⭒ marz! ⭒

you turn briefly to be greeted with the sight of your girlfriend dressed in one of your band tees, about two sizes too large on her, manicured nails tracing the back of your neck.

instinctively, your hand reaches out to squeeze at her waist, a smile taking over your face. "black ops," you respond, half-focused on the screen, but daniela's eyes never leave your face. "i gotta show megan how much she sucks, then i'll be with you, baby."

megan's infuriated response gets lost in translation as daniela leans down, a soft hand tilting your chin up, sealing your lips in a breathtaking kiss. you sigh into the kiss, game momentarily forgotten.

"babe," you mumble as you pull away first, dani regarding you with a cocked brow. "five minutes, okay?" you ask softly.

"five minutes my fuckin' ass," megan interrupts loudly, and you nearly jump. "can you stop whoring out for your girl for one moment, because you're literally about to die."

"shit!" you curse, swivelling around to see that you're on critically low health. for the next minute, you're fending for your life, managing to steal a kill somewhere in between.

a movement next to you catches your attention momentarily, and you freeze when you see your girlfriend literally crawl under your gaming desk. "dani," you warn, but she settles on her knees between your legs, humming playfully.

against your will, the sight makes your cock twitch in your boxers, and daniela has a second sense for these things, because she smiles devilishly as she strokes the growing bulge in your pants.

"something wrong, baby?" she asks, batting her lashes, and you swallow tightly, throat drying up. this was a challenge. and oh, you were once again so susceptible.

you clench your jaw, looking back up at the screen, continuing the game. you spot the first enemy ducking behind a pile of rubble, and a clean headshot ends their brief lifespan.

daniela's face hovers dangerously close, and you swear you can feel her hot breath fanning your eager member.

with a lot more difficulty, you get up the stairs to sneak in on the enemy hideout, tanking some hits as your girlfriend rakes her nails down your tensed thighs. third kill.

just as you adjust uncomfortably in your seat, daniela wickedly tugs your boxers down fully, and you can't help the gasp that tears from your throat as your erect cock is suddenly freed.

your girthy length nearly slaps your girlfriend in the face. angrily red at the tip with veins protruding down to the base, daniela licks her lips with unbridled hunger.

"you okay?" megan asks, crackling over your headset.

"y-yeah." you answer with no lack of strain in your voice, a detail that doesn't go unnoticed by daniela.

as you aim for your final kill on the round, through the lens of your sniper, daniela wraps her molten-hot mouth around your tip.

you shoot. you miss.

"you suck!" megan roars, stealing your kill, while daniela actually sucks, sucks you off like she means it.

and she probably did, as you defeatedly slam your mute button down, throwing your head back as inch after inch disappears down your girlfriend's throat.

with only slight struggle, daniela hollows her cheeks and fully bottoms out on your cock. you can feel her throat constricting as your blunt head pushes deep.

she gags deliciously, eyes watering as your hand on the back of her head holds her head in place. daniela's nails dig into your thigh

"good girl," you sigh, spreading your legs wider to accommodate your girlfriend.

when she starts moving, head obediently bobbing up and down on your length, you fall into an abyss of pleasure.

all too soon, you're approaching your high at a dangerously fast pace, edged on by dani's insistent movements. you throw your head back as the orgasm hits.

"fuck!" you growl, as your girlfriend's lips wrap around your base, her nose pressing against your skin. your arch up, knees hitting the desk, and daniela's mouth follows. pulsations of your white liquid heat get swallowed down by her willing throat, pure tightness enveloping your every need.

"shit, shit, fuck," you groan, bending forward as the pleasure coils up in your lower belly, aftershocks rippling through your body.

with a slick 'pop' sound, daniela pulls back, looking up at you through lowered eyelids.

she looks like aphrodite incarnate, except in a downright scandalous state of debauchery: her pink-flushed cheeks still slightly hollowed out, lips parted but connected with a string of her saliva and your load, dark irises blown so wide that her hypnotising eyes look almost all black.

"look at the mess you've made, daddy," daniela purrs provocatively, hand still slowly pumping your girthy length, leaning forward to place a tender kiss on your swollen cockhead.

"mhm, all for you, princess" you answer lazily, grinning back a sleazy smile like you hadn't just finished deep down your girlfriend's throat.

you loosen your grip on her hair, briefly sagging into your chair. your still-hardened length seems to have other ideas, responding beautifully to daniela's relentless ministrations.

a notification ping causes you to look up at your computer, the game long lost and forgotten.

@m_skiendiel987 [9.12pm] ??? dude whered u go @m_skiendiel987 [9.12pm] u lost btw :P @m_skiendiel987 [9.19pm] ok i get it @m_skiendiel987 [9.27pm] say hi to dani for me @m_skiendiel987 [9.35pm] still?? UGH u lucky fucking bastard

you smirk, fingers flying over the keyboard to fire back a quick response. and then, you willingly get dragged away by your devastatingly, enchantingly, femme-fatale-esque girlfriend. to the bedroom, of course, where more sinful debauchery was sure to ensue.

@ilovemygffinalboss [9.38pm] ill text u tmr lil bro @m_skiendiel987 [9.38pm] FUCK YOU

Megan didn’t look like she belonged here; not in this bar that felt like a cathedral of temptation, all soft jazz and whispers that never reached the street. Not in the leather-wrapped hush of this bar, not under its gold-glow lights or tucked behind the polished wood counter like she isn’t made of calloused palms and restless eyes.

She’s not like the others—elegant, unbothered, all quiet confidence and curated smiles. She fumbles a bit, her posture wrong, her sleeves rolled too high, exposing too much tension in her forearms. Her eyes darted too often, as if afraid to look for too long at anything or anyone.

But it was obvious to anyone who paid enough attention that she knew how to make a drink. Her hands, despite their stiffness, poured with muscle memory. Her tie was always neat. She kept her head down, worked her shifts, and went home.

And then you came in; sinful black dress, rings that caught the light, and your laughter soft as sin. Megan barely noticed she’d stopped wiping the counter until the rag in her hand had dried stiff.

“Hey,” you said, sliding into your seat like you owned it, not because you did but because you knew the owner well, “New face.”

Megan blinked and swallowed hard, “Uh. Yeah. First week.”

You tilted your head, “You good at it?”

She gave a half-nod, “I try to be.”

Your smile was slow, “Make me a Negroni, then. Heavy on the Campari.”

Megan turned, grateful for the excuse to look away. But even with her back to you, she could feel it—the way your eyes tracked her movements, undressing her with nothing but curiosity. Her hands fumbled with the gin bottle. She had to breathe through her nose just to keep steady.

You weren’t flirting. You were just… talking. But your voice was a hum under her skin, your perfume drifting through the air like a trap. Her slacks grew tight. She adjusted behind the counter, subtly, praying you wouldn’t notice.

“Negroni,” she said, sliding the drink to you. Your fingers brushed hers. Her heart stuttered.

You raised the glass, “Looks good.”

Megan’s cheeks burned, “Thanks.”

She spun around too fast, leaving her station. Megan walked past the kitchen, into the back hallway, down to the staff restroom and slammed the door shut behind her like the sound might erase the way her body was aching.

She fumbled her belt open like she was on fire.

Her cock sprang free, flushed and throbbing, the thick length jutting out angrily against the cool air. Her uniform pants had been torture, restraining the hunger of her friend the second she laid eyes on you.

Now, standing alone in that dim-lit bathroom, Megan braced one hand against the sink and wrapped the other around herself, squeezing hard. Her eyes squeezed shut.

You. She needed to picture you. Your mouth forming words like Campari. The ghost of your perfume. The silk of your voice. The way your dress had dipped just low enough to reveal the valley of your breasts.

She stroked hard, frantic, teeth clenched behind her palm to keep the sounds in. Her hips bucked forward, rhythm uneven. The pressure was unbearable, need pressing at every nerve.

Megan came with a muffled groan, her body curling forward, cum spilling hot into her palm as her thighs trembled. The kind of orgasm that leaves you gasping and empty, and no less obsessed.

She cleaned up in silence as shame coiled in her gut like smoke.

Days passed. She hadn’t seen you again. And then—there you were. She was already clocked out, her apron’s gone, but she’s still hanging around, still pretending she’s not hoping for another glimpse. And just as she manifested, there you stood in all your glory.

Tonight, you were radiant. Glossed lips, golden skin, some expensive-looking cocktail in hand, laughing softly with some acquaintances you probably just met. But your smile faded as a man approached. He leaned too close, clearly unwanted.

Megan didn’t waste time to think. She just moved. Your voice in her head again, ‘You good at it?’

“Might wanna back off,” she said to the man, voice a little lower than usual, trying to sound like someone who wins fights.

He turned, unimpressed. Megan’s heart pounded.

You turned to her, like you hadn’t even expected her to show up. Like this was a nice surprise. You gave her a quick once-over and leaned into her side, as if you’d done it a hundred times before.

“She’s my girlfriend,” you said smoothly.

Megan blinked, “I—”

The man scoffed, “Sure she is. Prove it.”

“I don’t have to prove anything,” Megan tried, her voice shaky.

And then you kissed her.

It was simple, sweet—too real to be fake. Her lips parted under yours like they’d been waiting, and you didn’t linger long. Just enough to pull back and say to the man, “Fir the record, that wasn’t for you. I just wanted to kiss my girlfriend.”

The guy stood there, unwavering, as if he’s still unconvinced.

Megan couldn’t move. You turned to her again, one brow raised, “Come with me.”

She let you pull her. She would’ve followed you anywhere.

The bathroom was dim and warm and close. You didn’t go far, just inside the doorway. The door left cracked open enough that anyone who passed might still catch a glimpse, just in case the man followed you to see if it was real.

So it didn’t look like a show; like you were proving something. It looked real.

And then your mouth was on hers again—harder, deeper. Her lips parted as if obediently waiting for your lips. Your tongue slipped in, slow and claiming. Megan melted at the sensation. Her hands hovered near your waist but didn’t dare grab. She was trembling.

You tasted like gin and salt and sin. Megan whimpered into your mouth, hips twitching forward like she couldn’t help it.

Her cock was pressed hard against you. Thick, alive, begging. She gasped when she realized you felt it.

Your eyes locked onto hers, predator calm, “Is this all from just one kiss?” you murmured.

Megan couldn’t speak. Her throat dried out. Her pupils were blown.

She tried to ask—tried to find the words. But her tongue was clumsy and her mind was a haze. She wanted more. Needed more. But how does one beg someone like you?

You were a patron. A rich one. She was a bartender. A nobody.

But the way you looked at her now, hand gliding down her back, your mouth ghosting her ear, it didn’t feel like roles anymore. It felt like she was yours.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d let her cum again. This time with her name in her mouth instead of yours on her own.

Your hand didn’t stop moving when you caught the press of her cock against your thigh. If anything, it slowed down, dragging lower, palming the weight of her through her slacks like she wasn’t even hard, like you had all the time in the world.

Megan’s breath hitched, her hips twitched forward, desperate, and you leaned in to kiss her again, not on the mouth this time.

Your lips found her neck instead. Warm, open-mouthed kisses trailed up the curve of her throat, just beneath her jaw. Then a gentle suck, enough to leave heat, not marks—not yet.

“You’re so hard for me,” you murmured, nails lightly scraping down the thick shape of her cock through her pants. She whimpered. The sound barely made it past her bitten lip.

You pressed your palm flat against her, then circled; it wasn’t tight nor was it fast, and it was definitely not enough. Just the edge of your nails dragging, slow spirals over the fabric. A tease. A promise.

“Bet you’re leaking already,” you whispered, your tongue flicking against her skin, “Poor thing.”

“I-I can’t—” Megan stammered, hands clenched at her sides. She was already shaking, “I’m gonna—”

You didn’t stop, “You’re gonna cum just like this?” you asked, voice soft, cruel, “Without me even touching your cock properly?”

She nodded, ashamed. Desperation was evident in Megan as she struggled to keep herself together.

Her thighs locked up as the tension in her hips snapped. The hot spill of her orgasm hit like a wave, her cock twitching violently as she came untouched, thick white fluid soaking straight through her uniform pants. No boxers to catch it. Just the embarrassing evidence of her ruined body seeping into the fabric.

You gasped teasingly then smiled, “You really did.”

Megan turned her head away. She was shaking with humiliation. But you didn’t let her hide.

You pressed your palm gently over the wet patch between her legs, rubbing softly over the outline of her cock as it throbbed beneath your touch. The cum was thick enough to seep through, visible even in the low light, staining the dark slacks with something pale and obvious.

“Look at this mess,” you whispered, “How long have you been going commando like a little perv?”

Her eyes fluttered shut.

You pinched the fabric between your fingers, where her cock tip had soaked it through, and collected a smear of her release between your thumb and index finger. The texture slick, still warm.

Then you licked it, slowly, savoring it right in front of her. Her knees buckled at the sight.

“That’s the best I’ve ever tasted from you,” you said, your voice laced with adoration, “Next time, I want it straight from the source.”

She looked at you like she was ready to cry, or drop to her knees, or both.

And you could have ended it there. Leave her flushed and dripping, undone in the bathroom of the bar she works in. A secret no one else would ever know.

Or…

You could press your lips to her ear and whisper, “We’re not done.”

Lead her outside. Hail a car.

Take her to the kind of hotel that doesn’t blink when a woman in a backless dress drags in a pretty thing with cum-stained slacks.

Because you want to see her face when you suck her cock properly. When she begs for permission to cum. When you fuck her and she tries, fails, to last more than a minute.

Megan didn’t remember how she got outside.

One minute she was pinned to the wall of a bathroom, her cock still twitching in the wet mess she’d made in her slacks. The next—your fingers were curling around her wrist, tugging her out through the back hallway, past confused glances from the staff. You didn’t rush. You didn’t explain.

You simply told her, “Come,” and she did obediently.

Now, the leather of the car seat was cold against her back, her ruined pants sticking slightly as you sat beside her like you hadn’t just made her cum from teasing alone. Your leg brushed hers once, then again, on purpose. She knew it. You hadn’t even looked at her, just stared out the window with that slow, unreadable grace.

Megan wanted to say something. Apologize? Thank you? Ask you what the fuck just happened?

But her brain was a mess, her heart in her throat, her cock already twitching again in the sticky aftermath of her own pathetic orgasm. And she was still so hard.

The hotel was a high-rise cathedral of wealth. Quiet, cold, curated. The staff didn’t blink when you entered with her in tow, didn’t flinch when they caught the outline of a stain darkening her pants.

You didn’t even bother hiding it. You walked with Megan like you owned her. Like they all should’ve been thanking you for bringing something so lewd into their marble-floored lobby.

Megan’s mouth was dry. Her hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting, ‘What the fuck am I doing here,’ she thought, ‘She’s rich. She’s a regular. I jerked off to her voice like a freak and now she’s—’

You turned to her in the elevator. Your hand cradled her cheek like something precious, and you kissed her again. Slower this time. More intimate. Her knees nearly gave out.

“You’re cumming again tonight,” you whispered, “And this time I want to hear it.”

The room was warm and expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows, thick velvet curtains, wine chilled in crystal. Megan stood awkwardly by the door, heart pounding, hands shaking, legs unsteady in the fabric of her shame.

You sat her down gently on the edge of the king-sized bed. Unbuckled her belt, peeled the ruined slacks from her thighs, slow and careful, and when her cock sprang free—flushed, sticky, dripping down her length—you looked up at her with something close to worship.

“You’re beautiful,” you said, and Megan almost cried.

Your lips didn’t start at her cock.

No. You pressed kisses to her thighs first. Her hipbones. Her stomach. Soft, deliberate worship that made her eyes roll back. Her fingers dug into the sheets. Her cock twitched helplessly in the air, smearing precum on her belly.

‘She’s not even touching it,’ Megan thought, visibly turned on, ‘So why does this feel better than jerking off?’

You took your time, licked into the crease where her thigh met her groin. Bit gently at the soft skin there. Your hands were firm, guiding, and her body responded like it had no will of its own.

When you finally wrapped your lips around the head of her cock, Megan gasped. Louder than she meant to. Her hips bucked. You didn’t pull away, you moaned around her, as though the taste of her was exactly what you needed.

Megan was shaking as your mouth slid down slowly. Taking her inch by inch, swallowing her like you’d done it before, like you’d dreamed of doing it. The wet heat of your throat made her brain go static.

She tried to warn you, “I—I can’t—fuck, I’m—”

You just grabbed her thighs and sucked. Deeper. And Megan broke.

She came with a sob. Her whole body seized as thick ropes of cum shot down your throat, and you didn’t stop, didn’t flinch. You swallowed her down like it was holy. She could feel your throat moving. Hear the desperate suck of your lips around her, as if you were starving.

“Fuck,” Megan gasped, her voice cracking, “I’m sorry—”

You pulled off with a pop, licking your lips, “Why are you apologizing?” you asked, breathless, “You taste divine.”

Then your hand wrapped around her softening cock, still sticky, and smeared her own cum up her shaft like you were moisturizing her with it.

“I told you,” you murmured, dragging your thumb through the mess, “next time I wanted it from the source.”

You kissed her stomach, her hips, her knees, “Good girl.”

And Megan? Megan forgot how to breathe.

“But you did cum in your pants,” you murmured, eyes raking slowly down her body as if you are assessing the girl. Megan flinched like she’d been slapped, “In the bathroom, Megan. Just from my fingers teasing you through fabric.”

Your tone wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was disbelief, almost amused, and that cut her deeper. Because it was true.

And then you added, “And again when I had your cock in my mouth for less than a minute. Baby…”

You clicked your tongue.

“I thought you liked this kind of thing. Being used. But you can’t even last long enough to enjoy it.”

Megan’s face flushed dark red. Her thighs squeezed together, involuntarily. Her cock, still sensitive, twitched against her belly again. She liked that tone and she hated how much.

She was already flushed when you leaned in close, hands warm, fingers gentle. You touched her like she was delicate, breakable. Like you adored her.

But the words out of your mouth said otherwise, “Let’s get this off you,” you cooed, fingers brushing the button of her shirt, “You look ridiculous wearing anything at all.”

Megan’s breath caught. She let you undo the first three buttons andpull her top up and over her head, arms obediently raised.

You smiled, “Good girl.”

Her cheeks burned. You trailed your fingers down her chest, not quite groping, just tracing her figure slowly before finally reaching to unclasp the bra that covered it.

“These little nipples are already hard,” you murmured, thumbing one lazily, “…Just from being looked at. You like being undressed, don’t you? You like when I talk about you like you’re my toy.”

Megan nodded shakily, her throat bobbed. You leaned in, lips brushing just beneath her ear, “Say it.”

“I… I like it,” she whispered.

You kissed her neck, then pulled back with a smirk, “Of course you do.”

You watched as her cock strained, flushed and twitching, sticky at the tip from how she’d already cum twice, “Oh baby…” You bit your lip, almost mocking sympathy, “Still hard? You really can’t help yourself.”

She shook her head.

“You came in your pants and in my mouth, and you’re still like this?” Your palm hovered over her cock, not touching, “You’re pathetic.”

A moan spilled from her lips before she could stop it.

“But you’re mine,” you added, softer, and that made her shiver. You dragged your knuckles down her thigh.

You stood at the edge of the bed, watching her. Megan was naked now, every inch of her exposed, cooling stickiness drying on her thighs. She didn’t dare move. She watched you instead.

“You’re lucky I like my girls ruined,” you murmured, “because you, Megan baby, are already halfway there.”

The way your dress clung to you, still. Satin and skin and sin. Your curves poured into it like a poured drink. That slit riding so high she could almost see the dark fabric of your underwear. She swallowed.

And then you reached for the hem of your panties, pulling them down slowly. The lace stretched, curled, and then slipped past your thighs, soaked through and glistening.

You placed them on the bed beside Megan’s head like an offering.

Megan’s mouth parted. Then she couldn’t help it, her eyes flicked between the damp fabric and the dripping cunt you dragged along her torso as you crawled onto her. Your thighs spread as you hovered above her. Skin to skin. Your wetness left trails on her stomach, and her breath hitched like she might sob from it.

You saw the way she looked. Desperate. Almost delirious.

Her eyes kept flicking back to the panties. Like a dog staring at food she wasn’t sure she was allowed to touch.

“Do you want it?” you asked, voice low. She nodded eagerly, “Please.”

You picked it up and handed it to her. Megan clutched the fabric like it was holy. She pressed it to her nose, inhaled like she’d never smelled anything so addictive, so intimate. Her eyes fluttered shut as her tongue darted out, tasting the wetness clinging to the lace.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. Your breath caught. She moaned into your underwear, and something inside you snapped.

You grabbed the fabric from her hands and tossed it aside. Then you grabbed her jaw and pulled her between your thighs, “Open.”

She did. You sat. At first, it was slow. You rode her face like you were tasting something new. Testing. Learning her mouth. Megan moaned into you, hands clutching your thighs as her tongue flattened against your soaked folds.

You rocked your hips. Let her savor it. Let yourself savor it. Her mouth was hot and greedy and eager to please, tongue moving sloppily but so earnestly it didn’t matter.

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed, grinding down a little harder, “There you go, baby. Just like that.”

Your cunt smeared slick all over her mouth, her chin. Megan was lost in it—in you. She kept licking, swallowing, whimpering. Every time you moved, it sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted to be consumed. She wanted to drown.

And then, you snapped your hips.

The force of it made Megan gasp, which only let more of you in. You started riding her face with intention now. Rhythm. Purpose.

Megan moaned so loudly it vibrated through your core. Your thoughts grew ragged.

‘God, she’s good. I could fuck her mouth all night. She’s so desperate. So fucking filthy. She loves it. Loves being used.’

You were soaked. Slick and heat and saliva everywhere now, her chin drenched, your thighs wet and trembling.

And Megan was crying into your pussy. Not from pain but from overstimulation. From worship. From the taste of you on her tongue, the scent of you in her nose, the weight of you on her face.

Her thoughts spiraled as she devoured what you gave her.

‘She smells like heaven. She tastes better than anything. I want this forever. I want to die like this. I want to cum just from her riding my face. I want to be hers.’

Her hips rolled uselessly into the air. Her cock leaked against her stomach again. She couldn’t breathe but didn’t want to stop; she didn’t want you to stop.

You fisted her hair and ground yourself down with a groan, “Megan,” you hissed through clenched teeth, “you’re so fucking good at this. So eager. So messy. You’re gonna make me cum.”

Her answer was a muffled moan that vibrated against your soaked cunt, tongue flattening and then curling as she licked into you like she was starving, as if she’d been dying for this. Her hands gripped your thighs, nails digging into your skin for purchase as you rocked against her face mercilessly. Slick coated her cheeks, her chin, her nose, and she loved it, nose buried in your folds like she belonged there.

And when you did cum, thighs trembling, voice breaking into a guttural moan of her name, Megan groaned with you like it was her orgasm too. Her eyes rolled back. Her tongue flexed deep inside you, lapping you through your release, swallowing it down like it was holy.

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Your hips kept moving, rhythm shifting from frantic to slow and cruel. You gripped her hair tighter, dragged her face up to meet you again.

“Open wider,” you ordered, “I’m not done,” Megan did, slack-jawed and whimpering.

Wet, filthy sounds filled the room, the squelch of your cunt against her lips, the obscene slurp of her tongue flicking and reaching, tasting every drop of your slick as you fucked her face like it was your toy.

Her nose rubbed against your clit, and you used her like that, grinding down with abandon. Her spit mixed with your wetness, dripping down her neck, slicking her throat. It was all over her.

You stared down at her, her eyes fluttering at you, glassy with worship and desperation, cheeks slick and shining, her chest heaving with every breath she fought to take between your thrusts.

“You like this?” you gasped, voice breaking, “Being used?”

Megan nodded—a tiny, frantic motion under your grip—and moaned with your cunt still pressed to her face, like she was begging you to keep going.

You smirked through your next ragged breath, “You look so fucking pretty like this,” you panted, grinding down harder, “All messy and ruined. My perfect little cumslut—”

Megan whimpered, eyes rolling back again, and her hips bucked uselessly beneath you. Her cock twitched between her thighs, untouched and still hard, leaking onto the bed sheets from the sheer overstimulation of being used like this.

You bent forward just slightly, enough to rake your nails down her sides, keeping her still. And with your thighs clenched tight around her ears and your voice low and wrecked, you added, “Don’t you dare stop.”

And she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not until you collapsed over her face again, convulsing with another climax, and still you kept her there, lips parted, tongue still licking, like she was your favorite toy, one you were never going to put down.

Your thighs slowly peeled off her face with a sticky sound, your wetness dripping down her cheeks and chin, soaking into the sheets below. Megan gasped for air like she’d been drowning in you, and maybe she had, willingly, happily. Her eyes were glassy, her lips swollen, her whole face shining with a mix of spit and slick.

You leaned down and kissed her—deep, tongue heavy in her mouth, letting her taste everything she’d earned. She whined at the contact, clutching your waist with desperate hands like she couldn’t bear for you to leave her again.

“You’ve been good,” you whispered against her lips, “So fucking good for me.”

Your hand slipped between her legs, finally wrapping around the hot, pulsing length of her cock. You squeezed her base, and Megan jerked, hips lifting helplessly off the bed, a broken noise catching in her throat.

“Oh, f-fuck—” she stammered. Her voice cracked like a prayer and a sob.

You kissed her again to shut her up. Then you pulled away to watch her as you stroked her slowly, your palm gliding with ease from the constant leak of precum. She was already soaked.

“Such a mess,” you teased sweetly, “You were leaking the second I sat on your face.”

Megan whimpered, head rolling side to side like she was overwhelmed, “I-I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, you did,” you murmured, “You came in your pants just from me touching you earlier. Don’t pretend you didn’t love it.”

You kissed her throat this time, then lower, she arched as you moved down her body. Leaving trails of kisses on her collarbones, her nipples, sucking bruises into her chest, all while still stroking her cock with one hand, keeping her on the edge of madness.

“You want to cum?” you asked softly, lips brushing her hip bone.

“Yes,” Megan choked, “Please, I want—fuck, I need to—please—”

“Then you’ll cum for me,” you said, voice dropping, “Not for yourself. For me.”

She whimpered as you moved down further, positioning yourself between her thighs, your dress still on, pooling around your hips like you were untouched—divine, untouchable, but greedy enough to devour her.

You took her cock into your mouth slowly, your lips stretching around her thickness. She cried out, a high, trembling sound, and clutched at the sheets like it hurt to be this overwhelmed.

But you didn’t stop. You worked her down your throat, inch by inch, until you had her shaking under you, legs spread wide and hips twitching as you sucked her with the same mercy you fucked her face with—none at all.

She tasted like desperation and slick and you. You moaned around her cock, watching her twitch and buck with every swirl of your tongue, every drag of your lips.

You kept going, kept sucking, sloppier now, deeper, until she was sobbing, until she was begging, voice breaking and heart stammering, “Pleasepleaseplease—‘m gonna cum—fuck—I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

And you pulled back just enough to growl, “Do it. Cum for me.”

Megan’s whole body arched as she finally broke.

She came hard, with a shout that echoed in the luxury suite, her cock pulsing in your mouth as she emptied herself down your throat. You swallowed every drop; greedy, grateful, possessive. Her hands trembled against your scalp, gripping like she couldn’t believe you were real.

When you pulled off her, you pressed one last kiss to her tip, letting the heat of her linger on your tongue. She lay there, wrecked, whimpering, her thighs still twitching.

And you smiled, dark, satisfied, “Good girl.”

Megan blushed as she’s trembling beneath you. Her chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, her abs still twitching, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded in that stunned, blissed-out way that only you get to see. You didn’t stop until she broke. Until her hands were gripping the sheets, mouth wide open in that high, desperate moan as she came undone for you.

And yet, even now—with her legs still twitching, her body barely holding form—you want more.

You press a kiss to the hollow of her throat. Then another to her cheek. She gasps when you crawl up, your lips brushing her temple.

“Angel,” you murmur. Your voice is low, sinful, far too composed for someone who just brought her to tears with your mouth.

Megan’s lashes flutter, “Y-Yeah?”

You drag your fingertips down her chest, over the peaks of her nipples, watching her shiver at the overstimulation, “You still with me?”

“Mmhm,” she breathes, still dazed. You smile softly, almost indulgently, “Think you can be an angel for me again?”

That gets her attention. Her eyes sharpen, breath catching, “Anything. Anything for you.”

You stroke her cheek with the back of your fingers, “Good. Then you’ll fuck me now.”

The whimper she lets out is quiet, but definitely not uncertain. You sit up slowly, still straddling her stomach, watching her eyes track every curve of your body. She’s a mess—hair stuck to her forehead, lips swollen, face flushed and glistening. But still… utterly devoted. Worshipful.

“Get me naked,” you command softly.

Her hands, still trembling, rise to the hem of your silk dress. She lifts it carefully, reverently, revealing inch after inch of warm skin and the curve of your hips. You’re not wearing anything underneath now. Just bare, slick, wanting.

Megan exhales like she’s seen a divine vision. But she doesn’t touch—not yet. Not until her eyes flick to yours, asking for permission. You nod, and that’s all she needs.

She leans forward and kisses your sternum, her hands holding your waist like you’ll vanish. Her tongue flicks across your nipple before she looks up at you again, lips glistening.

“Please,” she murmurs, “please let me…”

You lace your fingers into her damp hair, gently guiding her head down, “Go ahead, leave marks. Show them who I belong to.”

She moans against your chest, her teeth catching your skin, sucking bruises into your breasts like they’ll last forever. You let her—each one earned, each one slow and deep and needy.

You run your thumb along her jaw, “You know what I was thinking, baby?”

She hums in question against your skin.

“That man earlier,” you say, your voice like smoke, “the one who approached me.”

Megan’s muscles stiffen under your thighs.

“I should’ve let you fuck me in front of him. Should’ve let him see what a real cock looks like. What real pleasure sounds like.”

You tug her hair just slightly, smirking at the noise she makes.

“He wouldn’t last a second inside me,” you add, lips brushing her ear, “But you, Megan—you’d ruin me.”

“Fuck,” she groans, nearly shaking again, her dick twitching hard against your ass, “Please… please let me.”

You nod, “Then do it. Be brave for me again. Show me how good you can be.”

With trembling fingers, she shifts you gently onto your back, kissing down your stomach as she aligns herself.

She enters you slowly, cautiously—like you’re holy, like she’s afraid she won’t be able to stop once she’s in. And she’s right. She barely holds it together.

The stretch has your mouth falling open.

She’s thick. And warm. And even with your soaked cunt already sensitive, it takes your breath away the way she fills you. You cling to her shoulders, watching her tremble, her hips stuttering already just from the feel of you.

You murmur something soft—something like good girl—and her body jolts.

Megan starts to move.

She holds herself up on shaking arms, her forehead pressed to yours, breaths syncing. Her thrusts are slow but deep, dragging against every inch inside you. She mutters broken things against your lips—so tight, so wet, I’m obsessed with you, I need you—like the words will keep her from falling apart again.

But you don’t want gentle. Not now. So you push her to change positions.

You ride her dick guiding her into drilling you, your leg hiked, wrapping them around Megan’s waist, and you start feeling her dick fuck into your cunt deeper and harder, back arching from the angle she hits.

Then she takes your legs, pushing them near your chest, positioning your ankles on her shoulders, your thighs pinned to your chest while she pounds into you, voice cracking every time she moans your name.

You’re both soaked now. Slick coats your thighs, her stomach, her cock. Every thrust is a wet, obscene sound.

Still, she doesn’t stop.

Megan flips you over—your face pressed to the mattress, her body curling around yours—and fucks you into the bed, pounding deeper and harder, eager to show you how good she could be, her arms wrapped tightly around you, your bodies grinding with every deep, desperate thrust.

You’re gasping now, moaning helplessly, one arm reaching back to clutch her hair, “Don’t stop. Megan—don’t you dare stop.”

“I won’t,” she swears against your shoulder, “I’m gonna make you cum again. I need to feel you fall apart.”

Your face is buried in the sheets when she finally pulls out—only to flip you over again, so you’re facing her, so she can see you fall apart just one more time.

“Please look at me,” Megan begs, voice cracked and hoarse, “I need to see you.”

You do. Eyes hazy, lips parted, skin damp and glowing under the soft light. You meet her gaze just as she sinks into you again.

You gasp—loud and high and aching—as she bottoms out with one deep, perfect thrust. Megan groans like she’s losing her mind. Her forehead presses against yours, hands gripping your thighs as she begins to move again.

You kiss her. Not softly.

It’s all teeth and tongue—sloppy and open-mouthed, desperate, hungry. Saliva slicks your lips, your chin, her jaw. You suck on her tongue with a growl, and she whines into your mouth like she’ll die if you stop.

“Faster,” you pant, breaking the kiss, “Harder, Megan. I want all of it.”

She fucks up into you, hips slamming now, rough and messy just like you told her to be.

“Be a good girl for me,” you hiss, your breath hot against her ear, “Be so fucking good and ruin me.”

That’s all it takes.

Megan lets out a strangled moan and slams into you faster, rougher, her hands locking your hips down so she can grind deeper. You wrap your legs around her waist again—tightly this time—ankles crossing at the small of her back to lock her in place.

She gasps, stuttering, “C-Can’t—too deep—f-fuck—”

“You can,” you whisper darkly, holding her close, “You want this. You love how I feel wrapped around you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whines, helpless, “God—yes—feels so good, you feel so good—”

She keeps thrusting, erratic now, her cock sliding in and out with slick, wet sounds. You rake your nails down her back. Your body starts to shudder again—pleasure coiling, tightening—

And then it hits you.

You arch off the bed with a cry, clenching down around her, gasping her name as you cum hard on her cock. It’s overwhelming—full-body, white-hot. Your walls flutter around her desperately, greedily, refusing to let go.

But you’re not done. As your orgasm fades, you pull her down by the nape of her neck. Her lips hover over yours, panting.

You look her dead in the eyes, “Cum inside me.”

Megan freezes.

Your nails dig into her back. “I want you to fill me up. I want to feel you dripping out of me in the morning, staining the sheets. I want you to breed me good, baby.”

Her eyes roll back, “Fuck—fuck—fuck—”

You kiss her again, filthy and open, tongue licking into her mouth as you whisper, “Cum in me, Megan. Give it to me like a good girl.”

Her entire body shakes—hips jerking, cock pulsing—and she buries herself to the hilt with a broken, guttural sound, and then she’s cumming. Hot, deep, and endless.

She fills you up with wave after wave of cum, hips twitching, gasps stuttering from her lips as she holds you close—like if she lets go, you’ll disappear. You can feel her inside, can feel the warmth spreading, dripping slowly between your thighs as she whimpers your name over and over like a prayer.

You stroke her hair gently, soothing her through it, keeping her locked inside you, whispering, “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

The room is quiet, save for your slowed breathing, deep and steady. Megan lies draped over you, her face nestled in the crook of your neck, her skin flushed and sticky against yours. The scent of sex clings to the air—salt and sweat and something sweeter, deeper. Her cum is warm inside you, a thick trickle slipping down your thigh, and you both sigh at the same time when you shift, hips brushing.

You smile lazily, “Still with me, baby?”

She nods without speaking, lashes fluttering against your collarbone. Her whole body is melted against yours, limbs loose and heavy, her cock softening inside you. You reach up and run your fingers through her messy hair, nails gently scratching her scalp. Megan makes a small sound—half moan, half whimper—and presses herself impossibly closer.

“You did so good,” you whisper, “Such a good girl for me tonight.”

You feel her smile through her blush, “You ruined me.”

You hum, “Might’ve ruined myself, too.”

Eventually, she pulls out with a little hiss, and you both wince at the wet sound and the filthy heat that spills between your thighs. You reach for her again, but she’s already moving, grabbing a warm towel from the bathroom, carefully cleaning you up as gently as she can. When she sees how you twitch from sensitivity, she presses a kiss to the inside of your knee.

“I got you,” she whispers. Megan helps you into the bathroom next, easing you into the massive marble tub. The water is already drawn—steaming, lavender-scented, littered with rose petals and flickering candles. You raise an eyebrow.

Megan just shrugs, a little sheepishly, “I thought… maybe you’d want the whole thing.”

You pull her in with you. The two of you sink into the warmth, her behind you now, legs around your waist, her arms wrapped tightly around your middle. She rests her cheek against your back and closes her eyes. Her hands roam lazily over your thighs, stomach, hips—like she still needs to touch you to believe you’re real.

“You’re gonna have bruises,” she murmurs. You grin, “Good.”

The bath turns soft and quiet. You wash her hair, she rubs scented oil into your shoulders, you kiss the slope of her neck when she leans forward to murmur something dumb and sweet. Every so often she presses her mouth to your skin again, unable to stop.

Later, in fluffy robes and nothing else, you order room service. Caviar. Oysters. Strawberries dipped in dark chocolate. She practically whines when she sees the tray, shaking her head as if she still can’t believe someone like you exists.

You feed her with your fingers, watching her lips part for you, letting your thumb linger on her tongue after a bite of something decadent. Megan’s eyes are glassy with the softness of it all—like she’s still floating in the high of being good for you, of being chosen, worshipped in return.

You pull her into bed, both of you damp-haired and languid, and stroke her face with the backs of your fingers.

“You’re everything,” she whispers, “I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”

You tilt your head, “Mm?”

Megan looks at you—wrecked and worshipful, “I want to be yours.”