The Windigo

TIMELESS

Ovunque tu sia io ti circondo

No More

Past and Present

The moon

I am vertical

The Unbearable Lightness of Being (+18)

Prompts ideas

PEDRO PASCAL

It's the award time (+18)

Waves of serenity

A premiere dream

THE X-FILES

Hurting

Agent Scully

MARCUS PIKE (THE MENTALIST)

Between thefts and lies

Office surprise (+18) -> Good boys smut Series

DIN DJARIN (THE MANDALORIAN)

Who’s the hunter here? (+18) -> Good boys smut Series

JAVI GUTIERREZ (THE UNBEARABLE WEIGHT OF MASSIVE TALENT)

Birthday gift (+18) -> Good boys smut Series

FRANCISCO 'CATFISH' MORALES (TRIPLE FRONTIER)

Pillow talks (+18) -> Good boys smut Series

DIETER BRAVO (THE BUBBLE)

A very good boy (+18) -> Good boys smut Series

Chapter 6: Invisible Traces

Three days after the theft at the Marmottan, Paris seemed grayer. The rain, light but relentless, slid down the café windows, washing away the reflections of neon signs and turning the city into a faded watercolor. The news had already cooled: “Another masterful heist,” “La Volpe strikes again,” “Questions raised about museum security.” Headlines that quickly vanished among political scandals and fresh breaking stories. No one knew he had been there, that he had seen everything. A spectator and, in a way, a silent accomplice to a perfect escape.

The Renoir hadn’t resurfaced on the black market. Too soon. Camille wasn’t the type to take risks out of vanity. She was cautious, methodical. A planner. Marcus understood her now: first she disappeared, then the artwork reappeared. The painting was probably lying safe inside a vault somewhere, hidden behind a wall or beneath the floor of one of her secondary apartments, waiting for the waters to settle. He knew that. He also knew that, sooner or later, she would leave another trace, invisible, but unmistakable.

And yet, something tormented him more than the missing painting. The message engraved on the display case.

"Not everything I steal is art. Sometimes, it’s time."

It wasn’t just a provocation. Those words had weight, rhythm, almost a hidden signature between the lines. Marcus had read and reread them until they were etched into his mind, trying to decipher their meaning. It was a message meant for him. A code, a warning or, perhaps, a memory of that night at the gala, when she had smiled at him as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Time. Marcus could feel it flowing over him like a sentence. Perhaps that was what she had truly stolen from him: his calm, his control, his ability to tell duty from desire.

--

Marcus returned to the apartment he had rented. The silence was muffled, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the soft hiss of rain falling on the zinc rooftops. The air smelled of paper, dust, and cold coffee. He took off his coat, tossed it over the chair, and stood still for a moment, his gaze lost in the void. Then he walked to the desk and opened an old, worn-out folder.

Inside was a collection of documents:reports, photographs, printed notes covered in handwriting. Among them, a digital copy of the inventory of artworks restored by Camille or rather, by her cover identity: Elise Marchand. Five years of work. Five years of traces scattered across museums, foundations, and private collections.

Marcus scrolled through the images one by one. Canvases, frames, protective glass. Every restoration was accompanied by a detailed technical sheet, the mark of a meticulous and disciplined mind. The more he looked, the more he recognized her elegant handwriting, her obsession with precision, her quiet perfectionism that bordered on ritual. Then he stopped.

One file caught his attention. Self-Portrait, 17th century. Anonymous. Flemish school.

Camille had restored it two years earlier, in Bruges. The note in the margin read: “Restoration completed at the Van Mieris Institute, under direct supervision. Return to private collection postponed upon request.”

Marcus opened the high-resolution image. A man with his face half in shadow, an enigmatic, almost defiant gaze. Behind him, an open window framing a gray, wind-stirred sea. There was something unsettling in the composition, something that made the hairs rise on the back of his neck as if the subject were staring at him across centuries.

Then he saw it. On the lower edge of the frame, barely visible, a tiny engraving: a wave. Simple. Stylized. But unmistakable.

The same symbol he had found etched onto one of the coins Camille had left behind the previous year, a signature, or perhaps a secret farewell. Coincidence? No. Camille didn’t believe in coincidences.

Marcus leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply. Bruges. If there was even the slightest chance of finding her, that was where he needed to go.

He ran a quick search. The Van Mieris Institute still existed, housed in a restored 17th-century patrician mansion, now serving as a conservation and restoration center. It was located in a quiet district north of the historic center, far from the tourist routes, the perfect place for someone who wanted to remain unseen.

His heartbeat quickened. Camille was methodical. If she had left a mark, it meant something. A message. An invitation, perhaps.

He didn’t waste time. Within minutes, the suitcase was ready: a few clothes, his passport, a service pistol, and the folder. No notice to the Bureau. No protocol.He wasn’t following a case. He was following her.

--

Bruges greeted him with its medieval silence: cobblestone streets and shuttered windows that looked like sleeping eyes. It was a place suspended outside of time, where every step seemed to echo louder than it should. A perfect hiding place for anyone who wanted to disappear from the world without truly dying.

Marcus followed the main canal until he reached the square, then turned down a narrower side street, where the lampposts cast faint cones of light on the brick façades. When he finally stopped in front of the Van Mieris Institute, a strange feeling settled in his chest not just the alertness of an agent on assignment, but something deeper, almost personal.

The building was imposing yet discreet, as if it were trying to blend into the stillness of the city. The tall windows were veiled by thick cream-colored curtains, and there was no sign, no indication of activity. Only a small brass plaque, dulled by time: Institut Van Mieris — Conservation et Restauration.

He pressed the buzzer. No answer.

He stood there, listening. The sound of the city seemed to fade away only the gentle gurgle of water in the canal and the faint ticking of rain on the gutters remained. He waited a minute. Then another. He was just about to leave when something caught his eye.

A reflection. A sliver of light, escaping from a window on the second floor.

He looked up. For a brief moment, behind the glass, he caught sight of a shadow, a slender figure, barely perceptible, moving slowly, hesitantly, as if deciding whether to reveal itself or vanish.

His heart leapt. He didn’t need confirmation. He knew that presence. Camille.

Her name crossed his mind like an electric shock. It couldn’t be an illusion.

Marcus stepped back to get a better view, but the window was dark now behind it nothing but emptiness.

He stood motionless, his breath suspended, one hand still resting on the buzzer. For an instant, time itself seemed to stop as if Bruges were holding its breath along with him.

He didn’t try to go inside. Not that night. The rain had stopped, but the air was still thick with damp and the scent of wet stone. Marcus sat down on a wrought-iron bench by the canal, where the lamplight shimmered across the dark water. He stayed there in silence, coat pulled tight around him, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of the sleeping city.

He waited. Thinking. Gathering fragments.

Everything he knew about Camille came back to him like the pieces of an unfinished mosaic her silences, her smiles that felt like promises, the small clues she left behind like breadcrumbs for those brave enough to follow. She played with time, with distance. And he, once again, had fallen into the web she had woven.

When he finally decided to return, it was close to midnight. That was when he saw it.

Half-slid under the door of his apartment was a white envelope. Thin. Anonymous. No sender, no postmark. Only his name, written in black ink, in a handwriting he knew far too well.

His heart stopped for a moment. He picked it up carefully, glancing around. No one. The hallway was silent.

He went inside and opened the envelope slowly. Inside was a single glossy print the face of the self-portrait Camille had restored. But there was something different: over the left eye, someone had drawn a red cross. Precise. Deliberate.

Marcus stared at it, unmoving, feeling his pulse quicken. Then he turned the print over. On the back, there was only one word.

“Look at me.”

His breath caught. It wasn’t a threat. Not a mere message. It was an invitation. A challenge.Camille was leading him somewhere. And he, despite everything, would follow every trace.

--

That night, Camille watched Bruges from the window of a dimly lit room, her face barely illuminated by the yellowish glow of a streetlamp. The rain fell in thin lines, tracing slow paths down the glass, as if even the sky had chosen to hold its breath. The city slept, silent and motionless, suspended in its spell of stone and water.

Behind her, the studio smelled of solvent and aged canvas. On the wooden tables, brushes, bottles of varnish, and dried pigments formed a methodical disorder, the only kind of chaos she could tolerate. In one corner, behind a movable light-wood panel, the Renoir lay carefully wrapped in coarse linen paper, sealed like a secret too fragile to be touched. Every time she walked past that wall, she could almost feel it breathing.

She had seen Marcus. She had seen his hesitation at the door, his hand hovering over the buzzer, the inner struggle flickering across his face. She had followed him with her eyes as he walked away along the canal, his step uncertain, like someone carrying a burden he no longer knew whether to keep or let go.

A faint smile had brushed her lips, but it vanished as quickly as it came. There was no satisfaction in her, only that quiet melancholy that always seized her whenever the past came knocking. Marcus wasn’t like the others. He had never been just a pursuer. There was something in the way he looked at her, as if he truly saw, as if his mind wasn’t searching only for evidence, but for meaning.

Camille moved closer to the table and picked up a small magnifying glass. She turned it slowly between her fingers, watching the circle of light shift across the wall. It was her way of thinking to look at things closely, dissect them, reduce them to shapes and shadows. But with him, with Marcus, she couldn’t. Every attempt at analysis melted into feeling.

She sank into the chair, her gaze fixed on the Renoir behind the panel. She had never feared anything, yet that night, a subtle unease crept into her chest. It was the same feeling she always had when her perfect plan began to crack. Only this time, the threat wasn’t the police, nor the Bureau. It was him.

She could have disappeared, as she always did. She had false passports, contacts, safe houses scattered across half of Europe. One train at dawn would have been enough. But she didn’t move.Instead, she stayed by the window, her eyes fixed on the reflection of the canal, while the flickering light traced the outline of a face she knew by heart. And she couldn’t decide whether to hope he would go away… or come back and knock again.

Chapter 5: The crack in the mask

The Marmottan Museum was silent. Minimized night lights drew eerie geometries on the corridors. The works, hanging on the walls, seemed to be silent observers of an imminent drama. Eyes without eyelids, silent witnesses of choices that can no longer be taken back.

Marcus had been there for hours. He had studied every corner, every shift change, every forgotten crack in the security structure. His notes were engraved in the mind like maps on tight skin. He hadn't said anything to anyone. It was madness, and he knew it. But when intuition had turned into certainty, when the details of the thefts, the styles, the footprints left on purpose as a signature, had begun to compose the portrait, he understood that only he could deal with it. Camille. La Volpe. But he also knew that if she really was La Volpe, that was the night he would see her for who she was.

And perhaps, without admitting it, he hoped that by looking her in the eyes one last time he would understand something about himself. Because since he had known her, something in him had broken. Or maybe he had just shown himself for what he had always been.

The Renoir hung in the side room, the beating heart of the museum that night. A delicate work, with intimate brushstrokes, protected only by a plexiglass barrier and a ten-year-old pressure system. Too little for those who knew where to get their hands. Marcus had hidden behind the fifth piece of furniture on the north face, in the blind spot that he himself had identified weeks earlier. He had turned off the phone. No registration. No calls for help. There wouldn't have been a second chance. No life-saving nets.

The ticking of the clock marked time. The exact time: 02:17.

A shadow moved, as light as dust in the air. No noise. No stumbling. Just presence.

Camille was inside.

She wore full black, every detail designed to disappear. The face covered by a thin mask, almost transparent to the uncertain light. But Marcus recognized her. In the way she walked, in the grace with which her fingers caressed the threads, in her controlled but not mechanical breathing. A human breath, again. The way she bent her wrist to turn off the alarm felt like part of a dance. It was like seeing a violinist tuning the instrument before playing a sonata she knows by heart.

Marcus looked at her while she worked, without haste, without hesitation. The hands moved the tools, two metal objects as thin as sewing needles, as if she were embroidering. The pressure system gave way with a sigh. Camille lifted the Renoir, with the delicacy of someone holding a newborn baby. She stuffed him into a hard, night-black case. Then she turned around.

And she saw him.

Marcus came out of his hiding place without haste. No gun, no threat. Only eyes on her.

“Hi, Camille.”

His breathing stopped. For an instant, he stood still, as if wanting time to stop with her.

Then she took off her mask.

“Hi, Marcus.”

Silence.

Their gazes intertwined, like ropes stretched between two extremes. She still held the case in her hands, clasped with both arms, as if it contained something much more precious than the canvas. As if it contained her last refuge.

“How long did you know?” she asked, her voice just a whisper.

“Enough to stop you,” he replied. “And too late to really want it.”

Camille took a step forward. “Then why are you alone? Why didn't you call for backup?”

Marcus didn't answer. It wasn't needed. The truth was already there, naked, in her eyes. He couldn't, didn't want to, hurt her. Not that night. Not so.

“Why are you really here, Marcus?” she asked. “Why did you want to get me? Or to see me one last time before I disappeared?”

He walked one step closer. Every gesture measured. Every word weighed.

“To see if you could still tell the truth.”

Camille smiled. But it was a sad smile. A light cut on the face of the night. A goodbye that it didn't know it was yet.

“Truth is, I didn't want to steal it. But I don't know how to do anything else anymore. That's all I have left.”

“You can quit.”

“No. Can't.”

The tone was not one of obstinacy. She was surrendered. An observation. A confession.

She looked at him for a long time, as if she wanted to imprint his face in her eyes, for when she would return to being just a shadow in the files.

“I'm not the woman you met at that gala.”

“Maybe you are more than you think.”

A moment. Only one. There, between the walls of the museum, with the ghosts of the paintings watching over, Camille could have thrown everything away. The framework. The escape. The mask. But the past weighed like a chain.

She took a step back. Then another.

“Sorry, Marcus.”

And disappeared.

A sharp blow tore through the silence. A homemade smoke grenade filled the room with thick, acrid fog. Marcus coughed, blinded, as his heart pounded without rhythm. When the haze cleared, Camille was gone.

The Renoir, with her.

Only silence remained. That kind of silence that comes after decisions that change everything

——

Later, when the police arrived, after an anonymous call made by Marcus himself in a flat voice, devoid of urgency, almost as if he were denouncing a dream that had just vanished, everything was already over.

The museum lay in unreal silence, suspended between night and dawn, as if it had held its breath so as not to disturb the absence left by the theft. No damage. No forcing. No trace of struggle, of chaos, of haste. Just a perfect, disturbing order. As if the work had simply evaporated.

On the empty pedestal, where the Renoir shone a few hours earlier, only one Roman coin remained, carefully left in the exact center. Ancient, worn out by time, it barely showed the profile of a forgotten emperor. It was Camille's signature. Sober, enigmatic, unmistakable.

But that wasn't all.

On the glass case that protected the painting, now useless, someone, she, had engraved a message. The writing was subtle, elegant, drawn with surgical precision from a spearhead:

“Not everything I steal is art. Sometimes it's time.”

The words seemed to float in the uncertain light of the torches, cold and shiny like a whisper in an empty room. The policemen photographed them, observed them with curiosity. But no one fully understood. Just Marcus. Only he could understand the weight of that sentence. Because it was not a message to the museum, or to Interpol, or to the world.

It was for him.

And she talked about the time they had shared, the time she had stolen from him and perhaps, even the time she had given him. Moments suspended between the false and the true, between one identity and another. Minutes stolen from reality, and returned in the form of memory.

Marcus stood there, motionless, long after forensics had taken measures and the inspector had closed the scene. Nobody disturbed him. They knew him. He was the expert. The man who could always read invisible signs.

But that night there were no signs to interpret. Just a simple, naked truth that hurt.

He had failed.

He had lost the painting, yes. But that wasn't the real weight weighing on his chest.

He had lost her.

Yet, he couldn't hate her.

The truth?

He didn't really want to take her.

He had never been a hunter, not with her. Inside himself, he knew that he had not prepared that trap to capture her but to observe her. To see it once again, without filters, without fictions. To offer her an exit, an alternative, a different choice. A us. One tomorrow.

He just wanted her to choose him.

But Camille, true to herself until her last breath, had chosen what she knew. The shadow. The escape. Freedom. Or perhaps, the condemnation that had been sewn up for years.

That night, she had chosen herself.

And Marcus, in silence, could do nothing but respect her.

He was still clutching the coin between his fingers as he walked out of the museum, with the first light of dawn scratching the horizon.

An ancient object, heavy with forgotten stories.

Like her.

Like them.

And as the sirens went out behind him, he realized that the most painful theft had not been that of the Renoir.

It had been time.

The one she had taken from him.

Or maybe, the one who had never managed to live with her.

Chapter 4: Footprints in the shadows

Marcus sat alone in a hotel room in the Marais, the pale light of the lamp drawing long shadows on the parquet floor. In front of him, on the low table, was a map of Paris open and worn by retreats, marked by dozens of red and black pen notes. Art galeries. Auction houses. Minor museums. Some circled, others connected by dotted lines, like fragments of a puzzle that didn't want to fit together. All places where “La Volpe” had struck in the last three years.

There was no clear pattern. No cyclicality. But Marcus knew that the most refined criminals masked their movements with apparent randomness. The mess was their disguise.

He also had a file printed on his bed, filled with notes, grainy photos from security cameras, and investigative reports written in three languages. In the midst of all that confusion, only one constant: the signature. The coin.

A Roman aureus, imperial era. Always authentic, always left with care. A signature flaunted with pride and defiance. No copies, no imitations. A personal imprint. Sleek. Iconic. Arrogant.

Who are you really, Camille? he wondered for the hundredth time. And why, despite everything, did he still want to protect her?

He had spent the last few days asking around in art circles. Always with discretion. He had only gotten half answers: “a brilliant restorer”, “a loner”, “she talks little about herself”, “maybe Canadian, or Swiss”. Nobody really knew where it came from. No one seemed to have a clear memory of her before the last two years. No social media, no digital past. An elegant ghost.

Then, intuition. Or maybe just luck.

An old contact from the American Embassy had told him about an event reserved for the Musée Marmottan. An exclusive never announced to the public: a Renoir on loan from a private collection, which arrived in silence, to remain on display for only a week. No official exhibition, no public invitation. Everything kept under track at the behest of the collector. Minimum security to avoid attention.

Marcus looked at the date written at the top right of the memo. Three days were left.

The perfect time for a theft artist.

He stood up, stretching his sore shoulders, and approached the window. From there he could see the crooked roofs of the Marais, the flickering lights of a still open bistro. The sky was low, heavy, as if Paris itself was holding its breath.

Camille was out there. Maybe he was already looking at the museum. Perhaps he was preparing entry, studying security shifts, choosing the exact moment to enter and disappear.

Marcus closed his jaw.

This time he would have arrived sooner.

--

Camille was sitting in her laboratory, her legs crossed, her back straight, but her hands had been immobile for too long. The fingers, usually agile between thin brushes and rare paints, now held a now cold cup, as if only that little heat could anchor it to the present. Around her, the silence was thick and layered, interrupted only by the regular sound of the rain drumming against the glass and sliding along the high windows, leaving oblique trails like held tears.

She had already studied every detail of the Marmottan Museum. Every single floor plan, every structural anomaly, every blind spot in the cameras. A small wing at the rear was closed to the public for restoration work, a forgotten area that seemed made just for her. The alarm system was old, which could be overcome with a touch, with patience and cold blood. The second floor window overlooked a dimly lit, rarely patrolled secondary courtyard.

It wasn't the hardest challenge she had faced. Actually. Technically, it was almost simple.

Yet...

There was nothing simple this time.

Marcus was in town.

And he changed everything..

She got up slowly, walking across the room in slow steps, as if to buy time. She opened the drawer of an old wooden chest of drawers and took out a black glove. Thin leather, custom made. With a familiar gesture she twisted it between her fingers until it reached the internal seam.

 There, hidden with surgical care, was the next coin.

An aureus, authentic. Shiny. Irreversible.

 Her brand.

 Her conviction.

The last one?  she wondered.

Part of her wanted to believe it. Another knew she would never stop, not quite. Not until the adrenaline continued to give her that sense of life that no other place, no relationship, not even love, had ever really given her.

And then there was Marcus.

She had dreamed about it the previous night. But it wasn't the Interpol agent who appeared to her in dreams, it wasn't the man with the badge and the probing look. No. He was the gala man, the one who had told her about Caravaggio with an authentic passion, who had told her how certain paintings seem to look at you even when you turn your back.

The one who had touched her fingers with a kindness that had hurt her.

The one who had greeted her as one greets someone one would have liked to know better.

Someone you could have loved.

Because if Marcus really saw her, if he read beyond the mask...

Then everything would collapse.

Yet, part of her, a part she hated to recognize, wanted to be discovered.

Not exposed.

View.

And for this very reason she had to be careful.

She opened the window for a moment. The air was sharp, wet, alive. She looked at the dark sky above Paris and said to herself: “One last shot.”

--

Marcus spent the next two days gathering clues. He visited the Marmottan Museum undercover, posing as a visiting American art critic for an item never requested. He took photos, took notes in a fake-consumed notebook, spoke to the staff in the casual tone of someone feigning professional curiosity, but observed everything with surgical attention. Every camera, every blind spot, every closed door.

No one seemed to really care about the Renoir. The director of the museum confided to him that the work would only be exhibited for a few days, then returned.

“A personal favor to the owner.” he said “A matter of prestige.”

Marcus nodded. But inside, every detail made more noise.

It was all too perfect.

Yet... there was no evidence.

Just instinct. Only her.

--

The evening of the heist, Camille wore anonymous clothes and became confused among passers-by on the Boulevard, invisible among the elegant evening crowd. A gray scarf covered part of her face, her pace decisive but measured. She entered a bookshop, passed through the rooms scented with paper and dust, then exited through a secondary door that overlooked a side street. She slipped through the alleys like a shadow, never looking back.

The plan was ready. Timetables were calculated with the precision of an orchestra. Cameras, surveillance shifts, even weather conditions.

 She had done everything in silence. As always.

Almost everything.

That night, Camille made a single detour. She left a small ivory envelope at the hotel entrance where she knew Marcus was staying. Not signed. No name, no symbol. Just a handwritten sentence, in elegant, controlled handwriting, in French:

“La vérité est un luxe que nous ne pouvons pas nous permettre.”

The truth is a luxury we cannot afford.

Then she disappeared again.

As if she had never existed.

--

Marcus read it half an hour later, as soon as he returned to his room. He was already ready: jacket on, holster placed under his arm, his phone full of notes that he no longer needed.

Yet he said it all.

He slipped the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket, then went out.

That night he would wait near the Marmottan Museum. Hidden in the shadows, sheltered from traffic and streetlights, ready to watch every movement.

He didn't know if he would see her. He didn't even know if he really wanted to see her.

But something, that intuition that never betrayed him, told him that this was the night the masks would fall.

And that maybe... he wouldn’t have been ready for what he’d find underneath.

Because sometimes, the truth is not light. It's hurt.

+18

"I told you to listen but as usual you had to do it on your own" The voice thunders as it enters the hull.

"Cyar'ika I..." tried to justify himself Din but was interrupted by Eleanor.

"Don’t even try!"

He shut up.

"Yes, ma'am"

"Since you don’t listen to words, then we will get to the facts," She said approaching the man, "You have ten minutes to take off everything and be on your knees in front of the bed. Clear?"

Din panicked.

"Answer me, pet!"

"Yes, ma'am" He replied before heading to the room.

Eleanor meanwhile headed to the closet where she kept everything she needed, certain that tonight Din would learn who was in charge.

When she entered the room, Din had done as he was told and was on his knees with his legs apart and his hands resting on them. His cock was getting hard from the anticipation.

Eleanor passed by him without noticing and started to take things out of the bag.

Din wanted to watch but he knew better than to risk angering Eleanor even more.

Continuing the silent preparation, the young woman returned to the man staring at his collar and leash.

"Look so cute when you are so," She said, raising his chin to look him in the eye "But I’ll make you even cuter in a moment. Come on, I want you on all fours on the bed"

Din stood up trying not to think about his cock that was already losing pre-cum, he knew well that Eleanor would not let him come easily. How wrong he was.

Once in position, Eleanor started talking again.

"Now, since you need to learn who’s in charge, I’m gonna get your ass ready so you can take my dick."

Din jerked, he had already tried a butt plug and a small vibrator but had never been fucked.

"Now, since it’s the first time, I’ll let you come but you can’t touch or rub yourself against the bed. Was that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am" whining.

In response she slapped him a couple of times in the seat, sliding forward for the sudden touch.

"Stay in your seat boy"

Eleanor started to put on the sling when she had an idea.

"You know pet, I decided that while I open you for good you can wet my dick" and without waiting for a reply brought the dildo to the mouth of Din which opened immediately to welcome.

"Look how handsome you are, all desperate for me"

Eleanor took her time to prepare Din by torturing him more than necessary, the man should learn his place, with or without good or bad.

When she was sure it was ready, she retrieved the dildo from the man’s mouth and he popped it out with a pop and released the saliva that had accumulated.

The young woman again positioned herself behind Din and began to slowly penetrate him, making the Mandalorian groan. When she was sure that he had just started to rock back and forth, first with small pushes while slapping his ass.

"Good pet you’re taking it so well" Din couldn’t formulate any sentences so the only answers that came out of his mouth were moaning.

Happy with the situation Eleanor grabbed the leash pulling it and got a choked moan from the man. This pushed her to increase the pace by hitting the right spot inside him.

"Madam, please, I’m coming" cried the Mandalorian

"Already?!" he asked rhetorically "Okay pet you can come, I promised you" this was enough because with the next push Din poured on the bed. He tried to fall down exhausted but Eleanor prevented him from pulling the leash.

"Madam?!" he asked in despair.

"I said I’d let you come but not that I’d be done with you. Now who’s a good guy and will keep getting fucked?"

I send "me lady" groan.

"Good boy" The young woman continued to push herself into Din’s hole for what seemed like hours, she was exhausted, she had managed to make him come twice more and now her cock despite being sensitive was hard again because of the pushes.

"I know you’re a good guy and you can give me another one."

"No lady I can’t do it, please lady" begged Din.

"Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?!" he asked rhetorically.

"I..." he sighed "I want it"

"Then come for me pet."

At those words Din felt the orgasm grow in him but this time nothing came out.

"What?" He couldn’t understand.

Eleanor noticed what happened.

"Well, I must have milked you good this evening" Mando kept not understanding "It’s okay don’t worry, you had a dry orgasm, it happens if you’re overstimulated"

Din sighed relieved as Eleanor walked out of him.

"Stay there, darling, I’ll go and get things to clean you up, I’ll be right back," he said, stroking his hair.

+18

"Hermosa, where are we going?" asked Javi as Alexandra dragged him away from the party.

"To celebrate"

Javi didn’t understand, they weren’t already doing it.

From the silence of the man, Alexandra understood that Javi did not know what she meant.

"I intend to celebrate privately, darling."

A light bulb lit in her mind as she opened the bedroom door.

"Sit on the bed, honey, I’ll get something."

Javi did as he was told while Alexandra opened the bedside table before returning to him with a pair of handcuffs in hand.

"Hermosa what?"

"Pull down your pants and underwear, but don’t take them off."

He obeyed again. The young woman was happy with how much he was available so she lifted her dress sitting on her lap.

"Hands behind your back"

Javi did it and she blocked his wrists

"Good boy, so nice to me," he said kissing him and pulling his hair to look at his face. Javi moaned in response.

Alexandra could feel the man’s cock harden beneath her and so she continued to grind her hips against it.

"Hermosa please..." tried Javi but she silenced him.

"Silence, darling, or I’ll leave you here tied up and unsatisfied."

He nodded in despair.

When she had tortured him enough she came down from him. Javi left a moan of despair which was met by a warning glance from the woman.

"Sorry, ma'am" could say.

She pretended to be nothing as she knelt between her legs. After a couple of tugs, she snapped her tongue at the tip.

Javi was not expecting it and in response he snapped his hips up.

"Good or stop" thundered before licking the whole rod.

She kept teasing him for a while, alternating her attentions between cock and balls.

Javi was desperate, he wanted more but did not dare to ask. Fortuna wants that Alexandra had decided to change the rhythm taking it all in her mouth before retiring completely.

"From now on you can come when you feel it, darling" she said before taking it back completely.

Javi knew he was close and when she brought her attention back to his balls he reached the peak filling Alexandra’s mouth with a stream of hiscum.

She kept holding it inside until she felt his orgasm had calmed down. The cock came out of her mouth with a snap and she swallowed without hesitation before standing up.

"Now to return love" she said taking off his underwear and dress then push Javi on the bed and sit on his face "forward let me see how grateful you are"

+18

It was two weeks since Teresa had left for work and he couldn’t take it anymore. He had restrained himself from masturbating because he wanted to make her enjoy herself well once she returned but things had been prolonged by an unforeseen event and he was going crazy. After five days she had tried to masturbate in the shower but nothing, she could not find the right stimulus. He moans frustrated in bed taking his face against the pillow. Immediately he had an idea, maybe rubbing it would help him.

She took off her boxer shorts and pulled out her already half-stiff cock before she mounted herself on the pillow. With this position he was facing the door but at least he could attach to the headboard to help with the pushes.

Too much taken by the hope of coming did not notice the figure that looked out on the room.

"Well, if that’s not a nice way to be welcomed" At the sound of the voice Frankie snapped trying to cover.

"No honey continues, I want to see what you were doing" continued Teresa taking her side of the bed for a better view.

"Hermosa" whined the man.

"Silence, I want to hear only your groans."

He nodded, putting himself back on the pillow. The first impulses were exploratory but as the friction against the cushion began to be felt it started pushing more and more.

Teresa watches him carefully.

"What a good boy you are, you need to come so much, right?!"

He groans in agreement.

"Then show me how much you want, how much you want to come."

Frankie needed nothing else and so between the friction and the voice of Teresa it took a few more pushes for her coming to stain the whole pillow.

"Good boy" he said approaching to pass his fingers on the coming "time to clean" continued bringing his fingers to his mouth.

He accepted with pleasure.

"Now good boy, there’s more to clean" he concluded by taking off his underwear from under the skirt.

Frankie was excited to get to work.

+18

"I’ll ask you one last time, are you sure about that?"

"Like never before, darling, I also didn’t take anything to get high, so you’ll be more relaxed," she said playing with her hair.

"Well then" She sighed resigned "Strip off completely"

Dieter did as he was told, his cock started to harden thinking about what would be waiting for him. Meanwhile, Eve had approached the dresser to take the first toy.

"Good boy, you. Now lie on the bed, belly up and legs and arms spread apart" Dieter obeyed again and so Eve proceeded to fix his hands to the headboard with handcuffs and ankles at the corners of the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

The actor tried to pull the bonds to test them.

"They are good"

When he had confirmation, he recovered the last of his belongings and returned to bed.

"Now first we will make you hard for me" he started pouring some lube on his hands before starting to pump it slowly "then when you are ready I will put this vibrating ring on you" continues showing him the toy lying in bed "then I will open you up so you can take this nice vibrator" he continued by showing him the other toy "finally with this one" stopped to show him the gag ball "I’ll cover your mouth, because then you’ll be my good boy who will take what I give him. Okay?" she concluded, continuing to stroke Dieter’s cock

He nodded.

"Words, darling, for these will be the last you can say."

"Yes, ma'am, I agree."

"Good boy"

Eve continued to stroke him for a little while before sticking the ring on his cock.

"Well, now we move on to the next stage," he said as he picked up the lube.

He started to open it slowly even if for Dieter it was not the first time that he took something in his ass, but he did not want to risk hurting him.

When three fingers were stuck in his butt without him resisting too much he took the vibrator, it was simple, around 5/6 inches. Once again he was used to bigger things but this evening it was different. Once lubricated Dieter did not make any resistance while inserting it.

"Well now remember that if you need to stop you hit your hands against the wall three times"

"Of course, ma'am"

When he confirmed it, she stretched out over him to fix the gag "Open your mouth for me, darling"

Once everything was set he moved to admire the work.

"Look at you, what a little slut you are. All at my mercy" said that began to strip down remaining only in bra and underwear.

"Now I’ll have fun with myself and you can’t do anything but watch."

She approached the dresser again taking a dildo the size of Dieter’s cock and placed the chair in front of the bed so he could see it.

"Well let’s start the fun" said that activated the vibrators at full power making Dieter shudder who tried a scream but was choked by the gag.

Eve started to slide the dildo between her folds before pushing it completely in.

"You’d like to be you, wouldn’t you, darling?!"

Dieter moaned an answer.

"Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying."

The young woman spread her legs even wider to show how the cock disappeared between her folds.

"You see, it could have been you here and instead I must settle for"

Dieter was in the meantime going crazy, he was so close to release, Eve noticed it and lowered the intensity.

This game went on for a long time, by now Dieter had lost count of how many times Eve had blocked her orgasm, while she had already come a couple of times.

"You know now that I’m satisfied I could let you come"

The actor’s eyes lit up.

"But you’ll have to do it without touching yourself. Can you do it for me?!"

He nodded forcefully in the hope that he could achieve something.

"Well then" Eve approached Dieter passing him the dildo still full of his juices on the cock "Now I take off your ring but don’t dare come. Not yet" he nodded again.

Done that he gave a quick lick to his rod before turning on the vibrator in his ass.

"Come on good boy, come for me" said that he came almost immediately splashing all over his belly and up to get to the face.

Once the orgasm waves had calmed down, Eve began to release Dieter.

"Don’t move, don’t move."

He nodded to his exhausted head.

She disappeared in the bathroom and then returned with wet wipes.

"I’ll clean you now, but first suck for me," he said as he passed his fingers on the way to take them to his mouth.

"Good boy"

+18

When Marcus called to confirm that he would be stopping by her office during the break, Anne didn’t expect to end up folded on her desk for dessert. Marcus had popped into his office shortly after noon with two portions of pasta from his favorite Italian restaurant near the museum. They had eaten chatting about their work and the news of the morning. Everything was going as usual, but this time Anne had taken off her shoes and put her legs in Marcus' lap. "Darling" had growled warning her not to tease, and she laughed as if nothing happened. The poor officer tried to keep his composure but it was useless so as soon as he finished his lunch he got up to lock the door. "Well" he began to say as he reached Anne from the other side of the desk "I can’t go back to the office in this condition" he continued to lean down and talk to her ear "also I didn’t even bring dessert, it will have to be remedied. Will you help me?" he concluded, holding his hand under the skirts of the young. Anne nodded as her excitement grew. "Words my love" "Yes, Agent Pike" answered almost automatically. "Good girl, then why don’t you take off these nice panties for me?!" Growled at her ear and continued to caress it through the fabric "They are already wet, only by my voice" "Yes sir, just for your voice" she repeated as she began to pull off her panties. Marcus took them putting them in his pocket "These will come with me and if you’re good I’ll give them back to you tonight at home" You nod unable to formulate any words. "I want to feel you, darling." "Sure sir, I’ll be a good girl." "Well, then lift your skirt and bend over for me on the desk." She listened while he began to caress her butt as he stood behind her. "You know I would have eaten you out but since we don’t have much time and that you were a bad girl teasing me you will have to earn to come" concluded slapping her ass and making Anne moan in response. Before lowering his pants to release his hard cock he took the condom out of his wallet. "You feel so wet to me, I don’t even have to prepare you," she said waving her cock between her folds before putting on the condom. He slapped Anne’s ass again before sticking himself in her. "Good girl, take my cock so well," he said as he allowed her to adapt to his presence. "Thank you sir" managed to meow. "Now you’ll keep being good and quiet, we wouldn’t want to be caught, would we?" He began to retreat. "No sir" he managed to answer before he pushed himself back inside her. Marcus kept a fairly fast pace with short shots that reached the right point inside her. Anne bit her lip to avoid making any sound. Marcus' blows were pushing her to the limit but it wasn’t enough, so he tried to put a hand between his legs to caress herself but the agent was faster and locked her arm behind her back. "No one touches you, darling" he warned. "Lord please, I need more" she groans in response. "For punishment you’ll have to settle for my cock and just, I know you’re a good girl and you’ll come anyway." Anne moans defeat, Marcus then starts to increase the pace pushing himself deeper and deeper. The young woman felt that she was close, her cock was getting tighter and tighter. "Come on, baby, I feel how you want me so tight, you feel really good, honey." he said. "Come on, honey, I want to hear you tighten my dick even more" said that it would take another half dozen pushes for Anne to come soaking Marcus' cock, which made him push even deeper as he came. When he was sure, he pulled out of her taking the tissues from the drawer. After getting rid of the condom, he cleaned her up. "You’ve been such a good girl to me." She did not answer but sat on his lap, cuddling against his neck.

+18

Office surprise -> Marcus Pike

Who’s the hunter here? -> Din Djarin

Birthday gift -> Javi Gutierrez

Pillow talks -> Frankie Morales

A very good boy -> Dieter Bravo

More to come...

The slight amount of a body resting against his brought him back to waking after a deep sleep. Opening his eyes, he found two blue gems and a red waterfall watching him.

"Day," he said, recovering.

"Day to you too," she replied, kissing the tip of his nose.

"Have you been awake long? Could you wake me up," she asked, caressing her bare back under the covers.

"No," she answered quickly," I preferred to let you rest a little longer. It was a busy week with VCU, you needed it," she continued.

"Thank you, honey," they didn’t often call names, but at times like this, she couldn’t resist.

"Mmm. You could show me that you’re grateful, in a way you’re very grateful," he teased

"If you ask so nicely, you know I can’t resist," she said, turning her back and starting to get under the covers.

"God, Mulder!" he exclaimed as Mulder’s tongue slid slightly between his lips.

"Shh, Scully" replied and stopped, "It doesn’t seem right to mention the name God in vain, it’s not good Catholic, honey"

"Don’t give me that shit now, Mulder, otherwise, when you’re done down there, I’ll get dressed and go home."

He in response resumed working on her making her moan.

The pleasure unfortunately did not last long as they heard the door of the apartment open after a light knock.

"Who the fuck is now," Scully exclaimed frustrated.

"Scully..." he tried but a familiar voice blocked him

"Fox, honey, are you home?" His mother had just walked into his house unannounced as he lay completely naked and distraught over an equally naked and distraught Scully.

"He can’t fucking find us like this." He shot agitated.

"Mulder calm down." I try to reassure him unnecessarily.

"Scully, you must hide," he ordered, getting out of bed and dragging the blankets with him.

"What?" she was stunned, she didn’t expect such a response from her.

"I’m sorry, Scully, but please, you have to hide in the closet, I don’t want my mom to find out we’re together like this"

She sighed exasperatedly, "All right, but then we do the math." She said as she approached the closet, "at least pass me a shirt."

He threw his t-shirt at her while she closed the door.

Meanwhile, his mother had approached his room, she could hear the steps in the corridor followed by a light knock on the door.

"Fox, are you sleeping?" she asked nicely

"No, I was getting ready for a shower, please don’t come in, I’m not decent," he replied, trying to stay as calm as possible.

"Oh, Fox, I’m your mother, nothing to be ashamed of," I replied as I entered the room, giving Mulder just enough time to bring the sheet in front of him.

His mother studied doubtful "Are you alone?"

"Yes, Mom." she answered, sitting on the bed, "No offense, but what are you doing here?"

"I can’t visit my son"

"Yes but..." he tried

"I was in town to see some friends, and I took the opportunity to visit my son, since he hasn’t been around much lately," she said.

"Sorry, Mom," he said, looking down at her " but the work has been very heavy lately." he hurried to say to justify himself "And then not even Scully, she could hear her mother very much, and she is much better at this than I am" by looking up and moving her hand between them as to emphasize their bond.

"You don’t have to be good Fox, just a few more calls would be enough, just to know that you’re okay, more often"

He nodded and looked down again. His mother understood that it was better to change the subject.

"So, how is Agent Scully," she asked, encouraging a new speech.

Mulder was amazed by her interest, "She’s fine, she’s good. It keeps me very active," he replied, looking quickly at the closet and pretending he didn’t think of it as a double entendre.

"I’m glad. She’s good for you." He continued "When she can she keeps you out of trouble. It doesn’t have to be an easy job for her."

"Mom..." replied he exasperated by where this speech was going.

He was trying not to look often at the closet to avoid his mother thinking he was hiding something.

"And then I like it a lot more than that woman who was there before. What was her name?" She asked rhetorically "ah, yes, Diana. I really didn’t like it at all," she concluded.

"Mom, please..." he tried again, tired of his mother’s allusions.

Meanwhile Scully in the closet could hear everything and could hardly hold back a laugh at Teena’s questions and the mention of Diana.

"Well, honey, I’m going to the kitchen to make coffee, why don’t you get dressed and meet me there?" he encouraged as he left the room. But as soon as he was out, he froze and turned, "Ah, and tell dear Agent Scully not to stay locked in the cupboard all the time and join us in the kitchen for coffee," she dictated, and resumed heading for the kitchen.

"But how..." he whispered in amazement.

She had never seen him like this. Of course, he had often thrown himself headlong into work but never in this way. He kept looking for card after card, continuing to talk. I couldn't follow him anymore.

"That's enough, Mulder" I didn't even realize I was screaming.

He froze, looking at me in amazement. He couldn't understand, I could see it in his eyes.

“Look at you Mulder, it's not you. You need to calm down and take a break. Get some sleep at least."

"I can't... I'm so close." He whispered as he sat down at his desk.

I approached him on my knees to have my eyes level with his. “I know Mulder, I know. But really, listen to me, you can't go on like this. You are destroying yourself. There will be nothing left of you if you continue down this path. If you don't want to do it for you, do it for Samantha and her research and…”

...for me.

“... what would she think if she saw you like that? She would feel bad for you…”

...I would feel bad for you. I couldn't go on.

“Now stay here, I'll go get you something to eat. I'll be right back.”

I was out for about ten minutes. When I got back, he was still sitting there, eyes closed, I didn't know if he was sleeping. I walked over to the desk and he opened his eyes.

"Scully..."

"I'm back, I took two sandwiches, I hope they're good for you."

"Sure, come here."

I approached, placing the sandwiches in front of him. He took my hand, kissing it and leaned his head on my lap, with the other hand I stroked his hair, it was so soft. His eyes were closed, as if he were thinking about what to say.

"Besides, I'd hurt you too, right, Scully?!"

I didn't answer, he still knew the answer.

Helen was staring at her reflection in the mirror, her hands trembling as she tried to perfect her makeup, which just wouldn't seem right. The dress for the premiere lay on the bed—a beautiful creation of blue velvet that looked perfect, but Helen felt like it wasn’t quite fitting the way she imagined. And with the pressure of the upcoming night, she couldn’t shake the feeling of insecurity. "How’s it going?" Pedro's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned and saw him standing in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a simple t-shirt, but with a smile that made her feel safe. His gaze, full of warmth, reassured her. "I don’t know..." Helen replied with a sigh. "The makeup isn’t how I wanted it, and the dress... it’s too big or too small, I don’t know. Something’s off." Pedro walked over slowly, his steps deliberate yet gentle. He took her hand, stopping her as she was trying to adjust a strand of hair. He looked into her eyes, wanting her to feel his calming presence. "Don’t worry, love. You’re beautiful, and that won’t ever change. It’s not about what you wear." Helen looked at him, but her insecurity didn’t fade. "I don’t feel like that. I want everything to be perfect, especially tonight, when you… well, you're you." Pedro smiled softly and leaned in closer, lowering himself just enough to look her in the eye. "Helen, you don’t need to be perfect for me. I love you for who you are, and right now, all I see is the most amazing person I know. It’s not the dress or the makeup that makes the difference." Helen lowered her gaze, feeling the weight of his words. She couldn’t shake the feeling of inadequacy, but Pedro’s words were slowly helping her feel lighter. "Thank you," she whispered. "I feel a bit better now, but… I’m still nervous." "I know," he replied, his smile growing. "But I promise you, when we’re there, you won’t think about any of this. They’ll see you for who you truly are, and for me, there’s nothing more perfect." Helen closed her eyes for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then she looked up at him with a small smile. "Okay, I’ll try." Pedro smiled even more and, without saying a word, guided her to sit in the chair. "Now," he said with a determined tone, "let me help. I want you to be ready." Helen watched in surprise, but Pedro was already prepared to take on the task. He gently worked on her hair, fixing that one stray strand that always seemed to escape, and adjusting her makeup with a light touch. Then, with surprising precision, he helped her with the dress, making sure every detail was just right without forcing her into anything she didn’t like. "Perfect," he said finally, standing behind her as he smoothed the last fold of the dress. "There’s nothing more beautiful than you." Helen stood up and looked at herself in the mirror again, finally seeing the version of herself that Pedro saw. She felt more confident, more at ease, as if all the pressure had just lifted. "Thank you, Pedro," she whispered. "Really, thank you." Pedro looked at her, his eyes sparkling with affection and pride. "Always. You’ll never have to do this kind of thing alone." Helen smiled, her heart light, and walked over to him. "So, are you ready for the premiere?" "I can’t wait," he replied, taking her hand. "Because when you’re with me, nothing else matters." Together, they walked toward the door, hand in hand, ready to face the night. Helen wasn’t thinking about the dress or the makeup anymore. Her worries had vanished, because she knew the only thing that truly mattered was being with Pedro, ready to experience the evening as a shared dream.

Pedro lets himself sink onto the warm sand, softened by the day’s lingering heat, while the sound of the waves crashing against the shore fills the air around them. After days of intense filming, finally being in this quiet, hidden spot by the ocean, with her by his side, feels like a dream. It’s rare for him to have moments like this, so each second feels even more precious. She traveled a long way to be with him, and that alone reminds him how much he’s missed her.

He turns to look at her, noticing the gentle smile on her face as she, too, seems to be soaking up the peacefulness of the moment. “Almost feels surreal, doesn’t it? Just being here… no scripts, no schedules to follow,” he says, a hint of relief in his voice that he can’t hide. She squeezes his hand and nods.

“It’s exactly what you needed,” she replies, gazing into his eyes with a look that seems to reach into his soul. “Sometimes you lose yourself in your endless work, and you forget to stop and take a breath. That’s why I’m here—to remind you that you deserve this time for yourself too.”

Pedro chuckles, a deep, warm sound that mingles with the sound of the ocean. “And here I thought you came just to keep me company. Turns out you’re my savior, huh?”

“Always,” she says with a playful, affectionate tone he adores. Then, she slips off her shoes, digging her feet into the cool, damp sand. Pedro watches her for a moment, captivated by the ease with which she moves, so free and uninhibited.

He stands up and offers her his hand. “Come on, let’s take a walk. I don’t know how long this calm will last, but I want to enjoy it as much as I can.”

She takes his hand, and they start walking slowly along the shoreline, letting the gentle waves brush against their feet. Pedro never lets go of her hand, and every now and then he softly strokes her fingers with his thumb, as if to strengthen the bond between them. Walking beside her, he feels like he’s finally finding his balance, as if this brief moment of normalcy is enough to bring all his pieces back together.

They walk in silence for a while, with Pedro occasionally glancing up at the stars above them, as if needing to reassure himself that everything around them is real. Then, without warning, he stops and turns to face her. He looks at her for a few seconds, intensely, as if he’s trying to convey something he can’t quite put into words. She watches him, a curious smile playing on her lips as she tilts her head.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks with a light laugh.

Pedro hesitates, then shakes his head, smiling. “Just… that I don’t think I’ve ever craved peace as much as I do tonight. And it’s all because of you.”

His voice is low, almost a whisper, but loud enough to send a shiver down her spine. He leans down slightly and, with infinite gentleness, brushes her lips in a slow, sweet kiss that carries the weight of the days they spent apart and the promise of the days yet to come.

When they pull apart, she moves closer, resting her head on his chest as he wraps his arms around her. They stay like that, under the dark sky dotted with stars and the moon casting silver reflections on the water. She feels safe, protected, as if this moment could last forever.

They remain that way for a while, then Pedro guides her back to the dry sand, where they sit and watch the ocean in front of them. She nestles closer in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, listening to the steady, calm beat of his heart. In that serene silence, it’s as if they’re sharing unspoken thoughts, dreams, and hopes that blend into the sound of the waves.

After a few minutes, Pedro breaks the silence. “You know, when I was younger, I dreamed of doing all this… but I never imagined how intense it would be. I was so focused on making those dreams come true, I didn’t realize how heavy they could feel.”

She looks at him with understanding and tenderness. “Now that you’ve made it, though, you can allow yourself to enjoy it with a bit of lightness, Pedro. And you’re not alone in it.”

He gazes at her, moved by her words, and holds her hand tightly. “Yes. With you… everything feels easier.”

She smiles, and Pedro wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as if to shield her from the wind. They stay there, under the starry sky, while the world seems to come to a stop just for them. And for a moment, everything truly is perfect.

+18

"Helena, have you seen my phone?" I asked my assistant as I moved everything, hoping it would materialize before my eyes. Before she had a chance to answer, a male voice that I knew very well gave me the solution. "Looking for this?" Pedro said, waving my phone in his hand as he entered the room. I nodded as I approached him "My savior in a glittering dress," I said, embracing him. "Just for you, Cariño," she said, kissing my hair, "Helena has done a magnificent job," as she walked away with the embrace to admire the dress. I wore a green dress that started from a green velvet corset and then opened with a voluminous skirt with a play of golden embroidery that made my blond hair stand out in a simple hairstyle. Helena knew how much I hated the particular hairstyles because I had the bad habit of ruining them by playing with them when I was nervous.

"You’re not bad yourself, honey. All you need is a collar, and then you could pass for a Catholic priest." Pedro burst out laughing. His laughter was contagious and made my day better. And today was one of those days when I needed it most. Pedro seemed to have understood my anxiety because he took my hand, ready to reassure me, "Are you okay, Diane?" "Yes," I hurried to reassure him. "Just a little nervous. You know I don’t like these events, I’d rather stay home, cuddle with you while we watch a good movie." "I know, Cariño, I know," she said, caressing my arm, then hugging me again, "Maybe tomorrow night. Would you like? To celebrate your victory?" he proposed. She laughs. "As if I had a chance to win against those sacred monsters with whom I am a candidate" she sighed "and even if I had to win, tomorrow I would have all the cameras pointed at me.” "Well, maybe it’s time. Maybe we shouldn’t hide anymore." he said seriously. I looked at him in amazement. We both loved our privacy and although hers had been put to the test, especially in recent months, we had agreed to keep it between us, our closest friends and our family. "Are you sure, Pedro?" I asked doubtfully "You don’t have to do it if you don’t want..." "No" interrupts me."I want it. I’m tired of hiding our relationship. But only if you want it too. I don’t want to force you. But I feel like I’m ready, and I hope you feel the same." This man amazes me more every day. I didn’t have enough words to describe how much I loved that man. "Pedro." I took his hands in mine "If I win tonight, I’ll announce him on stage otherwise, we’ll do it in the next few days. Is that okay?" "Of course I am. More than good." "Good. Now finish getting ready, or we’ll be late." Joke by pushing him to the door he came through. Laughing, he gave me one last kiss on the lips" After Cariño" and left the room.

Within half an hour, Helena had finished with the preparations, and I was driving towards the Dolby. My leg did not stop shaking. I hated to let the anxiety take over, but I couldn’t help it. I almost didn’t have panic attacks anymore, but the anxiety always stayed. It was an ugly beast, difficult to tame. I had already been to the event but never as a protagonist, and that was the problem. In my thoughts, I didn’t realize I had arrived at my destination. "Miss Parker, we’re here," said the driver. "Oh," I replied re-emerging into the reality that surrounded me, "Thank you David. I’ll let you know after the party." "Miss, I’ll be there for you." After that I went down and immediately I was overwhelmed by the myriad of actors, directors, journalists and anyone else involved with the event. To accentuate the sense of oppression, although we were outdoors, there were lights. Pedro always said that I looked like a goblin in a cave, because in the apartment I never turned on the general lights but only the small and warm ones. Speaking of the man, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him get out of the car with his sister. I could tell he was upset, too, but only because I knew him well, otherwise I wouldn’t have noticed, he was much better at hiding stress. Where I burst like a balloon at the slightest stress, he could hold the reins and go straight.

I was again distracted by my thoughts when one of the assistants accompanied me to the entrance to parade on the red carpet and for the various interviews. Photographers kept shouting our names to show us where to look and how to position ourselves. "Diane! Pedro!" "Please approach!" "A picture together!" I heard screaming from the crowd so I turned to my left to find Pedro smiling at me, stretching his arm as a sign to approach him. "Are you sure?" I whispered He nodded, looking into my eyes, "Come for the cameras," he added before turning to the photographers. And so did I. I was dragged to the journalists. I wasn’t sure I was mentally ready for the usual cliché questions but I took a deep breath and put on my best smile before facing this rodeo. Fortunately the torture ended quite quickly and just as quickly I found myself in the place designated for me. Being nominated for Best Leading Actress, she was seated in the front rows with the reluctant cast and the director, while Pedro sat a few rows behind me. I wish I had him around so I could hold him in one of his fabulous hugs. that would allow me to calm the tension that was increasing more and more as the evening went on.

I knew the fateful moment had come when I heard Pedro and Elizabeth nominated for Best Actor and Best Actress. "Well folks" began Elizabeth after the men’s award was handed out. "Now the nominees for best actresses are" When I heard my name, I straightened myself up in the chair with a smile. It was then Pedro’s turn to take the floor as he opened the mail "And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to..." he stopped to take a deep breath "Diane Parker for the movie The Abyss" His eyes opened wide looking for mine. I couldn’t believe it. I don’t know what force possessed me and allowed me to reach the stage. Pedro was waiting for me with the statue in his hand and a stupid smile on his face "Mi alma, hai vinto!" he said, giving me the statue. I was so overwhelmed with emotion that in response I gave him a quick kiss, as I normally do at home when I am excited about something. The silence fell in the theater, but taken from the euphoria I didn’t notice it and I approached the microphone beginning my speech: "First of all I would like to thank the director, Anthony Holloway, for giving me this opportunity, but also all the cast and collaborators; it is thanks to you that every day seemed to be at home." I paused for a moment to calm my thoughts " I also want to say that this role was really very important. As the protagonist of the film I suffered from depression, anxiety and panic attacks, so for me it was really important to give a true and real representation of what it’s like to live with these boulders. But I never would have made it if someone really important to me hadn’t been by my side for the last two years." I stopped again turning to Pedro and reaching out my free hand to him saying "Pedro, mi amor." I continued as he took my hand and approached me "Thank you really, I would never have done it without you. Know that, even though I struggle to prove it sometimes, I love you with all my heart." "I love you, too," he said, hugging me.

I knew the audience was clapping, but I didn’t care as long as I was in his arms. Pedro waited on the sidelines while they were taking the photos with the prize but as soon as they were finished he dragged me away with him. "Pedro, where are you going?" I said I was following him and trying not to trip over with heels. He said nothing but looked around before opening a door and pushing me in. I couldn’t face him, and he pushed me against the wall and kissed me greedily. "God, I love you, I’m so proud of you," he said as he pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath. "Pedro..." I did not know what to say, my words did not seem enough to express all my feelings, and tears began to form in my eyes. "Shh... I know," he continued, stroking my hair before lifting my chin and placing his lips on mine. Then he lifted me off the floor to sit on the sink. "What do you want to do?!" I said it with false innocence. "Celebrate honey," she growled, lifting up her dress in search of my underwear." These are mine, and I’ll keep them safe for the rest of the night," she continued, taking off her garment and putting it in her pocket. "Pedro..." I tried to repeat but he caught me by surprise carrying his head between my legs. She started kissing my inner thigh, getting closer and closer to my center but never getting too close. "Don’t tease Pedro," I insisted, but he looked up and smiled and picked up where he left off. "I want to see you come" she whispered against my leg before spreading my pussy lips with her fingers. He began to tease me with his tongue before sticking his finger inside and causing me to groan. Happy with my reaction she started pumping in and out adding a second finger as she kept sucking my clitoris. I tried to push him closer, but I didn’t want to grab his hair and ruin it, so I put my hand behind his neck. This time it was he who groaned. "Please, please, I need more." I begged for more friction. "Shh darling. We don’t want anyone to hear us." he said as he added a third finger.

Pedro knew exactly what he was doing, in fact in a short time I found myself biting my hand not to scream as I came. He stood up smiling at me before leaving a kiss on my lips. "Cariño, let me amuse you," I whispered in his ear. I started to open his pants. "I want you inside of me" I lowered his pants together with the boxers stroking it with confidence before approaching my entrance. Pedro kissed me again before he pushed himself in and made me moan in surprise. I felt her vagina twitching as he went out almost completely and pushed in again. "Dear God, you’re always so tight," he groans as he strikes at the right angle. I felt my orgasm coming as the heat grew inside me "Come inside Cariño, I’m so close." And so after a couple of pushes both Pedro and I reached orgasm and so as not to scream I pushed his lips against mine. We were both out of breath as he leaned his forehead against mine. "Maybe we should come back, I think the ceremony is over," I said as soon as I got my breath back. Pedro nodded and helped me get out of the sink and fix my dress. "Go out first" I continued smoothing the sleeves of the jacket "see you at the entrance in five minutes" "Sure cariña," he replied, giving me a quick kiss before going out. I gave myself a quick refreshment on the face and a slight adjustment to the hair before following it. He opened the door and fortunately nobody was around so I walked to the exit but before I could escape from the harassment of journalists and photographers I was stuck for the ritual interviews of the winners. The questions were always making me believe that I had transformed myself into a robot because of the automatic answers that I gave. I didn’t want to sound like the squeamish star, but really, reporters needed to improve their repertoire.

Out of the corner of my eye, I looked for an escape but nothing. But then I noticed the presence of Pedro, he must have gone back to find me since I had not yet reached him. "Oh, there you are Diane, I couldn’t find you anymore. I wanted to tell you that the car has arrived," she said, putting a hand on my arm, "Are you ready?" he asked, looking at me. "Yes, of course." I said, "Please excuse me, but they’re waiting for me," and spoke to the journalist. As soon as we were far enough apart I approached him to whisper "Thank you for rescuing my knight in shining armor" He stared at me then we both burst out laughing. Upon reaching the car, the ride to the afterparty was relatively short as was the walk to the entrance. I couldn’t wait to get a drink and relax and let the stress slip away. "Pedro, honey, I’ll go get a drink, do you want something?" "A whiskey is fine. I saw Sarah, I’ll catch up with her. I’ll wait for you there," she said, kissing my forehead. I went to the bar and said hello to people here and there. I knew most of the people at the party, some very well, but I wasn’t mentally ready for any social relationships so I took the drinks as fast as I could and went back to Pedro and Sarah. "Hey Diane, you dropped a nice bomb. I’m ready to see tomorrow’s papers." she laughed. I thought it was a good bomb, but it was time, we couldn’t continue in secret. As I continued to navigate my thoughts Pedro was turning into the party animal, socializing with everyone, having fun, dancing and having a few more drinks. It was easy for him to be so expansive while for me it was the opposite. Often people didn’t even notice me, and on the one hand that was good for my anxiety; if they did they said that my attitude dampened the enthusiasm. It’s not that I didn’t know how to have fun, but if I was mentally tired nothing would have changed him. So I took advantage of his distraction to slip away and go out for a breath of air, forgetting, however, that Pedro always noticed me or rather my lack thereof. In fact, a couple of minutes later I saw him come out looking for me. "Mi alma, are you all right?" she asked as she approached me and hugged me. "Of course, honey. Just tired," I said with a smile "stress has slipped away and so I feel empty" I saw him thinking, "Do you want to go home?" he was more attentive to my well-being than to his. "No, no, go inside, have fun. Don’t give up on the evening" I answered by cuddling more against him "I’ll stay out a little more then I’ll join you". He came off to look me in the eye and see what I really needed. "Are you sure?" He nodded "Cero! Go!" I said jokingly pushing him towards the door. "I love you!" he said before giving me a quick kiss. "I love you too," I replied I stayed out for another hour before I started feeling cold and needed another drink, so I came back.

Once at the bar I didn’t notice that Pedro had reached me. "Here you are, I love you, luz de mi vida" he screamed, wrapping me from behind. Well, he was drunk. Tomorrow morning will be a fun awakening. "Pedro, honey, you’re drunk. I think it’s time to go back to the hotel, okay?" I said, turning in my arms. He nodded, leaning his head against my naked shoulder. I took down the whiskey order in one go, and then dragged Pedro to Sarah and some of his friends to say goodbye. David was waiting outside ready to take us back to the hotel. Within an hour we were in the room, fortunately Pedro was still standing and did not need David’s help to climb. Once I was in the room I barely had time to help him take off his clothes and I heard him snoring under the covers, so I decided to take a picture of him so I could make fun of him the next day. After that, despite my tiredness, I managed to get up before I reached the bed and pressed myself against his chest. Pedro recognized my presence and quickly fell asleep. When I woke up the sun had been rising for a long time. Pedro was still asleep by my side. I decided to slip out of his warmth to go get something for breakfast, so I dressed quickly and left him a note before I left. When I came back, Pedro must have gotten up because the bed was empty. "Honey, I came back. I brought coffee in industrial quantities and bagels" I yelled knowing that this would annoy him about the hangover. A grunt came from the bathroom followed by the door that opened letting out a wild Pedro with his hair ruffled and dressed in a pair of underwear. "Please don’t scream," he begged, holding his head. Risi slightly. "Where are my sunglasses? This light is killing me." He kept putting on his yellow Lakers shirt. "I’m here on the table," I said while I was resting my breakfast. Pedro immediately ran to retrieve them. "It seems that Dieter Bravo has taken possession of you, honey," I joked taking the phone to take a picture of him. "Let’s take a vote so people don’t think that last night was just a set-up"

Pedro leaned his chin over my shoulder, looking straight into the room. Then while I was taking a picture he kissed me on the cheek. Then for the next one he took my chin and turned it towards him, then kissed me on the lips. I then took another couple of photos, one where he kissed the tip of my nose and the last where he smiled stupidly at me. I could never get enough of the feeling of love I felt for Pedro and how it warmed my heart like never before. "Then send them to me," he said, beginning to drink his coffee. I nodded. "What will you write on the post?" he asked. I thought about it. "Well, I was thinking something like 'the party animal and its little Gremlin'" We both burst out laughing and then resumed our breakfast ready to face what would happen next.

Chapter 25: Open your mouth for me

"Are you ready Draga?" Flynn asked, stroking her cheek. "Yup" "Well then, hands behind your back, pet!" he said authoritatively "Yes, sir" she said as Flynn handcuffed her hands. "On your knees!" he ordered as he opened his jeans. She continued to follow the instructions "Good pet. Now open your mouth for me." Lucy opened her mouth for him. He slapped her cheek before he pushed his cock into her mouth. "Look what a beautiful mouth. Made to be fucked" Lucy looked at him adoringly. Garcia went deeper "Good girl, take it all" He went on alternating between holding her still and letting her do all the work. When he was on the edge it came out of his mouth. "Mouth open and tongue out pet" Lucy followed his instructions and in a few strokes Garcia came into her mouth. "Swallow it all" and so she went "Good girl. Now what do you say?" "Thank you, sir"