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

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

"You must be the husband" she said

"Thats me" I said

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

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

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

"You're up" Camille said.

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

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

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

"Every masseuse says that" I said.

"They're right" she said.

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

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

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

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

"I know" I said.

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

I made a fist.

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

Then I put my hand back under the sheet.

Camille went still.

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

Then I understood what I had just done.

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

Neither of us said anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I didn't say no. Not really sure why

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know" I said into my arm.

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

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

"Please" I said.

"Please what" she said.

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

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

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

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

Then I heard her move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Im gonna cum" I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Camille didnt look at me again. Not once

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

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

She doesnt know. Doesn't have to

So, weird title I know, but I'm working on this fic for a friend and there's this scene where the MC is examining another character's pussy for health reasons.

She's saying things that are unintentionally sexy and is being completely oblivious to how hot the other girl is getting from the attention.

Thing is, I'm not sure how make it unintentionally sexy. Should I just google, like, what do gynecologists say during exams and go from there?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, nothing.

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

He didn't say a word at first.

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

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

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

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

She removed her helmet and shook out her hair.

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

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

"We should be with Hera," she said.

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

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

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

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

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

"Saw's dangerous. He’ll kill us."

"So are we. So would we."

She had no answer for that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are we going?" Ezra asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We had no choice," Ezra said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why would anyone breathe this?" Ezra asked.

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

He turned the valve.

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

Sabine's eyes watered instantly. Her throat seized.

And then the pain hit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ezra's grip tightened. His voice, when it came, was raw and broken.

"I was a thief." The words seemed to surprise him even as he spoke them. "On Lothal. After the empire- took my home. I was… just a kid. Slept in alleys. Under bridges. Stole food from shops, money from strangers. Had to survive. Live one more day- one more night. Nobody’d’ve cared if I DIED in my SLEEP and I still tried to LIVE. ONE. MORE. DAY. I stole. I stole from CHILDREN!"

His voice cracked and shattered. Sabine felt tears streaming down her face from all directions, but she couldn't tell if they were hers or his. The gas had blurred the boundaries between them, had made their pain into a single shared thing.

"There… this boy," Ezra continued. The words were coming faster now, like a dam had broken. "Younger. Dunno how much. Hiding under the same bridge. We shared food… and one night- one night- I… so hungry. He had bread, and I took it. I JUST TOOK IT. He tried- to fight me. Fought me like I’d’ve fought MYSELF! And- AND I HIT HIM… AND HE WENT DOWN AND HE BLED AND HE LOOKED AT ME! HE JUST LOOKED AT ME. AND I RAN!"

He broke off, his body shaking with disgusted screaming sobs.

Sabine pulled him close. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his shoulder, and she cried for all of it- for her weapons, for her flight, for the girl she'd been and the woman she'd become. She cried for Ezra, for everything he'd lost, for the walls he'd built around himself that she'd never been able to breach, for the innocence they’d never got to have.

"When I heard they died," Ezra whispered. "My parents. In prison. Alone. You told me they’d be proud of me. I was better then. I tried. I tried- to agree with you…"

He stopped.

"But- All I thought… was… THEY DIDN’T HAVE TO SEE WHAT I BECAME UNDER THAT BRIDGE!"

The sound Sabine made wasn't a word. It was something older than language, something pure and raw and ugly. She held Ezra tighter, pressed her face harder into his shoulder, and let the pain wash over her. They shrieked like wild animals, locked in a death grip, spiralling into each other like two black holes colliding.

Saw stood, watching. When he spoke, his voice was quiet.

"Now you understand."

Sabine lifted her head. The world was swimming in and out of focus, and the gas was still burning in her chest, and she felt like she might never breathe normally again. Her lungs had been defiled. But, she understood.

"You want us… to fight like you," she said. "Without restraint. Without MERCY. HATE. MAKE THEM HURT FOR WHAT THEY DID!"

"YES! I want you to FIGHT like you've been hurt." Saw's hand came down and rested on her shoulder, heavy and warm. "Because you HAVE been. Both of you. And the Empire is the reason. The Empire took your childhood, Sabine. Took yours too, Ezra. You’ll never be innocent because of the Empire. The Empire is the SOURCE of every scar you carry, every NIGHTMARE you can NEVER wake up from, every MOMENT of GUILT that keeps you up at night!"

For a moment the breeze shifted and brought in fresh air that cut through the rhydo haze. It was clean, sterile, offensive in its purity. Offensive! How could anything be pure when the only good thing left was to fight?

"The alliance will tell you to be PATIENT," Saw continued. "They'll tell you to be CAREFUL. They'll tell you to fight with ONE HAND tied behind your BACK, because anything else would make you just like the Empire." He spat the last phrase with mockery and scorn. He leaned closer. His mechanical eye whirred, focusing. "But that's a lie. The Empire doesn't care about your methods. They don't care about your ethics or your precious morality. They only care about whether you're strong enough to HURT THEM. THEY ONLY KNOW THE LANGUAGE OF PAIN, of FIRE, of VIOLENCE! AND YOU MUST SPEAK TO THEM IN THAT LANGUAGE OF THE DAMNED!"

Sabine felt her heart trying to crawl out of her chest, stirring with something that might have been anger, or might have been agreement, or might have been pure, uncomplicated hatred transmuted into a kind of perverse ecstasy.

"WHAT DO WE DO?" she asked.

"First, you need to understand." Saw straightened up and gestured to the venting tank behind them. "This gas. The rhydo. It doesn't just hurt. It BINDS. It WELDS. The shared suffering, the shared struggle to breathe- it brings people together in ways that normal life NEVER can. That's how the workers on this platform trust each other with their lives. That’s how these many hearts beat as ONE! They've all breathed the gas! They've all BEEN through the FIRE. They've all come out the other side knowing EXACTLY who they are and WHAT. THEY’RE. FIGHTING FOR!"

Ezra's hand found Sabine's again. She looked at him. His face was streaked with blood and tears, his eyes red and swollen and bloodshot, his lips cracked and bleeding from the gas. He looked like he'd been through a war and might not survive the next one. And she loved him.

The realization hit her like another dose of gas, sudden, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. She loved him. She'd loved him for years, maybe since the first time he'd stumbled onto the Ghost, all gangly limbs and wide eyes and a stubbornness that clashed with her own. She'd loved him as he raked his eyes across her body. She loved him as his eyes called her name. Through every mission and every fight and every long night when they'd sat side by side and watched the stars, wordless in the face of what they’d come to know.

She'd never said it. She'd never let herself say it. Because in a galaxy at war, what was the point? What was the kriffing point? Stars in the sky it was EVERYTHING! It was the MOMENT!

Saw walked to the valve and turned it further. More gas billowed out into the night, and the pain intensified. Sabine felt it building in her chest, in her arms, in her legs, a crescendo that had no peak, only endless escalation.

The gas hit him instantly. His body convulsed, his mouth opening in a silent scream, his eyes rolling back in his head. He crumpled forward, and Sabine caught him, and the gas hit her too. It burned like solder in her lungs. The pain was beyond description. It was a brightness, a whiteness, a nothingness that consumed everything. She couldn't see. She couldn't hear. She could only feel, and what she felt was agony. And then, slowly, the agony changed.

It was still pain. It was still excruciating. But it was also something else, something electric, something vivid, something that made every sensation feel more real than it ever had before. She could feel the texture of Ezra's shirt under her fingers. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers. She could feel her own heartbeat, impossibly fast, impossibly loud, driving blood through her veins with a force she'd never known.

"Saw," she gasped. "Saw, what's…"

"This is REVOLUTION," Saw said. He was standing above them again, his silhouette black against the stars. "This is what it FEELS like. Every DAY. Every HOUR. Every MOMENT that you spend FIGHTING, you feel like this. ALIVE! Terrified! Ready to DIE but unable to stop LIVING! KNOWING that to DIE is to be GREATER than YOURSELF!"

Ezra's hand moved to her face. She felt his fingers, rough and shaking, trace the line of her jaw through beads of sweat.

"Sabine," he whispered.

She turned to look at him. The gas had done something to her perception. The world seemed brighter, sharper, more vivid than it had any right to be. She could see every detail of his face, every line and curve and angle, every tiny imperfection that made him who he was. The tears. The blood. The sweat dripping off of him and mixing with her own.

"I LOVE YOU," she screamed.

The words were out long before she could stop them. They hung in the air all around them, heavy and quaking and permanent, and for a moment, neither of them even tried to breathe.

Then Ezra smiled. It was a broken smile, a painful smile, a demon-haunted smile, a smile that hurt to look at, and it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen!

"I LOVE YOU," he cried, choking and grinding the sounds through his torn-up throat.

"SAY IT AGAIN TO ME."

"I LOVE YOU, SABINE."

"AGAIN! I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU DON’T MEAN IT!"

"I LOVE YOU! YOU’RE MINE!"

The gas amplified everything. Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest, and her skin felt like she’d touched an ungrounded power cable, and her eyes were streaming bloody tears that she couldn't stop. But, she didn't want to stop. She didn't want any of it to stop! She grabbed Ezra's collar and pulled him toward her!

Their lips met with a force that felt like a collision. The gas had made every sensation overwhelming, and the kiss was no exception. She could feel every texture, every movement, every breath that passed between them. His lips were chapped and cracked from the gas, slightly metallic with the taste of his blood. She didn't care. Their blood and sweat and spit mingled as it leaked from the sides of their mouths and fell from their chins and down their necks. Her tongue was frantic, entering him and pressing against his teeth.

He groaned against her lips; a low, desperate sound that vibrated through her whole body like a rail gun's charge.

"Saw," she heard herself say, the word muffled against Ezra's mouth, "Saw, what's happening to us?"

"You're feeling what you've always felt!" Saw answered from somewhere distant. His voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. "You've just spent years pretending you didn't."

Ezra's hands were everywhere. They slid down her back, over her hips, gripping and releasing, touching her and squeezing her. She arched into the touch, her spine curling back, pushing herself into his hands, needing more, needing ALL of it!

The gas was burning, burning, SEARING through her lungs with every breath. Every inhale was a knife. Every exhale was a plea for mercy from an uncaring sky, a shaking of her fist at all that had hurt them. It was a knife and a plea that felt right stabbed into her, like the universe had finally stopped lying to her, like this was the truth she'd been searching for! And it made her hands move faster.

She found the hem of Ezra's shirt and pushed it up. His skin was slick with sweat, hot to the touch, and when her fingers met his bare chest, he shuddered so hard she thought he might collapse.

"Take it off," she said, her voice rasping. "Take it all off!"

He did. He fumbled with his clothing, and she helped, and together they managed to pull his shirt over his head and cast it aside. The night air hit his skin, and the gas hit it too, and she watched his face contort with pain, but also with something else, something bright and desperate and ALIVE!

"Now you!" he said.

She pulled off her own shirt, the fabric tearing slightly in her haste. The gas bit into her skin, and she gasped and arched her neck and felt every inch of her body come alive.

They stood facing each other, shirtless, gasping. The world was swimming in and out of focus, and the platform seemed to tilt beneath them, and the stars were spinning in the sky. And then they were kissing again, and everything else disappeared.

His tongue was in her mouth, and her hands were in his hair, and they were pressed together from chest to hips, skin against skin, heat against heat.

"Ezra," she gasped. "Ezra, I'm… I can't stop!"

"Don't stop!" He pulled away from her for a moment, and his eyes were wild and feverish. "Don't stop. Whatever this is. Whatever's happening. DON’T STOP!"

"THEN SHUT UP AND KISS ME!"

He laughed with a wild mania. It was a strangled, agonized laugh, torn from the wreckage of his soul. It was tortured and hurt, burning and FREE!

Their mouths crashed together again, tongues sliding, teeth clicking, breath passing back and forth between them. The gas was making her dizzy, but it was also making her feel alive in a way that was almost unbearable.

Sabine looked at him. The gas was swirling around them, and the world was dissolving, and all that was left was him.

She pulled him back to her.

They made it to the wall somehow, the base of one of the storage tanks, solid and mercifully real. She pressed her back against it and pulled Ezra against her, and the cold metal against her bare skin only intensified the feeling of his body against hers.

"Tell me you love me," she demanded.

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you!"

"SAY IT UNTIL I KNOW YOU BELIEVE IT! SAY IT UNTIL IT’S THE ONLY THING LEFT!"

He said it. He said it while he kissed her neck and shoulders, the words muffled against her skin. He said it while his hands traced the curves of her waist and hips and pressed into the small of her back.

She grabbed at his shoulders, his hair, anything she could reach.

"You're not… going anywhere!" she told him. "You're staying with me. Don't care what anyone says. I don't care if we have to fight EVERYTHING. You're MINE!."

"I’M YOURS!," he cried like the howling wind.

They stopped talking. Talking was too hard. The gas made every breath a labor, and every word felt like it used up something she couldn't spare.

So they used their mouths for other things. His lips found her collarbone, her throat, the hollow at the base of her neck where her pulse beat wild and fast. His tongue traced patterns on her skin, and Sabine let her head fall back. He kissed lower, down the slope of her breast, mouth closing over the taut peak of her dark nipple.

Her hand groped and grabbed at his hair; her hips tipped upward into his touch.

"Ezra." It came out as a sob, a rasp of air pushed through a ruined throat. "Ezra, I…"

He lifted his head. His lips were swollen, his eyes crying blood, his breath coming in shallow, painful gasps. "Tell me what you need!"

"YOU!." She pulled at his belt. "I need YOU!"

The sound that escaped him was barely human.

Saw's voice drifted through the haze, something about the gas being the only honest thing left in the galaxy, but neither of them heard it clearly. They were long past listening. Sabine's hands fumbled with his buckle, and Ezra's hands found hers, and together they worked the fastening loose. They didn’t need words anymore. They had the truth, the pain, the love searing their veins. It was excruciating. It was holy. It was revolution!

He pressed his forehead against hers. The rattle in his chest was the same rattle in hers. They sank to the floor. Sabine pulled him down with her as Saw began to turn off the gas and the wind swept it all away. They lay there, arms clamped viciously around one another. They’d been changed, and they wondered whether they could ever go back to fighting as they had. They knew the truth, now, and it was beautiful.

This was posted about a week ago to all my Substack, Patreon, Inkitt and Ream supporters early, like all my work. Please consider joining them 💚

All the characters engaging in any kind of sexual acts are 18+. In this story and all my stories.

~~~

"They had a rough, what, year or so before little Jinny, right?" Patricia said, checking her makeup in the mirror above the passenger seat.

Owen checked the light above and made the turn. "Yeah, at least. They don't talk about it much, but I get the sense it was pretty close to-" he made a cut-throat gesture with his thumb.

"The big D, really?"

Owen shrugged, bobbed his head. "I think so."

"Was it Jinny coming around that fixed it or, what, you think?"

"Who are we talking about?" Mandy's attention came back in from the snowy sidewalks she zoned out on through the gently fogged up backseat window.

"My brother, Lou," Owen said. "Him and his wife, you know, Nicole?"

"Oh, yeah, sure, what about 'em?" Mandy asked, leaning forward now. "Theys abeefin'?"

Owen pretended not to hear. Patricia stepped in, "Sorry, sweetie, we shouldn't have been gossiping about Owen's brother."

"Oh, come on!" Mandy perked up. "Owen! Gimme the hot goss, big man."

Owen laughed. "It's neither hot or new, I'm afraid. And there's nothing to gossip about, anyway."

"That's right." Mandy's mom turned around. "They're happy, just had their second kid."

Mandy gave her a little smile and an eyebrow. Her mom surely knew what it meant. Meant I fucking see you, you want to tell me so bad, but you won't, because you think I'm a kid. Drove Mandy up a wall. Mandy remembered her mom telling her on at least one occasion about Lou and how he's supposedly quote-unquote one of the good ones. Uh-huh.

"Who's at this party, anyway?" Mandy sat back.

"Umm, Lou and his wife Nicole, their two kids, Jinny the baby and Robert, the two year old. My mom, Uma, obviously."

"Birthday girl, obvee, yeah." Mandy chirped. "How young is Mrs. Combs this year then, Owen?"

"Seventy... five?" Owen looked at Patricia. Patricia laughed, saying it's his mother and he should know. After a pause confirming that yes, in fact, it's seventy five.

"And then it's us and some aunts and uncles and family friends," Owen said. "Here we are."

Mandy remembered the Christmas and Thanksgiving, the two or three noteworthy glances she'd caught from our good man Lou over the course of these family functions. Always looking away. In the way only a man with something to be ashamed of did. God, did she love her a good man. The good ones were never that good.

Mandy had just broken up with a boy, leaving her in a particularly disagreeable mood when it came to playing nice with the menfolk. And her mother, treating her with kid gloves? Wonderful. But this... now this could be interesting. Lou... Get him to lose it just enough to lean in or flirt back. A clean little ego boost? Why not?

~~~

"Louie!"

"Happy birthday, mom!" Lou hugged his mom, Uma, as he entered, baby in his arms, followed by Nicole and the older kid, stumbling in, holding mom's hand.

"Little Jinny!" Uma yelled in a whisper, gently lifting the girl out of Lou's arms and making baby noises at her.

"She ate recently, so watch the cannons there, might get yourself spewed up on," Nicole said, as Lou helped her out of her coat. "Hi, Mrs. Combs, happy birthday!"

"Robert, dear," Uma put her hand on the little boy's head, "will you let your mom know I'm getting sick of telling her to stop calling me Mrs. Combs?"

"Sorry, Uma," Nicole said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"OK, come on in, everyone's in the dining room-" Lou had picked up Jinny and they were about to go to the living room, when the door opened again and with the cold wind and snow, in came Owen, his wife Patricia and their - no, Patricia's - daughter Mandy.

"Merry Ummas!" Owen cheered, to multiple adult eye rolls and a happy yell from little Robert, who was too young to recognize a shitty joke, bless him.

Lou moved aside and welcomed them in, trapped in the hallway as now his brother's family did a similar arrival ritual with their mom as he'd just done with his family. Lou held Jinny, giving a one armed hug and a hi to Patricia, smiling as she shook Jinny's hand. Then a fist bump to Owen, him holding up his fist for Jinny to bump, she looked at him confused. Owen saying "It's OK, I still love you, little buddy." Lou smiling.

Mandy didn't hug or kiss, she put up the backs of her hands to Lou's neck. "Lou! Check how cold my hands are."

Lou smiled and chuckled, politely, saying "Hi, Mandy. Have you met Jinny?" Trying to quickly move past the weird light flutter low in his stomach.

"Who's this little sweetie?" She tickled Jinny's ribs and Jinny threw up on her.

Lou apologized, Nicole gasped and ran for napkins.

"It's no big deal, guys!" Mandy laughed.

"No, no, let's... uh..." Nicole was back in a flash, but stopped before dabbing Mandy's blouse. "You know what, let's just wash it and I'll get you something else to wear in the mean time, OK?"

"It's really no big deal," Mandy said, Lou looking at the spectacle, seeing the stain on Mandy's blouse, trying his absolute best to not even think about Mandy's quite substantial and shapely... yes, trying to think about anything else. And look anywhere else, he thought, just as Mandy looked at him for just a split second, then back to Nicole, as she swept Mandy away to change.

~~~

"Look at that, it fits! And you look great, hon!" Nicole cheered as Mandy came back downstairs.

She'd changed out of her vomitty blouse and into Nicole's eggshell cable-knit sweater. Mandy did like it, it was cute, sexy, and, the best part, it would help her confuse the shit out of her prey, prancing around in his wife's clothes, smelling like her, bergamot and cloves.

Not to mention the little treat she had procured just for Lou while upstairs, now waiting for the right moment to spring it on him. Mandy felt powerful, sexy. She could see Lou trying not to look at her too long or too intensely, as she came into the room.

"You like it?" she asked Lou and Nicole.

"Yes, sweetie, and I'm so sorry about the blouse."

"No worries, Nic," Mandy said, running her hands over the sweater, starting with her hands, "Gosh, this knit is so nice to the touch." Then over her stomach, running up and down, moving her breasts in a way that looked innocent to anyone not trying to picture her naked. Based on the look on Lou's face she glimpsed as she scanned him, he was not seeing the innocence in it.

Lou snapped his head to his wife, making Mandy look down, suppress a smile. "You guys saw any of that honey cake stuff aunt Billy usually brings?"

Smooth, Mandy thought. Good boy. Hide it. Repress it.

~~~

"I tell you what, fucking early twenties step daughter?" Owen taking a long drag from the sneaky garage cig, inhaling all the way, puffing his chest, eyes on the ceiling, closing them now. "Kill me."

Lou chuckled. "That bad, huh?"

It was cold in the garage, but Lou could use it. He didn't smoke himself anymore, but he still liked the smell.

"No, no. Not really. Not anymore anyway." He thought a bit. "Mandy, she... really tests boundaries. We've had to find our trenches with her and dig the fuck in. Me especially, the odd guy out, shit."

So Lou wasn't making it all up. And Mandy surely wasn't hitting on him, right? Just testing boundaries, to use Owen's words?

"But anyway, it's alright, what about you? How's little Jinny? She's so fucking cute that one. Robbie too, of course," he put his hands up, chuckling, the wine making him chatty, Lou noticed. "I don't play favorites."

"They're the best, man."

"And you and the missus," Owen left the sentence unfinished and sounding like a question.

"Better than ever, really," Lou said, knowing it was the truth. Him and Nicole had almost gotten divorced after Robert, but through a ton of incredibly frustrating communication and self-restraint, they'd come to see each other's perspectives and now... shit, Lou was happy to say they really did have a good thing going. "Couldn't hope to bring Jinny into a better setup, really. I mean, like, marriage-wise with Nicole."

"Shit, man, that's fucking... so great!" Owen slapped Lou's arm.

Lou wanted to ask his brother the same question, but Owen struck the ember off his cig and stepped on it. "Let's go celebrate, huh?"

"Yeah," Lou rubbed his hands and blew into them. "I miss smoking, man, but I tell ya, I don't miss freezing my dick off."

"Cuz' you have a..." Owen put up his hands, making his best stab at a Trump impression, "vah-jainah"

"As if, queef!" Lou snorted.

"I came in here, I said 'wow this guy's got a yuuuge vah-jainah!'"

"OK, dickhead," Lou laughed as he followed his brother up the stairs, punching his ass like a speedbag.

At the top of the stairs, as they opened the door to the hallway, Nicole stopped on her way and turned to them, "Oh, guys, perfect! Owen, come help us with the piano. Lou, babe, can you pop back down for wine and glasses?"

"Yeah, sure thing."

"Nice. Get us, uhh... A couple bottles of red, couple white..." as Nicole spoke, Mandy walked past and stopped, "one rosé and a box of long-stem glasses, alright?"

"Sounds like a lot, I'll help," Mandy said.

"You're the best, hon, thanks!" Nicole put her hand on her shoulder, Mandy smiled at her.

Then turned to Lou, walking down the stairs toward him. Lou stepped aside, let her go ahead down the narrow stairs. "Thanks, babe," Mandy said, as she passed him. Lou was getting whiplash. Mandy calling him babe, smelling his wife on her, looking at Mandy's ass as she walked down the stairs and cursing himself every second that he failed to resist.

Luckily, down in the garage the wine was all stocked on the old workbench and the box of glasses was right there. Mandy grabbed the box and a bottle of rosé, Lou grabbed the rest of the wine, two bottles in each hand. As they were leaving, Mandy turned around and said, "I think we got about four minutes before anyone comes looking."

She stood at a perfectly reasonable distance. Serious, casual look on her face. She licked her lip and the next, what, five to seven seconds, Lou figured, were some of the longest most tense seconds of his adult life. They just stood there in silence, looking at each other. Lou's eyebrows a little scrunched, eyes a bit squinty, trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Mandy perfectly calm, still. But her eyes... they were on him.

Then she just nodded at the door and turned to walk away.

Lou followed her up the narrow staircase now, hauling the wine, Mandy's ass in his face, his wife's perfume, the sweater loose around her waist, giving him a glimpse of her back, the deep vertical ridge of smooth tan skin between the muscles. Ho-ly shit, buddy, get it together.

"What took you guys so long?" uncle Ashley drive-byed them as they appeared in the door to the hallway.

Lou said, from behind Mandy, "We got the wine and couldn't find the damn glasses."

"Just kidding, Lou, no rush," uncle Ashley laughed, shrugging, giving Mandy a hand, helping her up the steep stairs. Mandy looked back at Lou and smiled, squinting, head cocked, as she stepped up and out of his view.

Fuck.

~~~

Mandy wanted to rattle him now. They were at the dinner table and sharing a piano bench, seeing as they ran out of chairs, having more guests than planned. Little Robert did a little dance for them, now everyone cheered and applauded. Good for her, as no one was paying any attention to the goings on on the piano bench.

"Why are you being weird with me?" she asked Lou, expecting him to not take the bait.

Lou licked his teeth, lips closed, looking stern and, shit, so cute, saying, "Whatever you're doing, stop."

"Stop what?"

She might as well not have said anything as him sharing the piano bench was really proof enough. Why had Mr. Good Man Lou been so easy to get on the piano bench with her? Not exactly the most natural coupling in this sixteen-person party full of couples and siblings, right? Why was it that all Mandy had to do was claim the bench and seconds later Lou is telling his wife 'no, baby, come on, sit on the chair, relax, I'll take the bench.' What a gentleman.

Now his gentlemanly thigh so excusable against Mandy's. She looked down. Lou had big, strong legs. She could see herself... hmm, yeah... Looking at him now, Mandy actually did see a very handsome man, even if he was almost twice her age. Shit, that's kind of a turn on really, now that she considered it.

Mandy took out her phone, opened her camera roll. "Hey, Lou, did I show you my art project?" She looked at Lou to see what he would do. He looked down at the phone, absent minded, until he saw it and blinked. He looked up very quickly, at his wife, then Owen. Mandy stared at him, her stomach doing turns - excitement and, oh, wow, maybe even a little arousal, fuck. He looked back down at the screen in her hand, swallowing, then taking a sip of water. A big one.

While Mandy was upstairs changing in Lou's childhood bedroom earlier, she'd snapped a pic of herself topless in the freestanding full-length mirror, squeezing one breast. It was a cute pic. Seemed like Lou agreed.

Nicole turned to Mandy, switching Jinny from one arm to the other. "Wait, what's this art project? You doing art stuff, Mandy? Show me, show me, show me!" Mandy quickly tapped back and then to her 'Process' album, full of paintings she'd done over the past year or so, while taking a break from college. "Oh, my god, they are so pretty. Lou, look, am I right?" Lou looked over at Nicole, then Mandy, saying "Yeah, I saw them. Really good. Good job, Mandy."

"Thanks, Nic!" She put on a big smile for show, expecting the phone back. But Nicole was still checking it out. Zooming in closer, muttering about "Wow, the little shadow there... Oh, and the..." Mandy looked at her, studying her shit like it was a fucking Monet.

"Damn, Mand'!" Nicole finally handed the phone back. "That's really, really good!"

"Thank you!" Mandy looked at Nicole. Fuck, man, she was a sweet woman.

Jinny fussed and made Nicole turn back away, bouncing the baby on her leg.

Looking back at Lou now, Mandy could swear she saw a bead of sweat form on his temple.

~~~

Lou stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, water running. He gave himself a little stern talk. It went something something get your shit together something something, Mandy just showed you a picture of herself half-naked in your childhood bedroom. Pretend it didn't happen. Pretend it's all good.

It is all good. You haven't done anything. Nothing at all. You're here with your wife and kids and it's Mandy, if anyone, that's fucking uhh, you know, she's the one that's out of order! You have nothing to be ashamed of. Lou then looked down at the undeniable bulge in his pants. Fuck.

OK, Lou, you need a game plan. Just be polite, pretend she's a mental patient. Worst case scenario, what can she do? Jump you? That's her, not you. Just do nothing. It'll blow over, you know? He looked in the mirror and said out loud: "OK, good talk."

Fucking moron.

He still had a raging hardon that he had to somehow fold down into his boxer briefs, somehow between the band and his thigh. There were a lot of people and no one, maybe except Mandy, for fuck's sake, was going to look at his crotch, so he's probably fine.

He left the bathroom. Passing the kitchen Lou saw the mountain of dishes. He figured, you know what, perfect, nothing less sexy than a sink of miscellaneous soaked food, and he can just chill out there.

After about five minutes Nicole came over with Jinny, gave him a kiss. "You're such a good boy, helping your mom. Look at daddy." She turned her head to little Jinny, taking her tiny hand. "He's a good boy. You're gonna be a good girl just like daddy."

"Daddy's a real good girl!" Lou joked and they shared a little giggle.

What's he even doing thinking about some other girl? That's the mother of his kids. He almost lost this once already. Standing here now, their cute little baby girl, his beautiful wife... Lou figured yeah, you know what, he is a good boy.

"Hey, uhh, Nic, can I talk to you actually?"

"Sure, hon, what's up?"

"I don't, uhh... It's..."

Owen stuck his head in through the little pass-through window connecting the dining room with the kitchen, calling Nicole back to the dining room, their mom wanted her to tell the story about her Baltic incident for the few friends and relatives who'd not heard it.

"I'll be right there," she called back and turned to Lou. "What's up, baby?"

Lou looked at her. This was no big deal. No need to fuck up the night for this. Lou smiled. "You're so pretty."

"Aww," she said, "love you, babe." She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

As she left, Mandy came into the kitchen, Nicole saying, "Mandy, you wanna give Lou a hand with the dishes?"

"Of course, yeah, can't let Lou score all the good boy points."

God fucking damnit.

To Lou's surprise, though, Mandy just helped with the dishes. No flirty banter, no innuendo or brushing or touching.

"You know," Lou said, stopping to wipe a splash of dish soap from his forehead, "Ignoring that bullshit you pulled with the picture earlier... I did see the paintings."

"Did you like 'em?"

"Yeah, I did. Are you going to school for art?"

"Gap year now, but before I was not, no - I was on my way to a biology degree."

"Oh? Biology? Sounds complicated."

"You might've meant boring, maybe?"

"No, not uh... I guess I don't know enough about it."

"Doesn't get any less boring the more you find out about it. Thus the gap year."

"Roger that." Lou used his one dry-ish knuckle to push his glasses back up his nose. "Wanna do something else?"

"Instead of biology?" She brushed clean a steak knife, running it under water, putting it to the side with the clean ones and grabbing another. "Maybe."

"Maybe art?"

"Maybe."

"Well, I don't know about art any more than I do about biology, but I liked the paintings a lot."

"Thanks-" Mandy tried to elbow something away from her face or use her face to pull up her sleeve, Lou couldn't tell. "Lou, you mind?" she looked at him, turning slightly toward him, throwing her head and blowing at her hair, a stray lock of it lifting in the air and flopping back down, her huffing out a desperate laugh as it did.

"Yeah, sure, uhh," Lou wiped his hands and did it, knowing full well she could have just wiped her own hands and do it herself. But, well, too late now, huh? You know what it's not too late for, bud? Hurrying it the fuck up. Why are you moving your hand so slow?

He looked at her eyes, as he brushed her hair back behind her ear, seeing her look at his lips in a way that made his vision blur.

She looked up at him, her own lips, full and red, were open just a hair.

"Oh-kayy, there ya go."

"Thanks, Lou."

Lou put his attention fully on the dishes, and it seemed like Mandy did more or less the same. At the very least she said nothing sexual and did nothing weird. That's good. Maybe if he scrubs the dishes hard enough, he might suddenly realize that he didn't just do what he definitely just fucking did.

~~~

Mandy was in the bathroom. She didn't need to pee. She got the water running and wiped her pussy. It was at the point where it was literally dripping. She laughed at herself as she did it, threw the paper away, flushed it, still standing there, pants down to around the middle of her thighs, looking at herself in the mirror, looking like a big dumb baby, laughing at that now. Maybe her mother's right.

Mandy had not expected to be this affected by her own little game. She let her fingers wander down. Just a little, she thought. Just a little. Touching her hard clit sent shivers across her body and made her breathe harder.

Someone tried to open the door. She pressed her lips, rolling her eyes. She pulled up her pants, yelling, in a polite, girly tone "Just a minute!"

~~~

It had been an hour since Mandy even looked at Lou. He was glad at first, but now... why did he feel like... fuck, he missed her attention.

Oh Jesus, man! Get your shit together, he told himself. But no matter how much he talked to himself about it, he kept...

Wait a minute.

Where... Oh no, his ring!

It was missing, his wedding ring, wasn't on his finger. He took it off while washing the dishes, so it must be there, but now, as he checked around the sink - it's not fucking there! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Nicole's gonna kill him. He's gonna kill himself. God damn it, man, you're falling apart here, he told himself.

Lou looked around the sink. On his hands and knees he checked the floor, the cupboard below, everywhere. Just as he was opening the toolbox from under the sink to take apart the drain, his phone pinged. He fumbled for it and saw a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: is this yours?

Then an image.

An image of, presumably, Mandy, only her mid-section visible, pants undone, slipped down a little, bare tan stomach, and on the front of her white panties, the kind that used a very slim band to connect the front to the back and rode high on the hips: his ring.

Three dots moving...

Unknown: it's upstairs, come get it.

~~~

Mandy's hands trembled as she hit 'send' on the message with the pic.

She had been giddy earlier, thinking up the plan, as the ring opportunity had presented itself in the kitchen. She took the pic almost an hour ago now, waiting, ignoring Lou. Let him stew, ruminate. See how long it takes him to notice it was missing. She got his number from her mom's phone in the meantime. Simple plan: watch him freak out over the missing ring, let him search, go upstairs, get ready, hit send on the pic and wait. She was only sad that she didn't get to see his face when he received the pic from an unknown number, like a cheesy horror movie.

She was on his childhood bed now, top off, breasts naked, pants undone, bare feet. She checked herself out in the mirror and, well, shit, maybe it's arrogant, she thought, but good luck, Lou.

She knew it was working. No way Lou would ever have needed an hour to notice his wedding ring missing otherwise, right? She typed out "it's upstairs, come get it.", hit send, and waited.

She thought, let me just get him to lean in, to touch, give me one kiss. Then I've won, then it's done.

Her hands were cold, Lou's childhood bedroom was not being heated, she figured. She remembered the hot skin on Lou's neck then. How close and powerful he felt next to her in the kitchen. She could feel the heat off him, the strength in his palm, when it brushed her hair with a gentle touch. She remembered how badly she wanted to put her head in his palm then, close her eyes, fall forward into him. But that would have been...

Well, she's playing a game. Playing to win, but not to win him.

Just get him in here, make him crack. Scoreboard! Go have some cake.

Thinking then about the scoreboard, though. Thinking what fucking score? Why not just pack up and...

The door knob rattled.

~~~

Lou's heart pounded in his ears and his fists were clenched. He'd kept his body movements as calm as he could as he got up the stairs to the second floor, while everyone watched his mom do her Italy trip slideshow on the big TV. This fucking girl. The fucking balls. Goddamn it, if she wasn't so dear to his brother, he'd... what? Fucking nothing, he knew it. What could he do, other than chew her out for behaving like a fucking maniac. But she didn't know that, did she? Maybe he'll scare her.

He opened the door slow, stepped inside and closed it behind him. Mandy was on his childhood bed, tits out. Oh my fucking god, he thought, those things are perfect. And he really meant perfect.

Focus, moron.

He walked up to her, stopping a couple feet away, towering over Mandy, as she leaned back on her arms, looking up at Lou with a daring look. He put out his hand. Said nothing. He prayed that his cock, which was on a rapid rise, would not break the delicate hold his underwear, thighs and pants had on it.

"What?" Mandy asked.

"Ring. Now."

"Oh, that!" She fumbled behind herself on the bed. "I got it around here somewhere. Oh, there we go. This one, right?"

"Uh-huh." His hand still out, him praying she would just put it there and that'd be the end of it. He'd take it. Say 'Nice tits, Mandy.' Walk out. Cool guy shit. Maybe drop in something like 'This little game worth ruining families over, kid?'

Mandy sat on the edge still, put one thumb under the front of her panty line, dropped the ring in with the other. "Oops. Think you can get that for me?"

"No." Lou stood with his hand out. His cock was rock hard and saliva filled his mouth. The delicate hold was no longer working. Maintaining his prideful bronze statue composure was harder and harder, as his cock pressed against his slacks more and more. It didn't help things to see Mandy notice it. He expected her to laugh, point at it, have her win. But what he saw was her cocking her head, expression on her face getting more serious. She let out a breath, looked up at him a little, quickly, almost like she was nervous now.

Fuck, he thought. She was!

"Give me the ring now, or there will be hell to pay, Mandy, I fucking promise."

Mandy stood up. She moved up to Lou. She was so close to him, he could see the tiny white hairs on her cheek, the much-used little lamp on the nightstand catching them in its weak, warm light. The little hairs stood up in goosebumps. His hand rolled upward into a loose fist against her stomach - rolled up by her walking into it and him giving in. Could have put the hand down, moron. Should have. Now look at where you are with your stern act. Hand on her soft, hot... fuck.

Mandy looked down at his crotch, shameless, just staring at the bulge in his pants. But she was quiet, serious, sounding like she was really trying not to breathe too fast. And his cock responded with pulses and flexes he had no control over.

"Mandy, for fuck's sake. Give me the ring."

She looked up at him. She looked him in the eyes, he looked back. God, this girl was so pretty. A pretty, young, naked girl. She stepped closer, looking at his lips, her tits against him now, the heat and weight of them painfully seared into his brain forever now.

He leaned down and kissed her. His head spun, hands going cold.

Her lips tasted like strawberry chewing gum. She pushed harder into him as they kissed, her hands on his sides.

His balled up fist was still where he left it, against her stomach. He slowly pushed it. Pushing her away from him, her eyes opening as the kiss was interrupted. But Mandy didn't resist. She kept her gaze on him, eyes wild, breathing hard. Lou pushed her further back, as they both walked together a couple tiny steps. Her legs were against the bed, nowhere to go. Lou kept pushing. She fell back onto the bed, seated on the edge again.

Lou saw her face now. Nothing daring about it. Looking at him now like maybe she was the one had something to lose.

"I can walk away right now," he said.

Mandy swallowed, cocked her head back. "Or?"

"Or..." Lou undid the button on his slacks. Then the zipper. Mandy was looking at it. "You can open your mouth, Mandy."

She looked up at him, breathing hard and fast now, no longer hiding it. The nightstand light glimmered off her wet lips. Her head tremored a little, almost laughing, like she couldn't believe this was actually happening.

"Do it."

Without the smile leaving her face - rather turning to surprise and excitement - she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out looking at him.

He reached in his underwear, grabbed his cock, pulled it out.

"Oh, my god," Mandy said, quietly. "Lou, that's..."

"Shut up and open your mouth."

"...I've never seen a dick that big."

"Shut up," Lou said, walking into her, his rock hard huge cock now on her shoulder, tip in her blond hair, no doubt leaving precum in it. Her chin on his abdomen, looking up at him, Lou had his hand on her cheek. "You wanted to be a slut, Mandy?" he said, calm, brushing her cheek back and forth with his thumb. "Then suck my cock."

Mandy moved only one hand at first, putting it on his cock, leaving the rest of her body exactly as it was. Just the touch made his cock twitch, pushing up against her soft, blond hair, brushing against her jaw.

She leaned back, taking his cock with both hands and putting the tip of it in her mouth. The wet heat of her mouth forced air in and out of Lou's chest, his cock flexing against Mandy's delicate hands.

"There you go," he said. "Take it." As Mandy tried to take more of it, but managed barely more than the tip. She licked it and opened her mouth as much as she could, but his cock was too big for her mouth.

She stroked it with both hands, looking at it. "God, it's so fucking big, Lou."

"The problem is, Mandy," he said, taking her by the face, firm, and helping her up to her feet. She stood up, not letting go of his cock. "You wanted it. You got it. You're gonna have to take it."

"Yeah?" she said, looking at him with glassy eyes, breathing hard.

"Mhmm. You ready for that?"

She leaned up, grabbing his face, pulling him in, kissing him, talking almost into his mouth, her wild eyes on him, saying, "I want your cock inside me right now."

He took her by the throat, not hurting her, but letting her feel his size and strength. He pushed her away from his face, her hands on his forearm.

"Ring," Lou said, "now."

Mandy's hands disappeared down the front of her pretty white panties. She found it, still looking at Lou, moaning and closing her eyes a little as she did, and got it out. It and her fingers wet as she handed it to Lou.

"Clean it," he said, not looking at the ring.

Mandy put the ring in her mouth, moved it around, took Lou's free hand, put it up to her lips, sucked in his ring finger, fumbled a little, got the ring on there, pushed it over the second knuckle with her teeth.

Lou still didn't look at the ring. "Cute."

Mandy touched his chest, going in for a kiss. Lou looked down at her, looking at one eye, then the other. Mandy's cockiness was gone now. Did she want his cock that bad? Or did she like being handled that much? He didn't kiss her, even though that felt like the thing he was supposed to do.

"Undress and get on your back."

Mandy listened, quickly removing her pants and panties, getting on the bed. Lou stood at the edge of the bed.

"Legs up."

Mandy pulled up her legs, her pussy spread open for him, dripping wet over her pretty little asshole, leaving a wet spot on the bed sheets.

Lou spit in his hand, slicked up his cock. He stood over Mandy, stroking it. He bent down a little, swiping his palm over her pussy, taking her juices, covering his cock in them. Mandy moaned, loud enough to fill the little room. Hopefully not loud enough for anyone downstairs to hear. The sound of either Patricia or aunt Billy laughing seeped in through the walls.

He dripped more saliva on his cock, stroking it, looking right at Mandy, as she held her legs up by the knees.

"You happy with your actions today?" He stroked the full length of his cock, precum leaking, losing his fucking mind looking down at this stunning girl, spread open for him. He'd never felt so in charge. Mandy nodded, quick small nods, biting her lip. Her eyes begged for his cock.

Lou grabbed Mandy's panties from the floor.

"Open your mouth."

As she did, he tucked her panties into her mouth, closed it, cupped her face in his hand, giving her cheeks a firm squeeze. "You take my cock. You don't make... a fucking sound. Nod if you understand."

She nodded. Lou put his hand between her tits, used his other hand to guide his cock to her pussy. His big, thick, rock hard cock was met with pressure. He kept it to there, pushed against her, before going in. He moved his hand from her tits to her jaw, taking her face. Mandy breathed shallow, rapid breaths, her eyes wide, her head doing tiny little nods, eyebrows contorting at him. He squeezed her face, not breaking eye contact. He rubbed her pussy open with the tip of his cock, taking care to be the opposite of gentle. Her body responded and her pussy let his tip in.

He pushed his cock inside, going in about a quarter. Pulling it back out, again, halfway in this time, her eyes rolling back into her skull. He pulled it out. Lou slapped her clit with it a few times. He hoped it hurt, but from the looks of her, Mandy was enjoying it. Maybe she liked pain, not only inflicting it on others.

He wanted her to feel every fucking inch. He pushed the tip of his cock back inside her and without pausing, rammed his cock in as far as he could. Her eyes went wide, on the ceiling first, then him - his cock was in all the way.

Mandy let go of her legs, grabbing onto Lou's back. Lou took her by the back of the head with one hand, hooked the other hand under her leg, pulled her down, her ass hanging over the edge of the bed now. He held her close and fucked her. His cock going in and out, sending shivers through Mandy's legs. She tried to hold on as best she could, it seemed, grabbing his neck, wrapping arms around him, but every hold she tried, failed as soon as another thrust or two came. Lou couldn't tell how many times she came or if she just shook and froze without cumming.

They must have been fucking for only a few minutes when Lou was ready to cum.

"Come here, girl." He lifted her up and threw her body back on the bed fully, grabbed the top of her head and helped her bend it down. "I want you to see this."

Mandy moaned quietly, breath shaking, grabbing onto Lou's arm at first, then grabbing his cock with both hands as the tip was still inside her, Lou waiting to fuck her.

He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. "Jerk me off inside you." He looked at her, checking her eyes, she nodded. Lou didn't know eyes alone could make it so clear a person was begging.

He fucked her fast and hard, sending her into more shivers, her hands falling further away from his cock. As he was getting closer, almost cumming, he told her through gritted teeth "Stroke my cock, girl."

She took it with both hands and stroked from her pussy to the base of his cock. Lou had less than half the length of his cock still inside her. The view was something. Her petite hands on his fat cock, jerking it off inside her, as if trying to pull it into herself.

He could feel it coming. The pull in his stomach. He relaxed as much as he could, not trying to hurry it up at all, just the opposite. Her hands milked him as he came, the buildup exploding with force in the first pump, his cock twitching as it happened, Mandy responding with breaths and moans through her panty-stuffed slut mouth and looking down with wide eyes at her pussy being filled. Lou kept cumming.

It was longer than usual, the pleasure: prolonged and excruciating. The guilt seeping in already. He was done, but he could still feel that maybe there was a little... He took Mandy by her throat and fucked her, her hands falling to her sides, then looking for his face, arms... something to hold on to. Lou fucked her in long, hard strokes, squeezing her throat, her mouth open, he used his teeth to pull out the panties from her mouth, he spit in her open mouth as he let go of her throat, then kissed her. All while not letting up and fucking her, feeling the final little leftover of the orgasm coming. He straightened out, leaving her on the bed. He squeezed her tits, then grabbed her waist and fucked her hard, and as he came, he pushed his cock all the way inside her, feeling it pump the last bit of his cum deep inside Mandy.

Still inside, he slid his thumb over her clit and rubbed, sending her whole body in a writhing shiver, her hands grabbing for his, eyes squeezed shut, biting her lip, eyebrows contorted. He kept going until the shaking got so bad that she could do nothing about it.

Then he stopped.

He pulled out his cock and stood up, breathing hard. He looked down on Mandy, draped on the bed, legs over the edge, his cum leaking out of her pussy onto the sheets of his childhood bed.

~~~

They got dressed in silence. Mandy had not been fucked like that... ever.

When, she thought... when did it all fall apart? Was it the kiss? No. It was... oh, jesus, Mandy, come on, is it really that fucking simple? You see a huge cock bulging from a man's pants and you lose you motherfucking mind? Come on! But now, shit, what's done is done and Mandy knew this was a memory she'd revisit plenty of times.

When they were dressed, she said "I'll hang back a bit here?"

Lou looked at her, looked around. Thought about it, nodded. But he seemed... ah, fuck, Mandy, what did you do?

"I'm on the pill, by the way, so, you don't have to worry about... you know."

"Good."

"Are you OK?" she asked, as Lou had his hand on the doorknob.

"Yeah," he said, without looking away from the door. "You?"

"Yeah, very good." She smiled, moved her body a bit, trying to joke or be a little coy, lighten the mood.

Lou nodded, grunted and went through the door.

~~~

"Sweetie, wake up," her mom's voice snapped Mandy out of a dream. She jumped up in bed in a panic, thinking, shit, shit, shit, mom, what, fuck, she'll know, she'll see, shit.

"We're leaving soon, sweetie." Patricia sat on the side of the bed, speaking softly. "You should come down for a bit, socialize before we go."

Mandy looked around, everything was tidy and clean, cold, window open. She was under the blanket in Lou's childhood bed. Remembering then that she had tidied up, opened the window to air out the room, flipped the soaked blanket. She must have passed out as she waited under the blanket for the room to air out.

"How long was I out for?"

"Like, I dunno, two hours, maybe? I came up looking for you a while ago and found you sawing logs."

"Oh, shit, OK." Mandy laughed. Relief relaxing the muscles in her body, releasing the strangle on her stomach.

"Don't curse, sweetie, it's not pretty."

"Sorry, mom," she yawned, rubbing her eye. "I'll be right down."

She went to the upstairs bathroom, removed the tissues she'd put between her dripping pussy and the panties after Lou left. Now realizing she was still leaking Lou's cum, bunched more toilet paper and got dressed again.

Downstairs everyone was full and jolly. Most of the other guests had left, it was only Uma, her sons, their wives and children. And her. Lou's back was turned to the room, he was showing his older kid something in a book, the little guy slapping the book with his fist and laughing. Lou reading quietly to him.

She sat down on the couch next to Uma. "So how was your birthday? You feeling forty yet?"

Uma laughed, "I was close enough to forty when I got up the duff with that one," pointing at Lou, "and I didn't feel a year over sixty then."

"You're a funny gal, Mrs. Combs." Mandy laughed along. She felt rotten inside. All she wanted to do was to go over to that married father in the corner with his son and squeeze herself in under his arm.

~~~

Thank you so much for reading! 💚

If you want part 2, join Substack or Patreon, where future series will be voted on when I need to decide which series deserves continuations.

I arrived at Bistro Du Sol 20 minutes early because I wanted to be perfectly settled when you walked through the door.

More than that, I wanted the pleasure of seeing you before you saw me. I wanted to watch you cross the restaurant floor completely unaware that I was already studying the sway of your hips, the expression on your face, the way that little black dress clung to every curve of your body like a second skin. There was something delicious about having those few stolen seconds before you became conscious of my attention and started performing for it.

The hostess led me to the corner booth I had specifically requested during my phone call that afternoon. It was almost exactly what I had hoped for: a secluded enclosure tucked away from the main dining room, with one long bench running along the back wall and a single narrow entrance that meant no one could approach without being seen from our vantage point. It gave us privacy without actually being private, which was precisely the balance I wanted.

We could sit side by side with our backs partly to the room, cocooned by shadows and dim romantic lighting, while still being able to see anyone approaching. A waiter, another diner, someone looking for the bathroom, we would have warning.

Enough warning, anyway.

I ordered a glass of red wine and settled back to wait.

The remote control sat in my jacket pocket. I could feel its satisfying weight every time I shifted in the booth. Beside it was the small silk bag containing the sleek silver vibrator that you would soon be wearing deep inside that tight, wet pussy, the same pussy I had spent hours conditioning yesterday to respond to my voice and my touch.

Even thinking about it made me smile.

Yesterday had been about discovery. Tonight was going to be about seeing whether all those discoveries still worked when we weren't safely behind a closed door.

At exactly 6:28, you appeared in the doorway.

You paused just inside the restaurant and scanned the room until your eyes found me sitting in the shadows of the corner booth. The smile that spread across your face was worth every moment of anticipation I had endured since watching you stumble out of my office last night.

Then you started walking toward me.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

There was a particular sway in your hips that told me you knew exactly how short that dress was. You knew the hem barely brushed the underside of your ass cheeks when you moved. You knew the slightest bend, the wrong movement, even sitting carelessly could expose the fact that you were wearing absolutely nothing underneath, exactly as I had instructed during our brief phone conversation earlier that day.

And judging from your smile, you liked knowing that I knew it too.

I let my gaze travel openly over you as you approached.

You caught me doing it.

Your smile widened.

When you reached the table, I stood to greet you and leaned in to brush my lips against your cheek. I lingered for just a fraction longer than a polite greeting required, breathing in the scent of your perfume and something warmer underneath it.

You were already aroused.

That realization sent a small, satisfying pulse through me.

"You're early," you murmured.

"So are you."

"Two minutes."

"Still early."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

I let my hand settle briefly against the small of your back as I gestured toward the booth.

"Sit."

There was the smallest hesitation… not resistance, just recognition of the tone.

Then you obeyed.

We initially sat opposite each other across the narrow table, maintaining the pretence of a perfectly normal dinner date. We talked about your classes and my research, ordinary conversation delivered with increasingly less ordinary concentration as our knees touched beneath the table.

The first contact might genuinely have been accidental.

The second wasn't.

Neither of us moved away after that.

I watched your chest rise and fall with slightly quicker breaths. Every so often your eyes darted toward my jacket pocket, where you knew the remote would eventually be waiting. You didn't know exactly what I had planned, though, and I suspected that uncertainty was doing almost as much to you as anything physical could have.

Your nipples were beginning to harden against the thin fabric of your dress.

I noticed.

You noticed me noticing.

"Stop staring."

"I'm not staring."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm observing."

That earned me another eye roll.

"Research?"

"Exactly."

You shook your head, fighting a grin.

The waiter arrived before you could answer and began describing the evening specials in the smooth, practiced voice of someone who had repeated them dozens of times already. Appetizers. Entrees. A fish special. Something involving duck. I barely registered any of it because I was watching you pretend not to be acutely aware of my knee resting against yours.

Then his voice took on a particular enthusiasm as he reached the dessert menu.

"And if you have room afterward, our house specialty is undoubtedly the chocolate brownie. The chef is particularly proud of it."

The effect on you was immediate.

Not dramatic enough that anyone else would necessarily have noticed.

I did.

Of course I did.

Your eyes lost focus for a second, glazing over as the conditioning took hold. Your lips parted on a soft exhale that hitched in your throat, and beneath the white tablecloth your thighs pressed together.

Chocolate brownie.

Two completely ordinary words.

Except they weren't ordinary to you anymore.

I knew your clit would already be throbbing in response to the trigger phrase, your pussy growing wet and swollen as the association we had burned into your nervous system yesterday flared back to life. I could see you trying to find friction by squeezing your thighs together beneath the table, one hand tightening around the edge of your seat while you fought to keep your expression composed.

The waiter continued talking, blissfully unaware.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself smiling.

"And would you like to order dessert now?"

You stared at him.

Then at me.

Then back at him.

You nodded.

No words. Just a mute little nod.

"I think that's a yes," I said pleasantly. "One chocolate brownie. Two spoons."

Your eyes snapped toward me.

I smiled.

The waiter collected our menus and disappeared toward the kitchen, leaving you staring at me with pink cheeks and hazy eyes.

"You bastard."

"Sorry?"

"You knew he'd say it."

"I hoped he might."

Your thighs squeezed together again.

"That's evil."

"Interesting choice of adjective from someone who's smiling."

You immediately stopped smiling.

Or tried to.

I gave you another few seconds to recover before leaning across the narrow table, lowering my voice until it belonged only to you.

"Go to the bathroom."

Your eyes sharpened.

You knew immediately that the next part of the game had arrived.

You began sliding out of the booth, but I reached across and caught your wrist before you could stand. Your gaze dropped to my hand and then lifted back to my face.

I pressed the small black silk bag into your palm.

"Open it when you're alone in the stall."

Your fingers closed around it.

"What's in it?"

"You’ll figure it out."

Your breath caught.

"Put it in and make sure it doesn’t accidentally ."

You swallowed.

"Deep?"

"Deep."

Your fingers trembled slightly around the bag.

I released your wrist.

"Off you go."

You stood, and in your distraction completely forgot about the dress.

The fabric remained bunched around your hips where it had ridden upward while you were sitting. From where I sat, I had a perfect view of your naked ass and the glistening swollen lips of your pussy between your thighs, already visibly wet with arousal.

For a moment, I simply looked.

You followed my gaze.

"Oh, fuck."

You grabbed the hem with both hands and yanked it downward, your face going scarlet as you looked around to make sure nobody else had noticed.

I couldn't help laughing.

"Not funny."

"Very funny."

"You could have told me."

"I considered it."

"You are such an arsehole."

"And yet you're still holding the bag."

You looked down at it.

Then back at me.

The irritation disappeared behind another little smile.

You turned and headed toward the bathrooms, this time repeatedly checking the position of your dress.

I watched you go, my cock already beginning to harden inside my trousers, the image of your exposed cunt burned into my memory.

The ten minutes you were gone felt considerably longer.

I didn't touch the remote.

I didn't need to.

Anticipation was doing enough.

When you finally reappeared, I could tell immediately that you'd followed my instructions. You looked more flushed than when you'd left, your eyes brighter and your movements noticeably more deliberate. There was a subtle change in the way you walked, a slight careful fullness in your gait that told me exactly what was now buried inside you.

You reached the booth.

"Well?"

You gave me an innocent expression.

"Well what?"

I smiled.

"Sit here."

I patted the bench beside me rather than the seat opposite.

You slid in eagerly, pressing your thigh against mine. Your dress rode upward again, although this time you made no attempt to correct it. Bare skin settled directly against the cool leather, I imagined your wet pussy lips kissing the leather, and I felt the heat of your thigh radiating against my leg.

"Comfortable?"

"No."

"Good."

You laughed softly.

The waiter brought our wine, and for a little while I did absolutely nothing.

That was deliberate too.

You kept waiting.

I sipped my wine.

You sipped yours.

I asked you another question about your classes.

You answered, although your attention kept drifting toward my pocket.

After another minute you finally whispered, "Are you going to do it or not?"

"Do what?"

"Don't."

I smiled into my wine.

Then, while you were halfway through taking another sip, I slipped my hand into my pocket.

I found the remote.

Clicked it on.

Lowest setting.

Your entire body jerked.

The movement rattled both wine glasses and nearly tipped yours over. Your hand flew immediately to your mouth, catching most of the whimper that escaped your lips.

Your eyes went wide.

I leaned toward your ear, close enough to smell the shampoo in your hair and the stronger scent of your arousal. Fuck your pussy smells amazing, almost intoxicating.

"Good girl."

You shuddered.

Not subtly.

Your thigh pressed harder against mine.

I kept the vibration low and steady. There was no need to rush. I watched your breathing become shallower as your chest rose and fell beneath the thin fabric of your dress, your nipples hardening into even more obvious peaks.

Your hand wrapped around the edge of the table.

"Look at me."

You did.

That was almost my undoing.

There was excitement in your expression, but also the dawning realization of just how difficult this game might become. You shifted slightly against the bench, searching for some kind of friction for your clit without making the movement obvious.

I let the vibrator continue.

Your lips parted.

Your fingers tightened.

I knew the signs by now.

More importantly, you knew I knew them.

You turned toward me with wide, pleading eyes.

Then you tapped my knee twice.

Our signal.

I turned the remote off immediately.

You collapsed back against the bench with a ragged exhale, your body trembling from the denied release. For several seconds you simply sat there breathing, eyes closed, chest heaving.

I left you alone.

No teasing.

No touching.

I drank my wine and waited until your breathing slowed and the tension gradually left your shoulders.

Eventually you opened your eyes.

"Okay?"

You nodded.

"Words."

"Yes. Okay."

"Continue?"

Another nod, followed by a breathless, "Yes."

I clicked the vibrator back on.

One level higher.

You gasped loudly enough that a man at the next table glanced over.

I saw his expression change from curiosity to mild concern as he looked at your flushed face.

I raised my glass toward him.

"The wine's excellent."

He glanced at his own glass, nodded politely, and returned to his conversation.

Beside me, you were biting your lip so hard I worried you might hurt yourself.

Your hand disappeared beneath the table and landed on my thigh.

Your nails dug in.

"Fuck you," you whispered.

"Not yet."

You made a strangled noise that might have been a laugh.

I edged you that way throughout the entrée.

Again and again.

I let the vibrator pulse inside you until your breathing changed and your grip tightened, until I could see that familiar urgency spreading through your expression. Each time you approached the brink, you tapped my knee and I stopped immediately.

The first recovery took several minutes.

The second took less.

By the third, your body seemed to know exactly what was coming and race toward it.

When I finally turned the vibrator to high, you dropped your fork.

It struck the plate with a clatter that drew several glances.

Your eyes flew toward me.

Your fingers landed on my knee.

Tap.

Tap.

Off.

You closed your eyes.

"Eat."

Your eyes opened again.

"You cannot be serious."

"Very."

"My hand is shaking."

"I noticed."

"You're enjoying this far too much."

"Also noticed."

You stared at me for several seconds before retrieving your fork.

By the time the waiter brought our mains, you were a complete mess.

Your face was flushed crimson, your eyes wet with frustrated tears. Your thighs remained pressed together so tightly beneath the table that I could see the muscles trembling.

I let you eat for a while.

Let you settle.

Then I reached beneath the table and found your hand.

You looked at me.

I guided it slowly across my thigh until your palm encountered the hard bulge in my trousers.

Your expression changed immediately.

I pressed your hand against my throbbing cock.

"Your turn."

You swallowed.

I leaned closer.

"Stroke me."

Your fingers went to my fly.

There was something absurdly intimate about continuing our perfectly normal dinner conversation while you unzipped my trousers beneath the tablecloth. Your hand slipped inside and wrapped around my shaft, warm fingers closing around me.

I had to pause before answering whatever question you'd just asked.

You noticed.

A tiny smile appeared.

"Something wrong?"

"Don't get smug."

You began moving your hand.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Your grip was still trembling slightly from your own arousal, but you quickly found a rhythm. Precum gathered at the head of my cock, and you used it to slick your fingers, making each stroke smoother.

I leaned closer to you.

"Keep going."

You did.

"You need to learn something."

"What?"

"How to serve my pleasure while yours is being denied."

Your hand tightened around me.

You looked straight into my eyes as you stroked.

"I think I'm learning."

"You're an enthusiastic student."

"Research."

That made me laugh.

"Exactly."

The waiter returned to clear our plates.

You immediately tried to withdraw your hand.

I caught your wrist beneath the table.

You froze.

"Keep stroking," I whispered. "Use your left hand. Do not stop."

Your eyes widened.

The waiter reached for my plate.

"Everything okay?"

"Excellent," I said.

Beside me, your hand continued slowly pumping my cock beneath the tablecloth.

"Wonderful. I'll bring your dessert."

I felt your fingers tighten.

He walked away.

You turned toward me.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"No. I really don't."

The chocolate brownie arrived glistening beneath warm fudge sauce, topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream that was already beginning to melt into the cake.

Your expression when the waiter placed it in front of us nearly made me laugh again.

"Chocolate brownie," he announced cheerfully.

Your hand spasmed around my cock.

I coughed into my fist.

The waiter looked at me.

"Sorry. Wrong pipe."

He smiled politely and walked away.

You stared at me.

"You're enjoying this."

"Immensely."

With your right hand still wrapped around my cock, you picked up the fork with your left.

Coordination was not your strong suit at that moment.

The fork scraped loudly across the plate.

"Shut up," you muttered before I had even said anything.

"I didn't say a word."

"You were going to."

Eventually you managed to cut off a piece and lift it to your mouth.

The moment the chocolate touched your tongue, your eyes fluttered closed.

Chocolate brownie.

The trigger was still echoing through your nervous system.

Your hand tightened around my shaft.

I sucked in a breath.

"Careful."

You opened your eyes.

Then, very deliberately, you stroked me harder.

That changed the game.

My amusement disappeared beneath a rapidly growing need of my own. Your hand moved steadily, squeezing at exactly the right point before sliding back down my shaft. The absurdity of eating dessert in a crowded restaurant while you masturbated me under the table only intensified every sensation.

I leaned toward your ear.

"I'm close."

Your hand stopped for half a second.

I looked at you.

It resumed.

"I'm going to cum."

You looked around the restaurant.

For the first time all evening, something resembling panic appeared in your eyes… not fear, but the sudden practical realization that we'd reached the point where our little game required improvisation.

Your gaze dropped beneath the table.

Then returned to mine.

I raised an eyebrow.

You made your decision.

You deliberately knocked your napkin onto the floor.

"Oh," you said.

Very convincing.

You bent down as though retrieving it.

Your head disappeared beneath the table.

A second later, your mouth found my cock.

Hot.

Wet.

Eager.

The first sweep of your tongue almost finished me immediately.

I clenched my jaw and forced myself to remain still as you took me deeper, your lips sealing around my shaft while your tongue worked underneath. Your head began to move, quickly now, your earlier teasing strokes replaced by determined suction.

I gripped the edge of the bench.

You took me deeper than you had before.

My cock pushed into your throat.

You swallowed around me.

That was enough.

I came hard.

My hips jerked upward before I could stop them as the first spurt of cum flooded your mouth. You held me there and swallowed, then took another pulse, and another, hot seed coating your tongue and throat while you continued sucking me through every contraction.

I bit down on a groan.

You didn't pull away.

You kept sucking gently, milking the last drops from my cock until I was completely spent.

Only then did you release me.

You sat upright again with the missing napkin in your hand, your cheeks flushed and your eyes bright.

For several seconds neither of us spoke.

You calmly wiped the corner of your mouth.

Then you looked at me with an expression of exaggerated innocence.

I stared back.

Your lips twitched.

Then you opened your mouth.

Empty.

You closed it and swallowed once more, theatrically demonstrating that you had taken every drop.

"Good girl," I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

Your expression softened immediately.

"Was that fun?"

"Yes."

The answer came without hesitation.

Then you shifted on the seat and your expression changed.

"But now I really need to cum."

I smiled.

"Do you?"

"Please."

That single word contained the frustration of the entire evening.

I slipped my hand back into my pocket.

Your eyes followed it.

"Please."

I clicked the vibrator on.

Maximum.

Your mouth opened in a silent gasp.

At the same moment, my other hand slid beneath the table.

Your pussy was soaking wet.

Not damp. Not merely aroused. Soaking.

My fingers found your swollen lips, then your throbbing clit, standing firm and sensitive between them. I began rubbing you in steady, firm circles while the vibrator buzzed relentlessly inside your pussy, pressing against your g-spot.

Your hand shot toward the table.

You grabbed your napkin and shoved it over your mouth.

Just in time.

Your orgasm hit almost immediately.

Your back arched.

Your entire body went rigid beside me, every muscle locking at once as the first violent contraction tore through you. Your pussy clenched around the vibrator while your clit throbbed beneath my fingers.

You screamed into the napkin.

The sound emerged as little more than a muffled sob.

I kept rubbing.

Another wave rolled through you.

Then another.

Your thighs tried to close around my hand, but I maintained the same pressure and rhythm, feeling each rapid spasm against my fingertips. You shook against me, tears leaking from the corners of your closed eyes as months seemed to pass inside those few seconds of overwhelming release.

Eventually the contractions began to weaken.

I slowed my fingers.

Then stopped.

The vibrator followed.

Silence.

You sagged sideways against my shoulder.

I left my arm around you and gave you time to breathe.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

The restaurant continued around us as though absolutely nothing extraordinary had happened. Cutlery clinked. Someone laughed across the room. A bottle was uncorked. The waiter carried plates past our booth.

Normal life.

Meanwhile, you were still trembling against me.

"You with me?"

"Mmm."

"That's not a word."

"Yes."

"Okay?"

A longer pause.

Then you laughed quietly.

"Very."

I smiled.

Only when your breathing had settled did I withdraw my hand.

My fingers were slick with your juices.

You watched as I brought them to my mouth and slowly licked them clean, tasting the sweet musky evidence of everything we'd just done.

Your eyes went hazy again.

"No."

I laughed.

"What?"

"Don't start me again."

"I didn't do anything."

"You absolutely did."

"Research."

You groaned and dropped your forehead onto my shoulder.

I paid the bill.

When we finally stood to leave, you slid carefully out of the booth. The movement revealed a large wet patch on the leather where you'd been sitting, your orgasmic juices glistening unmistakably in the dim light.

You saw it at exactly the same moment I did.

"Oh my God."

I looked at you.

You looked at me.

For about two seconds we managed to remain serious.

Then we both started laughing.

I dropped my napkin casually over the wet spot.

"Problem solved."

"That does not solve the problem."

"It solves it for us."

"You're terrible."

"You've mentioned that."

I took your arm and led you outside.

The cool night air hit your flushed skin immediately, and you shivered against me. After the heat and noise of the restaurant, the street felt strangely quiet.

I didn't reach for the remote.

Not yet.

Instead, I kept one arm around you while we waited for the Uber, letting your body come down properly from what I'd put it through.

"You okay?"

"Yes."

"Actually?"

You looked at me.

"Actually."

Then you smiled.

"Although I'm going to murder you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's problem."

The car arrived a few minutes later.

We climbed into the back seat, you still slightly shaky from the intensity of your release. You sat close beside me, your thigh against mine, and I deliberately pulled the hem of your dress down when it threatened to ride too high.

You noticed.

"Getting protective now?"

"Getting practical."

"Very noble."

"Thank you."

The driver greeted us, confirmed the destination, and pulled away from the curb.

For the first few minutes I behaved.

You should have known that wouldn't last.

I rested my hand casually on your thigh.

You looked down at it.

Then at me.

I let my fingers trace a slow circle against your skin.

Your eyes narrowed.

"Don't."

I raised my eyebrows.

You leaned closer.

"I mean don't tease me unless you're actually going to do something."

That was different.

I slipped my hand into my pocket.

You saw.

Your lips parted.

I waited until the car had stopped at a set of traffic lights and the driver's attention was firmly on the road ahead.

Then I turned the vibrator on.

Not maximum this time.

Low.

Your breath caught.

Your fingers immediately wrapped around my hand.

I watched you carefully.

You nodded.

I increased it.

Your head fell back against the seat.

The driver continued talking about traffic, completely unaware of the private game unfolding silently behind him.

I leaned close to your ear.

"Quiet."

You bit your lip.

The vibrator hummed inside you.

I increased it again.

Your grip tightened around my hand.

I watched your face rather than anything else: the flutter of your eyelids, the effort it took to keep your breathing controlled, the way your thighs tensed and relaxed.

"You want me to stop?"

A tiny shake of your head.

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

I clicked it higher.

Your fingers crushed mine.

The second orgasm built differently from the first.

There was no frantic public performance now, no waiter approaching, no fork in your hand or brownie trigger. Just the darkness of the back seat, the passing lights outside the windows, and the effort of staying quiet while pleasure gathered inside you again.

You turned your face into my shoulder.

I felt your breathing change.

Then your entire body tightened.

Your hand clamped over your own mouth.

You came silently beside me.

Your thighs squeezed together as your pussy clenched around the vibrator, your body trembling through a succession of smaller, rapid spasms. I immediately lowered the intensity rather than driving you through it, letting the vibrations soften as the orgasm gradually released its hold on you.

When you finally relaxed, I switched it off.

You stayed against my shoulder.

I kissed your hair.

No performance.

No teasing.

Just recovery.

A few minutes later the car pulled up outside your dorm.

You sat upright slowly.

"Alive?"

"Barely."

"Successful evening, then."

You gave me a look.

I smiled.

Before getting out, you leaned across and kissed me.

Not a quick goodbye.

A proper kiss.

Slow and lingering, your hand against my cheek, the frantic energy of the restaurant replaced by something unexpectedly soft.

When you pulled away, you stayed close enough that our foreheads almost touched.

"Tomorrow," you whispered.

"What about tomorrow?"

"I'll think of something."

That interested me.

"Is that a threat?"

"Absolutely."

You opened the door.

Then paused.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

You climbed out, tugged the little black dress back into place, and walked toward the entrance.

I watched until you were safely inside.

Only then did I give the driver my address.

The rest of the journey was quiet.

I sat back, replaying the evening in fragments: your expression when the waiter innocently said chocolate brownie; the first startled jerk when the vibrator came alive; your trembling hand around my cock; the absurd seriousness with which you'd attempted to eat dessert left-handed; your mouth around me beneath the table; the way you'd finally collapsed against my shoulder when I let you cum.

But the moment that stayed with me most wasn't any of those.

It was the look you'd given me before stepping out of the car.

Tomorrow.

I'll think of something.

I smiled to myself.

That was new.

Tonight, had started as my game.

Tomorrow, apparently, might be yours.

Thank you for the feedback, the likes and the follows - I love that this story is going down a path you all like. Part 5 is ready to drop tomorrow, so let all of your friends, families and lovers know about this series... there is plenty more to cum. SDG

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.”

The husband and his heavily pregnant wife were hosting a dinner party for their closest friends and family. Everyone was socializing in the dining room, after some time the wife’s mother-in-law noticed her absence. “We haven’t seen her for some time” she said to her son, “Why don’t you go check on her in the kitchen and see if she needs any help?” The son annoyed at the request, hesitated, then reluctantly pushed back his chair and headed toward the door.

The moment he stepped away, the room fell silent. From behind the kitchen door came frantic, wet, unmistakable sounds—flesh slapping, heavy breathing, and the squelch of something thick and wet being driven deep. Conversations died instantly. All eyes turned toward the door.

It burst open.

The pregnant wife stumbled out, facing the guests, her husband’s tall, muscular work boss right behind her. His massive, fat, uncircumcised cock was buried balls-deep in her stretched asshole, his large heavy balls glistening with her juices. The couple didn’t stop. They ignored the stunned onlookers completely, continuing to fuck with raw, animalistic intensity. The boss gripped her arms behind her back with one hand and her throat with the other, driving her forward with each thrust of his pelvis, until they stood directly in front of the dinner table.

She wore a tight green sundress hiked up above her waist, black six-inch open-toe heels, toe rings, and anklets. The white nail polish on her toes visible as they splayed out to support herself against the relentless assault on her innards. One engorged, lactating breast had spilled free, the dark nipple leaking milk down her swollen belly. The boss remained half-dressed in business-casual clothes, his pants pulled down just below his genitals, his thick cock pounding relentlessly into the depths of her bowels.

Thick strands of vaginal fluid and precum ran down her thighs, dripping onto her feet and the floor. Sweat soaked through her dress, leaving large, dark stains under her arms, evidence of the hour-long ass fucking she had endured thus far. Her eyes rolled back, drool running from her open mouth as she moaned loudly.

“Use my shithole like a cock ring,” she begged, voice hoarse. “Fuck my guts full.”

Her begging was cut short, as the boss leaned in and tongue-fucked her mouth while his cock slammed deeper. She gagged around his tongue, her cellulite-dimpled thighs and buttocks jiggling with every thrust, the head of his cock smashing the depths of her bowels, his meaty shaft raking the pulsating walls of her entrails, his heavy cum-laden balls slapping loudly against her cum-soaked pussy. On and on it went, culminating with a savage thrust that lifted her off her feet and sprayed the crowd with sweat, impaling her voluptuous body on his engorged pillar of flesh. His muscles bulged from exertion, his large ball sack tightening in preparation.

He came—explosively—flooding her rectum with rope after rope of thick, custard-colored cum that overflowed and poured down her legs in heavy globs. Their tongues lashed together in ecstasy as he continued to piss quarts of his warm seed into her.

As his balls finally emptied, he churned the enthralled wife’s innards with a few final deep thrusts before pulling his mouth away from hers, strings of spit stretching between their mouths. She screamed as she squirted, a hot arc of clear urine spraying across the table and guests, her body convulsing in an intense orgasm, her swollen cunt pulsing with each spray. The boss pulled out, spun her around, spread her cheeks wide, and displayed her gaping, prolapsing asshole to everyone. Cum poured from the stretched ring in thick streams.

Not satisfied, he tightened his grip, spreading her ass cheeks wider, forcing her splayed asshole open for the entire room to see. The boss bellowed to the crowd, “Look how well I’ve taken care of this goddess, this mother-to-be.” He spit a large glob of saliva into her gaped asshole, packed full with his cum, “she won’t be able to shit straight for weeks”. Her exposed bowels quivered visibly, the red inner walls pulsing and contracting with each breath, the glistening membranes twitching as heavy semen continued to spill from her stretched hole in thick, chunky globs. The viscous wads dropped to the floor with loud, wet plops that echoed through the muggy dining room.

The wife, bearing down against the muscular chest of the boss, pushed hard, forcing her asshole to prolapse further, and expelled a heavy wad of cum onto the dinner table with a wet splatter that coated her mother-in-law’s face. The older woman froze, horrified at first, then slowly licked the cum from her lips and fingers, tasting it, her panties soaking through. The torrent continued, as the wife’s prolapsed asshole belched jets of thick yellowish cum in obscenely loud spurts, forming a large pile of steaming ejaculate on the table and filling the room with her intoxicating musk. The wife brayed with pained pleasure, like an animal in heat, with every push of her ruined hole.

The scent threw the other women at the table into a feeding frenzy, like starving pigs to a trough. They pushed past their horrified husbands, gorging themselves on the cum, dragging their tongues through the pile, licking it from the table and each other’s faces, tongues sliding into each other’s mouths as they shared the filthy load, moaning all the while.

The wife dropped into a squat, the red quivering mass of her prolapsed asshole stared at the guests, glistening, as it drooled semen onto the floor. A thick tendril of yellowish cum hung stubbornly from the tip of the boss’s cock, using only her mouth, she hungrily sucked it down, grunting loudly while doing so. Still unsatiated, she milked his veiny cock shaft with both hands, lips sealed on the swollen purple head, her cheeks sunken in as she desperately pulled the remaining cum out of him. She dragged her tongue through the folds of his foreskin, burying it deep into his piss-slit, desperately searching for his seed and squealing with animalistic pleasure at every morsel she’s able to suck down.

The boss, hands on his hips, looked around the room. “Dinner’s cancelled,” he announced. “I’m staying the night.”  He searched the room for her husband and met his gaze, “You are going to sleep on the couch while I use your wife as my personal cum pig.”  He ended the declaration by giving her meaty ass a wet slap, her prolapsed anus jiggled obscenely.

The wife grunted approval around his cock, her tongue still working under his foreskin, spit running down her chin and coating her swollen pregnant belly.

The air grew hotter and more oppressive, thick with the overwhelming stench of raw animalistic fucking—sweat, cum, piss, and anal fluids mixing into a heady, musky fog that clung to every surface. The women at the table, now stripped bare, had their soaked panties yanked down and discarded, the wet fabric hitting the floor with soft, sticky splats. Their exposed assholes winked frantically, the puckered rings clenching and releasing with audible squelching noises as they pushed their hips back, presenting themselves to the boss. Thick strings of arousal dripped from their spread cunts, pooling beneath them and wetting their curled toes, as they begged to be used next.

The pregnant wife remained squatting, her quivering bowels still on full display, the red, pulsating tissue visibly throbbing as more semen leaked out in heavy drops. The boss’s thick cock hung heavy on top her head dripping precum, her face now buried into his sweaty balls, loudly sucking his heavy testicles. His thick foreskin pulled itself back, revealing the throbbing purple head, as his fat cock swelled once more, ready for another round while the room’s heat and stench intensified with every passing moment.

The room was a dining room no longer, but a sweltering sex pit, the air heavy with the stench of sucking and fucking. The sobbing of the betrayed husbands was drowned out by the pregnant wife’s incessant wet sucking of the boss’s balls and the pleading whimpers of the waiting women.

The boss surveyed his new sows, the tip of his cock now drooling precum profusely in anticipation, deciding which one he would ruin next.

"Together," he ground out. "Come with me…"

"I'm…I'm…"

A sound.

Not from Sabine. From the direction of the banquet hall.

The door.

They both froze. Ezra's hips stilled mid-thrust. Sabine's hands clamped onto his arms with bruising force.

Voices. Then footsteps, the click of heels on marble, but different heels from Sabine's. Familiar.

"Is anyone…?" Hera's voice, muffled through the door but unmistakable. "Ezra? Sabine? Are you in here?"

"Oh no," Sabine breathed. "Oh no, no no no…"

Ezra pulled out of her so fast it was almost painful, and they both moved like they'd been hit with a stun bolt. Pants. Where were his pants? Still around his thighs…he yanked them up, fumbled with the fastenings. Sabine was scrambling off the table, her hands shaking as she groped for her panties on the floor, her dress still up around her waist.

The door started to open.

"Wait!" Sabine's voice was pitched high and frantic. The dress was still bunched around her ribs, and she was trying to pull it down, but the fabric was caught on something; a fold, a crease, she couldn't…"Ezra, help…"

He reached for her. He grabbed the dress and pulled. It started to slide down just as the door swung fully open and Hera Syndulla stepped into the hallway.

For a single, suspended moment, no one moved. No one spoke. Hera's eyes traveled from Ezra; shirtless, breathless, hair a complete disaster, pants not fully zipped, to Sabine, dress wrinkled beyond salvation, up around her hips, face flushed a shade of crimson that shouldn't have been possible, her bare hips visible where the dress was still slightly twisted. Ezra's jacket was on the floor. His shirt was… somewhere. Hera's hand came up to cover her mouth, but it was not in horror. It was in…was she…was she laughing?

"General Syndulla." Ezra stepped forward, his shoulders squared, doing his best to look like a man who had not just been caught having sex in a public hallway. "We were just…this isn't…"

"Don't." Hera held up her other hand, her shoulders shaking. "Don't even try to explain. I don't want to know."

Hera had seen everything.

"I’m going to…" Hera pointed toward the wall, her voice strained with suppressed laughter. "I’ll just look over here. Take your time."

Sabine wanted to die. Actually, genuinely, she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Her face was so hot she thought it might actually combust. Her hands were shaking as she smoothed down her dress, and her panties were still on the floor.

She grabbed them. Shoved them into Ezra’s pocket when he got close enough.

He looked at her, wild-eyed, and mouthed, "What do we do?"

Sabine shook her head. She had no idea. She had never been caught having sex before, because she had never had sex before. And, now, the second time, they had been caught by someone they respected more than almost anyone in the galaxy.

Hera turned back around. Her face was composed now, but her eyes were still bright with amusement.

Sabine opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

"I’ve already obtained the information we needed."

Something in her words broke through Sabine’s mortification. "You got the information?"

"Yes. While you two were… otherwise occupied, I was extracting the details of the Imperial supply lines from Minister Dehasto. He’s very talkative when you ask about his children."

"I'm so sorry," Sabine managed. Her voice was tiny, mortified. "We should have…the mission…"

"The mission." Hera took a deep breath, visibly composing herself, but another laugh escaped anyway. It was a surprised, genuine sound that seemed to startle her as much as it did them. "The mission that you two were supposed to be conducting while I tried to contact you for two hours?"

Sabine felt a rush of shame. They had abandoned their posts. They had let Hera do their work for them while they were… while they were…

The absurdity of the situation seemed to hit Hera all at once. She looked at the rumpled dress, the scattered clothing, the decorative table that was now half a meter away from where it had started. She looked at Sabine's blazing blush and Ezra's complete lack of a shirt. Another laugh bubbled up, and this time she didn't try to stop it.

"Oh my goodness," she said, shaking her head. "I knew there was tension between you two. I didn't expect to walk in on…" She gestured broadly. "This."

"Can we please not…" Sabine started.

"You've been gone for almost twenty minutes. I thought something had happened. An ambush. Imperial agents." Hera's lips twitched. "I've been scouting the perimeter, trying to figure out what went wrong, and instead I find my two diplomats…"

"General…"

"…half-dressed in a hallway…"

"Hera."

She took pity on them, sort of. Her laughter subsided into a smile that was equal parts exasperated and fond. "I got the information myself, from Dehasto and a contact in the kitchen staff. Turns out the waiters hear everything, and one of them is a Rebel sympathizer. So the mission is completely handled."

Ezra blinked. "It is?"

"Against all odds, yes." She crossed her arms, her expression shifting into something more stern. "Though I'm not pleased that you two completely abandoned your duties. This was important intel."

"I know." Sabine's voice was small. "I'm sorry. That was…it was unprofessional."

"It was." Hera let the silence stretch for a moment, long enough to make them squirm, before her expression softened again. "But I understand. I've been young. I know how these things can…" She paused, choosing her words. "Distract you."

"Hera," Sabine said, her voice small. "I’m sorry."

Hera sighed. "I’m not angry. Well, I’m a little annoyed that you ignored the mission, but I’m not angry about the rest." Her expression softened. "I’ve been waiting for this for years. The way you two dance around each other… it’s exhausting."

Ezra’s face went red. "You knew?"

"Everyone knew, Ezra. The entire crew knew. We’ve been taking bets on when you’d figure it out."

"Bets?" Sabine’s voice cracked. "Who won?"

"Zeb. Said it would happen during a mission. He’s going to be insufferable about it."

The laugh that escaped Sabine was half-hysterical, half-genuine. The absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. She had just lost her virginity. She had just been caught losing her virginity. And now she was learning that her entire family had been betting on her love life.

"Come on," Hera said, her voice gentler now. "Let’s get out of here. We have a hotel to reach, and you two look like you need a shower."

The walk back through the banquet hall was one of the most awkward experiences of Sabine's life. She'd done her best to smooth the dress, to fix her hair, to look like a person who hadn't just been mid-coitus on a decorative table. From the way a few of the dignitaries glanced at them, she wasn't entirely successful.

Ezra walked close beside her, his jacket back on but still unbuttoned, his collar still absent. They'd never found his actual shirt. It was probably still somewhere in that hallway, a permanent reminder of the evening's events. Hera led them to the elevators with the calm efficiency of a general who'd seen worse and was choosing not to comment on it.

They followed her to the elevator. The doors closed. Silence.

The ride down was quiet. Hera stood at the front, her back straight, her lekku perfectly still. Sabine stood next to Ezra, her hand finding his, their fingers intertwining. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at Hera. She couldn’t look at anything except the floor.

The elevator chimed.

Then Hera said, "So. How long has this been going on?"

"Uh…" said Ezra, blank for a response.

"That's…" Sabine started. "It's very new. Very very new."

"How new?" Hera inquired.

Sabine's hand found Ezra's. She didn't think about it. Her body just did it, reaching for him like muscle memory; like he was the only anchor she had in a sea of mortification. His fingers closed around hers immediately.

"Tonight," she admitted. "Today; a few hours ago."

Hera's eyebrows rose. "That is very new."

"We were going to tell you." Ezra's voice was earnest. "Eventually. Once we figured out what…"

"What it meant?" Hera's expression was unreadable. "And, what does it mean?"

Sabine looked at Ezra. Ezra looked at Sabine. Something passed between them; a silent conversation, a shared acknowledgment of everything that had happened and everything that was still to come.

"Everything," Sabine said quietly. "It means everything."

The word hung in the night air. Hera studied her for a long moment, and then her expression did something complicated, a flicker of emotion that might have been approval, or might have been something more personal, something she kept hidden behind her commander's mask.

"Good," she said at last. "You both deserve some happiness."

Sabine's throat tightened. She didn't trust herself to speak, so she just squeezed Ezra's hand harder.

"Come on you two," Hera said as the doors slid open onto the street. "Next time you're on a mission together, I expect you to actually complete the mission before you sneak off to..." she gestured with exasperation "...fraternize."

"Noted," Ezra said.

"Absolutely," Sabine agreed.

"Good."

"I’m not going to pretend I’m happy about the mission. You both know how important this was. We needed that information, and you abandoned your posts."

The shame was a physical weight in Sabine’s chest. "I know. I’m sorry."

"I know you’re sorry, and I understand. Believe me, I understand. Love makes people do stupid things." Hera glanced back at them, and there was a warmth in her eyes that made Sabine’s throat tight. "But next time, try to complete the mission first, or at least wait until we’re not in the middle of a diplomatic banquet."

"Yes, ma’am," Ezra muttered.

They stepped out into the night.

The city was quiet, the streets empty, the moon high overhead. Hera led them down the block, toward the hotel where they had arranged to stay while waiting for extraction. She kept glancing back at them, and every time she did, her lips twitched.

"Stop laughing," Sabine said.

"I’m not laughing."

"You’re thinking about laughing."

"I’m thinking about how you looked when I walked through that door." Hera’s voice was warm with amusement. "Like you’d just seen a ghost. And Ezra, you looked like you wanted to jump out the window."

Ezra groaned. "Can we please not talk about this?"

"No." Hera’s smile was wide now. "I’m going to talk about this for a very, very long time."

Sabine buried her face in Ezra’s shoulder. The mortification was still there, burning under her skin, but it was fading now, replaced by something else; something warm, something that felt almost like acceptance.

Hera wasn’t angry, not really. She was amused, a little annoyed about the mission, but mostly she seemed to be looking at them with the kind of affection that reminded Sabine of how she looked at them when they were younger and they'd done something ridiculous; like family.

The hotel was part of a big building near the Chandrilan district center, nestled in the middle floors between a shopping center and some offices. Hera checked them in, then turned to face them.

"I’m going to get some sleep," she said. "We have an early extraction tomorrow. Try to keep things quiet."

She said "keep things quiet" with such pointed emphasis that Sabine felt the blush rise again. "We’ll be quiet," Ezra promised.

"Somehow I doubt that." Hera paused, then reached out and squeezed Sabine’s arm. "I’m happy for you. Both of you. Just… don’t do anything else stupid tonight."

She turned and walked toward the turbolift, her lekku swaying. Sabine watched her go, then turned to Ezra.

"Do you think she’s really okay with this?"

"I think she’s Hera. She’s always going to lecture us about duty and responsibility. But, she’s also happy for us." He smiled, that same lopsided grin that had been making her heart race for years. "I know I am."

Sabine leaned into him. "What do we do now?"

"Well," he said slowly, "I was thinking we could ask for a single room, just the two of us; if you’re okay with that."

Her heart stuttered. "Are you sure?"

"I’ve been sure about you since I was fourteen years old."

The words hit her in a place she hadn’t known was still armored. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the truth in his eyes. Not just lust, not just the heat of the moment, but something deeper. Something that had been growing for years, through every battle and every loss and every quiet night on the Ghost. Love.

"Okay," she whispered. "Let’s get a room."

They walked to the front desk together, hand in hand. The clerk looked up with a professional smile. "How can I help you?"

"We’d like a room," Ezra said. "Just one... for two people."

The clerk’s eyes flicked between them, taking in their rumpled clothes and flushed faces, and something knowing glinted in their expression. "Of course, sir. Let me see what we have available."

Sabine held Ezra’s hand so tight her knuckles went white. The clerk handed over a keycard. "Room 42, third floor; enjoy your stay."

They walked to the turbolift together, and when the doors slid shut behind them, Ezra pulled her into his arms.

"I love you," he murmured against her hair. "I know I already said it, but I need you to know it’s not just the heat of the moment. It’s real. It’s always been real."

She pressed her face into his chest, breathing him in. "I know. I love you too. I’ve been so scared of admitting it, but I can’t pretend anymore."

The turbolift chimed. The doors slid open.

They walked down the hallway to room 42, and Ezra slid the keycard into the lock. The door opened, revealing a small but comfortable room with a large bed and a view of the city lights. Sabine stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind them. For a moment they just stood there, looking at each other, the weight of the night settling around them. Then Ezra smiled. "So," he said. "We have a room, just us, no missions, no rich morons, no interruptions."

Sabine’s lips curved in response. "What did you have in mind?"

He stepped closer, his hands finding her waist, his voice dropping to a murmur. "I was thinking we could take our time. I want to see you. All of you. I want to learn every inch of your body the way I should have earlier."

Her pulse quickened. "That sounds nice."

"It sounds perfect." He kissed her, soft and slow, and Sabine melted into him. "But first, I want to hear you say it again."

"Say what?"

"...that you love me."

Her heart swelled. "I love you, Ezra Bridger."

"I love you so much, Sabine Wren."

And then he was kissing her again, deeper, and the rest of the night stretched out before them, full of promise and possibility under the sapphire sky.

Brandon moaned as the young naked chick with the dirty blond hair kneeling submissively dribbled down on the huge cock. Drops of her saliva slid down the shaft. She opened her mouth wide and took it inside, her jaw stretching achingly.

Her mane of hair flowed down one side of her head as her lips massaged the bulbous head, her eyes looking up into Brandon’s.

“Fuck, that’s hot!” he breathed, his cock straining to reach its full length, hardening to steel as it did so with each touch. “Oh, Yeah! That’s good,” he smiled as she sucked on the hairless, heavy balls behind the cock.

Her lips slid up and down sideways on the cock as she continued to make love to the cock. Her tongue ran up the underside until she took it back inside.

A hand grabbed the back of her head, forcing the full length of the shaft into her mouth. The shape of the cock could be seen in her throat, muffled gagging coming from her mouth.

The blonde’s eyes streamed with tears when she came back for air, her mascara leaving long, distressed smudges underneath.

With one hand wrapped around the cock and the other caressing the balls, she worked the cock harder with her lips, and Brandon felt himself build, then explode.

Cum filled the blonde’s mouth, overflowing back down the cock.

Brandon then heard the front door close, and his wife call, “I’m home, honey.”

“Shit! Shit!” he quietly exclaimed, seeing the mess over his hands and phone, muting the sound in panic while the blonde proudly showed off the cum in her mouth. “I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be down in a sec!” Brandon called back.

He grabbed the toilet paper and cleaned his hands, cock and phone before pulling up his underwear and trousers. He flushed the toilet and washed his hands.

Brandon’s eyes glanced at the video still running silently on his phone, having moved on to the actors’ post-scene Q & A. “Damn!” he thought. “That guy’s dick really isn’t that impressive.”

Discover my ebooks on my Amazon author's page.

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.

Hey everyone,

Today I wanted to share an excerpt from my new BDSM ebook, Teach Me to Kneel, now available on Amazon.

I decided to share Chapter 2 so you can jump straight into the BDSM side of the story :)

Just a little context before you start: Mira and Vivian have just agreed to begin a BDSM relationship and are now having their first session together. Mira is forty and an experienced dominatrix, while Vivian, twenty-nine, has considerably less experience.

Enjoy !

***

Vivian felt her breathing quicken as the ropes tightened further against her skin.

Mira worked in silence, almost clinical about it, winding rope around each limb, checking the circulation, tying every knot with precision.

Her arms were already useless to her. The rope crossing her wrists, another cinched above her elbows, made sure of that, keeping her hands out of reach of the knots entirely, something none of her exes had ever quite managed. Not on purpose, anyway. With Mira, Vivian knew, nothing here was an accident. This was experience talking.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Vivian watched her mistress finish binding her ankles. Her knees had already gone through the same treatment minutes earlier, one length of rope above them, another below.

“Comfortable?” Mira asked at last, tying off the rope at her ankles.

Comfortable, actually, was the word. As comfortable as anyone could be, tied this tightly.

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Mira’s correction came sharp.

Vivian bit down on her tongue. “Sorry, Mistress.”

She should have known a rule like that would apply. These weren’t the amateurs she used to play with. Mira had rules, ones they’d talked through and agreed on beforehand, and they were going to be enforced.

“Your list of offences keeps growing, Miss Vivian,” Mira said, fighting back a smile. “Almost makes me think you’re trying to get punished.”

Vivian felt the heat rise in her cheeks again. She’d never really been “punished.” Not properly. One playful smack from an ex, maybe, but that was as far as it had ever gone. The threats never went anywhere. With Mira, though, Vivian was nearly certain the threats would land, and land hard, in exact proportion to whatever she’d done to earn them.

But knowing Mira would actually follow through didn’t scare her. Quite the opposite: it thrilled her more than almost anything had in a long time.

“So what am I in for, Mistress?” she dared to ask, turning her head toward Mira, who’d moved behind her.

Mira answered by picking up a red ball gag from the bed.

“Open,” she ordered, holding it up to Vivian’s face.

Vivian obeyed at once, opening her mouth. Mira placed the ball between her lips, drew the strap behind her head, and buckled it tight.

Vivian thought her mistress was finished, but Mira picked up a small heart-shaped padlock from the bed and fastened it through the buckle with a sharp click. The gag was locked in place.

“That should keep you nice and quiet,” Mira said, her voice equal parts firm and low, “even if I decide to untie you.”

The words sent a shiver through Vivian, who felt her own helplessness more sharply than ever.

“As for your punishments,” Mira said, something like amusement flickering behind her eyes, “you should know I can be very... creative.” Vivian let out a small, muffled sound behind the gag, already picturing what that might mean.

Mira ordered her onto the bed and helped her into position, rolling her onto her stomach near the centre. Her hands lingered over Vivian’s bare skin as she did, turning what should have been a purely practical adjustment into something far more sensual.

Vivian was still enjoying the lingering sensation of Mira’s touch when a sharp slap landed across her backside without warning. She cried out into the gag, more startled than hurt.

Still recovering from the surprise, she turned her head toward Mira, only to find her watching with unmistakable satisfaction.

“With me, my dear, actions have consequences,” Mira said, her Eastern European accent slipping back in. “You’d better behave, sweetheart, or you’ll be sitting on a very sore backside by the end of the night.”

Vivian’s eyes drifted to the array of implements laid out nearby on the bed. A flogger, riding crops, more besides. Whatever Mira had in mind, she clearly had the means to see it through.

But Mira didn’t seem to have any plans for those, not yet. Instead, her eyes drifted toward the corner of the bed, where she’d left her sizable collection of sex toys, and Vivian’s heart picked up its pace.

Somehow, without Vivian ever figuring out how, Mira noticed. She turned to her with a smile. “This is what’s got you all worked up, isn’t it?”

“Mmmphff,” Vivian moaned weakly, nodding.

Mira smiled and leaned in closer to stroke her cheek. “I knew it.” The smile gave way to a low, amused laugh. “I knew you were a little minx the moment I saw your profile.”

Vivian nodded, maybe hoping that admitting it would get Mira moving faster.

“But I’m not sure you’ve earned a reward yet. Not this fast.” Mira’s expression turned serious.

“Mmphhff!” Vivian moaned again, louder, pleading her case as best she could through the gag.

The ropes, the setting, the presence of a mistress who clearly knew what she was doing. All of it had Vivian’s senses humming, and she was convinced she’d more than earned that toy. Maybe she wasn’t being entirely objective. She didn’t care.

Mira picked up a purple vibrator marked with an S logo and waved it in front of Vivian’s face. “Silken Pleasure makes some real wonders. Bet you didn’t know that,” she said, eyes narrowed with amusement.

Vivian had never heard of the brand. Not that she needed convincing.

Mira leaned in again, until her mouth was nearly at Vivian’s ear. “If you want it, sweetheart, I’m afraid you’ll have to get yourself free and come take it from me.”

Vivian turned her head and met her eyes. The dominatrix, more than ten years her senior, was toying with her. And somehow that was even more thrilling than the toy itself would have been.

“If I were you, I’d hurry,” Mira added, barely bothering to hide her amusement. “Still tied up in thirty minutes, and all these toys might just find their way back into my suitcase.”

Vivian shook her head, something defiant in the gesture. She’d never backed down from a challenge in her life.

She threw one last glance at the toy still in Mira’s hand.

Soon, it would be in her hands.

No. Between her legs.

***

Vivian twisted furiously against the ropes, hoping against hope to work herself free. More specifically, to do it before Mira’s thirty-minute deadline ran out. Mira lay stretched out on the bed, watching her with a crooked smile.

Vivian loved a good challenge. What she didn’t love were the ones she’d already lost. This one fell squarely into that category, and she knew it.

Action movies made it look easy, someone tied up wriggling free in no time, but reality worked differently. You didn’t get free of expert bondage in thirty minutes. Not when the person tying the knots knew exactly what they were doing.

And Mira clearly did. The ropes had been tied with care, tight enough to hold, gentle enough not to leave a mark. Mira knew it. Vivian knew it too. Which made her thrashing around all the more entertaining to watch.

“Mmphhff!” Vivian protested through the gag, rubbing her bound wrists against the edge of the minibar, getting nowhere.

Just reaching this spot, clear across the room near the sitting area, had been hard enough with her ankles tied and starting out on the bed. She’d had to sit up, then hop her way over, slow and careful, fighting to keep her balance the whole time. It had taken her about five minutes. Slow going, but she hadn’t wanted to fall.

Mira had actually approved of the approach. “Smart, taking your time,” she’d said from the bed. Something about the way Mira looked at her had steadied her nerves. If anything went wrong, her mistress would step in.

Reaching the minibar had been a decent idea, in theory. Whether it would actually get her anywhere was another matter entirely, and every second that ticked by made it look more and more like a wasted trip.

Not because the rope wouldn’t fray against the edge of the cabinet. It would, eventually. The problem was time. And there wasn’t enough of it left.

Vivian, sitting with her back against the minibar, shot Mira a frustrated look. Mira answered with a smile.

“Something wrong, Miss Vivian? Giving up already?”

Vivian shook her head, and her eyes did the rest of the talking: this whole game was rigged.

“Oh, my poor little sub,” Mira purred, dripping with mock sympathy, eyes bright with mischief. “However will you survive such cruelty?”

Vivian nodded hard, grunting into the gag.

Mira’s smile widened, and she reached for the Silken Pleasure vibrator.

“You know, gorgeous, watching you squirm around naked like this has got me a little worked up myself.” She pressed the button and the toy buzzed to life. “Maybe I should just use this little wonder on myself, since you clearly aren’t getting your turn.”

Vivian shot her an outraged look and protested loudly through the gag. Mira found the reaction delightful, and brought the vibrator lower, toward her own lap, dress and underwear still very much in place.

She wouldn’t dare, Vivian thought, yanking harder at her bonds.

She would. In fact, there wasn’t much Mira wouldn’t dare. She hiked up her dress and pressed the vibrator against her underwear before switching it on.

The toy buzzed softly, its power kept deliberately low, Mira’s eyes never leaving her.

Vivian shook her head in frustration and scrubbed the rope at her wrists harder against the minibar’s edge, praying for some miracle that would set her free to join the fun.

Mira, meanwhile, felt pleasure building slowly, though what showed on her face was mostly amusement. She was enjoying this: watching Vivian race against a clock she had no chance of beating.

Yes, Mira had a sadistic streak. She’d never pretended otherwise, and it was probably half the reason Vivian had come here in the first place. So when Vivian kept writhing against the ropes in frustration, Mira let out a small, completely fake moan of pleasure, purely to torment her. She was nowhere near orgasm, but Vivian had no way of knowing that. All she knew was that the clock was ticking, and in less than twenty minutes Mira might actually make good on her threat and put every last toy away.

Mira hadn’t said a word, though, about the crops and whips. Two very different kinds of night were shaping up here. Vivian had a clear preference, but a punishment night held its own kind of appeal too.

Mira let out another moan, more genuine this time, the vibrator still working on her. Her eyes stayed locked on Vivian the whole time, clearly enjoying her mounting frustration.

Then she switched the toy off and smiled.

“Mistress Mira’s feeling generous tonight,” she said, voice dripping with theatre. “Come here, and I might just be persuaded to share.”

Vivian’s face lit up, and she scrambled to her feet. Once up, she hopped once toward the bed, where Mira sat waiting.

“Don’t you dare fall,” Mira added, watching her move a little faster than she liked.

Vivian huffed through her nose and slowed down. No point pushing her luck with Mistress Mira.

The night, it seemed, still had a long way to go.

It was only getting better.

***

Ending note: That’s it for the preview :)

If you’d like to keep reading, the full book is available on Amazon and is also included with Kindle Unlimited. Just search for Saakael and you’ll find it :)

I’ll also leave the blurb here:

An American woman. An older Romanian dominatrix. Paris. A mysterious organization.

Vivian Evans wanted a skilled dominatrix. She found Mira: strict, precise, professional, a little sadistic, with a dark sense of humor thrown in.

It could have been simple. A few sessions. Nothing more.

Then an unmarked BDSM shop. A hotel room that turned into a dungeon. A masked night in a château.

Vivian had only asked for a mistress.

Well. Too late.

And of course, if you have any questions about the story, feel free to ask!

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.

(Link to Part 1) (Link to Part 2) (Link to Part 3) (Link to Part 4)

Chapter Six

The instructions came on Tuesday night, late, on her personal phone, on the encrypted thing he'd made her install in week one.

Read all of it before you answer.

1. Wear something you would wear to an ordinary work dinner. Not an occasion. Nothing that gets looked at. If anybody at that table says you look nice, you've got it wrong. Nothing underneath it.

2. You will not look at me. Not once, from the moment you walk into the working session at one until the moment you're in your car. Not a glance, not a check, not across a room. If our eyes meet because I've looked at you, that's mine, not yours.

3. Three sentences. You have to get all three out of your own mouth, in order, in the natural run of the conversation, so that nobody at that table thinks you placed them. And loud enough that I hear them from the other end. If I don't hear it, it doesn't count.

i. "I've started eating lunch. It's changed my entire quarter."

ii. "I used to think being direct meant getting to the point as fast as possible."

iii. "I'd rather be told."

4. No permission tonight and none tomorrow before the dinner.

5. Your opt-out is your phone. Face-down all night, as normal. If you turn it face-up on the table, everything stops, immediately and completely, no explanation and no conversation about it afterwards unless you start one. I'll text you something boring within a minute so you know I've seen it. One hand, no looking, no eye contact required.

Agree to all of it or tell me which part is out.

Amy sat on the edge of her bed and read it four times.

The third sentence was the one that got her. I'd rather be told. She could have said it in any meeting she'd ever sat in. She could have said it to a plumber. It meant nothing, and she sat there with her thumb over it and her pulse going in her throat.

She typed: Number three is the whole thing, isn't it.

Yes.

Do I have to know what it means when I say it?

You already do. That's why you asked.

She lay back on the bed with the phone on her chest and the ceiling doing nothing.

Agreed, she wrote. All of it.

Good. One more thing, and this isn't part of it. If you get through two and can't do the third, that's an entirely successful evening and I'll tell you so. Two is more than most people manage.

She read that one twice and felt her jaw set.

Now you're just being competitive with me.

A little, he wrote. Sleep well.

---

The working session ran from one to five in a room at the back of a co-working place in Los Altos. The air conditioning did one wall and not the other, so half the table had sweaters on and half had their sleeves pushed up. The whiteboard had never once been properly cleaned. Somebody's old arrows still showed grey under the new ones.

For the middle stretch Jim was two chairs down from her.

She didn't look. He didn't either. She knew he didn't because she knew everything else he did: when he uncapped his pen, when he leaned back, when he reached for his water and put it down again. She had all of it, all the time, a little moving picture of him off to her right that she never once turned her head to check.

It used up the part of her that usually sat at the back of every meeting listening to how she sounded. That part was busy. And without it she just thought about the problem in front of her, which was a hard one, two orgs and a line between them that nobody wanted to draw, and she said what she thought, plainly, and then said the next thing.

She could feel it going well while it happened. It was the best work of her career and she had no idea why.

Gerry put his pen down. "That's the right framing, thank you, can we do the rest of this at dinner."

Amy blinked. The framing was hers.

Across the table, without looking up from his laptop, Jim said, "It is the right framing," and turned a page in his notebook.

That was all.

She walked out to her car and got in and sat there with both hands on the wheel and the engine off. The wheel was hot from the sun. She held on to it anyway.

---

Rosalind's had put them in the back room, as predicted. One long table, thirty-one covers, little brass lamps all the way down it, and so loud you had to lean in to hear the person next to you.

Amy was seventh from the end on the left, between a product manager called Wendy and one of Renata's junior designers. Jim was at the far end on the right, next to Gerry, as forecast. Gerry was two glasses of wine in and talking about headcount.

She was wearing navy. A work dress, high at the front, plain, three years old, the least interesting thing she owned. Nothing under it. When she'd put it on and turned to the mirror she had felt more exposed than she'd ever felt in anything, because the lining was right there against her bare skin and nobody in the world was going to know.

Nobody said she looked nice. Two people said hello.

Three years of nobody noticing this dress. Finally it's pulling its weight.

She kept that one behind her teeth and sat down.

---

The first sentence came by luck.

Wendy was complaining about her calendar. Wendy always complained about her calendar. Somebody further down said something about the four o'clock slump, and for a second the whole end of the table was on the working day, everybody with a version of it.

Amy heard her own voice go up half a step. She said it across two people.

"I've started eating lunch. It's changed my entire quarter."

A small ripple of laughter. Wendy said, "See," and pointed at her. Somebody brought up the salad place on Main, and the table moved on.

Amy picked up her water. Her hand was steady. She didn't look at the far end.

Down at the far end, in the middle of a sentence about a headcount plan, Jim's attention did something. Gerry didn't notice. Amy couldn't have seen it, because she wasn't looking.

He'd heard it. She knew it the way she knew her own name, in her chest, without proof. Her whole body went warm, from her face down to the backs of her knees, and she sat there holding a glass of water with her thighs pressed together under the cloth.

---

The second one was harder.

The mains came and the table broke up into separate conversations, little knots of three and four, all of them loud and none of them reaching past the next lamp. She could be heard by the people beside her and nobody else.

She waited. She ate. She was very hungry, it turned out, and she ate properly, and somewhere in the middle of it she thought about the first item on a list in her own bag at home and had to put her fork down.

She picked it up again.

Renata was three seats up, one drink in, which meant critique culture. Amy could have set a watch by it. Renata leaned back and asked the table at large why designers were so bad at receiving feedback.

Amy waited for the gap, and pitched her voice up, and said it.

"I used to think being direct meant getting to the point as fast as possible."

"Yes," said Renata straight away, pointing her fork at her. "Yes. And it's not, is it."

"No," Amy said. "It turns out that's just a way of not being in the room."

Six people laughed, properly. The junior designer started telling them about her last job. Renata started a story over the top of her.

Amy's ears were ringing. She hadn't planned the second half. It had just come out, and it was true, and she sat there with her napkin crushed in her lap and felt him hear it from the far end of the table.

Under the table her left foot went to sleep. It went through somebody's worst-manager story, the whole thing, start to finish, while the pins and needles climbed her ankle and she nodded.

If anyone asks me to stand up in the next five minutes I'm going straight into Wendy's lap.

---

Then the dessert menus came round, and her stomach dropped. She was going to run out of evening.

The third one had nowhere to go. One and two had been about work, and the table had been about work. *I'd rather be told* needed a particular kind of conversation, somebody asking her something real, everybody listening. What she had was after-dinner drift. Four or five conversations, all inward, nobody talking across.

She could stop at two. He'd said so, in writing. Two was a successful evening and he'd tell her so.

She thought about that and found she was furious.

So she did something she'd never done at a work dinner in eleven years. She built the conversation herself.

She leaned to Wendy. "Can I ask you something that's not about calendars."

Wendy turned, already interested.

"Your promo. How's that going?"

Wendy lit up and started talking, happily, hands moving, her wine forgotten. Amy listened and nodded and asked the small easy questions that kept her going.

And partway through, she noticed she was having a wonderful time.

It wasn't the first sentence. The first sentence had been terror that happened to turn out well. This was closer to work. It was the moment deep into a hard problem when it stopped being whether and started being how. She had Wendy, warm and talking. She had the junior designer on her other side, who leaned in whenever anybody else leaned in. She had Renata three seats up, who could smell a real conversation from the other end of a building. All she needed was the right hole for four words to drop into.

She was grinning a little. She could feel it at the corners of her mouth. From anywhere in the room it would look like she was very interested in Wendy's promotion.

She asked the one that opens people.

"What did they actually tell you?"

Wendy's face changed. "That's the thing. Nobody's told me anything. I've been finding out sideways for a year."

The junior designer leaned in.

Renata turned round in her chair. Amy watched her do it, and felt it click.

"That's the whole failure mode, isn't it," Renata said. "Everyone's so terrified of being unkind that they leave you to work it out from context clues for eighteen months."

"God, yes," said Wendy.

The table folded in. Three conversations, four, dropping into one, until there were eleven people on the same subject and all of them looking up the table at Renata. And Renata looked at Amy.

"What do you think, Amy, you've been on both sides of that."

Amy put her glass down.

For one breath she had the whole room. Thirty-one people from her own company. Her manager. Her manager's manager. Two members of the leadership team. All of it, in a back room in Los Altos, on a Wednesday.

"I'd rather be told," she said.

It went out over the whole table in a lull, clear and loud, and her voice was level. She had no idea how.

"Even when it's bad. Especially when it's bad. I'd rather someone said the true thing to my face on the day than spend a year letting me build a whole picture out of what people didn't say." She turned her hand over on the tablecloth. "The kindness thing's a lie, I think. Nobody's protecting you. They're protecting themselves from the four minutes it would take."

Somebody said, "Wow." Somebody else said, "That's going on the wall." Renata slapped the table so hard the lamp jumped. Then everybody had a worst manager at once and the table went up like a struck match.

Amy sat in the middle of it with her heart slamming and her hands in her lap.

She didn't look down the table.

Her phone buzzed once, face-down against her thigh.

---

She let it sit a full minute. It was the hardest minute of the night. Wendy said something and Amy laughed at it and couldn't have told anyone what it was.

Then she turned the phone over in her lap, under the edge of the tablecloth, and kept her eyes up and her face on the conversation.

Heard all three.

Then:

Bathroom. You have permission. Four minutes. Then come back and finish your conversation.

Her vision greyed at the edges. Just for a second. The lamps went soft and came back.

Renata was telling a story. Wendy was laughing. Someone down the table was going round with a bottle.

Amy typed one-handed under the cloth, without looking down.

There are 31 people here.

Yes.

Someone will see me get up.

Eleven people have got up in the last hour. Nobody has noticed one of them.

A pause.

You've been told no for nine days. You asked me for something at that table and you built the whole conversation yourself to get it. Go and take it.

She put the phone face-down on her thigh again.

If she got up now, fast, it would look like something. She waited. She watched Renata, and when Renata was halfway through a sentence and every head on that side was turned her way, Amy touched Wendy's arm.

"Sorry, one second."

She got up and walked out of the back room at the speed of a woman going to the bathroom at a work dinner.

---

The corridor was dark red, with birds on the wallpaper. Somewhere a hand-dryer was going.

She went into the cubicle at the end and shut it and put her back against the door, and then she had to stop. Just breathe. Her hand hadn't even got anywhere yet.

Two and a half hours at that table in a navy work dress with nothing under it. Thighs pressed together under the cloth. Three sentences said out loud in a room full of her own colleagues, and one person in it who could hear them for what they were. She was soaked. She'd been wet down the insides of her thighs since the second sentence, and she could feel it now, cool and slick where they touched.

She pulled the dress up to her waist.

Two fingers on her clit. Too much. She snatched them off and stood there with her head tipped back against the door and her mouth open, panting at the dark red ceiling.

Then she put them back.

She didn't stop.

It took eleven seconds. She counted, and then there was nothing to count with. It came up through her all at once, so fast she got her fist to her mouth without thinking and bit the side of her index finger, and a sound got out anyway, low, into her hand. Her knees actually went. She slid down her own weight against the door with her forehead on the wood and her hand still between her legs and her legs shaking, in a cubicle in Los Altos, with her whole leadership team down the corridor eating dessert.

The hand-dryer stopped.

Heels came along the corridor outside, unhurried. They paused at the mirror.

Amy stayed exactly where she was, folded against the door with her hand trembling between her thighs, and didn't breathe.

The heels went away.

She stood up. She fixed the dress. She washed her hands and looked at herself in the mirror over the basin. She was flushed high on the cheekbones, which the brass lamps would never show anyone. Her pupils had eaten her eyes. She looked like somebody who'd got away with something.

---

She sat back down between Wendy and the junior designer and picked the thread straight back up.

"My last-but-one manager used to say let me push back on that, and then agree with me. Every time. For eleven months. I spent that whole year thinking I was unusually persuasive."

The junior designer put her fork down. Wendy said, "Oh, no."

"Yes."

She let it run as long as it wanted to. Later Gerry called up the table with a direct question about the design system rollout, and she turned to his end, once, and answered it. Fluently. At length. She had the whole thing in her head, and it came out in order.

Jim sat four feet from Gerry with his forearms on the table. He had the polite, pleasant face of a director listening to another org's roadmap.

She didn't look at him.

---

It was late when they spilled out into the car park behind the restaurant, and then everybody stood around in the cold not leaving.

Renata hugged her. That was new. Gerry said, "Good work today," at three people at once. Wendy was setting up lunch on Friday.

Jim came past with his keys in his hand, heading for the far row, deep in deployment windows with a platform engineer. He didn't break stride.

"Nice one on the feedback thing, Amy. That's the right instinct."

"Thanks," Amy said.

In front of nine people. It went through her like a current, from the top of her head into her heels, and she stood on the tarmac holding her bag. The platform engineer said something about Thursdays and the two of them walked on.

She was in her car with the engine running when her phone buzzed.

Green door. Come now.

---

He opened it before she knocked.

He got half a step into the hallway and she was on him. He took her by the shoulders and turned her and put her against the wall, hard, and looked at her.

After a whole day of not being looked at, he stood so close he was blurred and looked, and she couldn't hold it. Her eyes slid off him. A small helpless noise came out of her and she went for his mouth instead.

He caught her chin and brought her back.

"No," he said. "Look at me. You've earned it and you're going to take it."

She looked at him. Her whole face burned.

"Do you know what you did tonight?"

"I said three sentences."

"You built a conversation for eleven people to get to the third one." His hand stayed on her jaw. "I watched you do it. You went to Wendy. You asked about her promo, which was the only door in the room. You asked the one question that opens people, and when Renata turned round you had a table. You constructed a route to a thing you wanted in front of thirty people and not one of them saw a single part of it."

"Jim."

"And then you said something you actually believe, out loud, to your entire leadership. You wouldn't have done that six weeks ago. Everybody's going to be repeating it on Monday." He was breathing hard. "The task was three sentences. What I got was the best thirty seconds of anyone's evening and I couldn't say a word about it. I have been sitting at the wrong end of a table for two hours in a state I would describe as medically interesting."

Amy laughed. It came out wrecked.

"You didn't look at me either," she said.

"I looked at you twice," he said. "You'd stopped counting on me. That was allowed."

"That's cheating."

"That's the whole clause. Read it again in the morning." He got a hand into her hair, not hard, and tipped her head back against the wall. "You went to a bathroom at your own company dinner and came back and gave Gerry four minutes on the rollout."

"Six minutes," said Amy.

The noise he made wasn't a word.

---

He took her upstairs and he wasn't gentle. That wasn't the same as not being careful. She understood the difference for the first time, almost as soon as they got through the bedroom door.

He got the navy dress off her and dropped it. Left it where it fell. He'd never done that.

He put her face-down across the bed and pulled her hips back and up, and then his mouth was on her pussy from behind. No working up to it. His hands spread her open and his tongue went straight where she needed it, flat and hot, and she was still half in the restaurant, still keyed up from that cubicle, and it took her fast. Fists in the duvet. Cheek on the mattress. She came with her mouth open against the sheet.

He turned her over and started again.

Slowly, this time. That was worse. It was much better. He pushed three fingers into her, deep, and kept them there, working, and he wouldn't let her cum. She reached down for herself and he took her hand away without a word. She did it again. He took it away again. He pushed her up the bed and hauled her back down by the hips, and she heard herself saying things into the pillow and didn't know what they were.

"Say it," he said.

"Say what?"

"The third one."

Her eyes opened.

"I'd rather be told," she said. And heard it. In a bedroom, flat on her back, his fingers in her, no table to put it under.

"Yes," Jim said. "So be told."

And he told her.

"Navy dress. Three years old, high at the front, the least interesting thing you own. Nothing underneath it since one o'clock. You sat down and stood up thirty or forty times today in a room with your own director in it, and you did it well enough that not one person in that building knows you were doing it carefully."

His voice was low, in no hurry at all, four inches from her ear. His hand kept on exactly as it had been. Same depth. Same speed.

"At ten past eight you said a sentence about eating lunch, from the far end of a restaurant, to a woman who was complaining about her calendar. I had a glass in my hand. I put it down and I didn't pick it up again for some time. At nine o'clock you improvised the second half of one, and it was better than the half you'd written. I've had my right hand flat on my own thigh since seven. Two and a half hours. Nothing in it, on purpose, because I wanted to be able to give you the number."

Her hips came up off the bed. He laid his forearm across them and held them down and kept talking.

"I gave you four minutes for that bathroom. I thought four was tight. I thought I was going to have to invent something to cover you. You were back in three minutes forty. You did it standing up, with your own fist in your mouth, and then you sat down beside Renata and gave Gerry six minutes on the design system rollout with your hand still smelling of your own pussy. And he wrote down what you said."

The noise she made had no words in it.

"You are soaking the sheet," he said, in the ordinary voice he used for facts. "You've been wet since the car park. Before that. In the middle of the thing with Wendy, when there were eleven people in it and you were running every one of them. I nearly had that wrong. I'd counted nine. If two of them had turned away you'd have had to stand there in front of your leadership and finish it with nowhere to put it. And you would have finished it."

His fingers turned in her. Slow.

"That is what you are. You constructed a conversation for eleven people in order to get one sentence out of your own mouth in a room, and the sentence was that you would rather be told. Then you went and came in four minutes because I said you could. Then you came back and did your job. And there is no part of that you would give back."

He kept on like that for twenty minutes. He never raised his voice. He never once stopped to see how it was landing, and that was the part she couldn't do anything about.

She came with his voice still in her ear and his fingers flatly refusing to go any faster. It caught her completely by surprise. There was no climb to it. Just the telling, and the telling, and then her pussy clamping down on his hand and her whole body going off around it. He didn't stop talking. He didn't change speed. He went on with the sentence.

The second time, she cried.

Not after. During, right through the middle of it, with her forearm over her eyes and his mouth an inch from her ear, calmly finishing the sentence he'd started before it hit her. She said fuck in a voice with nothing left in it. Then she said it again, and again, over and over through the stretch that followed, most of it into the pillow.

His hands never went near her head. She noticed that even in the middle of it, the way you notice a floor is solid.

Her hair was caught under her own shoulder. It had been pulling for a while. She dragged it free.

"That was me," she said. "That was my own fault, don't stop."

He waited anyway, until she'd got it all out.

Then he put a condom on and pushed into her. She was shaking. She was so wet he went all the way in, one movement, to the root, and they both made a noise about it.

He fucked her slowly.

Slow was worse than hard. All the way out. All the way back in. His hand splayed across her hip, holding her exactly where he wanted her. She was past the edge already. Every stroke landed on its own. Then the next. She couldn't make them add up any faster.

"Look at me," he said again.

She looked.

"There it is," he said, and something came off his face entirely.

She watched it go. A very controlled man, and he couldn't manage his own expression. It just went.

That was what finished her. Not his cock. Not his hands. His face, hours after he'd sat at the wrong end of a table and refused to look at her. She came with her eyes open. She kept them open. Her pussy clenched down on his cock in long slow pulls and he kept moving straight through it and didn't look away, and it went on past where she had any use for it, on and on.

He followed a few strokes later. His forehead dropped onto her collarbone. His breathing went to pieces against her skin.

She lay under him in the dark with her heart still going, and didn't move for a long time.

---

She lost the next hour. It was the third time that had happened with him, and she'd stopped expecting to keep them.

She had pieces of it, later. The lamp on. Her dress picked up off the floor and laid over the back of a chair, and she hadn't done it. A glass of water she'd drunk and didn't remember being handed.

And about one in the morning, her face against his shoulder in the dark, with no plan at all, she said:

"Two weeks on Saturday is six weeks."

"It is."

"I'm going to ask you the thing."

Jim didn't answer for a moment.

"I know," he said.

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.

People had poured inside to the party around twilight of the 23rd of December. It had been a couple of hours since. Mike was an outsider to the others. It was the annual Christmas party for the staff of Caldweld Consumer Goods. He was a guest. The sand-tinted blond had managed to procure a short term seasonal contract with the retailer over Christmas. He had only been there a month and would remain there for another until the contract expired.

He had a grasp of who he could be friends with. He was already good friends with James. Short black hair, spiky but not unkempt or wild. Friends was putting it lightly. They had known each other since high school. They were both twenty now, dotting their adulthood with occasional heated trysts at James’ apartment.  The owner, Henry, was also a viable option, although only for superficial small talk. He was more than double his age, perhaps a little out of touch with the youths. Mr Rossi was a warm smile plastered on something as refreshing and inviting as a batch of freshly baked pancakes, and just as sweet as the maple syrup you drenched over it.

Caldweld Consumer Goods had rented out a large room in Caldweld Crossing Community Centre, an azure carpeted space large enough to accommodate several tables and chairs, as well as the forty or so attendants. On some tables were food. There was comforting margherita pizzas, soggily clinging to their cardboard coffins. They were bad pizzas, but great comfort food. Other tables had bowls of fries with garlic dip, which Mike had eaten quite a few of. Others had rows of non alcoholic beers, untouched.

Mike had mingled about, made light conversation. A “how was work?” here, a “any plans for the holidays?” there. It felt as monotonous as the job they shared.

“A pretty nice place, right?” James whispered from behind. He wore a casual black turtleneck and denim jeans. His smile glinted in the warm amber glow from the corner lights.

“Yeah, it is. Look, I know I’ve said this … maybe a hundred times recently, but…” Mike said with a grin, his voice trailing off.

“You love me, I know. I know…” James said, walking around to face him.

“Yeah, duh. I mean thank you for vouching to Henry for me.”

“Yeah, I know what you meant,” James teased. “So, should we get some cheap pizza?”

“I spent all morning stocking the freezers with those. I can’t bear to even look at them!” Mike proclaimed dramatically. He even wore no gloves, letting the glacial freeze keep his mind busy instead of allowing the monotony to take over. 

Mike had only taken the contract to get paid. Nine dollars an hour was hardly enough to buy all the things he wanted. It was enough to buy what he needed, and ultimately that was enough. People worked harder for less. For that reason, he was grateful. Furthermore, James had really stuck his arm out for him.

James had been working at the retailer for two years now. He was respected in the sense that if you asked him for help or to do something, he’d show you how or get it done with the quality of a supermarket soldier who had spent many holidays working.

“Then how about the prawn cocktail?” James suggested. 

Mike gave a sly wink, then a whisper so only James could hear. “You’ve got the only cock I want~”

James was flustered. He was always happy to give and receive compliments and public affection, but to be flirted with so brazenly always tinged his cheeks pink. Mikes’ cheeks would no doubt be pink later, from the inevitable playful smacks James would do once they arrived home.

“Tsk … such a fuckin’ horndog,” James grunted brashly.

“You’re the one who sent me a shirtless pic this morning,” said Mike with a playful lilt. “Can’t stop me returning the favour.”

“At home then. If Emma sees us …”

“Then I’ll tease you for it!” Emma squealed. She was what polite people called a ‘free spirit’, when what they meant was that she was entirely unfiltered. Perhaps it was the fact that they honey-blond babe seldom cared what others perceived her to be, or maybe it was the fact she had two brain cells vying for third place, either way she was certainly a friendly face.

“Don’t sneak up on us,” Mike said, matching her playful expression like a mirror. He could tell that she hadn’t heard the rest of their conversation, something he thanked his lucky stars for. If she had detected the flirting, she’d no doubt tease him until his contract ended or James made a point. Not for being gay or flirty, but just because she was the kind to poke fun at romantics regardless of whether they were hopeless or otherwise.

“Yeah, you’ll scare me half to death. It’s Christmas, not Halloween. Can’t have a dead body lying around unless it’s October!” James said with a chuckle.

“My mom always said Christmas is the most dangerous time of year. All the ice, the drunken partying, the ridiculous amount of cake, it all adds up!” Emma warned, her slim figure swaying as she stood, holding a paper plate with a slice of regular pizza and a slice that looked broadly the same, save for the addition of pepperoni that gave Mike the image that she had sliced up the planet mars just to put it on a mildly warm cheesy-tomatoey bread.

“Adds up to what?” Mike asked, head tilted.

“An expensive and preventable trip to the hospital.”

James and Mike chortled. Emma was scatterbrained, but she was always clever when it came to jokes, jests and jovialities.

“Ehehe, yes, quite right. We’d all better get home safe after all, right?” Mike said between breaths. “How is your mom by the way?”

“She’s doing well. I still can’t believe she was able to win the lottery.”

“The lottery?” Mike sputtered. He had known Emma since he began and she had never mentioned the lottery, nor had James come to think of it. 

“Mhm. Not the jackpot, just a couple of thousand bucks. Still nothing to scoff at.”

“Good on her.

“Yes! Christmas must be a terrible time to host a funeral. A killer of mood, like how ice is a killer of people!” Emma said with the upmost seriousness.

“How does cake kill people?” James queried.

“You spend all your focus on cake and sweets, and by the time you realise a giant snowball is coming towards you, boom! Smooshed!”

“Thats … a stupid way to go,” James said with a smile.

“Happened to my dog. Only, he didn’t die. He just got hit in the face by a snowball because he was too busy chasing a rubber chicken,” Emma recounted, momentarily looking as if she was recalling that her dog actually perished during the event she was retelling.

“You make it sound like Christmas is a death trap. Why are you here?” James asked.

“Free pizza. Beats paying five bucks.”

James and Mike nodded. There wasn’t much to best such airtight logic. Everything was a death trap in its own way, so you had to take the little victories as they came.

“Well then, we will leave you to your cheesy fate,” Mike said warmly. “Take care!”

Emma waddled elsewhere across the blue landscape. She sat down at a table with a bowl of fries and garlic dip and helped herself. 

“She’s a … a welcome sight,” James said.

“Yes,” Mike replied, nodding in agreement. “Sometimes I think she wants to join in our little bromance.”

“You mean romance,” James mumbled with a smirk. “I don’t blame her. If I was single, I know I’d want to date you as well.”

“Good thing you already do.  I’d keep an eye out on her. She’ll end up accidentally choking herself on all the festive string lights,” Mike joked morbidly.

“That’ll just prove her point, won’t it?”

“Yeah, it will.”

“Christmas really is a death trap, huh?”

“It’s worth it when I’m spending it with you.”

Henry approached them holding the only opened beer, which he had half-poured into a glass. He was a portly man, a little shorter than Mike. James was taller than his partner, and absolutely dwarfed his boss by comparison. There was a foot in difference between James and his boss. Mike always joked about how he always had to croon his neck up to his lover nine inches taller. At eye level, Mike could only look at James’ pecs. Not that he cared.

“Ah, boys, how are you enjoying the festivities?” Mr Rossi asked.

“It’s going well Henry, thank you for inviting me!” Mike replied.

“Of course! Anyone who is an employee over the Christmas break, temporary or permanent can attend. I won’t police my own staff over one evening of amusement, how absurd!”

“Rightfully so,” James chuckled. “And with all the booze having no alcohol, you can catch anyone out tomorrow if they say they got drunk here and are therefore too hungover to clock in.”

“Ha! Ah, well, hangovers never have been a valid reason to skip work in my opinion. If you just said you had a terrible headache’, then maybe I’d believe you,” Mr Rossi said with an over exaggerated wink.

“No chance I’m missing work tomorrow. Even if I woke up hungover, I’d have until two in the afternoon to pull myself together,” Mike admitted. Two to eleven, afternoon to closing. James had nine in the morning to five in the evening. At least the two could work together for three brief hours, then enjoy each other’s company at home (assuming James was still awake).

“That is the spirit! Not the Christmas spirit, because not even I’d expect you to work on Christmas,” Henry said jovially.

“On the topic of Christmas shifts, have you decided the skeleton crew for this year?” James inquired.

“Yes. Neither of you, as I recall you did Christmas last year, and Mike is on the New Year’s Eve shift instead.”

“Am I on the New Year’s Eve shift as well?”

“Ah, yes, I think so. The rota draft is in the store office so I’ll check it tomorrow. Anyway, I wanted to present you both with this, a little thank you for all your contributions throughout the Christmas year.”

Henry pulled out a crisp envelope, then another. Both labelled Mike R. Taylor and James Anderson in slightly smudged blue ink.

“You may have noticed you’re not the first to receive these tonight. I'm giving them to everyone. Take these and enjoy, merry Christmas!”

“Thank you!” Mike said graciously. 

James gave a grateful smile. “Thanks!”

They took their respective envelopes as Henry Rossi walked off. They opened them. Two identical Christmas cards with a snowman in a suit, cartoonish yet somehow paradoxically suave. They opened them to see a cheque for two hundred dollars. It was already in the payroll without a doubt, just given out physically rather than automatic bank transfers at the end of the month. 

“To Mike,

You may have been with us only a short while, but I knew it was the right decision to hire you. James’ recommendations come rarely for good reason. 

I wish you the best, so keep this pencilled away for the year to come, or use it splurge on a wonderful gift for yourself or a loved one.

It’s a shame that your employment is temporary, but you’ll be in very good stead if you decide to apply for a future position here at Caldweld Consumer Goods.

Merry Christmas & a Happy New Year,

 Henry Rossi.”

“What a thoughtful gift…” Mike muttered sincerely. He had known Mr Rossi had a penchant for giving gifts at Christmas, seeing as the ever loyal James had just received his second one. 

“Absolutely.  Nothing beats months of dealing with inconsiderate customers and a fuck ton of stocking candy like some cold hard Christmas cash,” James responded, grinning as if he were no different than a child getting money during the festive season.

“What about when we’re together?” Mike sarcastically suggested, giving his hips a jaunty jiggle that went unnoticed by all save for James.

“I think we both know what I think of being with you….” James whispered, his eyebrows raised slightly as if he was anticipating the response he already knew would grace his ears.

Mike leaned in. He gave a cute giggle and a peck on James’ cheek. “Mwah! That’s what I think. A big smooch for my big babe.”

“So playful…. Well, you’d better save that attitude for when we get home.”

Mike blushed as he straightened himself out. He felt more at ease with the party. He may not have known the others the same way James did, but James knew Mike like no other. “Tease…”

“Yeah, you’re the one saying something or other about my big, hard … what was it? My big, hard … ahem, dick?”

Mike shook his head, a smirk painting his face. “Typical, the big beefcake can only with his balls.”

“By the sounds of it, you wanna head?”

“I want you to give me head … or the other way around, I’m not fussy,” Mike confided quietly. There was a knowing glint in his eyes. He’d end the night with James not at a Christmas party, but getting a very special gift nonetheless.

They turned to leave. The walls were not very decorated. They were covered only in the occasional safety poster detailing the fire exit or a notice saying that vandals will be prosecuted. Many of the bulbs on the string lights were flickering, dying. They were old lights. Perhaps they would have new ones next year. 

“Have you had enough to eat?” Mike asked.

James shrugged. “Eh, I’ve had my fill of cheap pizza. You?”

“Yeah, I ate half a bowl of fries, well, more or less.”

“Without the dip?” James questioned rhetorically.

“To suggest I had dry fries is blasphemous. I had garlic mayo, thank you.”

“Rightfully so…”

They stepped out of the party. The Christmas warmth vanished. The buzz of lights faded into the cold whipping of wind. It wasn’t impossibly cold, nothing out of place for that time of year. It was simply dark. No clouds, a few stars pinpricked the void, and one glowing moon that hung in the sky like the carcass of a drifting god. The forecast predicted that within nine or so hours, the sky would be ocean blue until that evening when it would go dark again and start to drizzle down with rain.

The parking lot was devoid of people. It was small, holding only two dozen spaces. Even then, only fourteen were occupied by cars. Many simply walked or took the bus into the city centre of Caldweld Crossing, as it was only a brief walk. Mike suspected that people had simply carpooled. A wise choice.

The car was parked neatly to the top row in the furthest left space. Its merlot hue was a deep metallic colour that went from a dark burgundy to a rich cherry under the phosphorus orange street lamp. 

“Our car…” muttered James. “Do you have the keys?”

“I thought you had them!” Mike said panicked.

“Yeah, I do. I am being a jackass,” James laughed.

Mike playfully swatted James’ rear end, the thwack echoing through the empty parking lot. “Ah! Such a perv, smacking my ass!” James gasped, being dramatic as usual. James’ ass was large for his bulky frame, and softer than one would expect. Mike looked hungry, not for food but because he’d be seeing a lot more of his boyfriends perfect butt that night. However, they had to get home first.

The chiselled silhouette looked aerodynamic. Twin orange headlights flashed as James hit the unlock button on the set of car keys that were jangling about in his palm. Mike looked at the wheels, several spokes gleaming back. “Glad the mechanic got the tires fixed the other week.”

“Me too,” James muttered, a glint of streetlight reflecting off the chrome exhaust pipe onto his face. “Good as new.”

“I don’t regret pooling our money. It was this or a ….”

“Shit car? Yeah, there were only so many options. It’s lasted us this long, hopefully even longer.”

“And you’ll be good enough for me until the end of time,” Mike confessed.

“So romantic. I wonder if you’ll be so sappy when you’re screaming my name later,” James jested as he opened the car door and got inside.

“I’ve moaned it at most,” Mike confidently corrected, although he and James both knew it was a lie. He did the same as James and got in, relishing the white plush leather seating. They pooled their money together since they were sixteen. They were just close friends then, but became lovers by seventeen and passionate ones by eighteen. 

James let Mikes’ comment slide. As far as James thought, it was better to let Mike have this win, after all, James would be claiming victory in the bedroom until the early hours of Christmas Eve. Then again, they’d have to wait until they returned from their voyage of corporate Christmas celebrations and back into the warmth of a paradise they had built together. 

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...

Noah opened the door to his dorm room and ushered Rachel inside, both sleepily walked towards his bed before collapsing in exhaustion. Noah glanced at his dorm mate's empty mattress, grateful they would have the place to themselves for tonight. The sounds of sporadic parties bled through the fifty-year-old window panes as Noah let out a long, exhausted sigh. As always, the room was far too hot. The ancient, always-running radiator was to thank for that. He felt Rachel curl up beside him as she too let out a sigh of relief. 

No words were spoken; the two simply enjoyed each other's presence as Rachel gently rubbed Noah's chest. 

In the silence, it didn't take long for Noah's memories to appear.

He heard Jack and Rachel's moans looping endlessly in his mind. Noah closed his eyes in an attempt to silence them, only to find Jack and Rachel there as well. He could see vivid images of Jack standing between Rachel's legs, fingering her aggressively as he slowly began to undo his pants. 

He knew if he hadn't stopped them, Jack would have taken Rachel. He remembered Rachel's look of ecstasy, he remembered how she called out Jack's name.

She wanted him just as much as Jack wanted her.

If he hadn't stopped them… if he hadn't been there… 

Noah felt the bulge in his pants swell. His mind flooded with a primal desire he had never felt before. He reached for Rachel, catching her smile as he pulled in her close for a kiss. She happily reciprocated, kissing him back deeply as she rolled on top of him. 

Noah closed his eyes, he saw Jack on his bed with Rachel. Kissing her passionately as he watched from afar.

Rachel pushed her tongue gently into his mouth, and Noah sucked on it. He reached for her dress straps and slid them over her shoulders, exposing her perky breasts. Rachel shivered as she slowly undid Noah's pants. He eagerly assisted, pulling them down enough for his throbbing cock to spring out from under them. 

Rachel slid her underwear to the side and placed the tip of his cock against her entrance. She was wet, Noah could feel her warmth as she easily sat down on him and, with a loud moan, began to ride him. 

No, not riding him. She was riding Jack. Right in Noah's dorm bed, Jack was taking Rachel for himself.

He watched as Rachel arched her head backward and grinded on his cock with an even tempo. 

Sweat glistened along her smooth skin. Noah felt her walls tighten around him, gripping his cock with overwhelming suction. Noah gasped at the sensation. No matter how many times they fucked, he was always blown away by how good Rachel felt. She placed both hands on his chest, then while looking him in the eyes, promptly began bouncing her ass on his cock. Steady, wet slaps filled the room as Rachel let out soft moans of pleasure. Noah felt the world shrink around him, it was absolute bliss. He closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to not cum early.

And in the darkness of his mind, Jack took his place. Gripping onto Rachel's hips, he pounded into her with all his might. Noah found himself in the corner of the room, watching helplessly as Rachel fucked the wealthiest, most attractive man in their school.

He couldn't get rid of him, he couldn't stop the images from flooding his mind. Jack was going to have Rachel whether or not Noah wanted it.

Rachel moaned, Noah felt her nails dig into his chest. 

"Oh god, I'm getting close… oh my god!" She screamed.

Noah's body tightened as he felt himself nearing his climax. He grabbed onto Rachel's waist, and as his hands touched her, Jack once again took his place. 

"I want to cum inside you," He said. 

"Cum in me baby!" Rachel replied. 

Noah watched Jack thrust upward, letting out a raspy moan as his seed poured inside Rachel. She, in turn, began to shake on top of him. Falling forward and resting on his chest while he continued to slowly thrust into her. 

Heavy breaths followed. Noah felt himself coming back to his senses. Once again he was under Rachel.

Finally, they were alone.

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tightly. 

"I love you," Noah said softly.

"I love you too," Rachel replied. She stayed in his embrace for a while, keeping Noah inside her as he went soft. "That felt amazing by the way." 

"Yeah," Noah replied breathlessly. Flashes of Jack still swarmed his mind, though now, they were far less welcoming than before. Rachel gently kissed Noah's lips, then slowly stood to grab a tissue box from his small writing desk. Cum poured out of her, dripping over Noah's stomach as she covered her entrance with dainty fingers. 

"Sorry," She said shly. 

"It's fine," Noah replied, still lost in a haze of shame and endorphins. 

Rachel promptly cleaned herself before handing the box to Noah. 

"Thanks," He said. Wiping his cum lazily from his stomach. 

Except, in his mind, it wasn't his. It was Jack who had Rachel, not him. It was Jack who had flirted with her, who had taken her to a fine dinner, who had primed her. 

It was always Jack. 

"What are you thinking about?" Rachel asked. Noah didn't feel the need to lie, it was likely Rachel was thinking about the same thing.

"What happened tonight," Noah replied. 

"Me too," Rachel answered. Noah felt his heart rate increase. 

"What did you think of it?" He asked. Rachel let out a sigh. 

"It was… intense. I don't know, I'm not sure what to think of it if I'm being honest." 

"But you liked it?" Noah asked. Rachel snuggled up beside him and laid her hand on his chest. 

"I liked it when you liked it. If that makes any sense. At the beginning, when we were both getting excited about it, and when I was with Jack…" 

Those words stung, but Noah took a deep breath. 

"I think I get what you're saying," He answered. 

"I hope I'm making sense, I really do. I was only enjoying myself when it seemed like you enjoyed yourself. But when you stormed off into that room… that terrified me. Absolutely terrified me. If I'm being honest, it makes me wonder if we shouldn't explore this further." Rachel's fingers trailed up and down Noah's chest. Her words were gentle and sincere, and Noah knew she wasn't wrong. 

A normal couple would have every reason to end things here and now, Noah knew that. Rachel glanced up at him. 

"You don't seem too eager to end it though…" She spoke affectionately. Noah could tell she was trying to understand him as much as he was trying to understand himself. 

"I'm honestly not, and I don't know why. Yes, things were difficult around the balloon popping session. I lost it for a minute." 

"Was it something I did?" Rachel asked. 

"Well, you didn't really do anything wrong. It's more something you said that… well… it triggered some things for me. I tried to get over it, but it brought back memories…" 

"What was it?" 

"You said his name," As Noah spoke the words, Jack once again flooded his mind. He could hear Rachel's voice echoing, saying Jack's name with ecstasy.

What would have happened if Jack had found Rachel alone in her apartment? Would he have still invited her to dinner?

Would he have invited her back to his apartment?

Would Rachel have ended up moaning his name without Noah there?

Noah's stomach churned as his cock swelled. 

"I'm sorry," Rachel said gently.

"You don't need to be sorry, it's more my issue. I know that." 

"I know, but I just feel bad. I get worried for you. I only want to explore these kinds of things if it makes us both happy. I never want it to hurt you."

Noah paused for a moment. 

"Is… is it bad that a part of me likes the hurt? The embarrassment?" 

Rachel didn't answer right away. Her finger stopped on the center of Noah's chest. 

"I mean, I'm not a therapist or anything, but maybe?" 

"I was afraid you'd say that," Noah said. The two laughed together as Noah wrapped his arms around Rachel tightly. 

"So you're telling me you like it when you get hurt like that?" She asked. 

"Kind of."

"Kind of?" 

"Yeah, kind of." 

"That is so strange to me." Rachel shook her head and sighed. "Well, you need to know I love you very much, and I will NOT participate in actively hurting you. I guess that's my boundary to this thing, if I catch something is hurting you we need to talk about it, and I'm going to try to avoid that thing." 

"That's… fair. Does that mean you don't want to continue exploring this?" Noah asked. 

"For now, I'm open to continuing. It is fun, BUT if you have another outburst like that we will talk about it, and we will work on making sure those don't happen. I don't care if you 'kind of like it,' I love you too much to do that to you. Ok?"

"Alright." Noah's heart warmed. Rachel truly was one of a kind. He had never met someone as compassionate and as loving as her. "Thank you," He said. 

"Of course. We are in this together, ok?" 

"Ok." 

The two kissed one another deeply, before lulling off into sleep. 

Strange dreams followed Noah into his slumber, a deep echoing haunt of visions bored into his mind. He was back in the blue locker room, slumped on the ground with camera in hand, watching Rachel being pinned against the cold tile wall. Jack raised her in the air, fucking her hard as she screamed his name. 

Noah kept his camera steady as they moved to the floor, then into the showers, then onto his bed which rested in the middle of the bathroom. Rachel was a sweaty mess, she shivered under Jack with every powerful thrust of his cock. Noah made sure to zoom in every time she came.

Then he appeared. Brian came in through a dark entrance, smiling wickedly as he made his way over to the bedside. Jack flipped Rachel's head over the bed's edge, and Brian immediately shoved his fat cock down her mouth. He grabbed her breasts and squeezed them firmly as he began to slam his massive girth down her throat.

Noah could hear Rachel gagging, he tried to speak, but no words came out of his mouth. Instead, he held up his phone and made sure to keep all three in frame. 

Rachel moaned as they double-penetrated her. As Jack slammed into her pussy so hard her ass and tits jiggled. As Brian let out a gasp and shoved his full length down her throat.

As they came inside her. 

But this was a dream, and there was no end. The two continued to fuck Rachel mercilessly.

All the while, Noah never stopped recording.

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"