#deadpoops

—

Daniela had known about your body for months.

She knew you came fast—sometimes embarrassingly fast—the second you slid inside her.

But she also knew the part that made her eyes sparkle with mischief; once you started, you almost never went soft.

Even after you finished, your cock stayed hard, thick, and ready for more. It was like your body had a switch that only turned off when she decided it was time.

And tonight, Daniela was in the mood to take full advantage.

You had both just gotten back from a long dinner with her members. The moment the front door clicked shut, she kicked off her heels and turned to you with that look—the one that said she had been thinking about this the entire night.

She walked over slowly, hips swaying, and pushed you gently backward until you sat down on the edge of the bed.

“You were quiet during dinner,” she said, voice low. “I could see you watching me the whole time.”

You swallowed, already feeling the familiar heat building in your stomach. “You looked good tonight.”

She smiled, slow and knowing. “I wore this dress for you.”

The dress hugged her body perfectly—short enough to show off her legs, tight enough to remind you exactly what was underneath. She climbed onto your lap, straddling you, and kissed you deep and slow. Her hands slid under your shirt, nails lightly scratching your stomach.

“I’ve been wet since we left the restaurant,” she whispered against your lips. “Thinking about how fast you cum… and how you stay hard for me afterward.”

You groaned softly, hands gripping her thighs. “Dani…”

She kissed you again, then pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

“I want you to cum inside me tonight,” she said quietly. “As many times as I want. Until my stomach starts to show it.”

Your cock twitched hard in your pants.

She felt it and smiled.

“Already?” she teased. “We haven’t even started.”

She reached down and unzipped your pants, pulling your cock out. It was already hard, thick, and leaking at the tip. She wrapped her hand around you and stroked slowly, watching your face the whole time.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “So eager.”

She didn’t take her dress off. She just hiked it up to her waist, pushed her panties to the side, and lined you up with her entrance. She was already soaked.

She sank down slowly, taking you in one smooth motion until you were buried to the hilt.

The moment you bottomed out, you groaned and came.

Your cock pulsed inside her, spilling thick ropes of cum deep into her pussy. Your hips jerked up involuntarily as the orgasm hit you fast and intense.

Daniela moaned softly, rolling her hips in slow circles as she felt you filling her.

“Already cumming for me?” she whispered, voice warm and amused.

You were still panting, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Shit—sorry… I couldn’t hold it.”

“That’s okay, baby. I love when you do that.”

She didn’t stop moving.

Even as you were still pulsing inside her, she started riding you—slow, deep rolls of her hips, grinding down so you stayed buried deep. Your cum made everything slick and messy, and she used it to her advantage, sliding up and down your still-hard cock with ease.

You were panting, oversensitive, hands gripping her thighs.

“Dani—fuck… it’s too much already…”

She leaned down and kissed you softly.

“I know,” she said against your lips. “But you’re still so hard for me. I’m not stopping.”

She kept riding you—steady and deep—her pussy clenching around your cock with every downward motion. The wet sounds of her taking you filled the room. Your cum was already leaking out around you, coating your balls and the sheets.

You came again—faster than the first time—groaning into her mouth as another load pumped deep inside her. Daniela moaned, grinding down harder to take every drop.

“That’s two,” she whispered, smiling. “Keep going, baby.”

She didn’t slow down. She rode you through the sensitivity, her hips moving in a smooth, relentless rhythm. Her dress was still on, bunched around her waist, and every time she came down, you could see the slight bulge in her lower belly from how full she was getting.

You were a mess underneath her.

“Daniela… I can’t… it’s too sensitive…”

“You can,” she said softly, but firmly. “You always can for me.”

She leaned forward, pressing her chest against yours, and rode you harder. The angle made your cock hit deeper inside her. She was so full of your cum that every thrust made a wet, squelching sound.

You came a third time—harder than the last—your whole body shaking as you spilled even more inside her. Daniela moaned loudly, grinding down to take it all.

Her stomach was starting to show it now. A small, noticeable swell just below her navel from all the loads you’d given her.

She looked down at it, then back at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

“Look what you’re doing to me,” she whispered. “You’re filling me up so much.”

She kept riding—savoring the way your cock stayed rock hard inside her overflowing pussy.

You were whimpering, oversensitive, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Dani… please… I’m so sensitive…”

“I know, baby,” she said gently, but she didn’t stop. “Just one more. Give me one more.”

She rode you through the overstimulation until you came again—the fourth time—a weak, trembling orgasm that left you gasping and shaking underneath her. More cum pumped into her already swollen belly.

Daniela finally slowed down, breathing hard, her stomach visibly rounder from everything you’d given her. She placed a hand on the small bulge and rubbed it gently.

“So full…” she whispered, almost to herself.

She leaned down and kissed you softly, still keeping you inside her.

“You did so good,” she murmured against your lips. “My perfect girl.”

You were completely spent.

Trembling, oversensitive, but still hard inside her. Daniela smiled and gave one last slow roll of her hips.

“We’re not done yet,” she whispered. “I want to feel you cum inside me at least one more time tonight mkay?”

“U-uh huh,”

You’re fucked.

—

—

nerd megan is the classic overachiever nerd—glasses, cardigans, always carrying like 5 books and color-coded notes. you are the quiet emo kid who sits in the back, headphones on, drawing in your sketchbook and only speaks when forced. you two got paired for a project and the rest is history.

you first got close during an overnight mario kart tournament at the esports club. megan kept destroying everyone with rosalina and you were the only one who could keep up. after you both made it to the finals, she looked at you with wide eyes and whispered “you’re really good…” and you’ve been down bad ever since.

nerd megan is OBSESSED with your hands. like… she stares at the rings, the chipped black nail polish, the veins when you’re holding the controller and get distracted mid-game. sometimes she’ll just grab your hand and put it between her legs without saying anything. she has a whole private note titled “hands” that she will NEVER show anyone

nerd megan is extremely whiny during sex, especially when you’re inside her. she squeezes her eyes shut, voice all high and shaky: “ahh— it’s too big… wait wait— i can’t take it yet…” but the second you slow down she starts whimpering “no— don’t stop, please don’t stop, i need it…”

you’re usually the more dominant one, but megan can get surprisingly bold when she’s horny. she once climbed into your lap while you were playing elden ring, pulled her panties to the side, and sank down on you while whispering “keep playing… i just want to feel you.”

after sex she becomes the clingiest baby ever. she’ll curl up on your chest, still sniffling and trembling, and mumble stuff like “you always make me feel so satisfied… i don’t know how you do that…” while you play with her hair and call her cute.

you two have a secret code during games. if she dies in a boss fight she’ll say “i need healing,” which secretly means she wants you to fuck her. you’ve lost so many ranked matches because of this.

nerd megan has a massive corruption kink. she loves when reader fingers her in the library under the table, or makes her suck them off in the bathroom during lunch. she’ll be bright red and whispering “we’re gonna get caught—” while secretly getting off on the risk

your emo ass has a secret soft spot for megan’s nerdy rants. sometimes you be fucking and megan starts explaining the plot of the book she’s reading and you just keeps thrusting while listening like “yeah? what happens next, baby?”

bonus: you once fucked her on your gaming chair while she was wearing your hoodie and nothing else. she came so hard she knocked over your monitor. you both laughed about it for weeks.

—

—

For the past two weeks, Daniela had been torturing you.

It started innocently enough—or at least that’s what she claimed. She’d send you a mirror selfie from the dance studio, skirt slightly lifted, showing the curve of her ass in tight leggings. Then the messages got bolder.

A picture of her in tiny shorts, bent over tying her shoes, caption: “Thinking about you behind me.”

Another one in the hotel bathroom during their schedule—black thong disappearing between her cheeks, caption: “Still waiting for you to stop being scared and take it.”

Every time you opened your phone, there she was—her perfect ass on full display, teasing you, daring you.

She had never done anal before, but for some reason she had become obsessed with the idea. Every night on FaceTime she’d bring it up:

“When are you finally gonna fuck my ass, baby? I’ve been waiting so patiently…”

You always told her “soon.” You were nervous—she was tight as fuck already, and you didn’t want to hurt her.

But Daniela wasn’t the patient type.

Tonight, she finally snapped.

She had just gotten back from a late-night photoshoot. The second she walked into your apartment, still wearing her stage practice outfit—that black micro-skirt that barely covered anything and a cropped top—she didn’t even say hello.

She walked straight up to you, turned around, and pressed her ass against your crotch.

She started rubbing.

Slow, rolls of her hips, grinding her soft, warm ass cheeks against the front of your sweatpants. The tiny skirt rode up instantly, fully exposing the lower half of her ass. She wasn’t wearing panties.

“You’ve been saying ‘soon’ for two weeks,” she murmured, looking back at you over her shoulder. Her voice was low, a little annoyed, a little needy. “I’m tired of waiting.”

You groaned, hands automatically gripping her hips as she kept grinding on you. Your cock was already rock hard, throbbing against her through the thin fabric.

“Dani… we said we’d take it slow—”

“I don’t want slow anymore,” she cut you off. She reached back, grabbed your hand, and guided it under the skirt until your fingers brushed her bare pussy. She was soaked. “Feel that? I’ve been wet for days thinking about you fucking my ass.”

She turned around, pushed you down onto the couch, and climbed onto your lap. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist now, ass completely exposed as she straddled you.

“I want it tonight,” she said, eyes locked on yours. “I want you to take my ass. Right now.”

You swallowed hard. Your hands slid up her thighs, squeezing the soft flesh.

“You sure? It’s gonna hurt at first.”

“I know,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss you. “I want it to hurt a little. I want to feel you stretch me open.”

She reached down between you, pulled your sweats down just enough to free your cock. It sprang up—thick, heavy, already leaking. She wrapped her hand around it and stroked you slowly while kissing your neck.

“Get the lube,” she said against your skin.

You didn’t argue.

You grabbed the bottle from the side table. She took it from you, poured a generous amount onto her fingers, and reached back to rub it over her tight hole. She moaned softly as she worked two fingers inside herself, stretching herself open while you watched.

When she was satisfied, she poured more lube directly onto your cock, stroking you until you were glistening and slick.

Then she positioned herself.

She turned around, facing away from you, and slowly lowered herself onto your lap. She reached back, spread one ass cheek with her hand, and guided the thick head of your cock to her tight entrance.

“Go slow,” she breathed.

You held her hips steady as she started sinking down.

The head popped past her tight ring and she gasped sharply — a mix of pain and surprise. Her thighs trembled as she took the first few inches.

“Fuck… it’s so thick…” she whimpered.

She kept going—breathing through the stretch as more and more of your cock disappeared into her ass. You could feel how incredibly tight she was, every inch squeezing you like a vice. Halfway down she had to pause, breathing hard, forehead resting against your shoulder.

“It burns…” she whispered, but she didn’t stop. She kept lowering herself until her ass was flush against your lap, your entire cock buried deep inside her.

She stayed still for a moment, adjusting, soft little whimpers escaping her lips.

Then she started moving.

Slow, experimental rolls of her hips. Testing how it felt. Every movement made her moan—low, shaky sounds that went straight to your cock.

“God… I feel so full,” she gasped. “You’re so deep in my ass… holy—”

You groaned, hands gripping her hips tighter. “You’re so fucking tight, Dani.”

She started riding you properly—slow at first, then gradually faster. Her ass bounced on your cock, the sparkly skirt still bunched around her waist, giving you the perfect view of your thick cock stretching her tight hole.

She reached down and rubbed her clit while she rode you, moaning louder.

“Harder,” she panted after a few minutes. “Fuck my ass harder.”

You thrust up to meet her—deep strokes that made her cry out. The sound of her ass slapping against your lap filled the room. She was getting louder, wetter, her pussy dripping down onto your balls as you fucked her ass.

“Fuck yes! just like that—don’t stop—”

You could feel her getting close. Her moans turned into desperate little cries. You reached around and rubbed her clit fast and rough.

She came hard—body shaking violently, ass clenching around your cock like a vice as she screamed your name. Her pussy gushed, soaking your thighs.

You didn’t stop.

You kept fucking her ass through her orgasm—until she was sobbing from overstimulation.

Only then did you let go.

You thrust deep one final time and came inside her ass with a loud groan, pumping thick, hot ropes deep into her. She moaned long and low as she felt you filling her up.

You stayed buried inside her for a long time, both of you breathing hard, sweaty and spent.

Daniela leaned back against your chest, still impaled on your cock, and let out a shaky laugh.

“…Holy shit,” she whispered. “That was way better than I imagined.”

You kissed the back of her neck, arms wrapping around her waist.

“Told you we should’ve waited until you were ready.”

She clenched around you once more, making you groan.

“Shut up,” she said, smiling. “We’re doing that again tomorrow.”

Ever since that first night, Daniela had become completely addicted to anal.

She wanted it all the time. In the car after long rehearsals. In the dorm when her members were asleep. Even once in the practice room after everyone else had left.

She started texting you during the day with nothing but a mirror selfie—skirt lifted just enough to show her ass—followed by a simple message: “I need it again tonight.”

Tonight she dragged you to a random library.

It was past 10 p.m. and the building was almost empty. Daniela had told her manager she needed to study lyrics in one of the quiet corners on the third floor.

The second you two slipped into the single-stall bathroom at the very back, she locked the door and turned to you with that familiar hungry look.

She was still wearing her practice outfit—the small sparkly blue colored-skirt that barely covered anything. No panties underneath. She never wore them anymore when she knew she was going to see you.

Without saying a word, she turned around, bent over the sink, and pulled the skirt all the way up to her waist. Her ass was fully exposed—smooth, round, and already slightly flushed.

“I’ve been wet since rehearsal,” she whispered, looking at you through the mirror. “I kept thinking about you fucking my ass while I was dancing.”

She reached back and spread one cheek with her hand, showing you her tight little hole.

“Fuck me,” she said. “Right here. I don’t care if someone hears.”

You stepped behind her, pulled your cock out, and rubbed the thick head against her entrance. She was already slick from earlier teasing, but you still spat on your hand and coated yourself generously.

You pushed in slowly.

Daniela gasped sharply as the head stretched her open. Even after all the times you’d fucked her ass in the past few weeks, she was still so incredibly tight.

“Fuck… it’s still so thick,” she moaned, gripping the edge of the sink. “Go deeper.”

You kept pushing until you were buried all the way inside her ass. She let out a long, shaky breath, pushing back against you until her ass was pressed flush against your hips.

“God, I love how full you make me,” she whispered.

You started thrusting—slow and deep at first, letting her feel every inch sliding in and out. The bathroom was quiet except for the wet, filthy sounds of you fucking her ass and her soft, breathy moans.

She looked at you in the mirror, eyes half-lidded.

“Harder,” she begged. “I want to feel it tomorrow when I’m on stage.”

You gripped her hips tighter and gave her what she wanted. Your thrusts became faster and deeper, the sound of your hips slapping against her ass growing louder. Daniela moaned louder too, no longer trying to stay quiet.

“Fuck yes—baby—shit! keep going—”

You reached around and rubbed her clit while you fucked her ass. She came hard within minutes, her whole body shaking as her ass clenched rhythmically around your cock. Fresh wetness dripped from her pussy onto the floor.

You kept pounding into her ass, deep and relentless, until she came again—louder this time, her voice cracking as she tried to hold back her moans.

Only then did you let yourself go.

You thrust deep one final time and came inside her ass, groaning as you pumped thick, hot spurts deep into her. Daniela moaned long and low, feeling you fill her up again.

You stayed buried inside her for a while, both of you breathing hard, her body still trembling with aftershocks.

She finally looked back at you in the mirror, a tired but satisfied smile on her face.

“My ass is gonna be so sore during tomorrow’s schedule,” she whispered.

You kissed the back of her neck gently.

“I bet it’s still worth it.”

She clenched around your cock one last time and laughed softly.

“Every single time.”

She stayed bent over the sink for a moment longer, your cock still inside her, cum slowly leaking out around you.

Then she straightened up, turned around, and kissed you deep and slow.

“But next time,” she murmured against your lips, “I want you to fuck my ass while I’m wearing this skirt on stage… immediately after the show.”

You groaned, already getting hard again inside her.

—

Daniela had always been the center of everything.

She walked the halls like she owned the tile beneath her sneakers, dark hair swinging with every step, laugh loud enough to turn heads three classrooms away. People either wanted to be her or be with her—there was no in-between. And then there was you.

You existed in the margins. Hood up, earbuds in, backpack slung low like you were trying to disappear into it.

You spoke only when spoken to (and even then, mostly mumbled answers), sat in the very back corner of every class, and spent lunch with your sketchbook or your phone. Nobody really bothered you. Nobody really noticed you.

Except Daniela.

She noticed you the way a cat notices a mouse that’s trying too hard to be invisible.

It started small.

Freshman year, you’d accidentally bumped her bag in the hallway. She’d spun around, eyes narrowed, and said loud enough for half the corridor to hear: “Watch where you’re going, loser.”

The word stuck. “Loser” became your unofficial nickname. She never yelled it, never made it a huge scene—just dropped it casually, like she was stating a fact.

“Hey, loser, move.”

“Loser’s in my seat again.”

“What’s the loser drawing today?”

You never answered back. Never looked her in the eye longer than a second. Just ducked your head and kept walking.

Sophomore year she got meaner.

She’d “accidentally” knock your books off your desk when she passed. She’d whisper just loud enough for you to hear: “God, do you ever talk?” She’d mimic your mumble in the hallway, exaggerating it until her friends laughed.

Once she found your sketchbook open on a desk (you’d left it for two minutes to grab a pencil) and flipped through it in front of everyone, commenting loudly on every drawing.

“Wow. This is… sad. You really need a life, loser.”

You’d snatched it back, face burning, and left without a word.

Senior year, she found out you were gay.

It happened in the cafeteria. Some idiot jock asked you—loud, in front of half the room—if you “liked dick or pussy,” and you’d frozen. Didn’t answer. Just stared at your tray until the laughter died down.

Daniela had been at the next table. She’d turned slowly, eyes narrowing.

“Wait,” she said, voice carrying. “You’re a lesbian?”

The table went quiet.

You didn’t look up. Just nodded once, barely.

She stared at you for a long second. Then she laughed—not loud, not cruel, just… surprised. “Huh. Didn’t see that coming.”

After that, the bullying changed.

She started finding you alone more often. In empty hallways. In the art room after class. Behind the bleachers during lunch when you tried to hide.

The first time she cornered you was in the girls’ bathroom during fifth period. You’d gone in to splash water on your face after someone had “accidentally” spilled juice on your hoodie. She followed you in, locked the door behind her.

You froze at the sink.

She leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching you in the mirror.

“So,” she said. “You’re into girls.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at your reflection—red cheeks, wet hoodie, eyes wide.

She stepped closer. “Do you like me?”

Your stomach dropped.

You shook your head fast. “No.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “No?”

“No,” you repeated, quieter. “I’m not… I don’t…”

She tilted her head. “You’re not gay? Or you’re not into me?”

You swallowed. “Both. Neither. I don’t know.”

She laughed—soft, almost gentle. “Liar.”

She stepped even closer. You backed up until your lower back hit the sink.

“You stare at me all the time,” she said, voice low. “In class. In the hall. When you think I’m not looking. You think I don’t notice?”

Your heart was in your throat. “I don’t—”

“You do.” She reached out, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers lingered on your cheek. “So why lie?”

You flinched away. “I’m not… I don’t want trouble.”

Her smile faded. “You think I’m trouble?”

You didn’t answer.

She studied you for a long moment. Then she stepped back.

“Fine,” she said. “Whatever.”

She unlocked the door and left.

But it didn’t stop.

If anything, it got worse.

She started finding ways to be alone with you. She’d wait after class until the room emptied, then lean against your desk and ask some pointless question about homework she already knew the answer to.

She’d “accidentally” bump into you in the hallway, her hand brushing your hip or your lower back for just a second too long.

She’d sit behind you in the library and lean forward to whisper something in your ear—nothing important, just “you missed a spot on your notes” or “your hoodie smells like laundry detergent.”

Every time, your body betrayed you.

Your face would heat up. Your hands would shake. And worst of all—your cock would harden instantly, pressing painfully against your jeans, impossible to hide.

She noticed.

She never said anything directly. But she started wearing tighter shirts, shorter skirts, bending over more often when she knew you were looking.

She’d stretch in front of you during group projects, arms above her head, tank top riding up. She’d lick her lips when she caught you staring.

And every time you tried to leave, she’d find a way to keep you there.

One afternoon she cornered you in the art supply closet after class. You’d been putting away paintbrushes for extra credit. She followed you in, closed the door, and leaned against it.

“You’re avoiding me again,” she said.

You kept your back to her, organizing brushes by size. “I’m not.”

“You are.” She stepped closer. You felt her heat at your back. “Why?”

You swallowed. “I don’t want trouble.”

She laughed softly. “You keep saying that.”

Her hand slid around your waist from behind—slow, deliberate. You froze.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she whispered against your ear. “I just want to know… do you think about me when you’re alone?”

Your cock was already hard. Painfully so. You pressed your thighs together, trying to hide it.

She felt it anyway. Her hand drifted lower, brushing the front of your jeans. You sucked in a breath.

“Thought so,” she murmured.

You turned fast, pushing her hand away. “Stop.”

She stepped back, but her eyes were dark. “Why?”

“Because you’re straight,” you said, voice shaking. “And I’m… I’m not.”

She stared at you for a long second.

Then she laughed—quiet, almost sad.

“You really think that’s why I keep doing this?”

You didn’t answer.

She stepped closer again. “Of course i’m straight. I just like watching you fall apart.”

Your stomach dropped.

She reached out, brushed her thumb across your bottom lip. “And you’re so good at it.”

Then she turned and left.

You stood there for a long time, heart pounding, cock still aching, trying to understand what the hell just happened.

She didn’t stop.

And you never told her to.

Because deep down—buried under the fear and the embarrassment—you didn’t want her to stop either.

The hallway outside Ms. Chen’s classroom smelled like old textbooks and lemon cleaner. It was the last period of the day, and most people were already gone—rushing to buses, practice, or just freedom.

You were still at your locker, shoving books in slower than usual, hoodie pulled up like always.

You heard the heels first.

Daniela.

She appeared at the end of the corridor like she’d materialized there just to ruin your day. Black skirt, white blouse untucked, hair in loose.

She didn’t even pretend to be casual about it—she walked straight up to you, stopped close enough that her perfume hit you like a slap (something expensive, floral, a little spicy), and leaned one shoulder against the locker next to yours.

“Loser,” she said, voice low, almost bored. “You’re taking forever.”

You didn’t look at her. Kept staring at the inside of your locker like it was the most interesting thing on earth.

She reached over, plucked your history notebook out of your hand, flipped it open, then closed it again just to toss it back inside with a careless flick.

“You’re so quiet today,” she went on, tilting her head so she could see your face even though you were trying to hide it. “What’s wrong? Scared I’ll make you cry again?”

Your fingers tightened on the locker door. You still didn’t speak.

She sighed, dramatic, like you were personally disappointing her.

“Fine. Come with me.”

Before you could react, she grabbed your wrist—not hard, but firm enough that you knew pulling away would make it worse—and tugged you down the hall. You stumbled after her, heart already hammering, mouth dry.

She didn’t look back. Just kept walking like she had every right to drag you wherever she wanted.

She pushed open the door to Room 214—empty, lights off, blinds half-drawn. Afternoon sun slanted through the gaps in dusty gold bars. She let go of your wrist only long enough to lock the door behind you with a sharp click.

You stood frozen in the middle of the aisle between desks, backpack still on, hands clenched at your sides.

Daniela turned slowly, leaning back against the teacher’s desk, arms crossed under her chest so her blouse pulled tight.

“Take off the hoodie,” she said.

You stared at her.

She raised one eyebrow. “Now.”

Your hands moved before your brain caught up. Fingers shaking, you unzipped it, shrugged it off, let it drop to the floor. Underneath was just a plain black t-shirt, slightly too big, sleeves pushed up to your elbows. You felt exposed even though you weren’t showing anything.

She looked you over—slow, deliberate, eyes lingering on your chest, your hips, the obvious bulge already pressing against the front of your jeans.

“Pathetic,” she said, almost softly. “You’re already hard just from me telling you what to do.”

Your face burned. You looked at the floor.

She pushed off the desk and walked toward you. Slow steps. Each one made your pulse spike higher.

When she reached you she stopped close—close enough that you could feel the heat off her body, smell that damn perfume again. She reached up, hooked one finger in the collar of your hoodie, tugged you down until your faces were level.

“You’re such a pussy,” she whispered. “You’ve been hard for me since freshman year and you still won’t do anything about it.”

You swallowed. “I—I don’t—”

“Don’t lie.” Her other hand slid down your stomach, palm flat, pressing just enough to feel how hard you were. You sucked in a breath. She palmed you through your jeans—slow, firm, watching your face the whole time.

“Look at you,” she said. “Shaking already. You’re so easy.”

She pushed you backward until your ass hit the edge of a desk. You braced your hands on it to keep from falling. She stepped between your legs, forcing them apart with her knee.

“Unzip,” she said.

Your hands shook so bad you fumbled the button twice. When you finally got the zipper down she reached in herself, pulled your cock out—thick, flushed, already leaking—and wrapped her fingers around it.

You moaned—quiet, broken, involuntary.

She stroked once. Slow. From base to tip. Your hips jerked forward.

“See?” she said. “You want this so bad you’re crying for it and I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You weren’t crying. Not yet. But your eyes were stinging, throat tight, every nerve screaming.

She stepped closer, pressed her body against yours, cock trapped between your stomachs through her skirt. She rocked once—slow, deliberate—dragging herself along your length.

You whimpered.

She smiled against your ear. “That’s it. That’s the sound I like.”

She rocked again. Harder. The friction was insane—her skirt bunched up, her panties soaked through, sliding against your bare cock. You could feel how wet she was, how hot, how she was already dripping onto you.

“Daniela—” Your voice cracked. “Please—”

“Please what?” she whispered, grinding slower now, torturing you. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop?”

You couldn’t answer. Just moaned—low, needy, hips twitching up to chase her.

She laughed softly. “Thought so.”

She kept going—slow, filthy grinds that dragged her clit along your shaft, coating you in her wetness. Every slide made you leak more, precum mixing with her arousal until you were both slick and messy. Your hands gripped the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles went white.

“Look at you,” she said, voice dripping with mock pity. “Already falling apart and I haven’t even let you inside yet.”

She reached down, wrapped her hand around both of you—her palm pressing your cock against her pussy, trapping it between her folds.

She rocked faster now, using her own wetness as lube, sliding up and down your length without letting you push inside.

You were moaning openly—high, desperate sounds you couldn’t hold back. Your hips jerked every time she slid over the head, trying to thrust, trying to get deeper.

She slapped your thigh—sharp, stinging. “No. You don’t get to fuck me. You get to stand there and take it.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Dani—please—I need—”

“Need what?” She slowed again, torturously slow, just the tip nudging her entrance. “Need to come? Need to be inside me? Need me to stop teasing?”

You nodded frantically, tears spilling over. “All of it—please—”

She smiled—mean, beautiful. “Poor baby.”

She ground down harder, faster, until you were both shaking. You could feel her clit swollen against you, her wetness dripping down your balls, the heat of her pussy so close but not quite letting you in.

You were crying now—quiet, broken sobs—hips jerking helplessly.

“Dani—please—let me come—please—”

“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not until you admit it.”

You sobbed harder. “Admit what?”

“That you want me,” she said, voice soft but deadly. “That you’ve always wanted me. That every time I call you loser you get hard. That you’d let me do anything to you.”

You broke.

“I want you,” you sobbed. “I’ve always wanted you. I’m sorry—I’m sorry I’m such a pussy—please let me come—please—”

She kissed you then—deep, possessive, swallowing your sobs.

“Good girl,” she whispered against your lips.

Then she sank down—slow, taking every inch until you were buried inside her.

You moaned loud—voice wrecked, tears streaming—as she started riding you. Slow, deep, grinding circles that dragged her clit against your pelvis.

She didn’t let you thrust. Just used you—riding at her pace, hands on your shoulders, nails digging in.

“Look at me,” she said.

You did—eyes wet, face flushed, lips trembling.

She smiled—slow, satisfied.

“You’re mine,” she said. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered, voice breaking.

She rode you harder, faster, until you were both shaking.

“Come inside me,” she ordered. “Fill me up.”

You did—thrusting up once, twice, then coming hard, spilling deep inside her with a broken sob. She clenched around you, coming with you, moaning your name like a prayer.

She kept moving—slow, milking you through the aftershocks—until you were oversensitive, whimpering, tears still falling.

Only then did she stop.

She kissed you soft—slow, almost tender.

She finally lifted herself off you with a soft, wet sound—your cock slipping free, still half-hard, glistening with the messy mix of cum, her arousal, and the faint trace of cum that had spilled out earlier.

A thick string of everything connected the head of your cock to her entrance for a second before it snapped, dripping down onto your thigh.

You hissed at the sudden emptiness, oversensitive, the cool air hitting your slick skin like a slap.

Daniela looked down at it—your cock twitching against your stomach, flushed dark, shiny and messy—and licked her lips.

Without a word she slid off your lap and dropped to her knees on the carpet between your spread thighs. The rough weave dug into her knees but she didn’t flinch. She wrapped one hand around the base of your cock, holding it steady, and looked up at you with those dark, unreadable eyes.

“Dani—” Your voice cracked, still hoarse from all the begging and crying earlier. “What—”

She didn’t answer.

Instead she lifted your cock away from your stomach and slapped it—firm, deliberate—against her left cheek. The wet smack echoed in the quiet room. Your hips jerked up on instinct, a low groan ripping out of your throat.

She did it again—harder this time—slapping the head against her right cheek. The impact sent a sharp jolt of overstimulation through you; your cock throbbed painfully, another bead of cum welling up at the tip and smearing across her skin.

She looked up at you the whole time—eyes locked on yours, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed from everything you’d already done.

“You like that?” she asked quietly, voice a little rough from moaning earlier. She slapped your cock against her cheek again—three quick, stinging pops—watching your face twist with every impact. “You like seeing your dick mark my face?”

You couldn’t speak. Just nodded frantically, tears still drying on your cheeks from before.

She smiled—slow, wicked, satisfied.

“Good.”

She dragged the head across her lips, smearing the mess there, then opened her mouth and took you in—slow, deep, no teasing this time. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside as she sank down, throat relaxing until her nose brushed your pelvis.

You moaned loud—voice raw, broken—hips jerking forward before you could stop them.

She hummed low in her throat, the vibration ripping through you like a current. Her hands gripped your thighs, nails digging in, holding you still while she bobbed—slow at first, then faster, wet and messy. Spit dripped down your shaft, pooled at the base, ran down your balls.

The sounds were obscene: slick, sloppy, her soft moans muffled around your length.

You were loud again—moaning, gasping, whimpering every time she took you deep. “Dani—fuck!—so good...”

She pulled off with a wet gasp, hand stroking you fast and slick while she looked up at you.

“You taste like us,” she said, voice thick. “Like everything you gave me earlier. I can still taste the cum you couldn’t hold back.” She licked a long stripe up the underside, slow and deliberate. “It’s so fucking hot.”

Your hips bucked. “Dani—please—”

She slapped your cock against her tongue—quick, wet smacks—then took you deep again, sucking hard, cheeks hollowing. Her hand pumped the base in tight, twisting strokes while her tongue swirled relentlessly around the head.

You were shaking—thighs trembling, stomach muscles jumping, tears pricking your eyes again from the overstimulation. The sensitivity was brutal: every suck felt like too much, every stroke of her hand like fire, but you couldn’t stop moaning her name.

She pulled off once more, stroking you fast, eyes locked on yours.

“Come for me,” she said quietly. “Come in my mouth. Let me taste how much you love this.”

You did.

Your hips jerked forward, cock pulsing hard as you came—thick, hot ropes shooting across her tongue and down her throat. She swallowed greedily, moaning around you, milking every spurt with her mouth and hand until you were empty, oversensitive, sobbing softly from the intensity.

She kept sucking—gentle now, soft pulls that made you whimper and twitch—until you were completely spent.

Only then did she pull off, licking you clean with long, soothing strokes. She kissed the tip softly, then crawled up your body to kiss your mouth—deep, slow, letting you taste everything on her tongue.

You were shaking, wrecked, clinging to her.

She held you tight, fingers stroking through your hair.

“Yeah, that's right.” she whispered. “All mine.”

You buried your face in her neck, still trembling.

And she just held you.

—

You and Sophia had been friends since freshman year—study buddies turned inseparable after she dragged you into her orbit during that disastrous group project in biology.

She was the loud, confident one who could talk her way out of anything; you were the quieter one who preferred headphones and late-night anime binges. Somehow, it worked.

Tonight was her idea. A sleepover to ‘celebrate surviving finals.’ Her parents were out of town for the weekend, so the house was empty, just the two of you with a stack of junk food, face masks, and a playlist of old pop songs she insisted on singing along to at full volume.

You’d already done the usual routine, watching two episodes of some reality show she was obsessed with, and eating way too many sour gummies.

Now it was past midnight, and you were both in her room, changed into pajamas.

Sophia flopped onto her queen bed in an oversized tee and tiny sleep shorts, patting the spot next to her. “Come on. Bedtime.”

You hesitated by the door, clutching your pillow. “I can take the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She rolled her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows. “No way. The couch is lumpy and smells like dog. Plus, my bed’s huge. We’ve shared before.”

You had—once, during a movie marathon when you both passed out on the couch and woke up tangled. But that was accidental. This felt… different.

“I don’t want to crowd you,” you mumbled.

Sophia sat up fully now, giving you that look—the one that said she wasn’t taking no for an answer. “You’re not crowding me. I want you here. With me. In my bed. Stop being weird about it.”

You shifted on your feet, cheeks warming. “I’m not being weird. I just—”

She cut you off by grabbing your wrist and tugging you forward. You stumbled a little, landing on the edge of the mattress. She didn’t let go.

“Get in,” she said, softer this time. “Please?”

You sighed, defeated, and climbed under the covers. The bed was soft, the sheets smelling like her vanilla body wash.

Sophia turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness except for the faint glow of her string lights along the headboard.

She scooted closer immediately, throwing an arm over your waist like it was the most natural thing. “See? Not so bad.”

You laughed quietly, trying to ignore how fast your heart was beating. “You’re a blanket hog.”

“Am not.” She snuggled in tighter, head tucking under your chin, her breath warm against your collarbone. “You’re warm. I like it.”

You swallowed, hyper-aware of every point of contact: her bare legs brushing yours, her hand resting on your stomach under the hem of your shirt, the soft press of her chest against your side.

“Soph…”

“Hmm?” Her voice was sleepy, but you could hear the smile in it.

You hesitated. “This is… nice.”

She hummed in agreement, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Told you. Now shh. Sleep.”

The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the AC and the occasional creak of the old floorboards settling.

Moonlight filtered through the half-open blinds, painting pale stripes across Sophia’s bed where you were both tangled in the sheets.

You’d fallen asleep hours ago, exhausted from the sugar crash and too many snacks.

You were on your back, one arm thrown over your head, the other resting on your stomach under the covers. Your breathing was slow and even, completely out of it.

Sophia woke up around 4 a.m., heart already racing before she even opened her eyes.

She’d been dreaming about you—nothing innocent. The kind of dream that left her wet and aching, thighs pressed together even in sleep. She shifted under the blanket, trying to ease the throb between her legs, but it only made it worse.

You were right there. Right next to her.

The girl she’d been crushing on since freshman year. The one who never seemed to notice how Sophia’s eyes lingered a little too long when you changed in the locker room, or how her laugh made Sophia’s stomach flip every time.

Sophia bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.

She shouldn’t.

But you were so close. Your shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of soft skin above your waistband.

Your shorts were loose, the outline of you visible even in the dim light—thick, heavy, resting against your thigh.

Sophia’s breath hitched.

She’d wanted this for so long.

Wanted to touch you, taste you, feel you inside her. And you were right here, asleep, trusting her completely.

She moved slowly, carefully, not wanting to wake you.

First she just watched you sleep.

The way your chest rose and fell, the way your lips parted slightly. Then her hand slid under the blanket, tentative at first, brushing over your stomach. You didn’t stir.

Emboldened, she traced lower, fingertips slipping under the waistband of your shorts. She paused when she felt the heat of you, the soft skin, then wrapped her hand around your cock—gentle, testing.

You were half-hard already, thickening in her palm as she stroked slow and careful. A bead of precum welled at the tip; she smeared it down your length with her thumb, biting back a whimper at how quickly you hardened fully.

You shifted in your sleep, a soft sigh escaping your lips, but you didn’t wake.

Sophia’s heart pounded so loud she was sure you’d hear it.

She pushed your shorts down just enough to free you completely, then leaned over, breath ghosting over your skin. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the salty bead at the head. You twitched in her hand, a low hum in your throat.

She took you into her mouth slowly—warm, wet, careful not to wake you too suddenly. She sucked gently, tongue swirling around the head, then took you deeper, cheeks hollowing as she bobbed slow and steady.

You moaned softly in your sleep, hips shifting forward just a little, pushing deeper into her mouth. She hummed around you, the vibration making you throb harder.

She worked you with her mouth and hand, slow and wet, spit slicking down your shaft. Every time you twitched or sighed, she paused, waiting to see if you’d wake. You didn’t.

She grew bolder.

She pulled off with a soft pop, climbing over you carefully, straddling your hips. She tugged her own sleep shorts and panties to the side, already soaked from how turned on she was. She lined you up, rubbing the head through her folds, coating you in her wetness.

Then she sank down—slow, inch by inch, biting her lip to keep from moaning too loud.

You were thick, stretching her perfectly. She had to pause halfway, breathing hard, head falling forward as she adjusted. When she finally seated herself fully, she let out a shaky breath, hands braced on your chest.

You were still asleep, but your cock twitched inside her, and your hips rolled up instinctively, pushing deeper.

Sophia whimpered, rocking her hips in slow circles, grinding down to feel every inch. The friction was intense—your cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her.

She rode you carefully, trying to keep the bed from creaking too much, but the pleasure was building fast.

She leaned down, lips brushing your neck, whispering, “You feel so good… even asleep…”

You moaned in your sleep, hands flexing on the sheets, hips starting to thrust up in shallow, unconscious movements.

That was enough to push her over.

She came with a muffled cry against your shoulder, clenching hard around you, body shaking as waves of pleasure rolled through her.

The feeling must have pulled you closer to the surface—you groaned low, hips jerking up once, twice, and then you came inside her, spilling thick and hot while still asleep..

Sophia stayed seated on you for a long moment after her first orgasm, breathing hard, feeling the slow drip of your cum leaking out around where you were still buried inside her.

You hadn’t woken up—your breathing was still deep and even, face relaxed in sleep, one arm loosely draped over her hip like you were holding her even in dreams.

She should have stopped. She knew she should.

But she wasn’t going to.

She rocked her hips again, slow and careful, grinding down to feel every inch of you still hard and thick inside her.

The overstimulation made her whimper softly, but the pleasure was sharper now, sweeter.

She braced her hands on your chest, nails digging in just a little as she started riding you again—gentle rolls at first, then deeper drops, taking you as far as she could.

You groaned low in your sleep, hips twitching up unconsciously, pushing deeper. Your cock throbbed inside her, still sensitive, still leaking. Sophia bit her lip to keep quiet, eyes fluttering shut as she chased the feeling.

She leaned forward, hair falling around you like a curtain, lips brushing your neck. “so—so good f’ me,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Filling me up… making me come again…”

She sped up a little, hips circling, grinding her clit against your pelvis with every downstroke.

The wet sounds were obscene in the quiet room—her slick mixing with your cum, dripping down your balls and onto the sheets. She clenched around you deliberately, milking you, and you moaned again, low and rough, hips jerking up harder this time.

Your arm tightened around her waist in sleep, pulling her down, and she gasped, the angle shifting so you hit that spot inside her perfectly.

She rode you faster now, chasing her second orgasm, thighs trembling. Her breaths came in short, desperate pants, trying so hard not to wake you but losing the battle.

You stirred—head turning slightly, brows furrowing—but your eyes stayed closed.

Sophia came again with a muffled cry against your shoulder, clenching hard around you, walls fluttering as pleasure crashed through her.

The feeling must have pulled you closer to the edge even in sleep; your hips bucked up once, twice, and you spilled inside her again—another thick load mixing with the first, overflowing until it leaked out messily.

She shuddered through the aftershocks, grinding down slow to draw it out, until you softened slightly inside her.

She stayed on top of you, panting, body limp and sated. She kissed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—soft, reverent.

Then she carefully climbed off, wincing at the mess between her thighs. She cleaned you both with tissues from the nightstand, gentle so you wouldn’t wake, then curled up against your side, head on your chest.

She traced lazy patterns on your stomach, listening to your heartbeat slow back to normal.

You mumbled something incoherent in your sleep, arm wrapping around her tighter.

Sophia smiled into the dark, pressing one last kiss to your collarbone.

She’d tell you in the morning.

Maybe.

Or maybe she’d just let you wake up still tasting her on your lips, still hard against her thigh, wondering why you felt so good.

Either way, she wasn’t sorry.

Not even a little.

—

a/n ; the two anons… this is for you.

—

You were always the quiet one.

In class, you sat in the back row, doodling in the margins of your notebook instead of raising your hand.

At lunch, you ate alone or with one or two people who didn’t mind the silence. Even in group projects, you contributed just enough to get by—short answers, nods, the occasional shrug. People called you shy. Some called you weird. You didn’t correct them.

Sophia noticed anyway.

She was the opposite; loud laugh, center of every circle, the girl who could command a room with a smile or a raised eyebrow.

You’d known each other since sophomore year, orbiting the same friend group but never quite connecting. Until junior year, when she started sitting next to you in English, borrowing your pens, teasing you for never speaking up.

“You’ve got a voice, right?” she’d say, leaning close enough that you could smell her strawberry gum. “Use it sometime.”

You’d mumble something, face burning, and she’d laugh like it was the cutest thing.

It changed one Friday after a group hangout at her house. Everyone else had left, and you were helping clean up—quietly stacking cups, avoiding eye contact. Sophia watched you from the couch, legs tucked under her, head tilted.

“You’re always so quiet,” she said, not teasing this time. Just curious.

You shrugged, wiping the counter. “Not much to say.”

She stood, walking over until she was right in front of you. “I like quiet. But I bet you’re loud when you want to be.”

Your heart stuttered. You didn’t know what to say—literally.

Words tangled in your throat.

She smiled, soft and knowing, and sank to her knees right there in the kitchen.

Your eyes went wide. “Fia—”

“Shh.” She tugged your sweatpants down slow, fingers brushing your thighs. You were already half-hard—always were around her—and when she freed your cock, thick and heavy in her hand, she hummed appreciatively.

“Fuck, you’re big,” she whispered, stroking once, twice. “And so pretty when you’re nervous.”

You groaned, low and involuntary, hands gripping the counter behind you.

She leaned in, tongue flicking the tip, tasting the precum already beading there. Your hips jerked.

Then she took you into her mouth—warm, wet, perfect. She sucked slow at first, lips stretching around you, tongue pressing flat against the underside. You couldn’t hold back the sound—a deep, shaky moan that echoed in the quiet kitchen.

Sophia pulled off just enough to murmur, “There it is.”

She dove back down, taking you deeper, cheeks hollowing as she bobbed. Her hand stroked what she couldn’t fit, twisting just right. You were loud—moaning, gasping, voice cracking every time she swallowed around you.

“Fuck—Sophia—oh god—”

She loved it. You could tell by the way she moaned around you, the way her free hand slipped between her own thighs, rubbing herself through her shorts as she sucked you off.

You came fast—too fast—groaning her name loud enough that you were glad her parents weren’t home. She swallowed every drop, licking you clean, then looked up with that satisfied smile.

“Your voice,” she said, standing and kissing you so you could taste yourself. “I could listen to it all day.”

After that, it became a thing.

She’d find excuses—any excuse—to get her mouth on you.

In the car after school, parked in the empty lot behind the gym. She’d lean over the console, unzip you, and suck you slow while you gripped the steering wheel, moaning her name until your voice cracked.

At her house when her parents were downstairs watching TV. She’d pull you into the laundry room, drop to her knees behind the door, and take you deep while you bit your fist to stay quiet—but you never could.

Your moans always gave you away, and she’d laugh softly around your cock, loving every sound.

During movie nights with the group, she’d wait until everyone was distracted, then slip her hand into your lap under the blanket, stroking you slow until you were leaking, then lean down and take you into her mouth right there on the couch.

You’d moan into a pillow, voice muffled but still loud enough that she’d pull off to whisper ‘so good’ before going back down.

She loved your voice—the way it broke when you were close, the way you whimpered her name, the way you got louder the deeper she took you.

You were still quiet everywhere else.

But with her mouth on you, you couldn’t hold back.

And she wouldn’t let you.

She’d blow you in the mornings before school if you stayed over, waking you up with her lips around your cock, sucking until you were moaning into the pillow.

In the locker room after her volleyball practice, when the team had left and it was just you waiting. She’d push you against the lockers, drop to her knees, and take you deep while you groaned her name loud enough to echo.

Even in semi-public places—like the back row of the movie theater during a late showing, her head in your lap under your jacket, sucking you slow and quiet until you came down her throat with a choked moan.

Every time, she’d pull off after, licking her lips, eyes sparkling.

“Your voice is my favorite sound,” she’d say.

And you’d blush, quiet again—until the next time she decided she wanted to hear it.

You never stopped her.

You never wanted to.

One day you were sprawled on Sophia’s bed, back against the headboard, scrolling through your phone while she finished up a call with her mom in the hallway.

The room was dim, just the glow from her fairy lights and the screen in your hand. You were in your usual post-hangout gear; loose sweats and a hoodie, comfortable, nothing special.

Sophia slipped back in, closing the door with a soft click. She was in tiny sleep shorts and a tank top, hair loose and wavy, looking like she’d just stepped out of one of your late-night fantasies.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just crawled onto the bed, eyes locked on you with that familiar mischievous glint.

You lowered your phone. “Everything good?”

She nodded, but her focus was already drifting lower, to your lap. “Yeah. Just missed you today.”

You laughed quietly. “I was with you all day.”

“Not like this.” She settled between your legs, hands sliding up your thighs, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats. “Been thinking about your voice all week.”

Your breath caught. You knew what that meant.

She tugged your sweats and boxers down slow, freeing your cock. It sprang up, already thickening just from the way she was looking at it—hungry, appreciative.

“Fuck,” she whispered, wrapping her hand around the base, stroking once, twice. “You’re always so ready for me.”

You groaned softly, head falling back against the headboard. “Soph…”

She leaned in, tongue flicking the tip, tasting the precum already beading there. Your hips twitched.

Then she took you into her mouth—warm, wet, perfect. She sucked slow at first, lips stretching around you, tongue pressing flat against the underside as she sank deeper.

You couldn’t stay quiet.

A low moan escaped you, louder than you meant. “Oh god!—Sophia—”

She hummed around you, the vibration making your thighs tense. She bobbed deeper, cheeks hollowing, hand stroking what she couldn’t fit. Spit slicked your shaft, dripping down as she worked you with her mouth and hand in tandem.

You were loud—moaning, gasping, voice cracking every time she swallowed around you. “Fuck!—your mouth—feels so good!”

She loved it. You could tell by the way she moaned softly around your cock, the way her free hand slipped between her own thighs, rubbing herself through her shorts as she sucked you off.

She pulled off with a wet pop, stroking you fast and slick. “Keep making those sounds,” she whispered, eyes locked on yours. “I love hearing you lose it.”

Then she dove back down, taking you to the back of her throat, gagging softly but pushing through, throat tightening around you. You moaned louder, hands fisting the sheets.

“Sophia—fuck—I’m—”

She didn’t stop. She sucked harder, faster, hand twisting at the base while her tongue flicked relentlessly under the head.

You came hard—groaning her name loud enough that it echoed in the room, hips jerking as you pulsed thick ropes down her throat. She swallowed every drop, milking you with her mouth until you were shaking and oversensitive.

She pulled off slow, licking you clean, then crawled up your body to kiss you deep, letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“You’re so loud when I do that,” she whispered against your lips, smiling.

You laughed breathlessly, arms wrapping around her. “You do it on purpose.”

She nuzzled your neck. “I’d do it every day if I could.”

You kissed her forehead. “You pretty much do.”

She grinned, hand sliding down to stroke you again—slow, teasing. “Yeah, because I’m addicted to your voice.”

And just like that, the quiet girl everyone ignored became the loudest in the room—only for her.

Only ever for her.

—

Manon: Low, breathy, and controlled… until she isn’t.

She starts with soft, almost elegant sighs and quiet “mmh…” sounds, like she’s trying to stay composed. But once it gets really good, her voice drops into these deep, raspy moans that sound almost frustrated.

“Ah… fuck… right there—” (then suddenly) “Shit… don’t stop… oh my god…”

Sophia: Loud, expressive, and unfiltered.

She’s the most vocal. Lots of high-pitched gasps mixed with dirty talk and long, drawn-out moans. She doesn’t hold back at all.

“Yes—yes—fuck, just like that! Oh my god, baby, you feel so good—”

Daniela: Bratty, whiny, and teasing even while moaning.

She mixes giggles with breathy whimpers and little “please” sounds. Her moans are cute but filthy at the same time.

“Mmm… ah—wait, that feels… fuck—do it again… please—”

Lara: Deep, husky, and a little growly.

Her moans are lower in pitch, almost raspy. She tends to curse a lot and makes these throaty “ngh” or “hng” sounds when she’s close.

“Fuck… yeah… right there—shit, don’t you dare stop—”

Megan: Extremely whiny, shaky, and emotional (she cries easily).

She’s super vocal in a needy, desperate way. Lots of high-pitched whimpers, broken “please”s, and actual tears when it feels too good. Her moans sound like she’s on the verge of crying the whole time.

“Ahh—please… it’s too much… fuck—don’t stop, please don’t stop—” (voice cracking, tears in her eyes) “I can’t—I’m… it feels so good—”

—

—

The living room smelled faintly of coffee grounds and the citrus candle Daniela had lit earlier, now burned down to a low, flickering pool of wax.

The couch cushions were soft and slightly worn under your back, the fabric catching a little on your damp skin every time you shifted. Your running shirt clung uncomfortably to your ribs and spine, still soaked from the evening jog, and the elastic waistband of your shorts dug into your hips where the pressure inside was building.

Daniela moved with that quiet, deliberate grace she always had when she was in control. She stepped between your knees, thighs brushing yours, and pressed the sixth glass into your hand. The water inside was so cold it fogged the outside instantly; droplets slid down the side and dripped onto your fingers.

“Last one,” she said, voice low, almost gentle. Her eyes stayed on your throat the entire time you drank.

You tipped the glass back. The first swallow was sharp and shocking against your tongue, so cold it made your teeth ache.

You felt it travel down—every inch of the way—sliding past your collarbone, pooling heavy and cold in your stomach. By the fourth gulp the pressure was unmistakable: a deep, swollen ache low in your pelvis, your bladder stretched tight like an overfilled water balloon.

You had to clench hard just to finish the glass without spilling.

When you lowered it, your hand trembled slightly. You set the glass on the coffee table with a soft clink. The sound seemed too loud in the quiet apartment.

Daniela took the empty glass from you, set it aside, then climbed onto your lap without warning. Her knees sank into the cushions on either side of your hips.

The heat of her body hit you immediately—warm skin against your damp shirt, the faint coconut scent of her skin mixing with the salty sharpness of your own sweat.

She didn’t speak. Just rocked forward once—slow, deliberate—dragging the damp crotch of her shorts along the rigid outline of your cock.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. The friction was immediate and overwhelming: soft cotton against the thin nylon of your running shorts, her wetness already seeping through both layers.

Your bladder screamed in protest at the sudden pressure. The fullness was sharp now, almost painful, every tiny movement sending a fresh wave of urgency through you.

“Dani—” Your voice cracked. “I really need to—”

She cut you off with a kiss—slow, deep, tongue sliding against yours while her hips kept that lazy rolling motion. You could taste the mint from the gum she’d been chewing earlier, feel the heat of her breath against your lips.

She broke the kiss just long enough to tug your hoodie up and over your head. Your skin pebbled instantly in the cool air. She ran her palms down your chest, thumbs brushing your nipples, then lower, until her fingers curled into the waistband of your shorts.

“Lift,” she said quietly.

You lifted your hips on autopilot. She tugged the shorts and boxers down your thighs in one motion, letting your cock spring free. It slapped wetly against your stomach—thick, flushed dark, the head already slick and shiny with precum. The sudden exposure made you shiver.

Daniela made a soft, appreciative sound in her throat. She wrapped her hand around you, stroking once from root to tip, spreading the wetness. Your hips jerked up hard. The movement jostled your bladder again, almost cramping.

She tugged her own shorts to the side—no panties underneath—and lined you up. You felt the blunt head nudge her entrance, hot and slippery.

“Dani—wait—I’m gonna—”

She sank down in one smooth, controlled motion.

Your cock slid into her in a single long glide—hot, wet, tight enough to make your vision swim. She bottomed out with a low, satisfied moan, ass flush against your thighs. The pressure inside your bladder spiked instantly—your full, aching bladder pressed hard against the base of your cock, every tiny shift sending a fresh jolt of need through you.

She didn’t move at first. Just sat there, full of you, walls fluttering around your length.

You were shaking. “Dani—please—get off—I’m serious—I’m gonna piss—”

“I know,” she said softly, almost soothing. She rolled her hips once—slow, deep—and you moaned brokenly, hips jerking up despite yourself. The movement only made it worse; the pressure was unbearable now, right on the edge of losing control.

She leaned forward, forearms braced on your shoulders, forehead pressed to yours. “Just let it happen,” she whispered. “Let go inside me.”

You shook your head frantically, tears pricking your eyes. “No—no, I can’t—I’ll—”

She clenched around you—slow, rhythmic pulses that made your vision white out for a second. You sobbed, hips bucking up hard against your will.

The first spurt came without warning—hot, uncontrollable, flooding into her at the same time the orgasm crashed over you.

You cried out—raw, shattered—cock pulsing as you came and pissed inside her simultaneously. Relief and pleasure hit you like a tidal wave: wave after wave of hot piss and then thick cum pouring into her, filling her until it overflowed, soaking your thighs, dripping down onto the couch cushions in warm, messy streams.

Daniela moaned long and low, grinding down harder, milking you through it. “Yes—fuck—give it all to me—fill me up—”

You kept coming—cock jerking, bladder emptying in long, forceful spurts, cum mixing with piss until she was overflowing, the wet heat spreading everywhere. You were crying openly now—tears streaming, body shaking, babbling apologies and pleas into her neck.

“I’m sorry—fuck—I’m sorry—I couldn’t hold it—”

She shushed you gently, rocking slow, letting you empty completely. Her walls kept fluttering around you, drawing out every last drop until you were completely spent—cock softening inside her, bladder empty, body limp and trembling.

When you finally stilled, she kissed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—soft, soothing.

“There you go,” she whispered. “All out. Such a good girl for me.”

She held you tight, fingers stroking through your hair.

Dani stayed seated on your lap for what felt like forever, her weight a warm, grounding pressure as you both came down from the high.

Your cock was still buried inside her, softening slowly, the mix of cum and piss leaking out around you in slow, sticky dribbles that soaked the couch cushion beneath. The apartment was quiet except for your ragged breaths and the distant hum of traffic outside.

Your bladder was empty now, that sharp, urgent ache finally gone, replaced by a dull, relieved throb. But your whole body was still shaking—legs weak, heart pounding like you’d just run a marathon.

She lifted her head from your shoulder, eyes half-lidded and glassy, a small, satisfied smile on her lips.

Her hair was a mess, strands sticking to her forehead from sweat, and her cheeks were flushed pink. She kissed your jaw softly, then your lips—slow, lazy, tasting like salt and the gum she’d chewed earlier.

“You did so good,” she murmured, voice soft and a little hoarse. “Felt amazing.”

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry, words catching. “Dani… that was…”

She shifted her hips once, making you hiss at the oversensitivity. Then, without warning, she lifted herself off you—slow, careful, both of you wincing at the loss. A fresh gush of the mess spilled out as she did, dripping down your thighs and onto the couch.

She looked down at it, biting her lip like it was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

Before you could process, she slid off the couch and dropped to her knees right there on the living room floor, between your spread legs.

The carpet was rough under her knees, but she didn’t seem to care. Her hands landed on your thighs, pushing them wider apart, eyes fixed on your cock—still half-hard, slick and shiny with everything you’d just released inside her.

“Dani—what the hell are you—ugh! Fuck!”

The words tumbled out of you in a rush—surprise, confusion, and that sharp spike of pleasure as she leaned in without hesitation.

Her tongue flicked out, licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of your cock, tasting the mix of cum, her own wetness, and the faint, salty tang of piss that still clung to you.

She hummed low in her throat, like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted, and took the head into her mouth—soft, warm, sucking gently to clean you off.

Your hips jerked up without meaning to, a fresh wave of sensitivity making you groan loud.

The feeling was intense—too much, too soon, every nerve ending raw and firing. Her mouth was hot, her tongue pressing flat against the slit, lapping up every last drop.

She didn’t rush; she took her time, sucking slow and thorough, cheeks hollowing slightly as she pulled more from you.

“Dani—stop—it’s too sensitive—” You reached down, trying to push her shoulder away, but your hand ended up tangling in her hair instead, holding her there.

She looked up at you, eyes half-lidded, lips shiny and swollen. “Just a little more,” she murmured, voice muffled as she leaned in again.

Her tongue traced the vein running up the underside, slow and deliberate, like she was mapping every ridge and pulse. Then she took you deeper—halfway this time, throat relaxing as she bobbed slowly, hand wrapping around the base to stroke what she couldn’t fit.

The taste must have hit her—the slight bitterness mixed with the salty cum—because she paused for a second, but she didn’t pull off. If anything, she sucked harder, tongue swirling around the head like she was savoring it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head falling back against the couch. Your thighs were shaking, muscles tight from trying to hold back the overstimulation.

The room felt too hot, too close—the sticky mess on the couch cooling under your ass, the faint scent of piss mixing with sweat and her shampoo. Every suck sent a jolt through you, like electricity running straight from your cock to your spine.

She pulled off with a wet pop, stroking you with her hand now—slow, slick, using the mix of saliva and everything else to keep it smooth. “Tastes so good,” she said quietly, voice a little raspy from taking you so deep earlier. “Favor-ly.”

You whimpered, hips bucking up into her fist. “Dani—please—”

“Please what?” She leaned in again, lips wrapping around the head, sucking hard while her hand twisted at the base. The suction was intense—almost painful in the best way—pulling more precum from you, mixing with the lingering taste.

You were loud now—moans turning into whines, voice cracking every time she sucked. The pressure was building again, fast and unstoppable, your balls tightening despite how spent you felt.

She knew exactly what she was doing—alternating between hard sucks and soft licks, her tongue flicking the sensitive spot under the head until you were seeing stars.

“I’m—gonna—” You couldn’t even get the words out.

She pulled back just enough to whisper, “Do it. Come in my mouth.”

Then she took you deep—throat relaxing, nose brushing your pelvis, sucking hard and steady. Her hand pumped the base in time, fingers tight and twisting.

You came with a broken cry—hips jerking, cock pulsing thick ropes down her throat. She swallowed greedily, humming around you, milking every spurt until you were empty and shaking, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the intensity.

She pulled off slowly, licking you clean with long, soothing strokes, then stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her knees were red from the carpet, but she didn’t seem to care.

You were slumped back on the couch, breathing hard, body limp and spent. She climbed onto your lap again, curling into your chest, kissing your neck softly.

“You okay?” she asked quietly, fingers stroking your hair.

You nodded, arms wrapping around her. “Yeah… just… unexpected.”

She laughed softly, nuzzling closer. “We’re not done.”

You whimpered, but your cock twitched at the thought.

She kissed your cheek.

“Rest for a minute. Then round two.”

You held her tight, feeling the mess between you, the faint salty taste still on your lips from kissing her earlier.

—