﻿The Twisted Love Potion

by Pan



Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2024-02-16 21:54:45
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,799
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/TwistedLovePotion/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: A series of short tales where love itself has been twisted in unexpected, humiliating ways.
Erotica Tags: fd, ff, hm, in, mc, md, mf, mm





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Prologue

Chapter 1 — Half-Brother

Chapter 2 — Babygirl

Chapter 3 — The Goddess of Awfulness

Chapter 4 — The Greenborough Parish Group

Chapter 5 — Finishing Her Exam

Chapter 6 — Diamond-Level

Chapter 7 — Christmas Eve

Chapter 8 — Permanent Position

Chapter 9 — WAGs

Chapter 10 — Half-Brothers

Epilogue



	Prologue

“Drink it,” Alice urged, like her literary namesake in reverse. If Chris had been paying closer attention, he may have noticed the desperate tone in her voice, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t.

“Alice,” he said, looking at the strange bottle she’d passed him, “what’re you even doing? You know we have a process.”

“Drink it,” she said again. “Just a drop. That’s more than enough.”

He glanced at her, his brow furrowed.

“More than enough for what?”

She grinned, and for the first time, he started to suspect something was wrong. Her grin was too much. Too wide, too manic. Too _grin_.

Chris was Alice’s manager at the Fizzco Bottling Plant. They’d worked together for six years, and he’d never seen her…like this.

“Alice…”

“More than enough to see that you have to run this up the chain,” she said, after taking a moment to calm down. Her grin was still huge, and her eyes had a worrying look in them.

“That’s just it,” he said with a sigh. “There _is_ no chain to run it up. Fizz doesn’t take submissions for new flavors—there’s a team in New Haven, they’re in charge of coming up with new drinks. Even if I love it, it’s not like it’s going to be the new Fizz Cola.”

Alice nodded, but Chris suspected that she wasn’t really listening. He tried to hand the bottle back to her, and her grin faded. All at once, she looked like a bug that had been stepped on.

“Please,” she said insistently. “I just…I just want to know what you think.”

“It doesn’t _matter_ what I think…—” he started, but Alice cut him off before he could finish the thought.

“It does to me.”

Chris looked at her, then looked at the strange bottle in his hand, then sighed.

“Just a sip,” he said.

“Just a drop,” Alice replied. The grin was back. He wished the grin hadn’t come back.

He liked Alice well enough, but ever since they’d met, he’d always thought there was something…odd about her. He’d asked around, but no one else had ever gotten the same vibe as he had.

His wife had met her at the company picnic, two years ago. “She’s in love with you,” she’d announced, within seconds of meeting her. “She didn’t stop staring at you all day—and she all but shot daggers from her eyes at me.”

Chris had dismissed the idea, but now…the way Alice was acting. Maybe his wife was onto something.

Maybe the strange bottle contained a poison, and this was the last interaction he’d ever have.

No, that was ridiculous. Alice might have been an oddball, but she wasn’t a _murderer_.

“…you first,” he said, and immediately chided himself for letting his paranoia get the better of him. Still. They were alone in the factory; if she _was_ going to murder or drug him, this was the best time to do it.

Not that Alice was going to murder him.

“Of course,” she said sweetly. “It doesn’t work unless both of us have some, anyway.”

_Doesn’t work?_ he silently asked himself, scratching his chin with confusion as he watched a single drop of the strange concoction hit Alice’s tongue.

She smiled, and nodded at him.

“Delicious,” she said, smacking her lips. “Your turn.”

Chris sighed. He considered telling her again that there was no point, but he knew she wouldn’t listen, and he desperately wanted to get out of there, to get home to his wife.

“Bottoms up,” he said with a smile, and tipped the potion onto his tongue, just as Alice had. A single drop hit his tongue, and changed his life forever.

His eyes widened, and he saw Alice’s do the same. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw small love hearts appear in her pupils…

“Alice,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Chris,” she responded, suddenly blushing furiously.

“God, I…I need you.”

“ _Yes_ ,” she responded, no louder than a whisper. “Oh my god, I’ve wanted this for so long…”

Chris stepped forward, and—for the first time in almost a decade—kissed someone who wasn’t his wife. He wrapped his arms around Alice’s body, pulling her to him, wanting nothing more than to feel her pressed against him, feel her in his arms.

“I love you, Chris,” Alice said, and he realized his wife had been right. Alice had loved him all this time, and now…

He searched his feelings, and realized he didn’t return them.

Chris loved his wife. He didn’t love Alice. He never would.

But god did he want her.

“I need you,” he repeated, not wanting to lie to her, but knowing he couldn’t go another moment without feeling her softness in his arms. “Fuck. I need you.”

She stepped backwards, leaning against the factory wall, tilting her head back, exposing her neck. Chris knew he must have seen her neck a thousand times before, but it had never been so alluring before. He wanted to lick it, suck on it, bite it.

If he didn’t have her, he knew he would die.

“Take me,” she growled. “Please, Chris. Here. Now. _Take me._ ”

“I need you,” he said once more, stepping forward and kissing her neck passionately.

Neither of them noticed Chris dropping the potion as he stepped forward. Neither of them realized when Alice accidentally kicked it, sending it down the stairs. Neither of them heard a thing as it bounced along the corridor, rolled around a corner, and finally came to rest on the metal walkway above the giant Fizzco vat.

Chris roughly tore Alice’s shirt off, and she responded by unzipping his pants and taking his erection into her hand.

“I don’t have a condom,” he panted, and she nodded.

“Perfect,” she said. “I want your baby. I want you to give me your baby.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Chris said, moving his mouth to hers as she helped him undo her jeans. “That’s so hot.”

Less than a minute after tasting the potion, Chris was thrusting inside his employee, staring into her eyes. He’d had sex before, of course—he had two kids.

But it had never been like this.

“Oh god oh god oh god oh god,” Alice gasped. “Oh Chris, yes. Yes. Oh god, oh god!”

Alice’s pussy clenched around Chris’s cock as she came.

“Oh fuck, Alice—I’m going to cum!”

“Do it,” she urged. The manic grin was back, but this time, Chris didn’t mind. He couldn’t imagine a more erotic sight. “Cum inside me. Give me your baby. Please. Please! I want it so bad.”

With a loud groan, Chris came, filling Alice with his cream, his cock throbbing inside her.

“Yessss,” she whispered, and the two of them collapsed to the floor. “I love you,” she said once more.

“I need you,” he again replied. “I can’t leave Janice or the girls, but fuck. Alice. I need you—every day, for the rest of our lives.”

A hurt look appeared in Alice’s eyes, but it faded as Chris reached down and softly stroked her clit.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Okay. I’ll be your workslut. You can be my baby daddy. It’s not what I expected, but…fuck. I need it too.”

“Good girl,” Chris said, smiling into her eyes as he used his own cum to lubricate his fingers. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she replied, and in that moment, nothing else mattered—not the cold concrete against their bare asses, not the questions about how they were going to make this work, not the bottle-stopper sitting less than a foot from them.

Nothing else mattered, not even the strange dripping sound coming from one floor down, as the small bottle emptied, drop by drop, into the giant vat of Fizz Twist.


	Chapter 1 — Half-Brother

“Pass me the ball, Dweebus!”

It took all of Markus’s energy not to roll his eyes as his half-brother stood over him mockingly. Karl was twice the size of Markus, and had no compunctions using that fact to his advantage. Part of it was simple genetics, part of it was muscle, but a lot of it was fat.

People often thought the two were kidding when they introduced themselves as brothers—Markus was as thin as a rake, no matter what he ate, and—unlike his brother—had no interest in team sports.

“Get it yourself,” he muttered, and Karl narrowed his eyes.

“What’d you say to me?”

“Here,” Markus sighed, leaning over to get the ball, then clumsily throwing it up to his brother. With a loud guffaw, Karl left his little brother to read.

Less than a minute had passed before Markus was interrupted again, although this intrusion was much more welcome.

“I’m sorry he treats you like that,” Sami said. Markus looked up from his book, and at the sight of his brother’s girlfriend, again had to expend a significant amount of effort to avoid showing his true feelings.

Sami was not only gorgeous; she was sweet, kind, and _exactly_ Markus’s type.

He and his brother, for all their differences, seemed to have extremely similar taste in women.

“Hey,” he eventually croaked, immediately wishing he could pull the word back into his mouth. _Way to play it cool,_ he silently rebuked himself.

“Hey,” Sami smiled. “I’ll leave you alone, I just thought I’d get you a Fizz.”

“Thanks,” Markus said, wishing that his voice would calm the fuck down. “Oh. Twist?”

“Yeah,” Sami shrugged. “Those are my favorite.”

“Thanks,” Markus replied, opening the can and taking a sip. Apparently masking his true feelings for Sami had expended all of his emotion-hiding energy, because his face immediately scrunched up. Fizz Twist had a licorice taste to it; he much preferred Fizz Classic.

Sami laughed, a sound that was like music to Markus’s ears.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s not for everyone. Want me to get you a Classic?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Markus grinned back. “You want the rest of this?”

“Sure thing,” she said, taking the can from him. “I should get back to Karl.”

“Talk to you later,” Markus said, leaning back and returning his attention to the book in front of him.

Less than a minute later, Markus was sitting bolt upright, his eyes wider than they’d ever been before.

He’d always liked his brother’s girlfriend. He’d always found her attractive. In his most private moments, he’d even admit to himself that he had a bit of a crush on her.

But all of a sudden, his attraction to his brother’s girlfriend had become something so, so much more.

He needed her.

He needed her _now_.

He looked around, filled with a sudden, desperate desire to see her. She was standing on the opposite side of the field where his brother was practicing, but she wasn’t watching Karl play.

She was staring at him, a wide-eyed look on her face, the can of Fizz Twist in her hand.

They stood there for what felt like hours, just staring at each other. Markus’s face was red with need, his heart was racing with lust, and his knees were trembling with fear.

He’d never wanted a human so much in his life.

Without a word, he and Sami reached an accord. She set down the can and they both started moving at once, making their way to Karl’s van, at the end of the field. When they reached the outside, they looked around nervously.

Somehow, without speaking, they both knew what they were going to do. What they _had_ to do.

But they also knew how wrong what they were doing was, and that they couldn’t risk getting caught.

“I have the keys,” Sami said, her hands trembling as she reached into her purse. “God. Markus…”

“Sami…” the scrawny man replied, his cock pulsing at the sound of his voice coming from Sami’s sweet lips.

“Oh, _god,_ ” she moaned. “Come on. Let’s get inside, where no one can see.”

Markus looked around while Sami unlocked the van, but his attention was almost immediately diverted by the sight of her cleavage, the swell of her breasts in the yellow summer dress she was wearing.

“Hurry,” he panted. “I need you.”

A small groan escaped Sami’s lips at his urging.

Finally the van was open, and the two clambored inside. It was full of tools—Karl was an electrician—but there was a seat along the side.

It was more than they needed.

Markus and Sami’s lips met, and the two of them sighed in shared bliss as they explored each other’s mouths, and their hands began roaming each other’s bodies.

Sami pulled away, and allowed her sundress to fall—Markus had unzipped it during their embrace. His eyes widened at the sight of her white bra.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“Mmmm,” she panted. “Markus…”

He nimbly undid her bra, allowing her breasts to fall free. She gasped with pleasure as his mouth found her nipples, and began biting and sucking gently.

“I love your brother,” she said abruptly. Markus’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t stop worshipping her breasts with his mouth. “I do. I don’t…he can’t find out about this.”

“Of course not,” Markus responded, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. He didn’t know why Sami had suddenly returned his desperate affections—or how they’d suddenly made this powerful sexual connection—but even as they’d met outside the van, he’d hoped this could be the start of something more.

“But I need you,” she said, looking down at him with a smile. He glanced up—her eyes were dark with lust. “Fuck. Markus. Please…make love to me.”

Markus removed his shirt, showing his skinny chest and flat stomach. Sami groaned with need at the sight of it, and removed her dress, revealing a pair of white panties.

“I’m so wet,” she moaned, moving her hand between her legs. “God, Markus…you make me _so wet_.”

As Markus shucked his pants and underwear, his erection came into view.

“Oh, _god,_ Sami repeated.

Markus gently lay Sami down on the seat, and looked into her eyes.

“I’m not going to make love to you,” he said softly, and a look of panic appeared on his half-brother’s girlfriend’s face.

“What??”

He rarely noticed Sami’s accent; it was much more pronounced when she was scared.

“You love my brother,” he said, and a tear began to appear in her eyes.

“Please,” she begged. “I…I need you. God. Please, Markus. I’ve never needed anyone so much in my life.”

“I’m not going to make love to you,” he repeated. “Because we’re not in love.”

“I love him,” she admitted. “But I _need_ you.”

“I’m not going to make love to you. I’m going to _fuck_ you.”

Sami’s eyes widened, then clouded with lust as Markus entered her. As he’d been teasing her, he’d positioned himself at her entrance without her noticing.

“Fuuuuuuck,” she moaned as he slowly entered her. She was soaking wet. Markus gasped with pleasure at the feeling of his bare cock sinking into the softest, tightest pussy he’d ever fucked.

It was perfect. It was so perfect.

“Yesss,” Markus said. “Oh, god, Sami…”

“Fuck me, Markus,” she moaned. “Please. I need it.”

“Yesss,” Markus repeated, and obeyed the naked woman’s request.

Anyone standing outside the van would have been able to tell the exact moment Markus began fucking his half-brother’s girlfriend in earnest. Before that, they would maybe have spotted slight movement, but as he truly started pounding into her, the van rocking back and forth was unignorable.

And if that wasn’t enough, Sami’s moans of pleasure went from soft, gentle sighs to loud, guttural exclamations.

“Yes!” she grunted. “Oh god, yes! Fuck me, Markus. Please! Please! I need it so bad. Oh yes, fuck me! Fuck me so good.”

“Good girl,” Markus panted in response. “God, you’re such a good girl. You’re such a tight little fuck.”

“I want you to cum inside me,” she moaned. “Do it. I need it. I need you to cum inside me.”

“I’m going to do it,” Markus hissed. “Yesss….I’m going to cum inside you.”

Sami’s eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the throb of Markus’s cock as he unloaded his seed inside her. “I’m cumming,” she gasped. “I’m…I’m cumming!”

The pair briefly shared a moment of true bliss, as their shared orgasms rocked their bodies, their minds. Their worlds.

Markus’s entire body was trembling as he slowly pulled out of Sami’s wetness. He could see his cum dripping from her pussy, onto the dirty floor of his half-brother’s van, but he didn’t care.

In that moment, all he cared about was Sami.

She smiled back at him, almost shyly. In response, he leaned forward and his lips met hers.

“That was amazing,” he said. “I…I don’t know what came over me. I swear, I’m not normally like that.”

“I loved it,” Sami said reassuringly. “God. Markus, I loved it so much. You were so sexy.”

A note of sadness crossed her face.

“I can’t believe I just cheated on your brother.”

“Half-brother,” Markus corrected.

They sat in silence for a few moments, pondering what they’d just done.

“Can you pass me my underwear?” Sami asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her nudity. The warm glow of arousal was still inside her, but the powerful orgasm she’d just experienced had quelled it, at least slightly.

Markus paused, and a smile slowly appeared on his face.

“No,” he responded. Sami raised one eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“No,” he repeated, moving his hands to her exposed skin. They tingled, just from touching her. Her skin burned with lust as soon as his fingers made contact with them.

“I know that you love Karl. He’s your boyfriend. He gets you the rest of the time. But when we’re alone, when it’s just you and me, I get _all_ of you. I want you to be naked whenever we’re together.”

Sami flushed at his words. After several seconds had passed, she nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes,” she said.

“So…we’re going to do this again?”

Markus’s voice was hopeful, like a kid who had just learned that there might be a second Christmas coming that year.

Again, Sami paused.

“…yes,” she finally said, allowing a note of lust to appear in her voice. “I…I need it. I need _you_.”

“I need it too,” Markus responded, moving his hands down Sami’s body, until his finger was resting at the entrance he’d just cum into.

Sami’s eyes widened as one of Markus’s thin fingers entered her.

“And I want photos,” he added.

“Oh?” she replied with a groan.

“Yes,” he answered, staring her in the eyes, his voice growing increasingly bold. “I want to see you, Sami. When we’re not together, I want you to send me photos.”

Sami moaned with pleasure as a second finger joined his first.

“Videos.”

“Yes…”

“Whenever you fuck my brother, I want you to think of me.”

“Half-brother,” she corrected with a smirk, before her eyes went hazy with lust once more.

“And every time you cum, I want to hear details. _All_ the details.”

“Okay,” Sami nodded.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” she said, grinning at the naked man in front of her, before leaning forward to give him a kiss. “Now quickly—take me again before your brother realizes I’m gone.”

“Half-brother,” Markus replied with a grin. “And there’s another half-hour before practice finishes. I can probably take you twice more before then.”

“Yesss,” Sami groaned, wrapping her legs around Markus’s slight frame. “Please. _Please_ …”


	Chapter 2 — Babygirl

“I love you, babygirl,” the 40-year old man panted as he thrust into his teenage daughter.

“I love you too, Daddy,” Dalia responded, her back arching as she came, shuddering with pleasure around her father’s cock.

Ever since Dalia’s mother had died, she’d known her Dad was lonely. He’d gone on a few dates over the last few years, but nothing serious—she’d always figured he just hadn’t connected with anyone, that his love for her mother had been so strong, he’d been unable to reopen that part of his life.

Now, as she felt his cock pulse inside her, Dalia wondered if he’d been waiting for her. Waiting for her to notice how incredibly sexy he was.

Waiting for her to notice how well the two of them fit together. How good it felt when their genitals met, when he fucked his daughter as hard as he could. How good it felt when he came inside her, when he felt her pussy twitching with orgasm around his cock.

Fathers and daughters, Dalia was increasingly realizing, shared a unique sexual connection. She’d literally come out of his cock—and now, she was the one who caused him to shoot out his baby-making sperm. She’d come out of his cock, and now he came into her cunt, every time he could.

“Good girl,” he grunted, as he shot his cum deep inside her womb for what must have been the hundredth time. “You’re Daddy’s good little girl…”

Everything had changed two weeks ago. They’d been at a play—not an uncommon occurrence for the father-daughter duo. Dalia had aspirations of being an actor, and her father would take her to every play that came to their small country town, wanting to both support her dreams and connect with his daughter’s interests.

The play had been fine—engaging, not great—but Dalia had been enjoying seeing the actors at work. It wouldn’t be long before she was off to college (a business degree, at her father’s insistence—something she could fall back on if her acting career didn’t take off) and she loved seeing a glimpse of the life she imagined for herself.

During the intermission, Dalia’s father had given her a few dollars to grab a drink—she’d picked up a Fizz Twist, the only beverage that both she and her father liked enough to share.

As the curtain rose for the second act, Dalia sat forward, rapt. A few minutes in, her father passed her the drink.

One sip later, Dalia’s life changed forever.

As the beverage met her tongue, she suddenly became hyper-aware of her father’s presence, sitting beside her. No, more than his presence…

His masculinity.

Dalia’s nipples tightened, and she held back a groan as she realized. Her father was a _man_. She’d always thought her father was attractive, in an abstract way—a few of her friends had jokingly referred to him as a hottie—but until that moment, she’d never truly understand what they meant.

The grey streak in his hair, his dad bod, the way he’d always looked out for her…

Right then, even the way he’d unconditionally loved her mother was enough to have her squirming in her seat.

She tried desperately to focus on the play, but she couldn’t. All she could think about was her father, sitting beside her. His arm muscles, his beer gut.

His cock.

Dalia almost choked on the drink when the thought struck her. Her Dad had a _cock_. A thick, hard cock—well, probably not _hard_ , at the play, but it could be.

It had the potential to be hard.

She could make it hard.

Her eyes fluttered and her clit throbbed at the idea of making her father’s cock hard, of making him erect.

Of taking care of his erection for him.

Dalia was facing forward, but her attention was far from the play. She was picturing herself on her knees in front of her father, his eyes feasting on her naked form, her hand wrapped around his cock, her mouth swallowing down his seed.

The teenage girl’s pussy throbbed at the idea of her father cumming, cumming inside her mouth, her cunt, her ass.

She wasn’t a virgin—she knew what sex was like. But her father was so much more experienced than the fumbling teenage boys she’d fooled around with; he’d do more than stick his penis inside her and wiggle around until he came.

He’d be able to make her reach climax, something that none of her boyfriends had been able to do. He’d probably be better at it than her own fingers; he’d spent literally decades getting women off.

Dalia’s father would be able to teach her things about her own body.

It was getting harder and harder to stop herself from groaning out loud at the dirty thoughts running through her head.

Before she knew it, the play was over, and her father was looking at her strangely. Was she imagining the lustful look in his eyes? Was she just that desperate for him to want her that she was projecting?

Was her father really gazing hungrily at her, wanting her as much as she wanted him, or was it real?

Dalia couldn’t risk doing anything, saying anything—she only had one parent left, after all, and she didn’t want to ruin her relationship with him. She couldn’t jump him, press her lips against his, move his hands onto her ass, whisper in his ear that she was his to do with as he pleased.

No matter how much she wanted to.

The car ride home was silent; Dalia’s heart raced—normally they’d talk about the play they’d just seen, but her father apparently didn’t have anything to say. Did he suspect that something was amiss?

Had she been worse at holding back her moans than she’d thought?

“Good night,” she blurted the moment they got inside the house. She wanted nothing more than to run up the stairs, to get away from the awkward situation she’d created as quickly as she could…but instead, Dalia found herself moving slowly, swaying her rear from side to side as she ascended the stairs.

When she got to the top, she looked back, and was delighted to see her father watching her, unable to tear his eyes away from her perfect teenage ass.

That night, Dalia barely slept. The moment she got into her room, she stripped naked, moving her hands across her body, imagining her father touching her, enjoying her female form. Her skin was smooth, her pussy soaked. She knew that her ass was her best feature—she’d been disappointed when her breasts had stopped growing at a B-cup. Her mother’s had been larger; she wasn’t sure of the exact size, but she knew that her father was a breast man.

Would she be enough for him? Would she be able to satisfy him?

Dalia came again and again, her fingers stimulating her needy clit as she pictured her father towering over her, stroking his cock for her, cumming onto her face, her B-cup breasts. She imagined taking his cock deep into her throat, into her pussy. She even played with her ass—would he be the first man to take her from behind?

If he wanted it, she wouldn’t deny him anything.

She finally drifted off to sleep in the early hours of the morning, her clit sore from overstimulation, still wanting more, more, more.

She wanted her father. She knew it was wrong, but it was undeniable—she wanted him to take her any way he pleased. She wanted her young body to bring him the pleasure he’d been denied since her mother had passed.

Dalia wanted to get him off, and she wanted him to do the same.

When she awoke, Dalia felt like she was hungover. A part of her had wondered if this sudden infatuation with her father would pass, but if anything, it felt stronger than it had the night before.

She wondered how long she could hold out, how long she could resist him.

Her father, she was sure, had never thought of himself as irresistable, but there was no better word. It was only so long before she’d give into her teenage hormones, and attempt to seduce her own father.

Dalia’s cunt pulsed at the thought.

She got off twice more before forcing herself out of bed, and going downstairs to make her father breakfast. If she couldn’t submit to him sexually—which, in that moment, was what she wanted more than anything else in the world—she’d serve him however she could.

Instead of her pussy, she’d provide him with pancakes. She couldn’t give him her cherry, but she could make him a cherry smoothie—his favorite.

To her surprise, her father (not typically an early riser) was already in the kitchen, making himself a coffee. He looked like he’d gotten about as much sleep as she had—his hair was dishevelled (which Dalia thought was a good look on anyone, but her father more than most) and he had bags under his eyes, which somehow managed to give him an sexy haunted look.

“Hi, Daddy,” Dalia said, suddenly shy. The man she’d spent all night fantasizing about was standing in front of her, looking utterly delectable.

“Hey baby,” he replied, running a hand worriedly through his hair.

Dalia, expecting to bring her father breakfast in bed, had dressed to impress. She was wearing a silk black bathrobe—lace webbing covered her breasts, but the robe was otherwise translucent, showing off her flat stomach and long legs. Beneath it, she was wearing a black thong—mostly because any other color would have shown how wet she was.

Just at the sight of her father’s figure, Dalia was soaking wet.

To her utter delight, her dad’s eyes slowly travelled down her body, feasting on the sight. Her nipples stiffened as his gaze lingered on them, and she almost twitched with pleasure at the expression on her father’s face as he admired her perfect form.

“Daddy…” she moaned, unable to stop herself any longer.

“Babygirl…” he replied, and before she knew what was happening, their lips had met, and his hands were roaming all over the body he’d just admired.

“God,” he gasped, pulling back from their incestuous kiss. “Dalia. Baby. We…we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I want it,” Dalia moaned in response. Her hands had gone straight to her father’s crotch, and she’d felt that he was hard.

For her. Her father was hard from looking at her body, from touching her.

She almost came at the thought.

“No,” he said insistently, but Dalia shook her head. She’d spent all night worried that her affection was one-sided; it was the last night she ever wanted to spend apart from her father.

“I love you,” she said gently. It was something she’d said countless times before, especially after the death of her mother, and it was true. She loved her father more than anyone else. “Don’t you love me?”

“Of course I do,” her father groaned, and that was all Dalia needed.

“Then love me,” she said, finally managing to undo the knot of her father’s pajama pants, freeing his cock and moving her mouth back to his. “Love me, Daddy…”

She moved her father’s hand to her wet pussy. The pot of coffee sat beside them on the bench, forgotten, as Dalia learned that her father’s hand—and cock—was everything that she’d hoped it would be….


	Chapter 3 — The Goddess of Awfulness

Derrick hated his job.

Actually, the job wasn’t so bad. The job, he could take or leave. It wasn’t his dream job, but Derrick was almost forty years old—he’d long abandoned the very _idea_ of a dream job, and would have been happy with any job that wasn’t eight hours of agony a day.

But while the job itself didn’t cause eight hours of agony each day, his boss did.

Her name was Athena. Derrick assumed she was named for the Greek goddess, whose domains were warfare and wisdom. He’d looked it up shortly after meeting her.

Warfare was appropriate—she turned _everything_ into a battle. Wisdom, less so: Derrick had never worked for someone whose decisions he respected less.

To make matters worse, she was ten years his junior. She wasn’t dumb, exactly—Derrick knew his boss was intelligent, she was just…awful. Spiteful, petty, and convinced that everyone was out to get her.

Although admittedly, that last thought wasn’t a particularly unintelligent one. Derrick had never met someone with so many enemies—it wasn’t just he who hated her, it was seemingly everyone she came into contact with. He had no idea how she’d worked her way up the corporate ladder so quickly—probably on her knees, he told himself.

That was perhaps the worst part of all. Athena was _exactly_ Derrick’s type. If he didn’t hate her so much, he would have had an enormous crush on her.

As it was, he’d gotten himself off countless times, imagining the things that he would do to her if he got a chance. He jerked off to her more than anyone else, like a solo version of hatefucking. Derrick would picture himself fucking her over her huge glass desk, or sneaking into a janitor’s closet so she could blow him. He’d imagine her dressed as a maid, cleaning his apartment and allowing him to use her whenever he wanted, or sharing him with his friends.

He hated her and wanted her in roughly equal measures.

Lusting after her at least helped the days go by faster—as she berated him for some imagined slight (misspelling an email address that she’d told him over the phone, or failing to book the right seat at the right restaurant for an important meeting), he’d tune her out and imagine what she’d look like cumming around his cock, swallowing his seed, or coated with his cum.

One time, he’d accidentally let a small smile appear on his face as she scolded him. That had been a mistake—she hadn’t let him hear the end of that for _weeks_.

Derrick knew he’d never make a move, of course. He was attracted to her, but only her body—her personality was truly repugnant, and she’d probably sue him for sexual harassment, or ensure that his career was over.

Plus, she was his boss. Never a good idea.

So Derrick, as much as he hated his job, sucked it up while he looked for work elsewhere. He would have taken a worse position with a worse salary in a worse part of New York, but jobs were scarce, and so he was stuck working for the Athena, the Goddess of Awfulness.

He survived by making his own fun, so to speak. If he was the last one in the office, he’d switch out Athena’s pens for ones that were _almost_ out of ink, enjoying her frustration the next morning as she went through pen after pen, trying fruitlessly to find one that worked. He’d change the font in her Powerpoint presentations at the last minute, making sure to cover his tracks so she could never suspected he was responsible, then gleefully watching as she embarrassed herself in front of the executives.

And whenever she sent him to fetch her lunch, he’d open her sandwiches and eat some of the filling before bringing it to her.

It was these small, petty acts which got him through the day.

One day—a Thursday, two weeks before Athena’s biggest presentation of the year—she’d sent him to fetch her lunch. A mozerella sandwich from Hungry Ghost (the finest sandwich place in New York) and a drink. He loved it when she ordered from Hungry Ghost—it was a little harder to eat from the center of her meal, but it was worth the effort.

As always, Derrick poured her cola into a tall glass with two ice cubes, and arranged her sandwich on a square plate. Right before he entered, he took a sip of the cola; he didn’t even _like_ Fizz Twist, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to deprive his horrible boss of something, even something as imperceptible as a single sip of her beverage.

“Come in!” she shouted, not looking up as he entered. Derrick’s cock thickened—Athena was wearing a white button-up shirt which emphasized the swell of her breast, contrasting beautifully with her long red hair, and a black pencil-skirt.

God he wished she wasn’t so awful. She was so effing hot.

“Dismissed,” she said as he set the lunch down on her desk. Her assistant rolled his eyes as he left—who did she think she was, Miranda Priestly?—and sat down at his desk to work.

Less than a minute later, Derrick’s cock throbbed. Seeing Athena in what could easily have been a porn parody of workplace attire must have gotten to him more than he’d realized, because his erection wasn’t going away. He was hard as a rock, and something was telling him to go into Athena’s office, throw her down on the desk, and have his way with her.

“Not today, little buddy,” he murmured, trying to shoo away the fantasies running through his head. He had this strange feeling that she’d be waiting for him, legs spread, a tuft of matted red hair between her legs, wet for him, waiting for his cock…

Derrick shifted in his seat. He’d had fantasies about Athena almost since he’d met her, but they’d never before been so…persistent.

He tried to focus his attention to organizing his sexy boss’s diary for the next week, but he couldn’t. No matter what he did, his mind just kept running through sexual situations,

Finally, just as Derrick was about to give into his cock’s demands and go to the bathroom to jerk off, the intercom rang.

“Derrick?” Athena said, her voice sounding strange. Deeper than normal. “I…can you come in here?”

“Sure thing, boss,“ he replied jovially. He knew that it would be career suicide to reveal his true feelings for his boss, and so he’d always kept a friendly demeanor.

He may have hated her almost as much as he wanted her, but he wasn’t _stupid_.

“What’s up, chief?” he said, his eyes widening as he entered his boss’s office. When he’d dropped her lunch off twenty minutes earlier, Athena had been as well put-together as she always was—her clothes tidy, her hair smart and well-kept.

Now…now, she looked like she’d just had a quickie with a co-worker.

Derrick’s hard-on pulsed at the thought.

Athena’s hair was mussed, like she’d been unable to stop running her hands through it. Her shirt was crumpled, as though she’d spent a few minutes rolling around on the floor. And as his gaze travelled south, he realized that her dress was crooked, like…like she’d hastily put it back on right before he’d entered.

Narrowing his eyes, Derrick glanced around the room. The only entrance to his boss’s office was past his desk, and he hadn’t seen anyone enter, so unless she’d sneaked someone in while he was fetching her sandwich and they were hiding in her private bathroom, her ruffled state could only have been explained by…

Derrick sniffed. He was no bloodhound, and in his turned-on state, he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t imagining it, but…his boss’s office smelled like pussy.

Like arousal.

Had Athena just gotten off?

“Boss?” he asked, realizing that Athena hadn’t replied to his original enquiry, just stared at him wide-eyed as he silently Sherlock Holmes’d the situation.

“Mmm?”

He was sure he hadn’t imagined it—her response was more of a purr than normal.

Athena was horny.

Was….was Athena horny for him?

“You called me in here,” he said, playing it safe. Maybe this was a trap, a way of getting him to make the first move, so she could take him down, get him fired, bleed him dry. He wasn’t sure why, but she was always scheming.

He’d never found her scheming ways so sexy before. Why did he suddenly find it sexy?

“Did you want something?”

Derrick was perturbed to hear his voice crack at the word ‘want’. His dick was still hard as steel, and his mind was racing with images of Athena playing with herself behind her desk, getting herself off while thinking of him.

He wanted nothing more than to throw her down onto that glass desk she loved so much, hold her by the throat as he fucked her into a puddle.

“Mmm-hmm,” Athena replied spacily.

Maybe she was just high. Derrick had no idea if his boss was a stoner. He’d never sought out any information about her personal life. She could have been married with three kids for all he knew.

“What can I do for you?” Derrick asked, an unbidden image of himself going down on Athena crossing his mind. Where had _that_ thought come from? In the year and a half he’d been fantasizing about his boss, he’d never been the one _giving_ head in his imagination.

“Derrick,” Athena purred. He’d only heard her talk like this a few times before; once when he’d been forced to hear her on the phone to ’Charlie’, whoever he was, and once when she’d been backed into a corner during negotiation, and awkwardly transitioned from tough-as-nails negotiater to purring pussycat seductress.

Wait. Was his boss trying to seduce him?

“Athena,” he said cautiously. “What do you want?”

Athena licked her lips, and it was all Derrick could do to refrain himself from pouncing on her, tasting her tongue, putting her soft mouth to good work.

But, to his great surprise, Athena did it for him.

“You,” she moaned, moving around the desk and pressing her lips against his.

For the next few minutes, Derrick felt like he was in a dream. His boss was exactly as good a kisser as he’d expected—the moans and squeaks she emitted as his hands explored her body, as his tongue explored her mouth…it was everything he’d hoped for, and more.

“I want you,” she gasped, pulling away and spreading her legs. “Please. Derrick. I…I want you to be my first.”

Derrick furrowed his brow.

“Your first?”

“My first man,” she clarified. Derrick’s eyes narrowed.

“…you’re a lesbian?”

Athena laughed, something that he could only remember happening a handful of times in the eighteen months he’d worked for her. When she was done, the purring seductress was gone, and the Athena he knew—and hated—was back.

“God, are you a moron?” she said, clearly aiming for playful, but missing. “You’ve organized dates with my fiancée.”

“Charlie’s a girl?” Derrick asked, a stone of embarrassment forming in his stomach. “How the fuck was I meant to know that?”

“I’m not exactly in the closet,” Athena said, with a roll of her eyes. “But that doesn’t matter. I want _you_ , now.”

A part of Derrick wanted to accept her offer. He’d wanted her for so long—he’d wanted _this_ for so long.

But, for the first time in their long and painful relationship, he felt like he was in the driving seat. He felt like _he_ had the power…and he wasn’t going to give it up that easily.

“No,” he said calmly, ignoring the protest from his throbbing dick. As they’d been making out, Athena’s hand had brushed up against it several times, and he felt like he was a light breeze away from cumming.

“What?”

His boss’s tone was one of complete shock. She wasn’t accustomed to not getting her own way.

“I don’t want to,” Derrick replied with a smile. “You’re engaged. It wouldn’t be right.”

“I mean…I…”

The feeling of power swelled inside Derrick as he watched his tormentor of the last year and a half splutter, her mind blown by his rejection.

“…you don’t want to?” she finally said with a tone of confusion and hurt.

“Exactly,” Derrick replied, mustering all the willpower he could to take a step back. “I don’t want to. So unless there’s anything else…”

“Derrick,” Athena said, standing up and taking a step towards him. The purr was back. “I’m sure we can…come to some arrangement.”

“I’m fine,” he said with a smile. “Thank you.”

He’d seen his boss negotiate deal after deal after deal—he knew exactly how good she was at it. It was the main reason she kept her position, despite doing things to piss off anyone and everyone she crossed paths with.

Often, they hated her because of how effectively she negotiated with them. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to only realize the day after the meeting exactly what they’d just agreed to.

No, if he gave Athena an inch, she’d take a mile. He wanted to fuck her—he wanted it more than anything. But he’d wanted it for almost two years, and—with great effort—it was a desire he knew he could resist.

Until he got what he wanted, at least.

“It’s not even a real engagement,” Athena pouted, holding up her left hand, and pointing to her bare ring finger.

“Because you’re both women?” Derrick said, clucking his tongue. “How homophobic of you, boss.”

As he spoke, Derrick blushed slightly, still embarrassed that he’d somehow failed to pick up on his boss’s sexuality. Now that he knew, it was obvious—looking around Athena’s office, he realized that Charlie must be the woman in all the photographs, the person he’d always assumed was her sister.

“Derrick,” Athena said, her voice darkening. “I want you.”

“We can’t always get what we want.”

“Now, Derrick,” she said, her tone low and threatening. She didn’t follow it up with ‘that’s an order’, but Derrick knew that was one of her techniques; if both people heard the unspoken threat, it didn’t need to be explicitly stated.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” he said. His back was against the door; not the ideal position for negotiation. Athena had never stopped moving towards him—he could smell her now. Her perfume, her arousal. Her body was so close.

He wanted her so bad.

“ _Fuck_ fair,” Athena said. “You want this too. I know you do.”

Derrick shook his head. He was losing control—if she made another move on him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist.

“Please,” she pleaded. “Fuck me, Derrick. I…I want you inside me.”

Athena’s voice cracked, bolstering Derrick’s confidence. For reasons he didn’t understand, she wanted him as much as he’d always wanted her.

“Okay,” he said, and it was like watching someone cut the strings off a marionette—Athena’s entire body relaxed. “But with conditions.”

“Anything,” his boss gasped in relief, before realizing what she’d just said. “I mean…”

“I want a pay raise,” he said coolly. “I don’t care where it comes from—take it out of your salary if you need to.”

Athena shook her head. He could see her mind ticking. “We won’t need to,” she replied. “We had a surplus anyway.”

Her casual tone lit a fire in Derrick, the knowledge that she could have effortlessly give him a payraise, rewarded his hard work…and apparently hadn’t even considered it.

“Call me Sir,” he spat.

“What?”

“If you want me to fuck you,” he spat, enjoying the way Athena’s eyelids fluttered at the word. She was hot for his cock; the first cock of her life. “Call me Sir.”

“No,” she said flatly. “I’m…I’m not doing that.”

“Then I’m not doing this,” he replied, and before she could say another word, he’d slipped out of her office, gently closing the door behind him.

Every fibre of Derrick’s body ached with need as he sat behind his desk once more, closing his eyes and gulping in the stale office air. He’d been so close to having his boss, so close to feeling her naked form against his. So close to cumming inside her—and she would have let him cum inside her, of that he was sure.

He’d always wanted her, but that want had become a need…and, for whatever reason, it was now reciprocated.

Just as he was about to fold, just as he was about to go back into Athena’s office and take her without conditions, his intercom lit up, and his boss’s voice filled the small waiting room.

“Fine,” she said.

Derrick smiled, and waited.

“…sir.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said, impressing himself with his own willpower. “I prefer Master.”

There was a long pause, but Derek could still hear the hum of the intercom. His boss’s finger was still on the button.

Finally, she gave in.

“…yes, Master.”

Derek couldn’t remember ever moving so fast; before he could even remember standing up, he was in Athena’s office, her voluptuous form in his arms, his mouth against hers.

“Beg me to fuck you,” he panted, as he ripped her shirt off, white buttons flying everywhere.

“Fuck me, Master,” Athena moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as her tan-colored bra came into view. “ _Please_.”

“You’re mine,” he growled, delighted to discover that her staid bra unfastened at the front.

“I’m yours, sir,” she echoed breathily, pulling his mouth to her rosy-red nipples, and squealing with delight as he sucked and chewed on them.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he sighed, hiking her skirt up, delighted to discover that he was wrong, that she didn’t have red pubic hair.

“Please, master,” Athena groaned, moving his cock to the entrance of her cleanly-shaved pussy. “I want it. I want it so bad.”

“Oh goddddd…” he moaned, slowly sinking his cock into her. “God, Athena. This feels so good…”

“Yesss,” she hissed, pulling his mouth to hers. “Mmmmf…”

To Derrick’s surprise, the entire length of his shaft filled her without resistance, as her tongue danced with his. He pulled back, grabbing his boss’s face with one hand. “I thought you’d never done this before?”

“Not with a real cock,” she gasped. “Charlie and I have plenty of toys.”

“Call me Master,” he reminded her.

“Yes sir,” she said, a blush spreading across her face as he slowly pulled out, before firmly thrusting into her once more. “Yes, Master…”

Derrick was in heaven. His bitch of a boss was beneath him, her tits exposed, her skirt bunched up around her waist, as he slowly fucked her, the fantasy he’d had for so long coming true. He’d had sex before, but it had never felt like this. His mouth met hers again, and for the next few minutes he lost himself in his boss’s passionate kiss, as he gently slid in and out of her wet pussy, until he felt her trembling with orgasm around his cock.

“Are you ready?” he asked, waiting for Athena to come down from her orgasm.

“For what?” she said, her eyes hazy.

Derrick coughed expectantly.

“…Master,” she added, eventually clueing in.

“For this,” her assistant replied, pulling her out and flipping her over.

“Oh!” Athena yelped as Derrick’s hard cock found its way between her legs once more. Unlike the gentle, almost loving sex they’d just had, this time…he didn’t hold back.

This time, Derrick allowed eighteen months of frustration to come out, as he mercilessly hate-fucked his boss on the glass desk that he’d so quickly come to despise.

“Oh, fuck! Derrick, I…—”

“Call me sir,” he reminded her, spanking her hard on one of her firm, ample asscheeks.

“Sir!” she squealed. “Oh, sir! Sir…”

“Call me Master,” he corrected himself.

“Yes! Master! Oh, yesss….”

As Derrick pounded into his boss, he was delighted to feel her climax around his cock, again and again.

“You’re such a slut,” he moaned. “I’m using you for my pleasure, and you’re getting off on it.”

“Yessss,” she hissed. “Yes, Master, I…oh!”

Athena lost her train of thought as she came once more, her entire body shaking with orgasm.

“Fuck!” she cried. “Oh, Derrick, sir, _Master_ …fuck me!”

For a moment, Derrick wondered what would happen if someone came in. He was normally the gatekeeper—anyone could have strolled past his empty desk and opened the door to find him giving his lesbian boss the fucking of a lifetime.

The thought didn’t deter him, however. She was clearly willing—if they got caught, he’d use them as a witness and sue her for sexual harassment.

“Tell me you’re a slut,” he ordered, his hands grasping her hips firmly.

“I’m a slut,” Athena moaned, her voice vibrating with lust. “I’m a slut for you, sir. I’m your little slut. I’m Master’s little slut…oh!”

The feeling of Athena’s cunt clenching around his cock in climax was enough to set Derrick off the edge.

“I’m cumming,” he said raspily. “I’m cumming inside my whore boss’s wet, slutty cunt…“

“Yes, Master,” Athena begged, facedown against her glass desk. “Please…please, cum inside me…”

Derrick moaned, his hips uncontrollably jerking forward as his own orgasm overcame him, picturing what this must look like from underneath the desk. His boss’s face mashed against the glass, her pink nipples squashed as her body moved back and forth, and she twitched with the control of his firm, constant fucking.

As he unloaded his seed inside Athena, he was surprised to feel her cumming again; he’d heard of multiple orgasms, but they weren’t something he’d ever directly witnessed.

When he was done, he pulled out of her, delighted by the sight of her pink pussy dripping cum.

“Fuck,” he said, sitting back into one of the comfortable chairs his boss kept in her office. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Oh my god,” Athena said dreamily, a well-fucked look on her face. “That…that was so wrong.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Derrick said, watching as his boss got up and began to make herself look presentable before. “What are you going to tell Charlie?”

“Nothing,” Athena said, smile on her face. “I could never hurt her like that.”

Derrick narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“She doesn’t need to know about this,” Athena said calmly. “It would kill her.”

“So…you’re just going to act like everything is normal?”

“Of course.”

Derrick was lost for words. As Athena did her bra back up and crossed the room to find another shirt, he finally managed to string a sentence together.

“You…you just cheated on your fiancée, and you’re just…not going to tell her?”

As she buttoned her shirt up, Derrick realized that Athena was back to her own, awful self.

“Of course not,” she coolly replied. “I love her, but she doesn’t need to know about what you and I get up to at work.”

“You’re disgusting,” Derrick spat. Athena raised one eyebrow, clearly shocked by his disrespectful tone.

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t believe you. I knew you were an asshole at work, but I figured that was your job, and maybe you were a decent person the rest of the time.”

“I am,” Athena said defensively. Derrick clenched and unclenched his fists.”

“You’re not,” he said. “But you know what? That’s not my problem.”

“Exactly,” Athena said, raising her nose. “Now, we have a lot of work to do, so get me a coffee, and…—”

”I’m not going to get your coffees any more,” he snapped. “In fact, I want you to get mine.”

Athena’s forehead crinkled. “What? But I don’t have time to…—”

“You’ll make time,” he said.

The redhead stared at him, her mouth agape.

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you want this to continue,” Derrick said, “you’ll make time.”

“You can’t talk to me like…—”

Before she could finish the sentence, Derrick had stood up, and moved his mouth to hers. As he’d hoped, Athena melted in his embrace—her eyes took on a familiar dazed look, and he pulled back smugly.

“Whenever we’re alone,” he instructed, his eyes burning into hers, “you will call me Master.”

“Master…” she replied, as though testing to see how it felt in her mouth.

“You will get my lunch, you will get my coffee.”

“But…—”

“And I’m not going to tell you what to do with your fucking _engagement_ , but as long as you’re together, you will treat your fiancée like a queen. You will keep track of how often I fuck you; you will make her cum twice for each time I do, and you will make sure she feels loved and cared for and appreciated. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Athena replied, squirming under Derrick’s gaze.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Master. Anything else?”

“I’m sure we’ll come up with many, many more humiliating things for you to do,” Derrick said, releasing his boss from his grip. “But for now, I’ll leave you to do some research.”

“Research?”

“On how to give head. As a lesbian, I imagine that it’s not something you’ve had much experience with, but it’s something I expect from you, going forward.”

“But…—”

Derrick held up one hand, and his boss fell silent.

“Say thank you,” he said. “And let’s leave it at that for now.”

There was a long pause. Derrick could practically see Athena weighing up the pros and cons of her situation, before she replied.

“Thank you, Master,” Athena said, blushing.

“You’re welcome, boss,” Derrick said with a smile, before returning to his desk and pulling up Athena’s calendar once more.

Sitting at his desk, he took a long, deep breath. He was going to have a lot of fun with his boss, going forward.

Maybe his job wasn’t that bad, after all.


	Chapter 4 — The Greenborough Parish Group

Aeryn looked around the youth group, a dour look on her face. One of the Godbots (as she mentally called them) sidled up to her, sporting a grin.

“Howdy,” he said, holding his hand out in front of him. “I’m John.”

It figured. He _would_ have the least interesting name one could possibly have.

“John Smith?” she replied, her eyes looking him up and down.

The least interesting-looking teenager she’d ever seen laughed. “How’d you know that?”

“A wild guess.”

“What brings you to the Greenborough Parish Group?”

Aeryn considered telling him the truth. It was tempting, just to see how he’d react. Admitting that she was an atheist, that she believed God was an invention to keep boring people—like him—from killing themselves, or keep interesting people—like her—in line. That her parents lamented for her immortal soul, and had struck a deal; if she went to the Greenborough Parish Group, they’d let her keep her black clothes and black make-up.

That they’d even call her Aeryn, instead of her birth name. ‘Erin’.

But Aeryn figured that ‘John Smith’ probably wasn’t capable of handling someone as rebellious as her. He’d probably never even met an atheist before. She didn’t know what the Godbot would do, when presented with someone who so utterly failed to fit into his worldview. Probably explode, or melt down. Maybe he’d just start openly crying.

That would be fun to watch, but it would draw way more attention to her than she wanted. She just wanted to stand at the back of the room while all the Godbots congregated, telling each other how well they got along with their imaginary friend, then slip out again to meet her parents.

Aeryn had even forgone her black makeup, and tucked her septum piercing away so she could blend in better.

Of course, she hadn’t worn the blue dress her mother had chosen for her. She wasn’t a _complete_ conformist.

“I thought this was Narcotics Anonymous,” Aeryn said flatly. “Did I come on the wrong night?”

John laughed. “Narcotics Anonymous! Good one, new friend! You’re a hoot—c’mon, let me introduce you to the rest of the gang.”

Aeryn rolled her eyes. Before she could decide whether making a fuss to avoid meeting people was worth the attention it would draw, John was guiding her by the arms.

Within the next few minutes, she was introduced to Glen, Patrick, Peter, Stacy, Beth, Rose, Katherine, Michael, and Ezra, and she could not for the life of her imagine meeting a less interesting collection of people. If you paid the world’s greatest writer all the money in the world to spend the rest of their life coming up with the most boring group they could imagine, Aeryn was confident you’d still end up with something more interesting than the collection of Godbots at Greenborough Parish Group.

“Are you born again?”

Aeryn tried to stare down Ezra, the black girl standing next to her. She steadfastly returned Aeryn’s gaze, until she finally sighed and gave up.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t even want to be born the first time.”

She’d expected the religious chick to wither under her sharp wit, but to her surprise, Ezra laughed.

“John’s right,” she said with a chuckle. “You’re a hoot!”

Aeryn rolled her eyes. What century were these people from?

“Come on,” Ezra said. “We normally don’t have beverages until after the ceremony, but your dry wit could use a drink. Not that I expect the liquid to dampen your spirit!“

In response, Aeryn just sighed. No wonder they thought she was hilarious, if that was what passed for a joke around here.

Ezra stopped at the punch bowl, and served a drink for both Aeryn and herself. The goth girl stared at the red cup suspiciously.

“This isn’t a like, Jonestown situation, is it?”

“Jonestown?”

Aeryn narrowed her eyes. Anyone in a cult would absolutely pretend not to know what Jonestown was…or, more likely, _genuinely_ not know what it was.

In response to her ‘new friend’s glare, Ezra just took a sip of punch. When she didn’t drop dead, Aeryn reluctantly took a sip as well.

Her eyes widened as soon as the liquid touched her mouth. It tasted like the kind of punch she’d had at countless poorly-run school dances—a combination of whatever sodas the school had handy, with no consideration for how the various flavors would go together.

That wasn’t to say it was _bad_. If anything, it reminded her of the drinks she’d proudly made herself as a child whenever she’d been presented with a drink fountain—a simple mix of everything fizzy. More than anything, it just tasted _sweet_.

But that wasn’t what had surprised her.

The moment the drink had touched her lip, she’d suddenly realized:

Ezra was a babe.

No, more than just a babe.

Ezra was the single most attractive person that Aeryn had ever encountered.

Her dark skin, her smokey brown eyes, her frizzy hair…

Aeryn had never thought of herself as gay. Truth be told, she’d never really thought of herself as straight, either. She’d briefly wondered if she was asexual, but in her quest to forge her own identity, to escape any boxes that others could use to pigeon-hole her, she’d decided to just avoid labels entirely. At least until she figured it out.

But as her eyes travelled over Ezra’s skin, down the teenager’s body, she shuddered with pleasure.

Yeah. She was _definitely_ gay.

Or bi, at the very least.

“C’mon,” Ezra said, her voice suddenly raspy. “I, um. Sit down. I’m doing the service tonight.”

Aeryn nodded. She’d been dreading the idea of sitting through forty minutes of a ‘youth-led’ lecture, but…now that she knew that Ezra was doing it, it suddenly didn’t seem so intolerable.

Sitting and watching Ezra talk for forty minutes? That she could do.

Truth be told, she could sit and watch Ezra do _anything_ for forty minutes. And the only thing she could imagine that would be better than watching would be…

She sat down, forcing her mind off such inappropriate thoughts. She wasn’t religious, but still. There was something…off…about imagining herself kissing Ezra at youth group.

Imagining tasting Ezra’s neck. Stripping her naked, and moving her mouth to Ezra’s nipples.

Grasping Ezra’s hair as she guided her new friend between her legs, and allowed her talented tongue to…

Aeryn closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. When she was done, she reopened her eyes, excited to see that the black girl had taken her place behind the podium.

“Thanks, everyone. I felt so blessed when it was my turn to talk, because…well, I have a lot to say.”

Ezra’s voice was still breathy. Aeryn squirmed in her seat. It was so…erotic. Like she was panting with arousal. She could picture exactly what it would look like—Ezra would be naked, covered in sweat, pulsating with desire. Aeryn would move her lips to Ezra’s, taste her own juices on the black woman’s tongue, reach down between her legs to find…

“God is with us,” Ezra said, snapping Aeryn out of her fantasy once more. She glanced around—no one else seemed to find anything even remotely strange about the way the young woman was speaking. Perhaps this was just how people sounded when they were talking about their sky-fairy; breathy, with fervency.

“God is here, with us, tonight. And he _loves_ us.”

Ezra seemed to be looking straight at Aeryn as she spoke. But wasn’t that the sign of a good public speaker? Making everyone in the room feel like they were talking directly and exclusively to you?

“He loves us so much. He wants to…touch us. He wants to touch us with his love.”

Aeryn narrowed her eyes. No, Ezra really was talking directly to her. Seemingly _only_ her.

“He wants us to connect with each other, to touch each other. That’s why he put us on this earth. That’s why he gave us mouths, and tongues—so we could…love each other.”

A brief titter ran around the room at Ezra’s unusual phrasings.

“So that we could talk,” she clarified. “So that we could connect with each other. God wants us to connect. God wants us to love each other. And by loving each other, we love God.”

To her absolute horror, Aeryn found herself nodding along. Ezra’s passion was…it was getting to her. It was doing something to her.

Maybe…maybe there was something to this whole ‘god’ malarkey after all.

Ezra’s speech went for another half-hour, but Aeryn never got bored. Her energy was contagious—as she ranted about God’s spirit filling her up, filling each of them up, Aeryn could practically feel it. She could almost feel Ezra’s words inside her, filling her up, making her whole.

Her entire body ached. For the first time in her life, she felt empty. She wanted Ezra, more than she’d ever wanted anything.

Was this what it felt like to want God?

Fuck. Was this why her parents had wanted her to come to youth group?

Had they somehow known just how effective it would be?

She tried to disconnect, to tune out Ezra’s words, but she couldn’t. She was inexplicably drawn to the young woman—she found herself questioning everything she’d taken for granted until that point; her atheism, her sexuality.

Maybe she was gay.

Maybe God was real and she was gay.

Ezra’s sermon finally finished—Aeryn realized she was literally sitting on the edge of her seat, her entire body tingling. Ezra looked pretty worked up as well—she was coated with a thin layer of sweat, and the cup of punch she’d been drinking from was empty.

The entire youth group stood up and applauded, and John moved to the podium.

“Wow,” he said, slapping Ezra on the back. “What an amazing job. Did you have an activity for us?”

“Yeah,” she said, clearly flustered. Despite her sermon having finished, she was still staring at Aeryn. “I mean, it’s stupid.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” John replied, turning to the crowd. “C’mon, gang, what do you say—do you want to see what she has in store for us?”

“Okay,” Ezra said shakily, in response to the room’s supportive cheer. Aeryn could tell that she wanted nothing more than to step down, to drag Aeryn into a back room.

To do things with her that she’d never done with another woman.

Or was she just projecting her own desire?

“So I know we’re not Catholic, but I thought…you know how they do the communion thing, like at the Last Supper? I made punch, so I thought we could do something like that.”

“That sounds great,” John said. “Everyone, grab a cup of punch—Ezra is going to show us what they did at the Last Supper.”

While everyone got their drinks, Ezra managed to slip down to where Aeryn was waiting for her.

“Wow,” Aeryn said breathlessly. “You…you were amazing.”

“Thanks,” she replied. “I…wow. Most of that wasn’t what I was going to say at all. It was like…it was like God was speaking through me, you know?”

Despite never having experienced anything even remotely similar, Aeryn found herself nodding fervently. “Uh huh,” she said. “Totes.”

A blush spread across the young woman’s face. ‘Totes’. What was she, twelve?

“Okay,” John finally said. “I think everyone has one.”

Aeryn glanced down at the cup that Ezra had poured her almost an hour ago. It was still half-empty.

She stiffened, as a wave of attraction suddenly swept over her. Glancing around the crowd, it took her a minute to find the target of her sudden affection—a gangly-looking ginger boy at the side of the room.

Oh god, she _was_ bisexual. But why had…—

Aeryn was distracted by the realization that ginger boy was staring at her and Ezra, a look of adoration on his face. Aeryn glanced to her side, to see that Ezra had locked eyes with the boy, watching in awe as he brought the cup to his mouth and took another sip.

“Ezra?” John said, and Aeryn wanted to cry out as her new friend tore herself away from Aeryn and the ginger, and returned to the podium.

“So has everyone got a drink and a cracker?” she asked, and the group returned a volley of affirmations. “Okay. So in Corinthians 11:25, Jesus says ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood: this do, as often as ye drink, in remembrance of me.”

Ezra brought her cup to her lips, and the entire group mirrored her.

There was a long, stunned silence as the group of thirty-odd teenagers swallowed down a gulp of Ezra’s punch. Aeryn felt like her head was spinning—the attraction she’d felt for her new friend, then the ginger…it was like it was widening.

_This is what God must feel like_ , she thought with a gasp. _This feeling of…this feeling of love._

As if she could read Aeryn’s thoughts, Ezra continued, her voice wavering as she spoke.

“I just…I just feel so much for all of you tonight,” she said, a tear slowly moving down her face. “For my new friend…oh golly, I don’t even know your name.”

“Aeryn,” she replied boldly. Fuck not drawing attention to herself—in that moment, she wanted the attention of everyone in the entire room. “My name is Aeryn.”

“For Aeryn,” Ezra said. “For you, John. For Patrick, for Rose. For Katherine, for Michael. For Glen, Peter, Beth, Stacy, Diana, Josephine…”

As Ezra continued listing names, Aeryn looked around the room, trying to memorize each name she heard. These were her people now; her heart swelled as she learned more and more names. Her stomach tightened as she realized how many of them there were.

And her pussy throbbed as she realized what she wanted, more than anything, was to make them happy.

Once more, it was as though she and Ezra were on the exact same page—after the black woman ran out of names, she smiled.

“God has brought us together,” she said proudly. “God has brought us into this room. We are His flock, and we serve him. We serve him by serving each other.”

Aeryn nodded. That was it. She wanted to serve these people.

God she wanted to serve them.

“Take the hand of the person next to you,” Ezra instructed. Aeryn looked to her left—the boy that Ezra had called Ben was standing there. She took his hand. “Look into their eyes.”

Aeryn obeyed, staring into Ben’s eyes, shocked to see he was staring at her lustfully.

Shocked and excited.

“Now kiss them,” Ezra hissed. Aeryn’s eyes widened, but she didn’t hesitate—she and Ben moved forward, as though one. Their lips met.

“Explore their body with your hands,” Ezra ordered, and Aeryn did as her new friend told her, running one hand up and down Ben’s back, while the other grasped his chest. His hands moved immediately to her ass, her tits—he began stroking and groping her without hestiation.

“Don’t be shy,” Ezra said with a gasp. “We are all God’s children—we have nothing to be ashamed of!”

For a moment, Aeryn wondered why John wasn’t putting a stop to this, why no one was objecting to Ezra’s instructions. She opened her eyes, and could see John behind her—his lips were pressed up against Patrick’s, and they were making out as passionately as she and Ben.

“Strip them,” Ezra urged, her voice as strong and passionate as it had been during the service. “Adam and Eve were naked, and they felt no shame. Take off your clothes; present yourself to the Lord. Present yourself to each other.”

Aeryn groaned with need as she struggled to unbuckle Ben’s belt. He was having similar trouble with her bra, but it wasn’t long before they each solved the tactile puzzles, and before long they were stepping out of their clothes, their eyes wide at the sight of each other’s naked bodies.

“Take them,” Ezra moaned. “Know them, as the Bible commands.”

With that, Ezra stepped away from the podium. Aeryn didn’t even need to look to know that she was coming straight for her, coming to join her in pleasing Ben, in allowing Ben to please them. As the black woman moved through the crowd, she removed her clothes, and by the time she landed on her knees beside Aeryn, she was as naked as she’d been in the young woman’s fantasies.

“Hey,” Aeryn said, turning to kiss her new friend. Ben watched in awe as the two women made out—Aeryn’s hand never leaving his hard cock as they did.

All around them, teenagers were getting each other off. John and Patrick were simultaneously sucking each other’s cocks, Rose and Beth were enthusiastically finger-fucking each other, and Diana was letting Josephine lick out her asshole while Katherine took Glen in her mouth, Michael in her pussy, and a confused Peter tried to work out how he could join in.

Kissing Ezra was everything Aeryn had hoped it would be—she shuddered with pleasure as the black woman reached between her legs, and delicately stroked her clit, even as she continued jacking Ben off.

The sight and sensations of the two teenage girls pleasing each other soon became too much for the young man, and he began cumming, spurting the interracial couple with his cum.

Ezra gasped—the combination of Aeryn’s tongue in her mouth, hand on her mound, and Ben’s cum spraying all over her was enough to set her off, and as she began twitching and moaning with orgasm, Aeryn’s own climax wasn’t far behind.

It was more than twenty minutes before the Greenborough Parish Group began to regain their composure. The hall reeked of sex—the scents of cum, female arousal, and sweat combined, but no one objected to the strong musk that filled the room.

To Aeryn, it was the smell of God Himself.

The teenagers began relucantly putting their clothes on, although the act was broken up by kisses and plenty of caressing—over the past fifteen minutes, several of the teenagers had switched groups, sampling various aspects of the smörgåsbord of sexual experiences available to them.

Finally, about ten minutes before the congregation was due to end, everyone had gotten redressed. By the time parents started trickling in, most everyone looked presentable—Aeryn was unable to find her bra, but she didn’t mind. She assumed that one of her new friends had taken it for their pleasure, and that was all she wanted: to please them.

“Is it always like this?” she asked Ezra, pulling back from their kiss. Ezra’s hands were on Aeryn’s tits, fondling them lovingly through the shirt.

“Um. Not really.”

“Oh.” Aeryn wrinkled her nose, as her hands ran up and down Ezra’s sides, delighted by the soft feeling of her friend’s skin. “I just thought…”

“Maybe you were sent here by God,” Ezra interrupted, her eyes widening. “You…you inspired me, Aeryn. Maybe you’re an angel.”

Aeryn raised one eyebrow. An atheist angel with a septum piercing?

Hell, maybe. What did she know about religion?

“Y’all meet every week, right?” she said, dodging the accusation.

“Uh huh,” Ezra moaned. One of Aeryn’s hands had slipped down her jeans and started playing with the wet tuss of hair between her legs. “Although…”

“Mmm?”

“Once a week might not be enough. Maybe—oh!”

Aeryn’s hand had found her clit.

“What is it, babe?”

“Maybe…maybe we should try to meet more often. I just…God’s love feels so strong with us. I’m sure He wants us to be together more.”

“Mmmmm,” Aeryn said, slipping two fingers between Ezra’s wet pussy-lips. “That sounds so good.”

There was a knock at the door, and Aeryn quickly pulled her hand out of her new friend’s pants. Her parents were there, looking around for her, a confused expression on their face.

“Hey,” Aeryn said, making her way over to her parents after giving Ezra a discreet slap on the rump.

“Erin,” her Mom replied. “I mean…Aeryn. How was your first night?”

“Amazing,” Aeryn sighed.

Her Dad still looked concerned.

“Why are all these kids holding hands?” he muttered.

“It’s a really close group,” Aeryn replied with a smile. “I…I kind of like it.”

“Really?”

The creases disappeared from her father’s brow, and he beamed down at her.

“You had a good time?” her mother asked, tucking one of her daughter’s stray hairs behind one ear.

“Yeah,” Aeryn replied with a nod.

“John!” her father called out. The teenage boy released Michael and Diana’s hands, and made his way over to join them.

“Mr. Walker! I didn’t realize this one was yours.”

“I don’t exactly brag about it,” Aeryn’s father grumbled, a half-smile on his face. “Did she behave herself?”

“Oh yes,” John said, smiling proudly at Aeryn. “She was divine.”


	Chapter 5 — Finishing Her Exam

Mr. Kelso rolled his eyes as Brittanie sat at her desk, ‘finishing her exam’.

She’d been pulling this routine for months now, and it was fooling no one. Brittanie was a smart kid—not the smartest he’d ever taught, but definitely in the top percentile. He knew she didn’t need an extra ten minutes past the slowest kid in the class.

He knew exactly what she was up to.

With a sigh, he pulled out his lunch—a ham and cheese sandwich and a can of Fizz Twist—and started eating. He’d told the class that technically they had until the end of their lunch break to finish the test, but everyone else had trickled out shortly after the bell rang.

Except Brittanie.

Finally, when he was halfway through his sandwich, she put her pen down and sauntered to his desk. She was wearing a red-and-blue tartan skirt and a blue button-up shirt, the school’s colors. It wasn’t a requirement—the school had a very loose dress code—but Brittanie knew what she was doing.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Here you go, sir,” she said, looking at him innocently.

Mr. Kelso had been teaching for almost eight years, and he thought he’d seen everything that teaching had to offer. He’d dealt with bullies, dropouts, stoners, mean girls…the whole gamut of student behavior.

But then he’d met Brittanie.

Her technique wasn’t unique or original—there was a student or two in every class who thought they could flirt their way to a higher grade.

The difference with Brittanie was how close it got to working.

She was an absolute knockout. Typically, Mr. Kelso saw his students as children—teenagers, years away from becoming proper adults, usefully-functioning members of society.

But Brittanie was eighteen, and she had a body that wouldn’t have been out of place on the front cover of a Playboy magazine.

She was tall—taller than him—with long black hair that went down to her ass. The school dress code forbade heels, but Brittanie had managed to charm her way around such limitations, and wore 2-inch heels into school every day, which only served to emphasize her already-impressive legs.

But Brittanie’s greatest asset (something she was _well_ aware of) were her tits.

God, her tits. Mr. Kelso had been dating since he was in high school, and even throughout his adult life, he’d never seen a pair of tits that could compare to Brittanie’s. They sat proudly on her chest, yet to be affected by the ravages of time; two huge orbs that porn stars would kill for.

And worst of all, she _knew_ it. She knew exactly what she had, and never hesitated to show them off, choosing her outfits to display her huge assets. Even now, the blue button-up shirt she was wearing…it was practically bursting at the seams, each button threatening to pop off and reveal just a glimpse more of Brittanie’s titanic tits.

The last time he’d seen her she’d been wearing a low-cut tank-top, showing off an expanse of cleavage, distracting every boy (and some of the girls) sitting within eyeshot of the student.

Mr. Kelso was a professional, and he was proud that he’d managed to completely avoid staring. Hell, most men would have struggled to avoid _drooling_ , but he’d done it. He’d gone the entire class without so much as a sideways glance down Brittanie’s top, despite her best efforts to draw his attention to it.

Of course, he’d gone home that night and masturbated at the memory of his student’s generous bosom, on display for him.

And he knew it was for him. He recognized the tricks. He knew that it was no coincidence that she’d waited for every other student to leave before ‘finishing her exam’. He was fully aware of _exactly_ what Brittanie was trying to pull, and he’d have no part of it.

He was a professional. A teacher. He wasn’t going to let some teenage girl manipulate him into a better grade. If she wanted to pass chemistry, she was going to have to knuckle down and learn her damn compounds. She was smart enough to get an A using just her brain.

Though the idea of giving her the grade just so she’d stop teasing him had crossed his mind once or twice, he’d rejected it out-of-hand. It was about the principle of the thing. He was there to teach, and there was no shortcutting the system.

“Mr. Kelso,” Brittanie said, approaching her teacher’s desk. “I’m finished.”

“That’s great,” he said dryly, ignoring the thickening of his cock at the swish of Brittanie’s tartan skirt. He made a mental note to convince his wife to wear a skirt next time they got frisky.

He’d so far managed to avoid thinking of his student while fucking his wife, but it hadn’t been easy. Brittanie was determined to make everything as hard as possible.

The teacher was unable to stop a grin from crossing his face at his accidental mental pun.

“What’re you smiling at, sir?” Brittanie asked, leaning forward, making sure there was no way he could miss her huge breasts as she purred the word ‘sir’. He firmly maintained eye-contact, even as he imagined the sight that he’d get from behind—his sexy student, leaning forward, making her skirt ride up, revealing even more of her long legs, her teenage ass…

“A pun,” he said simply, taking another sip. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Brittanie pouted, clearly frustrated that her unsubtle attempts at seduction weren’t working. It was all Mr. Kelso could do not to roll his eyes—teenagers. They thought they were adults, but they were so transparent. He’d spent the few years of his career teaching grade school, and sometimes he felt like those kids were better at hiding their motivations than the high-schoolers were.

“I forgot my lunch,” she said, after a moment’s thought. “Can you share yours?”

The teacher tilted his head to the side, not sure what Brittanie’s game was.

“I’m almost finished my sandwich,” he finally said, not really wanting to give half his meal to the young seductress. “But you can have the rest of my pop.”

Brittanie smiled sweetly. Before he knew what was happening, she’d pulled up a chair and sat down at his desk.

Ah. She was looking for an excuse to hang around, try to weasel a higher grade from him. He glanced at his watch—seven minutes past noon. He gave it two minutes before she brought up the results of her last assignment.

She’d gotten a B-plus—a respectable grade, but they both knew she was capable of more.

“Why did you get into chemistry?” the young woman asked, batting her eyelids.

“The same reason as the last time you asked,” Mr. Kelso responded, taking another bite from his sandwich. _Get a new playbook,_ he mentally added.

Brittanie glanced at the classroom door, and the thirty-two year old man followed her stare. It was closed, and everyone was at lunch. They were unlikely to be disturbed for at least half an hour.

“Oh yeah,” she said with a grin. “I can be so forgetful sometimes…”

“Uh huh.”

The teacher put his sandwich down. Being in his satchel all day had seeped all the moisture out of it, leaving his mouth dry, and he was starting to regret giving away his drink.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s fine,” he responded. If he kept his answers as short as possible, they’d get to the point faster, she could make her clumsy move, and he could shut her down and finish his lunch in peace.

“I like studying it,” Brittanie said, bringing the pop to her pink lips, before pausing meaningfully. “Of course, I wish I was better at it…”

_Here we go,_ Mr. Kelso mentally sighed, watching as Brittanie took a sip from the can of Fizz Twist.

His eyes widened as the soft-drink touched her lips, and hers did the same. His cock had been pleasantly plump at the sight of the young woman in her school-girl outfit, but he was suddenly rock-hard.

The teacher had been aware of his student’s body—how could he not be, with how flagrantly she’d been flaunting it lately?—but all of a sudden, his attention went past awareness, past interest.

Suddenly, he _needed_ it.

“Mr. Kelso,” Brittanie sighed, leaning forward, grabbing his tie, and pulling her mouth to his.

“Brittanie,” he gasped in response, pulling back. “I…I…”

Before he could finish his thought, the teenage girl had made her way across the desk, and was sitting on his lap, straddling him. His cock yearned for freedom, and Brittanie didn’t hesitate to undo his fly and fish his cock out.

“Hey,” she said with a smile, suddenly shy.

“Hey,” he replied, returning her smile.

“So…”

Mr. Kelso waited for his student to finish her thought. She blushed, but never stopped staring into his eyes.

“So?”

“So…I was thinking…a B-plus doesn’t really seem fair, does it?”

The teacher’s eyebrows shot up. She had his hard cock in her hand, she was breathing heavily, and they’d just made out…

Of course. Subtlety wasn’t working; she’d decided that the only way to get the grade she thought she deserved was to seduce him. He must have somehow known it was coming, like a sort of sixth sense—that’s why he’d suddenly been so aware of her body, so turned on.

Well, it wasn’t going to work. Mr. Kelso wanted her, of course—he’d be lying if he pretended that her attempt at seduction hadn’t been effective—but he wasn’t going to set her up for a life of using her body to get what she wanted; reinforce the idea that all she had to offer was sex.

Although as her hand slowly stroked his erection, he had to admit—she _was_ uniquely qualified to offer sex.

No. No, he couldn’t.

“It’s what your assignment deserved,” he answered raspily. Brittanie’s hand was more talented than he’d expected. She was eighteen years old—how much sexual experience could she possibly have?

“I don’t know,” Brittanie replied, her pout returning. “Isn’t there anything I can do to…show you how important this is to me?”

As she spoke, the teenage girl was slithering down the teacher’s body, until she was on her knees in front of him, her green eyes looking up at him seductively. Mr. Kelso meant to argue, but it came out as a groan—Brittanie took his sound of arousal as a yes, and slipped her mouth around his cock.

“Brittanie,” he gasped, watching as her eyes rolled back with pleasure as she took his cock into her mouth, her tongue enthusiastically lapping up his precum, her hands jerking his exposed shaft.

She took his cock out of her mouth and rested it on her tongue, against her glossy lips.

“Please, sir,” she begged. “I really want to pass this class.”

“You _are_ passing,” her teacher responded breathily.

Brittanie nodded.

“I want to do more than pass,” she admitted. “It’s so, so important to me…”

“No,” Mr. Kelso said in a strained voice. “Brittanie, I…I can’t…”

In response, the teenage girl lowered her mouth over her teacher’s cock, taking him deep into her throat. This time, her eyes never left his; she watched as he squirmed, as—for the first time in five years of marriage—he shuddered with pleasure at the touch of another woman.

Her mouth was incredible. If he’d been teaching a class on giving head, she would have been an A-plus, easily. Mr. Kelso loved his wife, but he had to admit—compared to this cocksucking chemistry student, she was a rank amateur.

Just as he was about to cum, Brittanie pulled his cock out of her mouth again. Her face was red, and he noticed she was panting.

“Please,” she begged. “Please, Mr. Kelso…an A. A-minus. That’s all I want.”

Her teacher’s eyes narrowed at her shifting requests. He smiled as he noticed one of her hands awkwardly playing with her skirt.

“No,” he said, and she all but stomped her foot in frustration.

“Fine!” she replied in a huff. “Then…then I won’t go down on you.”

“Fine,” he said cockily, reaching down and grabbing his student’s hair. “That means it’s my turn.”

Brittanie’s eyes widened as her teacher pulled her into a standing position, then roughly threw her down onto the desk. She gasped loudly as he planted a hand on each of her thighs, and her gasps turned into moans as he pulled her panties aside, revealing her wet teenage cunt.

He took a moment to admire it—when he’d fantasized about his student, he’d never specifically visualized her pussy (he was more of an tit man), but if he had, his fantasies would have fallen short of the real thing. Her dark hair was neatly trimmed, and her clit was pink and shiny.

“Mr. Kelso!” she cried as his tongue met her pleasure button, and he began passionately kissing her wetness. It wasn’t long before he’d moved one of his hands between her legs, crooking one finger as it entered her, finding no resistance.

“Oh, _god_ ,” she groaned, her hips bucking as he quickly brought her to the brink of orgasm with his mouth, his tongue, his talented fingers. Just as she was about to cum, he stopped, moving her short skirt out of the way so he could see her.

“I want you to work harder,” he said. “You’re a talented kid, Britt—you know you could have done better than a B-plus on your essay.”

“Noooo,” she groaned, although he wasn’t clear whether she was disagreeing with him or just objecting to the fact that he’d stopped his oral attack.

“If you promise to buckle down and get an A on the next assignment, I’ll make you cum.”

“Please,” Brittanie begged, writhing and wriggling on his desk. “Please, sir…”

“What do you say, Brittanie?”

“Fuck me,” she moaned. “I’ll…I’ll do anything you say, if you…if you fuck me…”

Mr. Kelso grinned. “You’ll pay closer attention in class?”

“Yesss…”

“And you’ll study every night?”

“Mmm…please…”

“And you’ll stop teasing me, and your other teachers?”

“Yes sir…please…”

“Okay,” Mr. Kelso said. “Well, in that case, your bargain seems fair…”

“Condom,” Brittanie gasped. “In my…bag.”

Impressed by his student’s foresight (had this been her plan all along?), the teacher reached over. Sure enough, there was a pair of condoms in Brittanie’s bag. He opened one up, stretched it out along his erection, and positioned himself between his student’s legs.

“Are you sure you want this?” Mr. Kelso asked, suddenly realizing that he was taking advantage of his student.

“ _Fuck, yes…_ ” Brittanie moaned, and before he could continue his crisis of conscience any further, she wrapped her long legs around him and pulled him towards her, reaching down to guide him into her wet, waiting pussy.

“Gahhddd…”

The sound of his student’s pleasure was so loud, Mr. Kelso realized that if any other teachers had stayed back in nearby classrooms, they’d almost certainly be able to hear her orgasmic wails.

If they got caught, his career was finished. More than that—his _marriage_ would be finished. What he was doing had the potential to ruin his life.

But as Mr. Kelso’s cock moved in and out of Brittanie’s slick pussy, he realized…he didn’t care.

It was totally worth it.

He loved his wife. He’d never had any desire to stray—he’d been able to resist Brittanie’s temptations without issue for months and months until now.

But now…now that he could feel the warm walls of her pussy around his cock, now that he could feel her flushed flesh beneath his, hear the sounds of her arousal, see how beautiful she was…

He loved his wife, but sex with her had never been like this. They’d always had great sex, but this…

This was transcendent.

And he hadn’t even seen Brittanie’s tits yet.

“Fuck,” he moaned. He could feel his orgasm approaching.

“Mr. Kelso,” Brittanie replied. Her eyes were closed; her hands were moving all around her body, groping and touching and caressing herself through her shirt.

“I’m going to cum,” he warned, and she nodded.

“Do it,” she replied with a gasp. “Please…”

“I’m cumming,” he bellowed, and Brittanie’s mouth fell open as she felt him pulse inside her. Just as he was finished, he realized her eyes were open, and she was reaching out, grabbing his tie, pulling him towards her.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, before pulling his mouth to hers and kissing him, forcing her tongue inside his mouth. Her hips began to buck frantically—her high-heeled feet kicked out, and Mr. Kelso realized that his young student was cumming, cumming as he kissed her, cumming around his still-hard cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she said when she was done, looking up at him in awe. “Mr. Kelso…”

“Language,” he said, a playful smile on his face. She laughed, and scooted up his desk, causing his dick to leave her pussy.

“God,” she said, stretching slightly. “I…I had no idea sex could be that good.”

Her teacher nodded, before a glum look appeared on his face.

“We…we shouldn’t have done that,” he said, pulling the condom off and tying it into a knot. His mouth curled as he reflected on what had just transpired between them. “Brittanie, that…that was wrong. I’m married. You’re my _student._ ”

“Shhhh,” Brittanie said with a smile, grabbing his tie for the third time that day, gently moving his mouth onto hers.

The teacher’s worries faded away as he enjoyed the utterly delightful sensation of making out with an enthusiastic teenage girl. His cock quickly hardened once more, and Brittanie’s eyes lit up as she wrapped her hand around it.

“Mr. Kelso,” she said, dropping to her knees beside his desk. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“What?”

“I was thinking of dropping out of school and becoming a crack-whore.”

“What??”

Mr. Kelso’s jaw dropped, before he noticed the mischievous look on his student’s face, and rolled his eyes. He’d managed to avoid falling for all of Brittanie’s tricks so far, but he had to admit—she’d gotten him there, just for a moment.

“Uh huh,” she said innocently, her tongue reaching out to gently lick the head of her teacher’s erection. “I was thiiiiis close. But I’ll make a deal with you.”

“What?”

“If you agree to tutor me, maybe I’ll stay in school.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she said, giving the cock in her hand one long lick. “Two or three times a week, maybe some weekend sessions as well. If you tutor me, you’ll help me put my life on track…”

“One on one sessions, I assume?” the teacher asked dryly.

“Yessir,” Brittanie responded, her eyes bright.

Mr. Kelso shuddered with pleasure as his student once more lowered her head onto his cock, and started dutifully sucking, her cheeks hollowing as she skillfully went down on him.

“And what’s in it for me?” he said.

Brittanie rolled her eyes, before pulling his cock out of her mouth to answer.

“I dunno,” she said with a smile. “But I’m sure we can think of something…”


	Chapter 6 — Diamond-Level

Fran sighed at the sight of the nurse. She all but shaking with nervousness as she set the tray down.

Ridiculous.

The eighty-year old heiress had fallen two weeks ago; she hadn’t seriously injured herself, but the doctors had insisted that she stay in bed for at least the next month, until her ankle had time to heal.

One of the benefits of Diamond-level insurance was that she’d been assigned a full-time nurse.

Unfortunately for both of them, this nurse was an idiot.

“I thought you had to be at least halfway intelligent to become a nurse,” Fran had groused the first time Samantha had used the wrong type of bread on her sandwich. “Or do they just let anyone with a pretty face in these days?”

“Sorry, Ms Nelson,” Samantha had mumbled. “It won’t happen again, Ms Nelson.”

But it did happen again. Or if not exactly that, something similar—she’d manage to misplace the newspaper, or trip over the wealthy woman’s laptop cable, or leave the door ajar after being _expressly_ told to close it.

Now, two weeks in, Samantha was a nervous wreck just at the sight of her invalid mistress.

“Maybe this will be the day,” Fran said, speaking slowly and patronizingly. “Maybe today you’ll manage to have prepared an entire meal without screwing _anything_ up.”

“I hope so, Ms Nelson.”

“Of course, we’d have to call the mayor. The governor. The president! It would be declared a national holiday, wouldn’t it?”

“Umm…”

Fran rolled her eyes, and dismissed the nurse with a wave of her hand; she fled the room without managing to trip on any of the heiress’s expensive pieces of furniture.

As the country’s eighty-first wealthiest woman bit into her sandwich, she held back a smile. Samantha had left the room, but she hadn’t heard her go down the hall or staircase—the young nurse was clearly sitting directly outside her bedroom, waiting to be called in.

Waiting to be shouted at, essentially.

But as Fran swallowed the first bite of her lunch, she had to admit—Samantha had done a good job. She’d used the correct bread, she’d avoided overdoing it on the mayonnaise…she’d even used the right part of the turkey, the dry meat that Fran had loved since she was a child.

Maybe she really _had_ managed to avoid screwing anything up.

A few seconds later, Samantha re-entered the room, summoned by the furious voice of her patient.

“Yes, Ms Nelson?”

“What,” Fran said, her voice ice-cold, “do you call this?”

She held up the glass that Samantha had served her beverage in.

“Umm…umm…”

Fran sighed.

“Let me help you, dear. What did I _ask_ for?”

“Fizz Twist,” Samantha said immediately. “Three ice cubes, served in your favorite glass.”

“Good job,” Fran replied, her voice dripping with irony. “Really great work. Now, what _is_ this?”

“Umm…umm…”

This time, Fran let the stammering girl assemble an actual sentence.

“…Fizz Twist,” she concluded with a squeak. “With three ice cubes?”

Fran moved two fingers to her temple.

“Let’s think about this,” she said slowly. “Really think. You do know how to think, don’t you? They did cover ‘thinking’ in nursing school, didn’t they?”

“Uhh…”

“If it was Fizz Twist,” Fran continued, ignoring the nurse’s stammering. “Would I have asked you what it was?”

“Umm…uh…”

“Let’s play this out. If you’d brought me Fizz Twist, would I have called you in here? Would I be asking you about the contents of the glass? Does that sound like a logical course of action?”

“Ummm…no?”

“Good girl,” Fran purred. “So what does that tell you?”

“Uhhh…ummm…”

Again, the heiress waited until a thought had formed.

“It’s…not Fizz Twist?”

“That’s _right_ ,” Fran beamed. “And what does that tell you?”

This time, Samantha just stared at her, mouth agape.

“It tells you,” Fran said sweetly. “That you, my dear… _messed up_.”

The last two words came out as a roar, and Samantha stepped back in shock. Fran continued, her voice loud; her fury obvious.

“It tells you that you are a _nitwit_ , an absolute _moron_ , who can’t do something as simple as POURING a DRINK without somehow messing up. And that makes me _very_ worried about you dealing with medication, drugs—stuff of life and death. If you can’t tell two types of cola apart, how the HELL are you meant to differentiate amphetamines and aspirin?”

Tears were rolling down Samantha’s face, but the old woman didn’t stop.

“I think I’m going to call my insurance and let them know that my coverage grants me a _nurse_ for the next two weeks, not an _imbicile_. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I…I…—”

“Well? What is it, you little twit?”

“I…I thought it was…—”

“Oh, you _thought_ it was the correct drink?”

“Yes, I…I…—”

“So let me get this straight—you, who can barely cut a sandwich without messing it up, _you_ thought it was the right cola. Whereas I—a woman worth more than everyone else you’ve ever met put together—have…made a mistake? Is that what you’re suggesting? That I can’t tell two forms of cola from one another?”

“No, I…I…—“

“Hmmm?”

“I…I’m sorry.”

“Oh good! You’re _sorry_. You’re _sorry_ that you couldn’t do the one _very_ simple job you’re paid to do. Well, I suppose that makes it all better now, doesn’t it?”

“N-n-n…—“

“Hmm?”

“No, ma’am…”

“Go to the damn kitchen and get me my damn drink, girl.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Samantha picked up Fran’s glass, the wealthy woman collapsed back in her bed, suddenly exhausted. She closed her eyes at the sound of her nurse leaving down the hall, down the stairs.

When she opened her eyes again, a glance at the clock told her at least forty minutes had passed. The ice cubes in her new cola had mostly melted, but she could hardly blame Samantha for that.

Although, if she’d _had_ her Fizz Twist, the caffeine would probably have kept her awake. Or even if she had fallen asleep, she would have enjoyed her drink first, without it being watered down by the melted ice-cubes.

For a moment, Fran considered not even drinking it, just to show that damned nurse who was boss, but she _was_ thirsty, and had never been the type to cut off her nose to spite her face. Sitting up, she brought the glass to her mouth, and took a long, satisfying sip.

As she swallowed the licorice-flavored drink, her eyes widened. A pulse of arousal shot through her body; not for the first time since she’d been bedridden. With nothing else to do, she’d spent many a bored afternoon masturbating; since her husband had died, she’d had twenty years to perfect the art of getting herself off, and she was quite good at it.

What was unusual was not that she was aroused, but whose face had appeared in her mind as her clit had cried for attention.

Samantha.

Fran hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d described the young nurse as a pretty face—she was young (she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five), blonde, and had a round face and soft, gentle eyes. Her lips were red and full, and while she clearly tried to dress professionally, she had the kind of body it was impossible to truly hide.

She was the exact kind of woman that Fran would have forbidden her late husband from hiring as a secretary. If he’d been alive when the nurse had been assigned, Fran would have insisted on a replacement.

Fran closed her eyes again. In all her eighty years, she’d never had even a hint of attraction to another woman—she’d been able to admire the female form, of course, but always in the abstract, like one would enjoy a great piece of art or a beautiful song.

But now…

Opening her eyes, Fran shot a suspicious look at her drink. Had the nurse drugged her? Had she been given one of those sex drugs that she’d read about in the paper, in an attempt to get on her good side? After all, she _had_ threatened to fire the nurse—people did funny things when they were backed into a corner.

“Samantha!” she shouted, and the young woman came scurrying into the room once more. The heiress lost her breath at the sight of the young woman—she really was stunning, and Fran was stunned.

“Yes, Ms Nelson?”

“What,” she said, pointing one bony finger at the glass in front of her, “is _this_?”

“No!” Samantha replied, horrified. “No! Ms Nelson, please, I _know_ this one is Fizz Twist. I tried some myself!”

The old woman narrowed her eyes.

“What? Of course it’s Fizz Twist. That’s not what I mean.”

“Oh! Umm…ummm…”

“I mean…”

Fran trailed off, realizing that she didn’t even know what she meant. The nurse was clearly too stupid to think of drugging her, and—useless though she was otherwise—she seemed trustworthy.

She was probably just too _dumb_ to die.

As she pondered the situation, her eyes were uncontrollably drawn to the young nurse’s full chest, heaving as she breathed.

The old woman shifted uncomfortably in her bed. Before she could finish her thought, Samantha was by her side, readjusting her pillows, exactly the way she liked it.

As she got close, Fran realized she, too, was breathing heavily.

“….that’s right,” she finally said, extremely aware of the young nurse just inches away from her. “Yes. It’s Fizz Twist.”

“Then ummm…ummm…”

Fran turned to face the nurse, and the two women held their breath for a moment. More than half a century separated them, but in that moment, Fran was overwhelmed by the urge to…to kiss her nurse.

To kiss another a woman.

Instead, she turned away, slapping Samantha in the face with her grey hair as she did.

“Get out,” she growled. She was going to get off, remembering her husband—or thinking about one of the other men she’d slept with in her youth.

Anything to clear these strange urges from her mind.

* * *

“Yes, Ms Nelson?”

It didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense.

That was what Samantha kept telling herself, over and over again.

It didn’t make any _sense_.

It had hit all at once, that was the strange thing. Just an hour ago, Ms Nelson had been nothing but the worst boss Samantha had ever had. The most cruel, malicious, vindictive, horrible boss that she’d ever encountered. Each and every night, she went home to her boyfriend and cried.

He was supportive, but she could tell that he was starting to get sick of it. He’d suggested that she quit, but she’d told him that she couldn’t—that getting a Diamond client was like winning the lottery. As if the pay wasn’t enough, there was a sizeable bonus for sticking throughout the entire job.

Diamond clients were known for being hard to work with, and for not liking it when their nurses were swapped out.

She’d made the mistake once of telling her boyfriend exactly what Ms Nelson had said to her. A mistake because later that week, he’d used it against her.

And she’d melted.

Samantha was a people pleaser. She’d realized early on that was why she’d become a nurse—assisting people in need genuinely made her happy. No, she hadn’t been the top of any of her classes, but she was hard-working and determined and had—until this patient—genuinely loved her job.

In the bedroom, everything was different. Yes, she loved pleasing her boyfriend—getting him off, going down on him, the look on his face when he came inside her.

But that wasn’t what turned her on.

It had taken her a few years to come to terms with, but it was undeniable—Samantha was turned on by degradation. Nasty names, insults…for reasons she absolutely couldn’t explain, nothing got her wetter than being told that she was useless.

Only in the safety of the bedroom, of course. In real life, her eyes were the only part of her that grew wet if she was yelled or berated—she _hated_ the feeling of letting someone down. Ms Nelson’s insults had done nothing to arouse her…

…until they left the lips of her boyfriend.

“You’re as stupid as you are lazy,” he’d growled at her, one hand around her neck, the other between her legs.

“Oh!” she’d cried, her eyes widening at the familiar words. “Noo…”

“Yes,” he insisted, a cheeky smile on his face. “If you were to get something right, I’d have to hire a marching band to celebrate.”

“Oh god, no…”

Samantha was a puddle of arousal as she heard Ms Nelson’s insults leaving her boyfriend’s mouth.

“You dimwit. You fool of a woman. You complete…and utter… _bimbo_.”

“Ohhh!”

As Samantha came, for one horrible second, the thought of her boss crossed through her mind. After she came down from her shuddering orgasm, she told her boyfriend what he’d done. What he’d made her think about as she came.

He’d thought it was hilarious, but had agreed to never use Ms Nelson’s words in the bedroom again. To thank him, she’d gone down on him, and forty minutes later had cum around his cock as he pounded into her, using some of their more standard dirty names—cumbucket, fucktoy, filthy whore.

She’d thought that would be the end of it, but while she’d been sitting outside Ms Nelson’s room, trying not to cry, something had happened.

A wave of arousal had passed over her, so intense that she’d almost dropped her pen. It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced—stronger than the first time she’d masturbated, or the feeling she got when she was right on the edge of cumming and her boyfriend spat in her mouth.

The strangest thing was that it wasn’t thoughts of her boyfriend’s face (or body) that was turning her on.

It was Ms Nelson’s.

Samantha had seen bodies of all ages, all shapes. It was just a part of being a nurse—she could still appreciate a particularly attractive guy, of course, but the situations in which she encountered their naked forms were never sexy. When she was working, a body was just a body—sexual organs were just organs to medical professionals.

But suddenly memories of Ms Nelson’s naked form were rushing into her mind, and—to her horror—arousing her.

What was happening?

Before she could think it through, the object of her sudden desire had called her in, and she leapt to her feet to obey.

Ms Nelson had insulted her a thousand times in the past fifteen days, and it had never caused Samantha anything but unhappiness.

Suddenly, however, her acidic comments were anything but upsetting—they were deeply, deeply erotic. As if Ms Nelson was her boyfriend, insulting her in the bedroom, every word that left her patient’s cruel lips seemed to go straight to Samantha’s pussy, to her nipples. She felt alive, aroused like she never had before.

And when the old woman dismissed her, she collapsed against the wall outside her room—not with frustration or self-loathing this time, but with an overwhelming desire to get off. To touch herself.

To touch her elderly patient.

Samantha knew she had a body that a lot of women would kill for, and she knew the effect it could have on men. That was why she tried so hard to hide it—she wanted nothing more but to be treated like everyone else. But as she sat outside the closed door, she was filled with an urge to strip off her uniform, to expose her curves to Ms Nelson.

Of course, she’d likely just insult them.

A loud groan left Samantha’s mouth at the idea. She could picture exactly what her wrinkly, cantakerous boss would say—“Those breasts are big enough to knock someone out.” “Look at your filthy, unshaven pussy.” (Samantha’s boyfriend preferred it hairy.) “I’ll bet you only got the Diamond job because of your dicksucking lips…”

Samantha’s body wracked with orgasm at the thought of Ms Nelson staring at her body, insulting it as she’d insulted her ability to nurse, her ability to do basic tasks.

To her frustration, however, it did nothing to calm her down. She was still almost as worked up as she’d been before cumming—and the widow was still the sole focus of her desires.

“You can’t even cum properly,” she muttered to herself, imagining the words coming from the old woman in the room next door. “What a slutty piece of trash you are. Can’t…even…get off…right…”

It wasn’t long before she was cumming again, and then again not long after that.

Her eyes widened as she realized what was happening. Her fetish…her desire to be insulted. Ms Nelson had inadvertently tapped into that, and after her boyfriend had connected the dots, her brain had gotten confused and gone along with it. Now she was…god, she was attracted to the old woman who was making her life a living hell.

“What is _wrong_ with me?” she asked herself, a tear sliding down her face at the knowledge that there was no simple answer.

She only had the job for two more weeks. Two more weeks, and she’d be free from the bizarre, hellish situation she’d gotten herself into.

In the meantime, she’d just have to be a professional. So she was suddenly attracted to her boss? She was a nurse, damn it—the patient would always come first.

Samantha’s eyes fluttered as her hand made its way back between her legs, and she imagined Ms Nelson cumming first.


	Chapter 7 — Christmas Eve

“Mickey!” the woman hissed. “Albert is asleep. Everyone is asleep! Go to bed.”

“I can’t,” the teenager replied. He was eighteen, and had a far deeper voice than one would guess from seeing his skinny black body.

Amanda rolled her eyes. Mickey was three years older than her son, but despite the age gap, the two had been best friends for over a decade now. If she was being honest, though…she’d never really liked him.

It wasn’t a race thing. She told herself that often—it wasn’t a race thing.

She just…didn’t like him.

“Why can’t you go to sleep?”

“I’m excited for Santa,” Mickey said with a grin, showing off his bright white teeth.

Amanda sighed. She may not have liked the kid, but she did feel sorry for him. Both of his parents were surgeons, and when she’d learned that they were both working overnight—on Christmas Eve—she’d felt compelled to offer him an alternative.

It was hard to be too mad at the Wiedermanns for both choosing to work the emergency shift, for saving lives on Christmas morning, but…well, something about it just felt wrong.

And so Mickey was having Christmas morning with their family, instead. Albert had been delighted—as far as he was concerned, the sun shone out of Mickey’s black ass.

But Amanda didn’t like him.

It was a bunch of small things—the way he’d sometimes check her out, when he thought she wasn’t looking. The way Albert all but fawned over him. The fact that his best friend was several years younger than him. What was that all about?

His cockiness, his…confidence. He was, what was the word? Uppity.

But it definitely wasn’t a race thing.

“Well, you know how it works. Santa won’t come if you’re awake waiting for him.”

Albert had a younger sister, Ava, and she was still within the ‘believing in Santa’ range, so despite Albert (and obviously Mickey) being far too old, the family still continued the myth.

“I heard you moving about, so I knew Santa wasn’t coming yet anyway.”

“Go to bed, Mickey.”

“Sure thing, Mandy. Right after you do.”

Amanda sighed again. He’d been calling her that for years, and nothing she could do would deter him, so she’d just accepted it. To her brat of a neighbor, she was Mandy.

She opened her mouth to tell him to go to bed again, but…what was the point? He was eighteen—why the hell did she care if he stayed up late? Not her circus, not her monkey.

“Well, if you’re not going to sleep, you might as well help out. Take a bite out of these cookies Ava left out.”

“You want me to eat the cookies?”

“Just take a bite out of each one.”

“Why?”

“So that she thinks Santa was here.”

“Why the hell would Santa take a single bite out of each cookie? Wouldn’t he eat them all, and leave crumbs?”

“Jesus, fine. Eat the damn cookies, and leave a crumb.”

Mickey eyed the can of Fizz Twist sitting next to them.

“What about this?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

He picked it up.

“It’s full.”

“No, it’s half-empty.”

“That’s what I meant. Half-full.”

“Mickey, this isn’t the time to get into a philosophical debate. I drank half of it to show that Santa was here.”

“Santa isn’t going to fill up on half a cola. Have you seen the gut on that guy?”

“He visits six billion houses,” Amanda retorted. “He can’t finish everything off at every…”

She trailed off, realizing what she was saying. If she’d made a list of her ideal way to spend her Christmas Eve, ‘debating a realistic Santa appetite with her teenaged neighbor’ would have been way, way down the bottom.

Not that it mattered. Before even listening to her defense of the half-empty can, Mickey had brought it to his lips and gulped down the remainder of the can.

It was like fireworks exploded in Amanda’s head. All of a sudden, she realized something about Mickey, something she’d never noticed before.

Her neighbor, her son’s best friend…he was…he was _hot_.

He was muscular. Not ripped, just…skinny-muscular. He was wearing a pair of pajama pants and a wife-beater; it showed off his arms and hinted at his chest-muscles. His neck was long, and Amanda was suddenly overcome with an urge to bite it, to lick it and suck it.

Her eyes dropped to his groin.

He was hard.

Mickey, her eighteen-year old neighbor, was hard as a rock.

What’s more, he was doing absolutely nothing to hide it. His pajama pants were barely managing to contain his erection, and it was pointing straight at her.

It was pointed straight at her.

“M-Mickey,” she stammered, unable to tear her eyes away from the outline of his cock. She wanted it. She wanted it more than she could remember ever wanting anything. She wanted to see it, to touch it, to suck it.

She wanted to fuck it. She wanted to spread her legs, and let her layabout teenage neighbor fuck her until she came around his cock, again and again.

“M-Mandy?” he said mockingly, his hands on his hips. He seemed to be quite proud of the reaction his hard-on had evoked; he certainly wasn’t making any moves to cover himself.

“You…you shouldn’t…”

“I shouldn’t what?” he asked with a smirk.

“Your cock…”

He glanced down, as if he had only noticed it for the first time because of her words.

“Oh, this?”

Amanda’s mouth dropped open as he casually wrapped one hand around his erection, pulling the fabric of his pajamas tighter against his erection. The outline was so much more clear. She could…she could almost see it.

God she wanted to see it.

“Yeah, it gets hard like this sometimes. Nothing I can do about it, sorry. It’s gonna be this hard until I get off…and of course, I’m sleeping in Albert’s room. Can’t get off in there.”

“Can’t…get off…”

What the hell was wrong with her? She was practically drooling at the sight of a teenage boy’s erect penis. Not even the sight of it! The sight of it through pajamas.

And the mental image of him getting off, getting himself off. Wrapping his hand around his erection, and pumping until he came, until he shot white spunk of out his black cock…

“So until I get back home tomorrow, I guess it’s just going to be this hard. All day tomorrow, during breakfast…while opening presents…I might even stay for lunch.”

Amanda shook her head. For some reason, she was struggling to think. Struggling to pay attention to anything that wasn’t Mickey’s enormous black penis.

She wanted it in her mouth.

No! She was a happily married woman. It was Anthony’s penis that she wanted in her mouth. The only cock she’d ever before tasted. The cock she’d fallen in love with and married.

Not Mickey’s. Not Mickey’s throbbing rod.

Mickey’s throbbing rod, inside her…

She groaned at the idea.

“Mandy?”

Focus! She had to focus.

Mickey was going to be hard until he got off. Hard. So hard. So distracting.

She couldn’t be distracted tomorrow; that was Christmas Day. She had to have her attention on the family, on her husband and children. She couldn’t spend the whole day fixated on Mickey’s erection.

That meant he had to get off.

“Get off,” she ordered, almost losing her breath at the idea.

“What?”

“Get off now,” Amanda said emphatically. “Can’t have you…you can’t be hard all day tomorrow. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“You want me to get off now, in front of you?”

It took Amanda a second to answer that one. She had a very visual imagination.

“Uh huh.”

“Mandy, I think _that_ would be inappropriate, don’t you?”

Amanda narrowed her eyes. She knew he wanted this. If she’d ever told him to jerk off in front of him, he would have leapt at the opportunity.

What was he playing at?

“Being hard in front of my children would be even more inappropriate,” Amanda replied. She’d intended for her tone to be cold, uncompromising, but at the word ‘hard’, she’d lost focus, and the rest of the words had come out in a breathy rush.

She sounded almost as horny as she felt.

“Okay,” Mickey said with a shrug. “If you absolutely insist, I’ll get off in front of you.”

“I do,” Amanda said, again aiming for icy. Again, she missed, and it came out as desperate. Begging.

Wanton.

Mickey unceremoniously grabbed the waistband of his pajama pants, and moved them down, revealing the snake between his legs. At the sight of it, Amanda went from practically drooling to literally drooling—her mouth fell open at the sight of Mickey’s hard member.

“God…” she sighed, her hand uncontrollably reaching out. “Mickey, it’s…it’s beautiful.”

The smug teenager didn’t say a word as she fell to her knees in front of him and wrapped a hand around the python he’d been keeping between his legs.

“Mandy,” he said, tutting his tongue in mock-disapproval. “I thought you wanted _me_ to get off.”

“Of course,” she panted, her eyes fixated on the hardness in front of her, in her hand.

The hardness she wanted to feel inside of her.

“Just…helping.”

Amanda didn’t even believe herself as she began to slowly run her hand up and down Mickey’s cock. It was so beautiful—it was like the Platonic ideal of a cock, like the cock that every porn film was striving to exhibit. It so hard. So big.

So nice to touch.

“Uh huh,” Mickey replied, sounding as smug as she’d ever heard him sound. She glanced up at him. He was staring down at her, a glazed look in his eyes. If the feeling of his throbbing erection in her hand hadn’t been enough, his face would have told her that he was as turned on as he’d ever been in his life.

Her second hand joined the first, and she began jerking him off in earnest. It felt right. Natural. Like this was what she had been born to do—like she had been created by God for one simple purpose; to kneel in front of Mickey and get him off.

Amanda tore her eyes away from Mickey’s eyes, and glanced at the door to the living-room. It was ajar; anyone in her family could walk in at any moment. Her son, her daughter…her husband.

Any of them could find her—a proud mother of two—on her knees, jerking off the neighbor.

Jerking off her son’s best friend.

What would they think of her? They’d be horrified, of course. They’d think she was a slut. They wouldn’t know that she was doing it for the best of reasons; to help Mickey get off, so he wouldn’t be hard all of Christmas Day. They wouldn’t know that she was doing it for them, to protect them.

To their eyes, she’d just be a cheating harlot, engaged in an interracial affair. Demeaning herself in front of the black kid next door, using her body to get him off.

To get him off…

It would ruin her life, if she was caught.

_In that case,_ Amanda thought to herself. _I’d better be quick._

“Are you close?” she asked, looking up at the dark-skinned teenager. “Are you close to cumming?”

“Uh huh,” Mickey moaned. His breathing was heavy, and a sweat had formed on his brow. “So close…”

“Cum for me,” Amanda urged. “Cum for Mandy.”

Pushing her arms together, Amanda showed off as much cleavage as her pajama top would allow. She opened her mouth invitingly, providing a target for the teen boy to aim for. Her eyes widened, looking up at him, broadcasting her want, her need…

To the middle-aged woman’s great delight, her pose had the desired effect, and the big black cock in her hands began to pulse. She watched with delight as Mickey came, string after string of his white cum landing on her face, in her mouth, coating her pajama top.

“Dayum,” Mickey sighed, as Amanda’s eyelids twitched with pleasure. Her right eye was closed, matted shut with the teen boy’s semen. Her lips smacked as she swallowed down his cum, enjoying the taste more than she’d ever enjoyed a man’s seed before. “You doing okay, M-M-Mandy?”

“Uh huh,” the woman said dreamily, using her hands to scoop up Mickey’s cum from the rest of her face and move it to her mouth. “Just, uh…hiding the evidence. How about you?”

Swallowing the cum that had been keeping her eye closed, Amanda’s attentions focused on Mickey’s cock. To her great disappointment, it was starting to soften.

“I’m good,” he said with a grin, before gesturing to her cum-splattered top. “But you should take that off.”

“Why?”

“You go to bed with that, Albert’s Dad is going to think something’s up.”

Amanda looked at her top. Before she could stop herself, she lifted the stained areas to her mouth, hungrily sucking them clean.

“Dayum,” Mickey said again. He paused, impressed. “…still, though.”

He was right. Amanda knew he was right. She may have cleaned off the cum, but it there were still obvious signs that something had happened.

“Take it off,” Mickey repeated, his voice a low growl.

There was something wrong with this plan, but Amanda’s brain was foggy. Her pussy was throbbing—she didn’t think she’d ever been so turned on in her life, and that was just from jerking the teen boy off.

She couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like if he were to fuck her, if she were to feel his black member slipping between her legs, splitting her open, getting her off…

“Okay,” she said hazily. Amanda’s fingers deftly unbuttoned her pajama shirt, and soon she was topless, still kneeling before her son’s best friend.

“Oh, fuck…” he moaned, as her tits came into view. “I knew you were stacked, but… _fuck_ , Mandy.”

To Amanda’s great excitement, Mickey’s cock began to thicken again. Soon, it was standing at full attention once more.

“Uh…”

“What?” the black teen asked, mesmerised by the set of tits in front of him.

“Your dick,” Amanda said breathily. “You’re hard again. And you said…”

“Right,” he said with a grin, wrapping one hand around his cock and starting to stroke. “If I don’t get off now, I’ll be hard all night. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Wouldn’t…want…that…”

As if she had completely lost control of her hands, Amanda reached out and once more began to run them up and down the black rod in front of her. As she did, she rubbed her thighs together; it wasn’t exactly the kind of attention her soaking wet cunt was screaming out for, but it was better than nothing.

The two of them stood there in silence for several minutes, Amanda stroking him, Mickey watching her with a smug look on his face.

“Better hurry,” he moaned. “I think I heard Albert’s Dad coming in…”

“What do you want me to do?” Amanda replied. In her mind, it had been a sassy, sarcastic question, to demonstrate that even on her knees in front of him, stroking his cock lovingly, she was still in control.

Instead, it came out as a desperate plea, begging for information on how to better please him.

“Let me play with your tits,” Mickey said, reaching forward even before Amanda’s enthusiastic nod. As he crudely pawed her large breasts, he continued, boldened by her response. “Suck my cock. And play with yourself as you do.”

“Mmkay,” Amanda moaned, moving one hand between her legs as she opened her mouth. The feeling of Mickey’s hardness sliding past her lips, the knowledge that what she was doing was _so wrong_ , and the fact that her body—her forty-four year old body—was the cause of his arousal…she felt like her entire body was throbbing in time with her pussy.

To her frustration, touching herself through her pajamas wasn’t enough stimulation for her to get off. As she gagged on her teenaged neighbor’s cock, she furiously rubbed at the wet patch between her legs, desperate to cum, but not able to.

“Ungghhh…” she moaned, thrusting her chest forward into Mickey’s eager hands. She’d managed to swallow more than half his cock, but just as she was struggling to get herself off, she was struggling to take any more of his thick member down her throat.

“Good girl,” Mickey panted. “Fuck. Mandy, you’re such a good girl.”

Resigning herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to be able to take Mickey’s entire member down her throat, Amanda started raising her head and lowering it repeatedly, bringing one hand up to play with the exposed stretch of black shaft while her tongue made passionate love to his head.

Her other hand was a blur as she rubbed herself, desperate to cum, wanting nothing more than to find release, relief from the sudden mad lust she felt for her eighteen year guest.

“I’m gonna cum,” Mickey grunted, reaching down and grabbing Amanda’s head. “I’m gonna cum, and you’re going to swallow it, Mandy.”

“Mmmmmf…” Amanda replied, her eyes rolling back in pleasure at the idea of her layabout neighbor using her mouth as a cum dumpster, getting off inside her mouth, letting her taste him again, swallow him, love him…

“Cumminnnnng…” he groaned, thrusting forward as he shot string after string of hot cum down Amanda’s waiting, willing throat. The feeling of Mickey’s cock pulsing, splashing his seed inside her was enough to push her over the edge; she vibrated with pleasure as she reached her own climax, her wet thighs clamping against her hand, her hips thrusting forward as she imagined Mickey between her legs, fucking her, taking her as his own.

“God that was good,” the teenager said, his eyes bleary with arousal. “C’mere.”

Amanda was a gooey mess, and did nothing to resist as Mickey leaned forward and pushed his lips to hers. For several minutes, the two of them made out, Mickey’s hands on her tits, hers still resting on his thickening cock.

Finally, he pushed her off him.

“Better stop,” he said with a smug grin. “Otherwise I’d get hard again, and you’d have to help me find relief for a _third_ time.”

“Okay…” Amanda said dumbly.

Mickey paused, running his eyes up and down her body, before shaking his head.

“Nah,” he said. “It’s late. Christmas Day tomorrow.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. Had this punk kid just…rejected her? No one had ever rejected her before; she wasn’t sure how to take it.

“Please?” she asked, unsure of herself.

“Please what?”

“Please,” she said, glancing down at her body, her exposed tits, the huge wet patch between her legs. She looked so slutty, she felt so wanton…why the hell was he playing so hard to get?

“I’ll tell you what, Mandy,” he said with a grin. “I didn’t get you a Christmas present. How about tomorrow night, after your kids go to sleep, you sneak over to my place, and I’ll give you a proper present.”

He moved her hand back onto his thickening cock.

“Whaddya say?”

“Okay,” Amanda answered meekly. She’d expected him to leap at the chance to fuck her—she knew how long he’d wanted her, how hot the black teenager found her.

Instead, he’d turned her down, then offered himself as a gift…provided she did all the work.

And, worst of all, she’d accepted. She’d do anything to get that black cock inside her again. In her hands, her mouth, her pussy.

Anything.

And somehow, Mickey knew it.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, pulling her face to his again and kissing her more passionately than she could remember her husband kissing her in years. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Uh huh,” Amanda nodded. “Merry Christmas.”

After Mickey left, Amanda put her cum-stained clothing into the washing machine, slipped naked into bed with her husband, and silently got off twice more beside him, thinking about what she was going to do the next night.


	Chapter 8 — Permanent Position

“Samantha,” Fran shouted sternly. “Get in here, you stupid girl.”

It had been two days since the women had inadvertently shared a can of Fizz Twist. Two days of tension, of heavy breathing and soft gasps, of sidewards glances and significant pauses.

The heiress and the nurse had shared space for two weeks, but they’d gotten to know each other better in the previous forty-eight hours than the entirety of the fourteen days before that.

Samantha, to her credit, had mostly managed to avoid screwing up. Bringing her patient a correctly-made (and presented) meal was a form of pleasing her, and her people-pleasing tendencies had been turned up to eleven.

As well as that, the less she messed up, the less the old lady would yell at her. And Samantha knew that she shouldn’t—she _mustn’t_ —get pleasure from her patient yelling at her.

It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t right, and she couldn’t control her reaction.

Unfortunately, this was the main thing Fran had learned—that, for reasons she didn’t fully understand, yelling at Samantha made the young woman gasp with pleasure. She’d avert her eyes, straighten her back, and unknowingly emit a small sigh of arousal whenever the old woman insulted her.

So, naturally, Fran insulted her every chance she got.

“Ah, there you are,” she grumbled as Samantha loped into the room. “Took you long enough, you silly cow.”

In all her eighty years, Fran had never encountered any situations in which ‘silly cow’ could be considered erotic…but sure enough, as soon as the words escaped her lips, Samantha trembled with pleasure.

“What can I do for you, Ms Nelson?”

“What an idiotic question,” the heiress groused, her lips turning up slightly at the way Samantha inadvertently let out a soft gasp at the insult. “But since you’re dumb enough to ask it, let me tell you—it’s time for you to get me off.”

Samantha’s eyes widened, and she hesitated, clearly unsure if she’d heard the request correctly.

“I…I…I bet your pardon?” she asked, Fran enjoying every moment of watching her young nurse falter.

“I said it’s time. For. You. To. Get. Me. Off. Are you as deaf as you are dumb?”

“N-no, Miss, ummm…”

Fran threw up her hands.

“I’m an elderly invalid,” she said, shooting her famous glare squarely into Samantha’s eyes. “I’ve been injured. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Ummm…ummm…”

She sighed.

“Let me make this simple enough so that even a young nurse with fewer brain cells than boobs can answer it. Are you here to help me, or not?”

“Y-y-yes, but…—“

“Are you here to help me do what I can’t do myself, or not?”

“Yes ma’am, but…—“

“And do you want me to call your boss and tell them that you’re apparently incapable of doing even the most basic tasks?”

“No ma’am, please…—“

“Or are you saying that this is too complicated for you, perhaps? Have you ever gotten yourself off, young lady?”

“Yes ma’am, of course, but…—“

Fran smiled at the nurse’s confession. It was something she’d pictured a lot over the last two days—the young woman, naked on her bed, one hand between her legs, pleasuring herself…

It was this image that had pushed her into action. She only had Samantha for less than two weeks—eleven oh-too-short days—and she’d lived long enough to know that letting opportunities slip away was a fool’s game.

There were certainly other ways she could have approached it—she could have made a pass, or simply asked Samantha if she were interested. But the idea of being rejected was chilling, and despite the young woman’s strange reactions to her insults, Fran had very little evidence that her newfound attraction was mutual.

Besides which, she was a woman. And Samantha was a woman. And despite having a few lesbian acquaintances over the years, Fran had never truly come to terms with the woman-woman thing.

No, better to keep it more in-line with the rest of their relationship. Keep it professional.

Play it safe, and ensure the lowest possible chance of rejection.

“Then you should know what you’re doing. You’re my damned nurse, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ms Nelson, and…—“

“Then do your job.”

A smug grin settled upon Fran’s face as she sat back to watch what Samantha would do next. Her nipples tightened with arousal as she watched the nurse silently wrestle with the decision, try to work out what to do next. After almost a minute of internal debate, a calm look came across her face and she nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Suddenly, the young woman was all business. She moved Fran’s tea tray out of the way, and moved her blanket to the side. Sitting on the bed, Samantha placed one hand on the elderly woman’s wrinkled thigh, and looked her in the eyes dispassionately.

“Let me know what you like, Ms Nelson,” she said softly, moving her hand up Fran’s nightdress, to the soft warmth between her legs.

The heiress’s eyes widened. As she’d rubbed herself to orgasm the previous night, she’d had ideas of how things could go, but she hadn’t been able to envision exactly how good it would feel. She’d felt Samantha’s touch over the past few weeks, countless times—her gentle hands, her silky skin, her firm grip…but as the nurse calmly applied her magic touch to Fran’s nether regions, the old woman saw stars.

“Yess,” she moaned, rolling her eyes back in her head. “Oh yes, Samantha, yes…exactly like that. Exactly like _that_.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, ma’am,” the nurse replied, and Fran detected a tone of disappointment in her voice. Her lips curled, and she grinned cruelly as she realized what the young woman must have been secretly desiring.

“Impressive, really,” Fran continued, an edge slowly entering her voice. “I mean, considering how useless you are at everything else.”

Even with her eyes closed, the eighty-year old woman could detect Samantha’s reaction. Her body slightly stiffened, and she slowly released her breath through her teeth.

“You really are a waste of space, aren’t you?” Fran continued. Samantha’s fingers felt _so_ good; she clearly had a lot of experience touching herself—or perhaps other women. She’d mentioned a boyfriend once, but who knew, with this generation? “Perhaps this is the _only_ thing you’re good at. There’s a word for women like you, did you know that? Women who are so incapable of accomplishing even the most basic of tasks, they have to resort to using their body…using their body to get people off.”

Samantha was openly moaning now, as her shoulder moved up and down. Her fingers were covered in Fran’s juices as she slowly, rhythmically rubbed her ward’s wet spot.

“Harlots,” Fran hissed. “Trollops. _Whores_. Is that what you are?”

“No, ma’am,” Samantha groaned. “I’m…I’m not…—“

“I mean, there’s no other word for it, is there? I’m paying you, and you’re getting me off. I’m paying you to get me off—what else would you call it?”

“A nurse,” Samantha said with a shudder. “I’m…I’m just…—“

“No no no,” Fran replied sweetly. “A nurse is a real job, my dear. And you’ve proven to me, over and over again, you’re not capable of doing a _real_ job. You can barely make a sandwich.”

“Please, Ms Nelson…—”

“A _sandwich_ , Samantha. The simplest meal in the world to prepare, and you can barely manage that.”

Fran’s voice was thick with lust; Samantha’s administrations, as well as the sound of the young nurse’s involuntary arousal—it was getting the old woman close to orgasm.

“And if you’re too stupid to be a…what are they called, at the Subway? Sandwich artist! If you’re too stupid to be a sandwich artist, you can hardly be a _nurse_ , can you?”

“B-but…—“

“Say it,” Fran insisted. “Say that you’re too stupid to be a nurse.”

“I…I…—“

“That’s an order. Say it or you’re fired.”

“I’m…I’m too stupid to be a nurse.”

“You’re too stupid to be a sandwich artist.”

“I’m t-too stupid to be a sandwich artist…”

“So what are you?”

“What?”

Fran laughed, a single sharp, mirthless bark.

“A _whore_ , dear. You’re a whore. Say it!”

“I’m a whore,” Samantha choked.

“You’re _my_ whore.”

“I’m…I’m your whore, ma’am.”

“Yessss,” Fran hissed, her frail body convulsing as an orgasm overcame her. “Good girl. Good little whore…”

For the next several minutes, the only sound that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the two women—Fran, coming down from her orgasm, and Samantha, powerfully aroused but completely unfulfilled.

Finally, Samantha stood.

“Where do you think _you’re_ going?”

The nurse’s eyes widened at the glare she received from her ward.

“Umm…ummm…”

“Well? I know you can talk, you cheap bimbo.”

“Ungh…”

“Spit it out!”

“I thought…I thought you might want to b-be…alone?”

“And why would I want that?”

“Umm…ummm…”

Fran sighed.

“Listen to me, you stupid _bitch_ …”—Samantha’s eyelids fluttered at the word—“…you will leave when I say you can leave. Now, take that idiotic-looking uniform off.”

“W-what?”

Rolling her eyes, the old woman gestured for Samantha to approach the bed. Dazed and confused, the nurse obeyed her mistress’s silent command. As soon as she was within reach, Fran began unbuttoning the young woman’s top.

“You’ve proven to me time and time again that you’re too clumsy, far too much of a klutz to be trusted in a nice white uniform like this.”

“B-b-but…”

“Buh buh buh but!” Fran echoed mockingly. “Just shut up, girl. You will speak when spoken to, do you understand?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

“Good! Now, let’s get you out of this outfit before you spill something on it.”

Fran unwittingly licked her lips as Samantha’s bra-clad tits came into view. Just as she’d thought, the young woman was busty—at least a D cup, if not larger.

“And the bra,” she ordered raspily.

Samantha’s arms shot up to cover her chest.

“M-my bra!? Why??”

Fran hesitated. ‘Because I want to see your naked breasts’ didn’t seem like the most convincing of answers, but she didn’t really have anything else prepared.

“Shut up,” she snapped, in lieu of a better answer. “You halfwit. You stupid, stupid girl. You useless waste of oxygen.”

With every insult, Samantha’s breathing grew heavier, her eyes glazed over further.

“You dumb slut. You hussy. Floozy. Strumpet. Streetwalker!”

“Ms…Nelson…”

“Take your bra off. Now!”

With a nod, Samantha obeyed, and Fran’s mouth fell open at the sight of her unrestrained tits. They were huge, sitting on the front of the nurse’s chest like two halves of a large melon; they had very little sag to them, and Samantha’s nipples looked like they were hard enough to cut glass.

“Your panties too,” Fran hissed, and in her lust-addled state, the young woman didn’t hesitate. Soon, she was standing in front of the old woman, trembling with arousal. Her musk filled the room; it was strong, ripe. Fran’s lips curled in a rare smile. “Come here, girl.”

The eighty-year old heiress inserted two of her fingers into Samantha’s wetness, her grin broadening at the way the nurse’s back arched with arousal, further displaying her large bosom. Even in her heyday, Fran had never been blessed with breasts that size, and she couldn’t stop staring at them, fascinated.

“Your pokey is soaked,” Fran said, her eyes never leaving Samantha’s chest. “You tart. You just love exposing yourself, don’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” Samantha responded, holding her breath. In fact, Samantha was incredibly shy—even her boyfriend rarely got to see her this naked—but in that moment, she loved everything that was happening.

“You’re a loose woman, do you know that?” Fran said, despite the snugness of the nurse’s pussy. “You’re a wanton, promiscuous, sordid adulteress; the only thing of value you have to offer the world is your snatch, and you’ve been too generous with that, haven’t you?”

“N-no, Ms Nelson…” the young woman moaned. “Please…”

“Please what?”

“P-please…want to…wanna cum…”

“Oh you want to _cum_ , do you? You think you’re worthy of a climax? _Puh puh puh puh please, Ms Nelson_ …you make me sick. You’re pathetic!”

“Oh!”

Samantha’s face contorted and her cunt began to contract rhythmically around Fran’s fingers. Her tits bounced as she panted, sighed, and loudly climaxed in front of her patient. Her boss.

Her new lover.

As soon as she came down from her orgasm, standing in front of Fran’s bed, Samantha’s face turned a deep crimson.

“Oh my god,” she babbled. “Ms Nelson, I—…I’m so sorry!”

“You should be,” the old woman said coldly. “As you’ll recall, _you_ are here to serve _me_ , not the other way around. Now, why don’t you put that otherwise-useless tongue of yours to work?”

Before she could so much as raise her eyebrows in shock, Fran maneuvered the young woman’s face between her legs. There was a brief moment of resistance, but to the elderly patient’s great pleasure, Samantha soon began exploring her boss’s pussy with her tongue.

“Now,” Fran said, a satisfied tone to her voice. “Let’s discuss the future. You will get me off whenever I request it. As soon as you enter my abode each day, you will, of course, strip off. I never want to see you in clothing again. Do you understand?”

“Mmm-hmmm…”

“Excellent. And regarding your future…I’m worried that your incompetence—your complete lack of ability to follow even the _simplest_ of orders—may have delayed my recovery. To be safe, I’m going to get in contact with your agency. After the two weeks are done, you shall continue working for me indefinitely.”

“But…—“

“Ahem! Did I _say_ you could stop?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Then you shall continue. Yes, we may have to make this into a…permanent arrangement.”

Fran’s soliloquy briefly turned into a long moan as Samantha began sucking on her clit, but soon the old woman had regathered her thoughts.

“Mmm, yes. Now, if you can actually do the one thing on this green Earth that you seem to be remotely good at…oh yes, that’s the spot. Yessss…if you can keep me satisfied in at least one way, there will be rewards, like the one I gave you earlier. How does that sound to you, my young slut?”

“Good, Ms…—”

“Did I tell you to stop?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Good. I think after this I’ll have a brief nap, then it will be time for my lunch, then perhaps you will get me off once or twice more before your shift ends. How does that sound?”

“Mmm-hmmm!”

“Yess, good girl. Good girl, young Samantha…”


	Chapter 9 — WAGs

“Okay,” Charlotte said, “I’ve got to ask. What’s a WAG?”

“It’s when a dog’s butt moves like this,” Harriet responded, standing up and wiggling her tush from side to side. The other girls—except for Charlotte—burst out laughing.

When they’d collected themselves again, Joanne gave a more serious answer.

“Wives And Girlfriends,” she answered, point to herself and Harriet.

“Why just you two?” Charlotte asked, her nose wrinkled. “We’re all in relationships, aren’t we?”

“It refers to footballers,” Harriet said. “I guess it’s kind of a sexist term—like we’re defined by our relationship to a _man_. But in the media’s eyes, we kind of are.”

“The media?”

“Yeah,” Joanne said with a roll of her eyes. “The media looooves their footballer relationship stories. Sometimes it’s hard for me or Harriet to leave the house without the flash of cameras in our faces.”

“That sounds hard,” Charlotte said with a nod.

“Yeah, but two things make up for it. HAB is totally worth it.”

“Hab?”

“Husband and boyfriend,” Harriet said with a grin.

An hour and forty-five minutes later, the non-WAGs had left, and Joanne was helping Harriet tidy.

“Where’s Greg tonight?”

“Some charity ball. Tony wasn’t invited?”

“Nah,” Joanne said, stifling a yawn. “Your boy is the new hotness. Tony’s old news.”

“Don’t be like that…” Harriet said, touching her friend’s arm.

“I’m not,” the older woman said with a warm smile. “I don’t miss it, I promise. Neither does Tony. It means we can actually have a night at home once a week or so.”

“If you say so,” Harriet said, shooting a dubious look at her fellow WAG.

The pair continued cleaning for a few minutes—throwing out cans of drink, sweeping up dropped chips—when Joanne had a thought.

“Why aren’t you there?”

“Hmm?”

“The charity ball. Surely Greg wanted you to come.”

“Yeah,” Harriet admitted. “But we had a huge fight a few weeks back, and I told him that I wasn’t his handbag. Or…I dunno, what do guys carry around with them everywhere? His cigarette lighter. I wasn’t an accessory, I didn’t exist just to accompany him to events, and I wanted my own life. So he insisted I have friends over instead.”

“That’s sweet,” Joanne said, resting her hand on Harriet’s neck.

“Yeah—he’s a good one. That’s why none of the other WAGs were here. They’re all at the ball to give children cancer, or whatever it is.”

The two friends smiled, and Joanne tried to hide another yawn.

“Hon, don’t drive this tired. Stay here for the night. I know Greg won’t care, and Tony must be asleep by now.”

“Yeah,” Joanne said, “but I really should get home. I hate sleeping alone.”

Harriet chuckled. “I’d invite you to sleep in our bed, but I think Greg would like that _too_ much.”

“Probably,” Joanne laughed.

“Here,” Harriet said, passing Joanne an open can of Fizz Twist. “You and I are the only two who like this shit—have the rest, it’ll keep you awake.”

“You don’t have any horrible diseases, do you?”

“None that can be shared through a can of coke.”

Joanne packed up the rest of her belongings, then made her way to the door.

“Thanks for a great night,” she said, leaning in to give her friend a hug. “I’ll see you at the game?”

“For sure,” Harriet smiled. “Go Pelicans!”

“We married into the stupidest life possible, didn’t we?”

“Hey, you’re the one who married into it! Me and Greg are just dating.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—I thought it was serious.”

Harriet laughed. “I’m pulling your leg. It’s super serious. He says if they win the championship, he’ll buy me an engagement ring big enough to be seen from space.”

“I’m glad,” Joanne said, her warm smile returning. “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily. Now go! You have two large bulldogs awaiting your return.”

Joanne nodded, and took her first sip out of the can of Twist. Her eyes widened, and for a moment Harriet thought she saw a love heart appear in the corner of Joanne’s cornea.

Then, all of a sudden, a feeling hit Harriet. A feeling she hadn’t had for anyone but Greg since she’d met him.

A feeling she’d _never_ had for another woman.

The two women stood there, staring at each other, unsure what to do with their new, sudden feelings.

“…you said that Tony would be okay if you stayed the night?” Harriet asked tentatively.

“Uh huh,” Joanne replied, nodding like a nervous teen. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

“Uh huh,” Harriet said, mirroring her friend’s body language. “Of course, I wouldn’t want you to be unable to sleep…”

“Well,” Joanne started cautiously. “Maybe…maybe you could come cuddle me. You know, just until I get to sleep.”

“Uh huh,” Harriet said again. “That could work. Maybe that’s a good idea.”

The two moved to the bedroom—slowly at first, then racing through the house, giggling and pulling off clothes.

* * *

By the time Greg arrived home, the clothes had been picked up, and Joanne was alone in the guest room while Harriet waited for him in their bed, completely naked, skin flushed.

“Come here…” she said. Before Greg could complain about being tired, he saw the look on his girlfriend’s face, and did as she requested.

She rode him to two orgasms that night. He had no idea that as he shot his load into her, she was mentally two rooms over, reliving what she’d spent the evening doing with Joanne.

The next morning was not, as Harriet had worried, even remotely awkward. Greg and Joanne chatted over breakfast like nothing unusual had happened—which, from Greg’s point of view, was absolutely true.

“So you going to come in with me?”

“Do you need me?” Harriet said, biting her lip, and giving her boyfriend her infamous puppy-dog eyes.

“I guess not,” he chuckled. “What’re you ladies going to get up to?”

Joanne’s eyes widened. She wasn’t used to lying. Before she could give anything away, Harriet jumped in.

“She’s helping me with my taxes.”

“I thought we had Colin to do those?”

“No, my taxes from a few years back.”

“Uh huh,” Joanne said, trying to be supportive. “They came back with an issue.”

“Weird,” Greg said, scrunching up his nose. “Well, I guess if doing three-year old taxes sounds more fun than watching the love of your life film a soda commercial…”

“It really doesn’t,” Harriet said in a mock groan. “But if I don’t get them done, who knows when I’ll get around to it.”

“No worries,” Greg replied with an easy laugh. As he moved towards the door, he picked up the can that Joanne had dropped the previous night. “ _’Fizz Twist’—for when life throws you curve balls!_ ”

Harriet and Joanne broke into spontaeous applause, and Greg bowed deep before closing the door behind him.

As soon as they were gone, the two women were in each other’s arms, their mouths exploring each other’s tongues.

“God I want you,” Harriet moaned. “Fuck. Joanne! What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Joanne said, her hand moving between Harriet’s legs. “I…I still love Tony.”

“And I love Greg,” Harriet said with a soft groan. Joanne really knew what she was doing with her hand. “I love him so much. Oh!”

“But…”

Joanne pulled back slightly, staring into Harriet’s eyes.

“I love _you_ , too.”

“Maybe the boys will share?” Harriet said, raising her shoulders in a half-shrug.

“No,” Joanne said flatly. “I know my Tony. Even with a hot young thang like you, there’s no way he’d be interested in letting anyone else have a part of me.”

“Well then we’re fucked,” Harriet said, gently lowering Joanne’s bra, her eyes lighting up as the older woman’s breasts came into view. “We’re fucked!”

“Not yet,” Joanne grinned. “Come here…”

For the rest of the morning, the girls were a tangle of tanned arms and legs. They made love on the couch, on the guest bed, even on the bed where Harriet and Greg slept. Finally, after hours and hours, Joanne insisted on going home.

“Not because I want to, darling. But if we’re going to keep doing this, we have to be smart about it.”

“Okay,” Harriet sniffed, getting surprisingly emotional. She loved Greg—she _loved_ him—but the way she felt about Joanne was…

It was like nothing she’d ever felt before. It was like the relationship of a new energy times a thousand…but strangely enough, it didn’t replace her feelings for Greg. Her love for Greg was just as strong as it had always been; she just now wanted Joanne as well.

She wanted to have her beefcake and eat out her friend, too.

* * *

“Oh god,” Joanne moaned. “Harriet, that’s so goood…”

“I love you,” Harriet grinned, leaning in to kiss Joanne again. “God, Joanne…”

“I love you too,” Joanne said. It had been almost two weeks since that first night, the night they’d discovered how they felt about each other. Aside from managing to sneak off for fifteen glorious minutes during the last game, the two women hadn’t been able to spend more than a few moments with each other—until now.

Tony had been going to his mother’s house for dinner, and Greg had been more than happy for Harriet to go spend the night ‘with a friend’. The moment she’d walked through her friend’s door, they’d been in each other’s arms, in each other’s mouths, between each other’s legs…

Now, four far-too-short hours later, Tony was due home, and they’d reluctantly gotten redressed. But even as they sat on the couch, listening carefully for the sound of Tony’s car, they were unable to keep their hands off each other.

“What are we going to _do_?” Harriet whined. “I…I don’t want to go another two weeks without getting to have you. I don’t want to know another two _minutes_.”

“There’s nothing we can do, honey,” Joanne said softly. Her hand was on Harriet’s thigh, and she was stroking it softly, comfortingly.

“You’re fine with this? Twice a month, if we’re lucky?”

“Of course I’m not _fine_ with it,” her lover responded soothingly. “But it’s just how it has to be.”

“Does it _have_ to be that way?”

“Unless you want the boys to get suspicious, yes. It really does.”

“Ugh,” Harriet said, flopping her head onto Joanne’s shoulder. “Gross.”

“We’re playing the long game, honey. If we want this to go on for years and years and years and years…”

Harriet sighed happily at the idea.

“…we have to be smart about it now.”

“I guess,” Harriet said, leaning in to kiss Joanne once more. Before she could, the sound of Tony’s car filled the room, and she reluctantly pulled back.

“Soon as we can, yeah?”

“Of course,” Joanne said, smiling as she watched Harriet make her way across the room. “And babe?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate to see you leave…but I love to see you walk away.”

Harriet chuckled, and waggled her butt back and forth as she left the room.

* * *

“I love you,” Harriet cooed, staring into Joanne’s eyes.

“I love you too,” Joanne sighed, smiling back at her lover.

It had been fifteen years, and they were just as close as ever. Harriet had given birth—thrice!—and been married to Greg for more than a decade. Joanne had been her maid of honor, of course—they’d managed to sneak away at the hen’s night, and make love for more than an hour before returning to the main party.

The boys were long since retired, and—at their wives’ insistence—the two couples were close. They regularly vacationed together, and Greg and Tony had even done a few commercials together.

“How long do we have?”

“Eighteen minutes,” Joanne replied, a thrill going up her spine. Even now, even after more than a decade, she still never tired of feeling Harriet’s hand on her skin, her mouth on her mouth.

They’d been careful, and the boys had never suspected a thing. They’d come close, once or twice, but Joanne and Harriet had made sure to be model wives, and any doubt their husbands had shown had quickly been allayed.

Now, they were almost professionals at sneaking away and getting each other off. They had it down to a fine art; but despite the clockwork precision of their affair, neither of them were even close to bored with it.

“Eighteen minutes, hey?” Harriet asked with a grin. “So that gives us enough time to…”

“Exactly,” Joanne smiled, reaching up her lovers’ skirt. “You first, then me. Then me again.”

“Selfish!” Harriet laughed.

“You owe me,” Joanne reminded her. “From September.”

“Oh yeah…” Harriet replied, before her eyes filled with lust and her mouth fell open. “I do too…”

Seventeen minutes and thirty-five seconds later, when the men walked back into the room, the two women were fully-dressed, sitting next to each other on the couch.

“Look at you two,” Tony said with a smile. “Pretty as pictures, both of you—even more so when you’re together.”

“I’d love to see these two together,” Greg grinned. “Ha! Can you imagine?”

“Gross,” Harriet replied immediately.

“Nuh-uh,” Joanne said, joining in.

“Ah well,” Tony grunted. “A man can dream. A man can dream…”


	Chapter 10 — Half-Brothers

“Where the hell is Sami?” Karl grunted, looking around.

“I dunno,” his friend responded with a shrug. “She was here during the game—that’s her drink.”

Picking up the soda, Karl stormed up and down the field. Not only could he not see his girlfriend, his twerp of a half-brother was missing too—his book was still where he’d last been last.

His girlfriend and Markus must have disappeared somewhere, but where? And…why?

A pit began to form in Karl’s stomach and he spun around. His van was exactly where he’d parked it, at the end of the field.

And it was rocking back and forth.

Looking around, Karl was relieved to see that no one else seemed to have noticed. It wasn’t an obvious motion, but if you were looking at the van, it was impossible to miss.

Moving slowly, carefully, trying to look like nothing was wrong, Karl made his way up the field to his van. The facts were damning, but he had to be sure.

When he got to the van, he peered through the side window, and the pit in his stomach turned into a knot.

His girlfriend was completely naked, and his half-brother was wearing nothing but a pair of socks. Sami’s eyes were closed, and he recognized the look of pure arousal on her face as Markus fucked her.

Karl turned around, and collapsed against the vehicle. The couple inside didn’t seem to notice—they’d looked like they were so absorbed in each other, they weren’t going to notice anything that wasn’t each other. They’d clearly lost track of the time.

He was a mixture of emotions, some of which he’d never felt before. Fury. Betrayal. Jealousy. _Jealousy_! How could he be _jealous_ of Dweebus?

Because he was currently balls-deep in Sami, that was how. And it looked like she was loving every second of it.

Karl wanted to kill him. And he could—he knew that for a fact. He could wrench open the door, revel in the fear in Markus’s stupid fucking face, and…

He took a deep breath. Then another, and another, and another. It took him thirty seconds to realize that what was supposed to be relaxing breathing was turning into hyperventilation, and he took a gulp of the Twist Fizz in his hand to calm himself down.

To his surprise, it had…not the opposite effect, but something close. He definitely didn’t feel _calmer_ , but all of a sudden he was less angry. Less jealous.

And much, much more aroused.

With a grunt, Karl adjusted his erection, and stood up. He was still filled with an overwhelming urge to burst in, to confront the pair in his van.

But now, he didn’t want to kill him. Her. Either of them.

Instead, he wanted to join them.

* * *

“Fuck me,” Sami moaned. An unnecessary request, all things considered—Markus had been fucking her for the better part of an hour, and he was showing no sign of stopping. “God, Markus, you’re so _good_. Please…fuck me!”

“You’re so hot,” Markus panted. He’d cum inside his half-brother’s girlfriend three times already; she’d been wet when he’d first entered her, but now she was a sodden mess.

He’d never experienced anything so sexy in his life.

“You’re so god damn hot. Oh, fuck…”

Sami shuddered in orgasm—they’d both lost track of how many times she’d cum around Markus’s cock. It just felt so good, so _right_. She couldn’t believe how incredible the sensations were.

“Cum inside me,” she begged. “Again. Please. I…oh, god. I want you to knock me up. I want you knock me up. I’ll raise the baby as Karl’s. He’ll be the baby’s father, but you’ll be the one who fucked it into me. And you can fuck another one into me, any time you like…”

Markus’s eyes widened at the stream of filth coming out of Sami’s mouth, but it was having the desired effect. The idea of her full, pregnant belly; Karl standing beside her, thinking he was the father…raising Markus’s son while he fucked Sami behind his back…

He was right on the verge of orgasm when it happened.

A sudden wave of arousal spread through him, but instead of making him cum, it managed to distract him from his orgasm.

All of a sudden, his half-brother’s image was in his mind.

And—to Markus’s great surprise—it was turning him on.

“Fuck me,” Sami panted, her eyes wide. “Share me with your brother.”

“Half-brother,” he corrected.

“Yessss,” she moaned. “I want…I want you to fuck one hole while Karl fucks the other. I want to feel both of you inside me at once.”

In less than an hour, the rutting pair had explored almost the entire gamut of dirty talk, but this was something new.

And for reasons Markus couldn’t understand, he was into it.

“I want to suck his balls,” he grunted in reply. “I want to suck Karl’s balls while he fucks you.”

“Yessss,” Sami replied, hearts practically floating from her eyes. “I want both of you to cum on my face, then lick it off me. I want you to…oh!…lick it off me and make out. An incestuous kiss between brothers…”

“Half-brothers.”

“Half-incestuous, then,” Sami replied with a smile. “God, Markus. Will you do that for me?”

“Of course,” Markus moaned. “If he’d let me! But he’d kill us if he ever found out…oh, shit. What’s the time?”

“Fuck!”

Sami let out a disappointed groan as Markus pulled out of her, causing a mix of their fluids to drip onto the floor. “God, I don’t want to stop…”

“Me neither, but if we don’t hurry, we’ll…oh, shit!”

Markus looked up. His half-brother Karl was at the window, staring at the two of them. The evidence of their affair couldn’t have been more clear—they were both naked, Sami’s legs were still spread.

But instead of fear or alarm, Markus felt…arousal.

He’d never had a good relationship with his brother. Half-brother. For years, Karl had used his size to bully him. Markus had never been able to see Karl as anything but a threat.

Until now.

All of a sudden, the sight of his half-brother’s enormous build wasn’t scary. It was…

Hot.

Markus was acutely aware that Karl could snap him like a twig. He could wrap those huge hands around Markus’s throat and throttle the life of him.

He could hold him down and pound his ass until Markus screamed for mercy.

In that moment, Markus couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.

“Invite him in,” Sami said softly.

“What!?”

“Trust me,” she said, a hazy look on her face. “Invite him in.”

Markus considered asking Sami if the barrage of orgasms had melted her brain, but there was something in her tone…like she knew something he didn’t.

Markus held up his right hand, and crooked his finger, gesturing for Karl to join them.

Moments later, Karl was in the back of the van with them, filling it with his enormous size. He’d just spent two hours running up and down a field, and he was coated with sweat.

Markus closed his eyes and breathed it in, savoring the smell. He’d spent most of his life around his brother’s odor, and he’d never once found it so…compelling.

So attractive.

“What’s going on here?” Karl asked, his voice a low growl. Markus opened his mouth to respond, but before he could even construct a sentence, Sami spoke for both of them.

“You know damn well what’s happening, you big brute,” she said playfully. “And I know what you want.”

“Oh?” Karl asked.

“Oh?” Markus mirrored.

“Uh huh,” Sami grinned. “You want to share me with your brother.”

“Half-brother,” the two half-brothers corrected in unison.

“Half-brother,” Sami said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be pedantic. You want to bend me over and fuck the hole your brother just spent the afternoon filling with cum.”

The young woman spread her legs, demonstrating to her boyfriend exactly what she was talking about.

“Or maybe you want to lick it out first, drinking down your half-brother’s cum like it’s…like it’s Fizz Twist.”

Markus couldn’t help but glance at Karl. His face was stoic, almost unreadable…but his gaze was firmly affixed between his girlfriend’s legs, and he was breathing heavily.

“I might be wrong,” Sami continued airily. “I might be wrong, and about to witness a half-fratricide. But I don’t think I am. I think you want to take me right here, in the back of your van…and I think you want Markus to either watch, or do _so_ much more than watch…”

There was a tense pause—the tensest pause that Karl’s van had ever seen—before the giant man let out a soft moan, and fell to his knees.

“I want to eat it,” he groaned, before burying his head between Sami’s legs.

As Sami threw her head back with pleasure, Markus moved one hand between his legs, and began pumping at his achingly hard cock. He’d already cum three times that day, and he’d been so close to a fourth when Karl had interrupted them.

“How’d you know?” he panted, preparing to spray the back of his half-brother’s head with his seed.

“What?” Sami gasped.

“How’d you know what he wanted? That he wouldn’t be mad?”

“I didn’t,” the flushed girl admitted. “I just had a feeling. But either I was right, and…”

She gestured to the huge man between her legs.

“…or we were screwed either way, right?”

“Right,” Markus nodded, his hand a blur. “Bro. Bro! _Karl!_ ”

Pulling his face out from between Sami’s legs, Karl turned around.

“What?” he said, his face glistening, his eyes hazy with lust.

“I have another load for you.”

“Wait!” Sami cried, clamboring to her knees. “Me too.”

“Of course,” Markus said, his legs buckling as he began to spray the kneeling couple with his cum. “Family has to share, after all…“


	Epilogue

“You really—ungh!—…you really shouldn’t be working while you’re so…so fucking pregnant, Alice.”

“I’m only seven months along,” his employee grunted. Her grin was back.

He loved it when she grinned like that.

“Still…oh, god. I’m gonna cum!”

“Yesss,” Alice hissed. “Cum inside me, Chris. Please. Please, I want to feel you—oh!—cumm…“

Chris and Alice had been staying late after work for the past seven months, desperately needing to feel each other, to touch and taste and please each other. Chris had managed to convince his wife that his extra hours had to do with the recall—some odd contamination of a Fizz Twist batch—and she hadn’t ever questioned why he was still staying late, more than half a year later.

“I’m cumming,” he grunted, unloading into Alice’s twitching cunt.

He smiled as he watched her climax, her grin never subsiding. As soon as she was done, he pulled out, ignoring her sad look, and sat next to her.

“I love you,” he said simply, beaming down at her.

“I love you too,” he replied softly, moving his hand to her belly. “I can’t believe we’re going to bring a baby into the world together.”

“I can’t wait,” he said, bringing her mouth to his and kissing her softly. She was glowing; more than the standard glow of the pregnant woman.

It was the glow of a woman in love.

“I want to go down on you,” she said, and he chuckled.

“Is that the best idea? Considering your…”

“You don’t want your pregnant mistress to go down on you?” Alice asked, pouting up at her manager. Her baby daddy.

Her lover.

“ _Fine_ ,” he said, feigning reluctance. “But only because it’ll make _you_ happy.”

After Alice had swallowed down his load, he insisted on returning the favor. After her climax, he was hard again…but Alice insisted that they stop.

“You don’t want the father of your child to fuck you?” he pouted, and Alice shook her head.

“I do,” she admitted. “Always. You know that. But…you have a wife at home. A family.”

“I have a family here,” he said, returning his hand to her pregnant belly.

“No,” she said softly. “I mean, yes, but…we made a deal.”

“I love _you_ , Alice.”

“You love your wife, too. You loved her first, and you made a promise to her.”

“I do love her,” Chris admitted. “But…”

“No buts,” Alice smiled. “Chris, I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years. Believe me, I _know_ what a great guy you are. And your wife…your wife deserves that.”

“Deserves what?”

“Deserves _you_. She didn’t trick you, like I did…”

“I’ve told you, that doesn’t matter to me…”

“It matters to me, Chris. She earned you, fair and square, and it was wrong of me to try to take that away from her. You have me, Chris—you’ll always have me. Any time, any place. But you have your wife, too, your kids. I have to share you.”

“But…—“

“Don’t make me hit you,” Alice chuckled, blinking back a tear. ”I have to share you, I get that. And as long as I have this…”

She gestured to her belly.

“This…”

She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the mouth.

“…and _this_ …”

Alice squeezed Chris’s cock, causing him to moan.

“I don’t mind sharing. Now go. Go make love to your wife. Go be a parent to your kids. Prove to me what a great Dad you are, so I know you can be trusted with this little guy as well.”

“Okay,” Chris nodded, then gave Alice one long, last, slow kiss. “You’ll be okay to get home by yourself?”

“Promise,” she said, slowly getting dressed once again.

“Alice…” Chris said, zipping up his pants. “I really am glad you used that potion on me, you know that?”

“You swear?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “And not just because it’s been the best sex of my life.”

Alice laughed.

“Before the potion…” he continued, tilting his head to the side. “…I never really _saw_ you. It let me see you—the real you. It made me pay attention. And…I love you. Like, I really love you. The potion didn’t do that—you did.”

“I love you too,” Alice said, tears streaming down her face. “I love you too.”


End file.
