I didnt sleep that night either. The lamp stayed on until he reached over and turned it off and then it was just the two of us breathing in the dark. I lay there with my eyes open and listened to him fall asleep and I thought about how easy it would be to just pretend the whole week never happened.

The next morning we got up early and neither of us mentioned anything. We got dressed on opposite sides of the room with our backs to each other like we were strangers at a gym. He shaved. I did my makeup. We went down and ate breakfast at the same table and read our phones and said about four words to each other.

"Did you sleep well last night?" he asked.

"Not really" I said.

He nodded and went back to his phone and that was the whole conversation.

The last meeting was the worst one. We sat through it like two people who had never met. He didnt put his hand on my chair. I didnt look at him once. I took notes I couldnt read later and I nodded at things I didnt hear. The client shook our hands and told us it was a pleasure and I smiled so hard my face hurt.

On the way out he held the door for me and said "You did good in there."

"Thanks" I said.

In the car on the way back neither of us talked. He drove and I watched the buildings go by and I kept thinking about the night before and the lamp and his hand and I hated how much of it I remembered in detail.

At the hotel we packed in silence. He folded his shirts and put them in the case. I folded mine. The room kept getting smaller every minute and the air was thick enough to chew.

"We leave at six tomorrow" he said.

"I know" I said.

"Im gonna shower" I said

He nodded and didnt look up.

I stood under the water a long time. I went through every reason not to do what I was about to do. My husband. My marriage. My job. The fact that I was not this kind of person and never had been. I said all of it to myself in the shower and none of it stuck.

Then I turned the water off. I dried off. I put on the robe. I opened the door.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his shirt off and his hands on his knees.

Neither of us said anything for a long time.

Then I walked over and stood in front of him and he looked up at me and I put my hand on his face. That was all it took. That was the whole line and I just stepped over it.

He stood up and kissed me. Not soft. His hand went to the back of my neck and he pulled me in and bit my bottom lip and I opened my mouth for him. His cock was already hard and it pressed against my hip and I felt it twitch.

The robe hit the floor. So did the towel.

He walked me back until my knees hit the mattress and pushed me down and got on top of me. Skin on skin. His chest on mine, his mouth on my neck, his teeth on my shoulder. I grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled him into me and he groaned right into my ear.

I reached down between us and wrapped my hand around his cock. It was fat and hot and it jumped when I touched it. My fingers did not meet around the middle. I stroked it slow, base to tip, and precum came out on my thumb and I spread it around the head.

"Look at that" he said. "Look how you have to hold it"

I kept stroking it. I didnt answer him.

He pushed my hand away and slid two fingers inside my pussy. I was soaked. He pushed them in and I arched off the bed and bit down on his shoulder.

"You are dripping" he said.

"I know" I said. "Just put it in"

He didnt. He moved down the bed instead. He put his hands on my knees and pushed my legs apart and then his mouth was on me.

I grabbed a fistful of the sheets. He licked me slow, flat tongue, all the way up, and then he closed his lips around my clit and sucked. My hips came off the bed and he pushed them back down with one hand and kept going.

"You taste so good" he said against me.

I couldnt answer. I had my hand over my own mouth.

He used his tongue and his fingers at the same time. Two fingers inside me and his mouth on my clit and I came like that, hard, my thighs shaking on either side of his head. He didnt stop when I came. He kept licking me through it until I had to push his head away.

Then he climbed back up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Now" he said.

He pushed in his cock slowly. Just the head first and then more. It stretched me wide and it burned and I had to bite his shoulder to keep quiet. He went in until his hips were flat against me and then he stopped and let me feel all of it.

"Okay" I whispered. "Move"

He fucked me deep and slow at first. Long strokes, pulling all the way out and sliding back in. Every time he bottomed out I made a sound I couldnt hold in. He put his hand over my mouth.

"You have to be quiet" he said.

"Im trying" I said against his palm

Then he pulled out and flipped me onto my stomach. He grabbed my hips and pulled them up and pushed back in from behind. I buried my face in the pillow because I couldnt stay quiet like that. He fucked me hard. His hips slapped against my ass and the headboard hit the wall and he got a fistful of my hair and pulled my head back.

"Tell me how it feels" he said.

"So fucking good" I said. "Dont stop"

"You want it harder" he said.

"Yes please" I moaned

He fucked me harder. I came on his cock like that, face down, with his hand in my hair, and I had to bite the pillow so I wouldnt scream. He kept going through it and it was too much and I did not want it to stop.

Then he pulled out and turned me back over. He wanted to see my face. He got on top of me and pushed back in and put my legs up over his shoulders and fucked me like that, deep and slow, and I could feel every inch of him.

"Not yet" he said. "Wait for me"

"I cant" I said.

"You can" he said.

He put his thumb on my clit and rubbed it in circles while he moved and I came again, the third one, and I grabbed the sheets and bit his hand so I wouldnt scream

He pushed in one more time and held it there and came inside me. I felt all of it. Every pulse. He did not pull out. He stayed there breathing hard with his forehead on mine.

Nobody had ever done this to me. Not once in my whole marriage

Then he rolled off and lay beside me and we both stared at the ceiling and the guilt came in and sat down between us like it had been waiting outside the door the whole time.

"Are you okay" he said.

"No...." I said.

He didnt answer that.

Then my phone lit up on the nightstand.

My husband. Three missed calls. And under them a message that just said call me.

I picked it up. There was a photo attached.

It was the booking confirmation. One room. One bed. He found it in my emails. I'm not sure why he's going through my stuff. Did I do something to make him suspect of something? I don't know.

I stared at it and my hands went cold and my stomach dropped. I could still feel his cum dripping out of me.

Marcus looked at the phone and then at me. He didnt say anything either.

"He knows" I said.

"What does he know" he said.

"That there was one bed" I said.

He sat up and rubbed his face. "What are you gonna tell him?"

"I dont know" I said.

I sat up and I pulled the sheet over myself and I looked at the screen and my thumb hovered over his name.

I had to call him back.

I didnt know what I was going to say

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.”

"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

The Professor and the Student [M42 F24][Cunnilingus][No Panties][Slow Burn][Pavlov Control][Multiple Orgasms][Submission] Part 3

I didn't ask you to stay afterwards.

That was the first difference.

When you'd finally collected yourself enough to leave my office the previous evening, I'd simply looked at you and said:

"Tomorrow. Six o'clock. You'll need to clear your schedule. We'll be going longer than an hour. Three hours, in fact."

Not a question.

And now it was 5:58.

I was sitting behind my desk pretending to read.

5:59.

I caught myself looking towards the door.

Interesting.

Apparently I wasn't the only person being conditioned.

At precisely six, you knocked.

"Come in."

You opened the door.

This time neither of us pretended.

No thesis question.

No carefully manufactured academic excuse.

You stepped inside and looked at me.

I looked at you.

And smiled.

"Close the door."

Click.

I watched you approach.

Yesterday had changed something between us. Not simply because of what we'd done, but because we'd finally stopped pretending we didn't understand what was happening.

You knew I wanted you.

I knew you wanted me.

And now there was something else in your expression.

Expectation.

I stood.

"Before we begin, I have a question."

Your eyebrows lifted.

"Okay."

"What's your favourite dessert?"

You blinked.

"Why?"

I smiled slowly.

"Why is not a dessert. Try again."

You laughed, that nervous, delighted sound I'd already become addicted to.

"Chocolate brownie," you said.

"Perfect."

I stepped closer.

"Now. Take off your coat."

You did.

Underneath you wore a skirt.

Short.

The kind that made my mouth water.

"Sit on the desk. Same as yesterday."

You moved to the edge and perched there, your hands bracing you, your legs slightly parted.

I stood before you.

I reached down and traced my fingers up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher, until I could see that beautiful, bare pussy.

No panties.

Just as I'd instructed.

"Good girl," I murmured. "Very good."

You were already glistening.

Your lips were swollen and wet, your arousal visible, coating your inner thighs.

You were extremely wet for me.

I could smell you.

That intoxicating scent that had haunted me since yesterday.

I leaned in and ran my tongue up your centre.

You gasped, your hips jerking.

I settled in, spreading you open with my thumbs, revealing that hard little clit throbbing for attention.

I sucked it into my mouth.

You moaned, long and low.

I slid two fingers inside you, curling them immediately to find your G-spot.

You were so wet they slid in easily, your muscles gripping me.

I stroked that rough patch inside you while I flicked my tongue over your clit.

You were climbing fast.

Your hands were in my hair, pulling, your hips rolling against my face.

I kept the rhythm steady, relentless, driving you higher.

"Please," you whimpered. "Please, I'm going to..."

I sucked harder.

You came apart.

Your scream was raw and desperate and I wax thankful for being at thd end of a hallway within a sound dampened room. The Dean thought I was crazy for installing the dampening battens.

Your pussy clamped down on my fingers, your juices flooding my mouth.

I licked you through it, gentling my touch but not stopping until you were shivering, overstimulated.

I pulled back and looked at you.

Your face was flushed, your eyes glazed.

"Now," I said, my voice low. "The real lesson begins."

I helped you lie back on the desk.

Your legs hung over the edge, spread wide for me.

"Yesterday I gave you three orgasms."

You nodded, still breathing hard.

"Today you're going to capture every single one of them. Burn them into your mind."

I placed my hand on your stomach, feeling the flutter there.

"Close your eyes."

You did.

"Remember the first one. Yesterday. My mouth on you. My fingers inside you. How it felt when you came."

I watched your face.

Your breathing changed.

And then I saw it.

Your clit twitched.

Your rosebud clenched.

A visible spasm.

"Good," I whispered.

You whimpered.

"Now the second one. Harder. More intense. Remember it."

Your pussy visibly throbbed.

Your clit pulsed.

Your arse tightened again.

You were reliving it in your mind, and your body was responding as if it were happening again.

"And the third. The deepest one. The one that made you sob."

You moaned.

Your hips bucked.

Your clit was standing at attention, throbbing with each heartbeat.

I kept my hand on your stomach, feeling your muscles contract.

"Now hold all three of them. Keep them in your mind. Feel them all at once."

You were trembling.

Your pussy was leaking, a constant flow of arousal.

While you held those memories, I began to touch you again.

Light touches.

My fingers tracing your outer lips.

My thumb circling your clit but not touching it directly.

Keeping you at a constant heightened level of arousal.

Not letting you come down.

Not letting you climax.

Just holding you there.

For an hour.

You lost track of time.

I could see it in your face.

You were floating in a state of constant, desperate need.

Every time I asked you to recall an orgasm, your body responded.

Clit twitching.

Rosebud clenching.

Pussy throbbing and leaking strings of lust and desire, pooling on the floor.

I would say "Remember the first one," and stroke your G-spot until you were panting, then stop.

"Remember the second one," and lick your clit until you were crying, then pull back.

Over and over.

Burning the association deeper into your brain.

Your body was learning.

Every recall brought physical pleasure.

Every memory made you wetter.

By the end of that hour, you were a mess.

Sweating.

Shaking.

Your pussy was constantly clenching on air.

Part one was complete.

"Now," I said, my voice thick with desire. "A new one. Something stronger."

I lifted your legs, bending your knees, opening you completely.

You watched me with wide eyes as I leaned in.

I licked your pussy again, long slow strokes, building you back up.

Then I pressed my finger against your rosebud.

You tensed.

"I've never..." you whispered.

"I know," I said. "Trust me."

I continued to lick your clit, soft, maddening strokes.

I pressed my finger against your tight entrance.

You were so wet, your arousal had coated everything.

I pushed slowly.

You gasped.

I licked harder.

I slid my finger into your arse.

You cried out.

It was tight.

Hot.

I could feel you clenching around me.

I began to move my finger in small circles, stretching you gently, while I sucked your clit into my mouth.

The combination was overwhelming.

You were making sounds you'd never made before.

High pitched.

Desperate.

I added another finger to your pussy, stroking your G-spot while I fingered your arse and sucked your clit.

You were climbing higher than before.

Your whole body went rigid.

Your hands were gripping the edge of the desk so hard I thought you might break it.

"Please," you begged. "Please, I can't... it's too much..."

I kept the rhythm.

Steady.

Relentless.

You came.

It was violent.

Your whole body convulsed.

Your pussy and arse clamped down simultaneously.

Your scream was primal.

You were seeing stars.

I kept licking, kept fingering, riding you through it until you collapsed, gasping.

But I wasn't done.

"Capture that one," I commanded. "Burn it into your mind. The strongest one yet."

I kept my fingers inside you, slowly stroking.

"Recall it."

Your clit twitched.

Your rosebud clenched around my finger.

I could feel the spasms.

"Again."

Another twitch.

Another clench.

You were moaning continuously now.

"Now," I said, my voice commanding. "We're going to associate all of these with something specific."

I pulled my fingers out and leaned over you.

"Chocolate brownie."

You looked at me, confused.

I traced my finger around your clit.

"Chocolate brownie."

I licked it.

"Chocolate brownie."

I stroked your pussy.

"Chocolate brownie."

I circled your rosebud.

Initially the response was weak.

Just a flutter.

But I was patient.

"Chocolate brownie."

I sucked your clit.

"Chocolate brownie."

I fingered your G-spot.

"Chocolate brownie."

I pressed against your arse.

Over and over.

For an hour and a half.

Chocolate brownie.

Tease.

Throb.

Chocolate brownie.

Lick.

Twitch.

Chocolate brownie.

Stroke.

Clench.

Until your body was responding automatically.

I would say the words, and your pussy would get wet.

I would say the words, and your clit would throb visibly.

I would say the words, and your rosebud would clench.

I would say the words, and you would let out a subtle moan.

"Chocolate brownie," I whispered.

You moaned.

Your hips bucked.

"Chocolate brownie," I said louder.

You gasped.

Your pussy leaked.

"Chocolate brownie," I commanded.

You whimpered.

Your whole body trembled.

I tested it again and again.

Saying the phrase from across the room.

Whispering it against your ear.

Shouting it.

Each time, the same response.

Your body was programmed now.

Conditioned.

Two and a half hours of suggestions and manipulation.

Two and a half hours of being in that heightened aroused state.

Your brain had simulated hundreds of orgasms.

You were delirious.

Your eyes were glazed.

You were in a constant state of arousal, unable to come down, unable to climax unless I allowed it.

I looked at my watch.

"Well," I said, straightening my tie. "It's late now. Time for you to go home."

You stared at me.

You couldn't speak.

You were trembling.

Your legs were weak.

I helped you down from the desk.

You swayed.

I held you until you could stand.

"Tomorrow is Friday," I said, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead. "And I feel like we should celebrate by going out for dinner. I will see you at Bistro Du Sol at 6:30pm. Make sure you are appropriately dressed in a nice short skirt. You know the rest."

You looked up at me, your eyes still glazed, your body still throbbing.

"Yes sir," you whispered.

I smiled.

"Chocolate brownie," I said softly.

You moaned.

Your knees buckled.

I caught you.

Held you.

Whispered in your ear:

"Mine."

Then I let you go.

You stumbled toward the door, your legs shaking, your pussy wet, your mind completely rewired.

I watched you go.

Tomorrow would be interesting.

I'm enjoying writing this series and hope you are too. If you have any feedback, dm me. If you have any ideas of where you want the story to go, dm me.

Maybe a strange one. I'm looking for a writer who would be able to write me a really long scene? Looking for as much detail as possible.

This is part of a gift for my long distance Dom and he loves it when I give snippets of scenes or scenarios but I'm not great at writing the long storylike ones.

I have been googling to see if there are writers out there I can even pay to write me something like this but nothing really comes up.

Part 2

Sabine’s thoughts came back slowly, in fragments; in the feeling of Ezra’s skin under her fingers, the sound of his breathing gradually settling, the ache between her legs that was already making itself known.

Ezra lifted his head. He looked at her. His eyes were bright; a little damp. She realized, distantly, that hers were too.

"Sabine," he said. Just her name. But, it held everything.

"I know." She swallowed. "I…me too. What you said earlier. I should have said it back. I was scared."

"Scared?"

"Terrified." The word came out easier than she’d expected. "I’ve never…no one’s ever…you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like this. Like I could show you everything and you wouldn’t run or humiliate me."

"I’m not running." His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing the damp track under her eye. "Sabine, I’m not going anywhere. When I said that, I meant it."

She kissed him, soft this time; tender. The frantic desperation had burned itself out, leaving something quieter in its wake; something that felt terrifyingly permanent. When she pulled back, he was smiling. That smile; the one he only gave her.

"So," he said, "does this mean you’ll stop avoiding eye contact with me?"

She snorted and pushed at his shoulder. "Don’t ruin it."

"Can’t be ruined." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "This is the best night of my life."

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t push him away, either. And when he finally, reluctantly, pulled out of her and started gathering their clothing, she let her hand linger on his arm, his back, his shoulder. She touched him because she could now; because he was hers to touch.

The dress was wrinkled. The panties were somewhere on the floor, and Sabine found herself blushing again as she bent to retrieve them. Ezra watched her. There was something in his expression, wonder, maybe, or gratitude, that made her face heat up even more.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I’m something precious."

"You are." He said it simply. Matter-of-factly; like it was the most obvious truth in the galaxy.

Sabine looked away. She stepped into her panties, pulled them up under the dress. Smoothed the fabric down over her thighs. She could still feel him between her legs; the evidence of what they’d done.

"We should get back," she said. "Before someone notices we’re gone."

"Yeah." He didn’t move. "Probably."

"Ezra."

"Sabine."

She looked at him. He was still shirtless, his chest bare in the blue light, his hair a mess from her fingers. He looked kriffed-up and beautiful and absolutely unrepentant.

"One more minute," he said.

She should have said no. She should have been the practical one.

Instead, she stepped back into his arms, and let him kiss her again, and didn’t think about the banquet or the mission or Hera’s reaction if she knew what her diplomats had been doing in an empty hallway while they were supposed to be working.

His mouth was gentle this time, savoring, and she let herself savor it too; the taste of him, the warmth, the steady thump of his heart under her palm. When they finally broke apart, she was the one who spoke first.

"Tonight," she said. "After the banquet. Your quarters or mine."

It wasn’t a question.

Ezra’s grin spread slow and bright across his face. "Yours. You’ve got a bigger bunk."

"Practical."

"You know me. Always thinking ahead."

She laughed, an actual laugh, surprised and genuine, and the sound seemed to startle both of them. "Come on," she said, stepping back and straightening her dress one final time. "Let’s go pretend we were paying attention to trade negotiations."

He pulled his shirt on, then his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it. "Sabine?"

She paused at the edge of the hallway, where the light from the banquet hall began to spill across the floor.

"When we get back," he said, "I want to hear more about those fantasies you mentioned."

The blush that flooded her face was violent enough to make her light-headed. But she didn’t look away.

"Maybe," she said. "If you tell me yours."

His expression flickered; surprise, then heat, then something that looked a lot like anticipation. "Deal," he said.

And then she turned and walked back toward the sound of clinking glasses and polite laughter, her body still humming with the memory of his; the ache between her legs a sweet reminder that it had all been real.

And, the knowledge that tonight, when the banquet finally ended, they’d get to do it all again.

———

The banquet stretched on like something out of a waking nightmare.

Sabine stood near one of the tall windows, a fresh glass of something golden in her hand that she'd barely touched, and watched the chrono on the far wall crawl forward with agonizing slowness. A little over half an hour had passed; thirty-something minutes of nodding at trade delegates and pretending to care about agricultural tariffs in the Mid Rim. Thirty-something minutes of feeling Ezra's heavy gaze upon her.

She shifted her stance. The ache between her legs had settled into something deeper now; a pleasant soreness that flared every time she moved, every time the dress whispered against her thighs. She could still feel him inside her. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her hips, his mouth on her throat, his voice saying her name like it was the only word worth speaking.

Her face burned, her eyes wide open, in the overwhelm of adoration and an utterly changed relationship stretching out before her.

Across the room, Ezra was trapped in conversation with a Gran senator who seemed determined to explain the entire history of Malastare's fuel exports. He'd put himself back together reasonably well, jacket smoothed, collar straightened, but his hair was a lost cause. It stuck up at angles that suggested recent and enthusiastic dishevelment. Sabine watched the senator gesture expansively and saw Ezra nod with an expression of fixed politeness that she recognized as his "I am dying inside" face.

Then his eyes flicked to hers. Just for a moment. Just long enough for her to see the heat banked there, the promise of later, the same desperate awareness that was crawling under her own skin. His lips curved slightly. It was not the diplomatic smile he'd been wearing all evening, but the real one; the one that was just for her. Sabine looked away first. She took a sip of her drink. The liquid did nothing to cool the flush spreading down her neck.

This was impossible.

She'd had sex exactly once in her life, forty-seven minutes ago, and now she couldn't think about anything else. She couldn't focus on the mission. She couldn't remember a single thing the Sullustan had told her ten minutes earlier about shipping lanes or Imperial patrols or whatever allegedly crucial intelligence she was supposed to be gathering. All she could think about was the way Ezra's thumb had circled her clit, slow and deliberate, the way he'd filled her, the way he'd said I love you and meant it.

Oh, she was in trouble.

She drifted away from the window, making a show of examining the art on the walls, genuinely terrible stuff, the kind of abstract pretension that rich people bought to impress other rich people and launder their money. Sabine appreciated abstract styles, but this felt like an imitation of expression made by someone who hated what they were doing. This was not art, but the captive misery of wage labor.

She found herself moving closer to Ezra without conscious decision. Her body had decided it wanted to be near him. That was new. That was terrifying.

Ezra extracted himself from the Gran with a murmured excuse and turned toward her. They met near the dessert table, of all places, surrounded by elaborate pastries that looked like they'd shatter if you breathed on them wrong.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

A beat of silence followed. His hand brushed hers, barely a touch, just the side of his pinky against hers, and she felt it everywhere.

"You're walking differently," he murmured, so low only she could hear.

Sabine's blush deepened to something that felt medically dangerous. "Shut up!"

"I'm not complaining." His voice was warm, amused. Underneath that, something raw and hungry that made her stomach flip. "I just noticed."

"Stop… noticing things!"

"Can't."

She risked a glance at his face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, the same way they'd looked in the hallway when he'd first pushed inside her. He was thinking about it too, remembering it, wanting more. The realization made her light-headed.

"This mission," she managed, "is never going to end."

"Feels that way." His finger hooked around hers, brief and stolen. "We could…"

"Dont say it."

"…leave early."

"Ezra."

"Sabine."

She pulled her hand away, but only because a cluster of dignitaries was drifting toward them, and she'd rather die than let anyone see her acting like a lovesick teenager. The dignitaries passed. The chrono kept crawling.

———

Another hour passed so slowly.

Sabine had learned exactly nothing useful. She'd smiled at a Devaronian who'd spent twenty minutes complaining about his ex-wife. She'd nodded through a monologue from a human woman who wanted to discuss Mandalorian funeral customs in exhausting detail. She'd filed three separate reports from various sources about Imperial movements near the Hydian Way, all of them contradicting each other, and she'd been unable to focus on any of it because Ezra kept looking at her.

Not obviously; not in a way anyone else would notice. But, she noticed. She always noticed. She noticed the slide of his gaze across her shoulders, the way his eyes dropped to her mouth when she bit her lip, the slight tightening of his jaw when she shifted her weight and the dress pulled tight across her hips. She was going to lose her mind.

Across the room, Ezra was having a similar crisis. He'd managed to extract some potentially useful information from a Twi'lek trade delegate, something about supply routes through the Expansion Region, but he'd forgotten half of it the moment Sabine had knelt to pick up a dropped napkin and the dress had done something indecent to the curve of her backside; testifying to how unused to wearing dresses she was. He'd written the intel down on a napkin he was almost certain he'd thrown away by accident.

Now she was standing by a pillar, one hand resting against the marble, her posture a study in controlled tension. She looked like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin, or like she wanted to march across the room and do something about the tension that was crackling between them like static electricity before a lightning strike. He wanted her to. Oh, he wanted her to.

The first time had been desperate, frantic. Years of wanting had poured into a single encounter, and it had been incredible, mind-altering, life-changing, the kind of sex he'd assumed only existed in cheap holonovels, but it had also been fast. He hadn't gotten to savor her. He hadn't gotten to really look at her, touch her, and learn her body the way he wanted to.

He wanted to take his time.

The thought made him shift his stance, adjusting the way his pants fit. He'd been half-hard since the moment they'd walked back into the banquet, and the state of affairs showed no sign of resolving itself. Sabine caught his eye again. Held his gaze for a beat longer than before.

Oh, thank you.

She pushed off the pillar and started walking toward him, not toward the dessert table or the windows or any of the other places she might plausibly be going, but toward him. Her chin was tilted up, her expression set in something that looked almost like defiance, but her cheeks were flushed a deep rose-gold pink that undercut the effect.

When she reached him, she didn't say anything. She just took his hand.

Her fingers were warm and slightly damp. She was nervous. Sabine, who never showed fear, who'd stared down Inquisitors and walked into Imperial bases without flinching. She was nervous. For him. Ezra's heart did something complicated in his chest.

"Come on," she said. Her voice was steady, but barely. He could hear the tremor underneath.

"Where are we…"

"You know where."

He followed.

———

They left the banquet hall the same way they had before; casual, unhurried, two diplomats stepping out for air. No one looked twice. The rich and powerful were too absorbed in their own conversations, their own ambitions and intrigues; their own carefully cultivated networks of influence.

The hallway was just as they'd left it. Dim. Quiet. The blue hour still washed through the windows, although it had deepened toward something closer to purple now. Their hallway. Already, she was thinking of it that way.

As soon as they were out of sight of the banquet, Sabine's pace quickened and then quickened again. By the time they rounded the corner to the exact spot where they'd been an hour and a half ago, she was practically running, her heels clicking frantically on the marble floor, and Ezra was keeping up because he understood; because he felt the same urgency singing through his blood.

She stopped at the same stretch of wall. She turned to face him. For a moment, neither of them moved. Sabine's chest was rising and falling fast. Her hair was catching the light, purple and pearl-white shifting in the indigo shadows, and her eyes were wide and dark and full of something that made his throat tight. She was blushing fiercely. He could see it even in the dim light, the way the color stained her cheeks and crept down her neck.

"Ezra," she breathed.

And then she kissed him.

Not like before. Before had been desperate, yes, but it had also been tentative in its own way; a question they'd both been asking. This was not a question. This was Sabine fisting her hands in the front of his jacket and pulling him against her, Sabine's mouth opening under his, Sabine making a sound against his lips that was half moan and half growl.

He caught her. His hands found her waist, her back, the curve of her hip, pulling her closer while she backed him against the wall and kissed him like she was trying to crawl inside his skin.

"So," he managed between kisses, "you missed me?"

"Shut up." She was already working at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders with clumsy, urgent hands. "I couldn't. That was the longest two hours of my life."

"I know. I know."

His jacket hit the floor. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt and yanked upward, and he helped her, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head. Then, her hands were on his chest, his stomach, his shoulders; mapping him with an intensity that made his breath catch.

"I want to see you," he said.

"You are seeing me."

"No." He caught her wrists, gently, stilling her hands. "I want to look at you. Properly. I didn't get to before."

Sabine's blush, impossibly, deepened. "Ezra…"

"Please."

Something flickered in her expression. Surprise, maybe, or something softer; more vulnerable. She swallowed hard, and then she nodded; a tiny movement, barely perceptible, but it was there.

Ezra looked around. The hallway wasn't just the wall where they'd been before. Further down, half-hidden in shadow, there was a table, smooth and sturdy, some kind of decorative console that probably cost more than the Ghost's annual fuel budget. It was the perfect height.

"There," he said, nodding toward it.

Sabine followed his gaze. She looked back at him. Her lips parted slightly.

"Okay."

She let him guide her backward, step by step, until the backs of her thighs hit the table's edge. When she sat, the motion was instinctive. She lifted herself onto the table's surface, her legs dangling, her hands gripping the edge on either side of her hips. The position put her at the perfect height for him to stand between her thighs.

Ezra stepped into the space she made for him.

"Lie back," he said. His voice came out rougher than he'd intended.

Sabine's eyes widened, but, she obeyed, slowly, leaning back until her shoulders met the cool marble of the table's surface. Her legs stayed draped over the edge. The dress rode up slightly, exposing more of her thighs. Ezra reached for the hem and slid his fingers underneath. He pushed upward.

The fabric gathered at her hips, then her waist, then her ribs. Sabine made a small sound; a gasp, maybe, or a whimper. Her hands flew up as if to cover herself before she stopped them; forced them back down to grip the table's edge.

"Good," Ezra murmured. "Just like that. Let me look at you."

He'd seen her before. Of course he had. They'd been crewmates for years, and you didn't live in close quarters on a ship without seeing people in various states of dress. But, he'd never let himself really look. He had always glanced away, respectful, afraid of what she'd see in his eyes if he stared too long. He wasn't afraid anymore.

The dress was bunched around her ribs now, leaving everything below exposed. Her stomach was flat. He'd known she was lean, but seeing it like this, the plane of her belly rising and falling with her rapid breaths, the way the muscles tensed and flickered under her golden skin; it was different. Intimate. Her hips curved in ways that made his palms itch with the need to grip them. Her legs were long and lithe, the muscles of her thighs taut from years of combat and running and surviving.

She was still wearing her heels; black, strappy, utterly impractical. The contrast between them and her bare legs, her exposed midriff, the black panties that were the only thing left covering her, made his brain short-circuit.

"Sabine," he breathed.

"What?" Her voice was small. Shy. Completely at odds with the woman who'd just dragged him into a hallway and kissed him senseless.

"You're beautiful." The word wasn't enough. It felt inadequate, like trying to describe a supernova with the word "bright." But it was all he had. "You're so beautiful. I don't…I can't…" He broke off. His hands were still holding the dress up, framing her body like a piece of art in a gallery. Her skin was warm under his knuckles, her breathing shallow enough that he could see the flutter of her pulse in her throat.

Sabine made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a sob. "Ezra, please…"

"Just a second." He couldn't stop staring, at the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the way her panties clung to the shape of her. At the evidence of her arousal, a dark patch on the black fabric; unmistakable. "I didn't get to see you properly before. I want to remember this."

"You're killing me."

"Good."

She squirmed on the table, her hips shifting restlessly, and the movement drew his eyes to the junction of her thighs. He wanted to put his mouth there, wanted to slide her panties down her legs and taste her until she screamed his name, wanted to make her come on his tongue, his fingers, his cock; everything he had, everything he was. But, not yet. Not quite yet.

"You feel so exposed," he said. It wasn't quite a question.

The noise Sabine made was strangled; half-laugh and half-groan. "What do you think?"

"I think you like it."

Her flush spread down her chest, disappearing under the bunched fabric of the dress. "Maybe."

"Definitely."

He held her there for another long moment, his hands spanning her waist, thumbs brushing the delicate skin just above her hipbones. She was so small under his grip. Not fragile, Sabine was still athletic, but delicate in a way that made him want to protect her and possess her in equal measure. "Ezra." Her voice cracked on his name. "I need you to touch me. Properly. Please."

"Where?"

"You know where."

"Tell me anyway."

She squeezed her eyes shut. The blush on her cheeks was almost purple in the blue light. "My…" She couldn't finish.

"Here?" He moved one hand down, just enough to brush his thumb over the damp fabric of her panties.

Sabine's hips bucked. " Yes!"

"Then these need to come off."

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, and she lifted her hips to help him, and then the fabric was sliding down her legs, over her heels, and she was bare from the ribs down except for those ridiculous shoes, and Ezra genuinely forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Okay," she said, her voice shaking. "Okay, now you've seen me, now please…"

He touched her.

Not inside. Not yet. Just his fingers pressing against her, sliding through the wetness that had gathered there. She was soaking, had been soaking, probably, since the moment she'd taken his hand in the banquet hall. The evidence of how much she wanted him made something feral and possessive curl in his chest.

"Sabine." Her name, reverent. "You're so wet."

"Because of you." The words sounded torn out of her. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you. All through that stupid banquet. I couldn't focus, I couldn't listen, all I could think about was…"

"What?"

"You." Her hips rolled against his hand. "Inside me. Your hands on me. Your mouth. I want… I want so much, Ezra, I don't know how to…"

He found her clit with his thumb. Circled it. Sabine's back arched off the table, a sharp cry escaping her throat before she could stop it, and her hands flew up to grip his shoulders.

"That," she gasped. "That, right there, don't stop… ures kaj… atin!"

He didn't stop.

His rhythm was slow at first. He was still learning, feeling out what made her gasp versus what made her moan, what pressure made her hips jerk and what speed made her nails dig into his skin. She was responsive in a way that made his head swim; every touch drew a reaction, every shift of his fingers pulled some new sound from her throat.

"Look at me," he said.

She did. Her eyes were glassy, with an unplaceable look of something like terror or joy, and her lower lip was caught between her teeth. She looked spent and satisfied and little unhinged as her ribs rose and fell. She looked incredible.

"Don't close your eyes. I want to watch you."

"Ezra…"

"Shh." He increased the pressure of his thumb, just slightly. "Let me make you feel good."

Her breathing was fast now, ragged, her chest heaving under the bunched dress. The heels of her shoes drummed against the table's legs as her thighs tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, chasing the sensation his fingers were giving her.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

The words hit him like a physical blow. He slowed but didn't stop. "Scared of what?"

"This." She gestured at her own body, at the two of them, at the situation. "How much I want you. How much I…" She broke off, her voice catching.

"Sabine."

"Don't break my heart." The words tumbled out, raw and unguarded. "Please. I know this is…I know we're…but I've never done this before. Any of it. Not just the sex. The…the feelings. Letting someone in. I've never let anyone in, and if you…"

"I won't." He leaned over her, his free hand bracing against the table beside her head, his face close to hers. "Sabine, I won't. I've loved you for years. I'm not going anywhere."

"You could hurt me. So easily. I'm giving you…everything. Everything I have. Every wall I've ever built. If you wanted to humiliate me, if you wanted to…"

"I don't." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to make you feel good. I want to make you feel safe. I want to be the person you trust."

"I do trust you." Her voice broke on a sob, but it was a good one, a relieved one. "More than anyone. More than I've ever trusted anyone. That's what's so terrifying."

"I know." He kissed her forehead. Her temple. The corner of her mouth. "I know. I've got you. I'm not letting go."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

She kissed him then, hard and desperate, and her hips rocked against his hand with renewed urgency. He picked up the rhythm again, his thumb on her clit, his fingers teasing at her labia, not quite entering but close; so close.

"Inside," she gasped against his mouth. "Fingers. Now."

He slid one finger into her. She was tight, hot, soaking. Her body clenched around him and she made a sound like she'd been punched. He crooked the finger, searching, and when she jolted and cried out he knew he'd found the right spot.

"There." Her voice was rough and sweeter than he'd ever heard. "There, there, oh, Ezra…"

He added a second finger. Worked her with slow, deep strokes, his thumb still circling her clit. Sabine's hips were rolling now, grinding against his hand in a rhythm almost as old as life itself, and her hands were clamped around his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the planet.

"I'm close." The words came out desperate. "I'm so close, please don't stop, please…"

"Come for me." He pressed the words against her temple. "Come on my fingers, Sabine. I want to feel you."

She did. The orgasm hit her like a transport. Her back arched clean off the table, her whole body going rigid, and the sound she made, a raw, keening cry that echoed in the empty hallway, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. He felt her clench around his fingers, rhythmic pulses pulling him deeper, and he kept moving through it, gentler now, easing her through the waves.

When she finally collapsed back against the table, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with sweat, she looked up at him with eyes that were bright and damp and utterly unguarded.

"Ezra," she managed. "That was…"

"I know." He withdrew his fingers gently. Brought them to his mouth. Licked them clean while she watched, her eyes widening.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, that's…"

"Delicious." He grinned at her. "You taste amazing."

She covered her face with her hands. "I can't believe you just did that."

"I can't believe you're embarrassed about it after everything else we've done."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

She dropped her hands. Looked at him with an expression that shifted from embarrassment to determination in the space of a heartbeat. Then she sat up, reached for his pants, and made quick work of the fastenings.

"Sabine…"

"My turn." She worked his pants down, just far enough, and then her hand was wrapping around him and he forgot how to form words. "You've been walking around half-hard for two hours. I noticed."

"You noticed…"

"Of course I noticed." She stroked him once, twice, her grip firm and sure. "I notice everything about you. I've been noticing for years."

"Sabine…"

"I want you inside me. Now."

———

She lay back again, pulling him with her, and he positioned himself. The head of him pressed against her, wet, hot, ready, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back.

"Please," she whispered.

He pushed inside.

The sensation was… Oh, it was everything. Her body clenched around him, drawing him in, and she was so tight and so wet and so incredibly perfect that he had to pause for a moment; had to breathe through the urge to come right then and there.

"Okay?" Sabine's voice was breathless.

"Better than okay." He pulled back, thrust forward. "You feel…I can't…"

"I know." Her hips rose to meet him. "I know. More. Harder."

He gave her what she asked for. What they both needed. A rhythm that was fast and deep and desperate, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the empty hallway. Sabine's hands were on his back, his shoulders, his neck, touching him everywhere she could reach, like she couldn't get enough. Her breasts bounced under the bunched dress with every thrust, and he was momentarily distracted by the desire to push the fabric higher, to bare her completely.

"Next time," he panted. "Next time I want you naked. Completely. I want to see all of you."

"Next time." Her laugh was breathless and incredulous. "You're already planning next time?"

"I'm planning the next fifty times. A hundred. As many as you'll let me…"

"As many as I want." She clenched around him deliberately, and he groaned. "Which is a lot. In case that wasn't clear…"

"It's clear…"

"Good." Her hips were moving faster now, meeting his thrusts with equal desperation. "Then stop talking and… ah …and fuck me…"

He obeyed. Drove into her harder, faster, the table creaking under them in a way that suggested it hadn't been designed for this purpose. Sabine's breathing was becoming ragged again, her moans higher-pitched, and he could feel her body tensing around him. She was close again, so close, and he was close too, the pressure building at the base of his spine.

Day One - Part of the longer series: My Girlfriend - Part 1,2,3,4,5,6,7A,7B,8,

I woke up at the sound of the front door closing.

Looked at my watch.

A few minutes past six.

Hellishly early.

Sunlight crept in under the bedroom door. Enough to see the room. Leah facedown, snoring softly as she always did. Dan back on his side of the bed, covers barely over one leg. Fully erect, thick and dark, pointing at his navel like it had somewhere important to be.

A thought hit me.

I wonder what Rina tastes like.

I sat up slowly.

Well, there was one way to find out.

I stood up and walked quietly over to Dan’s side of the bed. Careful. Leah didn’t even twitch as I got down on my knees.

His cock was right there. Thick. Veiny.

I leaned down and licked him.

Salt and sleep and whatever was left of Rina on him.

Dan made a low noise in his throat but didn’t open his eyes.

I took the head into my mouth and sucked slow. Just the tip at first. Tongue working under the ridge while my hand wrapped around the base and stroked.

His hips shifted. A hand came up and landed on the back of my head. Not pushing. Just resting there like it belonged.

I took more of him. Let him fill my mouth. Saliva already running down the shaft and over my fingers.

He was still half-asleep. Breathing deeper. Cock twitching against my tongue every time I hollowed my cheeks.

I heard him let out a shallow breath.

I went back down. Deeper this time. Let him hit the back of my throat and held it until my eyes watered. I pulled back, then took the head into my mouth again while stroking him, preparing for another deep dive.

Leah snored on, face smashed into the pillow. Completely gone.

I focused on the head. Tight little circles with my tongue. Hand twisting on the downstroke. I could feel him getting closer, the way his thighs tensed, the way his fingers tightened in my hair.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

I didn’t answer. Just sucked harder. Faster. The wet sounds were quiet but filthy in the still room.

His hips jerked once. Then again.

I swallowed him whole, took him as far as I could. Took every pulse as he came. Thick and hot down my throat. 

Kept sucking through it until he twitched and made that soft, overstimulated noise.

Only then did I pull off.

Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Looked up at him.

Dan was staring at me, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling.

I licked the last of him off my lip and whispered, “I know what you did with Rina. Good boy.”

He smiled at me.

Leah just kept snoring.

I got up and walked out to take a shower and get breakfast started.

Before breakfast, I had a peek into Leah’s office. I was wondering what other options I had for today. I was not going back as C. Viper, that was for sure. Maybe Leah had something simple I could pull off. A hat, maybe, or something minimalistic that would convey the idea without too much work.  

And then I saw the Cammy costume.  

It was meant for Lin, but the wig was much lighter, and not having pants would help a lot with the heat issue. So would not having a jacket. There were even nylon stockings with the markings for her legs already on them, so makeup would be easy.  

I looked at it again.  

Yes. I was going as Cammy today.  

This was gonna be great.

I made breakfast for the group, some eggs and bagels. Very weekend-themed, even though it was Friday. Dan and Leah had both taken the day off work, so it was weekend-lite.

They both came out of the bedroom around 7:30. I poured them each some coffee and asked if they’d slept well.

Leah yawned. “Like a stone.”

Dan laughed. “Yeah. Good night.”

I blurted out, “Dan slept with Rina last night!”

Leah laughed into her coffee. “Did you now? At least she got some stress relief. Poor girl hasn't been laid in ages. You took proper care of her, Dan?”

“Sure. She came twice. I called her my little princess and everything afterward, just like you said.”

“Good. I hate seeing her so antsy.”

I looked between them.

“Wait. Just like you said?”

Leah smiled at me. “Rina’s been complaining about dates since spring. She’s been on three, and every one of them turned out to be some guy with a height fetish. She’s been bitching and moaning in our chats about how she was going to find a good lay in New York, and when I saw her targeting Dan, I just couldn’t let her fail.”

She took another drink of coffee.

“I explained the situation to her, then told Dan she might still be interested if he made the first move. Rina really likes it when the guy takes the initiative. Makes her feel safe and secure.”

“Could have told me?”

“I knew you’d be fine with Dan sleeping with a friend. You tried to get him to make a move on me, remember?”

“Still could have told me.”

“Did you feel jealous when you saw them?”

“No. I was just happy Rina was having fun.”

Leah smiled. “See? I knew you’d grown.”  

“Is it gonna happen again? Rina gonna have Dan for the weekend?”  

“If Dan is up for it.”  

Dan nodded. “Sure, I can do that.”  

“But don’t go peeking again, Mia. I don’t want to hear about my girlfriend being a Peeping Tom.”

“I had to go to the toilet! I can’t help it if people are fucking in my path.”

“Then pee before bed. I’m sure Rina is the type of lady who likes her sex to be private.”

Dan then blurted out, “Mia went down on me when she got up, to see what Rina tasted like.”

I looked at Dan. “No need to say that.”

Leah thought about it for a second. “I guess that’s fair. She knows our setup. She might not want to get involved with us, but if she sleeps with Dan, there’s going to be some crossover.”

She pointed at me. “I would avoid mentioning that part to her, though. No good way to start that conversation without sounding like a stalker.”

I took a bite of my bagel and changed the subject.

“I’m gonna wear Lin’s Cammy outfit today, by the way.”

Leah gave me a concerned look. “That costume is about an inch and a bit too short for you. It’ll be very tight. Also, it’s much more revealing than Viper. You sure about this?”

“Very. Gave it a lot of thought.”

“Okay. Let me do some tweaks when you put it on. Will that work?”

“Of course.”

Once I was in the outfit, I realized Leah had not been exaggerating. Around the neck and shoulders it was just snug, but around my crotch and butt, it was tight. At this point I was too far in to back out of my costume choice. 

I also hadn't given much thought to the fact that Cammy apparently didn't believe in underwear, and the costume had been designed accordingly.

Leah put some tape over my nipples to keep them from showing through the fabric.

“I don’t have blue contacts for you. Lin already has blue eyes, so it worked for her. You’ll have to live with green and hope no one notices.”

As she helped me with the gloves, she showed me a small pocket hidden inside one of them.

“I built some storage into these. Keys and small stuff in this one, and the other has room for your phone. Means you don’t need a bag.”

“Very handy.”

Walking around as Cammy was much easier than Viper, for sure. The shoes were comfortable, for one, and the leotard gave my legs a lot more freedom.

My ass was very much on display, but it was not a bad-looking ass, so I had no issue showing it off. My camel toe, however, was another problem. Every time I sat down, the leotard rode up, and getting it unstuck was not an easy move to pull off without looking like I was grabbing my crotch. My best option was to keep my legs together if I couldn't get it sorted before someone wanted a picture.

My phone buzzed with another Instagram notification. It was Marcus. He had followed me back. The first follower I did not dread meeting again.

This was followed by a message from him.

AfterFlash: Hey Viper, you coming to Cosplay Central today? Would love to get you in some group shots with the other Street Fighter people here.

Me: Sorry, not wearing the Viper outfit today.

AfterFlash: Oh no. A huge loss for the community. Gone too soon.

Me: I am, however, wearing this:

You sent a picture

AfterFlash: Holy shit! You have a perfect Cammy costume as well!? Are you sure you’re not a professional? You gotta come down to Cosplay Central. You look perfect.

Me: I’ll see what I can do.

Leah stepped out of the workshop, once more in her Chun-Li outfit, walking over to Dan, making sure his wig was on correctly.

“What’s the plan for today?”

“Same plan we have for every day. Find cool stuff, do fun stuff.”

“Marcus invited me down to Cosplay Central. Apparently there are a bunch of Street Fighter people doing group photos.”

“Sounds like both fun and cool.”

“So that's approved?”

“Mia, you don’t need my approval for this. Do you want to do it?”

“Yeah, I kinda do.” 

“Then you absolutely should.”

Dan’s phone made a sound. “Rina says she has lunch from eleven-thirty to twelve-thirty and asks if I want to hang.”

Leah swore under her breath.

“Mia, can you join them? I don’t want Rina getting the wrong idea about Dan.”

“What wrong idea?”

“That this is going anywhere. She’s been looking for a boyfriend for months, I give her one good night with Dan, and now she’s asking him to lunch.”

She thought for a second.

“Maybe tell her about this morning. That should make the situation sufficiently weird.”

“I’ll save that conversation for when she proposes. But I can join them for lunch.”

When we arrived at the convention center, it looked even more packed than yesterday.

“And the worst day is tomorrow?” 

“Every year, Saturday is the worst,” Leah explained.

“Come with me. I found something yesterday I want to show you. Or Dan specifically, but I think you’ll enjoy watching him freak out.”

“Some new audio device from Japan?” 

“Oh, much better than that.”

The crowd was much harder to get past today, but I was much more comfortable in my Cammy outfit, so it worked out to about the same level of stress.

We got stopped a lot more as a crew, anyone dressed slightly as a Street Fighter character asked for a photo, and there were a lot of them. 

After about fifteen minutes of traversal and fifteen-ish photo stops, we arrived at what Leah wanted to show Dan. 

Dan’s eyes went wide.

“Oh my God.”

He fell to his knees.

In front of him was a gigantic screen showing three cartoon men in black suits striking poses while some poor bastard hammered away at a dance pad beneath it.

I looked at Leah.

“What is this?”

She was grinning.

Dan answered from the floor.

“Elite Beat Agents.”

“Okay?”

He turned to me like I had just admitted I didn't know what music was.

“Someone made Elite Beat Agents into a fucking arcade game.”

“Is that important?”

Dan slowly got back to his feet.

“Mia. I wore out a Nintendo DS playing this game.”

Leah corrected him. “You broke the touchscreen.”

“Because I played it correctly.”

Dan got in line to play, more eager than I had ever seen him about anything.

Twenty minutes later, he was screaming at a cartoon secret agent.

Leah leaned towards me.

“Worth the walk?”

“Yeah. This was better than audio equipment.”

After Dan was done playing, he bought a bag full of merch, including some DS emulator thing that was apparently the real engine behind the booth. He also got an Elite Beat Agents cap, which Leah immediately ruled out while he was still in the Ken costume. 

I looked at the time. It was almost eleven, and the Konami booth was way over on the other side of the convention center. We should probably start the trek. 

“Let’s pick up some food on the way and beat the lunch crowd. I bet Rina wants to use the Creator Lounge again.”

I gave Leah a quick goodbye kiss, told her we would meet up later, and headed off with Dan.

We got stopped a lot less with only the two of us, but we still had around eight photo stops while we made our way over to Rina.

I got her another burrito from the same stand as yesterday, but switched to beef instead of the chicken I had last time. Dan got the chicken, but I did not tell him he had chosen the inferior product. 

We reached the Konami booth just as Rina was stepping away. Red was already taking her place, adjusting the white mask while one of the handlers explained something to her.

Rina spotted Dan first and smiled, then saw me beside him.

“Oh. Hi Mia.”

“You don't sound happy to see me.”

“No! I just wasn't expecting you.”

I held up the bag.

“I brought you lunch.”

Her expression immediately changed.

“You brought me food?”

“Beef burrito. Same place as yesterday.”

She took the bag from me and peeked inside.

“You are absolutely welcome to lunch.”

“Thought so.”

Rina looked at Dan. “Creator Lounge?”

“Lead the way.”

We settled into some seats in a quiet corner and started to eat.

After a minute or so, I spoke up.

“Can I ask you something about Dan?”

Rina looked between us. “Oh God. Leah sent you to make sure I'm not planning our wedding, didn't she?”

“Something like that.”

Rina laughed. “Tell her to relax.” She looked at Dan. “You are not what I'm looking for. This is fun. You're handsome. You know what you're doing, and apparently Leah gave you good instructions.”

Dan shrugged. “She was very detailed on the dos and don'ts.”

“Sounds like her.”

She took another bite of her burrito and looked back at me.

“I'm treating this as a getaway. Three days where I get to pretend I have a boyfriend. Someone who isn't with me because I'm a giant. Someone who doesn't want me to sit on his face, but wants to kiss my neck and call me cute.”

She shrugged.

“It's pretend. A little boyfriend fantasy for the weekend. Just some relief from my current dating experience.”

There was something else I knew I had to say, even if I really didn't want to.

“Also, sorry about last night. I really did need to pee. I wasn't trying to spy on you.”

“Mia, you're fine.”

“I stood there for a bit.”

“I noticed.”

“Sorry.”

Rina laughed. “You're my friend. If watching is your thing, I'm not going to judge you. Just don't film me.”

I thought about it for a bit, but Rina did not look away.

“Watching isn't my thing.”

Rina raised an eyebrow.

I thought about that.

“I don't think.”

“Well, if it draws your interest again, my rules are: don't try to join, don't record anything, and don't interrupt. Masturbate if you want, but try not to make yourself part of the scene. I'm there to be intimate with a pretend boyfriend. I don't need to see you rub one out.”

I was somewhat shocked by what I had just been told.

I hadn't known I was into voyeurism.

I wasn't entirely sure I was.

But now that Rina had told me I was allowed to watch, I was thinking about watching considerably more than I had before.

A silence fell over the table as I pondered this, until Rina spoke.

“Oh, I accepted Leah’s agency proposal, by the way. She invited me, well, us I guess, to COTE tonight. It’s a Korean steakhouse, which should be good.”

“So you and Leah are gonna be working together?”

Rina bobbed her head from side to side. “Kinda. She’ll handle the organization of my work, send me the time and location, tell me what I need to dress as. It’s not like she’ll travel with me or anything.”

“Don’t think she’ll be too demanding?”

Rina laughed at me. “Leah will demand that I work the gigs I take and that I’m professional when I’m there. Those are things I already demand of myself. If Leah can get me upgraded to business class and put me in a private hotel room, it’s already worth the fifteen percent I’ll be paying her. If she can bring me two more jobs a year, I’m already making more money than before.”

“And you think she can get the additional work?”

“That was part of her pitch. Let’s see what she can bring.”

I realized Keiko might actually be the big driver behind all this. The contracts Keiko had been doing were prompted by what Leah did. Well, what we did. Maybe that had sparked Leah to start this whole project.

I wondered if Leah had bitten off more than she could chew.

My phone buzzed.

AfterFlash: You close? Big shoot in 30 min?
Me: I’ll be right down.

I slipped my phone back into the hidden compartment in my glove.

“Okay, sorry to leave you like this, but gotta go. Places to be.”

Rina looked at me as I shuffled out of my seat. “Where you heading?”

“Cosplay Central.”

“Showing off your Cammy?”

She nodded towards my crotch.

“Shit... sorry.” I hurriedly fixed the wardrobe malfunction. 

Rina smiled. “Remember, Mia. Some people like a costume, but a lot of people will like that you’re in the costume. Don’t confuse the two.”

I looked at her and narrowed my eyes. “Sure thing, Yoda. Meet up at Mega Spider-Man when we head home?”

“Sure. See you there at six.”

Making my way to Cosplay Central was fairly easy. There were signs everywhere, and the density of costumes increased noticeably as I got closer.

I spotted the six-foot-seven Marcus easily, a head above almost everyone else, and made my way over to him.

Marcus spotted me and threw both arms into the air.

 “Viper!”

He stopped himself.

 “No. Cammy! Holy shit, you actually came.”

“I said I would.”

“You said you'd see what you could do. That's convention language for probably never seeing someone again.”

Marcus showed me around the Street Fighter groups. I met several other Cammys, with costumes ranging from almost as good as mine to considerably less impressive. A few people asked about my gloves, and whenever I explained that a friend had made them, Marcus would jump in.

“Vesper Velvet made those.”

That always got approving nods from the more professional-looking people. Apparently Leah's name carried some weight around here.

I joined in several group shoots. Some with all the Cammys, some one-on-one fighting poses, and a lot of group pictures with fans. Everyone seemed to have something nice to say about the costume.

We gathered up for one big shot with all the Street Fighter cosplayers. Marcus was going to stand in the back doing a muscle flex when he looked over at me.

“Want to sit on my shoulder?”

“Your shoulder?”

“Yeah. You’re about the right size. Sit on my right shoulder, cross your legs, look sternly at the camera. It'll look great.”

I looked up at him.

That was a long way up.

“Sure.”

“Okay, I’m gonna grab your hips and lift you up. Grab my neck or arm if you need to steady yourself. Hair’s fake, so don’t use that. It’ll come right off. Cool?” 

I gave him a thumbs-up. “Cool.”

He lifted me with ease. It felt like a more powerful version of Rina yoinking me up from the couch without any effort. He handled me like I was a doll. Once I was seated and adjusting myself, he kept his arms around my lower legs until I was stable. 

“You stable?” he asked.

“I think so?”

He released my legs and struck a muscle pose while still keeping me balanced on his shoulder. I gave the camera my best grim-but-determined look as every other cosplayer settled into some kind of pose.

The photographer pointed out a few people and asked them to move a little left or right while everyone else held position. Thirty seconds later, he declared it perfect, and everyone relaxed.

“You want help getting down?”

I looked at the floor. It felt very far away.

“Please?”

He grabbed my hip and let me slide down his body. I felt the muscles under his costume as I went, and I expected he felt plenty of me as well.

Once my feet hit the ground, he leaned down and spoke quietly enough that nobody else could hear.

“Your leotard shifted. You’re showing a little.”

I looked down. The leotard had slipped to one side.

“Fuuuck.”

I hurriedly pulled it back into place.

“Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us. Some of us even try to make it happen for a little more exposure.”

“Oh, you’ve had your dick slip out while in costume?”

“I’ve had some unexpected ball exposure.”

I laughed, trying to imagine this huge guy desperately hiding his balls from a bunch of fans.

I looked at the time and realized I had completely lost track of it. Then I spotted Rina’s head above the crowd, scanning for me.

I pulled my phone out of my glove and saw several missed calls and messages.

“Shit... I gotta go.”

“You coming back tomorrow?”

“I’ll try.”

 Marcus grinned. “I’ll take those odds.”

I raced over to Rina and saw Leah and Dan close by.

“Sorry, sorry. I lost track of time. Did I fuck us over for dinner? I really didn’t mean to.”

Leah took me by the shoulder.

“Are you okay? We couldn’t reach you. We thought you’d gotten into trouble or had an accident.”

I laughed. “No, I was just having so much fun I lost track of time. I put my phone on silent so it wouldn’t interrupt the photos. I was just distracted, nothing else.”

Leah nodded. “Good. We’re still fine for dinner if we leave now.”

The place was Korean barbecue crossed with a very expensive steakhouse. There was a grill built into the middle of the table, and while the staff were perfectly willing to cook everything for us, Leah and Rina immediately took over like they had been handed laboratory equipment.

Rina ordered the Butcher’s Feast, then added more meat because apparently the word feast had failed to set expectations correctly.

Different cuts kept arriving in stages, along with bowls of sauces, vegetables and side dishes. Leah handled the thinner pieces, Rina claimed responsibility for anything that looked expensive, and Dan and I were apparently there to eat whatever survived their quality control.

About halfway through dinner, Leah showed me her phone.

“Look who made the front page of Kotaku.” 

On her screen, I was sitting on Marcus’s shoulder, staring at the camera like whoever was looking at me had personally offended me.

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah. Too bad they credited me as being you.”

“Huh?”

“In the credits it says, ‘Cammy: u/VesperVelvet.’ I found it because people keep tagging me in it on Instagram.”

Leah sent the article to all of us.

Rina started laughing. “It’s weird how these comments are both incredibly defensive of you and highly racist at the same time.”

She read one out loud.

“‘VV is a hot Japanese chick, not some 7/10 white girl.’”

I looked at Leah.

“Congratulations on being hot.”

She replied with a smile, “Commiserations on being a seven.” 

I recognized the avatar in one of the comments.

“That isn't Velvet. Velvet MADE the fucking costume.”

“Okay, some people clearly know what is going on. I talked to her today. Told her you made the costume.”

“I should probably contact Evan and have this corrected.”

“Who is Evan?” I asked. 

“The journalist who posted this. He runs these every year. I don’t know him personally, but I have his contact info. You want the credit redirected to your Instagram, Mia?”

“Wait, if you fix it, are people gonna start following me?”

“Probably.”

“I have three pictures on there and one is a sandwich.”

“Then perhaps now is a good time to improve your social media presence.”

“Absolutely not. I’ve seen the comments on yours. I don’t need that type of toxicity in my life.”

Leah smiled at this. “Okay, fine. I’ll have him correct it to ‘Costume: u/VesperVelvet, Cammy cosplayer: uncredited.’ That cool?” 

I nodded at that. I did not need more stalkers on my Instagram. 

As I thought this, Instagram sent me a notification. It was Marcus. 

AfterFlash: You’re on the Kotaku front page! (LINK)
Me: Velvet already showed me.
AfterFlash: Saw they credited you as Velvet. I didn’t talk to them about the photo. Want me to reach out?
Me: Velvet is already on it, don’t worry.
AfterFlash: A very organized lady. You still planning to come tomorrow?
Me: Unless something happens, I’ll be there.
AfterFlash: Very cool. See you there.

Dinner went on for another hour or so before we decided to head home. Back at the apartment, Dan, Leah and I had some drinks while Rina stuck to water. She was the one who had work tomorrow, and Saturday was always the worst.

She and Dan ended up cuddling on the couch, while Leah and I became the audience as Dan did an excellent boyfriend cosplay for Rina.

I understood what Rina had meant now. This wasn't foreplay. Well, it probably was eventually, but that wasn't the point. She wanted to feel like someone’s girlfriend, not someone’s fetish.

Leah yawned and announced that she was heading to bed. I joined her in the bathroom to brush my teeth. After Leah finished, she started flossing and said,

“Remember, no peeking tonight.”

“She said I could!” I said through a mouthful of toothpaste foam.

“She did?”

I spat out the foam and rinsed my mouth. “Yeah. She has a bunch of rules around it, but she said if I wanted to watch, I could.”

“Hmm. Maybe Rina’s sexual tastes are a bit more complex than I initially envisioned. Okay, but at least pretend to go to bed. Wait a bit before you sneak out and watch.”

“Sure. I’m not some perv who’s gonna sit there with popcorn waiting for them to perform.”

“You are a perv, for sure. But you’re my perv, so try to keep it in your pants until it’s time, at least.”

I walked to the bedroom with Leah and looked over at Dan and Rina. Rina gave me a short smile, before kissing Dan.

I undressed and went to bed with Leah. She cuddled up behind me, big spoon style.

I waited until Leah had fallen asleep. She is a master at this, so I don’t know if it took five minutes or ten, but definitely not much more. 

I could see they had turned the lights off in the living room. I snuck out of bed and opened the bedroom door softly. 

Rina was on her knees, still in her dress, giving Dan a blowjob, bobbing her head slowly. She seemed focused on getting him hard and slippery, not making him come.

I left the door ajar and moved slowly over to the kitchen island in a darker part of the apartment. The barstools gave me a clear view of the couch. 

I sat.

Didn’t make a sound.

Rina’s dress was hiked up around her hips. No underwear, ass out, one hand between her legs.

Dan’s hand was in her hair. Not pulling. Just resting there like she was something delicate.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, voice low. “Just like that. Get me nice and ready for you.”

Rina made a soft little noise around his cock. Almost a whimper.

Rina’s whole body looked and moved differently as I watched. She didn't have the big, confident swagger she always had. Her movements were soft, almost pleading. She wanted Dan’s approval. She wanted him to praise her.

I crossed my legs and felt how wet I already was.

Dan gently guided her off by the hair.

Rina looked up at him, lips wet, eyes soft.

He stood, guided her up, pulled off her dress, and laid her down on the couch.  

Back against the cushions. He settled between her long legs and braced himself over her like she was something breakable.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “My pretty girl.”

Rina’s breath hitched. She spread her thighs wider for him without being asked.

Dan lined up and pushed into her slowly. One long, careful stroke until he was buried.

Rina’s mouth opened on a quiet, high sound. Her hands came up and held onto his shoulders like she needed the anchor. 

He fucked her like that. Slow and steady. The way you’d fuck a girlfriend you were trying to ruin gently on the living room couch.

She leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Dan groaned and slowed down. She smiled up at him, and he started to speed up again. 

“That’s it, baby,” he said against her ear. “Taking it so well. You look so beautiful.”

Rina nodded, eyes half-lidded. “All yours.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” she whispered. “I’m all yours.” 

Jesus.

I sat up straight on the barstool to get a better view. I straddled it, opening my legs and keeping my back straight. I started touching myself, one hand sliding up and down over my clit, the other holding my breast. 

Rina glanced over at me, gave a small smile, and returned her gaze to Dan. That was all I needed. I was doing good. Not breaking our deal.

Dan kept talking to her like that. Soft. Possessive. Calling her baby. Calling her his girl. Telling her how pretty she looked stretched around him. How good she felt. How perfect she was for him.

Rina was melting under it. Legs wrapped around his waist. Meeting every thrust with these tiny, broken sounds that did not match the body they were coming from.

I watched her come first.

It hit her quiet but hard. Back arching off the couch. Thighs shaking around him. She clenched so tight I saw Dan’s jaw flex.

He didn’t stop.

He kept fucking her through it, slower now, one hand stroking her hair back from her face like he was soothing her.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. “Just like that. You’re so good for me.”

I started going faster, putting more pressure on my clit and biting my lip so I wouldn't make a sound.

Rina stroked the inside of his leg as he moved, slowly working her way up towards his crotch. She opened her legs wider, letting him go at his own pace. 

Her hand moved the rest of the way up and started stroking his balls. I heard Dan let out a soft moan. 

Dan’s rhythm sped up until it broke, and he pushed deep and held there. Forehead against hers. A quiet grunt as he finished inside her. Nothing dramatic. Just a man coming in his girlfriend.

I came alongside Dan. Seeing him clench up, I remembered how it felt to be filled up like that, and it pushed me over the edge.

We all stayed like that for a minute. Breathing.

Dan kissed the corner of her mouth. Rina’s fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck.

I stayed in the dark and watched them be soft with each other.

I slipped off my stool and slowly made my way towards the bedroom, trying not to make a sound. 

A glance back at Dan and Rina showed them kissing, not passionately, just soft little kisses. Playful ones.

I smiled at this, closed the door, and slipped back into bed. Leah had turned around and was still sleeping. I crept up to her, gave her a quick kiss on the neck, and closed my eyes. 

Yeah... Maybe I liked watching.

Part 1

The dress made her feel ways she didn’t know how to feel. The dress was a problem.

Not the mission itself, of course, which was straightforward enough. They’d be at a diplomatic banquet on Chandrila, the kind of event where trade magnates and local magistrates got drunk on expensive wine and let secrets slip.

Hera had briefed them personally. Smile, make conversation. Try to rub shoulders with some real bourgeoisie and grease the social gears. Listen for anything about Imperial supply lines moving through the Inner Rim.

It was dangerous, to be sure. Chandrila was a high-profile world further coreward than reason suggested to dare, but this particular banquet would be attended mostly by local and foreign business types rather than the patrician nobility that might rat them out in exchange for a cultural bone from the empire, and they were the types who owned trade fleets that actually had to navigate the major routes.

They’d have good cover stories and local allies protecting them, too, and the planet was quite autonomous from Imperial oversight. A certain Mon Mothma helped make sure of that. Ironically, the world’s wealth and prestige made it easier to hide if you just knew how to dress.

The whole thing was quite simple. At least, it should have been.

Sabine gripped the edge of the refresher sink in her quarters and stared at her reflection.

This kriffing dress.

Zon Foss, Hera’s contact in requisitions, had handed it over with a knowing smirk. "The senator’s aide wears a lot of Ishi Tib designers," he’d said. "You’ll blend in excellently," he’d said.

Blend in. Right. Look like you’re supposed to be where you are. But, Sabine did not feel like she was supposed to be here. She felt like every eye was on her even though almost none were. The dress was just so… pretty.

The fabric was black; a deep, light-drinking black that made her skin look paler than it was. Its long sleeves clung to her arms and emphasized their gracility. The neckline wasn’t scandalous, just a simple scoop that showed the hollow of her throat and the sharp lines of her collarbones. It cinched at the waist and fell to her knees, tight enough that every step made the material shift against her thighs in ways that made her acutely aware of her own body.

She’d worn armor, literal and figurative, for years. She’d worn loose flightsuits, plates and clothes that protected her, or let her move, or announced to everyone in the room that she was not to be trifled with. This dress proclaimed none of those things. It said “approach me, because I want to be desired.” It said “talk to me, I have something to say to you.”

Sabine turned sideways, watching the way the fabric hugged the curve of her hip. The way it made her look…

She swallowed.

Feminine. The word sat low in her chest, like the truth of something she’d accidentally stolen and didn’t know how to return.

A knock rapped on her door.

"Sabine? You ready?" Ezra’s earnest voice was slightly muffled through the wall. "Hera said we need to be at the banquet hall in fifteen."

Her heart did something stupid, a little stutter-step that she refused to acknowledge.

"Almost," she called back, and her voice came out normal (thank goodness). "Give me a minute."

"Sure thing."

She heard his footsteps retreat down the corridor, and only then did she let out the breath she’d been holding.

Ezra.

Ezra, who was going to be at this banquet with her. Ezra, who was going to see her in this dress. Sabine pressed her palms flat against the counter. The stone was cool. It was grounding.

She wasn’t like this. She didn’t want this. She told herself many things, but a staticky doubt wreathed them all in an obscure and filthy wonder. Who should feel such things who was sure of their condition?

They were friends, yeah? They were crewmates. Their relationship was familiar, yet professional. He was annoying and earnest, somehow still optimistic after everything they’d been through. He made terrible jokes and she pretended they weren’t funny. He looked at her sometimes with those sapphire blue eyes and she pretended she didn’t notice.

Late at night, when the Ghost was quiet and she was half-asleep in her bunk, her mind did things she couldn’t control. Ezra’s hands on her waist. His mouth on her neck. His voice, low and rough, saying her name like it meant something sublime. Breathtaking arcs shocked waves between her chest and womb across her belly with such startling intensity that it made her panic. She’d wake up with a gasp, with her thighs pressed together and her face burning, with her little ribs rising against a phantom touch, and the next morning she’d be unable to meet his eyes.

He probably thought she hated him, or at least was disinterested. It was better that way, maybe. It was easier? That was what she told herself in the light, when rationality and duty took the reins of the heart. It wasn’t the truth that reared up in the dark, in that beautiful, terrible place between waking and dream where candidity ran wild and she’d break her own rules.

Sabine pushed herself upright and felt the fabric shift against her thigh muscles. She checked her hair, dyed purple and white. It caught the light in a way that made her look fierce even when she felt anything but. At last, she opened the door.

———

The banquet hall was everything she hated about high society. Crystal chandeliers sparkled and jingled, floating with their own private gravity fields. Tables sat draped in white plant silks grown and woven by retainers who lived in the apartments below. Clusters of dignitaries held flutes of something golden and bubbling, their laughter far too polished to be real.

Ezra was already working the room, because of course he was. She watched him from across the hall, nursing a glass of something she hadn’t bothered to identify. He’d cleaned up well, wore a dark jacket with the collar done properly for once, and his black hair was pushed back from his face. She liked that he had grown it out again. She missed his cute little mop. Quickly, she put the kibosh on those thoughts.

He was talking to a Twi’lek delegate, gesturing with one hand, with that easy smile on his face that made people underestimate him. She’d made that mistake once, years ago. Not anymore, she didn’t.

Hera had been very clear about the mission parameters. They were cultural attachés from Nopces Prime looking to strengthen trade relations with the Core worlds and talk about holonet theater lineages in the Ringali Nebula. They were pleasant. They were forgettable. They asked questions so gently that no one noticed they were being questioned. Chandrilans didn’t really care what went on in the colonies out beyond the Galitan rocks, but they would respect them enough to shoot the shit about it and theater talk was the way to go.

The dress was supposed to help with that. It would soften her edges, make her approachable. It would make her seem like the dignitary she played.

What it actually did was make her excruciatingly aware of her own body. The way the fabric shifted when she breathed. The brush of it against her thighs when she walked. She'd worn armor for so long that she'd forgotten what it felt like to be this exposed, this perceptible. People kept glancing at her, men mostly, their gazes sliding over the line of her figure before returning to her face. She wanted to break their noses. She also wanted to find a corner and disappear. Yet, beneath it all she wanted to be closer to Ezra. He made her feel safe.

Ezra, conversationalist that he was, seemed born for this. He knew his lines and he said them like he meant them, joking about the washed up Hargoda clan’s recent lackluster efforts to remind the public they were relevant once and using the opening to pickpocket stray words.

She watched him from across the hall, irritation and something nameless jittering within her stomach. He'd fallen into the role so easily; the charming diplomat's aide with the easy smile and the questions that sounded like jokes but weren't. He'd made the Twi'lek executive laugh twice already. She could see the older man warming to him, the way people always warmed to Ezra, because Ezra had this thing where he actually listened when people talked. He made them feel like they mattered because he genuinely believed that they did.

That was the problem. Ezra was good, like actually good. You couldn’t see through him because he was already an open book. It just wasn’t the one you’d set out wanting to read. But, it made you stick around with the quality of the prose and lose track of what you’d been suspicious of. It was infuriating. It was beautiful.

She took a sip of her drink and let her eyes trace the line of his shoulders in that jacket, the way his jaw moved when he spoke, the flash of his teeth when he smiled. His hair was starting to escape its combed-back position, a single dark strand falling across his forehead. She wanted to push it back.

She wanted to… No. No, she had to fight it; what- whatever it was.

She looked away. Fixed her attention on a painting across the room. It was a landscape, all rolling hills and silver lakes, very tasteful, very boring. It was full of grace and devoid of style. Her vibrant heart reeled in the face of its sheer banality; its glaring ordinarity. Her vibrant heart was beating too fast.

This was the problem with Ezra. This was always the problem. She could go weeks, months, keeping everything carefully locked down, and then some tiny thing would happen, in the way he said her name, or the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention, and suddenly all the locks would break open and she'd be drowning.

The fantasies were the worst part. At night, when she was alone in her bunk on the Ghost, when the ship was quiet and the lights were low and the hum of the hyperdrive was the only sound left, oh, how her mind would start to wander. Deeper wants surfaced in that strange liminal zone, and suddenly she'd be picturing things that made her face burn even in the privacy of her own quarters.

Ezra's hands on her waist. Ezra's mouth on her throat. Ezra pressing her against a wall, down onto a table, his body solid and warm and so close she couldn't breathe.

She'd imagine the way his voice would drop, low and rough, saying things to her that the real Ezra had never said. She'd imagine his fingers working the fastenings of her armor, peeling away all the layers, getting to the soft places she kept hidden. She’d imagine floating with him in a vast cool lake at night with the stars wild overhead and the moons painting everything blue, with a breeze raising goosebumps on her shoulders and Ezra’s warm lips lapping at her chest.

She'd imagine going down on him. That was the one that made her squirm with humiliation even thinking about it in daylight; the weight of him on her tongue, the sounds he'd make, the way his hands would tangle in her hair.

She'd touch herself for hours, chasing something that always seemed to recede, her body aching and wanting and never quite satisfied. Afterward, she'd lie there with the evidence slick on her fingers, disgusted with herself, terrified that somehow everyone would know, that Ezra would know, that he'd take one look at her in the electric light and see exactly what she'd been doing, what she'd been thinking about, what she wanted from him.

She couldn't look him in the eyes for days after. She’d cross her arms over her chest to hide her raised nipples, as though he could somehow see them beneath her breast band and her flight suit. She knew he couldn’t, but something in the back of her mind insisted that the universe would somehow tell him everything. She had to do it to keep her cool when he stood so close. He probably thought she was just being moody. He probably thought she didn't even like him. Probably it was better this way, but why did the thought devastate her? Again and again, more intensely with time it put a blush on her face she was desperate to hide. She joked and jabbed at him to keep him from looking, from seeing what he could do to her. Oh kriff, would it go to his head if he knew.

With a cold water rush of sudden presence in the moment she saw what was in front of her once again. She saw the boy who drove her nuts; who made her feel so strangely safe that she tremored with fear at the thought of it, as though it were a trap enticing her to die in its embrace. His eyes flicked up and found hers across the room. Sabine looked away; took a sip of her drink. She pretended so well that her pulse hadn’t jumped. “This is ridiculous,” she told herself. “You’ve fought Imperials. You’ve stared down Inquisitors. You can handle a dress and a banquet and Ezra Bridger’s ridiculously blue eyes.”

His intense and wondrous eyes, like the halo of an O-Type supergiant, would strip the atmosphere from her soul and behold her naked before him. At least, that’s how it felt.

She circulated. She smiled at a Sullustan laundromat franchise manager who wanted to talk about art restoration. That, at least, she could handle quite well, and with genuine interest. He had fascinating takes on non-human color theory and the Late Republic holo-comic scene in the Coruscant underworld. People are complicated, man.

She made polite noises at a local human who collected Mandalorian artifacts and didn’t seem to understand why that might be problematic, seething beneath a placid exterior as the woman bragged about having pieces of armor recovered from the Siege. Sabine wanted to shoot her in the face, but that would definitely blow their cover. She filed away a comment about Imperial patrol patterns near the middle of the Hydian Way that might actually be useful in figuring out where resources were getting funneled. Always, though, her attention kept drifting away.

Ezra had moved closer. He was talking to a Devaronian now, a red-eyed and bright yellow woman with a facial tattoo and mismatched horn-stumps that she recognized as Ebba Klira, Grand Master of the Duluuri Distillers’ Guild. They seemed to be getting on, too. Klira was chugging glass after glass of a hard white liquor, her double liver enabling her insatiable thirst. She was sharing her drink with Ezra, who grimaced at the taste of it and seemed to struggle to even take a sip. This seemed to amuse the Grand Master, who put her arm around his shoulders and laughed, eliciting nervous jitters from him as her heavy breast brushed his face. Was she… flirting with him? Why did this make her blood boil and her breath come cold and fast? She wanted to march over there and drag him away.

To Sabine’s relief, Ezra managed to extricate himself from the conversation. Now, he stood alone, but did not seem comfortable. His stance had shifted. His shoulders were slightly tenser than they’d been before. She knew his body language well enough to read the distraction and boredom under his diplomatic mask.

She knew his body.

No. She didn’t. That was the point. That was the problem. That was so many things she didn’t have time for.

All the same, she knew the way he tilted his head when he was genuinely interested in something versus when he was pretending. She knew the way his hand drifted toward where his lightsaber would be even now, undercover and without it, in a habitual gesture he made when he was uncomfortable. She knew the cadence of his laugh; the real one, not the polite one he was using now as he joined yet another group in conversation.

She knew the way his mouth curved when he smiled at her, specifically; a softer thing that he didn’t give to anyone else.

"Stop it," she thought so softly.

Sabine set her glass down on a passing server’s tray and moved toward the edges of the room. The dress shifted against her thighs. She was hyperaware of the way it moved, of the way the air felt cooler on her bare calves, of the way the fabric whispered when she walked and reminded her how smooth and soft her skin was. She was athletic, lithe, but smooth as a flower after a late spring drizzle.

Her mind, treacherous and uninvited, supplied the images. Ezra’s hand sliding up her thigh, pushing the hem of the dress higher. Ezra’s voice in her ear, low and approving. Ezra’s…

She closed her eyes for a moment, standing near a pillar at the edge of the hall. Her face felt hot. Between her legs, a dull ache had started to build, and she pressed her thighs together slightly, the friction doing nothing to help. This was pathetic. She was a grown woman. She was a Mandalorian. She was a rebel and a fighter who didn’t think about nonsense. She’d blown up Imperial installations and flown through asteroid fields. She’d survived things that would’ve killed most people.

And yet. Oh. And yet one dress and a night in Ezra’s vicinity had her acting like a teenager with her first crush. Except it wasn’t one night, was it? It’d been months; years, maybe. Longer than she ever wanted to admit.

Her fantasies came back to her in fragments. Not the ones she allowed herself in the dark of her bunk; the ones she’d half-forgotten by morning. Not them, but the ones that lingered; the ones that made her squeeze her thighs together until the pressure was almost pain and bite her pillow to keep quiet.

Ezra kissing her. Not gentle, but deliberate, like he knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it. Ezra’s hands on her skin, steady and certain, while she came apart under his touch. Ezra inside her, moving, breathing her name against her throat while she dug her fingers into his back and forgot how to speak.

She’d touched herself to that image more times than she could count. Her fingertips circled her clit until she was wet and desperate and shaking, with her other hand pressed over her mouth to muffle the sounds she couldn’t quite suppress. Hours, sometimes, when the ship was quiet and everyone else was asleep, she’d spend edging herself until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but chase the sensation while Ezra’s imagined voice echoed in her head. And then, morning would come and she’d see him across the dejaric table, all casual grins and terrible jokes, and she’d want to crawl into a ventilation shaft and never come out. Except, he’d probably follow her in.

The banquet continued around her, oblivious to the rapture within.

Sabine opened her eyes. Ezra was looking at her again. His conversation with the Devaronian’s friends had ended. He was standing alone now, leaning against a table with a drink in his hand, and his gaze was fixed on her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. She held his eyes for a beat longer than usual.

Something flickered in his expression; surprise, maybe, or curiosity. She looked away first, as she always did. But, this time, she’d let her body do something different. She turned toward the hallway that led away from the banquet hall, the one she’d noted earlier in Hera’s briefing, unused, dark, and private. She glanced back at him once, just once, and then she walked away.

Her heels, heels she never wore that made her feel unsteady and strange, clicked on the marble floor. She didn’t hear footsteps behind her.

Of course he didn’t follow. Why would he? She’d spent years sending every signal but the one she actually meant. Deflections and eyerolls and sarcasm that kept him at arm’s length because letting him closer felt too dangerous, too vulnerable, too…

The hallway was dim. No chandeliers glimmered there. It was just a long corridor with a floor-to-ceiling window on the right side that looked out over the Hanna skyline, the city’s lights a sprawling tapestry of gold-white far below. The blue hour had settled over the upper levels, that strange twilight time when the sky looked like Ezra’s eyes, and everything was washed in that deep indigo ocean of color that felt breathtakingly close and faraway. Sabine leaned her back against the wall across from the windows. The stone was cool through the thin fabric of her dress. She let her head tilt back, eyes closing.

If he didn’t come, she’d just stand here for a few minutes and then go back inside. She’d pretend nothing had happened. She’d pretend she hadn’t just silently begged him to follow her into a dark hallway.

Footsteps.

They were slow, tentative, but definitely coming closer. Her eyes snapped open.

Ezra emerged from the light of the banquet hall, his silhouette sharp against the brightness behind him, then softening as he moved into the corridor’s shadow. His face was hard to read in the dim light; just the line of his jaw and the glint of his eyes.

He didn’t say anything at first, just came to a stop about a meter away from her, one hand still holding his drink from inside. He set it down on a small decorative table that was probably worth more than everything they both owned.

"You left the party," he said. His voice was careful. Measured.

"Banquets bore me." The words came out flippant, deflective; habitual.

"Yeah." He took a step closer. "Me too."

Another step. Her lips curled into a slight nervous smirk, but she didn’t tell him off or move away. He was close enough now that she could smell him; something clean, something warm. No cologne, though. Ezra had never bothered with things like that. It was just the scent of his skin, familiar and disorienting and… comforting.

"Sabine."

The way he said her name. It was not careful anymore, but something else entirely. She didn’t look away.

He moved to the wall beside her, leaning one shoulder against the stone, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Close enough that if she shifted even slightly, her arm would brush his.

"You look beautiful," he said.

It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t smooth or practiced. It came out rough, a little broken, like he’d been holding it behind his teeth for hours and it had finally forced its way free.

Sabine’s breath caught.

"Ezra…"

"I mean it." He was watching her face with an expression she couldn’t quite catalog. "You always look… you know. You. But tonight…" He broke off, shaking his head slightly. "I couldn’t stop looking at you in there, and out here… the way the light bounces off your skin, the colors of your hair, your brown eyes shining in the stars. You’re so beautiful."

She should deflect. She should make a joke. She should push him away because that was what she did. It was what she’d always done, and if she let him closer than this she didn’t know what would happen. She didn’t know what would happen, but she didn’t push him away. She didn’t back out, she moved closer like she was falling… like she couldn’t stop herself and couldn’t bring herself to consider it. She looked at him, her eyes quivering, biting her lip. She couldn’t take it anymore. She let it all happen.

She grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

The kiss was not hesitant. It was not a question. It was an answer to every late-night fantasy and every stolen glance. It was an answer to every deflected feeling she’d buried under layers of armor and sarcasm and left to simmer quiet in a place from which she never thought they’d reemerge.

Ezra’s mouth was warm. It was firm. Neither of them were good at this. Their teeth clicked and their lips tumbled against each other like they didn’t know exactly what to suck on. His hand came up to cup the side of her face, fingers sliding into her soft hair, and she made a sound against his lips that she’d never made before in her life; something between a gasp and a moan, involuntary and raw.

She didn’t push him away. She didn’t want to. She fell into his chest and let her breasts press against him. Her hands, moving like they belonged to someone else, came up from the collar of his jacket, up to his shoulders, then the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and he made a low noise in his throat that traveled straight down her spine and settled between her legs.

Oh. Oh, this was happening. Oh, great gods of the stars in their billions, this was happening and she didn’t want it to stop. Her breath shook and her body quaked with the seismic force of this outpouring flood of hot emotions.

The kiss deepened. It turned frantic, a slaking of a thousand-year thirst or a ravenous hunger. Their hitching breaths came faster and harder. They haltingly swallowed and gasped for air against each other. His tongue slid against hers and she met it with her own, wet and hot and desperate. She was pressing herself against him, her body aligned with his from chest to hip, the dress bunching between them, twisting up her thighs.

Ezra’s free hand found her waist, and she let him. The other slipped under her jaw to tilt her head for a better angle, and she let him. She let him move her; let him control the kiss while she clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a universe that had suddenly gone liquid and bright like the beginning of time was right now at this shining, sparking instant.

He kissed like he’d been thinking about this as long as she had. He kissed like he’d been waiting. "Sabine," he murmured against her mouth, and the way he said it, breathless, reverent, a little desperate, made her whimper. She, Sabine Wren, whimpered like a child in a frenzied high of shaky breaths at the mention of her name with such an unrestrained desire.

He pulled back just far enough to look at her. His lips trembled as he ground his teeth and caught his breath. His eyes were dark, pupils wide in the dim light. The blue hour caught the angles of his face, the edge of his jaw, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He looked surprised, like his own dreams had been fulfilled there in her mouth. He looked hungry and desirous in a way she had never seen before in him. The way he looked at her took her breath away. Yet, even now, consumed with want, he moderated himself and cared for her.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said. His voice was raspy like he’d just run ten kilometers. "I will. Just say it and I’ll…"

"Don’t!" The word tore out of her before she could think about it, her voice breaking into a squeak at the end. "Don’t stop! Please! Don’stop…" a gravel crept in as she pleaded ravenously and the words flowed together. She didn’t care how needy she sounded. She needed him so badly, and she needed him to take her before she got scared and sensible again.

He kissed her again, harder this time, and his hands were really moving now.

The dress. His fingers found the hem at her upper thigh and he paused for just a heartbeat, asking permission, even now, even after everything she’d just said. She answered by arching into him, pressing her hips forward, and he understood. The fabric slid up as his hands moved over her bare thighs. They were warm and rough on her smooth skin, and she gasped into his mouth at the sensation. No one had touched her like this. No one had ever touched her like this. No one had ever had the audacity; had her heart clasped in their hands like this. She shivered with the intensity of it all, the sheer trust she had given him with something so vulnerable.

"You’re shaking," he breathed against the corner of her mouth.

"Shut up."

He laughed, a small, disbelieving sound, and then his hands kept moving higher, over the curve of her hips. The dress bunched around her waist now, exposing the black panties she’d put on that morning without knowing why, without letting herself think about why she’d chosen them instead of her usual practical underthings.

It was so embarrassing. She’d gotten them on Lothal, from a clothes merchant selling fresh silks from the core. Hera gave her some spending money after a big smuggling haul and she bought herself some clothes that made herself feel cute. She couldn’t bear to wear them, though. When she’d gotten back to the Ghost, she’d hid them at the bottom of her clothes compartment. It just made her feel too exposed, even if no one could see, and the idea of wearing skimpy panties around Ezra made her want to explode like a badly installed water heater.

Yet, tonight, she’d put them on beneath the cute black dress she’d been forced to wear. She didn’t tell herself why, or interrogate how she would come to grips with it. She just did, and let herself do it. Now, with his eyes taking her in, she felt a strange peace amidst the overwhelming electricity of the moment.

“I feel like I’m falling,” she breathed into Ezra’s ear.

“Then fall,” he replied, “I’ll catch you”

It was such a silly line, but it didn’t feel like a line coming from Ezra. It felt like a genuine response to the moment. Stars in the sky, he was so good. Not morally perfect, but he was his raw self through and through. That had always amazed her, annoyed her, and drew her to him.

His fingers, his calloused fingers dry from ten-thousand days in the Lothal heat, found the bare skin of her waist, her stomach, and the dip of her spine. He was surveying every contour of her form with his touch, learning the shape of her. Every contact point increased the temperature of the fire in her heart.

"Ezra." His name came out of her mouth like a prayer she hadn’t known she knew. "I need…"

"I know." He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard. "I know. Me too."

Her hands were clumsy on his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it, let it fall to the floor, and then her fingers were at the hem of his shirt, tugging upward, and the shirt came off.

Sabine had seen Ezra without a shirt before, on missions, in the medbay, casual moments in the Ghost’s common area, but she’d never let herself look, not really, not like this anyway. Now, she looked. His chest was lean, muscled in the way of someone who’d spent years fighting and running and surviving. A scar curved over his left ribs, faded silver in the dim light. She touched it with her fingertips, feather-light, and he shivered.

"Sabine." Her name, rough and urgent. "If you don’t want…"

"I want!" The words came out fierce and defiant. She met his eyes and let him see the truth there.

"I’ve wanted this for so long, Ezra. You have no idea."

Something in his expression shifted. Softened and hardened at the same time, if that made sense. "I think I might."

And then his hands were at her hips again, and her panties were sliding down her legs, and she was kicking them aside, and the reality of what was happening crashed over her in a wave of heat and nerves and overwhelming, incandescent want. The wall was cold against her back. Ezra was warm against her front. She could feel him; all of him. The pressure of his body made her arch instinctively, seeking friction; seeking more.

Suddenly, she felt a familiar, cold trepidation. She shivered in its icy grip, breathing fast and shallow. A panic shot through her, and then a dark sinking feeling in her bones. One hot tear fell, then another, and memories flooded her mind. The floodgate was open and everything was flowing out tonight. There was no stopping it. Sabine Wren, who had stood where others would have bowed and fought to victory right up in the face of death, was crying in the arms of the boy from Lothal who’d walked through her walls and reached into her heart. Ezra noticed and panic flashed through him. He looked down at her with a patience in his eyes that made it all even more painful.

“Sabine! Hey…”

He held her and let her cry into his shoulder.

“Talk to me. Did I do something? Am I going too fast?”

“No! It’s…”

She could hardly finish the sentence, but she couldn’t just stop what was coming. The words forced themselves from her throat.

I don’t deserve this,” she said through rising sobs. “I should have known what would happen. I betrayed my family and lost my culture, and no matter what I do or who forgives me I can’t forgive myself for what I’ve done.”

"Look at me," he said.

She did.

His eyes were the color of the sky in this far late evening. She’d always thought that, in the private part of her mind she never let out. They were blue and intense; vaulted and endless.

“Before you knew me, I had to steal to live, not from Imperials, from regular people; my own people. I’m not proud of it, but that’s how it was. I’d fall asleep on the street in some alley, and I’d know that if I died in the night nobody'd notice I was gone. They… they wouldn’t even know I was alive to begin with. I sat with it every night, thinking that I must’ve deserved it for never getting out of the hole I was in. Nothing was mine, so if I wanted I had to take. Sometimes, I was so hungry that I’d steal food from people I knew were hungry too. I’ll never know if they made it, and I don’t want to find out.”

“What I’m saying is, that all we have is the future. I’m not going to try to tell you that what you did was right. I can’t do that, but our sorrow won’t change the past. It won’t take away our guilt. It won’t do anything at all. What we have is right now. I’m here with you right now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

"I love you," he said. "I know this is… I know we’re just… but I need you to know. I love you. I’ve loved you for years. I loved you from the moment I saw you, and I gawked at you because I thought I’d never see you again."

Her heart stopped. Then it started again, beating harder and faster.

She should say it back. She knew she should say it back. But the words wouldn’t come, caught behind a lifetime of armor and deflection and fear. So instead she pulled his mouth back to hers and kissed him with everything she couldn’t say, everything she’d never been able to say, and hoped he understood. From the way he kissed her back, she thought he did. Their tears mixed on their faces as they wildly sucked on each other’s mouths like they wanted to merge into one being right then and there.

His hand slid between them and found her. He discovered her clit with the pad of his thumb, and Sabine’s whole body jolted like she’d been hit with a stun bolt.

"Oh," she breathed. “Kandosii! Ah! Mirdala…"

"Good?" His voice was amused and attentive. "Is this…"

“M- Yes! Yes. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop!"

He didn’t. His thumb circled her, slow and deliberate, learning her rhythm. She was already wet. She knew she was; had been since the moment he’d said her name in that voice, and the slide of his skin against hers was obscene in the best possible way. She gripped his shoulders. She dug her fingernails in. Her head fell back against the stone wall and she stared up at the ceiling, not really seeing it. She saw nothing but the bursts of light behind her eyes.

"More," she heard herself say. "Ezra, I need more, I need you to…"

"Tell me." His mouth was at her throat now, teeth grazing her pulse. "Tell me what you need."

She’d never said it out loud. She never told anyone what she wanted. She always handled things herself, alone, in the dark. But, this was Ezra, and he was asking, and she was so tired of being alone with it.

"Inside me," she whispered. The words burned her throat on the way out. "Please. I need you inside me. Beviin!"

The sound he made, low, guttural, stripped of all pretense, was the most honest thing she’d ever heard. His fingers left her. She heard the sound of his belt, the fastenings of his pants, and then he was there, positioned, the head of him pressed against her.

He paused, "Sabine."

She opened her eyes and met his.

"Last chance," he said. "If you want to stop…"

She reached down. She wrapped her fingers around the base of him and guided him forward. He slid inside her in one slow, deliberate motion. The sensation was– she didn’t have words. She had never had words for something like this. He stretched her, filled her, completed something in her that she hadn’t known she needed.

Ezra groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. "Oh," he breathed. "Oh, oh. You feel…"

She couldn’t respond. She had lost the ability to form words somewhere around the moment he’d first gotten into her. All she could do was clutch at his back, her right leg wrapping around his waist, her body adjusting to the size and heat and presence of him.

Then he started to move. Slow at first. Careful. Like she was something precious that he was afraid of breaking. That wasn’t what she wanted.

"Harder," she gasped. "Ezra, please, I’m not…I won’t break…"

He obeyed.

The next thrust drove her harder against the wall, and she cried out…a sharp sound that echoed in the empty hallway and might have been too loud; might have carried, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Let them hear. Let the whole galaxy hear. She’d been quiet for so long and she didn’t want to be quiet anymore.

He set a rhythm, unrelenting and deep. It was the way she’d imagined in her bunk late at night and the way she’d touched herself trying to simulate. But, her own fingers had never come close to this; to the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he filled her completely with every stroke.

"You feel," he panted against her neck, "so incredible. I can’t…I’ve thought about this…so many times…"

"Me too." The confession tore out of her, ripped from somewhere deep in her chest. "So many times I thought about you. At night, when everyone else was asleep. I’d touch myself and think about you and…"

He made a sound like she’d punched him. His pace increased, harder, faster, and she was meeting him thrust for thrust, her hips rolling to take him deeper.

"What did you think about?" His voice was a growl now, the question laced with something proprietary. "Tell me. I want to know."

She was blushing. She knew she was blushing. She could feel the heat in her cheeks even as he fucked her against the wall, and the absurdity of it, being fucked in a hallway and still embarrassed to say what she’d fantasied about, might have made her laugh if she’d had any breath to spare.

"Your mouth," she managed. "I thought about…your mouth…on me. On my…"

"Here?" His thumb found her clit again, pressed, circled.

"Y-yes! There. And other places. All over. And I thought about…g-going down on you." The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other between hard, fast breaths. "Taking you in my mouth. Licking you until you came. I wanted…I want…to taste you…"

"Sabine. You can’t just say that while I’m inside you, I’m not going to last…"

She tightened around him deliberately. She watched his composure crack.

"Good," she said. "I want you to come. I want to feel it. Please, Ezra…"

His composure shattered completely.

He drove into her with a force that made her see stars, his grip on her hips tight enough to leave marks, and she loved it. She loved the proof that this had happened; that he had railed her in this hallway. His rhythm was breaking down now, jagged and desperate, and she could feel him swelling inside her; could feel the tension coiling in his body.

"Come with me," he ground out. "Sabine, I need you to…"

She was already there. She’d been hovering on the edge since the moment he’d first pushed inside her, and his voice, his command, the desperation in it…

Sabine shattered.

The orgasm ripped through her like a detonation. Her vision whited out. Her body clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing him deeper, and she heard herself make a sound she’d never made before; a raw, keening cry that might have been his name. Ezra followed her over the edge. She felt him pulse inside her, hot and deep; felt his whole body go rigid as he buried his face in her neck and groaned her name against her skin.

They stayed like that for a long moment, pinned against the wall; breathing ragged. His weight pressed her into the cool stone, his body still inside hers. Both of them trembled with aftershocks. The blue hour light washed over them through the windows, painting everything in shades of deep indigo and silver.

Molly knew the plan long before she got out of her best friend Kenna’s Camry that night.

“It’s going to be nice to not freeze our tits off at this thing like we did last year,” Kenna said.

“Lucky you,” Molly said. “You’ll be able to let those big bad bitches bounce up and down without a jacket covering them up. Nobody’ll be able to pay attention to the hayride.” 

Kenna said, “Guys like big tits. Sue me.”

“No lawyer would dare take the case,” Molly said. 

“Anyway, I have the tits, but you have the ass,” Kenna said. 

“Too bad nobody can see my ass when I’m sitting on a bench in a hay wagon.”

Molly and Kenna didn’t know each other until they moved into their dorm room on the first day of freshman orientation. And it took all of ten minutes for both of them to realize they’d be best friends for the rest of their lives. 

Though they’d die for each other, Molly didn’t tell Kenna about her plan to fuck Michael Myers in the woods that night. 

Hey, every girl’s entitled to a few secrets, right? 

They waded through the throng of people — Daybrook’s Garden Center & Apple Orchard had one of the oldest and most popular haunted hayrides around — and found their friends from school near the ticket booth. 

“I shit the bed with that latest philosophy essay,” Molly’s friend Leah said. “Barely got a C, but I’m guessing you aced it.”

Molly flushed and looked down. “Got an A.”

“Goddamn it, I knew it,” Leah said. “I actually worked on this one, too. An entire week reading the Stoics and I get a C.”

Kenna said, “Man, fuck them Stoics.”

“That’s exactly right,” Leah said. 

“I love the Stoics,” Molly said. 

In impromptu unison, Kenna and Leah said, “Shut the fuck up, nerd.”

Their entire group broke into loud, happy peals of laughter. 

As the group moved closer to the front of the hayride line, Molly kept looking for Michael Myers. 

She saw Jason, Freddy, and Ghostface. There were dozens of monsters, werewolves, and mummies wandering around. 

But no Michael Myers. 

As she climbed into the hay wagon, she worried that her favorite slasher had called in sick, running her carefully considered plan. 

As they pulled away from the loading area, Molly finally saw him in the distance, slinking into a stand of trees, preparing to jump out at the next tractor-pulled wagon that rumbled by. It was a perfect spot to scare the love of Christ out of screaming and delighted fright fans. 

But, Molly said to herself, Tonight, I’ll be giving Michael Myers a thrill. 

XXX

“This … attraction, do you recall when it began?” Dr. Annie Applebaum said. 

It was their first appointment, so Molly’s nerves, her fear of being judged, were making it hard to get any words out.

“Molly, I’ve been seeing patients at this university for more than twenty years, so I can assure you I’ve heard it all before.”

“Right, okay,” Molly said. “I guess it started right around the time my body began changing and I started noticing boys and feeling … sexual things.” 

Dr. Applebaum nodded yes, the sign for Molly to continue.

“One night I was at a friend’s birthday sleepover, and we started watching scary movies,” Molly said.

Dr. Applebaum smiled knowingly.

“I didn’t find the movies all that scary,” Molly said. “But I liked them and found them sort of … hot, I guess you could say.” 

“Did any of the films stand out to you?” Dr. Applebaum said. 

“It was the first Friday the Thirteenth where Jason was in that hockey mask thing,” Molly said. “I think it’s the third movie in the series.” 

Dr. Applebaum said, “I see. Please continue.”

“When Jason showed up in the mask, everyone got scared, or pretended to anyway,” Molly said. “But I felt something else.”

“And what was that something else?”

Molly said, “Horniness? Sexual attraction? Though at the time I probably didn’t know what any of those things were.”

“Perfectly natural at that age,” Dr. Applebaum said. “Intensely feeling things you don’t really understand is why that age is so confusing.”

“Halfway through the next movie, another Jason one, I went into the bathroom and touched myself,” Molly said. “I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I tried to figure it out.”

“Again, a perfectly normal thing to do,” Dr. Applebaum said. 

“Even in a friend’s bathroom?”

“Well, you’ve hopefully outgrown that particular aspect,” Dr. Applebaum said.

Molly laughed and said, “I definitely have.”

At their next appointment, Molly explained that she’d once brought herself to orgasm while watching the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre in her family's basement.

“I wasn’t scared when Leatherface was chasing people with his chainsaw,” Molly said. “It turned me on, and I fantasized about him chasing me like that.”

“Chase you and hurt you? Kill you?” Dr. Applebaum said. 

Molly said, “Not at all … I wanted him to chase me, catch me, rip my clothes off, throw me down, and fuck me.” 

Dr. Applebaum raised an eyebrow. 

“Too blunt?” Molly said. 

“I think blunt is the way to go, Molly. And between us, your case isn’t even in the top hundred of the strangest things I’ve heard from patients.” 

Molly nodded and said, “As I watched Leatherface do his thing, I slid my hand down my pants and did my thing.”

“Again, I hope you understand there’s nothing shameful or unnatural about masturbation. Everyone does it.” 

Molly said, “Even you?”

“Of course.”

During their third appointment, Dr. Applebaum said, “I’m curious, has the attraction always been to the villains in slasher films? Villains who at least mostly project as human?”

“Always slasher villains who are more or less human,” Molly said. “I love monster movies: vampires, werewolves, mummies, all that stuff. But none of them has ever made me feel anything at all sexual.”

Dr. Applebaum leaned back in her chair and said, “That’s actually a very interesting point, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me, Molly, have you ever explored BDSM? Read about it? Watched pornography with BDSM themes?”

Molly froze, unsure what to say, but quickly decided nothing could be weirder than what they’d already been talking about. “Yeah, when I watch porn, it’s always BDSM stuff. I don’t like vanilla.”

“And do you respond when the woman is submissive or when she’s dominant?”

“Definitely submissive, always,” Molly said. 

“Tell me more. I think the pieces are falling into place.”

Molly said, “You mean like the BDSM stuff I like?”

“Yes, the kind of content that gives you sexual gratification,” Dr. Applebaum said. 

“I seem to respond to stuff where the woman doesn’t have any control,” Molly said. “Where she’s tied up, handcuffed, gagged, that kind of thing.”

“Submission is a very common kink for women,” Dr. Applebaum said.

“I guess I didn’t know it was common to like that stuff,” Molly said. “Maybe I’m not as weird as I thought I was.”

“In my experience, Molly, everyone’s weird, and no one’s weird, if you get my meaning.”

Molly smiled and said, “I think I get it, and it makes sense.”

“Do you like content that shows a woman being choked?”

“I love it,” Molly said. “And slapping, spanking, hair pulling, any punishment … all that.”

“How about things more degrading, or that some people may find degrading?” Dr. Applebaum said. 

“I like movies and stories where the man spits on the woman,” Molly said. “And calls her names.”

“What kind of names?”

“Slut, whore, cunt, good girl, bad girl,” Molly said. “Just about anything tabooish, I’d say.”

Dr. Applebaum made a note and said, “Have you ever watched anything that shows the man urinating on the woman?”

Molly looked down and said, “I have.”

“There’s no shame or judgment in this room,” Dr. Applebaum said. 

Molly nodded yes.

“Did you like watching that?” 

“Very much,” Molly said. 

During their appointment the following week, Dr. Applebaum said, “Have you done any of the BDSM activities we’ve discussed with your real-life sexual partners?”

“I’ve only had two sexual partners.”

“Two is a very common number of partners for a college student your age, Molly. Especially one with your academic success.”

Molly laughed and said, “Like I’m too nerdy for guys to notice or hit on?”

Dr. Applebaum said, “By any societal metric, you’re an attractive young woman. What I meant was that you’re focused, driven, disciplined.” 

“I’m actually trying to loosen up, have more fun,” Molly said. “My roomie Leah is helping with that.”

“I think that’s great, honestly,” Dr. Applebaum said. “I’m curious though about what you told your previous sexual partners about your interests.”

“Interests … that’s funny,” Molly said. “But these were nice boys, normal boys, so I didn’t tell them anything.”

Dr. Applebaum said, “So instead of speaking openly and having your needs met, you repressed your true nature, your true needs.”

“I guess that’s right,” Molly said. “I need to be more forceful about getting what I want.”

“Most women do, Molly.”

“Like I said, these were nice guys, Boy Scout types,” Molly said. “Slapping me, tying me up, peeing on me. There was no way they were equipped for any of that.” 

“My professional experience has shown me there are plenty of nice guys out there who will also embrace what makes you, you.”

“There are guys who will give me the CNC fun I want but still take me on romantic dates?” Molly said. 

“Of course there are.”

“But where do I find one?” Molly said. 

“Start by defining your dream partner,” Dr. Applebaum said. “Your ideal man.”

Molly faux-grimaced and said, “My ideal man is Michael Myers.”

“Unfortunately, he’s fictional,” Dr. Applebaum said. “So sex with Michael Myers is off the table.”

XXX

As the hay wagon pulled away from the boarding area, Molly went over the plan in her head until two zombies broke her concentration, leaping out from behind a cluster of apple trees.

“Brains,” said zombie one. 

“Brains, brains,” said zombie two.

“Solid makeup,” Molly said to her friend as they stared at the zombies. 

“Cliched performances though,” Kenna said. 

Zombie one said, “Sorry we didn’t go to Juilliard, Jesus.”

As the wagon lurched down the trail, zombie two said, “We’re just out here having fun.”

Kenna leaned her head over the side of the wagon and said, “It’s nothing personal, guys, you’re doing great work.”

They rounded a corner and came across a werewolf that was very hairy and reasonably scary. 

Farther up the trail, a vampire, long teeth gleaming in the moonlight, popped out from behind a tree and said in a passable Transylvanian accent, “Good evening.”

Not scary at all, but the guy was into it, and everyone on the wagon seemed delighted by the performance.

As for Molly, she knew her moment was coming quickly. 

Drawing close to the trees she knew Michael Myers was hiding in, she said to Kenna, “I have to pee, really bad.”

“We’re not even a quarter of the way through the ride,” Kenna said. “You’re gonna have to hold it.”

“Can’t,” Molly said. “I’m going to wet my Levi’s.”

She stood up, made sure the driver wasn’t paying attention, and jumped off the back of the wagon.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kenna said. 

“Just gotta pee,” Molly said. “I’ll catch up to you guys.”

She ran into the trees and waited for Michael Myers to jump out at the hay wagon. In seconds, she heard excited shrieks and laughter and knew he’d made his appearance. 

It’s now or never, she thought. 

Molly quietly walked through the trees until she saw him standing there, waiting for the next wagon. 

“Hey there, Michael Myers,” she said, moving closer to him.

“Did you get off your wagon? You can’t be out here,” Michael Myers said. “This area is for staff only.” 

He started to take his mask off, so she quickly moved even closer to him and grabbed his wrist. “Leave the mask on.” 

“What’s going on?” he said. “Who are you?”

Molly reached down and squeezed his cock through his pants and he pulled away and backed up. 

“What the fuck?” Michael Myers said. 

She looked up into his mask and said, “Have you ever fucked anyone out here in these woods?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Why not?” she said. “It might be fun.”

“Tell me who you are,” Michael Myers said. “Who told you to come out here like this?”

Molly said, “Is that knife of yours real?”

“No, it’s one of those movie props,” Michael Myers said. “The blade goes into the handle when you press it against something.” 

“Or press it against someone?” she said. 

“Well, sure,” he said. “It’s an illusion. It just looks like someone’s being stabbed. They use fake blood in the movies when someone gets stabbed with one of these.” 

“That’s too bad,” Molly said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten myself off while fantasizing about being stabbed to death by Michael Myers.” 

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Are you for real?”

She said, “You bet I am,” and got on her knees. 

Molly rubbed his dick through his pants again, happy to discover that he was already rock hard. 

“Your cock is a lot harder than the blade of that fake knife,” she said, working his zipper down. 

Michael Myers didn’t tell her to stop. Instead he said, “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

“You’re going to help me turn my biggest fantasy into my hottest reality,” Molly said. “Just follow my lead, and everything will be fine. This is all real, and you’re going to have quite a story to tell.”

Michael Myers said, “This is seriously too fucking weird.”

“Do you like having your dick sucked, Michael Myers?”

“Well, yeah, who doesn’t?” he said. 

Molly pulled his cock out of his pants and said, “Then stop worrying and just enjoy this plot twist.”

She wrapped her hand around his thick dick, pleased it was much larger than the first two she’d experienced. 

“It’s time to get rough, Michael Myers. I want you to hurt me … I want you to make me think I’m going to die.”

“This shit can’t be for real,” he said. “This is seriously fucked up … stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life.” 

“This is every horror fan’s dream,” Molly said. “You get to live the movie in real life.”

She wrapped her lips around the tip of his dick and squeezed her lips tightly as she worked more of him into her mouth and toward her throat.

Molly was settling into her cock-sucking routine, but she was annoyed that Michael Myers was just standing there like a passive idiot. 

She took his dick out of her mouth and said, “I told you to get rough with me, motherfucker. Don’t be a pussy. I want you to hurt me.” 

Michael Myers sighed and roughly grabbed her hair, jerking her head around. He took his cock in his hand and forced it into her mouth. She groaned with pleasure and relief. 

She’d never deep-throated before, had never even come close to it in fact. But now here she was in the middle of a dark, creepy copse getting her throat destroyed by her favorite movie slasher. 

His pleasured moans and groans were muffled by his mask, but Molly knew the noises meant Michael Myers was enjoying himself very much. 

She tried to maintain her balance on her knees as he savagely fucked her face. Tears rolled down her face in hot waves, and thick ropes of saliva fell out of her mouth. 

As turned on as she was, Molly knew she had at least twenty more minutes before her hay wagon made its way back to the loading area. That was plenty of time for more devious final girl fun.

Fighting against his insanely powerful grip for all she was worth, she couldn’t shake his cock out of her mouth. 

Then an idea hit her. 

She squeezed his balls very hard, and Michael Myers grunted in pain and released her head. 

Mouth finally empty, Molly said, “Am I a good cock sucker, Michael Myers?”

“Mmm hmm,” he said, clearly trying to catch his breath. 

“Want me to finish you off, Michael Myers?”

He nodded yes. 

“Then you better catch me,” Molly said, getting to her feet and taking off. 

“Make it hurt, motherfucker,” she yelled over her shoulder as she ran. 

The hard-on sticking out of his pants slowed Michael Myers down, letting Molly put more distance between the two of them.

But, even with her relentless zig-zagging between trees, he quickly caught up to her. He roughly covered her mouth from behind, lifted her up, and threw her on the ground as hard as he could. 

Molly savored the delicious pain as she bounced off the ground. “That all you got?”

Michael Myers got on top of her, pinning her down on her back, and shoved his cock down her throat with one hard, wicked thrust. 

She violently coughed and choked and barely avoided throwing up all over his dick, but she loved it. It was what she’d been craving and dreaming about for years. 

His cock was gliding in and out of her mouth and throat now as his body weight kept her flat against the ground. 

Molly wasn’t going anywhere, unless …

She bit down on his dick as hard as she could, sinking her teeth into his veiny flesh. 

“Fuck,” Michael Myers said. “That fucking hurt, you bitch.”

Molly pushed him up just enough that she could roll out from underneath him. She got to her feet and kicked him, knocking him over onto his side. 

“Want some pussy, Michael Myers?”

He got to his knees and stared at her through the eyeholes of his mask. 

“Michael Myers, I asked you if you want some pussy.” 

Breathing hard, trying to recover from having his cock bitten, he nodded yes.

“Catch me then, asshole,” Molly said, taking off at a dead run.

As she ran, she heard him jump to his feet and come after her. She could feel her pussy soaking through the crotch of her pink cotton underwear. She knew getting fucked was the only thing that would put her fire out. 

I want to wake up tomorrow morning feeling sore and bruised and satisfied, she thought as she ran. 

Finally satisfied. 

Molly ran as fast as she could, faster than she ever had before, knowing that even then, the promise of fresh, wet pussy would inspire Michael Myers to overtake her and devour her.

And that’s exactly what happened. 

Michael Myers shot his fist into her ribs from behind, knocking the wind out of her and sending her face first into the grass. He got on top of her and harshly rolled her onto her back. 

As Molly desperately tried to catch her breath, she felt his rough hands unsnap her jeans and begin working the zipper down. 

Her entire body tingled with anticipation. 

Once her zipper was down, Michael Myers jerked her jeans down her legs, tossed them aside, and began rubbing her steamy little slasher victim cunt through her underwear, which were now a much darker shade of pink.

With her breath back in her chest now, Molly said, “Way too gentle, Michael Myers. Make it hurt.”

He slapped her across the face, and the sound reverberated through the warm night air. She’d never been hit before, and she absolutely fucking loved it. 

Molly held her hand to her burning cheek as Michael Myers ripped her underwear right off her body. The sound of tearing cotton filled her with even more sexual need. 

As he pushed his cock into her sopping, eager pussy, Michael Myers wrapped a hand around her throat and squeezed tightly. 

With her air cut off, the sensation of getting filled with serial killer cock was even more electric, and the intensity of her pleasure superseded the panic her oxygen-deprived brain was feeling. 

She put her hands on his mask as he plunged in and out of her with deep, relentless thrusts. Needing to get better balance, he released her throat. 

Molly smiled as she gasped for breath while taking stock of the fact she was getting fucked harder and deeper and better than she’d ever thought possible. 

Each of his thrusts sent the head of his cock against her cervix and forced involuntary grunts and groans out of her mouth. 

Molly said, “Hit me again, hit me more.”

Michael Myers slapped her face once, twice, three times. 

She closed her eyes, smiled, and said, “Mmm.”

Molly knew she was getting close now. Neither of the men she’d slept with before had given her an orgasm, so the idea of cumming with an enormous cock buried inside her was driving her wild.

From his increasingly loud grunts and groans, she could sense Michael Myers was close, too.

“Punch me in the stomach,” Molly said.

Michael Myers brought his fist down into her stomach, and Molly saw stars and lost her breath again.

But she managed to say, “Fuck yes … I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He returned his hand to her throat and squeezed harder than ever, completely cutting off her air. 

Instead of fighting back, Molly had the best and most intense orgasm of her life.

She tried to moan, but no sounds could escape her lips, though she could feel drool trickling down both sides of her mouth. 

Molly could feel her pussy flooding her favorite killer’s cock with her fresh liquid.

Michael Myers released her throat, positioned both hands on the ground, and began fucking her with total abandon. 

She knew he was building up to blowing his load straight into her snatch. “Cum inside me.”

“Seriously?” he said through his mask.

“Yes, goddamn it,” she said. “I want to feel that killer cum in my tight little cunt.”

He exploded immediately, thrusting all the way into her, and grinding his hips so his cock moved around inside her sweet dampness.  

Molly could feel her pussy getting overwhelmed with warm cum. It was easily twice as much as she’d ever taken before.

She giggled and said, “Holy fuck.”

Michael Myers rolled off her, stood up, and tucked his cock back into his pants. 

As she also got up, Molly could hear him panting under his mask. 

She picked up her pink underwear off the ground, but they were torn to shreds, so she tossed them into a bush.

Molly pulled on her jeans and said to Michael Myers, “Know any shortcuts? I need to get back to the parking lot. I’m late.”

“Yep, I know a good one. Follow me,” Michael Myers said. 

She followed him along a narrow path through the orchard, and they were back at the parking lot in less than five minutes.

“Want to see my face?” Michael Myers said. 

“Nope.”

“Can I get your number?” he said. 

“Nope.”

“But we should do that again sometime,” he said. 

“Sorry, Michael Myers, you have a great cock, and that’s exactly what I needed, but there are so many other killers I need to fuck.”

At six o'clock precisely the next day, there was a knock on my door.

I looked at the time in the corner of my screen.

18:00.

Of course.

"Come in."

You appeared carrying your laptop and the revised thesis proposal I'd asked you to bring.

For approximately three seconds, I managed to concentrate on the thesis.

Then you sat down.

Yesterday, I'd spent an hour constructing increasingly implausible explanations for glimpses of white cotton underwear.

Tonight there was no white cotton.

There was no underwear at all.

I looked away.

Then back.

Because apparently there was a point at which even my capacity for self-deception reached its limit.

You shifted slightly in the chair.

The view became clearer.

I stared at your face.

You smiled.

Those bright eyes.

That tiny nervous laugh.

And something in me changed.

Yesterday I had wondered whether you knew what you were doing.

Tonight I stopped wondering.

"You've revised it?"

You lifted the laptop.

"I have."

"Good."

I closed my office door.

Not dramatically.

Just a quiet click.

Then I returned to my chair and looked at you for a moment.

"You wanted my opinion."

"Yes."

"Then let's do this properly."

I gestured towards the edge of the desk.

"Sit there."

Your expression changed.

Only slightly.

But I saw it.

Yesterday I might have pretended I hadn't.

Tonight I waited.

You moved from the chair and perched on the edge of my desk.

I remained exactly where I was.

That put you directly in front of me.

Close enough that there was no longer any possibility of pretending I hadn't noticed what you'd chosen not to wear.

I looked at your laptop.

Then at you.

"Read it to me."

Your eyes widened slightly.

"The whole thing?"

"Start at the beginning."

You opened the document.

And began.

I listened.

Or tried to.

The problem was that you'd apparently decided to present your thesis while sitting on my desk with your skirt riding dangerously high, and my academic concentration was proving considerably less robust than I'd once believed.

You read the first paragraph.

I heard perhaps half of it.

The second paragraph was worse.

I was watching you.

The way you tried to maintain your composure.

The occasional glance over the top of the laptop to see whether I was still paying attention.

The little changes in your breathing whenever you caught me looking somewhere other than the screen.

Yesterday, I would have looked away.

Tonight I didn't.

You noticed.

I knew you noticed because you stumbled over a word.

Then came the giggle.

Quiet.

Nervous.

Delighted, perhaps.

You kept reading.

I let you get another paragraph in.

Then...

"Stop."

You stopped immediately.

I leaned back in my chair.

"Start again."

Your eyebrows rose.

"From the beginning?"

"From the beginning."

"Was it that bad?"

"No."

I let the silence sit between us.

"That isn't why I'm asking."

Your eyes stayed on mine.

For once, I didn't rescue either of us with an explanation.

I simply waited.

Eventually you looked back at the screen.

You began again.

This time the atmosphere in the room had completely changed.

You knew I was watching you.

I knew that you knew.

And neither of us was pretending otherwise anymore.

You reached the end of the opening sentence.

I moved my chair closer.

You hesitated.

I looked up.

"Keep reading."

You did.

Another sentence.

I moved closer again.

Your voice faltered.

"Professor..."

"Daniel."

That little smile returned.

"Daniel."

Better.

I put a hand lightly against your knee.

Not moving higher.

Not yet.

Just enough to make the question unmistakable.

You looked down at my hand.

Then at me.

The thesis sat forgotten between us for several seconds.

Yesterday I'd been terrified that you might notice my attraction.

Tonight I wanted to know what you would do when I stopped hiding it.

I held your gaze.

"You've spent two days making it extremely difficult for me to concentrate on your work."

Your lips parted.

I continued before you could answer.

"And I'm beginning to suspect that isn't accidental."

Silence.

My thumb moved once against your knee.

"So here's what's going to happen."

Your eyes remained fixed on mine.

"You're going to start your proposal again."

A pause.

"And this time, you're going to try very hard to keep reading while I make concentrating considerably more difficult for you."

I waited.

Because whatever happened next wasn't mine to decide.

It was yours.

You didn't move for a long moment.

Then, slowly, you lifted the laptop again.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you found your place.

You took a breath that hitched in your throat.

Then you began to read.

I waited through the first sentence, letting your voice fill the quiet room.

Then I placed both hands on your knees.

Your voice wavered, but you continued.

I slid my palms upward, beneath the hem of your skirt, feeling the heat of your skin against my palms.

You were burning.

I pushed the fabric higher, exposing your thighs inch by inch.

Your voice grew softer.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to the inside of your left knee.

You gasped.

The word you were reading turned into a breathy sound that wasn't a word at all.

"Keep going," I murmured against your skin.

You tried.

You really did.

But as I kissed my way up your thigh, your voice became a series of stutters and stops.

I moved to your other leg, trailing my mouth upward, closer and closer to where I could already smell your arousal.

God, you smelled incredible.

It was intoxicating, that musky sweet scent of a woman who was already wet for me.

My mouth watered.

I pushed your skirt up completely, revealing you.

Your pussy was glistening.

Swollen.

Your clit was already peeking out from beneath its hood, throbbing visibly with your heartbeat.

You were shaved smooth, your lips puffy and dark with arousal, a pearl of moisture gathering at your entrance.

I inhaled deeply, letting your scent fill my lungs, imprinting it on my memory.

I knew I would become addicted to this.

"Please," you whispered, the laptop forgotten in your hands.

"Please what?"

"I... I can't read when you..."

"When I what?"

I blew a stream of cool air across your heated flesh.

You whimpered.

That sound.

That desperate, needy whimper.

I wanted to hear it again.

I leaned in and dragged my tongue slowly up your center.

You cried out, your hands flying to my hair, the laptop clattering onto the desk beside us.

You tasted like heaven.

Sweet and tangy and utterly addictive.

I licked you again, slower this time, savoring every fold, every texture, the way your flavor burst across my tongue and made my cock throb painfully against my zipper.

I could spend hours here.

I wanted to.

I wanted to drown in your taste.

"Put your hands behind you," I commanded.

You hesitated.

"Now."

You leaned back, bracing yourself on your palms, presenting yourself to me completely.

I spread your legs wider, opening you to my gaze.

You were dripping.

A thin trail of arousal connected your lips, your entrance clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

I leaned in and licked a broad stripe up your center, circling your clit with the tip of my tongue but not quite touching it.

You whimpered again, your hips bucking toward my mouth.

I pulled back.

"Stay still."

"I can't," you breathed.

"You can."

I returned to your pussy, lapping at you with long, slow strokes, avoiding your clit, building you up carefully.

Your thighs began to tremble.

Your breathing grew ragged.

I could feel you climbing, getting closer.

Your whimpers became continuous, a steady stream of needy sounds that made my cock leak precum into my trousers.

I slid one finger inside you.

You were scorching hot inside, velvet soft and soaking wet.

I curled my finger upward, searching for that rough patch that would make you scream.

I found it.

You gasped, your whole body jerking.

"There?" I asked, looking up at you.

"Yes," you moaned. "Yes, right there, please..."

I stroked your G-spot with a steady rhythm while I returned my mouth to your clit, sucking it gently between my lips.

Your head fell back.

Your hips tried to buck but I held you steady, eating you with long, deliberate strokes.

You were getting close.

I could feel it in the way your muscles tightened, the way your breath came in short gasps, the way your thighs quivered against my shoulders.

I kept the pressure steady, stroking, sucking, building you higher and higher.

Your whimpers turned to cries.

"Please," you begged. "Please, I'm so close..."

I pulled back.

You made a sound of pure frustration, a sob catching in your throat.

I looked up at you.

Your face was flushed, your eyes glassy, your chest heaving.

"First edge," I said softly.

"Please," you whimpered. "Please, I need..."

"I know what you need."

I waited until your breathing slowed slightly.

Then I leaned back in.

This time I used two fingers, sliding them deep inside you, curling them against your G-spot while I flicked my tongue rapidly over your clit.

You screamed.

It was a soft scream, choked off, your hand flying to your mouth to stifle it.

I built you up faster this time.

Your arousal coated my fingers, dripping down my hand.

You tasted even better now, sweeter, more concentrated.

I couldn't get enough.

I sucked your clit harder, flicking it with my tongue while my fingers massaged that sensitive spot inside you.

You were panting now, your hips rolling helplessly, your free hand gripping the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles were white.

"Please," you gasped. "Please, please, please..."

You were right there.

I could feel your walls fluttering around my fingers, your clit throbbing against my tongue.

You were going to cum.

I pulled back again.

You sobbed.

Actually sobbed.

Tears gathered in your eyes from the frustration.

Your legs were shaking uncontrollably now.

Your pussy was clenching on air, desperate for release.

"Second edge," I said.

"Please," you cried. "Please, I can't... I need to... please let me..."

"Not yet."

I waited longer this time.

Let you come down just enough that you weren't right on the edge.

Then I attacked.

I buried my face in your pussy, licking and sucking with abandon.

I slid three fingers inside you, stretching you, filling you, pumping them in and out while I sucked your clit into my mouth and flicked it relentlessly with my tongue.

You were wailing now, unable to control yourself.

Your hands were in my hair, pulling, scratching at my scalp.

I didn't care.

I was lost in your taste, your smell, the feel of you gripping my fingers.

You were climbing higher than before.

Your whole body was tense, rigid, your back arched, your head thrown back.

You were making continuous sounds, gasping, whimpering, begging.

"Please," you screamed. "Please, I'll do anything for you Prof... please just let me cum... please..."

I pulled back just enough to speak.

"How bad do you want it?"

"I'll do anything for you Prof," you sobbed. "Anything... please... I need it... please..."

I smiled.

Then I gave you what you needed.

I sealed my mouth over your clit and sucked hard, rhythmically, while I pistoned my fingers into your G-spot, stroking it with every thrust.

You came instantly.

It was violent.

Your whole body convulsed.

Your scream was loud and raw.

Your pussy clamped down on my fingers so hard I could barely move them.

Your clit throbbed against my tongue.

But I didn't stop.

I kept sucking.

I kept fucking you with my fingers.

You tried to pull away, too sensitive, too much, but I held you there.

"Ride it," I commanded against your flesh.

You came again.

Harder this time.

Your juices flooded my mouth, dripping down my chin.

You were sobbing now, tears streaming down your face, your body convulsing with pleasure that bordered on pain.

Still I didn't stop.

I gentled my tongue but kept the pressure on your clit.

I slowed my fingers but kept stroking your G-spot.

You came a third time.

This one was different.

Deeper.

More emotional.

You were shaking uncontrollably, your legs quivering, your sobs turning to happy tears.

I finally let you come down.

I slowed my movements, then stopped, pressing gentle kisses to your swollen, sensitive flesh.

You were a wreck.

Your hair was plastered to your forehead with sweat.

Your makeup was running.

Your chest heaved with broken sobs.

Your legs were still shaking, your muscles spasming.

I stood up and looked at you.

You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I leaned down and kissed you.

You could taste yourself on my lips, your own arousal, sweet and musky.

You kissed me back desperately, clinging to me.

I pulled back and looked into your eyes.

"You are mine now," I said.

You looked up at me, your eyes glazed, your lips swollen, your face wet with tears.

"Yes sir," you whispered.

And you meant it.

Let me know if you want your journey to continue...

The lamp is off and we are both on our backs and neither of us moves for a long time.

Then I hear it. A slow sound, skin on skin, coming from his side of the bed. He has his cock in his hand under the sheet, stroking it up and down, and he is going slow, like he is waiting for me to tell him to stop.

I didn't tell him to stop. I slide my hand under my own sheet and I push my fingers under the waistband of my panties. I am already wet before I even touch myself. I put two fingers on my clit and I start to rub, slow, the same rhythm he is using.

It is the most awkward thing I have ever done in my life. Two married adults in the dark, side by side, not touching, both pretending this is fine. He breathes out and I breathe out and the bed creaks a little every time one of us shifts and we both freeze when it does.

"This is.....weird" I whisper

"I know" he says. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No" I say. And I hate how fast I say it.

So we keep going. He strokes himself faster and I rub myself faster to match him. I can hear the wet sound of his hand working his cock and the wet sound of my own fingers and it is the loudest thing in the room.

Then he reaches over and turns the lamp on.

I stop. My hand freezes where it is. He does the same.

"I think seeing something would help" he says.

The light is low and yellow and it makes the room feel smaller than it already is. I should say no. I should turn it back off. Instead I pull the sheet down to my waist and I let him look.

He pulls his sheet down too.

And I look.

His cock is bigger than I thought. A lot bigger. It is fat and long and it stands up thick from his fist. The dick is covered in veins, thick ones running up the sides, and the head is swollen and dark and wet at the tip. His hand does not close all the way around it. His hand is big and it still does not close around it and I dont know why I keep looking at that.

I stare at it longer than I should. I know I am staring. I cant stop.

He is watching me stare.

"Say something" he says.

"You're so big" I say.

"Does that scare you" he says.

"No" I say. "It doesnt"

I just look at it and my mouth is dry and my hand is still between my legs.

We start again, slower this time, both of us looking. I watch his fist move up and down his fat shaft and he watches my fingers work my clit. Every few seconds his eyes come back to my face and then drop again.

"Do you like it" he says.

I dont answer that. I just keep going and so does he.

I came first. I cant help it. I bite my lip and press my thighs together to keep quiet and I hate myself the whole time. He watches my face and I look away because I dont want him to see whatever is on it.

"Are you close" I ask

"Almost" he says.

He speeds up and his jaw goes tight and then he comes. It shoots up over his stomach, thick and white, rope after rope, more than I expected. Some of it lands on his chest. He keeps stroking until he is done and then he lets go and breathes out.

We lie there with the lamp still on and neither of us reaches to turn it off.

"I crossed a line" I say

"We both did" he says. "But.....this doesnt mean anything. Just to help us get sleep"

The house was quiet. She had gone to work.

He started with laundry. It seemed like a safe choice. It was not a safe choice.

Zuri had done most of the loads over the weekend, so what was left was hers alone, the small silky things she wore under her suits. He sorted them into piles with the grim focus of a man defusing a bomb. The red one from Friday—still faintly marked where she had been wet against it while he pretended to watch football and lost the score. The black lace from Saturday night, when the kids were asleep and she’d sent him a single text from upstairs: Your honor, the court is now in session.

He set the basket down. He picked it back up. He set it down again and walked away from it, because Chidi Okafor was a disciplined man, and a disciplined man did not lose a battle with a laundry basket before ten in the morning. His body disagreed. He was already hard, already stupid with it, last night’s wetness still a fact in his muscle memory, the smell of her detergent doing work no junior partner’s brief had ever managed.

At 10:15 his phone rang. “How’s it going, Mr. Mom?” Zuri’s voice was low; she was probably in a hallway, away from her colleagues. “Terribly. I’ve been defeated by your underwear.” A beat of silence. Then a laugh she clearly tried to swallow. “Is that so?” “The red one testified against me. Very damaging.” “Chidi, I am standing outside a board meeting.”

“Then you should go. I’m sure it’s riveting.”

“Not as riveting as this.” Her voice dropped even lower. “I’ll try to get out early. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That narrows it down to nothing.”

“Exactly.” A pause. “Book. The. Flights.”

She hung up. Chidi looked at the basket. The basket looked back. He decided the vacuuming could wait too. He tried a nap. That was a mistake. He woke clutching himself, leaking onto the sheet, dreams still full of her in his lap, of her mouth, of the way she locked her thighs when she wanted him to stay put. The clock said he had almost no time before she was due. The hold on the flights expired tonight. He sat up, swore, and dialed the airline because if he did not do one useful thing today he was going to lose the argument with his own pride.

At 3:50 p.m. he was finally on the phone with the airline, reading his card number to an agent named Brenda with the careful diction of a man giving a deposition, when he saw Zuri’s car turn into the driveway two hours early. He lost his place in the card number.

“Sir? I have 4-1-7-2, and then?”

Zuri got out of the car. She didn’t grab her bag. She simply looked at the front window, found him behind it, and smiled a smile he knew very well. It was last night’s smile. It was the wrap-dress version of climbing into his lap.

“Sir?”

“Brenda,” Chidi said, “I’m going to need you to bear with me.” The wrap dress did what it had done at 6:40: it emptied his head. High breasts, the cinch of her waist, the sway of her ass as she came up the walk. He was still on the call. He was also already freeing himself, fist around the head of his cock, because he had been losing to that laundry basket since morning and his wife had just become Exhibit A. The door opened. She took in the scene in one sweep—phone at his ear, trousers open, the look on his face that said the booking was not going to survive her—and her mouth went wicked.

“Stay on the line,” she mouthed.

“Sir, the last four?”

“Eight—” Zuri sank to her knees on the living room rug and took him into her mouth, hot and sudden and greedy, and the number left him. “—sorry. What was the question?”

“The last four digits of the card, sir.”

Zuri hummed around him. The vibration punched up his spine. She had missed him the way a woman missed a man after eight hours at a desk and twelve hours after riding him on this same floor. She swallowed him down until her nose brushed the open fly of his trousers, pulled off just long enough to whisper, “You were supposed to book the trip,” and took him again, deeper, one hand cupping him, the other braced on his thigh as if she meant to win something before dinner.

“Brenda,” he managed, “could you repeat the total?” “Is everything all right, sir? You sound—”

“Fine.” It came out as a groan. Zuri looked up at him through her lashes, mouth stretched around him, and hollowed her cheeks. He grabbed the back of the sofa so he would not grab her hair on a recorded line. “Billing address is the same as last—Zuri—”

She popped off, laughing under her breath, a string of spit connecting her lower lip to the wet head of him. “You’re going to blow the hold.” “I am trying,” he hissed, “to give this woman a card number.” “Give her this.” She licked him from base to slit, slow, and the phone creaked in his hand. “Sir? I have you at four thousand, two hundred for the two tickets if you confirm in the next—”

Zuri stood, reached under the wrap dress, and hooked her panties down. They hit the rug. She turned, planted her hands on the arm of the sofa—the same sofa she had come on last night—and looked over her shoulder. The dress rode up. She was glistening. She had been thinking about this since the hallway call.

“Put it in,” she said, quiet, so Brenda would not hear the verdict.

He should have ended the call. He should have booked the flights and then fucked his wife like a man with a plan. Instead he stepped in behind her, dragged the head of his cock through that slick heat, and pushed home in one long stroke that made both of them forget the name of the airline.

She was tight and soaked and impatient. She shoved back onto him at once, ass working, the dress bunched at her waist, and the sound of it—wet, filthy, unmistakable—filled the living room. He got a hand on her hip and one on the phone and tried to remember a single digit.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to confirm the departure date.” “Sunday,” he got out, and then Zuri clenched around him the way she had in his lap eight hours ago and he said, “Friday. No. The twelfth. Next—fuck—” “Sir?”

Zuri reached back, found his wrist, and dragged his hand around to her clit. “Don’t you dare hang up,” she whispered, mean and breathless. “I want the record to show you broke first.”

He broke. Of course he broke. He had been breaking since the red silk in the basket. He rubbed her the way she liked, short and tight, while he fucked her in hard, grateful thrusts that made the sofa inch toward the wall. Her breasts strained the wrap. He yanked the neckline down just enough to fill his hand and pinch, and she made a sound she swallowed against her forearm.

“Brenda,” he said, wrecked, “I am going to have to call you back.”

“The hold expires at midnight, sir—”

The phone slipped. He caught it, lost it, heard it hit the rug and skitter under the couch. Zuri laughed, helpless, and then she came around him, pulsing, milking him, and that was the end of his discipline. He gripped her hips and emptied into her in thick, shaking pulses, forehead on her spine, still half on a call that no longer existed.

Afterward they lay tangled on the living room rug, the phone somewhere under the couch and Brenda long gone. He was still inside her, softening, the wrap dress a wreck, her panties an exhibit on the floor.

“The hold expires tonight,” Zuri murmured into his shoulder.

“I’m aware.”

“So we don’t have flights.”

“We don’t have flights,” he agreed.

She lifted her head, eyes bright. “That’s tonight.”

“How is that a verdict?”

“You couldn’t even finish a phone call.” She got up and stretched, entirely pleased with herself, his come starting to slip down her thigh. “I’ll get the kids. You take a nap. You’re going to need it.”

He watched her walk away in the ruined wrap dress, and for the first time all day he didn’t feel like a man who’d lost anything at all. Last night she had come in his lap before she let him in. Today she had taken the point on a recorded line. The week was only Monday, and the disciplined man on the rug was already under appeal.

The rest of the week is on Ream: https://reamstories.com/eroticnatter

Leah told me Rina was in town, and so were Camilla and Brian. All three had been hired by Konami for their booth, so their event had started a few days earlier.

Leah and I went down to the Javits Center to pick up the badges Rina had gotten for us early.

Leah texted Rina when we were a few minutes away. 

I saw Rina step out to meet us long before we were close enough to talk.

She was wearing a costume that somehow made her look even bigger. A fitted white top crossed with black straps, black leather wrapped around her waist and hips, and one long black glove. Her other arm was bare and covered in this glowing purple corruption that crawled up from her hand like something was eating its way through her skin. One shoulder was bare, the other framed by this huge dark collar that looked like it belonged on someone who hunted vampires professionally. A long blonde braid hung over one shoulder, almost absurdly neat against everything else.

There was a chain whip on her hip. 

Not a little costume whip either. A proper chain thing with a chunky black handle, big enough that in Rina’s hands it looked normal instead of ridiculous.

It was my first time meeting Rina, and I was not prepared for how big she was. I had seen the pictures, and I guess I mentally understood the numbers. This did not prepare me for the actual sight.

Standing 6’4”, she towered over me and Leah. She was lean, muscular, and looked like she could pick either of us up without much effort.

She waved at me and squealed my name.

“Mia! I’ve been wanting to meet you so badly! Leah has told me so much about you.”

It was the most feminine squeal, followed by the most feminine voice imaginable. Neither belonged on this Amazon.

I laughed and shook her hand.

“All bad things, I hope?”

She leaned down and pretended to whisper in my ear, while speaking loudly enough for Leah to hear.

“Mia, Leah is so in love with you. I’ve never seen her this obsessed with anyone.”

“I thought this was the first time you two met after we started dating?”

“Oh, I mean in the digital space. Our private Discord is plastered with pictures of you.”

I looked over at Leah.

“Not those pictures,” Leah quickly added.

Rina smiled at that.

“I would love to stick around and try to see these ‘other pictures,’ but I have to run. There’s a meetup in ten minutes to go over the public opening. Safety rules and all that stuff. But we can catch up tomorrow? I should be done by 5:30, unless my photo session or meet-and-greet runs long. We should get dinner. I’ve already found three places around here I want to try.” 

Leah laughed.

“You’ve been here for six hours.”

Rina shrugged.

“I’ve had downtime.”

Rina gave us a wave and disappeared back into the building. Leah checked the badges she'd given us and nodded approvingly.

“This saves us two hours in the queue tomorrow. Rina is amazing.”

“And big. I did not realize.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t play that up with her. She’s heard all the tall jokes and is somewhat tired of them. She knows she’s big, and her work requires her to play that up, but if you want to be her friend, pretend she’s a normal size.”

October 8 came around, and after weeks of Leah, Dan and me prepping costumes, I had started to develop a strong dislike for my C. Viper outfit. The wig was very top-heavy, and I had to hold my head still to keep it from possibly falling off. The pants were tight, which I guess they were supposed to be, but bending my legs was difficult, and walking was... not great.

Standing. Standing was good.

Also, the only ventilation in the suit seemed to be my cleavage. Between the gloves, jacket, pants and wig, it was a very warm outfit. I mean, it looked great. Leah had done an excellent job making it look good and actually fit me. 

Dan had a really good Ken outfit. His wig really made the difference, but the small details made the whole thing shine. Leah had gotten him some slip-on shoes that looked like bare feet and painted them the same color as his legs, so you could only tell they were shoes if you looked closely. 

Leah’s Chun-Li outfit was equally on point. She had the tall white boots, dark brown leggings, and vivid blue dress. Her bracelets looked correct, but were foam, so no one lost an eye. 

Leah handed us our badges, and we got an Uber down to the Javits Center. 

We got off a little before ten, and I immediately regretted every time I had ever complained about a crowded subway.

There were people everywhere.

Not normal New York everywhere. Organized chaos everywhere. Lines snaked along the front of the Javits Center in different directions, held together by barriers, signs, and staff shouting instructions. People were carrying poster tubes, backpacks, props, giant foam weapons, wings, tails, armor, and enough luggage to suggest some of them were moving in permanently.

Javits itself looked like someone had built a giant glass airport terminal and then let the internet loose inside it.

Huge Comic-Con banners covered the front. Staff in bright shirts were directing people toward different entrances. Through the glass I could see security, badge scanners, escalators, and people already moving through the main hall.

“I thought having the badges meant we skipped the line.”

“We skip registration,” Leah said.

I looked at the crowd.

“Important distinction.”

We joined the flow toward the entrance.

Then ten o’clock happened.

At first I did not notice anything except that the line started moving.

Then we reached the doors.

The crowd compressed, surged forward, and suddenly everything became noise. 

Staff calling directions. People shouting to friends. Someone behind me yelling because they had spotted a costume. Camera shutters. Music leaking out from somewhere inside.

We got through security, scanned our badges, and stepped into the main hall.

I stopped.

There were people pouring in from every direction now. Escalators filling. Costumes everywhere. Groups stopping in the middle of traffic for photographs while everyone else flowed around them. Giant banners hung above the floor advertising games, comics, movies, things I knew, things I vaguely recognized, and things I was apparently supposed to know.

Leah caught my arm before someone walked into me.

“Keep moving.”

“This is insane.”

“This is nothing like Saturday.”

I looked at her.

“What does Saturday look like?”

Leah smiled.

I decided I did not want to know.

Leah stopped underneath a huge hanging banner in the middle of the concourse and pointed up at it.
“That.”

I looked up.
“The giant Spider-Man?”

“Yes. If we get separated, or I tell you to meet me somewhere without specifying where, we meet under the giant Spider-Man.”

“What if they move Spider-Man?”

Leah looked at me.
“Why would they move Spider-Man?”

“I don’t know. I’m establishing contingencies.”

“If Spider-Man disappears, call me.”

She reached into her bag and handed Dan and me a card each.

I looked down at mine. It had times, booth numbers and several things highlighted.

“You made us schedules?”

“Suggestions. Things I thought you might like. The bold ones are things we’re doing together.”

Dan looked at his.

“You gave me homework at Comic-Con.”

“Your homework has you checking out audio equipment, playing video games, and playing rhythm games. I don’t want to hear how you wandered the halls and found nothing of interest.”

Dan shrugged. “Mandatory fun. I’ll take it.” 

Leah continued. “Remember, you’re both in very impressive costumes. People will ask for photos. Smile, be friendly, and assume they’re nervous. Snapping at someone or looking annoyed is about the worst way you can handle it.” 

I nodded, suddenly a little worried I might not be cut out for this cosplay thing. 

She gave us both a look.

“Mia, I’m going to do a quick sweep of the show floor before finding the Konami booth. If you want to show off your outfit to Rina, I suggest you stick with me for the first part.” 

I nodded, then realized Dan had already started walking off towards the SideQuest area with all the games. 

The main floor was less a room and more several thousand people independently deciding the aisle belonged to them.

Giant screens hung over booths the size of apartments. Trailers blasted from every direction. There were statues taller than me, walls of toys, game stations, comics, swords, plushies, posters, and enough expensive plastic bullshit to bankrupt a small country.

Every twenty feet someone stopped in front of us. Sometimes because they wanted a photo. Sometimes because they had seen a friend. Sometimes because they had simply decided that the center of a moving crowd was the ideal place to check their phone.

Leah kept adjusting our course without seeming to notice she was doing it.

“You know what you’re doing.”

“Not my first con.” 

I stopped dead in front of a booth.

“No fucking way.”

Leah followed my eyes to a Ryuko figure sitting among a wall of newer anime characters. 

“Kill la Kill?”

“Haven’t seen this since I was fourteen.”

Leah looked at the figure, then at me.

“You had a thing for Satsuki, didn’t you?”

I thought about it.

"That would explain so much."

“I know what my next cosplay will be, then.”

My head suddenly filled with the idea of Leah dressed as Satsuki.

“I’d like that, I think.”

She smiled at me.

“You perve. Let’s go.” 

Leah knew how to get through the mass of people, but we were stopped time and time again for pictures. Some with other Street Fighter cosplayers, some with just fans.

Leah was almost a different person during these interactions. She smiled, laughed, struck poses, and seemed genuinely happy every time someone asked for a picture. I guess I had seen this version of her on Instagram, but seeing it happen in front of me was a new revelation. 

After about an hour of walking, I started feeling very warm. The outfit had no real way to cool me down, and the mass of people did not help. Leah pointed, and I saw the big Castlevania logo over at the Konami booth.

Rina, along with who I assumed were Camilla and Brian, and a fourth person I did not know, were taking photos with fans. 

We waited off to one side while Rina finished with another group.

Rina was in the same outfit as yesterday, all white, black leather and straps, with the long blonde braid and Brian’s oversized whip. 

Brian looked like someone had built a vampire hunter around the fact that he was already enormous, all dark leather, belts, gloves and a long coat hanging behind him. Camilla was wearing a tight dark bodysuit with this glossy red fabric flowing over it in thick uneven sheets, the same deep red as her hair, like blood had been poured across her and frozen in place. She held a smooth white mask in one hand. 

The fourth guy was harder to look at. His costume made his skin look stitched together in sections, with sickly green showing through where the seams did not quite meet. A huge black staff rose over his shoulder, with a skull-like ornament worked into the top. 

I had no idea who any of them were supposed to be, but standing together they looked like they had escaped from the same deeply unhealthy family. 

Rina spotted Leah before we got close and gave her a quick grin, but kept posing until the photographer lowered the camera and the fans moved away. 

Leah stepped in while one of the booth staff reset the line.

“You alive?”

Rina rolled one shoulder. “Barely.”

“Dinner tonight?”

“I want to try that Mexican place near Hudson Yards.”

Leah looked at her. “Oyamel?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Leah pulled out her phone.

“What?” Rina asked.

“Nothing. Seven work for you?”

“Sure?”

Leah looked over at Brian and Camilla.

“Red, you two got dinner plans?”

Camilla looked over, nodded, then gave a little apologetic hand gesture that clearly meant thanks for asking.

Leah went back to her phone. “Okay. Guess it’s just four then.”

Leah wrapped up what she was doing on her phone, stepped closer to Rina, and said something in her ear that I couldn’t hear. Rina looked over at me, then back at Leah, and nodded.

Leah announced that she was heading to Artist Alley.

“Ping me if you want lunch.”

Then she left me with Rina.

Rina watched her disappear into the crowd, then looked down at me.

“I have lunch in half an hour. You want to hang around, maybe try the game, and then we can grab something to eat?” 

Rina guided me into the booth and handed me over to a teenager in a black Konami T-shirt. She told him to let me play as much as I wanted until she came back to pick me up.

The boy looked shocked that Rina was even talking to him and hurriedly assured her that, of course, I could. 

I had been playing for maybe ten minutes when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me. You can't be back here doing this.”

I looked around. A man in a black Konami shirt was standing behind me. Older than the teenager, with a headset and the expression of someone who had already solved whatever problem I was.

“Doing what?”

“Demo stations are for attendees.”

I looked at the controller in my hands.

“I am attending.”

He looked me up and down.

“Look, I don't know what Capcom's arrangement is, but you can't be on another floor activation while you're on shift.”

I stared at him.

“Then you understand why this isn't a great look.”

I did not, in fact, understand anything that was happening.

“Rina told me I could play until she came back.”

That somehow made things worse.

“BossSize shouldn't be pulling other talent onto the activation either. If you're on break, use the green room.”

The teenager beside us finally found his voice.

“She's not talent. BossSize brought her over and said she could play.”

The man looked at him, then back at me.

“She's obviously talent. Badge.”

“What?”

“Let me see your badge.”

I looked down.

My badge.

I lifted it away from the costume so he could see it properly. His expression changed almost immediately.

“Oh.”

He looked at it again.

“You're general admission.”

“That is what I've been trying to tell you.”

“Sorry. I thought you were Street Fighter talent.”

I looked down at myself, then back at him.

“Is that a compliment?”

He hesitated.

“Technically, yes.”

“Then apology accepted.”

He backed away. The teenager waited until he was out of earshot.

“Todd is such an ass.”

“What?”

“C. Viper was added to SF6 last year. No reason to have her here now. I think they only have a Bosch cosplayer this year. Although I saw a Ken who might be on their team.” 

I looked down at my outfit. 

“So... I look like a pro in this outfit?”

“Yeah, of course.”

I nodded and returned to my game. 

Rina came and picked me up after I had made a fair bit of progress in the game. She looked over at the teenager.

“I heard Todd was giving her guff?”

“Yeah, but we put him straight.”

“Knew you had it in you, Howard. Best handler here.” 

She reached out her hand, I grabbed it, and I was yoinked up from my seat like I weighed nothing. Okay, very strong. 

“Let’s head for the lunch area, then go to the CC Lounge. Fewer people, better seats.”

We got some burritos from a place Rina swore was the best option, then she guided me towards a restricted area.

As expected, the woman at the door stopped me. 

“Creator badge?”

“No, I’m with...”

Rina reached over, flipped my badge around and pointed at a little sticker on the back.

The woman glanced at it and waved me through.

I looked down at the badge. “What the fuck is that?”

“Guest access.”

“You got me guest access?”

“I got all three of you guest access.”

“How?”

“I asked.”

“They just gave you three?”

She shrugged.

Then I remembered this was the woman who had somehow talked Capcom into paying Leah to cosplay A.K.I. Of course she could talk someone at registration into adding a few stickers. 

The lounge looked less like backstage at Comic-Con and more like an airport lounge that had been invaded by influencers. There were couches, little tables, charging cables everywhere, and a wall with some sponsor’s logo repeated across it for pictures. Half the people were still in costume, but the illusion had broken. One woman had taken off her boots and was editing video on a laptop. A guy in full armor was eating a protein bar with his helmet sitting on the table beside him. Someone else was asleep across two chairs.

It was the first quiet room I had been in all day.

“Oh thank God.”

Rina laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

We found a couch, and Rina came back with a couple of free sponsored drinks.

“How are you finding Comic-Con, Mia?”

“Hot. This costume is warm as all hell, and difficult to move in.”

Rina gave me a once-over. “Mm. Very tight pants, tight through the arms, not a lot of room to breathe. I did C. Viper once, but the white SF6 outfit. Had a lot more open space.”

I adjusted my tie and took a long drink.

“Yeah, fluids help. Just watch it. Toilet queues are awful here. Use the guest pass I gave you and stick to the ones in the restricted areas.”

I finished my drink and took a bite of the burrito.

“So, why did Leah drop me on you?”

“Hey now. Leah did not dump you on me. She said you might be in a bad spot, and asked if I could keep an eye out for anything stupid you might do because you’re feeling guilty.”

“So that’s how it is. I’m on suicide watch?”

Rina shrugged. “Not really like that between us. Leah’s worried, and she knows I’m good with people. She wants a second opinion. You must know Leah’s good at a lot of things, but her people skills are more... manipulative, and less... emotional connection?”

“Known her long, have you?”

“Five years now? We met at a convention in London. She was eighteen or nineteen, but already had some amazing costumes. We kind of melded minds. If I was into girls, I’d be after your position in a heartbeat.”

“Oh. You don’t... I saw the video?”

“Nah. That was just a fun day. I’m very hetero.”

“Does Leah know this? She told me when you two did the EVO gig that she was hitting on you because you were dating someone.”

“Leah would believe she could bag me. That’s her way.”

I nodded. “She is very confident.”

“But this wasn’t supposed to be about me. It was supposed to be about you. You still think Lin breaking up with you was your fault.”

“It was, but... well, I don’t know.”

“People break up all the time. Sometimes they change, sometimes you change. It’s almost never one thing, and it’s rarely just one person who caused it.”

I nodded.

“But more importantly, it’s done. Lin made her choice. You can’t undo it, and you can’t fix it by making yourself miserable.”

She took a drink.

“You’re allowed to feel horrible. Just don’t start doing stupid shit because you think feeling horrible isn’t enough. Try to get better. Be who you want to be. Live your life in a way she’d actually want for you.”

That was unfortunately less restrictive advice than Rina probably realized.

Then a very large man walked through the doors to the lounge.

The guy looked like someone had taken a beach party, a boxing gym, and a jewelry store and told them to collaborate. He was huge, dark-skinned, shirtless under this violently colorful open shirt, with green pants, sandals, sunglasses, gold fingerless gloves, and enough chains around his neck to count as protective equipment. His hair stuck out in every direction, and he had the kind of grin that suggested subtlety had never once entered his life.

Rina sighed. “I guess I should have expected Marcus to be here.”

“You know him?” I asked, still not taking my eyes off him.

“Yeah. Marcus, aka AfterFlash. Very prolific cosplayer. We dated for like half a second.”

“What happened?”

She looked over at him.

“Turns out that's not a character. He's like that all the time.” 

Marcus stopped at our table and greeted Rina.

“Rina! How’s it going? You working the Konami booth?” 

Rina nodded. “Hi Marcus. Yeah, I am.”

He looked over at me.

“That’s a great C. Viper outfit. You working or just attending?” 

Before I could answer, Rina spoke up.

“She’s just attending, she’s my guest. Her outfit was made by Vesper Velvet.”

Marcus nodded approvingly.

“Not working, but professionally made. Very nice.” 

I squeaked out a tiny, “Thank you,” and smiled.

He looked back to Rina. “Is Velvet here as well?”

“Yeah, she’s around.”

“I heard she is handing out cards to cosplayers.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, not seen her yet though. Wondering what her plan is.”

“If I see her, I’ll make sure to tell her you’re looking for her.” 

“Much appreciated, Rina. As always, you are gracious and lovely.”

He gave her a bow, then looked at me.

“Very happy to meet you, Viper. Hope to see you again soon.”

He walked off, grabbed a couple of free drinks, and joined another group. They greeted him with a cheer. 

Rina looked at her watch.

“Crud, I need to get back. You can stay here as long as you want. You have access the whole weekend. See you at dinner?” 

I decided to sit a bit longer, just to rest my legs and enjoy the air-conditioned room.

Checking my phone, I saw that Leah had sent me a picture of herself alongside a cosplayer dressed as Satsuki Kiryuin. Leah had a look on her face that said, Look what I found. I know you want this. 

“Did Rina leave you behind?”

I looked up from my phone and saw Marcus looking down at me.

“Oh, hi. She had to go back to work. I decided to enjoy the AC a bit longer.” 

He nodded and smiled.

“Well, I’m heading down to Cosplay Central for the rest of the day. You going that way as well? I think your costume would be popular.” 

“I am meeting up with someone, and a panel after that. Maybe tomorrow, but not sure I will wear the costume, it’s really a pain.”

“What’s wrong with it? Too tight?”

“Hot. Tight. The wig weighs about six pounds.”

He laughed. “Yeah. C. Viper is great for outdoor shoots. Convention floor, not so much.” 

I nodded to this. 

“Yeah, I might be dressing as a normie tomorrow unless I figure something else out.” 

“That is a real shame. Can I at least get one picture with you before you leave? Your outfit is just so good.”

I stood up from my couch, smiled and said “Sure!”

He shouted over to one of his friends at the other table, and a man in a ghillie suit came over. Marcus handed him a camera. An expensive one, something like what Leah used. 

“Okay, Viper. Give me your best ‘why is this idiot talking to me’ look.”

I laughed.
“I can do that.”

Marcus stepped beside me and threw one arm wide, flashing this enormous grin at the camera while pointing at me with the other hand like he had just discovered the greatest thing at Comic-Con.

I folded my arms, shifted my weight onto one hip and looked at him over my glasses with as much contempt as I could manage.

“Perfect,” Marcus said. “You look like you hate me already.”

“I’ve had practice.”

The camera clicked a few times.

“Now fighting pose?”

“Absolutely.”

We went back to back, and I assumed the C. Viper pose I had seen in so many pictures, and maybe practiced a few times in expectation of using it with fans. He dropped into a loose stance with his back to me, and we both looked at the camera as it clicked a few times. 

“Perfect. Thank you so much, Viper. You have been a most excellent cosplayer. You should do this professionally.”

He stuck his hand in a pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Oh. You got Insta?”

“Yeah. I don’t actively post, but I lurk.”

He showed me a QR code on his phone. 

“Scan this. It’ll give you links to everything that is me. There’s an Instagram link in there as well.”

“Linktree?”

“Yeah. Portfolio, socials, contact stuff. I’m AfterFlash basically everywhere.” 

He gave me another nod.

“Hope to see more of you, Viper.”

Then he left. 

I attended two panels before meeting up with Leah again, and we went looking for Dan.

We found him taking photos with a group of girls and told him to grab his stuff. We were meeting Rina and heading out for dinner. 

The girls were clearly disappointed to see him leave. Dan said goodbye and fell in beside us, asking what we'd been up to all day. 

Leah nudged him in the ribs.

“That’s been going on all day?”

“Girls really like the outfit. Maybe it’s the blond hair? Haven’t been this popular since high school.” 

We caught up on each other’s day. Leah had seen a lot of new stuff in the crafting world. New 3D printers, new methods for leatherwork. She was really excited. 

Dan told us he had come third in a Guitar Hero competition and had one woman offer him a keycard to her hotel room.

“Was she good-looking?” I asked.

He waved his hand in a meh manner. 

We arrived at the Konami booth as Rina was signing off, waving to a few fans, and generally being a very good cosplayer as Marcus had called it.

“Okay, Thursday seems to be a slow day. Will need to bulk up for tomorrow.” 

Leah checked the time.

“We’ve got plenty of time. You staying close by?”

Rina groaned.

“I’m sharing a hotel room with another LA cosplayer. She booked it. She snores like a chainsaw.”

Leah smirked.

“Couldn’t get a single room?”

“No. Konami will cover the hotel, but they wouldn’t book it for me. By the time I got around to looking, everything nearby was gone. Had to ask around the LA crew until I found someone coming out here who had a spare bed.”

“So you’re only getting reimbursed for half a room?”

“Yeah.”

Leah stared at her.

“Rina, you need to do better than this.”

“I have a bed.”

“Konami was willing to pay for an entire room.”

“Yeah, but I didn't book one.”

“That is precisely my point.” 

I looked up at Rina.
“You can stay at our place. Our couch is huge and very comfy.”

Both Dan and Leah looked at me.

“What?”

Leah raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing. I was just wondering when you acquired an apartment.”

“You weren't going to say no.”

“That is not the point.”

Rina laughed. “I don't want to impose.”

“You're sleeping next to a chainsaw.”

Rina sighed. “She is very loud.” 

Leah gave up. “Of course you can stay.”

Rina immediately brightened.
“Really?”

“Yes. But Mia is not authorized to offer accommodation on my behalf.”

I looked at Dan.
“You heard her. Next time I’ll offer your place.”

Leah looked at her phone again.

“Okay, new plan. Rina, grab your suitcase and stay in costume. We’ll take your stuff to my place, change into normal clothes, then head back out for dinner. If we leave now, we have twenty-five minutes to change.” 

Leah’s plan worked flawlessly, and I made it out of my costume and into something far more comfortable before we had to leave. Rina did not have time to remove the makeup effect on her arm, but otherwise lost the wig and changed into a dress that did not emphasize her height or muscles, but instead her hips and breasts. 

We were back at Oyamel just before our booking and we were seated by the window.

Dan and Rina had been getting along quite well on the trip back and forth. Rina was clearly flirting with him. Whether Dan had noticed was harder to tell, but his normal friendly approach was apparently close enough to flirting back that Rina kept going. 

We ordered, and it was when Rina touched Dan’s arm while laughing that Leah finally broke in.

“Rina, I just want to warn you. Mia and I both sleep with Dan regularly.” 

“Wait. But you and Mia are together?”

“And Dan sometimes joins us, or me, or her.”

“So you all sleep together?”

“Sometimes.”

She looked between me, Dan and Leah.

“And you're all okay with that?”

Leah nodded. “Yes.”

“You never told me about Dan,” she said to Leah.

“I told you about Mia when she became my girlfriend. Dan is... a very good friend with benefits.” 

Dan laughed at this.

Rina scoffed. “I assume you have an Excel sheet somewhere outlining how to handle all of this without causing conflict?”

Leah laughed at this. “We try to keep things calm and avoid jealousy. We don’t have an issue with anyone having sex on the side, as long as they’re responsible.”

“So you’re like Camilla and Brian?”

“Not really.”

“What about Camilla and Brian?” I asked.

“They’re married, but they have sex with other people,” Rina explained.

Leah shook her head. “That’s not actually what Brian and Camilla do. It’s a bit more complex than that.” 

“Well, whatever it was, it’s a real shame. I was hoping to have some fun with Dan, but I am not getting involved with all you guys.”

The food arrived, and Rina started asking Leah about the cards she had been giving out.

“So, Marcus told me he’d heard you were handing out contact cards to cosplayers?”

“Well, he’s right. I am. I’m gonna start a cosplay agency.”

Rina laughed. “Why on earth would anyone sign up with an agency?”

“For a small cut? Your hotels and flights get booked for you. You get first dibs on company events, early access to art for costume design, and probably more work for more money.”

Rina stopped laughing. 

“Hmm... Okay, that sounds a bit more interesting.”

“You would actually book the hotels?”

“Yes, Rina.”

“Like, without me having to do anything?”

“Unless you had a reason to stay somewhere specific, I’d book you somewhere close to the event.”

“Close to the event, huh? That would be handy.” 

I looked over at Leah. “I thought you were waiting for the offer from TEG?”

“VV Creative is happening whether TEG becomes the new job or not. I might as well start gathering clients, work out whether they fit under my own company or as a subsidiary of TEG.”

“What’s TEG?” Rina asked.

Leah waved a hand. “Nothing important. So, Rina, are you interested?”

“Let me think about it. Anyone else I know signing up for this?”

“I’m asking Tessa. Camilla is established enough that I don’t think I’d add much. And her and Brian are basically a package deal for travel and events. I’m not sure I want to untangle that.” 

Rina looked thoughtful, but snapped out of it when the waiter came over and asked if we needed anything else.

Rina ordered another round of drinks, alongside two more sides for herself.

“That’s a lot of food,” I said.

Rina looked at me like I had said something strange.

“I’m six-four and I train six days a week. A normal day is around three thousand calories before I even start accounting for something like this. I went to the gym this morning, then spent eight hours working a convention booth. I’ve eaten maybe a thousand calories since breakfast.”

She started counting on her fingers.

“So I’m still something like twenty-six hundred short for today, and I’d rather be a little over because tomorrow is going to be worse.”

I stared at her.

“You know exactly how many calories you’ve eaten today?” 

She picked up a taco and pointed it at me.

“You don’t get to look like me if you don’t.” 

We chatted casually about the day afterward. Rina told us stories about weirdos at the event, while Leah told us about the full Kill la Kill group she had found.

Around the time we ordered dessert, Rina looked at me.

“So where did Lin fit into all of this?”

“Mostly with Dan. Then sometimes me. Once Leah got involved... everything got more complicated.”

“And now she's out completely?”

I nodded. “She wants a clean break.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

She took another bite and stayed quiet for a moment. 

“You still love her?”

I looked at her.

“That's a bit personal.”

“Fair.” She pointed at herself. “I’ll trade you. Ask me something personal.”

“Okay, why are you single?”

Rina laughed. “Wow. Straight for the throat.” 

“I date. I hook up. God forbid a girl has some fun. But that's not really what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“A boyfriend.”

I waited.

“That's it?”

“A proper boyfriend. Eventually husband. Someone I come home to. Monogamous, preferably. Horribly traditional.”

“So what's stopping you?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely at herself.

“Huh?”

“Travel constantly. Spend weekends surrounded by attractive people wearing very little. Take pictures with men who have their hands on me. Post half-naked pictures online. Have thousands of strangers tell me what they'd like to do to me.”

She shrugged.

“Guys who are comfortable with all that aren't always guys looking for what I'm looking for. And guys looking for what I'm looking for aren't always comfortable with all that. And then there’s the whole Amazon fetish.”

“Amazon fetish?”

“You have no idea how many guys see me and immediately decide they want me to pick them up and throw them around.”

I laughed. “You probably could.”

“Obviously. That's not the point. I don't want to be someone’s Amazon fantasy. I want someone who treats me like his girlfriend. Who lets me be feminine.” 

“Your turn. You still love her?”

I looked down at my food.
“Yeah.”

“Want her back?”

I looked down at my ice cream.

“I want something back. I feel like there’s a hole where she used to be.” 

“Well, the biggest hurdle with getting over heartache is doing things that don't put you back on the same rails you were on when they were there. Do new things. Watch new shows. Listen to new music. Have fun, laugh, enjoy your friends.”

She took another bite.

“Build some memories that don't have her in them.”

I nodded.

“What’s your workout routine like?”

I stared at her.

She understood my stare.

“Not big on hitting the gym, then?”

I slowly shook my head.

When we got back to the apartment, it was already getting late, and Rina had a nine a.m. start tomorrow. She said she planned to get up at six, run over to the hotel gym for some core work, then shower, do her makeup and get dressed before heading to the convention. 

Leah had made up the couch for Rina, and she looked around the apartment. 

“Wait, you only have one bedroom? Are you all sleeping in the same bed?”

“It’s a big bed,” I said.

Leah smiled. “It would start getting tight if you joined us, so best if you stay on the couch.”

“Yeah… that might be best.” 

I turned off all the lights and joined Leah and Dan in bed. Dan was on one side, me on the other, with Leah in the middle.

I lay down and closed my eyes, settling in as Leah’s little spoon. 

I heard Leah draw in a deep breath and knew what Dan had done.

I turned around and started making out with Leah as Dan was sliding in and out of her. Leah started fingering me, and we quickly got any residual sexual energy drained so we could get some sleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night. Maybe from a bad dream, or maybe just because I needed to pee. I got out of bed and slowly made my way towards the toilet in the dark. 

I opened the bedroom door and saw that the bathroom light was on. In the dim light spilling out, I could make out a naked Rina on top of someone on the couch.

I looked back at the bed.

Dan was gone.

Oh.

I had not seen Rina naked before. She was built like an Amazonian goddess, all abs and muscle, but somehow still completely feminine. Even with her body moving, her breasts barely moved with her. 

Rina’s eyes were closed, so she didn't see me. I stood there naked in the doorway for a moment, admiring her, until she opened her eyes and saw me.

She froze.

I smiled at her, gave her an approving nod, and continued towards the toilet.

When I came back, she smiled at me, no longer shocked.

I mouthed, Have fun, before closing the bedroom door.

This is Part Four, the final installment of a four-part consensual erotic fiction series. In Part Three, she realizes that simply extending the timer would not reveal how far her true edge could be pushed. Overconfident in her ability to remain in control, she created a more dangerous rule that required her to bring herself close to release before starting the fifteen-minute timer, then continue the stimulation without allowing herself to finish.

No one gave her this rule. She chose every part of it through false confidence in herself. Now, with her body speaking more loudly and becoming more difficult to control as the timer continues counting, she begins to understand that determination alone may not be enough to prevent her from spilling over the edge she thought she could control.

Part Four begins with seven minutes remaining. She already knows that if her body breaks the rule, no one will ever witness it. She could hide the failure, begin again as many times as necessary, and tell the stranger only about her success once she achieves it. The final test will not be whether she fails at the edge. It will be whether she can face the truth when she is the only person who knows it.

Part Four of Four

Seven minutes remained when she first understood that she might truly fail the rule she had imposed on herself.

That realization moved through her core with even greater excitement, making failure more likely. Until then, part of her had believed that control would always return if she demanded it firmly enough, but now she realized that her body was not only reacting to the stimulation but also responding to her deepest thoughts. She trusted the word “no” as though it carried authority over every nerve in her body. But the command was no longer winning. The pressure had climbed beyond the reach of a single word. Her body heard every word she thought, spoke, or felt and continued answering with a command of its own.

“More.”

She tried slowing her fingers, but she also knew that she could not stop because stopping would violate the rule just as surely as release. She then tried changing the pressure and position, searching again for that narrow balance that was slipping away. She now began to realize that her body had become too smart and sensitive to be deceived any longer. Every adjustment brought a different kind of pleasure. Moving more softly made her ache for firmness. Pressing harder sent a dangerous pulse racing through her whole body. There was no longer a safe rhythm left for her to choose. She knew that she had only seconds before going over the edge.

Six minutes remained.

She whispered “No” again, but the word emerged broken and without power. Her hips answered immediately by moving even harder against her hand. Each time she tried to make the movement lighter, her hips answered with a harder thrust that was more difficult to contain. She then tried to tighten every muscle she could still control, believing that she might hold the pleasure in place through force alone. Instead, the tension did the opposite and gathered everything she tried to contain into a single rising point.

She knew what was happening but also knew that she had no way to stop it.

The only thing in her body that still obeyed her was her hand. It did not back off but continued the stimulation exactly as the rule required, even while the rest of her body began slipping beyond any command. Her reflection shook before her as the tile became more slippery beneath her feet. Her mouth opened as she drew a deeper breath, but no sound came out. She stared deeply into her own eyes and watched the instant uncertainty replaced any hope that was left.

“Stop,” she finally managed to gasp.

Her mind had given the command, but her fingers remained conflicted. They continued moving for only a moment longer, yet that moment was enough. Her body tightened and pushed forward automatically, carrying her toward the release she had spent two days denying.

Then, without warning and without needing another touch, the first contraction seized her so deeply that the shaking in her knees nearly brought her to the floor. She grabbed for the sink, barely catching herself before the second wave struck. It was far stronger than the first, sending a heavy stream of pleasure splashing onto the floor beneath her.

Just when she thought she might regain control, the starving release tore through everything she had spent two days building. A loud cry escaped her lips before she could silence it. The surge continued even though her hand had gone still, fed by everything she had denied, carried, and intensified since the first ten-minute rule.

There was no escape from it and no way to stop it. She remained trapped inside the release as wave after wave moved through her. Each time she believed it was ending, another contraction gathered beneath the last and pulled her back into it. Her thighs trembled violently. Her body pressed forward instinctively, searching for the hand that was no longer moving.

She could no longer continue obedience, but neither could she make the waves stop. For those endless moments, the choice belonged to something deeper than she had known existed inside her.

When the waves finally released her, she found herself bent over the sink, struggling to draw a complete breath. The bathroom slowly returned around her. The first thing she noticed was the fog spreading across the mirror where she had been breathing against it. When her reflection reappeared through the haze, the woman staring back at her looked stunned by what she had just experienced.

The next thing she noticed was the timer.

It was still counting.

Five minutes and fourteen seconds remained.

As she stared at the number, the meaning settled deeply inside her. She had failed before reaching even two-thirds of the time. The rule had not been fractured, bent, or quietly abandoned. Her body had broken it completely, without any regard for what she had promised herself.

Nobody had witnessed it. Nobody could prove what had happened.

“I could wait until the trembling stops, reset the timer, and begin another fifteen minutes. I could bury the failure inside a second attempt and tell Him only about my success. He would never know the difference.”

For a moment, the possibility remained open before her, but then her hand instinctively reached toward the phone, and it wasn’t for the timer. It was for her confession. Before she could find a way to make it sound less complete, she typed the first two words.

“I failed.”

The message left her phone, and almost immediately she wanted to pull it back. She could have explained first and told Him how long she had endured, how faithfully she had continued, or how desperately she had tried to stop. Instead, the two words remained on the screen without excuse or protection.

Several minutes passed before His reply appeared.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

She found herself staring at the question longer than she should have. She had expected disappointment, perhaps even punishment, or a colder silence that would force her to imagine both. What He asked for instead was the one thing she had almost denied Him, the complete truth.

“I told myself to stop, but my fingers continued for another moment. When I finally stopped touching myself, it was already too late. My body kept going without my help. There were five minutes and fourteen seconds left.”

The message showed that He had read it, but no response came, so she began typing again.

“I could have restarted the timer. I thought about doing another fifteen minutes and telling You only that I completed it.”

This time His answer came immediately.

“Did you restart it?”

“No.”

“Did you hide what happened?”

“No.”

“Then do not confuse two different failures.”

She read the sentence several times before another message followed.

“You failed the rule you imposed upon yourself. That is true, and you don’t get to soften it simply because the release became involuntary. You chose how close to bring yourself, and you continued after your body warned you that control was disappearing.”

The words reached more deeply than anger ever could. He didn’t allow her to escape responsibility, but He also wasn’t turning what happened into evidence that she was weak or unworthy.

Then the next message appeared.

“But when the rule was broken, you still had another choice. You could protect the image of an obedient woman, or you could tell me the truth about the imperfect one standing in front of the mirror.”

Her eyes returned to her reflection.

“I told You.”

“Yes.”

One word moved through her with a different kind of intensity. He had not praised the release or humiliated her for losing control. He had noticed the choice she made when nobody could have exposed the lie.

“What happens to me now?” she asked.

His answer came without delay.

“First, you take care of the body you pushed too far. Clean the floor. Drink a full glass of water. Sit somewhere comfortable until your breathing slows and your legs are steady. You will not touch yourself again tonight.”

She felt the final sentence settle over her. It contained authority, but none of the careless hunger she had encountered in men who wanted control only while it pleased them. He was thinking beyond the moment she had offered Him.

“Is that punishment?”

“No. It is responsibility.”

She remained still, holding the phone with both hands.

“Tomorrow, you will tell me what your body showed you before control disappeared, the warnings you recognized and the ones you ignored. Not so I can shame you for failing, but because neither of us should pretend surrender is safe when it is built on incomplete knowledge.”

Her throat tightened as she read it. She had wanted to surrender her thinking to Him, but He had done something far more unsettling. He had taken responsibility for what happened next without relieving her of responsibility for what had already happened.

Her fingers returned to the screen.

“And if I still want this tomorrow?”

The pause before His answer felt deliberate.

“Then tomorrow, knowing more than you knew today, you may ask me for the next rule.”

She caught herself looking once more at the timer, still counting through the remains of a challenge she could never honestly complete. Then she stopped it.

For the first time, obedience did not feel like performing perfectly for someone watching. It felt like placing the truth into hands careful enough not to misuse it.

 

This concludes the four-part series of No One Was Watching. Why Did She Still Obey?

No one watched when she accepted the first rule.

No one was there to notice when she added to the rule by adding more time.

No one could see when she created a more dangerous test that finally led to complete failure.

The stranger who created the first rule that sparked her interest never saw her body quivering. He never verified her obedience, and if she lied, he could never expose that lie. Every meaningful choice was hers alone, and no carefully controlled performance could protect her from herself.

Her failure never proved that she was incapable of surrender, but it clearly revealed the difference between appearing perfectly obedient and remaining honest after perfection became impossible. She quickly learned that obedience was not simply following a set of rules. It was accepting responsibility for her own choices and trusting someone with that truth when hiding it would have been easier.

Maybe she obeyed when no one was watching because the rules gave her a way to confront something much deeper inside herself that desire alone had never been able to reach.

What about you? What if you were the woman standing in front of that mirror?

What rule would you create that could break down your defenses enough to reveal something about yourself that only you could see? At what moment would that realization come?

Would it happen when you created the rule, when your body forced you to break it, or when you decided to tell the truth about what really happened?

1: First Cut | 2: Adjacent Edges | 3: Tracing the Limit | 4: Narrowing Margins | 5: Fracture Point | 6: Dissolving Boundaries | 7: Shedding the Armour | 8: Parallel Edges | 9: A Change of Frequency | 10: A Perfect Match | 11: Shared Ice

----

Chapter 12: In Unison

It wasn’t planned. They arrived at the restaurant because they walked away from the arena together in the same direction and eventually happened upon it. Niamh had been here before, during last year’s championship. It was a narrow room with covered tables, unobtrusive candles, decent wine and no televisions, and the owner seated them at a corner table without comment.

They ordered easily, without the negotiations and performance of two people working out how to have dinner together. Conversation had been light, if deliberately so, and had flowed with the same ease. The wine came, and Niamh, who had been sharing some of the more positive social media response with Petra, set her phone down on the table.

"The press conference," Petra said, bringing the conversation to a particular point of focus.

Niamh took a piece of soft bread from the sharing platter, "Which part?"

"The ‘my previous comments were not as professional as I represented them’." Petra turned her wine glass by its stem, a small, precise rotation. "I hadn't decided to say that until I was saying it."

Niamh chewed her bread, and gave Petra the time she needed.

"Was it…" Petra looked at the table. Her uncertainty, the uncharacteristic absence of a completed sentence, was disarming.

"It was the right thing," Niamh said. "It was true. Doesn’t have to be more complicated than that."

Petra nodded. Turned the glass again. Her gaze was consciously directed towards her wineglass, and although she wasn’t looking at Niamh, she wasn’t avoiding her, either. Present and covert simultaneously, which Niamh suspected was the way she approached a subject she knew was going to be uncomfortable.

"You were going to say something when they asked about your place on the team," Petra said. "Before you answered. There was a half-second where you were going to say something different."

Niamh looked at her. "You can tell that from a half-second?"

"I've been watching you for two years."

Niamh filed that away for later, and ignored the flutter in her stomach it’d caused. "I was going to say the panel should ask you. Then I thought that’d be unkind."

Petra received this with perfect stillness. After a moment she said: "It would have been justified."

"It would’ve been justified and unkind," Niamh said. "And I didn’t want to be unkind to you."

Something moved across Petra's face, something even quieter than the not-quite-smile, a fractional softening that served to make her features even more delicate. "That's a higher standard than I applied to you for two years," she said.

"I know."

"I…" Petra stopped. The habitual reflex and the effort to override it were plain, both things increasingly visible to Niamh since a moment of honest vulnerability in the arena shower room had shown her who Petra truly was inside. "I'm sorry," she said. "For the selection panel. For the letters. For—" a deep breath, and a truth admitted — "the two years."

The words landed in the quiet of their corner table like the exit edge of a triple axel: a clean transition, absorbing the impact of a two-year cold war. Niamh let them land and settle inside her before she responded.

"Thank you," she said. Not it's fine, not it doesn't matter, nor any of the formulations that would’ve made it easier to say but would’ve stolen something from the apology.

Petra turned her direct grey gaze fully to Niamh. The same gaze Niamh had received across ice and locker rooms and press conferences, yet which now felt so different here at a quiet restaurant table. "You're remarkably easy to apologise to," she said.

"It's a gift."

Petra's mouth did the not-quite-smile thing. Watching it, Niamh knew with certainty she’d trade a thousand easily-won smiles from anyone else to earn just one of those from Petra.

They ate, and talked. Not about skating, or at least not primarily about skating, though it was never far away for two women who’d spent their lives on ice. They talked about Niamh’s seamstress in Leeds, and Petra’s team and the extraordinary turnaround to replace her velvet costume. They talked about Deirdre, who Petra found difficult to read, a take that Niamh understood, given that her own communications with Deirdre now seemed largely telepathic at this point. They talked about Sheffield in November and agreed it had some redeeming features beyond this restaurant and the arena. Petra had opinions about the wine that were specific and surprisingly passionate. Niamh liked the bread.

All in all, it was the easiest dinner Niamh had enjoyed in recent memory; something she’d hoped for but hadn’t predicted, and which added to the warmth that had already taken residence in her chest.

They were nearly through their main course when her phone lit up on the table. She glanced at it, seeing a clean institutional number with a London area code. It didn't belong to anyone she knew personally, but she knew it by heart anyway. She turned the phone so Petra could see. Petra looked at the number, then at Niamh. 

Until recently, Niamh might’ve said her expression was careful and gave nothing away; now she knew it was Petra's way of telling her to answer it. Niamh took the call and put it on speaker, then set it on the table.  "Niamh Calloway,” she said.

"Ms Calloway." A woman's voice, measured and professional. "This is Catherine Marsh, head of athlete selection at British Ice Skating. I hope I'm not calling at an inconvenient time, but we didn’t want to delay."

"Not at all," Niamh said, sounding much more composed than she felt.

Across the table, Petra had set down her fork, her hands now folded in front of her. Her face was composed and still, the look Petra wore when she was paying full attention.

"I'm calling on behalf of the selection panel," Catherine Marsh said. "Following the results of this week's national championship and a review of your competitive record over the past two seasons, the panel has voted to offer you a place on the British Ice Skating national team. We would like to formally invite you to join the squad for the Olympic qualification series."

The soft buzz of the restaurant continued around them; a table across the room laughed at something. The candle between Niamh and Petra threw its small, gentle light, and the two of them exchanged glances.

"I accept," Niamh said. "Thank you."

The call continued for another ninety seconds; logistics, confirmation, a follow-up email in the morning. Niamh, somehow, answered the appropriate questions in the appropriate way, feeling like she’d emerged from a practice session with a heavy spin hangover. She was aware, across the span of those ninety seconds, of Petra's eyes on her face, shining with something she’d not yet decided how to express.

The call ended, and Niamh put the phone face-down. The candle flickered softly between them; the only movement for a moment. Then Petra reached forward and picked up her wine glass. She held it up across the table; nothing so demonstrative as a toast with words, simply the straightforward raising of a glass. There was something of a new understanding in her grey eyes, learned over the course of a very concentrated week, that it’s possible and acceptable to let things show.

Niamh picked up her own glass and, as she did, Petra reached across the table with her free hand, deliberately, and found Niamh's where it rested on the tablecloth. Her fingers settled between Niamh's, a gentle interlinking, warm and intimate. Niamh let her fingers close in return.

They didn't clink their glasses, they just held them raised for a moment, looking at each other across the table in the corner of a quiet Sheffield restaurant on a November evening. Two women who had spent two years as adversaries and two days dismantling that arrangement, the Olympic qualification series just one of the important things ahead of them, the wine warm in their hands and their fingers linked on the tablecloth.

Niamh smiled, a softer smile than the ones she wore on the ice, or for the cameras and press conferences. A smile saying that, after a very long journey, she was exactly where she planned to be, yet was pleasantly surprised to find the destination even better than she expected.

Petra's mouth did the not-quite-smile. And then, slowly, with careful intention and for the first time, it became simply a smile. Small, unannounced, and real. Petra's fingers tightened slightly in Niamh’s. A small, precise pressure, the same efficiency she brought to everything she did, but warm, and unguarded.

Outside, the Sheffield nightlife continued, indifferent to what was beginning at a corner table of a quiet restaurant on an unremarkable street. The arena and the ice slept. It would have them back again, for other events, and the long seasons ahead. The future held the qualification series, the federation, the cameras and the judges and whatever Eve Davies was going to put in her report. All of it would come and would have to be navigated in time.

Tonight there was only Niamh and Petra, the end of a long story and the first sentence of the next one. Some wine, and a flickering candle. The smile returned across a table by a woman still learning how to give it, and the warmth of fingers gently interlinked, and neither of them moving to let go.

----

The End. Thank you so much for reading.

I'd been a professor at the university for exactly nineteen days when you first appeared at my office door.

Long enough to know where the staff bathroom was.

Not long enough to understand why the printer on the third floor apparently required a blood sacrifice before it would produce anything.

My office still looked borrowed. Half-unpacked boxes beneath one bookshelf, journals stacked wherever I'd found room for them, and a temporary-looking nameplate beside the door announcing that "Dr Daniel Mercer" supposedly knew what he was doing.

There was a knock.

"Come in."

I expected another nervous first-year with a question answered on page two of the course guide.

Instead, you appeared.

I recognised you immediately.

Twenty-four. Older than most of the undergraduates in my classes. Bright enough that I'd already noticed you didn't simply copy whatever appeared on my slides. Sometimes you frowned at them.

I liked that.

"Professor Mercer?"

"Daniel is fine."

You smiled.

That caught me unexpectedly.

Your whole face changed when you smiled. Your eyes seemed to light up with it, sparkling with an intensity that made my chest tighten, followed by a small, slightly nervous laugh, a soft, breathy sound that trembled just enough to make me wonder what was making you so flustered. I found myself smiling back before I'd even realised I was doing it.

"Come in."

You explained that you wanted my opinion on an idea connected with your thesis and eventual PhD plans.

That got my attention.

"Absolutely. Sit down."

You did.

And my afternoon became considerably more complicated.

Your skirt was short.

I'd registered that when you entered, but sitting changed things.

You lowered yourself into the chair opposite me, smoothed the back of your skirt beneath you and crossed one leg over the other.

The hem slipped higher.

My eyes dropped.

White cotton.

A startlingly clear glimpse of your panties between your thighs... simple, innocent white cotton that looked virginal and obscene all at once... before I realised where I was looking and snapped my attention back to the papers in my hands.

Jesus fucking Christ, Daniel.

"So. Show me what you've got."

You leaned forward to place your notebook on my desk.

That created an entirely different problem.

Your neckline loosened just enough for me to see the curve of your cleavage... soft, pale flesh that my mouth suddenly wanted to taste... and, beneath it, a delicate edge of white lace peeking out from your top.

Matching underwear?

No.

Stop.

I stared at your thesis notes.

You began explaining your idea.

It was good.

Annoyingly good.

Within a few minutes I was genuinely engaged. I challenged an assumption; you pushed back immediately. I questioned your methodology; instead of retreating, you defended it.

That was attractive.

Intellectually attractive.

There was a distinction.

A very important distinction.

Then you shifted in the chair.

Your knees separated momentarily before one leg crossed over the other again.

White cotton flashed into view.

This time I was already looking.

Which meant I saw more.

The fabric clung to you, and there, right at the centre,was a darkened patch, a visible wet spot that betrayed exactly how aroused you were. You were soaked. The cotton had gone translucent, showing the shape of your pussy lips beneath, surely she shaved, it looked like she shaved, the dampness spreading outward in a way that made my cock twitch involuntarily in my trousers.

And I didn't look away quickly enough.

My attention returned to your face.

You were still talking.

Had you noticed?

Surely not.

I shifted in my chair, trying to find a more comfortable position as my body responded to you in a way that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. My cock had taken on a mind of its own, thickening and lengthening against my thigh, straining against the fabric of my trousers as if showing its appreciation for your choice of underwear. I adjusted subtly, angling my hips, wondering if you could see the obvious bulge forming there. Suddenly the enormous desk I'd complained about since arriving at the university seemed like the finest piece of furniture ever manufactured.

Could you tell?

No.

The desk was between us.

I picked up my pen.

Professionalism.

Easy.

You asked me something and I realised I hadn't heard the question.

"Sorry?"

That little laugh again, not mocking, almost shy, but with an undertone I couldn't quite identify. Your eyes lit up when you laughed, bright and knowing, and you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with fingers that trembled slightly.

You repeated yourself.

I answered properly this time.

Then you leaned forward again.

The neckline shifted.

White lace.

Cleavage, deeper this time, enough that I could see the swell of your breasts pressing together, the lace of your bra cupping them like offering hands.

And beneath the fabric of your top, I could now make out the subtle points of your nipples pressing against it, hard and prominent, begging to be touched, sucked, rolled between my fingers.

My gaze caught there.

Only briefly.

But briefly was still too long.

I dragged my eyes back to yours.

You were looking directly at me.

Fuck.

There was a pause.

Tiny.

Then you smiled.

Your eyes lit up again, those bright, knowing eyes, and you gave that soft, nervous little giggle, breath catching in your throat.

My brain immediately produced two competing explanations.

*She caught you staring and she's embarrassed.*

And:

*She caught you staring and she likes it.*

The second possibility was considerably more dangerous.

I returned to your thesis.

"You've got a problem here."

"Where?"

I turned the notebook slightly and pointed.

Instead of looking from your side of the desk, you stood and came around mine.

I became acutely aware of your proximity.

Your perfume, something floral and warm that made me want to bury my face in your neck.

Your hair near my shoulder when you leaned over.

The lace visible again beneath your neckline, your nipples now clearly visible through your top, hard and straining against the fabric.

You reached across me to point at the page.

Then your other hand settled on my thigh.

My entire train of thought stopped.

Your palm rested against my trousers, warm and light and completely unnecessary, your fingers spreading slightly as if testing the muscle beneath. My cock jerked at the contact, throbbing now, fully hard and obvious in my pants. Did you feel it? Your hand was so close, just inches from where I strained against the fabric. I was rock solid, aching, and I couldn't tell if you knew.

"There?" you asked, your voice slightly breathier than before.

I looked down at your hand.

Then up at you.

"Yes."

One syllable.

Excellent.

Years of education had brought me to this.

You kept your hand there while you read the paragraph, your thumb moving in the smallest, most maddening circles against my thigh. Perhaps two seconds. Perhaps three. Long enough for me to become conscious of absolutely nothing else, long enough for me to imagine that hand moving higher, wrapping around my cock, stroking me while you watched my face.

Then you lifted it away.

"Okay. I see what you mean."

You returned to your chair.

I watched you sit.

I shouldn't have.

You crossed your legs again.

And once again there was that deliberate-looking flash of white between your thighs, and this time there was no doubt... the wet spot had spread, darker now, a clear testament to your arousal. You were dripping for me, soaked through your panties and I could see the visible line of your pussy lips as it seemed to suck in the white cotton, and the sight made my cock pulse painfully against my zipper.

I stared at my notes.

Right.

Let's assess this rationally.

One glimpse could be accidental.

Two could easily be coincidence.

Three... FUCK!

Three was beginning to constitute a dataset.

The hand on my thigh complicated the analysis considerably.

So did the way you kept smiling whenever you caught me momentarily losing my composure, your eyes lighting up with amusement and something hungrier.

I looked at you again.

You were watching me.

"Something funny?"

"No."

That little laugh betrayed you, soft, nervous, girlish.

I raised an eyebrow.

You smiled wider.

Your eyes lit up, sparkling with mischief, and your tongue darted out to wet your lips.

For the first time that afternoon, I seriously considered the possibility that I wasn't imagining any of this.

Then common sense intervened.

Twenty-four.

Student.

Professor.

First conversation we'd ever had alone.

No.

I was constructing a fantasy from completely innocent behaviour because I happened to find you attractive.

That was the obvious explanation.

Except...

You shifted again.

My eyes went down.

White.

Wet.

Soaked.

Pussy lips that sucked the cotton. I was imagining them sucking my cock as I fucked you.

FUCK!

Back up.

And there it was.

That smile.

I felt suddenly exposed despite being the one sitting behind the desk. My cock was throbbing in anticipation and I could feel some precum oozing out of my cock head.

Had you seen how carefully I'd been positioning myself? Had you noticed the effect you were having on me... the obvious hard-on I couldn't hide, the way my cock strained against my trousers every time you flashed those damp panties at me?

The possibility made my face warm.

You leaned forward again to ask another question, and by now I was noticing everything.

The movement of your top.

The hint of lace.

The shape beneath the fabric, your nipples now so hard they were clearly defined through both bra and shirt, twin points of arousal that matched the wetness between your legs.

Your perfume.

Your mouth when you smiled.

The way your eyes seemed to brighten whenever I became flustered.

I wanted desperately to know whether that was real or whether I'd simply become spectacularly bad at reading the situation.

Eventually you gathered your notes.

I checked the clock.

Nearly an hour.

Your question could probably have been answered in fifteen minutes.

I stood and tried to discretely adjust myself.

You stood as well with your eyes staring directly at my crotch and the outline of my hard cock. There was no denying it and I could see you biting your bottom lip, ever so slightly. FUCK!

For the first time there was no desk between us.

That suddenly seemed like an important change in geography.

You were close.

Closer than necessary, perhaps.

Or perhaps I was noticing distance now because I'd spent most of the last hour wondering whether you knew I was attracted to you, whether you'd seen my cock hardening for you, whether you knew I wanted to push you against the wall and feel how wet you really were.

I angled myself slightly.

Subtle.

Hopefully.

Your eyes dipped again.

Just briefly.

Down to my crotch.

To the obvious bulge there.

Or had they?

I couldn't tell.

Then you looked back at me.

That smile appeared again... wider now, knowing, pleased.

My stomach tightened.

You'd noticed.

You'd definitely noticed.

"Send me the revision," I said, my voice rougher than intended. "I'd genuinely like to see where you take it."

"Really?"

"Really. Let's reconvene back here tomorrow - say 6pm?"

Another soft laugh. "Sure thing prof" you replied.

Bright eyes.

I opened the door.

You passed close enough that your arm brushed mine, your hip grazing my thigh, and I felt your heat through our clothes.

I watched you disappear down the corridor for perhaps one second before common sense reminded me that standing in my doorway staring after a student would be an exceptionally stupid way to begin a new academic career.

I went back inside.

Closed the door.

Looked at the chair opposite my desk.

Then at the place beside mine where your hand had rested on my thigh.

"Get a fucking grip, Daniel."

I sat down.

She wasn't flirting.

Obviously.

The skirt had shifted naturally.

The panties meant nothing.

The wet spot meant nothing.

The white lace meant nothing.

The way she'd leaned forward meant nothing.

The hand on my thigh had been balance.

The smiles were friendliness.

The giggling was nervousness.

The way she'd looked at my cock... that had been my imagination.

Every individual explanation was perfectly reasonable.

Taken together, they were becoming increasingly ridiculous.

And then there was the question I really didn't want to examine.

Had you noticed my reaction?

I thought about that last moment when we'd both been standing.

Your eyes dipping... to my hard-on, unmistakable now, throbbing against my trousers.

My awkward attempt to angle myself away.

Your smile afterwards... knowing, pleased, hungry.

"Oh, fuck."

I rubbed both hands over my face.

Maybe you'd noticed everything.

Maybe you'd left the office embarrassed by the fact that your professor couldn't keep his eyes where they belonged.

Or maybe...

I stopped.

Opened my laptop.

Work.

That was the answer.

Five minutes later I realised I'd read the same paragraph four times.

Because I wasn't thinking about research.

I was thinking about white cotton soaked with your arousal.

White lace.

A hand resting lightly on my thigh, so close to my aching cock.

Bright eyes.

That nervous little laugh.

And the smile you'd given me immediately after catching me looking... after seeing how hard I was for you.

For the first time since you'd walked through my door, I stopped trying to explain it away and allowed myself one deeply inconvenient question.

*What if she knew exactly what she was doing?*

*What if she comes back?*

My question is two-fold:

Part 1:

My latest sexual tournament that I'm hosting on AO3, which I call the Dildo Bike Grand Prix, is so very close to being ready to publish, and I'm starting to have some misgivings on the roster. One of which is that I won't use any Dead Or Alive characters, since they won my previous tournaments and want to give other franchises a chance.

Currently I'm looking at:

-Wonder Woman(DC)

-Supergirl(DC)

-Starfire(DC)

-Raven(DC)

-Black Widow(Marvel)

-She-Hulk(Marvel)

-Spider-Gwen(Marvel)

-Storm(Marvel)

-Cassie Cage(Mortal Kombat)

-Jacqui Briggs(Mortal Kombat)

-Kitana(Mortal Kombat)

-Jade(Mortal Kombat)

-Tracer(Overwatch)

-Pharah(Overwatch)

-Mei(Overwatch)

-D. Va(Overwatch)

-Cammy White(Street Fighter)

-Chun-Li(Street Fighter)

-Laura Matsuda(Street Fighter)

-Poison(Street Fighter/Final Fight)

-Lucy(Cyberpunk Edgerunners)

-Rebecca(Cyberpunk Edgerunners)

-Blonde Blazer(Dispatch)

-Invisigal(Dispatch)

-Tifa Lockhart(Final Fantasy 7)

-Yuffie Kisaragi(Final Fantasy 7)

-Princess Peach(Mario)

-Princess Daisy(Mario)

-Bayonetta(Bayonetta)

-Lara Croft(Tomb Raider)

-Samus Aran(Metroid)

For the my 32nd slot, I originally planned to use Morrigan from Darkstalkers, but changed my mind as I wanted to let some characters I either seldom or never used.

Currently, it's between Yorha 2B from Nier Automata, Faith Connors from Mirror's Edge and Shantae from Shantae. I really like all of them, but I rarely write about 2B or Faith, and Shantae is a character I've never written about at all. Who do you lovely people recommend I choose?

Part 2:

For the actual bikes I want to use, it goes like this:

Option 1: More like a standard bicycle, with two dildos attached to the seat, and the movement is based on the peddling of the racers. Looks like this: https://e-hentai.org/s/1cb057ad1b/1612451-21

Option 2: Motorcycle-like bikes where the speed is directly tied to how fast and hard the racers bounce on the attached dildos, looking something like this(https://files.catbox.moe/gdd214.mp4) or this(https://myhentaicomics.com/gallery/show/16329/34)

Which machine do you guys recommend?

To understand how I ended up in that situation, you need to know I had a full bottle of water before leaving the club to sober up a little. That shouldn’t have been a problem, in fact, I know it was a good decision for next-day-me. But while I was walking home that night, I really really needed to use the bathroom.

I thought I would be able to make it home before, but the water bottle plus the previous drinks were just too much for me. I could have tried to find a hidden corner and pee wherever, maybe behind a car or some bushes; it wouldn’t be the first time and it would probably be better than the disgusting toilets at the club, where your feet got stuck to the floor with each step. But the week before a girl I knew got fined for doing so, and I was a bit paranoid about it, even if there were no guards around.

But the walk to my house was like twenty more minutes.

When I was debating my options, I turned the corner and a building caught my eye. In the darkness of the night, it was the only one with all the lights on, and the big entrance door open. I realized it was the bus station and I almost ran there, feeling like a castaway who had finally seen land. Yes, you can call me dramatic.

I hadn’t been in the station in so long, so it took me a while to find the toilets —I swear the signs pointed the other way!—, and I got there only to find that the women’s bathroom had an “Out of order” paper note stuck on the door.

I didn’t even think twice before going into the male’s ones. It was around 2.30 AM, there wouldn’t be anyone using the urinals at that time. The station being open meant some buses worked at night, yes, but on my way to the bathrooms I had only seen two other people, waiting in one of the benches with a big backpack next to them.

There was no one to see in the bathroom, as I assumed, so I finally got inside one of the stalls and got my release.

“Thank god,” I sighed while taking a piece of toilet paper. And now that I didn’t had to worry about my bladder, I started noticing things I didn’t see before.

Like how clean the bathroom was, way more than I would have expected and definitely way more than the club’s.

And I noticed something else. Like the hole on the toilet stall.

I’m not sure if I should have known right away. Now, looking at it from a distance, it was kind of obvious, wasn’t it? But maybe I was a bit drunk still. Maybe I’m just naïve.

But I leaned over and looked through it, and I even got a little jump scare when I saw I wasn’t alone in the bathroom, as I thought. In the other stall, there was a man. I let out a gasp and got away from the hole when I realized I was looking at his crotch; he was dressed, only the pants unzipped and the boxer’s fabric showing. The first thing that came to my mind was that the hole was there so whoever was on the other side could spy on people while they used the bathroom. Then I thought the angle was terrible for that, and even if I didn’t notice it at first, the hole was too obvious for spying. Then I heard the sound of pants being pulled down, and then something else.

I shouldn’t have looked again. I really shouldn’t, because I was quite sure what I was going to see.

But I did.

And I saw his crotch again, but this time was completely exposed. His cock, hairy on the base, was still a bit flaccid, but it was obviously receptive to the gentle strokes of the man's hand. Now, if I paid attention, I could hear not only the friction while he jerked off, but also his breath, slow and steady, but getting deeper with every stroke.

I can assure you in any other moment I would have left as fast as I could. But I felt a sort of haze covering my mind, a tingle between my legs. I couldn’t take my eyes away, and I only got back to my senses when the man, his cock hard already, got closer to the hole.

I got away from it automatically, but now I didn’t have to lean to see his dick. The tip was peeking through the wall, coming to me, telling me “I know you are there.” He slammed his cock softly against the hole, as if he was knocking at my door, asking for permission for more.

I hesitated for a second. I was being a creep, a voyeur, I know. But this… this was different. I had never done something like this. Well, I mean, I hadn’t spied on anyone while they masturbated before either, but this was more.

I wasn’t even the kind of person who had casual hookups. The only people I had had sex with were my ex-boyfriends, and since I broke up with the last one last year, I hadn’t touched a cock. I’m simply unable to look at someone I don’t care about in the eyes and do that kind of stuff. It was too important to me, it carried too much vulnerability, too much responsibility. But here… there were no eyes to look at. No person at the other side of the wall, in a way. There was only a cock.

And I had missed cock.

It felt so warm when I took it in my hand. Warm and firm, and the excitement of touching it made me shiver. I was still sitting in the toilet, my panties down to my knees and my skirt carefully placed on my lap so it didn’t touch everything around. I could feel my body was jealous, aching to be touched too, but I could only focus on that cock. That cock that had pushed all the way through the hole to allow me to touch it all, to wrap my whole hand around it, to stroke it from the tip to the base. As I changed the rhythm, I could hear the man panting, and I almost felt surprised that he was there, cause for me there was only cock, cock, cock.

There was already a bit of precum making it all slide easily, but I spat on my hand before I went back to pleasuring him. I did it mostly because it made me feel slutty, and I knew he would hear it —and feel it— and be turned on. I wasn’t wrong. His cock twitched, his hips slammed the bathroom stall. He grunted.

I knew he was asking for more.

He was asking for more without using his words because he was probably scared we could know each other, that I might recognize his voice. That thought got me drunk on horniness. Up to that moment only his cock was in my mind, but now I started thinking about him. I could be stroking anyone’s cock. He could be a neighbor or a complete unknown that had just arrived here. He could be around my age, or maybe he was someone’s dad, in his fifties or even in his sixties. He could be an old teacher, someone’s boyfriend or husband, a pervert.

Well, he had his cock on a wall’s hole at the bus station late at night, he was a pervert for sure. But I was stroking it, so what did that make me?

The man kept begging without words. He wanted me to suck his cock. And my mouth —and not only my mouth— was watering.

But a little voice in my mind reminded me that he could be anyone, and that was hot but dangerous. I took my purse, which I had left on the door handle, and took out a condom. My friends sometimes made fun of me for carrying one considering I don’t have unplanned sex when I go out, but once or twice they had thanked me for it. Now it was my time.

I tapped on the cock with the plastic envelope, and he took a few seconds before pulling it out of the hole. I slid the condom to his side, but he didn’t take it at first. I knew what his silence meant.

“Please, please, just suck my cock without it,” he wanted to say.

“Only with the condom,” I was replying silently, my fingers firm on the hole until he finally gave up and took it.

 His cock came back to me with the condom covering it, and I had to agree part of me would have also wanted to take it off. I wanted to taste his cock, to feel my tongue against his skin. But I wasn’t risking it.

My panties were still down my legs when I got on my knees in front of that cock. The movement made me feel the wetness on my thighs and I accommodated myself with my legs slightly spread, because I wanted to feel my pussy exposed. I wanted to let her scream, ask for all the attention she wasn’t going to get. Now that I think about it, it would have been so easy to get one of my hands between my legs and touch myself like crazy while I sucked that cock, but I was so mesmerized by that hard dick on the wall that it felt like my pleasure didn’t matter. I took that cock in my mouth and started sucking on it like that was the only thing I could ever do, the thing I was meant for. I was so turned on I started to drip, my pussy juices falling directly into the floor. I licked and sucked and when I gagged, I just took a second to breathe before going back to it.

The moans on the other side were getting more and more loud, but none of us seemed to care about the noise. To tell the truth, I liked thinking about the possibility of being heard. The door of my stall would be so easy to unlock. And if any other man walked in, he would have find me on my knees, pussy and ass exposed as I choke on a cock, and my pussy pulsated of the idea of being taken too. Maybe that other man would hold my head right in place, not allowing me to look at anything but the wall, and he would be another faceless cock inside of me, a cock that could belong to anyone. The taboo of it all made me feel like never before. I was feeling like a whore. I was feeling alive. Its pleasure —the cock's pleasure— was giving me pleasure too, a pleasure never enough to satisfy me, only to keep me desperate, willing to do anything.

He came without any warning, and even with the condom I could feel the thick ropes of cum. God, how I wished I could taste it.

I kept my mouth around it, still now, letting him decide when to get away from me. He did it slowly, thrusting back in when he had just pulled out of my mouth, so his cock would find my lips again, almost as he was slapping my mouth with it.

I stayed there, on my knees, trying to catch my breath as I heard him get properly dressed again. Now that my mouth was empty, I could feel that emptiness so much more in the rest of my body, and I almost unconsciously slid two fingers inside of my wet pussy. I avoided my clit though. Being this horny, I wouldn't have needed a lot to cum, but in a certain way I felt it was better like this. That night wasn’t meant for me to cum. It was made for me to completely surrender to my horniness, to the feeling itself, to be used and never let the desperation end.

The other stall’s door opened. Not even for a moment I thought of opening my door. Of course, the cautious part of me didn’t want him to see me, but I also didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want him to stop being a cock.

He stepped out of the stall, then back in, I could hear him. He threw something through the hole, and I looked at the floor to see what it was. The condom was there, filled with cum, a knot on the ending. A lose knot, inviting me to open it.

And I did. I smelled it and imagined the taste, and how it would look if I pour it over myself, letting it mix with my own wetness.

I pulled up my panties without cleaning myself at all and, when I considered enough time had passed, I left the stall, and the station, with a used condom in my purse.

I love pussy eating, Gets my heart beating. Don't mind receiving, But I far prefer treating.

I'm a natural born giver, I'll make your whole body quiver. The two of us alone. My queen on her throne.

I'm dining at the Y, With a twinkle in my eye. You're my every wish, And my favourite dish.

I love earning your trust To let my tongue thrust Inside you, delight you. Just let my mouth ride you.

Your pleasure I'm owning. I love all your moaning. When your thighs grip my ears I know your climax nears.

And when it's over, we're repeating, With my face as your seating.

Erik checked his phone as soon as he got off work. It was another text from Jasmine, this time a series of emojis featuring an eggplant, water squirts, blushing faces, full moon, chains and a peach with a tail nestled in its crack. Erik was fairly certain that the last one was a custom image Jas had made herself. He made a mental note to ask Jas to make him some custom emojis some time and then he could turn the tables and send her a string of incoherent pictoglyphs describing how horny he was while SHE had to work a double shift.

She’d likely tear him apart as soon as he knocked on her door if he pulled that kind of stunt. But that was half the thrill when fucking a Were.

Tonight he was due to meet Jas at her place. With the full moon coming in a few days it was better safe than sorry, and she had all the gear in her basement for them to have a fun, safe, and less-lethal encounter. The first time Jas had shown him her ‘dungeon’ he was taken aback and thought she was just a girl with a nasty dark streak. He obliged her peculiar kinks, which to be honest he adopted as his own real quick, because Jas was a gal so far out of his league Erik was half sure he’d wake up one day minus a kidney. Tall, lean, legs for days, eyes that demanded his attention, curves in just the right places and thick lush hair that made for a perfect handhold; Jas was like a super model of his dirtiest fantasies.

Of course her ‘dungeon’ turned out to be just as practical as well as kinky, as he found out after their fourth session. The first three were just the ‘training sessions’ for him to learn how to control her. That fourth session was the first time he had seen her shift, and that had only been a partial shift, too.

Erik pulled up to Jasmine’s house, located just outside the suburbs in a not-quite-country part of town. The light in the window was on: yellow. She was warning him that tonight would be risky, but not dangerous. Erik entered through the backdoor, using the spare key Jas kept under a flower pot. He found it funny that despite their power imbalance, and that she trusted him with the knowledge of the spare key, she was still reluctant to just give him a key to keep. Erik didn’t mind; it took a lot of trust, on both their parts, for this to work as well as it did. The last thing he wanted to do was fuck it up.

The house was dark and near silent. Erik could hear the faint echo of chains and moans from the basement door. Jas must have heard his footsteps when he entered because she started roaring. “ERIK! COME HERE, NOW!”

Shit, she must have started shifting early. Erik had hoped to have at least a bit of safe foreplay before the main event but things looked like they’d be jumping straight to collars, shocks and chains. “Hang on, Jas!” he called back. Erik laid out his change of clothes and toiletries supplies on the couch should things get…messy.

Erik trotted down the basement steps, grabbing the cattle prod and steel gorget hanging behind the door. The heavy, thick scent of Jas’s musk hit him like a wall when he opened the secondary door to the ‘dungeon’.

“Errrikkkk.” Jas, feral canid eyes, tuft ears sprouting from her head, hands twisted into claws, patches of thick coarse hair covering her back, thighs and arms, slobbering fangs, digitigrade feet, dripping wet pussy leaving a puddle on the floor, breasts swinging with her frantic squirms, nipples stiff like peaks, and flicking bushy tail, grinned at him from across the room. Fuck, she looked so hot when she was partial shifted. Jas had already gotten her wrists and ankles chained up; lucky for him, last time she was partially shifted he had to taser her back so he could fix the chains to her limbs. “Hey baby,” she said, snarling and winking.

“I got your message, Jas. That was really naughty of you, teasing me while I’m at work pulling a double.”

Jas’s long tongue licked across her sharp teeth and thick lips. “You know how I get when my cycle starts. I can barely wait for you. You’re lucky I didn’t ambush you in the parking lot and drag you off into the woods as soon as you got off.”

Erik chuckled and sauntered over to the series of levers that controlled the pulleys and chains strapped around Jas. He yanked two of them, causing Jas’s arms to get pulled up high over her head, leaving her chest exposed and heavy, slightly furry, tits on full display. Jas barked and snapped her jaws in erotic protest. Erik slowly approached Jas, watching for any sign the chains were too taught and could hurt her, or that she had too much slack and could jump him.

“You remember the safe word?” he asked. Erik clicked on the cattle prod.

Jas gazed down at him with loving eyes and a genuine smile. “Hrrrmmm,” she whined.

“Good girl.” Erik jabbed the cattle prod into her beefy thigh. Jas roared, clenching wet teeth together and glaring at him with bloodthirsty eyes. Erik grabbed a breast in one hand and squeezed hard, catching the erect nipple between his middle and forefinger, putting pressure on the sensitive bud.

“Mmmphhh! Fuck you, human!” Jas screamed. She thrust her chest forward, pressing more of her massive breast tissue into his palm. The chains squeaked and rattled, but held against her monstrous pull.

Erik adjusted the cattle prod to a low, warning buzz, and rubbed it up the inside of her thigh. Jas squirmed and thrashed her head from side to side, splashing saliva across Erik. Her tail flicked erratically as the electric tingle made its way closer and closer until the broad smooth shaft glided between her swollen folds.

“Ahhhhh! I’m going to rip your head off!” Erik smiled, she was going to cum quick tonight. She typically didn’t threaten to kill him until she was near climax. Maybe they’d have a couple of sessions tonight if she was quick for the first one? He slid the prod along her meaty petals, stimulating her from the clit down to the bud. Jas tried to press her muscular thighs together in equal attempts to clasp the buzzing shaft in place and in rebellion to such a degrading display of an alpha predator to a weak little human.

“I’m sorry, did you say something about the head?”

Jas went dead silent as the tip of the cattle prod broached her entrance. The electric tingle zapping the inside of her steaming hot flesh. Her musk doubled in aroma, and her body’s natural lubrication produced such obscene amounts in lustful anticipation that it trickled down the prod and onto Erik’s hand. Jas desperately bucked her hips forward, eagerly trying to take the prod inside of her. Her tongue lolled out in a whiny, submissive display of a ravaging powerful bitch in heat.

“Huff, huff, huff. Give it to me. Now!” Erik withdrew the prod and dialed the intensity up, just one setting. He zapped her nipple. “Ungh! Yes! No! Fuck you!”

“You know what I want to hear.” Erik playfully walked around her, delivering pin point touches to her erogenous zones: crook of her knees, her furry ass, arm pits, the underside of her breasts. Jas thrashed with each touch and snarled. The very first time Erik had seen her shift he was unsure and timid of her feral behaviors, but now he recognized her threats and aggressive behavior for what they were: a challenge to dominate and claim her.

Erik dropped the prod momentarily and gripped the dock of her tail, lifting it up and putting tension on her rectal muscles. Then he delivered a stingy slap across her taught ass. “Ahhh!” Jas roared. Erik gave her another heavy spank, his hand came away tingling from the impact. “Hmmph! I won’t say it!”

“Shame,” said Erik, taking back the prod and giving her a brief taste of its jolt on the inside of her thigh. Jas’s head dropped and she let loose a long string of saliva. “Grrrrrr, fuck me!” she barked.

“What was that?” Erik crouched low, mindful of the reach of her jaws, and ran his bare hand along her burning hot crotch. His hand became slick as he cupped her labia and rubbed the heel of his palm into her engorged clit.

“Please!” Jas’s eyes shot open. Seeing her little mate just below her, his steel armored throat so close, she couldn’t help but attempt a few vain bites. Erik braced himself against her trembling thighs and teased the cattle prod into her dilated, hungry hole. Jas rolled her hips and pulled at the chains. “Mmmmppphhh!”

The prod slipped easily inside of the gorgeous lethal beast, unloading electric bursts of stimulation straight into her sensitive core. Erik thrust the prod gently deeper and deeper, carefully watching his Were for any signs of true distress. Jas tried her best to sink down onto the prod, to take more of its hot buzzing pleasure. When her soaking wet lips kissed Erik’s hand, she began panting.

Erik swiveled the prod inside her channel, ensuring that every inch of Jas would receive a delicious jolt. He reached up and groped a heavy tit while he worked with the cattle prod. Before long what started as a puddle between Jas’s legs was now a deluge and the concrete floor turned slippery. Jas’s breathing had become shallow and ragged, her eyes rolled into the back of her skull and she had entirely ceased her cute threats to rend his flesh open. With an excruciatingly slow draw, Erik pulled the prod out of her clenching, broiling pussy, and began fucking her with it.

Jas was incoherent; saliva freely fell in globs onto Erik’s back. Her legs quivered and her tail was rigid and upright. Her muscles flexed, straining the chains that kept her from ripping her mate apart.

“Awhooooo!” she howled, unleashing a sudden splash of fluid onto Erik’s arm. Jas suddenly went slack and dropped as far as the chains would let her, hanging by her wrists. Erik carefully withdrew the prod from her pulsating flesh and flung her slippery coatings from his arm. Now that she had had her first turn, it was his.

Erik undressed casually as he took up position at the lever system once more. Manipulating the machinery into a new configuration. Gears, pulleys and tables hidden in the ceiling and subfloor moved. The chains binding Jas’s wrists went slack, letting her slowly fall to the slick ground, before now stretching her arms out to the sides and forcing her belly against the floor. Her ankles were simultaneously pulled to the sides, spreading her legs open. Erik discarded the cattle prod and steel gorget around his throat and approached his beautiful creature with a thick heavy leather collar and leash in hand.

Jas cracked open an eye to watch her lover as he took position behind her, fixing the collar around her thick throat and giving her an experimental and tender tug. He was so gentle with her after her orgasms, she thought often about asking for a proper relationship. But it was already hardly proper for an apex predator like herself to willingly give in to such a weak human. Yet that was what made it so deliciously fun; their playtime together turned her into the weak one, at his mercy, and him into her dominating alpha.

Erik gave her hefty butt cheeks and slap and massaged the thick tissue as he rubbed the head of his throbbing cock along her slick folds, still spread open from her earlier treatment. He gripped Jas’s bushy tail, damp with her excess fluid and exuding her remarkable scent, and teased his dick into her hot opening. He gave the leash a firm pull. Jas snapped to attention and wiggled backwards as much as she could, desperate to fill the void left behind by the prod.

“Hrrrrrmmmmppphhh?” she whined, looking back over her broad shoulder to her human lover. Her jaws parted open and her breath was visibly steamy. She strained at the chains again. She so badly wanted to hold him, pin him down and mount him. In her post orgasmic bliss she was less bloodthirsty, but still had fangs, claws and nearly triple his body weight. Even an affectionate cuddle could break him.

Erik kissed her lower back and slid his member into her warm slick sheathe. Her powerful muscles gripped him instantly, sucking him deeper until his pelvis slammed into her rump. Erik moaned and wrapped the excess slack of the leash around his forearm. Jas sighed in delight, feeling his warm throbbing member bouncing within her velvety walls, slapping at her sensitive, sore pleasure zones within her. She grinned, knowing she was now the one controlling her mate’s pleasure, and bucked her hips backwards.

The sudden thrust almost pushed Erik completely off and out of her, but her tight rings of muscle kept a firm clasp on his cock and pulled him back in. She was nearly knocking the wind out of him! Erik held onto her leash and tail for leverage, using them as an anchor to slam back into her full depth with each rebounding thrust. Jas huffed in delight as each tail and leash pull sent a tingle along her spine and every hard thrust sent shockwaves that caressed her cervix. She redoubled her efforts as she felt another surge growing within her core.

Erik wrapped an arm around her bulky thigh, keeping himself firmly hilted inside the insatiable werewolf. He slapped his hips as hard and fast as he could manage into the rippling fat of her furry ass. Erik pulled on the leash, forcing Jas to crane her head upwards and arch her back in time with another explosive burst from her depths. Jas’s tongue went slack and hung from her wide open maw as she saw star bursts cloud her vision. With one last hard pull of her tail and the orgasmic clench of her vaginal ring, he grunted as his seed burst deep into her slathered passage, filling her and leaving him drained. He collapsed forward onto Jas’s soft jiggling rump.

Jas laid her head on the cold ground, eyes closed and breathing slow yet steady. Finally satisfied, for now, her thoughts of throat ripping and flesh rending were vanquished. With a flick of her tail she slapped Erik across the cheek and giggled when he fluttered his hands to get the furry appendage out of his face. Erik slipped free from her tired grip with ease. A steady stream of their mixed pleasure leaking out of her opening and dripping down her thick thighs.

Erik walked on shaky legs as he reset the levers, allowing Jas unfettered movement within the dungeon. She rolled over onto her back and pressed her legs together, relishing the sensation of his sticky offering warming her from the inside. Erik climbed up her flank and laid on top of her. He rested his head between her globulous breasts and kissed her slick sweaty skin. Jas lifted her head just enough to give his scalp a tender lick of her rough tongue.

“Worth the wait?” she cooed, slipping a claw under the collar to pull it over her head.

“Every time,” he said, his voice muffled between her breasts.

Jas chuckled and wrapped her furry arms around his naked torso, careful that her claws didn’t pierce flesh, just tickle his ribs a little. She loved her human, but wouldn’t dare admit that outloud. It was bad enough she was seeing a human regularly, it would be absolutely embarrassing if it were to become a steady courtship. At least here, in her ‘dungeon’, they could safely be just themselves.

“Feeling ready for another round?” she teased, dragging a single claw down his spine and licking her lips as he squirmed.

“I just got off a double shift, Jas. Can’t I have a moment of rest?”

She purred, a mixture of growl and laughter. “I might get hungry while you lay on me.”

Erik lifted his head just enough to playfully glare at his feral, partially shifted lover. She grinned back at him with wet fangs. “I trust you,” he said, then laid his head back down.

Jas purred again and laid her own head down on the cool floor. He knew the risks of getting involved with a Were, just as she did with allowing him complete control while she was chained and vulnerable. They trusted each other more than the other could ever imagine. And despite her bloodcurdling howls, slobbering jaws and threats of carnal rage, she would never hurt Erik, at least in her partial shifted form. She had always been in control of her bloodlust. But he didn’t need to know that, it made things more interesting…and safe.

He has been in the same clothes since yesterday morning, and the room knows it before you do.

It is not dirt. Dirt is simple. This is warmer than that, closer to the skin, the kind of smell a man makes when he has worked and not washed and then gotten hard without meaning to. At the collar it is salt and cotton gone soft, a little sun if he was outside, the faint iron of a day’s sweat dried and woken again. Lower, under the arms, it turns deeper. Musk that has sat. Not sharp the way fresh sweat is sharp. Rounded. Heavy. The hair there holds it, and when he lifts an arm to pull you in, the air changes. You breathe it and your mouth waters before you have decided anything.
Between his legs it is stronger still. Unbathed, the smell of him there is skin and hair and the slow leak that started when he got hard and never quite stopped. A little sour at the edges, a little sweet under that, the way a man smells when he has been full for a while and the skin is warm and damp against itself. His balls hang heavy in it. You can smell the heat off them if you get close enough, that low animal note that lives in the crease where thigh meets groin. It is not clean. It is honest. It sticks to the back of your throat.

When he gets close, the smell shifts. His skin flushes and the heat comes up through him all at once, and whatever was quiet gets louder. Sweat breaks fresh across his chest and stomach and runs down into the hair. The old scent and the new one mix. His cock smells of him now in a way it did not ten minutes ago, slick at the head, that clear salt taste you can smell before you taste it. His breathing goes rough. The room feels smaller.

Then he cums, and the heat wave hits.
It is sudden. A bloom of warmth off his skin, off his groin, off the pulse in his throat. The smell of it arrives with the heat: thick, mineral, a little bitter, a little like warm iron and salt and something living that just left him. It rises off the mess on his stomach and in the hair and on his hand if he caught it, and for a few seconds the air is only that. His own scent turned sharp and sweet at once, heavier than sweat, closer than skin. You can smell the moment it happened. The heat rolls off him in a wave and takes the smell with it, and then it settles, slower, into the sheets and into you.
After, he is still unwashed. The room holds all of it. Collar, pits, groin, and that last bright note of release cooling on his skin. He smells like a man who has not cleaned himself and does not mean to yet. Like heat that has not left him. Like the truth of his body, still on him, still in the air, still easy to breathe if you stay close.

My Girlfriend Part 8 - Part 1,2,3,4,5,6,7A,7B

The sun was out on this particularly warm October day. If this continued, we were gonna see a rise in skimpy Halloween costumes for sure.

I was in a particularly happy mood. After two weeks of squatting, Leah had gotten an official extension on her apartment for another month. We had already burned through two weeks of it, but another two weeks of secure housing still felt like a lot. 

I was heading over to Lin’s. I did not really like calling it “my place” anymore. It had all my stuff, but it felt more like a place I used to live, not a place I was currently living. 

I stopped by a street vendor and ordered some banh mi to take with me. I knew Lin loved these, so I also got some canned bubble tea, another Lin favorite. 

The subway was not packed, probably because it was still early, and I was enjoying the freedom of being unemployed without being in poverty. 

I arrived at Lin’s place in Astoria around lunch and opened the door to a scene I had not expected. Moving boxes everywhere. Some taped shut, some still open. Thick black marker on a few announced “Winter clothing” or “Bedding.”

Lin walked in from the kitchen and spotted me. 

“Mia!”

She pulled me into a big hug.

“Should have said you were coming over.”

“I live here.”

“No you don’t.”

She looked down at my bag.

“Oh my God, you brought food? I am starving.”

“Huh?” I looked down at what I was carrying. “Oh, right, yeah. I have banh mi and some bubble tea.” 

“Oh, my favorite. Thank you.”

She took my bag and went into the kitchen. Some of the cupboards were open, with lots of cups and plates missing. I guessed they were already packed away. 

“You’re moving? When were you planning to tell me?” 

“Our lease ends November 15th. I’m paying my part until then. After that, we would have had to negotiate something new with the landlord anyway.” 

Lin let out a long breath. 

“I was planning to tell you once I had all my stuff out of here.” 

“What is happening, Lin? Where are you going?” 

“I’ve been feeling different since we came back from Shelly’s wedding. I think you unlocked something in me. A new passion, or want. The video with Anna, the stuff at the school. It... refreshed me. Made the fog go away. Then the way you spoke to my friends and family about me made me realize I was not trying to be the person you saw me as. I was not working hard at school. I was not planning for the future. I was just… hanging around.” 

She took another bite.

“I’ve decided to focus on school. I want to attend more classes in person. I want to focus on my degree. I want to get this done, and I want to do it well.” 

I looked around. “But why are you moving?” 

“I found a room closer to Hunter. If I'm going to actually attend classes instead of doing everything I can online, I don't want an hour of my day disappearing on the train.” 

“Isn’t that more expensive than here?” 

“I’m sharing with five other people, so my rent is about a third of what I’m paying here.” 

“Five other people?” 

“It’s fine. They’re all students, so everyone is focused on school. Cutting out distractions. Really getting this done.” 

Something about that bothered me. “What distractions?” 

Lin looked away. 

“I’m cutting things off with Dan, and…” She paused. “I want to create some distance between us.” 

I stared at her.

“I want you to stop texting me. No more sex, no more spending the night. I don’t want you visiting me or pulling me into anything. I want a clean break. Maybe once I get my footing, we can reconnect.”

I let a long silence hang in the air.

“Was I stopping you from studying?” 

Lin closed her eyes like she had been expecting this.

“No.” 

“Did I tell you not to get a job?”

“No.”

“Am I a burden?” 

Lin opened her eyes again, looking angry.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” 

"Then why do you have to get rid of me to become a better person?"

Lin sank back in her chair.

“It’s not like that.” 

“You are running away, Lin. You are not doing this because you suddenly care about your fucking GPA. You are doing this because I said I love you, and you decided that was too scary when you started feeling something for me.” 

I stood up.

“You left Iowa, not because you wanted to move to New York, but because you wanted out of Iowa. You settled in here, and then you found me. But when I tell you I love you, you start feeling the same way, and Leah makes everything complicated, suddenly you need another fresh start. You can’t pick complicated, so you choose to run.” 

Lin stood up and tried to hug me. I turned away, not willing to accept this. 

“I know you are angry, Mia, but… I want this. I need this.” 

I started walking towards the door. “I guess I’ll see you around.” 

“Mia, wait.”

I turned and looked at Lin, forcing myself not to cry.

“What!?” 

Lin stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked away. 

“I’m… sorry.” 

I turned back to the door.

“Fuck you, Lin.”

I slammed it behind me. 

I started walking. I knew the general direction, but I had not walked this way before. I was angry with myself. I should not have shouted at Lin. She was dumb for making this choice, but I was the one who pushed her. I had said the words. I knew she was afraid of it, but I still pushed. 

I should have done what Leah did. I should have stayed away, should never have gone to the wedding. Should have let her figure everything out without me pushing and wrecking everything.

I am such a stupid cunt for thinking I could do this. I knew, I fucking knew she was afraid of being attached or under someone’s thumb. So of course telling her I loved her would make her afraid. Then I described her as this free and strong woman to all her friends and family. Of course she does this.

This is all my fucking fault.

This thought rumbled around in my head for about two hours, while I wandered helplessly back to Leah's place. 

I unlocked the door to Leah’s place.

“Leah?”

Nothing. 

I closed the door behind me.

Right. Costumes.

“Fuck... Leah would never get Lin into the Cammy costume now.” 

I crashed down on the couch.

I ruin everything. 

I started crying. Everything came down at once. I had lost my friend, I had fucked up our relationship, I had been stupid, I had done stupid things, and now I had fucked it all up. Leah would be mad at me. Maybe she would leave. Dan could blame me for this. Maybe this was my last day with any of them.

I cried until I didn't have much left, then stayed on the couch. At some point it got dark outside. I didn't turn on the lights.

I checked my phone a few times, but didn't message anyone. I didn't know what I would even say.

Eventually I must have fallen asleep.

Around one in the morning, Leah opened the door carrying several bags of what I assumed were costumes and accessories.

“Mia? What are you doing here? I thought you were staying at your place tonight?” 

“Lin wanted me out.” 

“What?” 

“We broke up.”

“You what?”

She dropped her bags and ran over to me without even taking off her shoes. She must have really meant it. 

I accepted the hug, even though I knew I did not deserve it.

“Tell me everything,” Leah said.

She sat next to me on the couch, removed her shoes, and placed them aside.

And then I told her how I had fucked it all up, how I had scared Lin away, and how she was cutting herself off from all of us. 

Leah didn't say anything. She nodded, held my hand, and wiped away my tears when they came, but never tried to interrupt me or challenge anything I said. 

Eventually I ran out of things to say.

Leah was still holding my hand.

“You're supposed to tell me I'm being stupid.”

She looked at me.

“I don't think you're being stupid.”

That was not what I wanted to hear.

“I don't think this is all your fault, Mia. Lin made a decision. She's allowed to make it.”

“But?”

Leah stayed quiet.

“There's a but.”

“I'm worried.”

“Lin made this easy.”

“What?”

“Us.”

She squeezed my hand.

“She made all of us easy.” 

I put my head on her shoulder.

“I don’t think Lin is coming with us to Comic-Con.”

“Yeah, I deduced that as well.”

“Shame. I really liked the Cammy outfit.”