Bimbo Fiction

The expression lasted less than a second.

A sharp discomfort immediately followed.

Her gaze locked onto her lipstick. The color seemed slightly faded. The realization became unbearable.

Without conscious thought, her hand reached into her purse. The familiar red tube slipped into her fingers. Relief washed over her before she had even uncapped it.

"There we go," she murmured softly. The lipstick glided across her lips. Back and forth.

Perfect.

The discomfort vanished instantly. A pleasant warmth spread through her chest. Fiona smiled. Then giggled.

The sound startled her.

For a brief moment she couldn't remember why. The giggle sounded airy. Not at all like the composed professional she remembered herself being. Or thought she remembered herself being. The distinction suddenly seemed important.

Then it slipped away.

Her eyes returned to the mirror.

Everything looked right again. A small pulse of satisfaction fluttered through her. Fiona blinked slowly.

What had she been thinking about?

Something that had seemed important a moment ago.

She could feel the shape of the thought lingering just beyond reach. The more she yearned for it, the more distant it became.

Her attention shifted to her reflection.

Another touch of lipstick might help. A little more mascara too. The thought felt wonderfully reasonable.

She smiled brightly.

Now she looked exactly the way she was supposed to look.

The comforting certainty settled over her mind.

For several seconds she simply admired her reflection.

Then she giggled once more.

She had remembered that she was meeting someone today. Someone who always smiled when she looked her best. The realization filled her with a warm anticipation. Fiona snapped the compact shut and rose from her chair.

Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor. A small smile tugged at her lips with every step.

She glanced around the empty waiting room.

It seemed like an ordinary office lobby, save for its immaculate condition. The polished floors and white leather furniture were so pristine that she wondered if they had ever been used.

Fiona had arrived a quarter of an hour ago. She hadn't seen anyone since.

She had felt certain of the exact time of the meeting. Yet she hadn't remembered how she had scheduled the appointment or even what it had involved.

It had to do with something that harlot Giselle was working on. Frowning, she tried to think about it.

The compact clapped open immediately. Her gaze snapped to the mirror.

More eyeshadow.

That's what she needed.

She reached for her cosmetics. A moment later she had the small case open.

Fiona smiled as she applied a little extra powder to the corners of her eyelids. She could feel herself relaxing as she did.

When she finished she examined herself carefully in the small mirror.

Her mouth turned down in displeasure. The lipstick seemed faded again. She shook her head slightly as she reached for the red tube.

She could barely contain the feeling of well being as the waxy substance passed over her lips.

A delicious sound escaped through those luscious pillows. They looked so plump. So full.

Fiona ran her tongue slowly over them, savoring the sensation. They seemed a touch swollen.

The realization caused a small tingle to pass through her.

A moment later she heard the door open.

Euphemia, her secretary, had entered. She wore a tight combination of leather that pressed those delightful curves in ways that left Fiona's mouth dry.

The younger woman had her hair dyed into a shocking pink. But it looked perfect with the makeup she wore. Fiona had to blink a few times.

She could have sworn that Euphemia despised to look so, slutty.

The woman's hips rolled in an exaggerated way as she approached.

Fiona's eyes were drawn to those hips as the secretary moved, the way her body rolled and twisted had her licking her lips, unconsciously, her hand already reaching for the tube of lipstick that was always with her.

"Good morning, bitch," the woman said in a breathy tone that sounded strange to the older woman.

She nodded, her thoughts a whirlwind of confused ideas. "Thank you, darling" she murmured softly.

A flicker of confusion appeared in Euphemia's eyes. But before another word left the secretary she reached into her brassiere and took out a familiar compact.

Fiona shivered. Something about these mirrors wad wrong. She had to - put another layer on her lips. That's all she really needed to do.

Both women looked at the mirror and then they were staring at each other's mouths. "My lips look too pale," said Euphemia in a low breathy voice. She reached for the lipstick. Fiona watched, fascinated as the younger woman's tongue flicked over those black lips. Fiona felt an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss them. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. What had just happened? She couldn't quite remember.

"You're looking like a fine fuck, bitch" the secretary purred as she put her compact away and Fiona's eyes returned to those painted black lips, mesmerized. "We'll need you looking your best for today's meeting."

"Of course, darling," Fiona replied distractedly. "We need to look the best for Giselle."

Euphemia smiled and licked those lips again, a gesture which sent shivers down Fiona's spine. The older woman had no idea what she was doing, or why, but the thought was so appealing she could not help herself. As Euphemia turned to leave, Fiona caught her wrist.

Euphemia raised her eyebrow inquisitively and glanced at Fiona.

"I-I want to taste," Fiona began, but the rest of her sentence was lost in the soft press of the other woman's lips.

Their tongues tangled together in an exquisite dance. Euphemia sucked on her lips greedily, leaving her breathless and weak in the knees. When they broke the kiss, Euphemia giggled at the expression of pure bliss that crossed the older woman's face. She traced her fingers over the swollen, red lips and grinned wickedly. "Now you have to do all the makeup again, bitch." The thought seemed to send shivers through the older woman and Fiona smiled widely. The prospect of reapplying makeup seemed positively thrilling.

Euphemia giggled again and turned to leave the office, her hips rolling in a seductive sway.

Fiona returned to the compact mirror and stared into its depths.

Without thoughts she started applying layers and layers of makeup to her face, painting over everything unseemly.

***

Giselle looked at the two women who had entered her little corner of the business.

They were a treat to the eye. Fiona had a body that had aged like a fine wine. Her curves, her long legs and that magnificent cleavage. Her face had been covered with layers of makeup that made her look delicious. And definitely more like a slutty parody of her usual professional self.

Giselle could feel herself getting aroused by just looking at her.

Then there was Euphemia. That young, vibrant creature with the perfect little ass and her perky breasts, just asking to be played with, looked like she stepped right out of some punk or goth porn. All black makeup, black clothes and a shock of pink hair.

Giselle didn't think that her compacts would be that strong. Or maybe she had underestimated the desire in those women to look more slutty. To become the perfect playthings for her and her clients.

"There are going to be some changes around here," Giselle said with her sweetest smile.

"What kind of changes?" asked Fiona. Her eyes were slightly unfocused as if she had been drinking all day. A strand of saliva ran down the side of her mouth. She giggled as she wiped at it with a fingertip. "We've been busy."

"Yes, I know. You've worked hard." Giselle's voice dripped honey and venom in equal measure. "And that's exactly why change is needed. First, Fiona, I want every employee to have a compact."

"I'll make sure everyone gets one." The woman nodded obediently, licking her lips.

Giselle's eyes sparkled dangerously. She turned her gaze to Euphemia, who was standing quietly next to her. "Second point, Euphemia, I want some changes done to the internal messaging system. It should reflect our new business model: Luscious Lips and Slutty Sex," Giselle announced grandly. Her voice had a lilting quality to it that seemed to mesmerize the two women before her.

"Yes, mistress." The young woman smiled, licking her lips. Her tongue flicked over them suggestively.

"And finally," Giselle's eyes narrowed slightly. "You two tarts are making me wet. I need some, entertainment." Her hand slipped down between her thighs.

Euphemia and Fiona exchanged looks, then nodded in unison. Their expressions became lascivious and hungry as they knelt before her.

Giselle smiled wickedly, spreading her legs wider. "Good girls." Her hand dipped beneath the waistband of her panties, finding the wet warmth within. "Let's begin, shall we?"

"Yes, Mistress." The two women spoke simultaneously, their voices dripping with lust.

Giselle leaned back, enjoying the marks their plump pillow lips left on her flesh.

Kyle stared. "You're the genie?"

"Did I stutter?" Lexi rolled her eyes—actually rolled them, like he was the idiot here. "Yes, I'm the genie. What, you expected some big blue guy with Robin Williams energy? Ew. This isn't 1992, grandpa. We rebranded."

She snapped her fingers and a phone appeared in her hand. She started scrolling, barely looking at him.

"So, like, what do you want? Make it quick. I have, like, other clients." She didn't look up. "And before you ask for more wishes—no. That's, like, the most basic bitch wish. Be original."

Kyle sat up, suddenly interested. A hot genie who could grant wishes? This was—

"I wish women could see me for who I really am."

Lexi stopped scrolling. She looked up. And then—slowly, deliberately—she smiled.

It wasn't a nice smile.

"Oh my god," she breathed, and her eyes lit up with something that looked almost like hunger. "That is, like, such a good wish."

"Yeah?"

"Yessss." She popped her gum, leaning forward, and her tits strained against the PRINCESS shirt. "You want them to really see you? Not just the cock? Not just the muscles? You want them to see the real Kyle?"

"Exactly." Kyle nodded, feeling validated for the first time in weeks. "Finally, someone gets it."

"Baby, I totally get it." Lexi stood up, stretching, and her crop top rode up to show a flat, tanned stomach with a tiny diamond piercing. "You know what your problem is, Kyle?"

"What?"

She stepped closer. Close enough that he could smell her—vanilla and something sweeter, something that made his head swim. She leaned down, her lips inches from his ear.

"You think you're the main character." She giggled, breath warm against his skin. "But you're not. You're, like, barely a supporting role."

"What the fuck is that supposed to—"

"Shh." She pressed a pink nail to his lips. "I've got you, bestie. I'm gonna give you exactly what you asked for."

She snapped her fingers.

Pink smoke exploded around him, and Lexi's laughter echoed in his ears—high and bratty and cruel.

"Good luck with your new life, loser! 💋"

---

Kyle woke up to the worst feeling of his life.

Something was wrong. His crotch felt—light. Empty. He reached down, half-asleep, and his hand found—

Nothing.

Not nothing. But close.

Kyle threw back the covers and stared down at his dick. Or what was left of it. His beautiful, perfect, ten-inch monster was gone. In its place was the most pathetic little nub he'd ever seen—maybe an inch, if he was generous, poking out from his pubic hair like a frightened worm.

"LEXI!" he screamed. "LEXI, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?"

Pink smoke curled from nowhere, and suddenly she was there again—sitting on his desk, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone.

"Ugh, what?" She didn't look up. "I'm busy."

"Look at me!"

She glanced over. Looked down at his crotch. And burst out laughing.

"Oh my god," she wheezed, slapping her thigh. "It's so tiny. It's like—like a little baby carrot. That is, like, hilarious."

"You took my cock!"

"I did not." She hopped off the desk, still giggling, and bent down to examine his micro-dick with theatrical fascination. "I granted your wish, bestie. You wanted women to see you for who you really are." She straightened up, popping her gum. "So I took away the thing that was distracting them. You're welcome."

"That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Okay, but that's what you said." She shrugged, examining her nails again. "Words have, like, consequences. Didn't your English 101 teach you anything?"

"Take it back! Give me my cock back!"

"Um, no?" She looked at him like he'd asked her to do calculus. "I literally said no take-backs. It's, like, the first thing I told you. Were you not listening?"

"I wasn't—I didn't think—"

"Clearly." She rolled her eyes. "Look, Kyle. You wanted women to see the real you. And the real you?" She leaned in, smiling sweetly. "Is a guy with a tiny dick who has nothing to offer. No personality. No charm. Just a big cock and an ego problem. And now..." She reached down and flicked his micro-dick with one pink nail. "You don't even have the cock."

She was gone before he could respond.

---

Across the room, Eric's bed was empty. Must've gone for early classes.

Kyle's phone buzzed. A text from Kaylee, the Tri-Delt who'd been begging him to come over:

hey big boy, still want to come over tonight? 😏

Big boy. The words mocked him.

---

Eric came home that afternoon, and Kyle knew immediately that something was different.

The nerd walked differently. Shoulders back. Chin up. There was a bulge in his jeans that—holy shit—looked like he was hiding a fucking cucumber in there.

"Kyle," Eric said, and even his voice was deeper. Richer. "What's up, man?"

"What the fuck happened to you?"

Eric smirked—actually smirked, the confident bastard—and dropped his backpack on his bed. "I don't know, man. Woke up feeling... different. Like everything just clicked." He adjusted himself through his jeans, and Kyle heard the unmistakable sound of something heavy shifting. "Really different."

He knew then what Lexi had done. She'd given Eric his cock. She'd swapped them!

Kyle watched his former nerd roommate stretch, his new bulk straining against his too-tight shirt, and felt something he'd never felt before.

Insignificance.

---

The first time Kyle heard Eric fucking a girl, it was Kaylee.

Of course it was Kaylee.

She'd come over looking for Kyle, but Eric had answered the door shirtless—showing off his new body, the one that had apparently come with muscles and the ten-inch cock that used to belong to Kyle—and within ten minutes she was in Eric's bed.

"Oh my god—"

Kyle sat on his own bed, back against the wall, listening to every sound through the thin dorm wall.

"Eric—fuck—you're so fucking BIG—"

The same words. The same fucking words she would've said to him. But now she was saying them to Eric. To the nerd who'd never even kissed a girl until today.

Kyle looked down at his tiny dick—hard now, all one pathetic inch of it—and wrapped his fingers around it. His thumb and forefinger overlapped. He started to stroke, but there was barely anything to grip.

In the next room, Kaylee was screaming. "Don't stop—oh god—don't ever stop—"

Kyle came in thirty seconds. A single, watery drop that oozed out of his micro-dick and pooled on his stomach.

He lay there, listening to Eric make Kaylee cum three more times, and for the first time in his life, Kyle Mitchell felt what it was like to be a nobody.

---

He tried summoning Lexi again.

He opened the app, typed I WISH TO UNDO MY WISH, and hit send.

Pink smoke. She appeared, sitting on his pillow, filing her nails.

"No."

"I didn't even ask yet!"

"You were going to." She blew on her nails. "And the answer's no. You got one wish. You used it. That's, like, the rules."

"You twisted my words!"

"Um, I interpreted your words." She looked up, smirking. "There's a difference. You said you wanted women to see the real you. I made it so the real you is all there is." She hopped off the bed, stretching. "You're welcome, by the way. Most people don't get to be so... authentic."

"I hate you."

"Aww." She patted his cheek, her pink nails scraping lightly against his stubble. "That's, like, so not my problem." She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "But between you and me? This is way more entertaining than giving you what you actually wanted."

She vanished, leaving only the scent of bubblegum and the sound of her laughter.

---

It got worse.

Within a week, Eric was the new king of Sigma Chi. Girls who'd ignored him for three years were suddenly finding excuses to "study" in his room. Brittany. Madison. That hot redhead from Pi Phi whose name Kyle could never remember. They all wanted a turn with the nerd's new equipment.

And Kyle?

Kyle was invisible.

"Hey, have you seen Eric?" Brittany asked, poking her head into their room. She looked right through Kyle like he was furniture.

"He's at the gym," Kyle muttered.

"Ugh, thanks!" She bounced away, and Kyle caught her texting someone—probably spreading the word about Eric's cock like it was the second coming.

Nobody wanted Kyle anymore. Why would they? He was still decent-looking, sure, but without the cock, he was just another frat bro with nothing to offer. Girls didn't laugh at his jokes anymore. They didn't pretend to care about his opinions. They didn't even look at him.

One night, drunk and desperate, he tried to hit on a sophomore at a party. She looked at his crotch—always the crotch first—and then back up at his face.

"Sorry," she said, not even trying to hide her disappointment. "You're, like... not my type."

She walked away. Toward Eric.

---

A month later, Kyle was sitting in his room—always in his room now, since he had nowhere else to go—listening to Eric pound some freshman named Tiff.

"Yes—yes—YES—" Tiff was screaming, and the headboard was slamming against the wall so hard the pictures were shaking.

Kyle's tiny dick was hard again. It was always hard now—pathetic and desperate and completely useless. He wrapped his fingers around it and started stroking, his other hand cupping his shriveled little balls.

In the next room, Eric laughed. "You like that, slut?"

"Love it—oh god—I love your big cock—"

Kyle came. One drop. Watery and sad.

He lay there in the dark, listening to Tiff cum for the third time, and thought about the wish. About what he'd really wanted. About how he'd thought "seeing him for who he really was" meant they'd appreciate his personality.

But Lexi knew the truth.

Who Kyle really was—under the cock, under the confidence, under the swagger—was just another insecure little boy with nothing to offer.

And now everyone could see it.

---

Pink smoke curled at the edge of his vision.

"Hey, loser."

Kyle didn't even flinch anymore. "What do you want, Lexi?"

She was sitting on his desk again, legs crossed, sucking on a lollipop—cherry red, matching her nails. She looked... satisfied. Like a cat who'd caught a particularly entertaining mouse.

"Just checking in." She pulled the lollipop out with a pop. "How's the whole 'being seen for who you really are' thing working out?"

"Fuck you."

"Pass." She swung her legs, looking around the room with that same disgusted expression. "You know, I've done, like, a lot of wishes. And yours was, like, top five most satisfying to grant." She smiled—sweet and vicious. "You really thought you were something special, didn't you? You thought if they just looked past the cock, they'd see some deep, interesting guy underneath."

She hopped down and walked over to him, her heels clicking on the floor. She bent down, her face inches from his.

"But there's nothing there, Kyle. Under the cock, you're just... empty. A pretty shell with nothing inside." She patted his cheek. "And now everyone knows it."

She was gone before he could respond.

---

Kyle sat alone in the dark, his tiny dick soft and useless in his hand, listening to the sounds of his roommate—his roommate—fucking the girl who should've been his.

And somewhere, in whatever dimension bratty genies lived, Lexi was filing her nails and thinking about how delightfully entertaining the whole thing had been.

The gauntlet slid onto her hand like it had been made for her. Cold became warm. Warm became right. Power hummed through her bones—ancient, patient, hungry.

"Bette!" Mira scrambled forward. "Take it off! Please!"

"Stop—" Bette's voice caught. The gauntlet tightened. Not painfully. Possessively. "Stop telling me what to do."

The door exploded inward.

The thing that entered had been a woman once. Maybe. Now it was grey flesh and exposed ribs and eyes that burned with mindless hunger. It lunged at Bette with a shriek—

And she caught it by the throat.

Without thinking. Without effort.

The creature thrashed in her grip. She could feel its dead pulse against her palm. Could feel the wrongness of it—and deeper still, the thread of dark magic that animated it. A thread that led back to something. Someone.

Back to her.

"Easy," she murmured. The creature went limp. Obedient. "That's it. Good girl."

Mira made a sound like she'd been punched. "Bette... your eyes..."

Bette turned. The tomb's dim light caught her face—and the cold, cruel smile spreading across it.

"What about them?"

"They're... they're black, Bette. Completely black. Please—you have to take that thing off—"

Another creature appeared in the doorway. Then another. Then three more. A whole horde of dead things pouring into the tomb, surrounding them both—

Bette raised her hand.

They stopped. Every single one. Frozen mid-shamble, heads bowed like penitents before an altar.

They're mine, she realised. All of them. The whole labyrinth. Every dead thing in it.

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her. Somewhere that hadn't existed five minutes ago. It spilled out—high and wild and wrong.

"Bette!" Mira grabbed her arm. "Bette, please! This isn't you!"

"Isn't it?" Bette looked at her friend—really looked at her. Mira: small and soft and scared. Always scared. Always following, never leading. Never taking. "Maybe this is who I always was. Maybe I just needed—"

She reached for the second gauntlet.

"—permission."

"BETTE!"

The metal sang as it slid home. Both hands now. Both arms wrapped in black iron that pulsed with something like a heartbeat. Something like desire.

She reached for the breastplate.

Don't, some small voice whispered—the Bette who'd been afraid of everything. The Bette who'd hidden behind Mira's shadow. The Bette who'd never been anyone at all. Don't do this. You're still yourself. You can still—

The breastplate clicked into place.

Mmmmmh.

Her spine cracked. Lengthened. Her body stretched like taffy pulled over flame—five-six, five-eight, six feet, six-two, six-six—as her skeleton rewrote itself. Her hips popped and widened with a wet sound. Her breasts swelled against the cold metal, flesh overflowing the edges of her now-perfectly-fitted armour. Her hair darkened from mousy brown to black as midnight, spilling over her shoulders in a cascade that seemed to drink the dim light.

Her skin went pale as marble. Her lips went red as sin.

"Gods," Mira breathed. "Bette... you're..."

"I'm not Bette anymore." Her voice had changed—deeper, richer, a sound that could command armies or break hearts. She ran her hands down her new body, feeling the impossible curves, the strength coiled in every inch. "Bette died in this tomb. Something better crawled out."

She picked up the greaves. The faulds. Each piece clicked into place like a key in a lock—and with each one, another piece of Bette crumbled away. Another inch of fear replaced by certainty. Another scrap of kindness consumed by hunger.

The iron crown sat on the plinth where the gauntlets had been. Simple. Brutal. A circle of black metal with points like thorns.

Mira threw herself forward. "No! I won't let you—"

Bette caught her by the throat with one armoured hand. Lifted her off her feet without effort.

"Let me?" She tilted her head, studying her former friend like a bug. "You were never in a position to let me do anything, little mouse. You just didn't know it."

"Bette..." Mira clawed at the iron grip. Tears streamed down her face. "Please... I love you... you're my best friend..."

Something flickered in those black eyes. A ghost of the girl who'd held Mira's hand when they were children. Who'd shared bread and secrets and dreams of escaping their nothing village.

Love, the ghost whispered. Friendship. Don't you remember—

Bette placed the crown on her head.

The ghost screamed once and fell silent.

"Love," the Bitch Queen repeated, tasting the word like wine turned to vinegar. "How quaint."

She squeezed.

The crack echoed through the tomb like thunder.

Mira's body dropped to the floor—limp, broken, dead. The Queen studied it for a moment, then extended her hand. Dark magic pulsed—a thread of power connecting her to every corpse in the labyrinth.

Mira's eyes opened. Black as her Queen's. Empty. Waiting.

"Rise, my sweet." The Queen smiled. "You'll serve me better this way."

---

They came at midnight.

The town slept soundly behind its wooden walls, dreaming safe little dreams in safe little beds. No one saw the dead things pouring from the cemetery gates. No one heard the rattle of bones and the shuffle of rotting feet.

No one except the Queen.

She rode at the head of her army—not walking, but carried. A throne of bones and black iron borne aloft by a dozen shambling corpses. Her armour gleamed in the moonlight. Her crown drank the stars. Dark magic crackled around her like lightning, like hunger, like destiny.

The first scream came from the east gate.

Then the north.

Then everywhere at once.

The Bitch Queen threw back her head and laughed—wild and free and evil—as the town that had never mattered began to burn.

She was the Queen now.

And everyone would know it.

Neither of them had been expecting company.

She glanced across the living room toward Yuriko, who sat curled on the couch with a glass of iced tea balanced on her knee.

"Did you order something?" Christina asked.

Yuriko looked equally confused.

"No."

The answer came immediately.

Christina shrugged. Probably a delivery for another apartment. Mistakes happened all the time. Still, someone had to answer the door.

She rose from her chair and crossed the apartment. The steady clack of her heels echoed through the hallway.

The sound made her smile despite herself.

She still wasn't entirely sure why she owned the shoes. Or why both she and Yuriko had somehow ended up dressed as though they were headed for a high-end nightclub rather than spending a quiet evening at home.

Yet somehow neither of them had questioned it very much. Christina certainly hadn't. The fitted dress looked fantastic on her. The heels made her feel confident.

And if the outfit happened to draw attention whenever she went outside? That wasn't exactly a downside. The thought brought another faint smile to her lips.

She reached the apartment door and unlocked it.

The moment it opened, a powerful odor drifted inside.

Christina recoiled instinctively.

The smell was awful. Stale sweat and old clothes mixed with a sour stench. Her hand immediately began pushing the door closed again. Then a rough, unpleasant voice spoke.

The man standing in the hallway said something.

Christina couldn't quite make out the words.

For a brief moment she wondered if he had an accent. Or perhaps the hallway's acoustics distorted the sound.

Whatever the reason, the sentence reached her ears strangely.

Fragments arrived. Pieces without meaning. Yet somehow the tone carried through perfectly. Warm. Gentle. Reassuring.

The sensation hit her unexpectedly.

Like sinking into a comfortable chair after a long day.

The urge to slam the door vanished.

The tension in her shoulders eased. Confusion flickered through her. That didn't make any sense.

The man looked exactly like the sort of stranger she normally avoided. Yet the calm spreading through her chest felt undeniable.

Behind her, Yuriko called out.

"Who is it?"

Christina opened her mouth. For a second she wasn't sure how to answer.

Because despite staring directly at the visitor, she suddenly realized she couldn't clearly remember what he looked like.

Only that listening to him felt strangely pleasant.

The man spoke again.

And this time Christina found herself nodding along.

"Just a delivery I forgot," she called back over her shoulder.

A hand grabbed her breasts. The motion startled her. The stranger had moved so quietly and quickly she never even realized it.

He squeezed hard. Fingers digging in.

A gasp wanted to escape her, but as she inhaled the strong musk overwhelmed her senses. Her eyes fluttered for a moment as a warm rush passed through her. She arched her back and pushed her chest into the hands groping her body.

The door clicked shut.

The sound was far away. Distant.

His voice flowed through her again. She nodded as her mouth fell open. A soft sigh emerged.

His fingers plucked her nipples. The stiff peaks ached from how hard they were. Her pussy felt the same. The thong she wore rubbed between puffy, swollen lips.

Her cunt felt soaked. Needy. Aching.

The man's hands left her breasts and dropped to his fly.

Christina blinked slowly.

The sight barely seemed real to her.

She was standing in her own hallway. Letting herself get groped.

The situation should have been shocking. Distressing.

Instead it all felt perfect. Right. As though it were exactly where she should be. What she should be doing.

The visitor spoke again. She sank to her knees, mouth wide open.

The thick, throbbing cock bobbing in front of her face looked deliciously suckable. The musk coming from it nearly made her swoon. She leaned forward.

Her lips closed over the shaft and began slowly bobbing. She swirled her tongue over the tip and felt her mouth water in anticipation. She moaned softly.

Her hand dropped down. Slipped between her legs. Fingers began rubbing. The slick material covering her soaked cunt clung to her body.

The visitor said something.

Christina bobbed eagerly, pushing the shaft deep into her throat.

Her fingers pressed more urgently. Rubbing her throbbing clit. Pleasure built in her core. She moaned around the cock stuffed in her mouth. Her lips and tongue worshipped the shaft. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked greedily.

The visitor's hands found her head. He pushed his length further down her throat. His voice sounded in her ears, praising her skillfully slutty cocksucking.

She whimpered happily around his shaft.

The man thrust into her mouth without care. His voice filled the apartment with warm reassurance.

She couldn't make sense of his words. The more he spoke, the less she cared. She wanted to keep sucking him. To make him feel good. Her tongue caressed and worshipped him as he used her.

It seemed like an eternity of bliss. The shaft plunged in and out, making her jaw ache. Her mouth felt wonderfully full.

Her hand pressed between her legs. She rubbed and rubbed, her fingers slipping under the sodden material and into her sopping pussy.

Thick warmth filled her. Splattered her throat. The cum hit her taste buds. Her tongue tried to wrap around the cock pumping the hot, salty liquid into her belly.

She swallowed repeatedly. Trying not to lose a single drop. She sucked on the throbbing length. Eager to please. Her fingers rubbed harder.

Her hips began twitching.

The visitor spoke. Christina moaned in despair around the thick shaft. His words demanded she did not cum.

Her body shook. She desperately tried to ignore her throbbing cunt. The heat built in her core, and her clit ached.

He left her mouth with a loud pop. And left her trembling on her knees in the entrance. She couldn't move. She only heard Yuriko's surprised gasp. And listened how it transformed into a desperate moan. Christina's hand was trapped in her panties, still teasing her aching slit.

She heard how Yuriko's body landed on the table. And how he entered her from behind. How he fucked her. How Yuriko moaned as her ass was claimed by the stranger.

"Please," Christina whimpered quietly. "Please. Please."

Her cunt twitched and ached. Begging to release. But she couldn't allow it. Not until she had permission.

Yuriko's screams of pleasure reached her ears.

"Please."

The visitor's voice said something, but she couldn't hear the words clearly over Yuriko's loud whines and moans of ecstasy. But the tone was clear. Yuriko couldn't cum either.

He fucked Yuriko for what felt like an eternity. The sounds were maddening. She wanted to be fucked like that too. Her pussy felt like it was on fire.

The noises stopped abruptly.

Trembling Christina stood up. She sashayed back into the living room. Her hand still between her legs.

There she saw Yuriko. Bend over the table. Cum dripped out of her used asshole.

The visitor sat in the armchair. His cock glistening.

His lips moved. And Christina's world grew dark.

***

Christina and Yuriko both jumped slightly as the doorbell rang. Their kiss broken, only a thick string of saliva connecting them, the two lovers blinked and looked at each other. The sound of their heavy breathing filled the otherwise quiet living room. They looked confused, unsure if they had heard the doorbell at all, as though it didn't quite belong to reality.

The bell rang again and this time there was no denying it.

"Did you order something?" asked Christina as she reached for a strap of her top.

Yuriko shook her head and looked towards the front door. Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused, and a small line of saliva dribbled down from the corner of her mouth.

"No," she replied, "I don't know who it could be."

Christina shrugged. It was probably just a delivery guy, but someone had to answer it.

"I'll be right back, babe." she said before giving Yuriko a peck on the cheek and standing up from the couch. As she walked to the front door, the soft click-clacking sound of her high-heeled sandals echoed in the empty apartment. It made her feel sexy and slutty. It always did.

Neither Yuriko nor her wore anything else other than a skimpy lingerie, and Christina knew her lover liked it that way. She reached for the door and opened it with a smile, expecting to find the delivery man holding some random package that didn't belong to them, but her smile froze when a strong sour stench claimed her mind. It was the stench of sweat, grime and musk.

It was the smell of their owner.

Without hesitation she fell to her knees. Mouth open and ready. Tongue sticking out and hands behind her back, just as she had been taught. Just like a proper whore.

The Master spoke. The words made no sense. She could hear the tones and inflections of words, but the meaning of what he said eluded her. It was alright though, she didn't really care. It wasn't important, she was a fucktoy, a cum dumpster. It didn't matter if she understood his words, only that she obeyed.

Without a pause his throbbing shaft thrust into her cunt-mouth. Christina eagerly closed her lips around the shaft and moaned as she began to suck.

It felt wonderful. The thick length of meat pushed deep into her throat, the girthy shaft bulging out her throat obscenely. Her Master grabbed her head and started fucking it like a pussy. Christina loved it. It made her feel useful, like a proper fucktoy. Her purpose was to please him, after all, to serve him in any way he wished.

Christina could feel her Master's cock swelling up as she slurped it. Her tongue lashed and licked all over it, as the fat cock head pushed further and further down her slutty throat. Christina knew what was going to happen. The moment of pure bliss when she could finally swallow down his salty spunk was almost there.

His glorious seed filled her up. It flooded her throat and mouth and dribbled out from her lips to stain her pretty lingerie top.

She swallowed what she could, her eyes rolled back from the pure pleasure of serving, and then he withdrew. His shaft popped out from her lips, splattering her face with cum, and leaving her kneeling there with an aching, empty pussy-mouth and a desperate desire for more. Her Master walked past her and went straight to Yuriko. Christina remained kneeling there, a smile on her cum covered face.

Her lover didn't even have a chance to say anything before he had her bend over the table.

Her screams were like music. They were the screams of a proper fuckdoll in use. A cock-sleeve that served its Master to perfection.

Christina listened to them intently as she drooled down the rest of her top.

She didn't notice how long Yuriko pleased their owner. But once Christina heard him finish, she rose and walked to the living room. There, Yuriko laid bent over the table with cum dribbling down from her asshole.

The Master looked at her as she approached him.

His cock stood proud, throbbing and covered in juices, just as she liked. Christina didn't say a thing, she just fell to her knees, and with the same position as before, took that cock in her throat. His words flowed through her. And her world grew dark.

***

Christina and Yuriko both jumped slightly as the doorbell rang. Thick strands of saliva connected their lips. Christina groped one last time at the heavy, round breasts of her girlfriend before the two women separated from the couch. The two lovers blinked and looked at each other confused as the sound of their heavy breathing filled the living room.

"Did you order something?" Christina breathed, naked, plastic filled globes bounced and swayed. The woman grabbed her heels from the side and slipped them on her feet, transforming into the perfect example of a slut.

Yuriko shook her head as her chest rose and fell with her breaths, the round melons moving up and down rhythmically. "No, I don't know who it could be." she replied, her eyes glazed over, barely focused on reality.

Squeezing one last time Yuriko's fake boobs, Christina stood up. Her nine-inch heeled boots clicked loudly as she left the living room.

The doorbell rang once again. "I'll be right back, babe," she called to Yuriko. Christina strode confidently down the hall, her hips swaying, and her fake tits jiggling with every step. She loved the slutty, artificial look of her body, and so did her girlfriend. Reaching for the door, Christina unlocked and opened it.

Her owner's glorious fragrance hit her nose and mind instantly.

She fell to her knees without a thought, mouth open and ready. Tongue sticking out and hands behind her back, just as a proper cumdumpster.

He used her well trained cum hole with vigor. A well placed cock stuffed her mouth to the brim and her lips wrapped themselves tightly around his veiny shaft.

His voice was heavenly as he called her a dirty fuckhole, and a slutty cocksheath. And the warm, viscous, sticky cum filled her cunt-mouth, just as he called her his perfect cocksucker.

She could not be happier. It was pure bliss. He was using her as a fucktoy should be used. She had a place in this world, she had a reason for being, and that reason was to pleasure her master.

With a loud pop he left her cunt mouth and walked into the apartment.

She intendly listened as her lover's moaning and squealing filled the room.

Her cunt twitched and ached with every sound of flesh slapping flesh, every scream of blissful agony as Yuriko was pounded into oblivion. It drove her wild. Her nipples stood on full attention. And the throbbing need in her loins grew with each passing second.

When Yuriko's beautiful song of submission ended, Christina stood up.

Her heels clicked as she entered the room. There on the couch Yuriko lay with her ass in the air and cum leaking from her gaping asshole.

Her owner was sitting in his favorite chair, the cum-covered cock bobbing with every heartbeat. And Christina knew exactly what to do.

She knelt between his spread legs. And started to rub her tits around the throbbing shaft. She pushed the fat cock between her massive mounds and used her fake breasts to massage and pleasure her owner.

She was in heaven.

His shaft throbbed as she squeezed it between her tits.

She loved the feel of it as she stroked it and lapped at the tip with every thrust.

The smell, taste, and texture of it drove her mad with lust.

And the knowledge that she could bring her owner pleasure, filled her with an indescribable sense of happiness and fulfillment.

She looked into his dark empty eyes as his mouth moved. And her world grew dark.

***

Christina stood in front of the apartment door with an empty smile. She knew that on a couch in the living room sat Yuriko with a similar expression.

She couldn't remember when the last time was they said anything to each other. Or left their home for anything else but finding inferior dick to suck and fuck.