind only a naked woman can evoke in a man. His hands roamed her slender body, gingerly, reverently, while she yielded to his touch. Until he reached her nipples, and she moaned.

“Don’t tease me,” she whispered. “I’m taut as a violin string.”

He pulled her down, their upper bodies pressed together, his hand cupping her nape while they made out passionately. Julie’s hips began to grind against his crotch.

“Take off your pants,” she said. “Before I stain them.”

In a flash, Cedric’s belt came loose, and he forced his black pants down to his knees. His boxers went along. Julie, with a series of hungry whimpers, pressed her smooth mound against his hard shaft. His hands tangled in her hair, his strong arms pinned her against him, until the bucking of her hips was the only movement she could make.

“Julie, you’re … a waterfall,” he said softly, shifting his hips until his cock pressed against her entrance.

“That’s no way to talk to your boss …,” she said, biting her lip.

“Gonna fire me?” he grinned.

“... or add it to your job description.”

She let out a low moan as he slid inside her, inch by inch, thrusting gently.

“No,” she whispered. “No, Cedric. No …”

In a moment of stunned silence, Julie pushed off, until she sat straight on his cock, her arms planted firmly on her own thighs.

“... I am gonna fuck you.”

She began writhing her hips, moving rhythmically back and forth on top of him. Cedric lay on his back, moaning, his hands cupping her butt as she rode him. As she upped her speed, she raked one hand through her hair, the other playing with her breasts, putting on a show.

“Fuck. You’re gonna kill me,” Cedric groaned, helpless as her pussy gripped his cock, riding wildly, up and down, back and forth.

“Not … not yet,” Julie moaned in response. “Promise me … more massages.”

“Like this?” he asked, moving his hand between her legs until his thumb reached her clit, rubbing in slow strokes. She froze in place, leaning backwards, eyes to the ceiling, thighs clamped against his sides.

“Hnugh. Fuckkk. Oh, keep that speed. Don’t you fucking stop, Cedric.”

She pressed a hand against her mouth. Bit her forearm. Threw her head back. Her muscles clenched. With a visible shudder running through her body, she released her breath. A muffled moan, followed by heavy panting.

“Stop. Stop, now. I came. I came. Are you fucking crazy,” she gasped. Cedric, with an evil smile on his face, withdrew his hand. With her hair all messed up, her skin coated in beads of sweat, Julie let herself collapse on top of him.

“Guess I killed you first,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Legs gave out. Wait. Sit up straight.”

Julie slid down as he sat up, leaning sideways on her elbow. With her other hand, she pinched his cock between her thumb and index finger, before wrapping her lips around the tip. Quick and firm, she moved her hand up and down. Cedric leaned back, moaning softly, toying with her hair. Until his muscles clenched, too, and he climaxed with a stifled groan.

Julie swallowed deeply, then licked her lips.

“Monday. After hours. My office,” she whispered, rubbing one hand across his body. “Bring your oil.”

“You’ve got it, boss.”

She stood up, gathered her costume, and walked on unsteady legs to the door, opening it slowly to peek into the hallway.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom and fix myself,” she said, looking back. “You go down already. It’ll be less suspicious.”

Yes. Definitely. Nobody was gonna suspect anything. It’s not like both of them looked and smelled like sex.

Julie vanished into the hallway, as Cedric made himself presentable again. With a silly grin on his face, he walked toward the windowsill, gazing out for a few seconds.

Then, he blew out my candle.

The bat and the cat had finally been honest with each other.

And I was left to wonder what other masks had slipped tonight. Or perhaps some still had to come off …

(I take commission requests. If you like my work and want one, DM me).

A lone explorer was on a distant planet mining for rare materials. These materials ranged from ores to strange bodies that could be then sold and reused for other purposes. Of course, the explorer didn’t care since all he wanted was to get paid in the end.

“Alright…yeah, this is about right…” he muttered as he continued his mining operations.

This planet was uncharted on any map which made it the perfect place for anyone in need of some extra cash. After all, if there was no competition to worry about, then nobody could take away your treasures.

The man had found himself trekking through rather hilly mountainous regions of the unknown planet. It was of similar gravity to earth, but the lack of a proper atmosphere made his space suit mandatory. Once he had gathered enough rare ores however, he immediately made his way back to his ship colony where he could take his time and examine what he had found.

But unbeknownst to him, there was a certain…creature watching and waiting. A being of unimaginable proportions that most explorers were ordered to flee on sight from. Many of the people who had come in contact with this creature hadn’t returned, so it was assumed that it had killed and eaten as many as a hundred or even a thousand colonists and soldiers.

This creature had kept watch over this area for a while and its body was heaving with a sense of hunger, desire even. As soon as it saw another living being, it followed it and tracked it down until it could take advantage of and make use of it. In this case? It was our explorer that had been busy mining for rare materials.

As he travelled back to his ship, the creature would slink in and out of shadows behind rock formations in order to avoid his vision as well as any security measures his ship may have had. This creature was a crafty one and used its wits to its advantage.

Soon enough, the man had entered his ship and once oxygen was restored, he undressed and removed his space suit. He was a fair-skinned man with brown hair and blue eyes. He was of a muscular build thanks to his extensive training for working hard in environments with low or no oxygen.

“Alright, let’s see what the scanners can tell me,” he said as he placed the rare materials in a cylinder for his ship to scan. The process was going to take a few hours so in the meantime, he made himself busy by sitting down at his ship’s main computer, “Now to inform the base of what I’ve found…”

Little did he know. The creature had slipped inside of his ship without him even realizing it. It was now able to get a better look at him and decided that he was of a perfect, most suitable build for its desires.

As it turned out, this creature was female. And on top of that, it was her mating season. But with no male creatures of her own kind to mate with, she was naturally drawn to a male of another species instead.

The creature was tall and slender with a rather thin figure that was slightly curvy compared to males of her kind. Her body was designed to attract mates and breed, but with none around, she had to improvise with this human male instead. Her black, scaly figure creeped along the inner workings of the ship with one goal in mind: disable it.

She didn’t want to cause permanent damage, but just enough damage to leave the explorer stranded for a time. This would grant her the opportunity to get what she wanted. All she had to do was approach the engine room and make use of the knowledge she had gained from raiding similar-looking vessels in the past…

Meanwhile, the explorer was completely unaware of what was going on. He had been busy delivering the message to his employers and told them that he was perfectly fine as there was seemingly no danger on this planet.

“Heh. Don’t know why there aren’t more people here, but eh--not my problem. Just means more money for me--”

Just as he sent that message, he’d find that all of his outward communication systems had been shut down as well as his ability to boot the ship and take off.

“...what the--that’s strange…” he looked at the alerts that were on his screen and tapped them to find out more information. As it turned out, the reason for the partial shutdown of his ship was due to something being tampered with in the engine room. His ship’s schematics showed a glaring red part of his ship’s inner workings that would require him to make repairs.

“Dammit. Well I guess it wouldn’t be fun if this job was too easy,” he shrugged his shoulders and grabbed his tools. “Maybe some debris managed to get inside when I landed.”

Once again, he was blissfully unaware of what was really on board with him. Just as she had intended.

Down in the engine room…

The creature, commonly known as a proto-xenomorph by the few who had came across it--it had managed to calculate everything perfectly. She was already prepared to feast on her ‘prey’ the second she saw him.

And like clockwork--the man had ventured down into the engine room to check out the problem. The xenomorph would lie in wait, hoping he would drop his guard just long enough for her to strike…

“Damn what happened here?” The man knelt down and started looking at the wiring to his maintenance panel. Various wires and even solid metal had been torn through. Or rather…chewed through. “...no way…is something in here?” he muttered fearfully, wondering what sort of creature could have such a powerful bite with that many teeth?

Then, she struck.

The female xenomorph would leap from behind a nearby stack of crates and tackle the man to the floor!

“Agh! What the--oh my god no!” he screamed a hollered as the beastly alien hissed in his face with her rows of teeth dripping with hunger, “...please don’t kill me!”

The xenomorph could tell he was afraid and she sought to fix that. After all, a panicked potential mate was unable to perform his duty for her, so she adapted her appearance for him based on what knowledge she gained from humans.

The xenomorph’s body would swell and expand. The spines on her back started to rise as well as her head swelling up and increasing in size. But perhaps most interestingly, her bust size would increase, giving her the appearance of having rather large breasts as well as her hips and behind, giving her the appearance of having a rather large butt.

Having shut his eyes out of fear, the man would be surprised when he opened them and watched a pair of what only could be described as ribby, skeletal breasts rubbing against his face.

“H-huh?”

From there, she’d begin to invade his mouth with her long tongue, getting it deep into his throat as she gave him a long, messy kiss. The lady xeno would make satisfied chittering noises as she then proceeded to place her hand underneath his shirt before ripping through it. She’d expose his upper body and she’d eagerly start feeling him and groping upon his muscles. His vitality level was perfect.

“W-what are you…?”

She’d back away and start to claw at his pants, yanking them off of his body forcefully to expose his entire naked form to her. His cock was already sizable even while limp, but she sought to bring him to a fully erect state. So without warning, she began to use her tongue which started to coil around his shaft and squeeze with a pulsating rhythm.

“Aaaagh….” the man was unable to do anything but helplessly moan as he got hard for her against his will. His cock rising and enlarging to a full, throbbing erection.

“Rrrrr…” the xenomorph purred with delight as she watched his cock grow. One could almost make out the slightest hint of excitement through the smile on her face. From her perspective, she had just found the perfect lifelong mate with a member even larger than that of her own kind!

But from the explorer’s perspective, he had no clue what to think. All he could do was endure the pleasure and wonder just what exactly she was thinking. “Wh…what do you…?”

Before he could say anything else, the xeno started to secrete a slimy substance that was thankfully not the acidic variety. Instead it was more akin to that of lubricant and an aphrodisiac that she would leak from her mouth and breasts. It would drip all over the man’s body as she continued to grope and squeeze him all over, his cock trembling now that he was coated in the slick purple substance.

Soon enough, his senses were overwhelmed by her lube as she started to lather his cock in her fluids. His balls would expand with more fertile seed ready to be launched at any moment. But first, she wanted to engage in foreplay and began sucking upon his cock with her inner mouth. It extended and went along his cock like a glove, clinging onto it tightly as the mouth began pumping up and down.

“Aaagh…aaugh…” he moaned as he watched her suck his dick with her alien mouth, the teeth of the little mouth grazing and scratching his foreskin which only added to the pleasure.

The female xeno would increase her speed, going faster and faster with her mouth eagerly jerking his cock with the force of a tight vacuum. It was a blowjob unlike any other as her saliva coated his dick and continued to aid in his pleasure, causing him to moan more and more until--!

“RRGH!”

He groaned as he came hard, giving up his semen to the female xeno by force as he thrust his hips with his dick twitching in her mini-mouth. She’d drink down every drop of his seed as her mouth retracted and once it was in her system, she gave a loving coo, satisfied with his taste and would continue further since his dick was still enduring a towering erection.

She stood up and gently stroked his cock with her foot, squeezing it with her bony toes as she spread her vaginal lips, giving him full view of a dripping wet set of walls that were eager to accept his penis.

“Oh my god….” he huffed breathlessly, “...why are you so fucking hot?”

But he couldn’t get another word out before she pounced down upon him and angled his dick towards her entrace. With a hefty slam, she would bring her big ass down on his balls as his dick pierced her pussy.

“EEEEE~!” the xeno lady let out screeching moans from the way his dick entered her. She began to eagerly bounce upon him, riding him cowgirl style as her breasts bounced and clapped against each other.

“Aaaaugh…fuck…” the explorer could only watch the alien lady fuck him. His senses overwhelmed completely by how soft and squishy her alien pussy felt. It was even better than her mouth with his dick being overloaded and pleasured tenfold by her moist fluids coating him as she bounced faster and faster.

With her hands on his chest, the xeno lady would bounce more quickly, eager to finally have her pussy filled. The explorer could feel his dick break through into her womb where dozens upon dozens of waiting eggs would surround the tip of his cock each time it entered and exited her deepest parts.

This was her goal. To have a proper mate fertilize and breed those eggs that had been lying dormant in her body for so long and to have a man help her bring new life into this world. And our explorer was that man.

She’d lean forward, happily rubbing her breasts against his face as they leaked more fluids from her nipples. She’d shove one into his mouth, forcing him to drink her equivalent to breastmilk as she rode him harder and harder.

The explorer finally gave in and accepted it. If this was how he was gonna die, he mat as well enjoy it, right?

“No idea what’s happening anymore…but fuck it…”

And after a few more hard thrusts, the xeno lady would screech again as she came with him. Her pussy leaking and squirting all over his dick as she arched her back and felt his dick twitch inside of her and spurt thick loads to coat all of the eggs waiting in her womb.

After resting together for a moment, the xenomorph would rise off of him and hold him close. She’d continue feeding him her breastmilk while jerking his cock with her hand, making him cum over and over again for what felt like an eternity as she smiled above him.

“...I could get used to this I think,” he moaned quietly as he fell into the loving care of his new xeno wife.

This would continue for days, weeks, months on end. The explorer would awaken to a horny xenomorph woman looking to breed as she jiggled and shook her ass at him, and he would oblige by pushing her against the wall and fucking her doggystyle or some form of missionary position. In return, she would take control and ride his cock whenever he got tired in order to continuously pleasure her new mate.

And soon enough, she would lay full-sized xenomorph eggs. An entire hive would infest his ship as he continued to breed with her over and over, filling her with more and more cum until she developed a much curvier body with bigger breasts and ass to become a xenomorph queen. In turn, his own body would adapt and change, gaining a larger cock and balls with more radiated muscles to traverse the planet with no need for his space suit thanks to their DNA mixing.

Eventually, after his eggs hatched, the xenos from his hive would leave the ship and start their own colonies on other sides of the planet, only for the process to rinse and repeat with the xenomorph continuing to have wild, loving sex with her mate for an eternity.

But what our explorer was unaware of was that this was not the sole female xeno on the planet. News of the massive hive would spread across the planet and more of them would be drawn to his ship as a result. At least a hundred new female xenos were eyeing the ship where the magic supposedly happened, eager to be bred and birth the children of this legendary human.

And he’d enjoy every last second of it, becoming the ultimate xenomorph breeder and happily trading his old boring life for this new one filled with endless pleasure and sexy lady xenos who did whatever they could to please him day and night…

I'm a straight guy in real life, but lately I've discovered something about myself that I never expected.

I absolutely love playing as a woman in an adult online game.

And not just because I get to look at a beautiful female character.

There's something about actually being her in that virtual world, having men notice her, flirt with her, and desire her, that has turned into an experience I never imagined enjoying this much.

But let me start at the beginning.

How It All Started

A couple of months ago, I developed an interest in adult video games. I started browsing Steam, looking for something interesting to try, when I came across a game called LoveCraft.

What caught my attention wasn't just the adult content. It was the multiplayer aspect.

Unlike games where you're interacting with computer-controlled characters, LoveCraft offered the possibility of meeting real people, socializing, flirting, and having intimate encounters through virtual characters.

That sounded intriguing.

So I downloaded it and jumped in.

And believe it or not, I actually started as a male character.

I spent about two days exploring the game, trying to interact with people and figure things out.

Unfortunately, I wasn't having much luck.

It seemed like male avatars were often viewed as guys who were only interested in getting sex. Whether that was fair or not, I felt like it made ordinary interactions harder.

I wasn't getting the social experience I'd hoped for.

Then an idea crossed my mind.

What if I played as a woman instead?

Maybe I'd have more opportunities to socialize. Maybe people would be more approachable. And perhaps I'd feel more sexually free to explore things from a completely different perspective.

There was also another reason.

I liked the idea of creating a beautiful woman.

Actually, that part was a pretty big motivation.

Creating My Girl

I've always enjoyed character customization in video games. Give me a character creator with plenty of options, and I'll happily spend time getting everything just right.

But creating my female character was especially enjoyable.

I didn't have a particular woman in mind or some predetermined look I was trying to achieve.

I simply went through the customization options, choosing whatever I found attractive.

Her face, her body, her hair, her overall appearance.

Little by little, she came together.

When it came time to dress her, I went with something cute, sexy, and casual.

A fitted black top, denim shorts, black harness straps around her thighs, and white sneakers.

Nothing especially elaborate.

Just a beautiful woman wearing an outfit that showed off her figure while still looking like someone you might casually meet out in the world.

And when I finally finished?

Damn.

I was impressed with myself.

I had created a woman I genuinely found gorgeous.

I've always loved admiring the female body, and there was definitely an element of sexual attraction in looking at my creation.

I wasn't simply thinking, That's a good-looking video game character.

I was looking at a woman I'd created and thinking about how incredibly sexy she was.

For these confessions, I'll call her Plava.

And I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into.

Something Unexpected Happened

When I entered LoveCraft as Plava, things felt different almost immediately.

I started noticing men approaching my character.

Some would come closer, apparently wanting a better look at her. Others would strike up conversations or invite me to interact with them, often with sex clearly on their minds.

This was quite a change from the experience I'd been having as a male avatar.

Suddenly, people were noticing me.

Well, technically they were noticing her.

But I was the person behind her.

And the really surprising part wasn't simply that men found my character attractive.

It was how naturally I started slipping into her role.

I became outgoing, confident, playful, and flirtatious. There was even a slightly feminine side to how I approached conversations and interactions.

I wasn't just controlling a female avatar anymore.

I was developing her personality.

I found myself thinking about how she would behave, how she might respond to someone approaching her, and what kind of interactions she might enjoy.

It happened much faster than I expected.

And I was enjoying it.

The Attention

There's an interesting feeling that comes with creating a beautiful female character and then watching other people respond to her.

I already knew I found Plava attractive.

After all, I'd personally designed her to appeal to my tastes.

But now other people were finding her attractive, too.

Men were approaching her, messaging her, and showing interest in getting closer.

I was suddenly experiencing something I hadn't experienced in quite the same way while playing my male character.

Being the one pursued.

Being the attractive woman someone wanted to approach.

Being the person receiving that kind of attention.

And rather than feeling uncomfortable with the role, I found myself becoming increasingly comfortable in it.

I enjoyed being Plava.

I enjoyed her appearance, her personality, and the freedom of experiencing this virtual world as a woman.

I'm still a man in real life, and I have no desire to change that.

But inside LoveCraft?

I was discovering how much fun it could be to leave my usual perspective behind and immerse myself in someone completely different.

And Then Things Started Getting Interesting…

Of course, LoveCraft isn't exactly an innocent little social game.

There's a reason people play it.

And with men approaching Plava, flirting with her, and sometimes making their intentions pretty obvious, it was only a matter of time before one of those interactions went further.

I still remember my first intimate encounter with another player.

It happened at Love Angeles, on a nude beach.

I was lying there naked when a male character settled down nearby.

We started talking.

And eventually, that conversation turned into something much more intimate.

What happened between our characters left me so sexually excited that I ended up masturbating in real life while playing.

That was the moment this whole experience took another unexpected turn.

But that's a confession for another post.

Part 2 — My First Intimate Encounter as Plava: A Stranger on the Nude Beach.

Part 2

Part One

His hand closes the distance between him and her womanhood as the vibrations from the small toy cause the water to ripple right above where her sex lies in the water. He presses the tip of it against her clit, watching as her eyes roll into the back of her head before closing and her breathing becomes more labored, the rise and fall of her chest starting to pick up pace as her alert and perky nipples start to breach the water.

With his heart racing in his chest, he runs the toy up and down the length of her clit, watching as her body responds so positively to his touch. She pulls a wet hand out of the tub and slides it through his hair, leaving a wet patch as her hand slides down over his neck and to his shoulder, where she holds onto him tightly. leaving a wet handprint on his shirt.

"Dan..." she says softly as she bites her lip to keep the noise down, "I don't...we shouldn't...I can't...." she says, stumbling for words as she opens her legs wider for him. And when she does, he can feel his own desires and needs growing inside of him, and just how much he needs her body.

"Shannon. Look at me." he says softly, watching as she manages to open her eyes and stare into his own, a look of pure ecstasy covering her face as her breasts become more visible, "You don't need to tease me anymore. You've got my attention." He says with a smile while he still works her clit with the toy below the water. "Now do me a favor - take this toy from my hand and hold it against your clit." He says. Though it's phrased as a request, it's clearly more of a command - one that she understands fully as her soft, small hand slides into his own, taking the toy and holding it against her womanhood, the vibrations rippling through her young, petite body as she feels herself giving into him and his desires.

Suddenly, without another word or warning, he thrusts two of his thick fingers inside of her, watching as her eyes roll back hard and close while she jerks her head back, his hand hitting the edge of the tub - better that than her head - and she opens her mouth wide as he works his fingers in and out of her, already feeling just how tight she is.

Her grip on his shoulder tightens as he pumps his fingers in and out of her, picking up the pace, each thrust trying to penetrate deeper than the last, "Oh my God, ohhh my....Dan...." she moans out between pants and gasps, her breasts now heaving up and down with great speed, her nipples hard and piercing the air like a knife.

His grip on the back of her neck tightens as his fingers thrust in and out - in and out, faster and harder - a massive erection building up in his pants. "Do it, Shannon." he says, "Cum for me."

And with those words, he can see her whole body tense, her legs squeezing his hand tightly, dropping the toy once again as her fingernails dug into his shoulder, gasps and moans escaping her lips as her face twists into a look of pleasure. Her body quivers with the sweet release of ecstasy, and after what seems like an eternity, her body finally relaxes, and her hand falls from his shoulder onto the edge of the tub. And all she can do is sit in the tub and gasp for air while she looks at him, wondering what he'll do next.

He reaches down to the floor of the tub and finds the toy, turning it off as the humming ceases and silence fills the bathroom. His hand moves up her thighs and over her stomach to her chest, massaging her young perky breasts for a moment before finally exiting the water. He leans in close to her, giving her a long, slow, passionate kiss on the lips while his other hand stays on the back of her neck.

After the kiss finally breaks, they stare at each other, Shannon still attempting to come down from her intense orgasm.

He gives her his smirk and stands up, his eyes on her the whole time.

"Have you ever been tied up, Shannon?"

There is word spreading on the news that the military was rounding up civilians. They had to start quarantining people because of a new disease that had started to spread across the nation. Riots formed and people protest. You were one of them, “how could they do this to innocent people?! Locking them up in cages like animals just because of a ‘’maybe?’”

The world was unsure but the military had their orders. You hear that there’s a protest happening in your city. Of course you don’t hesitate to rally your friends and go join them sitting at the front of the line chanting along with everyone else. In front of you there is a military member holding his M4 in his hand.

He looks to be about 6ft and has a very athletic build. His dark mask covers his nose and face and you can see the slight tattoos going up his arms through his slightly rolled up sleeves. All you can see through his tactical gear is his dark brown eyes staring at you as you keep chanting. “Disease doesn’t mean detain! Disease doesn’t mean detain!” The chants echo through the street as you all chant and unison.

You get a little too close to the line, screaming and chanting right in front of the man staring at you. Shoved by another protester your body gets shoved into his and he grabs you by your arms and starts to pull you behind the line of military members. “LET GO OF ME YOU FREAK!” you scream and thrash around but his strength overpowers you and eventually you are pulled behind a corner and pushed up against a wall.

“What do you think you’re doing huh?! You think you can just sit here and push me?!” His voice is deep, and demanding as the sternness in his questions comes out. “Fuck you” you smart back as you’re being pushed against the wall with one arm behind your back. He looks around to see who’s nearby and grabs you by your head and arm and leads you somewhere you can’t be seen by anyone. “Let go of me fucker, get off!” You scream and shout but it’s drowned out by the chanting and screaming from the protest that’s going on.

He decides to push you against the wall facing him putting his forearm across your chest looking at you. “What did you just say to me? Fuck you? Ok be careful what you wish for.” He pulls back and wraps his hand around your throat squeezing to the point it’s hard to breathe let alone say anything. “A-ah l-ack” you try and scream and yell but nothing comes out.

“You are going to learn today why they have me take little bitches like you” he grabs your chest and rips open your shirt exposing your chest. He does it with such force that your tits jiggle for a moment as they are exposed though a bra you are wearing as he looks at them like a tiger would its meal. You start to notice your visions getting blurry and a dark circle is getting closer and closer to closing as you thrash about trying your best to get him to let go of your throat. Using all of your strength you get both hands on it and push it back enough to get a deep breath in.

“Mmm I love a fighter, makes it more fun.” He says grinning and with such cockiness as if he knows he’s going to win. Part of you thinks that he will….but you’re not going to stop fighting. As your lost in your thoughts of what is going to happen next, it’s interrupted by a slap to the face. The sting lingers as you start to feel your chest being grabbed and you look at his hands, his hands cover your entire boob filling it with one hand and you feel him squeeze. “s-s-stop it you…fuck..,,” that’s all the more your able to squeak out as your throat hurt and your voice is almost gone, plus your doing best to hide the moans that want to escape.

He glides his hands down his fingertips slowly going under your pants. You try and grab his hand to push it away “stop it, get off of me” another small squeak comes out as you fight his hand. “Shut the fuck up bitch!” He says with such a commanding voice. You almost for a split second listen and let go but then your mind snaps back and still tries to fight him off. He is too strong for you. He forces his hand down as it shapes to your pussy, feeling every part of it as he rubs it back and forth. “Oh? Someone’s already wanting to have fun with me.” You notice and feel the warmth and wetness coming across your underwear as your body betrays you. Why is it liking this? What makes my body so horny by this? No way of understanding what actually is happening.

“Stop it now…please” you start to whimper. “Be quiet and I will be done soon” he leans into your body pressing his against yours as he whispers it in your ear. He explores your body so roughly and quickly, making sure to feel all around before sliding your underwear over and putting his raw finger in between your lips. You can’t help but let a small, quiet, moan out for him to hear. “That’s better, I knew you wanted this.” He says in your ear as his fingers start to penetrate your wet hole. “No please stop, get off of me please I-.” You’re interrupted by his other hand covering your mouth as he starts to get more and more aggressive with his fingers. “Shut the fuck up” he pulls off your mouth and smacks your face leaving your cheek red. You wince at the pain but it is quickly taken over by another soft moan as your pussy is being abused by his fingers. Suddenly it stops as his hand comes out and his hands press against your shoulders pushing you down.

You have a weak attempt to fight it as you’re now on your knees in front of him. His crotch right in front of you as you can clearly see his bulge through his camo pants. He grabs your head and guides your face pushing your mouth and nose against his hard cock through his pants. “ yeah take it just like that.” Your lips gliding across his bulge as if almost without hesitation knows how wide to open to feel how big his girth is. Your head is guided up and down his cock before he unbuckles his belt and at that moment it seems as if you snap back into reality of what’s actually happening “no please I don’t want to do this stop.”He ignores you as his buttons are being undone and you can see his black underwear seep through his pants. He slowly slides his cock over his underwear exposing it to you and it is shoved across your lips.

You feel the warmth of his cock radiate onto your lips and feel how hard it is. You can’t help but to be suffocated by the erotic smell of it, as it takes over your mind and almost like a switch you let it go inside your mouth. He grabs the back of your head his hands gripping onto your hair as to hold tighter and push your head deeper onto his cock. “Fuckkkk” he lets out a moan after as your throat starts to surround his cock and your saliva coating it. He grips your head harder as you start to bob your head up and down on it while he moves his hips back and forth.

Every thrust goes deeper and deeper until eventually he holds you down as his cock fills your throat. Your eyes start to water and you gag on it choking as you can’t take in any air at all. He pulls back allowing you to breathe and as soon as he does you start to cough and breathe in what you can before shortly after your mouth is being invaded again by him. “There you go. Chant now. Come on tell me to fuck off now bitch.” He says thrusting himself deeper and deeper into your mouth.

He pulls it out of your mouth and it makes a distinct “pop” noise as it does and you start to again breathe deep and heavy catching your breath. You don’t have long before your being stood back up and your pants are being stripped off of you after you’re pushed against that wall facing away from him. Your exposed ass to him, he takes the opportunity and slaps it hard. You wince in pain “AHH-.” You then feel your panties being stripped from you and a finger shoved in between your ass cheeks and your hole being rubbed. He goes down further to find your pussy once again after pulling you off the wall to position you how we wanted , he starts to finger you hard and rough.

This is the hardest you have ever felt anyone do it as your whole body starts to shake more and more violently after each second of it. He pulls his fingers out and that are coated with your juices and he reaches around to shove them in your mouth. “Yeah be a good girl and take that, taste it.” He says viciously shoving them all inside your mouth. You gurgle your words as your mouth is being abused “n-nough, stuup gah-.” You feel him with other hand open your butt for him as he slowly guides his cock between. Searching for it, he eventually finds your hole that’s dripping and thrusts his hips deep into you. “Fuckkk your tight god damn.” He says letting out a grunt and a moan as both of his hands are being placed on your shoulders. You moan as well, louder than him and your pussy is filled and stretched softly by his cock. “Ahh- ahhhhhh Fuckk nooooo-.” You say letting out a soft cry as this is it.

You are now actually being raped. The thoughts set in as your walls start to tighten around his cock, memorizing every detail of it. Every pulse, every vein, the slight curve it has, and expecally how big it is. Your body has never taken this before but now that it has, it’s addicted. The thrusts become harder and harder every second. Your butt is jiggling up and down after every impact. His moans get stronger and more aggressive as yours gets louder and more accepting. He reaches around and grabs your throat to lift your head up to his lips as he talks into your ear “We both know this is what you wanted bitch…. Now you got it.”

He squeezes hard again restricting your blood from going to your brain which makes you somewhat dazed accompanied with the constant pounding in your pussy it’s hard for your body not to start melting into him. “Ye-yes…..don’t stop” your brain is now starting to turn into mush after every minute this continues. The image of his masked face being imprinted into your head as the image of his cock is being memorized by your pussy. He makes it a point to slap your face a few times every time you start to get quieter with your moans or slower with your breathing. “ your not going to pass out on me slut, your going to remember every minute of this.”

He then uses both of his hands to wrap around your throat stretching his arms out bending you over further as he pounds you deeper and deeper. You feel your body start to get close, your pussy starting to pulsate and twitch as you get the feeling. “I-I-I…..I’m gonna- gonn- gonna c- cum” you manage to get out between moans as he is like an animal fucking you. Your body gives in and your pussy tightens and you cum all over his cock, but it dosent stop. He keeps going faster and deeper into you. “Fuck yes you dumb bitch, cum all over my cock” he says panting now from fucking you so hard.

He pulls it out for a quick second to turn your body around. He presses you against the wall and lifts up one of your legs and quickly slides his cock back in, thrusting in and out of you. “I want you to watch me as I fill your holes, I want to see you realize that you have been bred by me” you see his lips move though his mask and feel his warm breath hit you as it goes back in again. “N-no-no pl…..please” you can’t even finish your sentence before he is already covering your mouth. “Shhh it’s almost over.” He says under a moan of his. He looks at you starting to squint his eyes from fucking you so roughly and hard to then wide open and you can see the outline of his mask opening his mouth as he moans loud. You feel his cock pulse faster and faster as then you feel a warm sensation flood your pussy. That was it, he just came inside of you.

Your eyes widen and stare at him. “No no noooo” you cry out into his hand as he slowly pulls it out and cum drips down your thighs dripping onto the ground. You collapse, half from the exhaustion from what you just experienced and half from the realization that you are now full of this random mans seed. You watch as he gets himself dressed again, tucking in his shirt and buttoning up everything proper as if nothing just happened. He picks up his weapon and then starts to walk away and then looks at you on the floor. You look up at him with a blank look. You are terrified and outraged at the same time but can’t do anything else expect breathe heavy as he stares at you. He brings the barrel of his gun to your head, looking at you with a dark glare. “you fucking say anything and I will make sure very man in this city knows what your holes feel like, got it?” He says with a stern voice, and the threat he gave was almost worst then him shooting you. You gently nod your head scared to do anything else as you lay there still with his cum dripping out of you flowing down your lower body.

You watch him walk away going back to where it all started……just to see another soldier drag another girl to a different corner. It’s about to happen all over again to her. Your body is too exhausted to do anything about it as your vision starts to get blurry. You look up and you see him standing there again but this time the rifle pointed at you. A loud bang rings and your vision goes dark immediately as your blood spills all over the floor.

If you read all of that lol first of all thank you and second of all tell me what you think. I would love the feedback. Good, bad, all of it does not matter to me. Hopefully I wi start to post more in the future if this does well.

My wife booked us a couples massage for our anniversary. I said no twice but she booked it anyway

The place was a home studio in a converted garage. One room, two tables side by side, dim lamps, and that oil smell that gets into your nose and stays there all night. The woman who ran it was named Camille. Late twenties, dark hair pulled back, no makeup, forearms like she moved furniture for a living.

"You must be the husband" she said

"Thats me" I said

My wife went first. Camille worked her shoulders and her back and my wife made those low happy noises people make on a table. I lay on my own table on my stomach and stared at the floor and counted the minutes.

Then my wife went quiet. Then she was asleep. Face down, one arm hanging off the edge of the table, breathing slow and even.

My wife sleeps like a rock. Two glasses of wine with dinner and she is gone for the whole night. That is the only reason any of this happened.

"You're up" Camille said.

She pulled the sheet up to my waist and started on my back.

She was good. Better than good. She found a knot under my shoulder blade in about ten seconds and went after it with her elbow and I heard myself make a noise I did not plan to make.

"You are tight as hell right here" she said.

"Every masseuse says that" I said.

"They're right" she said.

Her hands moved down. Oil, heat, pressure. She worked my lower back and then the top of my glutes and then back up. My hips shifted on the table and that was when I realized I was hard. Fully hard, pressed into the table, with my wife asleep two feet away.

I tried to think about work. I tried to think about the electric bill. Nothing worked.

Camille didn't say anything. Her hands kept moving, slow and steady, right at the edge of the sheet. Every time she got close to the top of my thighs my whole body went tight and she had to feel it because her hands were on me.

"You are holding a lot of tension right here" she said.

"I know" I said.

She pressed her palm flat on my lower back and leaned into it. That knot again, the deep one, right next to my spine. It was not loosening up. I wanted her to use more pressure and I did not know how to ask for it, so I did the stupidest thing a man can do on a massage table.

I made a fist.

I reached back and put my fist on my own lower back and rolled it up and down a couple of inches, the way a guy does when he is showing someone where the pain is. Up and down. Twice. Right where I wanted her to dig in.

Then I put my hand back under the sheet.

Camille went still.

Not the good kind of still. Dead still. Her hands stopped on my hips and did not move and for three full seconds the only sound in the room was the little machine playing whale noises in the corner.

Then I understood what I had just done.

I turned my head on the table and looked up at her. She was looking at my hand. Then at my face. Then, slow, she looked over at the other table, at my wife, asleep, face down, one arm hanging off the edge.

Neither of us said anything.

She looked back at me. Her hands were still on my hips and I could feel every finger. I opened my mouth to say something and nothing came out and she watched me not say it

Then she looked at my wife one more time. Long. Then she looked at me and her jaw went tight like she was making a decision about something and I watched her make it.

She tapped my hip twice. "Turn over" as if she doesn't want to be heard

I didnt ask her why. I turned over under the sheet and lay on my back and she pulled the sheet up and folded it down over my hips so it covered everything except me. My cock was standing straight up in the middle of it and there was no hiding it and we both looked at it and neither of us said anything.

I could see my wife now. Across from me, face down, one arm hanging off the edge of her table, dead asleep. Two feet away.

I could have stopped it right there. I want to be honest about that. I could have said no and she would have stopped and we would have finished the massage and gone home and that would have been the end of it.

I didn't say no. Not really sure why

She put her hand on my stomach first. Flat, warm, oiled. Then she moved it down slow and her fingers closed around my cock.

Her palm was slick and hot and her fingers wrapped the whole way around me and squeezed once, just once, at the base, and my whole body jerked off the table like she had hit a switch. I had been hard for minutes and nobody had touched it and now her hand was on me and it was the best thing I had ever felt in my life.

She started slow. Long pulls from the base to the head, her grip tight enough that I could feel every inch of her fingers, with a little twist at the top and her thumb dragging over the head on the way down. It was so wet and so smooth that I could hear it. I could hear her hand on me in that quiet room and I wanted to die.

She knew exactly what she was doing. She did not speed up when I wanted her to. She kept the same slow pull over and over and every time her thumb hit the head my legs jumped.

I put my arm over my face and bit down on my own forearm. My hips started moving on their own, pushing my cock up into her hand, and she let me. She just kept the same rhythm and let me fuck her fist.

Two feet away my wife lay on her table, asleep, breathing slow and even, one arm hanging off the edge.

"be quiet" Camille said. She said it low, right next to my ear.

"I know" I said into my arm.

She went faster after that. Her other hand stayed flat on my stomach, holding me down, and she pressed hard while she worked my cock with the other one.

She got me right to the edge and then slowed down. Then she took me back up again. Then slowed down again. Three times. By the third one my eyes were watering and my thighs were shaking and I had both hands full of the sheet.

"Please" I said.

"Please what" she said.

I couldn't say it. I just pushed my hips up into her hand again and she went fast.

I came on her hand. Hard. My whole body curled up off the table and my mouth opened and nothing came out because I was holding it in so hard and I had to bite down on my own arm to keep the sound down. She kept stroking my cock through it, slow, until my legs were shaking so bad I had to push my hips down into the table to make her stop.

I lay there with my eyes closed and my heart going and my ears ringing.

I thought that was it. I thought she would clean her hands and put the sheet back and we would be done and I would get dressed and that would be that.

Then I heard her move.

She stepped around to the head of the table and stood behind the top of my head. Then she bent over me, all the way over, and her body came down on top of mine. Her body was right over my face

I put my hand over my own mouth. Her mouth was hot and wet and she went down slow, all the way, until her lips were at the base and her nose was pressed into my skin. Then she pulled back up just as slow, dragging her tongue flat along the underside the whole way, and I felt it in my toess

She did that over and over. All the way down, all the way up. Her hand followed her mouth and her tongue did something at the head every time she came back up and I could not keep my hips still. I put my hand on the back of her head and she did not stop. She moaned a little with her mouth full and the vibration went right through me.

I was still sensitive from the first one. Every pass of her tongue was almost too much and she knew it and she kept going anyway.

"Again" I said. I didnt mean to say it out loud.

She went faster. Her mouth working me hard and sloppy and I could hear it, wet and loud, right there in that little room with my wife asleep two feet away. Spit ran down her chin onto me and she did not care.

It built fast the second time. Faster than the first. My legs went stiff and my back came off the table and I grabbed the edge of it with one hand.

"Im gonna cum" I said.

She didn't pull off. She went all the way down and stayed there with her nose pressed into me and her throat working around me and I came in her mouth.

I came and came and she swallowed every drop of it. I could feel her throat move on me the whole time. She did not lift her head until I was done and then she pulled back slow and wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist.

Nobody said anything for a while. I lay there with my eyes closed and my heart going and the oil drying on my skin.

Camille folded the sheet back up over me and went to the sink and ran the water like nothing had happened.

My wife was still asleep. She didnt move the whole time. She doesnt know.

I sat up when I could and got dressed. My legs were not right and I had to sit back down once. My hands were shaking on the buttons.

Camille didnt look at me again. Not once

My wife woke up on her own and stretched and told Camille her back had never felt better. Camille walked us to the door and my wife paid her there, cash, and talked the whole time about how we should do this every year.

In the car I couldnt think of anything to say. My wife drove. She put her hand on my knee the whole way home and told me she was gonna book us again in the summer and I said okay.

She doesnt know. Doesn't have to

My breath hitched as his fingers dug into my chin, forcing my gaze upward. I couldn't look away. I couldn't even blink without feeling the searing heat of his disapproval burning through me. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, each pulse sending a thrill of terror and desperate arousal through my veins. I knew that eye roll was a mistake the moment I did it.

"Did you just roll your eyes at me, princess?" His voice was low, a vibration that seemed to settle deep in my belly, making me shiver uncontrollably. When he spoke, there was no anger, calm certainty that he was about to dismantle me. "I don't recall giving you permission to be disrespectful."

But then he moved closer, his massive frame blotting out the light, and suddenly all that bravado withered. The scent of him is intoxicating, making my head spin. When his hand moved from my chin to grip my jaw with possessive force, I let out a soft, involuntary whimper.

"You've been far too sassy tonight. Too full of yourself. I think it's time we remind you exactly whose whore you are."

The words sent a shockwave through me, a delicious humiliation that made my thighs press together involuntarily. The way he said it whose whore made me feel exposed, stripped bare even though I was still fully clothed. I felt small beneath his shadow, fragile and utterly claimed. When he moved, it was with the fluid grace of a predator who had already won. Then his mouth crashed against mine. It wasn't a kiss it was an invasion. His lips were hard and demanding, claiming my mouth with an authority that left

His tongue invaded my mouth with an aggressive hunger, claiming every inch of space as if he were reasserting ownership over my very breath. I found myself gasping against his mouth, my hands instinctively flying up to clutch at his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt felt rough beneath my fingertips as I tried to find purchase, to steady myself against the overwhelming tide of sensation that was threatening to sweep me away.

When he pulled away just an inch, his lips were wet and swollen, and his breath hot against mine. "Sass gets you punished, little one," he growled against my mouth, the vibration sending sparks cascading down my spine. Before I could even form a plea or a protest, his teeth sank into the sensitive cord of my neck. I let out a strangled cry part shock, part desperate pleasure as the sharp sting of his bite pierced through the haze. It wasn't gentle. He bit down hard enough to make my eyes water, claiming the delicate skin there with a punishing intensity that promised bruises would bloom by morning. I could feel the throbbing heat spreading from the site of the bite, a delicious ache that made my hips jerk involuntarily toward him.

"Ah ! Daddy " The word slipped out of me before I could stop it, raw and broken.

He didn't pause to let me recover; instead, his hands wandered downward, his palms rough as they slid over my hips, pulling me flush against the hard plane of his body. The friction of our clothes rubbing together was maddening, a cruel tease compared to the bare skin I craved.

"That's better," he murmured, though there was no kindness in the words. "Say it again. Remind me what you are." His grip on my hips tightened

"Daddy's whore," I gasped out, the words feeling like molten lead in my throat.

"Good girl," he purred, but there was no praise in it, only the cold satisfaction of a master who had successfully broken a stubborn animal. His hands moved with sudden, purposeful violence, tearing at my clothes not with rage, but with the impatient hunger of someone who could not tolerate any more barriers between his skin and mine. My shirt was cast aside, the cool air hitting my overheated skin like a slap, making me shiver violently.

The mattress groaned as he maneuvered me backward, pushing me down until I was splayed out against the pillows, exposed and trembling. Before I could even draw another breath, he was between my thighs, his heavy body pinning me down. The sheer mass of him was overwhelming, a physical reminder of how easily he could crush me if he chose. I reached for him, my fingers scrabbling at his belt, needing that contact, needing to feel something anything to ground me in this storm of sensation. But he caught my wrists in one large hand, pinning them above my head with effortless strength.

"You don't touch until I tell you to touch," he commanded, his voice dropping to a register that made my toes curl. The denial stung more than any physical blow. "You want this so badly, don't you? I can feel you shaking beneath me, begging for it without even opening your mouth." He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered filthy promises of what he was going to do to me, each word punctuated by the deliberate nip of his teeth against my earlobe.

"But we're not going to let you have it yet." The words were a cruel caress, each syllable dripping with malice and promise. The denial hit me like a physical blow, sending a fresh wave of desperate arousal through my body. My hips bucked instinctively, seeking the friction I craved, seeking the release that seemed to be dancing just out of reach. "Nnhhh...! Daddy, please~ mmmph... please~" The plea broke out of me in broken, pathetic fragments, each one accompanied by a whimper that made my own skin crawl with shame. I was a mess, a writhing, shaking thing beneath him, completely undone by his control.

His response was to release my wrists only to capture my thighs instead, spreading them wide with a possessive force that made me feel utterly vulnerable. "Please what, princess?" he asked, his voice conversational even as his eyes burned with a dark intensity. "Please fuck you? Please let you cum? Please make you forget how to think?" He let out a low, mocking chuckle that rumbled through my chest. "You haven't earned it. You've been far too fucking difficult tonight."

His hand moved then, not to penetrate, but to torment. His fingers found me, slick and warm, and began to work with a deliberate, maddening slowness. He wasn't stroking me to bring me pleasure; he was stroking me to maintain my arousal, to keep me balanced on that razor's edge where ecstasy and agony become indistinguishable. "Ahhh~! Fuuck~, Daddy~ mmm... ahhhn~!" My back arched off the bed as he found the perfect spot, sending electricity shooting through every nerve ending. But just as the first wave of climax began to build just as I felt my muscles tensing for that inevitable explosion he stopped. Completely.

The sudden absence of contact felt like being dropped off a cliff. "No~! Nnnngh...! Don't stop~ please~ mmmph~ fuck~!" I was sobbing now, my fingers clawing at the sheets as I tried to chase after the sensation he had so cruelly withdrawn. My body was screaming for it, my entire being focused on that singular need to break, to climax, to be freed from this unbearable tension.

The silence between his strokes was deafening, a void that swallowed my whimpers whole. My hips continued to roll and jerk against empty air, seeking the ghost of his fingers, the ghost of that maddening friction. "Daddy... ahhhn~! please~! I'm begging you~ mmmph~ fuck~ please~!" The words were incoherent slurs of need, my dignity long since incinerated in the heat of my own arousal. I felt pathetic raw, exposed, and utterly broken but the humiliation only served to heighten the sensitivity of every inch of my skin.

"Begging is good," he murmured, his voice as calm as a surgeon's as he watched my unraveling. "But begging doesn't mean you get what you want. Begging means you recognize your place." Without warning, he plunged two fingers deep inside me, the sudden fullness making me cry out in surprise and desperate relief. "Ahhh~! Daddy~! Mmm... ahh~! Yes~ yes~ please~!" But even as he filled me, he refused to give me the rhythm I craved. He moved with agonizing slowness, each thrust a torturous tease that brought me to the very precipice of climax before freezing again.

I was trapped in a cycle of exquisite torment. Every time the tension coiled tighter in my lower belly, every time my vision began to blur with the approaching storm of orgasm, he would withdraw, leaving me suspended in a state of unbearable suspended animation. "Nnngh...! Fuuck~! Daddy~ please~ I'm gonna~ ahhhn~! mmmph~ I can't~ ahh~!" My body felt like it was made of live wires, every nerve ending screaming for the release that he held hostage. My muscles cramped with the effort of holding back, my legs shaking so violently I could barely keep them spread.

He leaned down then, his chest pressing against mine, trapping me further beneath his weight. "Look at you," he whispered against my lips, his breath hot and smelling of whiskey. "Look at Daddy's little whore, reduced to this." His teeth found the sensitive skin of my shoulder again, biting down hard enough to leave another mark, another claim. "You're so close, aren't you? I can feel your walls twitching around me, desperate to squeeze, desperate to break."

he pulled his fingers out completely. The sudden emptiness was devastating a physical ache that felt like being hollowed out from the inside. "No~! Nnnngh...! Noooo~! Daddy~ please~! Fuck~! Mmmph~ ahhhn~!" I screamed into the empty air, my hips bucking upward in a futile attempt to find him again. I was sobbing in earnest now, fat tears streaming down my temples and soaking into the silk pillowcase, my entire body convulsing with the need for the release he had cruelly denied.

"Shhh, quiet now," he commanded, though his voice held none of the softness of comfort. Instead, it was the cold, firm tone of someone reining in a panicked animal. He grabbed both my wrists again, pinning them to the mattress beside my head, forcing me to stay still while I continued to writhe and tremble. "You want to scream like that? You want to beg like a common slut? You haven't earned the right to make noise like that." His other hand came down, not to touch my center, but to slap my inner thigh hard. The sharp sting made me yelp, the pain cutting through the haze of arousal like a blade, making my breathing stutter. "Every time you make a sound without my permission, we start the clock over. Do you understand?"

"Y yes~ Daddy... mmmph~ yes~ please~ ahh~" I could barely form the words through my gasping breaths. The punishment was terrifying, but the prospect of having my climax delayed even further was unbearable. I felt completely undone, my pride stripped away along with my clothes, leaving behind only this raw, pulsing need. My skin felt hypersensitive, every brush of the air against my sweat slicked body sending involuntary shivers through my limbs. I was a prisoner to his whims, a toy designed for his satisfaction, and the realization made my cunt throb with a fresh, agonizing wave of desire.

He shifted then, moving up until his face was level with mine, his eyes dark with a hunger that made my blood run hot.

"...you're going to stay exactly like this until you learn how to behave." His words were a death sentence to my sanity. "Until you can learn to keep those pretty eyes on me and that mouth shut unless it's telling me exactly how much you belong to me." The cruelty in his tone should have hurt, but in my state of heightened desperation, it only made me ache more. I wanted him to punish me, to claim every inch of my defiance until there was nothing left but submission. I wanted to be his his toy, his whore, his broken thing just so he would finally give me what I needed.

"Please~ ahhhhn~! Daddy~ mmm... mmmph~ please~ just once~ ahh~" I begged, my voice cracking as I tried to arch my hips upward, desperate to feel any contact at all. I was a wreck, my hair plastered to my forehead with sweat, my lips swollen from his kisses. I felt like I was vibrating at a frequency only he could hear, my entire body humming with the need to shatter. "I'll be good~ mmm... I'll be so good~ fuck~! Daddy~ mmmph~ ahh~ please~ fuck~ ahhhn~!" The words came out in broken, staccato bursts as I fought against his grip on my wrists.

Suddenly, he moved, but not to finish what he started. He shifted his weight, rolling me onto my stomach with startling speed. The sudden change in position made my head swim, the room spinning behind my closed eyelids as I pressed my face into the cool, silky pillowcase. The position left me completely exposed, my ass thrust upward toward him, vulnerable and waiting. I heard the rustle of fabric, the metallic click of his belt being undone, and my heart nearly stopped in my chest. The sound of his zipper was like a thunderclap in the quiet room.

"Since you like to make noise, since you like to act up, you're going to learn what happens when you don't listen." I felt the heat of him behind me before I felt anything else, a solid, imposing presence that promised both salvation and ruin. His hand came down hard on the small of my back, pinning me against the mattress. "You're going to lie here and feel every single inch of what you've been begging for, but you won't touch a single thing until I've had my fill of your surrender." The promise was a promise of exquisite torture. The moment he spoke, I felt the tip of him brush against my entrance just a feather light graze that made my entire body spasm with a need so violent it felt like breaking. "Nnngh...! Daddy~ ahhhn~! fuuck~! please~ mmmph~ ahh~!" The sound tore from my throat before I could stifle it, and immediately I felt the sting of his palm against my ass a sharp, stinging slap that echoed through the silent room. The pain was a shockwave that sent fresh electricity straight to my swollen core, making me whimper in equal parts agony and desire.

"I told you to be quiet," he growled, his fingers threading through my sweat dampened hair to yank my head back, forcing me to look at the wall while he pressed himself against my spine. "Every whimper is another minute of denial." The threat made my heart constrict. I wanted to sob, to beg again, to scream until my lungs burned, but the fear of being pushed even further past my breaking point kept me choking on my own gasps. I lay there, panting against the silk pillowcase, my ass thrust high and helpless, feeling every muscle in my thighs quivering with exhaustion and unfulfilled need.

Then he began to move. But it wasn't the penetration I was starving for; it was something far more cruel. He began to grind against me, using the hard length of him to massage my clit through the thin barrier of my own slickness, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate circles. "Ahhh~! Mmm... mmmph~! Daddy~ ahhh~! yes~ yes~ fuck~ ahhhn~!" The friction was maddening. It was exactly what I needed, yet it wasn't enough. He was touching me, but he wasn't in me. He was teasing the very edge of my consciousness, keeping me suspended in that horrible, beautiful limbo where I was neither fully satisfied nor fully denied.

"Look at you, writhing like a fucking animal," he hissed in my ear, his breath hot enough to scald. "Daddy's little whore can't even control herself."

Every slow, grinding circle of his hips sent waves of excruciating pleasure crashing through me, each one bringing me closer to that inevitable breaking point. My hips moved in perfect, desperate synchronization with his, chasing the pressure, chasing the release that felt like it was seconds away just seconds. "Nnngh...! Daddy~ ahhhn~! please~! I'm I'm gonna~ fuck~! mmmph~ ahhhn~! yes~! yes~ right there~! please~ ahh~ fuck~ mmmh~!" My voice was a wrecked thing, nothing more than a series of high pitched keens and guttural moans as I felt the orgasm building like a tidal wave behind my eyes, ready to sweep me away into oblivion. My inner muscles were spasming uncontrollably, clenching around the empty air as I reached for the peak.

"You're so close, princess," he whispered, his voice dripping with a dark, predatory satisfaction. I could feel him thrusting harder now, the pressure building until I thought I might actually explode. "Give it to me. Show me how much you need Daddy. Scream it." The permission was like gasoline on a fire. "I need it~! Ahhhn~! Daddy~ fuck~! Daddy please~ ahhhn~! mmmph~ YES~ ahh~ ahhhn~!" I threw my head back, my body arching so violently it felt like my spine might snap, my entire being focused on that one singular moment of release

And then, nothing.

The grinding stopped mid stroke. The heat vanished from between my thighs as he abruptly pulled away completely, the sudden absence of his weight and his friction feeling like a physical wound. The orgasm that had been coiled so tight inside me suddenly had nowhere to go; it shattered instead, leaving me convulsing in a series of painful, unfulfilled aftershocks that made me cry out in genuine anguish. "NO~! Nnngh...! Daddy~ noooo~! please~! mmmph~ ahh~! don't~ don't stop~ fuuck~! please~ ahhhn~!" I rolled onto my side, sobbing hysterically, my body shaking with such intensity that I couldn't even hold myself up. I was raw, overstimulated, and completely abandoned in my own arousal.

He didn't say a word at first.

I heard the soft rustle of his clothing as he pulled away entirely, the bed creaking as he stood up from the mattress. The absence of his heat felt like a cold blade against my skin. I stayed curled on my side, face pressed into the pillow, my body still twitching with involuntary spasms. My cunt felt swollen and hypersensitive, aching with a desperate, hollow need that made me want to crawl across the floor and beg him to come back, to punish me again, to do anything but leave me like this teetering on the edge of a cliff with no way down.

"Maybe next time you'll behave, then won't you?"

The platform hummed deeply beneath Sabine’s boots. The surface was hard, but it was like a living thing with a great mechanical pulse deep within. It came up through her shins and sent waves across her chest. The lights glimmered across the night air, of some unnamed moon that they’d been taken to. Sharp, tangy, like the ozone before a storm, and an acrid phosphoric zip to it that caught at the back of her throat even through the filter of her helmet. Here they stood, for there was no other. They wanted something greater than the alliance, so they’d taken this holy ride with the offered hand of a radical.

A gravel-scrape of a voice washed through the noise. "You don't need that here," it said. "The Empire wants you afraid of the air you breathe. Oh. What’s in it? What could it be? What could be hiding there if you aren’t afraid of it? Out here, we decide what we fear."

She removed her helmet and shook out her hair.

Ezra stood a few meters to her left. His silhouette cut sharp against the sodium glow of the landing lights. His hair was starting to come back in at the back, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that made her fingers itch to feel it. She didn't. She kept her hands at her sides, palms pressed flat against her thighs.

The X-wings had departed twenty minutes ago. Their engines still echoed somewhere in the canyon walls, a proud and living sound that refused to fade. Sabine had watched them go with a strange tightness in her chest; the same tightness she'd felt watching the Ghost disappear into hyperspace without them. There’d be no going back now.

"We should be with Hera," she said.

Ezra didn't turn. "We’re where we need to be."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"The Jedi thing. The cryptic thing." She kicked at a loose pebble on the platform's grating. It skittered into the darkness. "You know what I mean."

With a long pause, the wind shifted. It carried that acrid smell stronger now, and Sabine's eyes watered. She blinked the salt away.

"I know," Ezra said finally. "But I also know that Hera would have us running supply routes for another six months while the Empire burns whole systems, playing it safe so we don’t die. Saw's different."

"Saw's dangerous. He’ll kill us."

"So are we. So would we."

She had no answer for that.

The platform's main structure rose behind them, a labyrinth of pipes and pressure valves that fed the rhydonium reserves into the fueling bays. Sabine had studied the schematics on the flight over, tracing the paths of fuel lines with her fingertip while Saw's crew watched her. She understood systems. She understood how things worked, how they connected, how a single miscalculated pressure point could turn a routine fueling operation into a smoldering crater. What she didn't understand was why they were still here.

Footsteps rang against the grating, metal on metal but alive in their rhythm. Saw emerged from the shadow of the main pump housing, his gait uneven and the limp more pronounced after a long day. The scars on his face caught the light in a way that made them look fresh, though Sabine knew they were decades old.

"You've been quiet," he said, stopping two meters away. His good eye was fixed on her, the mechanical one whirring softly as it tracked between her and Ezra. "Both of you. That's not what I expected from the rebels who blew up my array."

"We didn't blow up your array," Ezra said. "We blew up the Empire's array. You just happened to be standing nearby."

Saw's laugh was a dry rasp. "Hera's training. She always did have a smart mouth on her pilots." He reached into his jacket and produced a dented flask, unscrewed the cap, and took a long pull. The liquid inside smelled like industrial solvent. "You want to know why I brought you here."

"Uh, yeah. The thought had crossed my mind."

"I brought you here because you're wasted on the Ghost." Saw capped the flask and tucked it away. "You're soldiers. Both of you. You've killed. You've lost. You've watched people you love die in front of you, and you kept fighting. That's not something the rebellion knows how to use. They want to polish you up, put you in a uniform, teach you to salute. They want to pretend this is a war that can be won with manners, but this is not a dinner party!"

"It can be won," Sabine said. "It just takes time."

"Time." Saw spat the word like it was rotten. "How much time do the people of Lothal have? How much time do the Wookies have, or the survivors of Ghorman, or the miners on Kessel? The Empire doesn't care about time. They have all of it! They have ships and soldiers and factory planets pumping out both. They have credits and economies and the whole kriffing galaxy bent to their will, and you want to fight them with time?"

Ezra's jaw tightened. In the low light, he looked older than he was. Something hard and sharp-edged had been forming in him for months, maybe years. Sabine had watched it happen, had watched the kind, awkward boy from Lothal turn into someone who could kill without flinching, and she'd never known whether to be proud or terrified.

"I'm not saying we should play nice," Ezra said. "I'm saying there's a difference between fighting and murder."

"Is there?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy and unanswerable. Sabine thought of the Imperial officer she'd shot on Ord Mantell, the one who'd been reaching for his blaster but hadn't drawn yet. She thought of the stormtroopers whose helmets she'd melted with her bombs, not knowing whether the people inside had families, had children, had names, knowing full well that in another world it could have been her behind that mask. She thought of the weapons she'd designed at the Imperial Academy.

The memory rose unbidden, a classroom on Mandalore, holo-screens glowing with schematics, her instructor's voice droning about blast radius and structural integrity. She'd been fourteen. She'd been proud. She'd thought she was building something that would protect people, that would make war infeasible and safety eternal.

"You're thinking about something," Saw said. His voice had softened, just slightly. "Something you don't want to talk about."

Sabine met his gaze. "I'm thinking about all the things I don't want to talk about."

"Good." Saw nodded slowly. "That's where it starts."

He turned and walked toward a narrow catwalk that led to the far end of the platform, where the rhydonium storage tanks squatted against the night like sleeping beasts. After a moment, Sabine followed. She heard Ezra's footsteps behind her, steady and sure.

The catwalk swayed with their weight. Below them, the canyon floor was invisible, swallowed by darkness so complete it might have been a void. Sabine kept her eyes on Saw's back, on the uneven rhythm of his stride, and tried not to think about falling.

"Where are we going?" Ezra asked.

"Somewhere we can talk properly." Saw stopped at the end of the catwalk and gestured to a small platform that jutted out over the drop. No railings. No safety measures. Just a flat surface and a long way down. "Sit."

They sat. The metal was cold through Sabine's pants, and she could feel the vibration of the pumps through her bones. Ezra settled beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Neither of them spoke.

Saw stood above them, silhouetted against the stars. He didn't sit. He didn't lean. He just stood there, weight balanced on his good leg, and looked at them.

"You want to know what a real revolution looks like," he said. "You've seen the alliance's version. Committees. Supply lines. Retreats. Compromises." He spat over the edge of the platform. "That's not revolution. That's a hobby. That’s petty crime."

"It's kept people alive," Ezra said quietly.

"Has it? Has it really?!" Saw's mechanical eye whirred, focusing. "How many people on Lothal would be alive if the rebellion had acted sooner? How many on Ryloth, on Onderon? The Empire doesn't stop. They don't take breaks. They don't negotiate. They just keep grinding forward, and the longer we wait to fight them properly, the more we lose."

Sabine pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The position made her feel small, but she didn't care. "You think we should be more aggressive."

Saw smiled, a crooked grin that almost reminded her of Ezra’s, though haunted by a thousand demons. "I think you already are." Saw pointed at her, then at Ezra. "You two. You're not like the others. I saw you at Jalindi. You didn't hesitate. You didn't flinch. You did what needed to be done, and you did it without waiting for permission."

"We had no choice," Ezra said.

"There's always a choice. That's what makes it courage." Saw reached into his jacket again, but this time he didn't produce the flask. Instead, he pulled out a small valve handle, brass and worn smooth from decades of use. "You know what this is?"

Sabine recognized it immediately. Her eyes widened and her mouth responded as she’d been taught so long ago. "Rhydonium release valve."

"Good." Saw turned it over in his fingers. "This one's special. It's the manual override for the main storage tank. The one we're standing over right now. If you turn this, the rhydonium vents directly into the atmosphere."

Ezra's posture stiffened and they both rose to their feet. "That would kill everyone on the platform."

"It would kill anyone who didn't have a mask." Saw smiled, and it wasn't a kind expression. "It would also show you exactly what you're fighting for."

Sabine's heart hammered against her ribs. She'd read the safety protocols for rhydonium handling. Every Imperial facility required them, and she'd memorized them at the academy out of sheer diligence. The gas was toxic. The gas was corrosive. The gas was, according to every medical text she'd ever studied, utterly lethal in high concentrations.

But there was something else in those texts. Something the Imperials had buried in the fine print.

"It's psychoactive," she said, softly and fearfully.

Saw's smile widened. "There she is."

"It affects the nervous system. It..." She struggled to remember the exact wording. "It amplifies sensation. All sensation. Pain, pleasure, fear, joy; everything gets turned up to maximum."

"Exactly." Saw held up the valve. "The people who work with this stuff call it the truth serum. Because you can't lie when you're breathing it. You can't pretend. You can't hide. You feel exactly what you feel, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Ezra looked at Sabine, and she saw the question in his eyes. She saw the fear, too, and beneath the fear, something else, something hungry and desperate that she recognized because it lived inside her too.

"Why would anyone breathe this?" Ezra asked.

"Because that's what revolution feels like." Saw's voice dropped, becoming almost intimate. "When you're fighting for your life, when you're watching your friends die, when you're doing things that would break a normal person, that's what it feels like. Every moment is agony. Every breath is pain, but it's also the most alive you'll ever be. The most truthful. The most real."

He turned the valve.

The hiss that followed was soft at first, barely audible over the constant hum of the pumps. But within seconds, it grew into a roar, a torrent of gas venting from the storage tank, invisible in the darkness but unmistakable in its presence.

Sabine's eyes watered instantly. Her throat seized.

And then the pain hit.

It wasn't like anything she'd experienced before. It wasn't the sharp pain of a blaster burn or the dull ache of a bruise. It was everywhere, in her skin, in her muscles, in her bones, in her lungs. Every inch of her body was suddenly, violently alive, every nerve ending firing at once.

She gasped, and the gasp turned into a cough, and the cough turned into a retch. Her body was trying to expel the poison, but there was no escape. The gas was everywhere. It was in the air she needed to breathe, and she had no choice but to breathe.

Beside her, Ezra had doubled over, his hands pressed to his face. She could hear him making sounds she'd never heard from him before, choked, desperate sounds that cut through her like a blade. She reached out for his shoulder but she couldn’t see him.

"BREATHE IT IN," Saw commanded. “Let it WORK. Don't FIGHT it!"

Sabine couldn't fight it. Every breath was a battle, and every battle ended in defeat. The gas filled her lungs, and the gas filled her veins, and the gas stripped away every layer of composure she'd ever built. She felt her eyes streaming. She felt her nose running. She felt her skin burning where the rhydo touched it, a low-intensity fire that spread from her hands to her arms to her chest and down, down, until every part of her was consumed. She ran her hands over her body, scratching and rubbing and trying to put out the fire to no avail. The gas fucked every pore in her skin.

This is dying, she thought. This has to be dying. She was going to die right here.

But it wasn't. She didn’t die. It was poison but she didn’t die. She was still alive. She was more alive than she'd ever been.

"Good," Saw said, and his voice had taken on a kind of exultation. "Feel it. That's the TRUTH. That's the REALITY the Empire wants to hide from you. The world is BURNING, and it HURTS, and the only way to survive is to BECOME THE PAIN. It is your brother. It is your lover. It is TRUTH in a galaxy of LIES!"

Ezra's hand found hers, groping through the hazy, shimmering, wavy air through tears and swollen eyelids. His fingers were shaking, but his grip was strong. She clung to him, a raft of mutuality in suffering amidst a sea of liquid fire. In her heart rose up the faith, that she would not drown, that she could be greater than herself.

"Saw," Ezra rasped, his voice barely recognizable. "This is… I CAN’T"

"YOU CAN." Saw crouched down, bringing his face level with theirs. His eyes reflected the stars, and behind them, Sabine could almost see his soul, wild, bright, utterly convinced. "You've been HIDING from this your whole life. Both of you. So tell me. TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE HIDING FROM."

Sabine opened her mouth, and the words came out without permission.

"I was an Imperial." The confession tore through her throat like broken glass. "At the Academy. I designed… I built… weapons that killed my own people. I tested them. I watched them work. And… I kept telling myself… it was for the great- er… good…"

The gas amplified everything. The memory wasn't just a memory now. It was playing itself out in front of her eyes in vivid, excruciating detail. She saw the schematics again. She saw the explosion tests. She saw the faces of the engineers who'd praised her work, who'd told her she had a gift, who told her she was mature for her age, who backed her against the wall and made her do things she didn’t want to do…

she screamed, a guttural sound, like a limb being ripped off, rising spasmodically from her throat. Faces bubbled up from the black holes where they had seethed. The burning. The writhing. The memory.

She saw the people those weapons had killed. She didn't know their names. She'd never known their names. But she felt them now, all of them, the weight of their deaths pressing down on her chest until she couldn't breathe, until they crushed her lungs, until they burned her.

“The instructor. At the academy. Praised my work. Told me I WAS WORTH SOMETHING. He made me. HE MADE ME GET ON MY KNEES. AND. AND-”

"I RAN," she screamed through wheezing rasps of air. "I ran… never looked BACK. T- told myself- that made it okay. But it doesn't. It doesn't make it okay. I CAN STILL HEAR THEM SCREAMING. WHAT I DID. I BURNED THEM. I KNEW. I KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING AND I DIDN’T STOP IT BECAUSE I WAS SCARED!"

Ezra's grip tightened. His voice, when it came, was raw and broken.

"I was a thief." The words seemed to surprise him even as he spoke them. "On Lothal. After the empire- took my home. I was… just a kid. Slept in alleys. Under bridges. Stole food from shops, money from strangers. Had to survive. Live one more day- one more night. Nobody’d’ve cared if I DIED in my SLEEP and I still tried to LIVE. ONE. MORE. DAY. I stole. I stole from CHILDREN!"

His voice cracked and shattered. Sabine felt tears streaming down her face from all directions, but she couldn't tell if they were hers or his. The gas had blurred the boundaries between them, had made their pain into a single shared thing.

"There… this boy," Ezra continued. The words were coming faster now, like a dam had broken. "Younger. Dunno how much. Hiding under the same bridge. We shared food… and one night- one night- I… so hungry. He had bread, and I took it. I JUST TOOK IT. He tried- to fight me. Fought me like I’d’ve fought MYSELF! And- AND I HIT HIM… AND HE WENT DOWN AND HE BLED AND HE LOOKED AT ME! HE JUST LOOKED AT ME. AND I RAN!"

He broke off, his body shaking with disgusted screaming sobs.

Sabine pulled him close. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his shoulder, and she cried for all of it- for her weapons, for her flight, for the girl she'd been and the woman she'd become. She cried for Ezra, for everything he'd lost, for the walls he'd built around himself that she'd never been able to breach, for the innocence they’d never got to have.

"When I heard they died," Ezra whispered. "My parents. In prison. Alone. You told me they’d be proud of me. I was better then. I tried. I tried- to agree with you…"

He stopped.

"But- All I thought… was… THEY DIDN’T HAVE TO SEE WHAT I BECAME UNDER THAT BRIDGE!"

The sound Sabine made wasn't a word. It was something older than language, something pure and raw and ugly. She held Ezra tighter, pressed her face harder into his shoulder, and let the pain wash over her. They shrieked like wild animals, locked in a death grip, spiralling into each other like two black holes colliding.

Saw stood, watching. When he spoke, his voice was quiet.

"Now you understand."

Sabine lifted her head. The world was swimming in and out of focus, and the gas was still burning in her chest, and she felt like she might never breathe normally again. Her lungs had been defiled. But, she understood.

"You want us… to fight like you," she said. "Without restraint. Without MERCY. HATE. MAKE THEM HURT FOR WHAT THEY DID!"

"YES! I want you to FIGHT like you've been hurt." Saw's hand came down and rested on her shoulder, heavy and warm. "Because you HAVE been. Both of you. And the Empire is the reason. The Empire took your childhood, Sabine. Took yours too, Ezra. You’ll never be innocent because of the Empire. The Empire is the SOURCE of every scar you carry, every NIGHTMARE you can NEVER wake up from, every MOMENT of GUILT that keeps you up at night!"

For a moment the breeze shifted and brought in fresh air that cut through the rhydo haze. It was clean, sterile, offensive in its purity. Offensive! How could anything be pure when the only good thing left was to fight?

"The alliance will tell you to be PATIENT," Saw continued. "They'll tell you to be CAREFUL. They'll tell you to fight with ONE HAND tied behind your BACK, because anything else would make you just like the Empire." He spat the last phrase with mockery and scorn. He leaned closer. His mechanical eye whirred, focusing. "But that's a lie. The Empire doesn't care about your methods. They don't care about your ethics or your precious morality. They only care about whether you're strong enough to HURT THEM. THEY ONLY KNOW THE LANGUAGE OF PAIN, of FIRE, of VIOLENCE! AND YOU MUST SPEAK TO THEM IN THAT LANGUAGE OF THE DAMNED!"

Sabine felt her heart trying to crawl out of her chest, stirring with something that might have been anger, or might have been agreement, or might have been pure, uncomplicated hatred transmuted into a kind of perverse ecstasy.

"WHAT DO WE DO?" she asked.

"First, you need to understand." Saw straightened up and gestured to the venting tank behind them. "This gas. The rhydo. It doesn't just hurt. It BINDS. It WELDS. The shared suffering, the shared struggle to breathe- it brings people together in ways that normal life NEVER can. That's how the workers on this platform trust each other with their lives. That’s how these many hearts beat as ONE! They've all breathed the gas! They've all BEEN through the FIRE. They've all come out the other side knowing EXACTLY who they are and WHAT. THEY’RE. FIGHTING FOR!"

Ezra's hand found Sabine's again. She looked at him. His face was streaked with blood and tears, his eyes red and swollen and bloodshot, his lips cracked and bleeding from the gas. He looked like he'd been through a war and might not survive the next one. And she loved him.

The realization hit her like another dose of gas, sudden, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. She loved him. She'd loved him for years, maybe since the first time he'd stumbled onto the Ghost, all gangly limbs and wide eyes and a stubbornness that clashed with her own. She'd loved him as he raked his eyes across her body. She loved him as his eyes called her name. Through every mission and every fight and every long night when they'd sat side by side and watched the stars, wordless in the face of what they’d come to know.

She'd never said it. She'd never let herself say it. Because in a galaxy at war, what was the point? What was the kriffing point? Stars in the sky it was EVERYTHING! It was the MOMENT!

Saw walked to the valve and turned it further. More gas billowed out into the night, and the pain intensified. Sabine felt it building in her chest, in her arms, in her legs, a crescendo that had no peak, only endless escalation.

The gas hit him instantly. His body convulsed, his mouth opening in a silent scream, his eyes rolling back in his head. He crumpled forward, and Sabine caught him, and the gas hit her too. It burned like solder in her lungs. The pain was beyond description. It was a brightness, a whiteness, a nothingness that consumed everything. She couldn't see. She couldn't hear. She could only feel, and what she felt was agony. And then, slowly, the agony changed.

It was still pain. It was still excruciating. But it was also something else, something electric, something vivid, something that made every sensation feel more real than it ever had before. She could feel the texture of Ezra's shirt under her fingers. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers. She could feel her own heartbeat, impossibly fast, impossibly loud, driving blood through her veins with a force she'd never known.

"Saw," she gasped. "Saw, what's…"

"This is REVOLUTION," Saw said. He was standing above them again, his silhouette black against the stars. "This is what it FEELS like. Every DAY. Every HOUR. Every MOMENT that you spend FIGHTING, you feel like this. ALIVE! Terrified! Ready to DIE but unable to stop LIVING! KNOWING that to DIE is to be GREATER than YOURSELF!"

Ezra's hand moved to her face. She felt his fingers, rough and shaking, trace the line of her jaw through beads of sweat.

"Sabine," he whispered.

She turned to look at him. The gas had done something to her perception. The world seemed brighter, sharper, more vivid than it had any right to be. She could see every detail of his face, every line and curve and angle, every tiny imperfection that made him who he was. The tears. The blood. The sweat dripping off of him and mixing with her own.

"I LOVE YOU," she screamed.

The words were out long before she could stop them. They hung in the air all around them, heavy and quaking and permanent, and for a moment, neither of them even tried to breathe.

Then Ezra smiled. It was a broken smile, a painful smile, a demon-haunted smile, a smile that hurt to look at, and it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen!

"I LOVE YOU," he cried, choking and grinding the sounds through his torn-up throat.

"SAY IT AGAIN TO ME."

"I LOVE YOU, SABINE."

"AGAIN! I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU DON’T MEAN IT!"

"I LOVE YOU! YOU’RE MINE!"

The gas amplified everything. Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest, and her skin felt like she’d touched an ungrounded power cable, and her eyes were streaming bloody tears that she couldn't stop. But, she didn't want to stop. She didn't want any of it to stop! She grabbed Ezra's collar and pulled him toward her!

Their lips met with a force that felt like a collision. The gas had made every sensation overwhelming, and the kiss was no exception. She could feel every texture, every movement, every breath that passed between them. His lips were chapped and cracked from the gas, slightly metallic with the taste of his blood. She didn't care. Their blood and sweat and spit mingled as it leaked from the sides of their mouths and fell from their chins and down their necks. Her tongue was frantic, entering him and pressing against his teeth.

He groaned against her lips; a low, desperate sound that vibrated through her whole body like a rail gun's charge.

"Saw," she heard herself say, the word muffled against Ezra's mouth, "Saw, what's happening to us?"

"You're feeling what you've always felt!" Saw answered from somewhere distant. His voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. "You've just spent years pretending you didn't."

Ezra's hands were everywhere. They slid down her back, over her hips, gripping and releasing, touching her and squeezing her. She arched into the touch, her spine curling back, pushing herself into his hands, needing more, needing ALL of it!

The gas was burning, burning, SEARING through her lungs with every breath. Every inhale was a knife. Every exhale was a plea for mercy from an uncaring sky, a shaking of her fist at all that had hurt them. It was a knife and a plea that felt right stabbed into her, like the universe had finally stopped lying to her, like this was the truth she'd been searching for! And it made her hands move faster.

She found the hem of Ezra's shirt and pushed it up. His skin was slick with sweat, hot to the touch, and when her fingers met his bare chest, he shuddered so hard she thought he might collapse.

"Take it off," she said, her voice rasping. "Take it all off!"

He did. He fumbled with his clothing, and she helped, and together they managed to pull his shirt over his head and cast it aside. The night air hit his skin, and the gas hit it too, and she watched his face contort with pain, but also with something else, something bright and desperate and ALIVE!

"Now you!" he said.

She pulled off her own shirt, the fabric tearing slightly in her haste. The gas bit into her skin, and she gasped and arched her neck and felt every inch of her body come alive.

They stood facing each other, shirtless, gasping. The world was swimming in and out of focus, and the platform seemed to tilt beneath them, and the stars were spinning in the sky. And then they were kissing again, and everything else disappeared.

His tongue was in her mouth, and her hands were in his hair, and they were pressed together from chest to hips, skin against skin, heat against heat.

"Ezra," she gasped. "Ezra, I'm… I can't stop!"

"Don't stop!" He pulled away from her for a moment, and his eyes were wild and feverish. "Don't stop. Whatever this is. Whatever's happening. DON’T STOP!"

"THEN SHUT UP AND KISS ME!"

He laughed with a wild mania. It was a strangled, agonized laugh, torn from the wreckage of his soul. It was tortured and hurt, burning and FREE!

Their mouths crashed together again, tongues sliding, teeth clicking, breath passing back and forth between them. The gas was making her dizzy, but it was also making her feel alive in a way that was almost unbearable.

Sabine looked at him. The gas was swirling around them, and the world was dissolving, and all that was left was him.

She pulled him back to her.

They made it to the wall somehow, the base of one of the storage tanks, solid and mercifully real. She pressed her back against it and pulled Ezra against her, and the cold metal against her bare skin only intensified the feeling of his body against hers.

"Tell me you love me," she demanded.

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you!"

"SAY IT UNTIL I KNOW YOU BELIEVE IT! SAY IT UNTIL IT’S THE ONLY THING LEFT!"

He said it. He said it while he kissed her neck and shoulders, the words muffled against her skin. He said it while his hands traced the curves of her waist and hips and pressed into the small of her back.

She grabbed at his shoulders, his hair, anything she could reach.

"You're not… going anywhere!" she told him. "You're staying with me. Don't care what anyone says. I don't care if we have to fight EVERYTHING. You're MINE!."

"I’M YOURS!," he cried like the howling wind.

They stopped talking. Talking was too hard. The gas made every breath a labor, and every word felt like it used up something she couldn't spare.

So they used their mouths for other things. His lips found her collarbone, her throat, the hollow at the base of her neck where her pulse beat wild and fast. His tongue traced patterns on her skin, and Sabine let her head fall back. He kissed lower, down the slope of her breast, mouth closing over the taut peak of her dark nipple.

Her hand groped and grabbed at his hair; her hips tipped upward into his touch.

"Ezra." It came out as a sob, a rasp of air pushed through a ruined throat. "Ezra, I…"

He lifted his head. His lips were swollen, his eyes crying blood, his breath coming in shallow, painful gasps. "Tell me what you need!"

"YOU!." She pulled at his belt. "I need YOU!"

The sound that escaped him was barely human.

Saw's voice drifted through the haze, something about the gas being the only honest thing left in the galaxy, but neither of them heard it clearly. They were long past listening. Sabine's hands fumbled with his buckle, and Ezra's hands found hers, and together they worked the fastening loose. They didn’t need words anymore. They had the truth, the pain, the love searing their veins. It was excruciating. It was holy. It was revolution!

He pressed his forehead against hers. The rattle in his chest was the same rattle in hers. They sank to the floor. Sabine pulled him down with her as Saw began to turn off the gas and the wind swept it all away. They lay there, arms clamped viciously around one another. They’d been changed, and they wondered whether they could ever go back to fighting as they had. They knew the truth, now, and it was beautiful.

So, weird title I know, but I'm working on this fic for a friend and there's this scene where the MC is examining another character's pussy for health reasons.

She's saying things that are unintentionally sexy and is being completely oblivious to how hot the other girl is getting from the attention.

Thing is, I'm not sure how make it unintentionally sexy. Should I just google, like, what do gynecologists say during exams and go from there?

This was posted about a week ago to all my Substack, Patreon, Inkitt and Ream supporters early, like all my work. Please consider joining them 💚

All the characters engaging in any kind of sexual acts are 18+. In this story and all my stories.

~~~

"They had a rough, what, year or so before little Jinny, right?" Patricia said, checking her makeup in the mirror above the passenger seat.

Owen checked the light above and made the turn. "Yeah, at least. They don't talk about it much, but I get the sense it was pretty close to-" he made a cut-throat gesture with his thumb.

"The big D, really?"

Owen shrugged, bobbed his head. "I think so."

"Was it Jinny coming around that fixed it or, what, you think?"

"Who are we talking about?" Mandy's attention came back in from the snowy sidewalks she zoned out on through the gently fogged up backseat window.

"My brother, Lou," Owen said. "Him and his wife, you know, Nicole?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, what about 'em?" Mandy asked, leaning forward now. "Theys abeefin'?"

Owen pretended not to hear. Patricia stepped in, "Sorry, sweetie, we shouldn't have been gossiping about Owen's brother."

"Oh, come on!" Mandy perked up. "Owen! Gimme the hot goss, big man."

Owen laughed. "It's neither hot or new, I'm afraid. And there's nothing to gossip about, anyway."

"That's right." Mandy's mom turned around. "They're happy, just had their second kid."

Mandy gave her a little smile and an eyebrow. Her mom surely knew what it meant. Meant I fucking see you, you want to tell me so bad, but you won't, because you think I'm a kid. Drove Mandy up a wall. Mandy remembered her mom telling her on at least one occasion about Lou and how he's supposedly quote-unquote one of the good ones. Uh-huh.

"Who's at this party, anyway?" Mandy sat back.

"Umm, Lou and his wife Nicole, their two kids, Jinny the baby and Robert, the two year old. My mom, Uma, obviously."

"Birthday girl, obvee, yeah." Mandy chirped. "How young is Mrs. Combs this year then, Owen?"

"Seventy... five?" Owen looked at Patricia. Patricia laughed, saying it's his mother and he should know. After a pause confirming that yes, in fact, it's seventy five.

"And then it's us and some aunts and uncles and family friends," Owen said. "Here we are."

Mandy remembered the Christmas and Thanksgiving, the two or three noteworthy glances she'd caught from our good man Lou over the course of these family functions. Always looking away. In the way only a man with something to be ashamed of did. God, did she love her a good man. The good ones were never that good.

Mandy had just broken up with a boy, leaving her in a particularly disagreeable mood when it came to playing nice with the menfolk. And her mother, treating her with kid gloves? Wonderful. But this... now this could be interesting. Lou... Get him to lose it just enough to lean in or flirt back. A clean little ego boost? Why not?

~~~

"Louie!"

"Happy birthday, mom!" Lou hugged his mom, Uma, as he entered, baby in his arms, followed by Nicole and the older kid, stumbling in, holding mom's hand.

"Little Jinny!" Uma yelled in a whisper, gently lifting the girl out of Lou's arms and making baby noises at her.

"She ate recently, so watch the cannons there, might get yourself spewed up on," Nicole said, as Lou helped her out of her coat. "Hi, Mrs. Combs, happy birthday!"

"Robert, dear," Uma put her hand on the little boy's head, "will you let your mom know I'm getting sick of telling her to stop calling me Mrs. Combs?"

"Sorry, Uma," Nicole said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"OK, come on in, everyone's in the dining room-" Lou had picked up Jinny and they were about to go to the living room, when the door opened again and with the cold wind and snow, in came Owen, his wife Patricia and their - no, Patricia's - daughter Mandy.

"Merry Ummas!" Owen cheered, to multiple adult eye rolls and a happy yell from little Robert, who was too young to recognize a shitty joke, bless him.

Lou moved aside and welcomed them in, trapped in the hallway as now his brother's family did a similar arrival ritual with their mom as he'd just done with his family. Lou held Jinny, giving a one armed hug and a hi to Patricia, smiling as she shook Jinny's hand. Then a fist bump to Owen, him holding up his fist for Jinny to bump, she looked at him confused. Owen saying "It's OK, I still love you, little buddy." Lou smiling.

Mandy didn't hug or kiss, she put up the backs of her hands to Lou's neck. "Lou! Check how cold my hands are."

Lou smiled and chuckled, politely, saying "Hi, Mandy. Have you met Jinny?" Trying to quickly move past the weird light flutter low in his stomach.

"Who's this little sweetie?" She tickled Jinny's ribs and Jinny threw up on her.

Lou apologized, Nicole gasped and ran for napkins.

"It's no big deal, guys!" Mandy laughed.

"No, no, let's... uh..." Nicole was back in a flash, but stopped before dabbing Mandy's blouse. "You know what, let's just wash it and I'll get you something else to wear in the mean time, OK?"

"It's really no big deal," Mandy said, Lou looking at the spectacle, seeing the stain on Mandy's blouse, trying his absolute best to not even think about Mandy's quite substantial and shapely... yes, trying to think about anything else. And look anywhere else, he thought, just as Mandy looked at him for just a split second, then back to Nicole, as she swept Mandy away to change.

~~~

"Look at that, it fits! And you look great, hon!" Nicole cheered as Mandy came back downstairs.

She'd changed out of her vomitty blouse and into Nicole's eggshell cable-knit sweater. Mandy did like it, it was cute, sexy, and, the best part, it would help her confuse the shit out of her prey, prancing around in his wife's clothes, smelling like her, bergamot and cloves.

Not to mention the little treat she had procured just for Lou while upstairs, now waiting for the right moment to spring it on him. Mandy felt powerful, sexy. She could see Lou trying not to look at her too long or too intensely, as she came into the room.

"You like it?" she asked Lou and Nicole.

"Yes, sweetie, and I'm so sorry about the blouse."

"No worries, Nic," Mandy said, running her hands over the sweater, starting with her hands, "Gosh, this knit is so nice to the touch." Then over her stomach, running up and down, moving her breasts in a way that looked innocent to anyone not trying to picture her naked. Based on the look on Lou's face she glimpsed as she scanned him, he was not seeing the innocence in it.

Lou snapped his head to his wife, making Mandy look down, suppress a smile. "You guys saw any of that honey cake stuff aunt Billy usually brings?"

Smooth, Mandy thought. Good boy. Hide it. Repress it.

~~~

"I tell you what, fucking early twenties step daughter?" Owen taking a long drag from the sneaky garage cig, inhaling all the way, puffing his chest, eyes on the ceiling, closing them now. "Kill me."

Lou chuckled. "That bad, huh?"

It was cold in the garage, but Lou could use it. He didn't smoke himself anymore, but he still liked the smell.

"No, no. Not really. Not anymore anyway." He thought a bit. "Mandy, she... really tests boundaries. We've had to find our trenches with her and dig the fuck in. Me especially, the odd guy out, shit."

So Lou wasn't making it all up. And Mandy surely wasn't hitting on him, right? Just testing boundaries, to use Owen's words?

"But anyway, it's alright, what about you? How's little Jinny? She's so fucking cute that one. Robbie too, of course," he put his hands up, chuckling, the wine making him chatty, Lou noticed. "I don't play favorites."

"They're the best, man."

"And you and the missus," Owen left the sentence unfinished and sounding like a question.

"Better than ever, really," Lou said, knowing it was the truth. Him and Nicole had almost gotten divorced after Robert, but through a ton of incredibly frustrating communication and self-restraint, they'd come to see each other's perspectives and now... shit, Lou was happy to say they really did have a good thing going. "Couldn't hope to bring Jinny into a better setup, really. I mean, like, marriage-wise with Nicole."

"Shit, man, that's fucking... so great!" Owen slapped Lou's arm.

Lou wanted to ask his brother the same question, but Owen struck the ember off his cig and stepped on it. "Let's go celebrate, huh?"

"Yeah," Lou rubbed his hands and blew into them. "I miss smoking, man, but I tell ya, I don't miss freezing my dick off."

"Cuz' you have a..." Owen put up his hands, making his best stab at a Trump impression, "vah-jainah"

"As if, queef!" Lou snorted.

"I came in here, I said 'wow this guy's got a yuuuge vah-jainah!'"

"OK, dickhead," Lou laughed as he followed his brother up the stairs, punching his ass like a speedbag.

At the top of the stairs, as they opened the door to the hallway, Nicole stopped on her way and turned to them, "Oh, guys, perfect! Owen, come help us with the piano. Lou, babe, can you pop back down for wine and glasses?"

"Yeah, sure thing."

"Nice. Get us, uhh... A couple bottles of red, couple white..." as Nicole spoke, Mandy walked past and stopped, "one rosé and a box of long-stem glasses, alright?"

"Sounds like a lot, I'll help," Mandy said.

"You're the best, hon, thanks!" Nicole put her hand on her shoulder, Mandy smiled at her.

Then turned to Lou, walking down the stairs toward him. Lou stepped aside, let her go ahead down the narrow stairs. "Thanks, babe," Mandy said, as she passed him. Lou was getting whiplash. Mandy calling him babe, smelling his wife on her, looking at Mandy's ass as she walked down the stairs and cursing himself every second that he failed to resist.

Luckily, down in the garage the wine was all stocked on the old workbench and the box of glasses was right there. Mandy grabbed the box and a bottle of rosé, Lou grabbed the rest of the wine, two bottles in each hand. As they were leaving, Mandy turned around and said, "I think we got about four minutes before anyone comes looking."

She stood at a perfectly reasonable distance. Serious, casual look on her face. She licked her lip and the next, what, five to seven seconds, Lou figured, were some of the longest most tense seconds of his adult life. They just stood there in silence, looking at each other. Lou's eyebrows a little scrunched, eyes a bit squinty, trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Mandy perfectly calm, still. But her eyes... they were on him.

Then she just nodded at the door and turned to walk away.

Lou followed her up the narrow staircase now, hauling the wine, Mandy's ass in his face, his wife's perfume, the sweater loose around her waist, giving him a glimpse of her back, the deep vertical ridge of smooth tan skin between the muscles. Ho-ly shit, buddy, get it together.

"What took you guys so long?" uncle Ashley drive-byed them as they appeared in the door to the hallway.

Lou said, from behind Mandy, "We got the wine and couldn't find the damn glasses."

"Just kidding, Lou, no rush," uncle Ashley laughed, shrugging, giving Mandy a hand, helping her up the steep stairs. Mandy looked back at Lou and smiled, squinting, head cocked, as she stepped up and out of his view.

Fuck.

~~~

Mandy wanted to rattle him now. They were at the dinner table and sharing a piano bench, seeing as they ran out of chairs, having more guests than planned. Little Robert did a little dance for them, now everyone cheered and applauded. Good for her, as no one was paying any attention to the goings on on the piano bench.

"Why are you being weird with me?" she asked Lou, expecting him to not take the bait.

Lou licked his teeth, lips closed, looking stern and, shit, so cute, saying, "Whatever you're doing, stop."

"Stop what?"

She might as well not have said anything as him sharing the piano bench was really proof enough. Why had Mr. Good Man Lou been so easy to get on the piano bench with her? Not exactly the most natural coupling in this sixteen-person party full of couples and siblings, right? Why was it that all Mandy had to do was claim the bench and seconds later Lou is telling his wife 'no, baby, come on, sit on the chair, relax, I'll take the bench.' What a gentleman.

Now his gentlemanly thigh so excusable against Mandy's. She looked down. Lou had big, strong legs. She could see herself... hmm, yeah... Looking at him now, Mandy actually did see a very handsome man, even if he was almost twice her age. Shit, that's kind of a turn on really, now that she considered it.

Mandy took out her phone, opened her camera roll. "Hey, Lou, did I show you my art project?" She looked at Lou to see what he would do. He looked down at the phone, absent minded, until he saw it and blinked. He looked up very quickly, at his wife, then Owen. Mandy stared at him, her stomach doing turns - excitement and, oh, wow, maybe even a little arousal, fuck. He looked back down at the screen in her hand, swallowing, then taking a sip of water. A big one.

While Mandy was upstairs changing in Lou's childhood bedroom earlier, she'd snapped a pic of herself topless in the freestanding full-length mirror, squeezing one breast. It was a cute pic. Seemed like Lou agreed.

Nicole turned to Mandy, switching Jinny from one arm to the other. "Wait, what's this art project? You doing art stuff, Mandy? Show me, show me, show me!" Mandy quickly tapped back and then to her 'Process' album, full of paintings she'd done over the past year or so, while taking a break from college. "Oh, my god, they are so pretty. Lou, look, am I right?" Lou looked over at Nicole, then Mandy, saying "Yeah, I saw them. Really good. Good job, Mandy."

"Thanks, Nic!" She put on a big smile for show, expecting the phone back. But Nicole was still checking it out. Zooming in closer, muttering about "Wow, the little shadow there... Oh, and the..." Mandy looked at her, studying her shit like it was a fucking Monet.

"Damn, Mand'!" Nicole finally handed the phone back. "That's really, really good!"

"Thank you!" Mandy looked at Nicole. Fuck, man, she was a sweet woman.

Jinny fussed and made Nicole turn back away, bouncing the baby on her leg.

Looking back at Lou now, Mandy could swear she saw a bead of sweat form on his temple.

~~~

Lou stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, water running. He gave himself a little stern talk. It went something something get your shit together something something, Mandy just showed you a picture of herself half-naked in your childhood bedroom. Pretend it didn't happen. Pretend it's all good.

It is all good. You haven't done anything. Nothing at all. You're here with your wife and kids and it's Mandy, if anyone, that's fucking uhh, you know, she's the one that's out of order! You have nothing to be ashamed of. Lou then looked down at the undeniable bulge in his pants. Fuck.

OK, Lou, you need a game plan. Just be polite, pretend she's a mental patient. Worst case scenario, what can she do? Jump you? That's her, not you. Just do nothing. It'll blow over, you know? He looked in the mirror and said out loud: "OK, good talk."

Fucking moron.

He still had a raging hardon that he had to somehow fold down into his boxer briefs, somehow between the band and his thigh. There were a lot of people and no one, maybe except Mandy, for fuck's sake, was going to look at his crotch, so he's probably fine.

He left the bathroom. Passing the kitchen Lou saw the mountain of dishes. He figured, you know what, perfect, nothing less sexy than a sink of miscellaneous soaked food, and he can just chill out there.

After about five minutes Nicole came over with Jinny, gave him a kiss. "You're such a good boy, helping your mom. Look at daddy." She turned her head to little Jinny, taking her tiny hand. "He's a good boy. You're gonna be a good girl just like daddy."

"Daddy's a real good girl!" Lou joked and they shared a little giggle.

What's he even doing thinking about some other girl? That's the mother of his kids. He almost lost this once already. Standing here now, their cute little baby girl, his beautiful wife... Lou figured yeah, you know what, he is a good boy.

"Hey, uhh, Nic, can I talk to you actually?"

"Sure, hon, what's up?"

"I don't, uhh... It's..."

Owen stuck his head in through the little pass-through window connecting the dining room with the kitchen, calling Nicole back to the dining room, their mom wanted her to tell the story about her Baltic incident for the few friends and relatives who'd not heard it.

"I'll be right there," she called back and turned to Lou. "What's up, baby?"

Lou looked at her. This was no big deal. No need to fuck up the night for this. Lou smiled. "You're so pretty."

"Aww," she said, "love you, babe." She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

As she left, Mandy came into the kitchen, Nicole saying, "Mandy, you wanna give Lou a hand with the dishes?"

"Of course, yeah, can't let Lou score all the good boy points."

God fucking damnit.

To Lou's surprise, though, Mandy just helped with the dishes. No flirty banter, no innuendo or brushing or touching.

"You know," Lou said, stopping to wipe a splash of dish soap from his forehead, "Ignoring that bullshit you pulled with the picture earlier... I did see the paintings."

"Did you like 'em?"

"Yeah, I did. Are you going to school for art?"

"Gap year now, but before I was not, no - I was on my way to a biology degree."

"Oh? Biology? Sounds complicated."

"You might've meant boring, maybe?"

"No, not uh... I guess I don't know enough about it."

"Doesn't get any less boring the more you find out about it. Thus the gap year."

"Roger that." Lou used his one dry-ish knuckle to push his glasses back up his nose. "Wanna do something else?"

"Instead of biology?" She brushed clean a steak knife, running it under water, putting it to the side with the clean ones and grabbing another. "Maybe."

"Maybe art?"

"Maybe."

"Well, I don't know about art any more than I do about biology, but I liked the paintings a lot."

"Thanks-" Mandy tried to elbow something away from her face or use her face to pull up her sleeve, Lou couldn't tell. "Lou, you mind?" she looked at him, turning slightly toward him, throwing her head and blowing at her hair, a stray lock of it lifting in the air and flopping back down, her huffing out a desperate laugh as it did.

"Yeah, sure, uhh," Lou wiped his hands and did it, knowing full well she could have just wiped her own hands and do it herself. But, well, too late now, huh? You know what it's not too late for, bud? Hurrying it the fuck up. Why are you moving your hand so slow?

He looked at her eyes, as he brushed her hair back behind her ear, seeing her look at his lips in a way that made his vision blur.

She looked up at him, her own lips, full and red, were open just a hair.

"Oh-kayy, there ya go."

"Thanks, Lou."

Lou put his attention fully on the dishes, and it seemed like Mandy did more or less the same. At the very least she said nothing sexual and did nothing weird. That's good. Maybe if he scrubs the dishes hard enough, he might suddenly realize that he didn't just do what he definitely just fucking did.

~~~

Mandy was in the bathroom. She didn't need to pee. She got the water running and wiped her pussy. It was at the point where it was literally dripping. She laughed at herself as she did it, threw the paper away, flushed it, still standing there, pants down to around the middle of her thighs, looking at herself in the mirror, looking like a big dumb baby, laughing at that now. Maybe her mother's right.

Mandy had not expected to be this affected by her own little game. She let her fingers wander down. Just a little, she thought. Just a little. Touching her hard clit sent shivers across her body and made her breathe harder.

Someone tried to open the door. She pressed her lips, rolling her eyes. She pulled up her pants, yelling, in a polite, girly tone "Just a minute!"

~~~

It had been an hour since Mandy even looked at Lou. He was glad at first, but now... why did he feel like... fuck, he missed her attention.

Oh Jesus, man! Get your shit together, he told himself. But no matter how much he talked to himself about it, he kept...

Wait a minute.

Where... Oh no, his ring!

It was missing, his wedding ring, wasn't on his finger. He took it off while washing the dishes, so it must be there, but now, as he checked around the sink - it's not fucking there! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Nicole's gonna kill him. He's gonna kill himself. God damn it, man, you're falling apart here, he told himself.

Lou looked around the sink. On his hands and knees he checked the floor, the cupboard below, everywhere. Just as he was opening the toolbox from under the sink to take apart the drain, his phone pinged. He fumbled for it and saw a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: is this yours?

Then an image.

An image of, presumably, Mandy, only her mid-section visible, pants undone, slipped down a little, bare tan stomach, and on the front of her white panties, the kind that used a very slim band to connect the front to the back and rode high on the hips: his ring.

Three dots moving...

Unknown: it's upstairs, come get it.

~~~

Mandy's hands trembled as she hit 'send' on the message with the pic.

She had been giddy earlier, thinking up the plan, as the ring opportunity had presented itself in the kitchen. She took the pic almost an hour ago now, waiting, ignoring Lou. Let him stew, ruminate. See how long it takes him to notice it was missing. She got his number from her mom's phone in the meantime. Simple plan: watch him freak out over the missing ring, let him search, go upstairs, get ready, hit send on the pic and wait. She was only sad that she didn't get to see his face when he received the pic from an unknown number, like a cheesy horror movie.

She was on his childhood bed now, top off, breasts naked, pants undone, bare feet. She checked herself out in the mirror and, well, shit, maybe it's arrogant, she thought, but good luck, Lou.

She knew it was working. No way Lou would ever have needed an hour to notice his wedding ring missing otherwise, right? She typed out "it's upstairs, come get it.", hit send, and waited.

She thought, let me just get him to lean in, to touch, give me one kiss. Then I've won, then it's done.

Her hands were cold, Lou's childhood bedroom was not being heated, she figured. She remembered the hot skin on Lou's neck then. How close and powerful he felt next to her in the kitchen. She could feel the heat off him, the strength in his palm, when it brushed her hair with a gentle touch. She remembered how badly she wanted to put her head in his palm then, close her eyes, fall forward into him. But that would have been...

Well, she's playing a game. Playing to win, but not to win him.

Just get him in here, make him crack. Scoreboard! Go have some cake.

Thinking then about the scoreboard, though. Thinking what fucking score? Why not just pack up and...

The door knob rattled.

~~~

Lou's heart pounded in his ears and his fists were clenched. He'd kept his body movements as calm as he could as he got up the stairs to the second floor, while everyone watched his mom do her Italy trip slideshow on the big TV. This fucking girl. The fucking balls. Goddamn it, if she wasn't so dear to his brother, he'd... what? Fucking nothing, he knew it. What could he do, other than chew her out for behaving like a fucking maniac. But she didn't know that, did she? Maybe he'll scare her.

He opened the door slow, stepped inside and closed it behind him. Mandy was on his childhood bed, tits out. Oh my fucking god, he thought, those things are perfect. And he really meant perfect.

Focus, moron.

He walked up to her, stopping a couple feet away, towering over Mandy, as she leaned back on her arms, looking up at Lou with a daring look. He put out his hand. Said nothing. He prayed that his cock, which was on a rapid rise, would not break the delicate hold his underwear, thighs and pants had on it.

"What?" Mandy asked.

"Ring. Now."

"Oh, that!" She fumbled behind herself on the bed. "I got it around here somewhere. Oh, there we go. This one, right?"

"Uh-huh." His hand still out, him praying she would just put it there and that'd be the end of it. He'd take it. Say 'Nice tits, Mandy.' Walk out. Cool guy shit. Maybe drop in something like 'This little game worth ruining families over, kid?'

Mandy sat on the edge still, put one thumb under the front of her panty line, dropped the ring in with the other. "Oops. Think you can get that for me?"

"No." Lou stood with his hand out. His cock was rock hard and saliva filled his mouth. The delicate hold was no longer working. Maintaining his prideful bronze statue composure was harder and harder, as his cock pressed against his slacks more and more. It didn't help things to see Mandy notice it. He expected her to laugh, point at it, have her win. But what he saw was her cocking her head, expression on her face getting more serious. She let out a breath, looked up at him a little, quickly, almost like she was nervous now.

Fuck, he thought. She was!

"Give me the ring now, or there will be hell to pay, Mandy, I fucking promise."

Mandy stood up. She moved up to Lou. She was so close to him, he could see the tiny white hairs on her cheek, the much-used little lamp on the nightstand catching them in its weak, warm light. The little hairs stood up in goosebumps. His hand rolled upward into a loose fist against her stomach - rolled up by her walking into it and him giving in. Could have put the hand down, moron. Should have. Now look at where you are with your stern act. Hand on her soft, hot... fuck.

Mandy looked down at his crotch, shameless, just staring at the bulge in his pants. But she was quiet, serious, sounding like she was really trying not to breathe too fast. And his cock responded with pulses and flexes he had no control over.

"Mandy, for fuck's sake. Give me the ring."

She looked up at him. She looked him in the eyes, he looked back. God, this girl was so pretty. A pretty, young, naked girl. She stepped closer, looking at his lips, her tits against him now, the heat and weight of them painfully seared into his brain forever now.

He leaned down and kissed her. His head spun, hands going cold.

Her lips tasted like strawberry chewing gum. She pushed harder into him as they kissed, her hands on his sides.

His balled up fist was still where he left it, against her stomach. He slowly pushed it. Pushing her away from him, her eyes opening as the kiss was interrupted. But Mandy didn't resist. She kept her gaze on him, eyes wild, breathing hard. Lou pushed her further back, as they both walked together a couple tiny steps. Her legs were against the bed, nowhere to go. Lou kept pushing. She fell back onto the bed, seated on the edge again.

Lou saw her face now. Nothing daring about it. Looking at him now like maybe she was the one had something to lose.

"I can walk away right now," he said.

Mandy swallowed, cocked her head back. "Or?"

"Or..." Lou undid the button on his slacks. Then the zipper. Mandy was looking at it. "You can open your mouth, Mandy."

She looked up at him, breathing hard and fast now, no longer hiding it. The nightstand light glimmered off her wet lips. Her head tremored a little, almost laughing, like she couldn't believe this was actually happening.

"Do it."

Without the smile leaving her face - rather turning to surprise and excitement - she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out looking at him.

He reached in his underwear, grabbed his cock, pulled it out.

"Oh, my god," Mandy said, quietly. "Lou, that's..."

"Shut up and open your mouth."

"...I've never seen a dick that big."

"Shut up," Lou said, walking into her, his rock hard huge cock now on her shoulder, tip in her blond hair, no doubt leaving precum in it. Her chin on his abdomen, looking up at him, Lou had his hand on her cheek. "You wanted to be a slut, Mandy?" he said, calm, brushing her cheek back and forth with his thumb. "Then suck my cock."

Mandy moved only one hand at first, putting it on his cock, leaving the rest of her body exactly as it was. Just the touch made his cock twitch, pushing up against her soft, blond hair, brushing against her jaw.

She leaned back, taking his cock with both hands and putting the tip of it in her mouth. The wet heat of her mouth forced air in and out of Lou's chest, his cock flexing against Mandy's delicate hands.

"There you go," he said. "Take it." As Mandy tried to take more of it, but managed barely more than the tip. She licked it and opened her mouth as much as she could, but his cock was too big for her mouth.

She stroked it with both hands, looking at it. "God, it's so fucking big, Lou."

"The problem is, Mandy," he said, taking her by the face, firm, and helping her up to her feet. She stood up, not letting go of his cock. "You wanted it. You got it. You're gonna have to take it."

"Yeah?" she said, looking at him with glassy eyes, breathing hard.

"Mhmm. You ready for that?"

She leaned up, grabbing his face, pulling him in, kissing him, talking almost into his mouth, her wild eyes on him, saying, "I want your cock inside me right now."

He took her by the throat, not hurting her, but letting her feel his size and strength. He pushed her away from his face, her hands on his forearm.

"Ring," Lou said, "now."

Mandy's hands disappeared down the front of her pretty white panties. She found it, still looking at Lou, moaning and closing her eyes a little as she did, and got it out. It and her fingers wet as she handed it to Lou.

"Clean it," he said, not looking at the ring.

Mandy put the ring in her mouth, moved it around, took Lou's free hand, put it up to her lips, sucked in his ring finger, fumbled a little, got the ring on there, pushed it over the second knuckle with her teeth.

Lou still didn't look at the ring. "Cute."

Mandy touched his chest, going in for a kiss. Lou looked down at her, looking at one eye, then the other. Mandy's cockiness was gone now. Did she want his cock that bad? Or did she like being handled that much? He didn't kiss her, even though that felt like the thing he was supposed to do.

"Undress and get on your back."

Mandy listened, quickly removing her pants and panties, getting on the bed. Lou stood at the edge of the bed.

"Legs up."

Mandy pulled up her legs, her pussy spread open for him, dripping wet over her pretty little asshole, leaving a wet spot on the bed sheets.

Lou spit in his hand, slicked up his cock. He stood over Mandy, stroking it. He bent down a little, swiping his palm over her pussy, taking her juices, covering his cock in them. Mandy moaned, loud enough to fill the little room. Hopefully not loud enough for anyone downstairs to hear. The sound of either Patricia or aunt Billy laughing seeped in through the walls.

He dripped more saliva on his cock, stroking it, looking right at Mandy, as she held her legs up by the knees.

"You happy with your actions today?" He stroked the full length of his cock, precum leaking, losing his fucking mind looking down at this stunning girl, spread open for him. He'd never felt so in charge. Mandy nodded, quick small nods, biting her lip. Her eyes begged for his cock.

Lou grabbed Mandy's panties from the floor.

"Open your mouth."

As she did, he tucked her panties into her mouth, closed it, cupped her face in his hand, giving her cheeks a firm squeeze. "You take my cock. You don't make... a fucking sound. Nod if you understand."

She nodded. Lou put his hand between her tits, used his other hand to guide his cock to her pussy. His big, thick, rock hard cock was met with pressure. He kept it to there, pushed against her, before going in. He moved his hand from her tits to her jaw, taking her face. Mandy breathed shallow, rapid breaths, her eyes wide, her head doing tiny little nods, eyebrows contorting at him. He squeezed her face, not breaking eye contact. He rubbed her pussy open with the tip of his cock, taking care to be the opposite of gentle. Her body responded and her pussy let his tip in.

He pushed his cock inside, going in about a quarter. Pulling it back out, again, halfway in this time, her eyes rolling back into her skull. He pulled it out. Lou slapped her clit with it a few times. He hoped it hurt, but from the looks of her, Mandy was enjoying it. Maybe she liked pain, not only inflicting it on others.

He wanted her to feel every fucking inch. He pushed the tip of his cock back inside her and without pausing, rammed his cock in as far as he could. Her eyes went wide, on the ceiling first, then him - his cock was in all the way.

Mandy let go of her legs, grabbing onto Lou's back. Lou took her by the back of the head with one hand, hooked the other hand under her leg, pulled her down, her ass hanging over the edge of the bed now. He held her close and fucked her. His cock going in and out, sending shivers through Mandy's legs. She tried to hold on as best she could, it seemed, grabbing his neck, wrapping arms around him, but every hold she tried, failed as soon as another thrust or two came. Lou couldn't tell how many times she came or if she just shook and froze without cumming.

They must have been fucking for only a few minutes when Lou was ready to cum.

"Come here, girl." He lifted her up and threw her body back on the bed fully, grabbed the top of her head and helped her bend it down. "I want you to see this."

Mandy moaned quietly, breath shaking, grabbing onto Lou's arm at first, then grabbing his cock with both hands as the tip was still inside her, Lou waiting to fuck her.

He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. "Jerk me off inside you." He looked at her, checking her eyes, she nodded. Lou didn't know eyes alone could make it so clear a person was begging.

He fucked her fast and hard, sending her into more shivers, her hands falling further away from his cock. As he was getting closer, almost cumming, he told her through gritted teeth "Stroke my cock, girl."

She took it with both hands and stroked from her pussy to the base of his cock. Lou had less than half the length of his cock still inside her. The view was something. Her petite hands on his fat cock, jerking it off inside her, as if trying to pull it into herself.

He could feel it coming. The pull in his stomach. He relaxed as much as he could, not trying to hurry it up at all, just the opposite. Her hands milked him as he came, the buildup exploding with force in the first pump, his cock twitching as it happened, Mandy responding with breaths and moans through her panty-stuffed slut mouth and looking down with wide eyes at her pussy being filled. Lou kept cumming.

It was longer than usual, the pleasure: prolonged and excruciating. The guilt seeping in already. He was done, but he could still feel that maybe there was a little... He took Mandy by her throat and fucked her, her hands falling to her sides, then looking for his face, arms... something to hold on to. Lou fucked her in long, hard strokes, squeezing her throat, her mouth open, he used his teeth to pull out the panties from her mouth, he spit in her open mouth as he let go of her throat, then kissed her. All while not letting up and fucking her, feeling the final little leftover of the orgasm coming. He straightened out, leaving her on the bed. He squeezed her tits, then grabbed her waist and fucked her hard, and as he came, he pushed his cock all the way inside her, feeling it pump the last bit of his cum deep inside Mandy.

Still inside, he slid his thumb over her clit and rubbed, sending her whole body in a writhing shiver, her hands grabbing for his, eyes squeezed shut, biting her lip, eyebrows contorted. He kept going until the shaking got so bad that she could do nothing about it.

Then he stopped.

He pulled out his cock and stood up, breathing hard. He looked down on Mandy, draped on the bed, legs over the edge, his cum leaking out of her pussy onto the sheets of his childhood bed.

~~~

They got dressed in silence. Mandy had not been fucked like that... ever.

When, she thought... when did it all fall apart? Was it the kiss? No. It was... oh, jesus, Mandy, come on, is it really that fucking simple? You see a huge cock bulging from a man's pants and you lose you motherfucking mind? Come on! But now, shit, what's done is done and Mandy knew this was a memory she'd revisit plenty of times.

When they were dressed, she said "I'll hang back a bit here?"

Lou looked at her, looked around. Thought about it, nodded. But he seemed... ah, fuck, Mandy, what did you do?

"I'm on the pill, by the way, so, you don't have to worry about... you know."

"Good."

"Are you OK?" she asked, as Lou had his hand on the doorknob.

"Yeah," he said, without looking away from the door. "You?"

"Yeah, very good." She smiled, moved her body a bit, trying to joke or be a little coy, lighten the mood.

Lou nodded, grunted and went through the door.

~~~

"Sweetie, wake up," her mom's voice snapped Mandy out of a dream. She jumped up in bed in a panic, thinking, shit, shit, shit, mom, what, fuck, she'll know, she'll see, shit.

"We're leaving soon, sweetie." Patricia sat on the side of the bed, speaking softly. "You should come down for a bit, socialize before we go."

Mandy looked around, everything was tidy and clean, cold, window open. She was under the blanket in Lou's childhood bed. Remembering then that she had tidied up, opened the window to air out the room, flipped the soaked blanket. She must have passed out as she waited under the blanket for the room to air out.

"How long was I out for?"

"Like, I dunno, two hours, maybe? I came up looking for you a while ago and found you sawing logs."

"Oh, shit, OK." Mandy laughed. Relief relaxing the muscles in her body, releasing the strangle on her stomach.

"Don't curse, sweetie, it's not pretty."

"Sorry, mom," she yawned, rubbing her eye. "I'll be right down."

She went to the upstairs bathroom, removed the tissues she'd put between her dripping pussy and the panties after Lou left. Now realizing she was still leaking Lou's cum, bunched more toilet paper and got dressed again.

Downstairs everyone was full and jolly. Most of the other guests had left, it was only Uma, her sons, their wives and children. And her. Lou's back was turned to the room, he was showing his older kid something in a book, the little guy slapping the book with his fist and laughing. Lou reading quietly to him.

She sat down on the couch next to Uma. "So how was your birthday? You feeling forty yet?"

Uma laughed, "I was close enough to forty when I got up the duff with that one," pointing at Lou, "and I didn't feel a year over sixty then."

"You're a funny gal, Mrs. Combs." Mandy laughed along. She felt rotten inside. All she wanted to do was to go over to that married father in the corner with his son and squeeze herself in under his arm.

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! 💚

If you want part 2, join Substack or Patreon, where future series will be voted on when I need to decide which series deserves continuations.

I arrived at Bistro Du Sol 20 minutes early because I wanted to be perfectly settled when you walked through the door.

More than that, I wanted the pleasure of seeing you before you saw me. I wanted to watch you cross the restaurant floor completely unaware that I was already studying the sway of your hips, the expression on your face, the way that little black dress clung to every curve of your body like a second skin. There was something delicious about having those few stolen seconds before you became conscious of my attention and started performing for it.

The hostess led me to the corner booth I had specifically requested during my phone call that afternoon. It was almost exactly what I had hoped for: a secluded enclosure tucked away from the main dining room, with one long bench running along the back wall and a single narrow entrance that meant no one could approach without being seen from our vantage point. It gave us privacy without actually being private, which was precisely the balance I wanted.

We could sit side by side with our backs partly to the room, cocooned by shadows and dim romantic lighting, while still being able to see anyone approaching. A waiter, another diner, someone looking for the bathroom, we would have warning.

Enough warning, anyway.

I ordered a glass of red wine and settled back to wait.

The remote control sat in my jacket pocket. I could feel its satisfying weight every time I shifted in the booth. Beside it was the small silk bag containing the sleek silver vibrator that you would soon be wearing deep inside that tight, wet pussy, the same pussy I had spent hours conditioning yesterday to respond to my voice and my touch.

Even thinking about it made me smile.

Yesterday had been about discovery. Tonight was going to be about seeing whether all those discoveries still worked when we weren't safely behind a closed door.

At exactly 6:28, you appeared in the doorway.

You paused just inside the restaurant and scanned the room until your eyes found me sitting in the shadows of the corner booth. The smile that spread across your face was worth every moment of anticipation I had endured since watching you stumble out of my office last night.

Then you started walking toward me.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

There was a particular sway in your hips that told me you knew exactly how short that dress was. You knew the hem barely brushed the underside of your ass cheeks when you moved. You knew the slightest bend, the wrong movement, even sitting carelessly could expose the fact that you were wearing absolutely nothing underneath, exactly as I had instructed during our brief phone conversation earlier that day.

And judging from your smile, you liked knowing that I knew it too.

I let my gaze travel openly over you as you approached.

You caught me doing it.

Your smile widened.

When you reached the table, I stood to greet you and leaned in to brush my lips against your cheek. I lingered for just a fraction longer than a polite greeting required, breathing in the scent of your perfume and something warmer underneath it.

You were already aroused.

That realization sent a small, satisfying pulse through me.

"You're early," you murmured.

"So are you."

"Two minutes."

"Still early."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

I let my hand settle briefly against the small of your back as I gestured toward the booth.

"Sit."

There was the smallest hesitation… not resistance, just recognition of the tone.

Then you obeyed.

We initially sat opposite each other across the narrow table, maintaining the pretence of a perfectly normal dinner date. We talked about your classes and my research, ordinary conversation delivered with increasingly less ordinary concentration as our knees touched beneath the table.

The first contact might genuinely have been accidental.

The second wasn't.

Neither of us moved away after that.

I watched your chest rise and fall with slightly quicker breaths. Every so often your eyes darted toward my jacket pocket, where you knew the remote would eventually be waiting. You didn't know exactly what I had planned, though, and I suspected that uncertainty was doing almost as much to you as anything physical could have.

Your nipples were beginning to harden against the thin fabric of your dress.

I noticed.

You noticed me noticing.

"Stop staring."

"I'm not staring."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm observing."

That earned me another eye roll.

"Research?"

"Exactly."

You shook your head, fighting a grin.

The waiter arrived before you could answer and began describing the evening specials in the smooth, practiced voice of someone who had repeated them dozens of times already. Appetizers. Entrees. A fish special. Something involving duck. I barely registered any of it because I was watching you pretend not to be acutely aware of my knee resting against yours.

Then his voice took on a particular enthusiasm as he reached the dessert menu.

"And if you have room afterward, our house specialty is undoubtedly the chocolate brownie. The chef is particularly proud of it."

The effect on you was immediate.

Not dramatic enough that anyone else would necessarily have noticed.

I did.

Of course I did.

Your eyes lost focus for a second, glazing over as the conditioning took hold. Your lips parted on a soft exhale that hitched in your throat, and beneath the white tablecloth your thighs pressed together.

Chocolate brownie.

Two completely ordinary words.

Except they weren't ordinary to you anymore.

I knew your clit would already be throbbing in response to the trigger phrase, your pussy growing wet and swollen as the association we had burned into your nervous system yesterday flared back to life. I could see you trying to find friction by squeezing your thighs together beneath the table, one hand tightening around the edge of your seat while you fought to keep your expression composed.

The waiter continued talking, blissfully unaware.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself smiling.

"And would you like to order dessert now?"

You stared at him.

Then at me.

Then back at him.

You nodded.

No words. Just a mute little nod.

"I think that's a yes," I said pleasantly. "One chocolate brownie. Two spoons."

Your eyes snapped toward me.

I smiled.

The waiter collected our menus and disappeared toward the kitchen, leaving you staring at me with pink cheeks and hazy eyes.

"You bastard."

"Sorry?"

"You knew he'd say it."

"I hoped he might."

Your thighs squeezed together again.

"That's evil."

"Interesting choice of adjective from someone who's smiling."

You immediately stopped smiling.

Or tried to.

I gave you another few seconds to recover before leaning across the narrow table, lowering my voice until it belonged only to you.

"Go to the bathroom."

Your eyes sharpened.

You knew immediately that the next part of the game had arrived.

You began sliding out of the booth, but I reached across and caught your wrist before you could stand. Your gaze dropped to my hand and then lifted back to my face.

I pressed the small black silk bag into your palm.

"Open it when you're alone in the stall."

Your fingers closed around it.

"What's in it?"

"You’ll figure it out."

Your breath caught.

"Put it in and make sure it doesn’t accidentally ."

You swallowed.

"Deep?"

"Deep."

Your fingers trembled slightly around the bag.

I released your wrist.

"Off you go."

You stood, and in your distraction completely forgot about the dress.

The fabric remained bunched around your hips where it had ridden upward while you were sitting. From where I sat, I had a perfect view of your naked ass and the glistening swollen lips of your pussy between your thighs, already visibly wet with arousal.

For a moment, I simply looked.

You followed my gaze.

"Oh, fuck."

You grabbed the hem with both hands and yanked it downward, your face going scarlet as you looked around to make sure nobody else had noticed.

I couldn't help laughing.

"Not funny."

"Very funny."

"You could have told me."

"I considered it."

"You are such an arsehole."

"And yet you're still holding the bag."

You looked down at it.

Then back at me.

The irritation disappeared behind another little smile.

You turned and headed toward the bathrooms, this time repeatedly checking the position of your dress.

I watched you go, my cock already beginning to harden inside my trousers, the image of your exposed cunt burned into my memory.

The ten minutes you were gone felt considerably longer.

I didn't touch the remote.

I didn't need to.

Anticipation was doing enough.

When you finally reappeared, I could tell immediately that you'd followed my instructions. You looked more flushed than when you'd left, your eyes brighter and your movements noticeably more deliberate. There was a subtle change in the way you walked, a slight careful fullness in your gait that told me exactly what was now buried inside you.

You reached the booth.

"Well?"

You gave me an innocent expression.

"Well what?"

I smiled.

"Sit here."

I patted the bench beside me rather than the seat opposite.

You slid in eagerly, pressing your thigh against mine. Your dress rode upward again, although this time you made no attempt to correct it. Bare skin settled directly against the cool leather, I imagined your wet pussy lips kissing the leather, and I felt the heat of your thigh radiating against my leg.

"Comfortable?"

"No."

"Good."

You laughed softly.

The waiter brought our wine, and for a little while I did absolutely nothing.

That was deliberate too.

You kept waiting.

I sipped my wine.

You sipped yours.

I asked you another question about your classes.

You answered, although your attention kept drifting toward my pocket.

After another minute you finally whispered, "Are you going to do it or not?"

"Do what?"

"Don't."

I smiled into my wine.

Then, while you were halfway through taking another sip, I slipped my hand into my pocket.

I found the remote.

Clicked it on.

Lowest setting.

Your entire body jerked.

The movement rattled both wine glasses and nearly tipped yours over. Your hand flew immediately to your mouth, catching most of the whimper that escaped your lips.

Your eyes went wide.

I leaned toward your ear, close enough to smell the shampoo in your hair and the stronger scent of your arousal. Fuck your pussy smells amazing, almost intoxicating.

"Good girl."

You shuddered.

Not subtly.

Your thigh pressed harder against mine.

I kept the vibration low and steady. There was no need to rush. I watched your breathing become shallower as your chest rose and fell beneath the thin fabric of your dress, your nipples hardening into even more obvious peaks.

Your hand wrapped around the edge of the table.

"Look at me."

You did.

That was almost my undoing.

There was excitement in your expression, but also the dawning realization of just how difficult this game might become. You shifted slightly against the bench, searching for some kind of friction for your clit without making the movement obvious.

I let the vibrator continue.

Your lips parted.

Your fingers tightened.

I knew the signs by now.

More importantly, you knew I knew them.

You turned toward me with wide, pleading eyes.

Then you tapped my knee twice.

Our signal.

I turned the remote off immediately.

You collapsed back against the bench with a ragged exhale, your body trembling from the denied release. For several seconds you simply sat there breathing, eyes closed, chest heaving.

I left you alone.

No teasing.

No touching.

I drank my wine and waited until your breathing slowed and the tension gradually left your shoulders.

Eventually you opened your eyes.

"Okay?"

You nodded.

"Words."

"Yes. Okay."

"Continue?"

Another nod, followed by a breathless, "Yes."

I clicked the vibrator back on.

One level higher.

You gasped loudly enough that a man at the next table glanced over.

I saw his expression change from curiosity to mild concern as he looked at your flushed face.

I raised my glass toward him.

"The wine's excellent."

He glanced at his own glass, nodded politely, and returned to his conversation.

Beside me, you were biting your lip so hard I worried you might hurt yourself.

Your hand disappeared beneath the table and landed on my thigh.

Your nails dug in.

"Fuck you," you whispered.

"Not yet."

You made a strangled noise that might have been a laugh.

I edged you that way throughout the entrée.

Again and again.

I let the vibrator pulse inside you until your breathing changed and your grip tightened, until I could see that familiar urgency spreading through your expression. Each time you approached the brink, you tapped my knee and I stopped immediately.

The first recovery took several minutes.

The second took less.

By the third, your body seemed to know exactly what was coming and race toward it.

When I finally turned the vibrator to high, you dropped your fork.

It struck the plate with a clatter that drew several glances.

Your eyes flew toward me.

Your fingers landed on my knee.

Tap.

Tap.

Off.

You closed your eyes.

"Eat."

Your eyes opened again.

"You cannot be serious."

"Very."

"My hand is shaking."

"I noticed."

"You're enjoying this far too much."

"Also noticed."

You stared at me for several seconds before retrieving your fork.

By the time the waiter brought our mains, you were a complete mess.

Your face was flushed crimson, your eyes wet with frustrated tears. Your thighs remained pressed together so tightly beneath the table that I could see the muscles trembling.

I let you eat for a while.

Let you settle.

Then I reached beneath the table and found your hand.

You looked at me.

I guided it slowly across my thigh until your palm encountered the hard bulge in my trousers.

Your expression changed immediately.

I pressed your hand against my throbbing cock.

"Your turn."

You swallowed.

I leaned closer.

"Stroke me."

Your fingers went to my fly.

There was something absurdly intimate about continuing our perfectly normal dinner conversation while you unzipped my trousers beneath the tablecloth. Your hand slipped inside and wrapped around my shaft, warm fingers closing around me.

I had to pause before answering whatever question you'd just asked.

You noticed.

A tiny smile appeared.

"Something wrong?"

"Don't get smug."

You began moving your hand.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Your grip was still trembling slightly from your own arousal, but you quickly found a rhythm. Precum gathered at the head of my cock, and you used it to slick your fingers, making each stroke smoother.

I leaned closer to you.

"Keep going."

You did.

"You need to learn something."

"What?"

"How to serve my pleasure while yours is being denied."

Your hand tightened around me.

You looked straight into my eyes as you stroked.

"I think I'm learning."

"You're an enthusiastic student."

"Research."

That made me laugh.

"Exactly."

The waiter returned to clear our plates.

You immediately tried to withdraw your hand.

I caught your wrist beneath the table.

You froze.

"Keep stroking," I whispered. "Use your left hand. Do not stop."

Your eyes widened.

The waiter reached for my plate.

"Everything okay?"

"Excellent," I said.

Beside me, your hand continued slowly pumping my cock beneath the tablecloth.

"Wonderful. I'll bring your dessert."

I felt your fingers tighten.

He walked away.

You turned toward me.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No. I really don't."

The chocolate brownie arrived glistening beneath warm fudge sauce, topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream that was already beginning to melt into the cake.

Your expression when the waiter placed it in front of us nearly made me laugh again.

"Chocolate brownie," he announced cheerfully.

Your hand spasmed around my cock.

I coughed into my fist.

The waiter looked at me.

"Sorry. Wrong pipe."

He smiled politely and walked away.

You stared at me.

"You're enjoying this."

"Immensely."

With your right hand still wrapped around my cock, you picked up the fork with your left.

Coordination was not your strong suit at that moment.

The fork scraped loudly across the plate.

"Shut up," you muttered before I had even said anything.

"I didn't say a word."

"You were going to."

Eventually you managed to cut off a piece and lift it to your mouth.

The moment the chocolate touched your tongue, your eyes fluttered closed.

Chocolate brownie.

The trigger was still echoing through your nervous system.

Your hand tightened around my shaft.

I sucked in a breath.

"Careful."

You opened your eyes.

Then, very deliberately, you stroked me harder.

That changed the game.

My amusement disappeared beneath a rapidly growing need of my own. Your hand moved steadily, squeezing at exactly the right point before sliding back down my shaft. The absurdity of eating dessert in a crowded restaurant while you masturbated me under the table only intensified every sensation.

I leaned toward your ear.

"I'm close."

Your hand stopped for half a second.

I looked at you.

It resumed.

"I'm going to cum."

You looked around the restaurant.

For the first time all evening, something resembling panic appeared in your eyes… not fear, but the sudden practical realization that we'd reached the point where our little game required improvisation.

Your gaze dropped beneath the table.

Then returned to mine.

I raised an eyebrow.

You made your decision.

You deliberately knocked your napkin onto the floor.

"Oh," you said.

Very convincing.

You bent down as though retrieving it.

Your head disappeared beneath the table.

A second later, your mouth found my cock.

Hot.

Wet.

Eager.

The first sweep of your tongue almost finished me immediately.

I clenched my jaw and forced myself to remain still as you took me deeper, your lips sealing around my shaft while your tongue worked underneath. Your head began to move, quickly now, your earlier teasing strokes replaced by determined suction.

I gripped the edge of the bench.

You took me deeper than you had before.

My cock pushed into your throat.

You swallowed around me.

That was enough.

I came hard.

My hips jerked upward before I could stop them as the first spurt of cum flooded your mouth. You held me there and swallowed, then took another pulse, and another, hot seed coating your tongue and throat while you continued sucking me through every contraction.

I bit down on a groan.

You didn't pull away.

You kept sucking gently, milking the last drops from my cock until I was completely spent.

Only then did you release me.

You sat upright again with the missing napkin in your hand, your cheeks flushed and your eyes bright.

For several seconds neither of us spoke.

You calmly wiped the corner of your mouth.

Then you looked at me with an expression of exaggerated innocence.

I stared back.

Your lips twitched.

Then you opened your mouth.

Empty.

You closed it and swallowed once more, theatrically demonstrating that you had taken every drop.

"Good girl," I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

Your expression softened immediately.

"Was that fun?"

"Yes."

The answer came without hesitation.

Then you shifted on the seat and your expression changed.

"But now I really need to cum."

I smiled.

"Do you?"

"Please."

That single word contained the frustration of the entire evening.

I slipped my hand back into my pocket.

Your eyes followed it.

"Please."

I clicked the vibrator on.

Maximum.

Your mouth opened in a silent gasp.

At the same moment, my other hand slid beneath the table.

Your pussy was soaking wet.

Not damp. Not merely aroused. Soaking.

My fingers found your swollen lips, then your throbbing clit, standing firm and sensitive between them. I began rubbing you in steady, firm circles while the vibrator buzzed relentlessly inside your pussy, pressing against your g-spot.

Your hand shot toward the table.

You grabbed your napkin and shoved it over your mouth.

Just in time.

Your orgasm hit almost immediately.

Your back arched.

Your entire body went rigid beside me, every muscle locking at once as the first violent contraction tore through you. Your pussy clenched around the vibrator while your clit throbbed beneath my fingers.

You screamed into the napkin.

The sound emerged as little more than a muffled sob.

I kept rubbing.

Another wave rolled through you.

Then another.

Your thighs tried to close around my hand, but I maintained the same pressure and rhythm, feeling each rapid spasm against my fingertips. You shook against me, tears leaking from the corners of your closed eyes as months seemed to pass inside those few seconds of overwhelming release.

Eventually the contractions began to weaken.

I slowed my fingers.

Then stopped.

The vibrator followed.

Silence.

You sagged sideways against my shoulder.

I left my arm around you and gave you time to breathe.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

The restaurant continued around us as though absolutely nothing extraordinary had happened. Cutlery clinked. Someone laughed across the room. A bottle was uncorked. The waiter carried plates past our booth.

Normal life.

Meanwhile, you were still trembling against me.

"You with me?"

"Mmm."

"That's not a word."

"Yes."

"Okay?"

A longer pause.

Then you laughed quietly.

"Very."

I smiled.

Only when your breathing had settled did I withdraw my hand.

My fingers were slick with your juices.

You watched as I brought them to my mouth and slowly licked them clean, tasting the sweet musky evidence of everything we'd just done.

Your eyes went hazy again.

"No."

I laughed.

"What?"

"Don't start me again."

"I didn't do anything."

"You absolutely did."

"Research."

You groaned and dropped your forehead onto my shoulder.

I paid the bill.

When we finally stood to leave, you slid carefully out of the booth. The movement revealed a large wet patch on the leather where you'd been sitting, your orgasmic juices glistening unmistakably in the dim light.

You saw it at exactly the same moment I did.

"Oh my God."

I looked at you.

You looked at me.

For about two seconds we managed to remain serious.

Then we both started laughing.

I dropped my napkin casually over the wet spot.

"Problem solved."

"That does not solve the problem."

"It solves it for us."

"You're terrible."

"You've mentioned that."

I took your arm and led you outside.

The cool night air hit your flushed skin immediately, and you shivered against me. After the heat and noise of the restaurant, the street felt strangely quiet.

I didn't reach for the remote.

Not yet.

Instead, I kept one arm around you while we waited for the Uber, letting your body come down properly from what I'd put it through.

"You okay?"

"Yes."

"Actually?"

You looked at me.

"Actually."

Then you smiled.

"Although I'm going to murder you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's problem."

The car arrived a few minutes later.

We climbed into the back seat, you still slightly shaky from the intensity of your release. You sat close beside me, your thigh against mine, and I deliberately pulled the hem of your dress down when it threatened to ride too high.

You noticed.

"Getting protective now?"

"Getting practical."

"Very noble."

"Thank you."

The driver greeted us, confirmed the destination, and pulled away from the curb.

For the first few minutes I behaved.

You should have known that wouldn't last.

I rested my hand casually on your thigh.

You looked down at it.

Then at me.

I let my fingers trace a slow circle against your skin.

Your eyes narrowed.

"Don't."

I raised my eyebrows.

You leaned closer.

"I mean don't tease me unless you're actually going to do something."

That was different.

I slipped my hand into my pocket.

You saw.

Your lips parted.

I waited until the car had stopped at a set of traffic lights and the driver's attention was firmly on the road ahead.

Then I turned the vibrator on.

Not maximum this time.

Low.

Your breath caught.

Your fingers immediately wrapped around my hand.

I watched you carefully.

You nodded.

I increased it.

Your head fell back against the seat.

The driver continued talking about traffic, completely unaware of the private game unfolding silently behind him.

I leaned close to your ear.

"Quiet."

You bit your lip.

The vibrator hummed inside you.

I increased it again.

Your grip tightened around my hand.

I watched your face rather than anything else: the flutter of your eyelids, the effort it took to keep your breathing controlled, the way your thighs tensed and relaxed.

"You want me to stop?"

A tiny shake of your head.

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

I clicked it higher.

Your fingers crushed mine.

The second orgasm built differently from the first.

There was no frantic public performance now, no waiter approaching, no fork in your hand or brownie trigger. Just the darkness of the back seat, the passing lights outside the windows, and the effort of staying quiet while pleasure gathered inside you again.

You turned your face into my shoulder.

I felt your breathing change.

Then your entire body tightened.

Your hand clamped over your own mouth.

You came silently beside me.

Your thighs squeezed together as your pussy clenched around the vibrator, your body trembling through a succession of smaller, rapid spasms. I immediately lowered the intensity rather than driving you through it, letting the vibrations soften as the orgasm gradually released its hold on you.

When you finally relaxed, I switched it off.

You stayed against my shoulder.

I kissed your hair.

No performance.

No teasing.

Just recovery.

A few minutes later the car pulled up outside your dorm.

You sat upright slowly.

"Alive?"

"Barely."

"Successful evening, then."

You gave me a look.

I smiled.

Before getting out, you leaned across and kissed me.

Not a quick goodbye.

A proper kiss.

Slow and lingering, your hand against my cheek, the frantic energy of the restaurant replaced by something unexpectedly soft.

When you pulled away, you stayed close enough that our foreheads almost touched.

"Tomorrow," you whispered.

"What about tomorrow?"

"I'll think of something."

That interested me.

"Is that a threat?"

"Absolutely."

You opened the door.

Then paused.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

You climbed out, tugged the little black dress back into place, and walked toward the entrance.

I watched until you were safely inside.

Only then did I give the driver my address.

The rest of the journey was quiet.

I sat back, replaying the evening in fragments: your expression when the waiter innocently said chocolate brownie; the first startled jerk when the vibrator came alive; your trembling hand around my cock; the absurd seriousness with which you'd attempted to eat dessert left-handed; your mouth around me beneath the table; the way you'd finally collapsed against my shoulder when I let you cum.

But the moment that stayed with me most wasn't any of those.

It was the look you'd given me before stepping out of the car.

Tomorrow.

I'll think of something.

I smiled to myself.

That was new.

Tonight, had started as my game.

Tomorrow, apparently, might be yours.

Thank you for the feedback, the likes and the follows - I love that this story is going down a path you all like. Part 5 is ready to drop tomorrow, so let all of your friends, families and lovers know about this series... there is plenty more to cum. SDG

The husband and his heavily pregnant wife were hosting a dinner party for their closest friends and family. Everyone was socializing in the dining room, after some time the wife’s mother-in-law noticed her absence. “We haven’t seen her for some time” she said to her son, “Why don’t you go check on her in the kitchen and see if she needs any help?” The son annoyed at the request, hesitated, then reluctantly pushed back his chair and headed toward the door.

The moment he stepped away, the room fell silent. From behind the kitchen door came frantic, wet, unmistakable sounds—flesh slapping, heavy breathing, and the squelch of something thick and wet being driven deep. Conversations died instantly. All eyes turned toward the door.

It burst open.

The pregnant wife stumbled out, facing the guests, her husband’s tall, muscular work boss right behind her. His massive, fat, uncircumcised cock was buried balls-deep in her stretched asshole, his large heavy balls glistening with her juices. The couple didn’t stop. They ignored the stunned onlookers completely, continuing to fuck with raw, animalistic intensity. The boss gripped her arms behind her back with one hand and her throat with the other, driving her forward with each thrust of his pelvis, until they stood directly in front of the dinner table.

She wore a tight green sundress hiked up above her waist, black six-inch open-toe heels, toe rings, and anklets. The white nail polish on her toes visible as they splayed out to support herself against the relentless assault on her innards. One engorged, lactating breast had spilled free, the dark nipple leaking milk down her swollen belly. The boss remained half-dressed in business-casual clothes, his pants pulled down just below his genitals, his thick cock pounding relentlessly into the depths of her bowels.

Thick strands of vaginal fluid and precum ran down her thighs, dripping onto her feet and the floor. Sweat soaked through her dress, leaving large, dark stains under her arms, evidence of the hour-long ass fucking she had endured thus far. Her eyes rolled back, drool running from her open mouth as she moaned loudly.

“Use my shithole like a cock ring,” she begged, voice hoarse. “Fuck my guts full.”

Her begging was cut short, as the boss leaned in and tongue-fucked her mouth while his cock slammed deeper. She gagged around his tongue, her cellulite-dimpled thighs and buttocks jiggling with every thrust, the head of his cock smashing the depths of her bowels, his meaty shaft raking the pulsating walls of her entrails, his heavy cum-laden balls slapping loudly against her cum-soaked pussy. On and on it went, culminating with a savage thrust that lifted her off her feet and sprayed the crowd with sweat, impaling her voluptuous body on his engorged pillar of flesh. His muscles bulged from exertion, his large ball sack tightening in preparation.

He came—explosively—flooding her rectum with rope after rope of thick, custard-colored cum that overflowed and poured down her legs in heavy globs. Their tongues lashed together in ecstasy as he continued to piss quarts of his warm seed into her.

As his balls finally emptied, he churned the enthralled wife’s innards with a few final deep thrusts before pulling his mouth away from hers, strings of spit stretching between their mouths. She screamed as she squirted, a hot arc of clear urine spraying across the table and guests, her body convulsing in an intense orgasm, her swollen cunt pulsing with each spray. The boss pulled out, spun her around, spread her cheeks wide, and displayed her gaping, prolapsing asshole to everyone. Cum poured from the stretched ring in thick streams.

Not satisfied, he tightened his grip, spreading her ass cheeks wider, forcing her splayed asshole open for the entire room to see. The boss bellowed to the crowd, “Look how well I’ve taken care of this goddess, this mother-to-be.” He spit a large glob of saliva into her gaped asshole, packed full with his cum, “she won’t be able to shit straight for weeks”. Her exposed bowels quivered visibly, the red inner walls pulsing and contracting with each breath, the glistening membranes twitching as heavy semen continued to spill from her stretched hole in thick, chunky globs. The viscous wads dropped to the floor with loud, wet plops that echoed through the muggy dining room.

The wife, bearing down against the muscular chest of the boss, pushed hard, forcing her asshole to prolapse further, and expelled a heavy wad of cum onto the dinner table with a wet splatter that coated her mother-in-law’s face. The older woman froze, horrified at first, then slowly licked the cum from her lips and fingers, tasting it, her panties soaking through. The torrent continued, as the wife’s prolapsed asshole belched jets of thick yellowish cum in obscenely loud spurts, forming a large pile of steaming ejaculate on the table and filling the room with her intoxicating musk. The wife brayed with pained pleasure, like an animal in heat, with every push of her ruined hole.

The scent threw the other women at the table into a feeding frenzy, like starving pigs to a trough. They pushed past their horrified husbands, gorging themselves on the cum, dragging their tongues through the pile, licking it from the table and each other’s faces, tongues sliding into each other’s mouths as they shared the filthy load, moaning all the while.

The wife dropped into a squat, the red quivering mass of her prolapsed asshole stared at the guests, glistening, as it drooled semen onto the floor. A thick tendril of yellowish cum hung stubbornly from the tip of the boss’s cock, using only her mouth, she hungrily sucked it down, grunting loudly while doing so. Still unsatiated, she milked his veiny cock shaft with both hands, lips sealed on the swollen purple head, her cheeks sunken in as she desperately pulled the remaining cum out of him. She dragged her tongue through the folds of his foreskin, burying it deep into his piss-slit, desperately searching for his seed and squealing with animalistic pleasure at every morsel she’s able to suck down.

The boss, hands on his hips, looked around the room. “Dinner’s cancelled,” he announced. “I’m staying the night.”  He searched the room for her husband and met his gaze, “You are going to sleep on the couch while I use your wife as my personal cum pig.”  He ended the declaration by giving her meaty ass a wet slap, her prolapsed anus jiggled obscenely.

The wife grunted approval around his cock, her tongue still working under his foreskin, spit running down her chin and coating her swollen pregnant belly.

The air grew hotter and more oppressive, thick with the overwhelming stench of raw animalistic fucking—sweat, cum, piss, and anal fluids mixing into a heady, musky fog that clung to every surface. The women at the table, now stripped bare, had their soaked panties yanked down and discarded, the wet fabric hitting the floor with soft, sticky splats. Their exposed assholes winked frantically, the puckered rings clenching and releasing with audible squelching noises as they pushed their hips back, presenting themselves to the boss. Thick strings of arousal dripped from their spread cunts, pooling beneath them and wetting their curled toes, as they begged to be used next.

The pregnant wife remained squatting, her quivering bowels still on full display, the red, pulsating tissue visibly throbbing as more semen leaked out in heavy drops. The boss’s thick cock hung heavy on top her head dripping precum, her face now buried into his sweaty balls, loudly sucking his heavy testicles. His thick foreskin pulled itself back, revealing the throbbing purple head, as his fat cock swelled once more, ready for another round while the room’s heat and stench intensified with every passing moment.

The room was a dining room no longer, but a sweltering sex pit, the air heavy with the stench of sucking and fucking. The sobbing of the betrayed husbands was drowned out by the pregnant wife’s incessant wet sucking of the boss’s balls and the pleading whimpers of the waiting women.

The boss surveyed his new sows, the tip of his cock now drooling precum profusely in anticipation, deciding which one he would ruin next.

"Together," he ground out. "Come with me…"

"I'm…I'm…"

A sound.

Not from Sabine. From the direction of the banquet hall.

The door.

They both froze. Ezra's hips stilled mid-thrust. Sabine's hands clamped onto his arms with bruising force.

Voices. Then footsteps, the click of heels on marble, but different heels from Sabine's. Familiar.

"Is anyone…?" Hera's voice, muffled through the door but unmistakable. "Ezra? Sabine? Are you in here?"

"Oh no," Sabine breathed. "Oh no, no no no…"

Ezra pulled out of her so fast it was almost painful, and they both moved like they'd been hit with a stun bolt. Pants. Where were his pants? Still around his thighs…he yanked them up, fumbled with the fastenings. Sabine was scrambling off the table, her hands shaking as she groped for her panties on the floor, her dress still up around her waist.

The door started to open.

"Wait!" Sabine's voice was pitched high and frantic. The dress was still bunched around her ribs, and she was trying to pull it down, but the fabric was caught on something; a fold, a crease, she couldn't…"Ezra, help…"

He reached for her. He grabbed the dress and pulled. It started to slide down just as the door swung fully open and Hera Syndulla stepped into the hallway.

For a single, suspended moment, no one moved. No one spoke. Hera's eyes traveled from Ezra; shirtless, breathless, hair a complete disaster, pants not fully zipped, to Sabine, dress wrinkled beyond salvation, up around her hips, face flushed a shade of crimson that shouldn't have been possible, her bare hips visible where the dress was still slightly twisted. Ezra's jacket was on the floor. His shirt was… somewhere. Hera's hand came up to cover her mouth, but it was not in horror. It was in…was she…was she laughing?

"General Syndulla." Ezra stepped forward, his shoulders squared, doing his best to look like a man who had not just been caught having sex in a public hallway. "We were just…this isn't…"

"Don't." Hera held up her other hand, her shoulders shaking. "Don't even try to explain. I don't want to know."

Hera had seen everything.

"I’m going to…" Hera pointed toward the wall, her voice strained with suppressed laughter. "I’ll just look over here. Take your time."

Sabine wanted to die. Actually, genuinely, she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Her face was so hot she thought it might actually combust. Her hands were shaking as she smoothed down her dress, and her panties were still on the floor.

She grabbed them. Shoved them into Ezra’s pocket when he got close enough.

He looked at her, wild-eyed, and mouthed, "What do we do?"

Sabine shook her head. She had no idea. She had never been caught having sex before, because she had never had sex before. And, now, the second time, they had been caught by someone they respected more than almost anyone in the galaxy.

Hera turned back around. Her face was composed now, but her eyes were still bright with amusement.

Sabine opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

"I’ve already obtained the information we needed."

Something in her words broke through Sabine’s mortification. "You got the information?"

"Yes. While you two were… otherwise occupied, I was extracting the details of the Imperial supply lines from Minister Dehasto. He’s very talkative when you ask about his children."

"I'm so sorry," Sabine managed. Her voice was tiny, mortified. "We should have…the mission…"

"The mission." Hera took a deep breath, visibly composing herself, but another laugh escaped anyway. It was a surprised, genuine sound that seemed to startle her as much as it did them. "The mission that you two were supposed to be conducting while I tried to contact you for two hours?"

Sabine felt a rush of shame. They had abandoned their posts. They had let Hera do their work for them while they were… while they were…

The absurdity of the situation seemed to hit Hera all at once. She looked at the rumpled dress, the scattered clothing, the decorative table that was now half a meter away from where it had started. She looked at Sabine's blazing blush and Ezra's complete lack of a shirt. Another laugh bubbled up, and this time she didn't try to stop it.

"Oh my goodness," she said, shaking her head. "I knew there was tension between you two. I didn't expect to walk in on…" She gestured broadly. "This."

"Can we please not…" Sabine started.

"You've been gone for almost twenty minutes. I thought something had happened. An ambush. Imperial agents." Hera's lips twitched. "I've been scouting the perimeter, trying to figure out what went wrong, and instead I find my two diplomats…"

"General…"

"…half-dressed in a hallway…"

"Hera."

She took pity on them, sort of. Her laughter subsided into a smile that was equal parts exasperated and fond. "I got the information myself, from Dehasto and a contact in the kitchen staff. Turns out the waiters hear everything, and one of them is a Rebel sympathizer. So the mission is completely handled."

Ezra blinked. "It is?"

"Against all odds, yes." She crossed her arms, her expression shifting into something more stern. "Though I'm not pleased that you two completely abandoned your duties. This was important intel."

"I know." Sabine's voice was small. "I'm sorry. That was…it was unprofessional."

"It was." Hera let the silence stretch for a moment, long enough to make them squirm, before her expression softened again. "But I understand. I've been young. I know how these things can…" She paused, choosing her words. "Distract you."

"Hera," Sabine said, her voice small. "I’m sorry."

Hera sighed. "I’m not angry. Well, I’m a little annoyed that you ignored the mission, but I’m not angry about the rest." Her expression softened. "I’ve been waiting for this for years. The way you two dance around each other… it’s exhausting."

Ezra’s face went red. "You knew?"

"Everyone knew, Ezra. The entire crew knew. We’ve been taking bets on when you’d figure it out."

"Bets?" Sabine’s voice cracked. "Who won?"

"Zeb. Said it would happen during a mission. He’s going to be insufferable about it."

The laugh that escaped Sabine was half-hysterical, half-genuine. The absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. She had just lost her virginity. She had just been caught losing her virginity. And now she was learning that her entire family had been betting on her love life.

"Come on," Hera said, her voice gentler now. "Let’s get out of here. We have a hotel to reach, and you two look like you need a shower."

The walk back through the banquet hall was one of the most awkward experiences of Sabine's life. She'd done her best to smooth the dress, to fix her hair, to look like a person who hadn't just been mid-coitus on a decorative table. From the way a few of the dignitaries glanced at them, she wasn't entirely successful.

Ezra walked close beside her, his jacket back on but still unbuttoned, his collar still absent. They'd never found his actual shirt. It was probably still somewhere in that hallway, a permanent reminder of the evening's events. Hera led them to the elevators with the calm efficiency of a general who'd seen worse and was choosing not to comment on it.

They followed her to the elevator. The doors closed. Silence.

The ride down was quiet. Hera stood at the front, her back straight, her lekku perfectly still. Sabine stood next to Ezra, her hand finding his, their fingers intertwining. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at Hera. She couldn’t look at anything except the floor.

The elevator chimed.

Then Hera said, "So. How long has this been going on?"

"Uh…" said Ezra, blank for a response.

"That's…" Sabine started. "It's very new. Very very new."

"How new?" Hera inquired.

Sabine's hand found Ezra's. She didn't think about it. Her body just did it, reaching for him like muscle memory; like he was the only anchor she had in a sea of mortification. His fingers closed around hers immediately.

"Tonight," she admitted. "Today; a few hours ago."

Hera's eyebrows rose. "That is very new."

"We were going to tell you." Ezra's voice was earnest. "Eventually. Once we figured out what…"

"What it meant?" Hera's expression was unreadable. "And, what does it mean?"

Sabine looked at Ezra. Ezra looked at Sabine. Something passed between them; a silent conversation, a shared acknowledgment of everything that had happened and everything that was still to come.

"Everything," Sabine said quietly. "It means everything."

The word hung in the night air. Hera studied her for a long moment, and then her expression did something complicated, a flicker of emotion that might have been approval, or might have been something more personal, something she kept hidden behind her commander's mask.

"Good," she said at last. "You both deserve some happiness."

Sabine's throat tightened. She didn't trust herself to speak, so she just squeezed Ezra's hand harder.

"Come on you two," Hera said as the doors slid open onto the street. "Next time you're on a mission together, I expect you to actually complete the mission before you sneak off to..." she gestured with exasperation "...fraternize."

"Noted," Ezra said.

"Absolutely," Sabine agreed.

"Good."

"I’m not going to pretend I’m happy about the mission. You both know how important this was. We needed that information, and you abandoned your posts."

The shame was a physical weight in Sabine’s chest. "I know. I’m sorry."

"I know you’re sorry, and I understand. Believe me, I understand. Love makes people do stupid things." Hera glanced back at them, and there was a warmth in her eyes that made Sabine’s throat tight. "But next time, try to complete the mission first, or at least wait until we’re not in the middle of a diplomatic banquet."

"Yes, ma’am," Ezra muttered.

They stepped out into the night.

The city was quiet, the streets empty, the moon high overhead. Hera led them down the block, toward the hotel where they had arranged to stay while waiting for extraction. She kept glancing back at them, and every time she did, her lips twitched.

"Stop laughing," Sabine said.

"I’m not laughing."

"You’re thinking about laughing."

"I’m thinking about how you looked when I walked through that door." Hera’s voice was warm with amusement. "Like you’d just seen a ghost. And Ezra, you looked like you wanted to jump out the window."

Ezra groaned. "Can we please not talk about this?"

"No." Hera’s smile was wide now. "I’m going to talk about this for a very, very long time."

Sabine buried her face in Ezra’s shoulder. The mortification was still there, burning under her skin, but it was fading now, replaced by something else; something warm, something that felt almost like acceptance.

Hera wasn’t angry, not really. She was amused, a little annoyed about the mission, but mostly she seemed to be looking at them with the kind of affection that reminded Sabine of how she looked at them when they were younger and they'd done something ridiculous; like family.

The hotel was part of a big building near the Chandrilan district center, nestled in the middle floors between a shopping center and some offices. Hera checked them in, then turned to face them.

"I’m going to get some sleep," she said. "We have an early extraction tomorrow. Try to keep things quiet."

She said "keep things quiet" with such pointed emphasis that Sabine felt the blush rise again. "We’ll be quiet," Ezra promised.

"Somehow I doubt that." Hera paused, then reached out and squeezed Sabine’s arm. "I’m happy for you. Both of you. Just… don’t do anything else stupid tonight."

She turned and walked toward the turbolift, her lekku swaying. Sabine watched her go, then turned to Ezra.

"Do you think she’s really okay with this?"

"I think she’s Hera. She’s always going to lecture us about duty and responsibility. But, she’s also happy for us." He smiled, that same lopsided grin that had been making her heart race for years. "I know I am."

Sabine leaned into him. "What do we do now?"

"Well," he said slowly, "I was thinking we could ask for a single room, just the two of us; if you’re okay with that."

Her heart stuttered. "Are you sure?"

"I’ve been sure about you since I was fourteen years old."

The words hit her in a place she hadn’t known was still armored. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the truth in his eyes. Not just lust, not just the heat of the moment, but something deeper. Something that had been growing for years, through every battle and every loss and every quiet night on the Ghost. Love.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let’s get a room."

They walked to the front desk together, hand in hand. The clerk looked up with a professional smile. "How can I help you?"

"We’d like a room," Ezra said. "Just one... for two people."

The clerk’s eyes flicked between them, taking in their rumpled clothes and flushed faces, and something knowing glinted in their expression. "Of course, sir. Let me see what we have available."

Sabine held Ezra’s hand so tight her knuckles went white. The clerk handed over a keycard. "Room 42, third floor; enjoy your stay."

They walked to the turbolift together, and when the doors slid shut behind them, Ezra pulled her into his arms.

"I love you," he murmured against her hair. "I know I already said it, but I need you to know it’s not just the heat of the moment. It’s real. It’s always been real."

She pressed her face into his chest, breathing him in. "I know. I love you too. I’ve been so scared of admitting it, but I can’t pretend anymore."

The turbolift chimed. The doors slid open.

They walked down the hallway to room 42, and Ezra slid the keycard into the lock. The door opened, revealing a small but comfortable room with a large bed and a view of the city lights. Sabine stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind them. For a moment they just stood there, looking at each other, the weight of the night settling around them. Then Ezra smiled. "So," he said. "We have a room, just us, no missions, no rich morons, no interruptions."

Sabine’s lips curved in response. "What did you have in mind?"

He stepped closer, his hands finding her waist, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I was thinking we could take our time. I want to see you. All of you. I want to learn every inch of your body the way I should have earlier."

Her pulse quickened. "That sounds nice."

"It sounds perfect." He kissed her, soft and slow, and Sabine melted into him. "But first, I want to hear you say it again."

"Say what?"

"...that you love me."

Her heart swelled. "I love you, Ezra Bridger."

"I love you so much, Sabine Wren."

And then he was kissing her again, deeper, and the rest of the night stretched out before them, full of promise and possibility under the sapphire sky.

READ NOW: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HMP71Z1Q

It's Locktober, which means (hopefully?) that a lot of you are walking around with your cocks locked up and your minds somewhere much worse. I know. I can feel you from here. 😈

So I wanted to give you something hot and real to keep you company this month. I went back to my favorite landscape: the light, the impossible traffic, the aperitivo and the unhurried charm of it all. I went back to my Italy.

And I chose the simplest, most powerful plot I know, and one I happen to be living for real, more or less: best friends who tumble into domme/sub, with a chastity cage in the middle.

BLURB

A friends-to-lovers femdom novella set in Italy, by a Domme who lived there and knows how fast friendly banter can turn into arousal, denial, and love.

In Bologna, Bea and Tommi have been best friends for fourteen years. They share food, secrets, and a history so easy that neither has ever dared to disturb it.

Then a coworker explains what the little key on her bracelet is for, and Bea can't stop thinking about it. She reads. She watches. Curiosity turns into fantasy, and fantasy into a question: what would it be like with a real man?

Who better than Tommi? He's always there, and she trusts him completely. He cares enough about her to say yes to an unusual request: one week of chastity. A little experiment.

It sounds simple, until Bea discovers how much she enjoys keeping him waiting, and Tommi discovers how badly he wants her to keep going.

Seven days of teasing and denial leave them with something much harder to explain than a lock and key: feelings that no longer fit their friendship.

Could his best friend become his girlfriend? Or, better still, his girlfriend with the key?

READ NOW: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HMP71Z1Q

Broken Souls, A and M's Story

Tags:
Domination, Public Humiliation, Toilet Slavery, Shock Collar, Lesbian Humiliation, Forced Rimming, Anal, Squirting, Blackmail, Slave, Face Slapping

“Yes master” replied M, who was on all fours, completely naked from the neck down. She was on a leash, the only cloth like thing she had on. She was walked around like a dog in the campus. Her huge tits, which she always kept hidden from the world, hanged low because of their weight. Her almost white skin glowing in the sun. Her most private regions now exposed to the air and to everyone on the campus. She somehow loved the humiliation, or at least she was made to love it.

Her knees, now almost bleeding from all the walking on the concrete pavement. Her hands did not fare any better. Her butt wobbled as she followed her master around. After a long walk, she was led into the mess’s washroom.

Her master knocked in a weird rhythm onto the door of a cubicle, and another girl opened it. Her name was A, M’s best friend. She too was completely naked. Unlike M her body structure was thin and fragile, with small boobs and a non existent ass. Her skin was even whiter than M’s, they both were tall, 5’7 but A looked taller because of her thin arms and legs. She had jet black hair, dark brown nipples and absurdly swollen red lips.

The reason for the swollen lips was that she was marinating them in the toilet bowl in her cubicle for the last 3 hours. Almost kissing the toilet water, never daring to get her face out because of the camera that was pointed at her. She opened the door kneeling and with sore red eyes, who did not dare to look at their master directly.

“M kiss her“, said the master and without any hesitation at all, M got upto A’s face and kissed her swollen toilet lips, she kissed them with such intensity and motive that it was hard to believe she was not doing this by her own accord. She had to be stopped from kissing A. A on the other hand was like a shell of a human, she gave no response to the kissing. If you were to say who was more broken, you’d say it was A but it was not so, M was the one who had completely given up, she was the one who had accepted her reality. Even though both were being blackmailed, M was the one who underwent the shock torture.

“Go lock the main door” said the master to M and she obliged. “How were the last 3 hours?” asked the master to A. She gave no response. “How were the last 3 hours.” he asked again. No response. “Slap yourself” he ordered. Again no response. By this time, M was back besides the master, on her knees. “M slap her” he said, M got up, gently placed her hand on her friend’s cheek, then pulled it back and slapped her across her face. “Again”, this time she slapped the other cheek.

“Now your turn A, slap yourself”. She again did not oblige. “M how should we punish her?” he asked, “We can beat her into acceptance?” she answered. “No i need something more fun” he replied. “We can shave her head” said M. A lost it at this comment from her friend “How can you do this to me M, what has happened to you?? How can you even give him this idea” there was genuine hurt in A’s voice. “Don’t worry A, I like your hair, i won’t do it to them, but M, your head will be shaven, good suggestion you gave” said the master. “Thank you master” said M. “Fuck you” said A right to his face.

“M get the collar” said the master. She retrieved it like a good puppy. “Now hold her“ M held A like she was the most fragile person ever, there was kindness in her motion, but not her intents. He took the collar and put it around A’s throat. He then locked it shut.
It was a shock collar, which was controlled by a remote.

What settings should i use M, he asked. “Level 5 for 50 seconds should be good master” said M. And so he did and pressed the shock button. It was way way harder than A had anticipated. She wasn’t just feeling the shock in her neck but all over her body, it was like she was caught in a tangle of live wire. Her body trashed around but M clinged to her, skin to skin, hoping to give her friend some comfort. After all she had been through all this, when she was being broken. By the time the shock had ended, A was almost crying, she looked at them both with a death stare.

“M don’t let her go” said the master as he slapped A mercilessly. Each slap sent chills down M’s spine as she was the one holding her friend hostage. After he was done, her cheeks were red from the slaps and wet from the tears rolling down, which were also slapped on. “M flush her” he said.

M who was clinging to her friend’s body, grabbed her scalp, pushed her towards the toilet , shoved her face in and pressed the flush. A’s face was wet with toilet water, her hair(ponytail) was sucked into the toilet. When she was pulled back up, more tears rolled.

“Slap yourself A” he asked again. She again did nothing. “This is your last chance A”.

A raised her hand, and slapped herself but it was a very very weak slap, almost a tap. “Harder” he said angrily. She complied but it was not satisfactory. “M how do you say we punish her” he asked. “Level 6 for 3 minutes” said M, knowing full well that if she had said a lower number, master still would have agreed. Get her into the bigger cubicle he said. He wanted to see A trash around as this time M was not going to be there to save her.

M pulled her into the next cubicle, which was for disabled people, therefore bigger, made her sit onto the toilet seat. Master set the settings and A started begging, she crawled upto his legs and begged him to not do it. “M” said the master and M grabbed A, with love or perhaps fear, skin to skin contact. and held her onto the seat. A as a last ditch effort started slapping herself. Hard, harder than she was slapped by master. It was fruitless. He pressed on the shock button and asked M to let go of A.

Out of 10 levels, level 1 is like tapping the skin, 2 is a flick of a finger, 3 would be using a rubberband lightly, 4 would be using it with max pull, these are felt across the whole body simultaneously. But 5 is where things change, 5 is proper hard electric shock albiet of low level. 6 is the kind of shock which you start feeling in your bones a bit, 7 is same but even more sever. 8 is again different, this wavelength of shock gives the sensation of burning, 9 is same but even more intense. 10 is where both the burning and the shock in bones are mixed together. 10 has it’s own separate dial and can’t be administered for more than 30 seconds for the safety of the slave.

As soon as M let go of A, she started flailing, she fell onto the dirty floor, trashing around. “M keep looking at your poor friend and start sucking me” ordered the master. M obliged, she was edged for soo long. that she would do any sexual act happily, like it was the only reason for her being alive. She looked at her friend, and sucked his dick. A’s trashing did not slow down. Those 3 minutes felt like half an hour to her. Her elbow, knees, ankle, everything bruised from the trashing.

M loved looking at her friend, knowing that A too would be broken like herself in a moment and that she’ll again have her friend as her partner in crime. She sucked him religiously. The sight of one girl in total agony and another worshiping him put him into pure bliss. When the shock ended, A was lost, she had no idea where she was or what was happening.

M picked her up, took the bidet and sprayed water on her, she was jerked to reality. This time she did not cry. She got up, shakily and kneeled in front of the master. Ready to obey him.

“Noo, don’t get up so soon, lie back down, on your stomach”. he said. A obeyed and laid down on the toilet floor, her small boobs pressed by her chest, her face towards her side.

“M what do you think we can do with her” he asked. “Have sex” said M. “No dummy, think more creative, what does she look like right now?”, “umm… she looks tired? defeated?” replied M.

“No, No, she looks like a lifeless mop right now” he said.
“and look around, this washroom has been overdue for some cleaning. Use her like a mop, pull her around with her ponytail” he said.

M without any second thought grabbed her friend’s ponytail and started dragging her, it was easy for M, afterall A was so frail and lightweight unlike M. A felt the harshness of the floor all over herself. The grime, the dust, the liquids everything. Her head hurt, her face scratched.

“Ok enough now, M get yourself in the toilet. The same one that she marinated in.” he said. M on her knees crawled upto the same cubicle and put her head in the toilet. She was in her doggy position.

“A which hole, should we fuck M in?” he asked,

“In the pussy sir” she answered. “Ok then so go and lubricate your friend with your saliva.”

A got up, went upto M and put her face right upto M’s private region. It was her first time really noticing her best friend’s parts. She took a sniff in, smelled her friend and gave her a test lick. M shivered, her best friend was going to lick her finally. A gave her one more test lick and then got into her, she was licking from the bottom to up, as if she wanted to taste the essence of her friend.

“M, do your duties” said the master. M faithfully started licking the toilet bowl. She loved the smell, the taste, the disgust.

“A get into same position as M is in” he said. A obliged and got into the doggy position. He touched A in her clit, surprising A. Then he started rubbing it, getting A wet for what was to come.

“you know what, lick her asshole A, get into it” he said. A hesitated, she got upto M’s puckering hole, it was pink and clean, but it was the mental block that still prevented A.

This angered him. He took A’s arms, made M kneel onto them (with M’s head still in the toilet). He asked M to grab her friend by her pony and pull her into her asshole with one hand. And with the other shock A. He then gave M the remote for A’s shock collar. “Start with the setting at 7, unlimited time, the further in she goes into your ass, the less she may get shocked, so the more she pleasure’s you, the less she is shocked”.

M loved this, having control of her friend and immediately started the shock, at 7. A flailed again, but her arms were caught, her head clamped in M’s ass. Only her backside was free to flail, but he grabbed them. Making her unable to shake. A having no option, thrust her tongue right into her friend’s asshole. The taste was worse than she imagined, when she did not go further in, M increased the shock to 8, A screamed into her friend’s parts. Her screams were muffled. A dove in, pulsating her tongue in and out, in and out, M reduced the shock to 5.

Then he gave A a final rub in her clit and took that moisture to her asshole, without any warning, he thrust himself into her. A screamed again, M enjoyed the vibrations from her screams, M was dripping wet from all this, from licking the toilet, from her friend in her asshole, from she being able to shock her friend, and from her friend being anally raped.

A’s screams did not subdue, though M reduced the shocks to 3, A still shook, not from the shocks but from her asshole being raped. He thrust himself in, without any extra lubrication, he went in and out and in and out. A still did not loosen up. Finally with one thrust, he broke the barrier and got inside her. A’s tongue stopped. She only screamed now. M disappointed, turned up the shock to a 7.

A still did not go back into M’s ass hole. Frustrated that her sensations were taken away, M set the shock to 10 and clicked shock. A was in total agony, her body burning, also her bones felt like they were being crushed. She screamed and screamed, it was muffled. A’s asshole clenched hard from the pain around master’s cock. It was the hardest clench he ever felt on his cock. M loved the shaking and the screaming. A was in hell, constant tears rolling down her eyes, even her nose watered.

As the 30 seconds ended, the shock ended too, now disabled for 10 minutes. M then set it to 9, wanting her friend to rim her asshole. In the split second gap for A, she thrust her tongue deep into M’s ass, to M it felt like being penetrated. Though the actual penetration was of A. Her ass relaxed a bit and by now it was lubed up by her own anal juices.

A had now realised that the easiest option was to give up and give into the torture, she understood her friend and why her friend wanted her to break so fast too. A took her tongue back out and pushed it back in. M happy with her friend set the shock to a 1. A explored M’s ass hole, while their master increased his pace in the anal rape.

M was in heaven, she was finally being stimulated. A had no thoughts in her mind, her only motive was to pleasure M and to avoid being shocked. Which she did, she licked M’s asshole like she was worshipping it. She dove into it like it was a cherry. She hated the taste, the smell but she still did. She rummaged around in M’s ass.

This went on for a while.

Then master asked A to mount off of M’s ass and lie on her back on the floor. A followed. “M come and suck your friend off of my dick” he ordered.

M crawled to him and licked his dick. It tasted disgusting, but it was hot for M, her friend just tasted her and now she was going to taste her friend. She dove right in, licking it, sucking it off.

Then he positioned her in doggy position so that her ass was right on top of A’s face. So all A could see was M’s dripping wet clit.

He kneeled down, pointed himself onto M’s dripping wet slit and penetrated her. It was very easy to do so, after all she was yearning for this for a long time. M’s moans were immaculate, her deep voice was showing all it’s grace. Though this did not last long, master took out his lubricated cock and shoved it in M’s salivated ass hole. It went right in, and M gave the most toe curling moan, her legs shook. With each thrust she moaned. He also started spanking M’s ass.

A was down on the cold floor looking at all this, not daring to move. He started fucking her harder, faster. Soon M orgasmed and squirted.

Squirted right on A’s face. This is exactly what he wanted, and seeing his plan in success, he too came inside M’s ass. M’s squirt was not a single one, it was a gush of multiple squirts. A’s nose, ears everything had M’s squirt in them.

He took them both into the bigger cubicle, made them sit side by side. M was in bliss from the recent events and A felt nothing. He took the bidet and sprayed it, right onto A’s face. He pointed it so that the pressure would breakthrough A’s lips. and he focused it there, for a while. Then he cleaned the rest of her body. Similarly with M.

“You too have been good today”, he said.
“Thank you master” replied M.

“I will be back tomorrow, till then you’re going to sleep here on the floor only. The only comfort you will have is each other bodies. Also the creampie in your ass M. Use it as a face mask. And don’t forget to share”

He said this, made M lock the cubicle and left. M took A in her arms, looked at her, she looked lifeless, her eyes dead, her body red. M kissed her gently on the forehead and hugged her. A single tear escaped from M’s eye and landed on A’s face.

Ps: I also do commissions, feel free to reach out, you can find some of my work that reddit has allowed to stay up on reddit itself. All of my work can be found on https://www.deviantart.com/goodboi01

Thanks for reading and as always Happy Reading

Day One, and Day Two - Part of the longer series: My Girlfriend - Part 1,2,3,4,5,6,7A,7B,8

I woke when Leah got up. She left the door slightly open, and the morning light hit my face. I looked around the room and saw Dan sleeping on the other side.

I ran the scene from last night through my head again. Dan had been so kind and nice to Rina. He was never that way with me. I slid under the covers and ran my hands over Dan to check if he was hard.

I made a soft “mmmm” sound when I discovered that he was.

I mounted him, using one hand to guide him into me.

Dan’s eyes slowly slid open. “Oh... Mia.” 

“Morning, Dan. Had a nice night?” 

He smiled at me. “It was interesting.” 

I slowly slid up and down on him, making sure he felt me.

“She soft, Dan? I look at her, and she looks so hard.” 

“Like silk-covered concrete.” 

I moaned at that, sliding all the way to the base and getting a groan out of Dan.

“How is she at blowing you? Better than me?”

Dan grabbed my boobs and pressed himself into me.

“Nah, you are the blowjob queen. Never had anyone as good as you.” 

I blushed and smiled at that, feeling special and warm.

“What did she whisper to you when you were fucking her?”

Dan smiled at that. “You sure you want to know?” 

I gave Dan a soft punch in the chest. “Fuck you, tell me!”

“Okay, so she drew me in close and said, ‘I need to tell you something, Dan. This is important.’” 

He pushed deep into me.

“She continued, ‘I was afraid to tell you earlier. I thought you wouldn't want me.’”

He drew out, then pushed in again, making me moan.

“She then bit my ear and said, ‘This is my first time,’ then squeezed as hard as she could, stopping me from entering her. ‘Be gentle. I might be tight.’”

I closed my eyes as he said this and squeezed him as hard as I could. I was close. 

“Oh, she was much stronger than that.” Dan continued to push in and pull out of me.

“I could hardly move when she did it. I guess you’re not the best at everything.”

That pushed me over the edge. I came with my legs shaking, bracing myself on Dan. 

I fell down on his chest when it was over and looked towards the door to see Leah watching us.

She walked over to our side of the bed and pushed me off Dan.

“Let the poor girl rest.” 

She took Dan in her mouth and started to get him off. She went deep. Not as deep as I could, but still impressive. She moved between his legs, using one hand on his balls, the other circling his asshole. 

Dan started making all the noises that said he was close. When he came, she made sure to get everything into her mouth.

I smiled at this, thinking about us as a happy triple? What do you call three people who are a couple?

My train of thought was disrupted as Leah pushed me onto my back and mounted me. She held my face and squeezed my cheeks, opening my mouth.  

She leaned in close and let Dan’s cum run into my mouth.

I smiled with my mouth open as she did this... She remembered. 

I closed my eyes, savored the feeling, then swallowed and looked up at Leah.

“Thank you.” 

“Coffee is brewing, bagels are just out of the toaster. That was not your breakfast. Come eat.” 

Laughing at this, I got up, threw on my bathrobe and headed to the kitchen. 

Sitting around the kitchen island, Leah asked,

“Plans for today? It’s Saturday, so perhaps the worst day for shopping, but the best day for exposure?” 

“I promised Rina I’d have lunch with her outside the convention today. So I’m gonna get something beforehand and meet her for her break. Maybe go to the park, watch the river while we eat.”

“No falling in love, Dan. Rina is just playing, remember,” Leah warned.

“Sure, sure. It’s all boyfriend cosplay. She knows, I know. I’m not gonna break kayfabe until she leaves.” 

Leah nodded, seemingly satisfied with Dan’s reassurance.

“I think I'll hang around Cosplay Central most of the day. I really liked being there yesterday. Seems easier to just stay in one spot than try to move around.” 

“Yeah, that was my plan as well. Sessions are fully packed, and I don’t want to spend my day standing in line.” 

“Cool, you can show me the ropes.”

Leah smiled at that. “You were on the front page of Kotaku yesterday. I think you passed your cosplay probation and are now an official cosplay pro.”

I smiled at that. Miriam Williams, professional cosplayer. 

“Well, it’ll be cool to have you close by anyway. I might pick up a thing or two.” 

We wrapped up breakfast and got into costume. 

I checked myself out in the mirror, looking for any stains or marks. Everything looked good. Tight, but still good. 

Mental note to self: no flashing anyone today. 

I saw Leah looking at me through the mirror. “Everything good, Mia? Need any emergency fixing?” 

“Leah, have you ever had a cosplay wardrobe malfunction?”

She came over and started adjusting the suit in tiny ways. “Why do you ask? Nip slip yesterday? Couldn’t be. The tape would prevent that.” 

“No... it was further down.”

Leah laughed. “Yeah, that can happen. Did anyone see? Anyone snap a picture?” 

“No. Someone pointed it out right after it happened, and I fixed it quick, so all good.”

“No issue, then. Now you know what can happen. I’m sure you’ll be more careful.” 

We arrived at the convention around ten, but our Uber couldn’t get as close as it usually did because of the crowds, so we had to walk a bit further. Cosplay was out in force, and I was surprised by how many newcomers there were. 

We made our way into Cosplay Central, and I quickly started spotting familiar faces. Leah, however, seemed to have some sort of fanbase around her. Yesterday made me feel important. Standing next to Leah corrected that impression quickly. She was royalty here. 

I decided to split off from Leah for a bit, let her have some fun, and seek out the people I had gotten to know yesterday.

Like everything in the world, groups had formed, and the fighting game clique had claimed one corner of the area. 

I found Marcus taking pictures of some Street Fighter cosplayers who hadn't been in yesterday’s group shot.

I waited until he was done before walking over. 

He looked up from his camera. “There she is. Kotaku's favorite Vesper Velvet impersonator.” 

“More like my fifteen minutes of fame being wasted on ‘unknown cosplayer.’” 

He looked over at Leah, who was photographing a group.

“You came here with Velvet?” 

“Yeah, me and Leah are close.”

“Oh, you’re friends with Velvet? I thought you knew her through Rina.” 

“No, it’s the other way around. I know Rina through Leah.”

“I guess that explains how you ended up with two excellently crafted costumes.” 

I pointed at the camera hanging from his hand.

“So you're a photographer today as well?” 

“Saturday is content day. I run a Street Fighter fansite. We have a cosplay section that gets a lot of traffic, so I spend most of Saturday doing a content crawl.”

“Content crawl?”

“Walk around, find good costumes, take pictures. Try to get enough material to keep the site fed for a while. Here, let me show you.” 

He pulled out his phone, and a moment later I felt mine vibrate inside my glove. I pulled it out and saw that he had sent me a link.

It was a Street Fighter fansite that seemed to cover almost everything. 

It had competition listings, local clubs, merch, fan art, fan stories, guides to everything even slightly relevant to Street Fighter, and a huge cosplay and art section. 

Everything was sorted by character and game. There were detailed cosplay guides for individual costumes, again sorted by character and game.

Street Fighter people were fucking thorough.

He watched me browse the site.

“Let me show you something.” He tapped my phone and opened another section. 

“This is something I've been working on. Real-life Street Fighter.”

The pictures were much more elaborate than the convention photos. Cosplayers had fireballs, electricity, motion streaks and backgrounds that looked like stages from the games.

“You do all this?”

“Photography and editing. The effects take fucking forever. I’ve got most of the backgrounds, though. Lots of work from the community setting up real-life versions of all the locations. It’s my big personal project. Gonna be a book when I’m done.”

I flipped through some of them. They looked like screenshots from a Street Fighter game if someone had replaced all the characters with real people.

“Okay, that's fucking cool.”

“Thank you. Now, I need to return to the hunt. These cosplayers are not gonna photograph themselves.”

“Happy hunting. I'll see you later?” 

“Maybe. Maybe.”

I smiled and walked off to see if I could find any of the other friends I’d made yesterday. 

The early morning passed quickly. I met a bunch of friendly people, took a lot of photos, followed a lot of people on Instagram, and had to explain more than once why I had no presence there.

I waved goodbye to Dan as he left to get food for his “date” and caught up with Leah again around lunch. 

I guided her to the burrito place and showed her the Creator Lounge. She had not been made aware of the guest sticker Rina had given us and was slightly annoyed about how much time she had spent in toilet queues over the last two days. 

“This burrito is really good.”

“Yeah, Rina showed me the first day, and said it was the best food the convention had to offer.”

“I should have hung out with you two on the first day. I’ve been eating dry sandwiches and poorly made bagels.”

I decided to focus on where Leah was having more success. 

“How has your day been, by the way? You seem very popular.” 

“Lots of good cosplayers. I think I might have three additional people, not including Tessa and Rina.”

“Tessa confirmed?”

“Not yet, but she will. Especially after Rina has signed up.” 

“You think you can increase their workload?” 

“Yeah. Tessa is really good with large groups of people, but seldom gets work as a host or judge. I think I can get her more of that. Rina can get more judging work and has the body to do some brand activations if we can get the contract early enough. She also needs to attend more esports stuff. Not just Evo. She is also a skilled enough seamstress to host classes.”

Leah shook her head. 

“There is work out there. I need to see what each of them can and can’t do. I know Tessa and Rina well enough that I think I can easily double their workload. But I’ll have to work with the others to see what I can book them for.”

“You seem like you got a good handle on this. You think you can balance it if you take the TEG position?”

“I think I need to step back a bit from personal cosplay. If I can get the revenue, I'll hire someone to help with this. Lots of admin work with the bookings. Easy enough to offload.” 

I liked this Leah. She seemed confident, mostly rambling about stuff she had clearly put a lot of thought into. She knew what had to be done, knew how to do it, and was getting it done. It was nice seeing Leah finally be Leah for herself. 

We headed back to Cosplay Central, and I saw that Dan was back, posing with some Chun-Li cosplayers. He had one on each side, with him in a Ken fighting pose while both Chun-Lis covered their mouths and laughed in Chun-Li's winning stance. 

We spent the afternoon being more social and taking more pictures until around four, when Marcus found me again.

“Cammy. Hey, I got a proposal for you.”

“Oh?”

“You want to be in my book? I still need a Cammy, and your costume photographs really fucking well. I can pay, if that’s an incentive.”

“What kind of pay?” 

“Two hundred for an hour? Maybe ten setups. Most are easy, two or three are more complex.” 

“Can I bring Leah?”

“Velvet wants to come? Hell yeah.”

“Let me grab her.”

I went over to Leah and waited for her to wrap up with the group she was in. 

“Marcus wants to do some shots in a more professional setting. Can you come with? Maybe help with the photos?” 

“What’s all this now?” 

I explained his book project, the two hundred dollars for an hour’s work, and that I wanted to do it. 

“Where does he want to shoot?”

“I came to grab you before I got the details.” 

Leah smiled. “Okay. Let’s go get the details, then.” 

We walked back to Marcus. 

“Vesper Velvet. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

She gave Marcus a short nod. “AfterFlash. We actually met briefly in London in 2017, but that was a long time ago. I guess you don’t remember.” 

“London Super Comic Con?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you Sailor Mars?”

Leah looked surprised. “That is a very impressive memory you got there.”

“A teenager who gave me instructions on how to pose with her for a photo? That’s not something you easily forget.” 

I looked at Leah.

“Yeah, that sounds like you.”

“I knew what I wanted the picture to look like.”

“Sooo...” I started. “Leah wanted to know where we were doing the pictures?” 

“I have a green-screen setup in my hotel room, fully lit. Makes it much easier to drop in the backgrounds when I’m editing.” 

Leah looked at my Cammy outfit. “Green is going to be a problem.”

“I have blue as well.”

Leah nodded at this. “Let me grab Dan and we can head out.”

Marcus spoke softly to me. “You think she’d be willing to take the camera for some shots? Would help a lot. Remote-triggered photography is not always the best.”

“Leah taking pictures? I don’t know, she really hates photography. But I’ll ask.”

Dan and Leah came back, and Dan introduced himself to Marcus. 

“Damn good Ken costume you got there. Velvet’s work as well?”

“Who?” 

“Leah,” I interjected.

“Oh yeah. She made this.”

The hotel room was surprisingly professional.

Marcus had set up a blue screen, multiple soft lights, a high-end camera on a tripod, and even a small fan. 

“Alright, Mia, let’s start simple,” he said with an easy smile. “We’ll do some classic Cammy poses first.” 

For the first twenty minutes, it felt a lot like what I had done with Leah. Lift arm. Turn. Pose. Hold. Here we were trying to recreate game animations, but the process was very similar.

Marcus was cool and respectful, giving clear directions. I did winning poses, fighting stances, and some poses from the anime. He had reference pictures for everything, so it was easy to see what he wanted. 

Leah took over the camera whenever Marcus needed to be in the shot, and apparently his concern about asking her had been unnecessary. Within five minutes they were discussing shutter speeds and lighting like they'd worked together before. 

After this, the more complex shots were introduced.

“How flexible are you?” Marcus asked. “You able to do a high kick?”

He showed me an example. 

My eyebrows went up. “That’s gonna be a problem.”

“No worries. I got a rig here for these things.” 

From behind the screen he rolled out what I can only describe as a small steel crane, with a padded blue strap hanging from the end.

“That holds my leg?”

“Yep. You stand on the other one, we lift this until you're where I need you. You don't actually have to be able to do the split.”

I looked over at Leah and she nodded. This was apparently normal.

I lifted my leg into the harness, and Leah came over to help me keep my balance. The goal was basically a standing split, one leg on the floor, the other almost straight up, while I leaned my whole upper body sideways. 

After some adjusting, I got close to where we needed to be and told Marcus I couldn’t go any further. 

Leah let go of me to see if I could balance on my own. I did not fall over. Success. 

Marcus took a few pictures before lowering the camera.

“Uh, Mia. Costume again.”

“Fuck.”

Leah rushed over and corrected it, but once again, I had flashed Marcus. This time while spread wide in front of him.

Once we wrapped the shot, we moved on to a back kick. That was much easier, but still required the foot harness. 

“You sure about this?”

I looked at Leah.

She gave me another nod.

Apparently still normal.

The last one was a drop kick. For that, they modified the harness and lifted me completely off the ground.

Marcus lowered the camera and checked through the last set of pictures.

“Yeah, those are gonna work.”

Leah helped me out of the harness, and I stretched my legs, happy to have both feet on the floor again.

Marcus kept flicking through the pictures before stopping on one.

“Okay. I have another idea, but this one isn't for the book.”

“Oh?”

He looked at me, then briefly at Leah and Dan.

“I do some more adult cosplay photography as well. Nothing hardcore, but pinup stuff. More provocative versions of the characters.”

“Like what?”

“With Cammy? Honestly, the costume is already doing half the work.” He turned the camera around and showed me the picture. “Something playing into this. The ridiculous legs, the leotard, the angles. Less Cammy fighting someone, more Cammy knows exactly what she looks like.”

I looked at the picture.

“How provocative?”

Marcus hesitated for a second. “Anywhere from Playboy calendar to stuff I wouldn't put on Instagram. Your choice. Anything I take here, you get first right of approval. The stuff we just did, that’s for the book. It’s paid for. This would be for you and me. If you want, I can buy the rights to some of them from you. If you don’t, no one else will ever see them. And before that sounds like I'm trying to get you naked, I'm not. You can set the line wherever you want.”

“And these are for your website?”

“Some could be. Depends what you're comfortable publishing. Usually my models use them for their OnlyFans or Fansly. Some just want them for themselves.”

He shrugged.

“You photograph really well. You're comfortable in front of the camera, and I'd love to keep shooting for a while. Figured I'd ask if you wanted to try something more provocative.”

Leah gave me the little come here finger gesture.

When I came over, she spoke in a low voice. 

“Don’t do this.”

“Why not?” 

“Mia, I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying this is a bad idea.” 

“Why?”

“Because you met him yesterday. You're in his hotel room, and he's asking to take sexual pictures of you. Him being nice about it doesn't make that less true.”

“Dan's here. You're here. He said nothing gets published unless I agree. I don't know. I think it sounds fun.”

She took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Fine. Whatever, Mia.” 

She looked at Dan. “Stay with her.”

“Obviously.”

Leah grabbed her things.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the convention. You don't need my permission, Mia. But you also don't need me here pretending I'm comfortable with it.”

Marcus held up his hands. “Sorry if I offended. Is she your manager or something?” 

“She is not, and I am my own person, making new experiences.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Nothing. What sort of pictures should we do next?” 

Marcus laid out his vision. He wanted a beaten Cammy. Versions of her after she'd lost the fight, showing what she looked like afterward.

We started with some shots of messed-up hair, dirt makeup, and a bruise. Head down, eyes looking up. Beaten but not dead.

For the next step, Marcus added black-eye makeup and a split lip. Now we did poses with my eyes closed, pushing my lip out to make it look swollen.

Next, Marcus came to me with a glass. He explained that he wanted a numb-looking face and a little drool. A theater trick for this was apparently ginger oil, so I should rinse my mouth with what was in the glass and spit it out. It was pungent to the extreme, and I gagged before spitting it out. My whole mouth reacted, saliva immediately gathering faster than I could comfortably swallow.

“Perfect. Close one eye, open your mouth slightly. Let it drip.” 

I tried to say something, immediately tasted the stuff again, and decided against opening my mouth any more than necessary. 

“Oh, that will happen. Just give me hand signs until it wears off.” 

I gave him a thumbs up.

“Okay, next, can we lose your left glove? Keep the same pose.”

I took off my left glove and threw it on the bed.

“Excellent. Can you do the right shoe as well?” 

My shoe came off and joined the glove.

“Perfect.”

I had an idea, but didn't want to speak. I held up my hand and reached around to the back of my neck, where the buttons for the suit were. I unbuttoned all but one, letting the neck guard hang open. 

“Oh, that's a great idea. Lean your head away from it so we can see it better. Keep your mouth slightly open.” 

I did as he said.

“You should try to get some cuts in the suit,” I said, swallowing that awful-tasting stuff. “Make it look like I had a real fight.” 

Marcus looked at the suit. “You sure? That's Velvet's work.”

I looked down at myself.

“Yeah. It's mine now.”

Marcus left to find something to cut with, and I looked over at Dan. 

Dan was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, watching this all play out.

“You okay there, Dan?” 

“You’re looking really good, Mia. Having fun?”

“Yeah.”

“Then keep it up.”

I smiled at him. “Sure thing, Dan.”

Marcus returned with a razor blade. “Okay, I’ll do some cuts. I’ll show you where before I make each one. I can’t exactly uncut it.”

He made one across my torso, leaving some of my stomach showing through the rip.

He made another under my left breast, showing some underboob, then one down my right side that loosened the whole costume slightly and showed some side boob.

We did a few shots like that before he asked me to wrap an arm around one leg and lean against it. 

I stretched into the pose, heard a ripping sound, and felt my left boob slip out.

“Shit,” I said.

“That’s fine. If you're okay with it, just leave it. It helps the damaged look.”  

I looked up at Marcus. “You sure?” 

“I’ve seen breasts before. It’s fine.”

I nodded. I had done enough hiding.

I liked this. This whole Comic Con and cosplay thing was the most fun I had had since Lin left. Why not do this? Marcus was cool. Leah was being overprotective. And I had Dan here.

“Okay, can we lose the second glove and boot?” 

I threw them both on the bed.

“Okay, we’re gonna do a KO pose now. Stretch out on the floor, on your side. One arm raised, the other across your stomach. Legs spread a bit, but like you’re sleeping.” 

As I lay down, I heard another ripping sound. The cut down my side had opened further, and the whole outfit was barely holding together. I was too big for it. The poor thing had finally given up. 

Marcus knelt down in front of me.

“You okay? Want to stop?”

I looked down at what remained of the costume.

“You still have ideas?”

He laughed. “A million.”

I smiled at him. “Let’s keep going.”

Dan had shifted back in his chair and was now leaning against the backrest, looking intently at me. 

I decided to ignore him.

Marcus asked me to stand up. I did, and what remained of the outfit dangled from the neck piece. 

“Let’s see what we can salvage.” He cut around the neckline and made a collar out of the top of the leotard.  

He folded the cut edge under so it looked even. He looked down at my breasts and asked if he could remove the tape over my nipples. 

I nodded. He supported my left breast with one hand and slowly peeled off the tape. I let out a gasp. He laughed at that, then smiled at me.

He moved to my right breast and did the same thing. This time he peeled the tape off faster, and my gasp turned into a moan. 

“Sorry about that. Just looks weird with the tape there and all. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

I laughed. “Oh, it’s fine. Was just so sudden.” 

“Okay, let’s do some more defeated poses. Let’s get your gloves back on. With the rest of your suit gone, we only have your gloves, hat and collar to identify you as Cammy. Let’s put some more of that back.” 

I got up and leaned over the bed to get my gloves. I looked back and caught Marcus looking at my ass. I decided that was fine. I had a nice ass. Who could blame him for looking? 

I put the gloves back on and stood there, naked except for the collar, gloves and the wig-and-beret piece. 

“Okay, how do you want me?” 

He mumbled something I couldn’t hear, then said more clearly, “Let’s have you seated on the ground, holding one leg.” 

I sat down on the floor, lifted one leg in front of me, and kept the other straight. 

“No, the other leg... Let me show you.” 

He sat down next to me and moved my free leg into a V on the floor, opening the pose and bringing its heel against the heel of the leg I was holding. 

He ran his hand along the inside of my leg. “Keep this a triangle.” 

I looked down and saw that my pussy was glistening, now on full display. This is fine. I’m sure he’s seen this before as well. 

“Okay, put the leg you’re holding down so it mirrors your left.” 

I did as he asked, his camera clicking away. I gave him a once-over and saw that he was hard. And big.

“Okay, next one. Let’s do another KO pose. Lie on your side. Bring your bottom leg forward and bend it. Now bring the other knee up towards your chest, but keep that foot high. Higher. Good. I want your legs making almost a frame around your face.”

I started adjusting myself.

“Now bring one arm across your chest and reach the other towards your lower foot. Turn your shoulders towards me. Head back a little. Eyes at the camera.”

I was on my face, legs spread and raised toward him, both arms reaching loosely toward him. 

He clicked a few photos, then put the camera down and came over to adjust me. He pulled one leg further in toward me, lifting that side of my ass upwards. He kept me from rolling over by holding on to my upturned butt cheek. His fingers, inches away from my pussy.

He shifted his hand to my other cheek to pull my other leg straight. I lifted my outstretched hand, touching the outline of his cock through his pants. 

He looked down at me and smiled, then moved his hand between my legs. 

I felt one finger go in while two others slid up and down between my lips.

A small moan escaped my lips.

He put a hand behind my back and lifted me onto the bed. It was as if I weighed nothing to him.

He undid his pants and let them fall to the floor. I saw the biggest dick I had ever seen in real life. It looked like a Monster can in size and shape. One of the 24-ounce ones. 

He lifted it with one hand. “Don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt you.”

Marcus strapped a harness to his chest and mounted a camera on it, angled down towards me.

Filming this part as well? I guess I’ve gone this far... 

I crawled over and touched him, and he moaned softly. “Have a taste.” 

I put the head in my mouth. At first, I still felt like I had some control. 

I worked him with my tongue, used my hands, and kept him from forcing himself too deep. 

I was drooling from the ginger oil, but I was managing. I even felt a small, pathetic spark of pride when he called me good girl.

But then he pulled out, flipped me onto my back, and pulled me to the edge of the bed. I was helpless to stop him. I realized he was simply too strong. He lifted my legs towards my face, folding me in two, and aligning his cock to enter me.

He was enormous.

The head alone was thicker than anything I’d ever taken. When he started pushing in, I gasped sharply. The stretch was brutal. Inch after thick inch forced its way inside me until he was finally buried as deep as my body would allow.

Then he started fucking me.

Each thrust slammed against my cervix. The pain was sharp at first, a deep, aching pressure that made me wince. But Marcus didn’t slow down. He used one hand to shift my lower body around, like he was trying to find a spot he hadn’t hit yet.

He kept driving into me harder, again and again, battering me down.

Until something popped.

A sudden, strange shift happened inside me. The pain flared for a second, then melted into an overwhelming, terrifying fullness. 

Marcus groaned loudly as he sank even deeper, all the way in. 

I looked down in horror and saw the clear outline of his cock bulging against my lower stomach.

He was 14 inches long. Beer-can thick. And he was completely balls-deep inside me.

“Oh my god...” I whimpered and threw my head back. 

Marcus started stroking himself with my body, long, slow, powerful thrusts that made the bulge in my stomach move visibly. 

Every time he bottomed out, I felt him rearranging my insides.

Okay, maybe this was not the best idea. But it felt good now, at least. And this was my fantasy, right? A tiny girl getting used by a large Black man twice my size. Used by someone for pleasure.

The feeling of fullness was so strong, it overcame any doubts I had.

My body agreed completely. Every deep thrust sent electric waves through me. 

The pain and the pleasure twisted together until I couldn’t tell them apart. 

I started moaning uncontrollably, my hands gripping the sheets.

Marcus noticed. He smiled down at me, still thrusting deep.

“Look at that... She loves it, doesn’t she?”

I hated how right he was.

I came hard.

My pussy clenched around his massive cock as waves of unadulterated pleasure ripped through me. 

Marcus didn’t stop. He just kept using my body, stroking himself with my spasming pussy, clearly enjoying how broken he had made me.

Marcus pulled out of me and spun me around. 

I was on my side on the bed, and he was forcing his cock into my mouth again. This time he pushed deeper, making me gag and choke, but I still managed to stop him from going all the way. 

I was in control here, not him.

“Does she do anal?” Marcus asked Dan.

Dan was sitting in the chair with his cock out, stroking himself as he watched. 

“Yeah, she does anal,” Dan replied. 

My eyes went wide. 

What the fuck, Dan... you trying to kill me? 

Marcus smeared my ass with lube and started rubbing my asshole. 

Okay, Mia, we can do this. Dan is big, and you can take him. 

I looked over at Dan, still stroking himself. He was not as big as Marcus. Not by a long shot. 

A finger pushed into me, and I gasped. Even Marcus's fingers were big. I had had dicks as big as his index finger. 

He moved it in and out, working as much lube into me as possible.

Another finger joined the first. Oh shit... this was only a little smaller than Dan. 

I let out a gasp and a small groan as I buried my head in the bedsheets. 

Marcus gave a small laugh.  

“You know, Mia, I might have lied. I said it wouldn't hurt you, but this might sting.” 

I felt the head push into me. My body tried to resist, but he was hard and I was lubed up well.  

The pain was immediate and vicious.

I cried out sharply as the thick head forced its way inside me. It felt like I was being torn apart. The burning stretch was unbearable. Inch after thick, veined inch slowly bullied its way into my ass. 

I was gasping, whimpering, tears streaming down my face as my body struggled to accept his enormous girth.

“Fuck... please... gentle...” I managed between breaths. 

Marcus kept pushing deeper, his massive cock forcing my insides to stretch and shift around him. The pressure was overwhelming. I felt like a tiny toy being used by a giant. The pain was so intense I could barely breathe.

Then he seemed to bottom out. I felt some relief. Okay... there's a stop to it. 

I felt him put an arm under my stomach and his other hand on my throat. He lifted me up like a doll.

He started moving my whole body down onto his dick, trying to push past some barrier inside me. It fucking hurt.

But then... something shifted. I slid down further and heard Marcus say, 

“Finally. Took you long enough.”

He sat down on the bed, taking me with him. I was in his lap with his dick still inside me, one arm around my throat and the other across my stomach.

He took his hand from my throat and moved my legs outside his, spreading me open towards Dan, who was watching intently.

I looked down at my stomach, and could see the bulge Marcus was making. 

Marcus whispered into my ear, “You feel good, Mia?” 

“It hurts,” I said in a small voice.

“Yes, but you like it, don't you?”

I nodded despite not enjoying it that much. I just needed him to come, and then we could call it a day.

“You feel full, Mia?”

I nodded again, and he slapped me.

“Say it.” 

“I feel full, Marcus!”

“Call me Sir.”

“I feel full, Sir.” 

His hand returned to my neck and gave a small squeeze. 

“Tell me, Mia, is Dan here your boyfriend?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said. I did not feel like explaining our system to him.

“Does he have as good a dick as mine?”

“No, Sir,” I said, just wanting this to be done.

The hand that was holding my stomach started to go downward, and I soon felt a finger entering me. 

It was so tight I didn't think I could have fit a pencil, but Marcus was strong and my flesh was flexible.  

His finger started sliding in and out of my pussy while my ass was full.

I hated it.

I hated how full I felt. 

I hated how small and helpless I was beneath this massive man. 

I hated that my body was starting to respond, that my pussy was responding to him, that my breathing was turning into desperate little moans. 

I hated how much Dan seemed to love this.

This is disgusting. This is wrong. I shouldn’t feel good from this... 

But my body was betraying me completely. 

“You gonna come for me, Mia? I'd really like it if you came while I had my dick up your ass.”

He bit my ear and stuck another finger in. 

I dropped my head with a deep moan. “Fuuuuck...” 

I tried to fight it.

I tried to hate it.

But I couldn’t.

The orgasm crashed over me like a wave.

My whole body seized up. My ass tightened violently around his massive cock in powerful, rhythmic pulses. 

I squirted hard, soaking his balls and the bed beneath us, crying out in shameful ecstasy as the pleasure completely overpowered me.

I was woozy when he flipped me around and put me face-down on the bed. He pushed me from my knees down into a child's pose, my legs tucked closely beneath me.

And then I felt him start to move.

Every deep stroke pressed against places I didn’t even know existed. I felt overwhelmed, physically dominated, owned, used. This huge man was controlling every inch of me, using my ass like a toy, and my body just letting him use me.

The shame burned hotter than the pain ever had.

I suddenly felt him pull me back. I was on my back with my head hanging over the edge of the bed when I realized what was going to happen. I only saw his cock for a second before it entered my mouth. 

This time there was no resistance left in me.

He pushed deeper than ever before. I felt the thick head force its way past the back of my throat and slide all the way down. My eyes widened in panic as he buried every last inch. His heavy balls rested against my nose and eyes. 

I was completely impaled.

He had finally won.

I had lost.

Marcus groaned in satisfaction and started using my throat like a cocksleeve. 

His hand wrapped around my neck, and I could actually feel the bulge moving beneath his fingers with every thrust. 

Every thrust made me gag violently. The taste was filthy, my own ass, the oil, the mess from my pussy. I could taste everything I had given him.

He owns me. I’m just a toy. My body betrayed me completely. I came from him fucking my ass... and now he’s using my throat like it belongs to him. 

I struggled desperately for air, managing only the shortest, pathetic little gasps when he pulled back just enough. 

My hands slapped weakly at his thighs. Tears streamed down my face. The smell of my own ass was smeared across my nose and cheeks. I was broken.

“You’re mine now, Mia,” he growled.

I couldn’t fight anymore.

I was just a hole.

With a deep, animalistic groan, he buried himself to the hilt one final time and came.

A massive, thick flood of cum erupted straight down my throat. 

Bucket after bucket pumped into my stomach while his heavy balls pressed against my face. I choked, convulsed, and struggled as he held me there, forcing me to take every drop.

When he finally pulled out, I gasped desperately for air, coughing and retching, strings of spit and cum connecting my swollen lips to his glistening cock.

I was a complete wreck.

Marcus laughed at me. “That was great, Mia. We should do it again.”

“Fuck you, Marcus,” I managed between gasps. 

“No, I think I just fucked you.” He smiled at me as he turned off the camera on his chest.

He got dressed while I tried to recover on the bed.

“I’m heading down to the floor. I’ll make sure to send Velvet up if I see her.” 

The door slammed closed, and Dan rushed up to me.

And he kissed me?

I was confused all of a sudden when I felt Dan push into me. 

“Dan, no. I... not now.” 

I felt him push a few more times before he spasmed and finished.

“Mia... that was the hottest thing I have ever seen. I’m sorry, but I couldn't control myself... I just had to have you.” 

I don’t know if my head cleared from Dan kissing me or coming in me, but I suddenly realized where I was and what had happened. 

“I think we should go home, Dan.” 

He took off the top of his Ken costume and dressed me in it. What fit him normally was an oversized jacket on me. 

He buttoned it up, then lifted me. 

“I don’t think I need to be carried, Dan.” 

“I’ll get you home, Mia. Let me do this.” 

Okay, maybe it felt good being carried to the car and taken home. 

Dan texted Leah and told me she would come as soon as possible. 

When I got home, I went straight to the shower. I wanted all of Marcus off me. I stayed in there so long that Leah was in the sitting room when I came out. 

She had taken off her costume and was in normal clothes, looking worried.

“I should never have left you, Mia,” she said, rushing over to hug me. 

“No, I pushed you out. This is not on you.”

“I should have taken Rina’s warning more seriously. I didn’t think it was this bad.” 

“Rina said what now?”

“She said Marcus could get pushy, and once he pushed through a boundary, he took advantage. She said she'd heard other girls talk about it. I never thought...” She pulled me tighter. “I’m so sorry, Mia.” 

I hugged Leah back. “This is on me, Leah. I chose this path. I was the one who initiated. I was the one who overstepped. I shouldn’t have pushed you out. Marcus... he overstepped. But I wanted part of it. I wanted to feel something new. I...” I let out a long breath. “I haven’t been doing so good since Lin left. I’ve been pushing it down. Maybe I wanted to punish myself for causing it. I don’t know.” 

I looked over at Dan. 

“And don’t blame Dan for this. I don’t know what I would have done if he’d interrupted.”

“I’m home. I’m safe. I’m with you.”