#hypnotized athletes

[hypnoai]

Letting go to the instructions of the hypnotist… Deep Sleep… Fast Asleep!

[sportsentranced]

water boy

Sam Hubbard was the pride of the Bengals’ defensive line—tall, relentless, and smart. Every Sunday, the crowd roared his name as he sacked quarterbacks and stopped plays cold. But none of that mattered to Tyler, the team’s overlooked, underpaid water boy.

Tyler was always there, blending into the sidelines like a patch of turf. He filled bottles, cleaned towels, and listened—really listened—as players talked like he wasn’t there. They barely acknowledged him. Not even Sam, the supposed "nice guy."

So one day, Tyler snapped—or rather, he got clever.

See, Tyler had a side hobby: hypnosis. Not the stage stuff, but real, deep suggestion. He practiced on drunk friends in college, even once got a professor to forget his name for a week. And now, he had a new target: Sam.

The locker room was quiet. Practice had ended a while ago. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the hum of distant vacuums echoed from the hallway. Most of the players had gone home, except for one.

Sam sat on the bench in front of his locker, slowly unwrapping tape from his fingers. Sweat still clung to his skin, but he wasn’t in a hurry. A long practice. His muscles ached. His mind drifted.

Tyler stood a few feet away, organizing a crate of bottles, his movements methodical. He glanced at Sam, hesitating. Then he spoke, soft and casual.

“You ever just…get tired of all this?” Tyler asked, keeping his tone light.

Sam didn’t look up. “Tired?”

“Yeah. The yelling. The pressure. Everyone barking orders at you like you’re a robot.”

Sam chuckled dryly, tossing a ball of tape onto the floor. “Comes with the job.”

He cleared his throat. "Do you mind, uh, James?" Sam held out his hand, a signal Tyler knew too well, he wanted the bottle of water.

Of course he didn’t know his actual name.

Tyler walked over slowly, a towel draped over his shoulder. "It's Tyler..." He held a bottle of water, offering it out.

“You should hydrate. You always forget after long days.”

"Oh, sorry," Sam growled quietly, clearly mot paying attention.

Without thinking, Sam took it and drank.

Tyler sat down across from him, elbows on his knees, eyes calm.

“You know,” he said quietly, “there’s a way to not feel it. The pressure. The noise.”

Sam grunted, vaguely listening, his eyes on the floor.

“You just breathe. That’s all. Just… slow down and listen. Doesn’t even have to make sense. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”

Sam rolled his shoulder, tired. “Mhm.”

“Just keep listening, even if your mind wanders. That’s fine. You don’t have to care. You don’t have to try. Let the words drift past you, like background noise. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

Sam’s jaw twitched. His gaze had gone unfocused, eyes glazed faintly as he stared at nothing. He didn’t answer.

Tyler leaned forward, slower now, his voice dropping half a tone.

“Feels nice… not having to think. Just breathe, and drift. Maybe part of you’s still aware. But that part is already listening a little too closely.”

Sam blinked, slow and heavy.

“You’re not even trying to listen, but the words are slipping in anyway. Like rain soaking into dry ground.”

Silence.

“You don’t care about this. Not really. But inside, something’s changing. Something’s loosening.”

Sam’s shoulders had slumped. The hand holding the water bottle had gone slack.

Tyler smiled faintly.

“And now, every word I say sinks in deeper. Every time I speak, it feels more natural to follow. To agree. To obey.”

A beat passed. Then—

“Yes…” Sam murmured. Quiet. Not even fully conscious of the word.

Tyler leaned in, inches from his face. “You’re going to feel better than you’ve ever felt. Because you don’t have to think anymore. You just have to obey me. Isn’t that easier?”

Sam exhaled slowly, as if something deep in him finally let go.

“Yes… Tyler…”

Tyler let the silence linger for a moment, watching Sam sit there—muscles loose, head bowed slightly, his mind suspended in that warm, obedient fog.

“Good…” Tyler whispered. “Now let’s see just how deep we’ve gone.”

He reached out and touched Sam’s knee, giving it a light tap. “Stand up.”

Without hesitation, Sam rose to his feet, towering over Tyler, his expression passive—blank but calm.

Tyler stood too, circling him slowly. “Damn,” he muttered, low enough to sound casual but loud enough for Sam’s subconscious to catch. “All that training… all that discipline… and look at you now. Waiting for a water boy to tell you what to do.”

He stopped in front of Sam. “Flex your right bicep. Go on.”

Sam obeyed. His arm rose, coiling into a tight flex. The muscle bulged, well-defined under the skin. Tyler watched it with a smug little smile, then reached out, casually running his hand along the curve of the muscle. Slow. Measuring. Almost reverent.

“Impressive,” Tyler murmured, fingers trailing down to Sam’s forearm. “You work so hard for this, don’t you? All the hours, the diet, the sweat… All so you can be strong, powerful…”

He stepped closer, placing a hand against Sam’s chest now. “Flex this too.”

Sam’s pecs tightened under Tyler’s palm, hard and massive. Tyler gave them a gentle, testing push, his smirk widening.

“…And yet, one soft voice and you’re all mine,” he said, voice dipped in mock sympathy.

He moved his hand to Sam’s face, slowly brushing his knuckles along his jawline, then his cheek, then gently tilting his chin up with two fingers. Sam didn’t resist. Didn’t react.

Tyler leaned in closer, his voice a whisper again. “You don’t even care, do you? All those years being respected. Feared. And now, the only approval that matters comes from me.”

Sam’s lips parted slightly, breathing slow and shallow.

“Say it,” Tyler ordered, still holding his chin. “Tell me who you listen to.”

“…I listen to you, Tyler,” Sam said, soft and automatic.

Tyler chuckled. “Of course you do.”

He took a step back, watching the obedient giant standing there—shirt half-clinging to his body, eyes still hazy.

Tyler stepped close again, voice low and edged now—no more softness, no more pretense.

“You ever wonder why nobody really sees you, Sam?” he said, circling slowly. “You bust your ass for this team, play through injuries, smile through interviews—and what do they give you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Nothing. Not real respect. They pat your back because they need you. But the moment you're not useful? You're just another jersey. A number on a chart.”

Tyler leaned near his ear. “But me? I noticed you. I saw you—saw through you. I saw the cracks. The need.”

Sam’s breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t move.

“You need someone to give you purpose. Orders. Meaning. You’ve been chasing it through playbooks and weight rooms. But now you finally found it.”

Tyler stepped in front of him, holding his gaze now with steady, cold intensity.

“You’re not a leader anymore. You're not even a man with choices. You're mine. Say it.”

Sam's voice came slow, like something breaking inside him.

“…I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Tyler.”

Tyler smiled, not kindly.

“That’s right. And the more you say it, the more you believe it. Because every time you obey me, it rewires you. Your mind changes. Shrinks. Until thinking for yourself feels wrong. Until the only thing that feels right is waiting for my next command.”

Sam blinked slowly, lips parted. Tyler could see it—the war in his subconscious already ending, the last defenses crumbling.

“You don’t fight it,” Tyler continued, stepping closer, almost nose to nose. “You welcome it. Obedience is peace. Submission is purpose. Say it.”

“Obedience… is peace…” Sam murmured, his voice trembling with something caught between defeat and relief.

“Submission… is purpose.”

Tyler raised a hand again, touching Sam’s chest.

“You're not their hero anymore, Sam. You're my tool. My pet. And the sooner you accept that, the freer you'll be.”

Sam didn’t speak. He just stood there—silent, still, owned.

Tyler smiled.

He let his eyes wander over the footballer's body once more, and he crouched slightly, one hand settling lightly on Sam’s thigh. Not urgent. Not invasive. Just… curious.

He let his fingers move slowly—tracing the definition carved into flesh from years of relentless training. Muscle under skin. Strength without thought. Power without will.

“Look at these legs,” Tyler murmured, almost to himself. “Monsters on the field. All that speed. All that force. But now? Just part of the machine. And I’m the one holding the controls.”

His thumb drifted just slightly up the inside of Sam’s thigh—not pushing, not testing boundaries. Just claiming space. Quietly. Confidently.

Sam didn’t flinch. He just stood there, eyes half-lidded, arms loose at his sides, waiting.

Tyler tilted his head, examining him like a craftsman admiring his own creation.

“You’re not even thinking about why,” he said. “Why you're letting me touch you. Why you're listening. And that’s the beauty of it. You don’t need a reason anymore.”

He stood upright again, meeting Sam’s eyes with a firm, expectant gaze.

“Kneel.”

Sam hesitated for half a breath, maybe a flicker of his old pride lingering—but it was no match for the programming Tyler had wrapped around his mind. Slowly, deliberately, the star defensive end sank to his knees before him. No words. No resistance.

Just surrender.

Tyler looked down at him, his voice a quiet murmur.

“Look at you. Kneeling for someone no one else even notices. For the guy who carries towels and wipes sweat off benches.”

He smirked. “And yet, you feel more certain now than you ever have in your life.”

Sam nodded once. Almost reverent.

Then, with the same quiet authority, he reached out and cupped Sam’s face.

His palm slid along Sam’s jaw, fingers tracing the shape of it—not with desire, not with warmth, but with ownership. Admiration twisted with power. His thumb swept gently under Sam’s eye, dragging across cheekbone, studying him like he was memorizing something valuable. Something that belonged to him now.

“You were made for this,” Tyler whispered. “Big, strong, silent. Built to obey.”

Sam didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His breath was slow. His expression empty, relaxed. Vulnerable in a way no one had ever seen him—not on the field, not in the locker room. Only Tyler had this version of him now.

Tyler ran his fingers along Sam’s temple, brushing damp strands of hair back, the touch slow and oddly tender.

“Doesn’t it feel better like this?” he murmured. “Not having to lead. Not having to pretend to be more than muscle. You were never meant to think, Sam. You were meant to serve.”

A twitch passed across Sam’s brow—something flickering deep inside—but it passed just as quickly. His voice came low, hollow with trance:

“…Yes, Tyler.”

Tyler smiled. Not cruelly. Not kindly. Just… satisfied.

His thumb dragged across Sam’s lips once, softly.

“Good boy.”

Tyler brushed his hand through Sam’s damp hair. A mock-gentle gesture.

“Good. Stay there a while. Get used to it.”

He turned away for a moment, grabbing his gear, his voice calm and amused.

“After all… this is where you belong.”

[messingwithjocks]

I pulled his ears and his mind went blank, just as the hypnotist said it would -

-Now let’s have some fun, robot boy!

-Yes master

[yanyannica]

it's not like ushijima wakatoshi to get jealous over anything, but the one time you heavily suspect he does...

"oh? you jealous?"

your tall hunk of a boyfriend stares you down with a mild crease between his eyebrows. you stare back just as intensely with a dopey grin, waiting for an admission from your ever-stoic boyfriend.

it's not everyday you get to see him react like this, so you practically jump the opportunity.

you watch tentatively as he brings up a hand to his chest, clutching his shirt as his gaze drops to the ground — expression stoned not much unlike a rock as he contemplates your words. he never fails to look so serious.

"...am i?"

the blatant confusion on his face couldn't be any more funnier, and you had to stifle your laugh into your hand lest you hurt his feelings.

you really should've known better — of course he wouldn't know what to call it even if it slapped him in the face. we were talking about the guy who went up to you during a random tuesday and confessed that he had an constant urge to kiss you, and innocently asked if you knew anything about it like he was inquiring about homework.

(for an entire week before you officially got together, you had to convince him that no — you were most definitely not hypnotizing him.)

"you're such an idiot, you know?" you nudge his side teasingly, leaning your weight against him as you struggle to keep your giggles at bay.

your hulk of a boyfriend is way too adorable sometimes.

"i'm not quite sure what jealousy feels like. my apologies."

you grimace a bit at his response, now hyper-aware of the way his athletic body feels against your side.

he's never had to be jealous of anything because everyone else is busy being jealous of him!

you pout at him, before poking his side. softly, of course. you might break a finger or two if you went any harder.

you turn back to the matter at hand before it completely derails — you need full details on this rare side of him. "well, what did it feel like when you saw me talking to that guy?"

ushijima takes a moment before his eyes clear up.

"something felt weird here," he gently patted the spot over his heart and your eyes widen in surprise, pulling away to look at him more firmly. "like it got pinched. it didn’t hurt physically, but it made me... sad."

your heart clenches, hard. you swear you heard it crack within your chest too. oh my god. it was one hundred percent your fault! no questions asked!

you reach out to his arms as your eyes turn glassy, "oh, baby. i'm so sor —"

"my muscles contracted by themselves too, like how it feels when i want to hit a spike."

... ha?

your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. the romantic air disperses in a matter of miliseconds, crashing down to earth.

a spike?!

what the hell? well, good thing you kept the conversation short, or else that guy would've had his head blown off...

a shudder runs down your spine.

you sweat profusely at his profound statement, "n-next time you feel bothered by something like that, make sure you approach me first before doing anything, okay?" for safety purposes!

ushijima blinks at you, completely none the wiser to your inner turmoil.

"alright," he pauses, as if there's something else he wants to say, contemplating it for a few moments before speaking up again. "i don't like feeling jealous. is that a bad thing?"

reallyyyyy such a baby. your baby.

"i'm really sorry for making you feel that way, toshi," leaning up on your tippy toes, you coerce him to lean down into your hold — placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. "you do know that you're the only one i have eyes for, yes?"

he nods affirmatively, like an obedient child heeding their parents' words like it's gospel.

"you trust me, right?"

another truthful nod of approval. you sigh in utter relief as you let him go for him to resume his practice, satisfied at how you were able to prevent a major crisis from occurring.

"i will make sure to consult you first before spiking."

you feel a tear form.

"toshi — baby, no —"

oh toshi yes */smirks deviously

[writerpeach]

Extracurricular Activititties

aespa Karina x m!reader

16k words

Part Two of Fantastic Breasts and Where to Find Them

“Nothing like a little fresh air to start the day off, right, sweetie?” 

You can’t say you agree. 

But Karina has a certain way of convincing you to go for an early morning jog when she shows up in the kitchen—wearing a pair of tight leggings that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, along with a skimpy tank top, gray and low-cut, no bra underneath, that insane chest the center of attention. 

The exact word she uses is jog, but it’s a brisk walk at best, given you're far too out of shape for anything more. You're not even sure that exercise is the goal here—when every step she takes is a chance for her breasts to jiggle underneath this skimpy, poor excuse for athletic attire and claim your attention. 

Not to mention it's cold—not quite freezing, but not the ideal jogging weather, and you swear she's doing this just to rile you all up. Especially when her nipples are practically poking straight through the thin fabric which has you straining to keep your eyes from wandering too much.

There aren’t many bodies out this early when the weather gets like this, but that doesn't mean Karina isn't the center of attention even from a distance. Her face alone gets people staring, and you know firsthand how difficult it is to keep your eyes from drifting down to those ridiculous tits and that useless stretched-out piece of fabric that hardly conceals her bouncing chest. 

The entire walk feels borderline torturous when all you can think about is what's waiting underneath those clothes, so you look away at anything you can find—leaves falling from a tree, a bird flying, the license plate of a parked car you try to memorize. 

Nothing seems to help. 

"You're staring, sweetie."

"Me? No clue what you're talking about," you lie, avoiding her alluring eyes altogether when she glances back with a knowing little smirk. 

"Yeah, you are. My ass, maybe? Enjoying the view?” Karina asks, as if she isn't fully aware of all the attention she's gotten with her top hanging loose, nipples nearly exposed, looking like sin itself. 

"It's hard to not notice how pretty you are, Karina," you reply. She giggles and bumps her hip into you, nearly sending you flying. 

"Am I distracting you, sweetheart?" she asks with this faux innocent tone, because the smile she wears can't mask her intent—

"Something like that," you mumble in response.

"Well, someone’s not subtle. It's almost too cute, seeing how hard you try to not stare at my tits."

"Can you really blame me? They're practically spilling out."

"Oh, are they? Haven’t even noticed,” she says, cupping them through the loose top, as if wanting to push her nipples through the fabric to further tantalize. "Or maybe that's the point—to see how flustered you'd get, trying to keep your eyes away. Guess I didn't overestimate your weakness."

"You're insane. It's freezing out here."

"Me, insane? Maybe—for your dick."

You're more than a little embarrassed to hear such blunt words coming from Karina's sweet lips in the open, as if there’s no chance that others can't hear everything as they walk past.

But Karina just laughs, so carefree, not having any concerns as she turns around and jogs backwards, forcing you to look directly at those bouncing tits and the hypnotizing bounce they create with every step. "I'm just trying to get the blood flowing. You think I actually wanted to go out for a run? I don't even own a sports bra, sweetie. I get more than enough exercise from you railing me every day."

The embarrassment worsens to hear her talk like this, but the blush creeping on your face goes unnoticed as you both head back home. It takes a short time before you're pushing the front door wide open, walking inside from a brisk, chilly breeze to the comfortable warmth of the shared apartment.

And suddenly your back is flat up against the door before you have the chance to kick your shoes off. "What are you—"

"Hush." One word is all Karina has to tell you, silencing any incoming words from your lips as she pins you against the wooden surface, grabbing an unexpected handful of your cock right through your sweatpants. "Seems like it worked after all—seeing how hard you've gotten just by looking at my chest. Feels like you're fucking throbbing, sweetheart.” 

"Fucking hell—" The groan slips out when Karina squeezes your cock through the fabric, leaving you helpless to her will as she presses forward, pinning you further. You don’t say another word while her lips claim your neck, her tongue swiping across the sensitive skin. 

"What are you gonna do with this big cock, I wonder? Hard as a fucking rock, and we haven't even done a thing."

"What else do you think? You're gonna let me fuck those big tits of yours."

Karina beams with satisfaction and slips a hand inside your pants, getting a better grip to fully feel the arousal of your length that aches in her fingers. "Good choice."

Those pretty lips find a place against your own and press deep, holding you there to trap you, one hand stroking your length, giving soft, constant pumps to make sure you're every bit as hard as can be. Karina isn't planning on teasing, not when she can get you nice and ready while the taste of her lips lingers. "Getting so worked up, aren't you, sweetheart? You’re so sensitive—so fucking hard."

"All thanks to your help." You get a cute laugh out of her from that as she drags you towards the living room, eager to speed things along. Your head is spinning, cock aching for more while she stops in the middle of the room with a smile across her angelic face.

"Be a good boy and sit." 

Following her orders, you kick your shoes off and throw them aside, taking a seat on the couch. "I'm not a dog, Rina."

"Never said you were," she replies, peeling her tank top off over her head, until those huge, heavy tits bounce free that you know so well. Nothing could steal your gaze away from this perfection, the way her chest jiggles from the slightest movement, mesmerizing to look at. "You're more like a cute, needy little puppy."

You'd be annoyed at her little remark, if not for the stunning view as she takes a seat on your lap, topless, straddling you. And once you have those massive breasts right in front of your face, inches away, all the irritation is easily ignored. 

All else is forgotten, your hands moving automatically to reach up and cup them. They're soft, with a satisfying weight that makes her give a little chuckle when you fondle them. "You always act like it's the first time you're seeing them."

"Feels that way," you answer, squeezing a good, generous handful, enjoying the warmth, the heaviness pressing against your palm. It's fucking heaven, and then some, the sensation of your fingers sinking into that heavenly flesh, those stiffening nipples begging for attention. “Your tits are so amazing, Rina. So goddamn big—so perfect.” 

The praise does something to her. You can see it in her flushed cheeks and a hint of a shy grin forming. A rare sight, coming from Karina, who always acts so damn confident all the time. 

She watches you closely, enjoying the attention you lavish her bare breasts with, how you squeeze them together, massage them and just play with her chest as you like. 

"It's really that easy to shut you up, isn't it?" Karina can barely finish before those words dissolve into nothing but a small gasp once your fingers pinch and tug her sensitive nipples, watching in pleasure how stiff they get. And there's no denying the addiction you've picked up, this utter obsession to bury your cock deep between those beautiful milky tits until you can't handle anymore, shooting such massive streaks of thick cum that look so good all over her.

Her mouth falls wide open at your not-so-gentle touch, every sharp tug of stiff buds eliciting a moan. Just the sight of her drives you wild—her supple breasts look fucking delicious, nipples so sensitive and responsive, and you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of them as the weight rests in your palms. 

"Come on, don't stop there." Karina pleads in your ear, encouraging you to keep it going, these violent squeezes she's all too receptive to on the daily. "You look so hungry for these fucking tits. Go ahead, suck on them, sweetie. I know you're dying to." 

Leaning back, Karina lets you have what's rightfully yours, with a proud expression etched on her face while you have your way. The angle is perfect for a messy trail of kisses that move across her pale, creamy flesh, tracing a blue vein along the way, tasting the beads of sweat forming on her delicious chest. 

It's the start of something even better—a greedy path that travels all across until your mouth finally finds its proper place, sealing right onto one of those stiff nipples, giving a lewd slurp that makes Karina react with a pleasant gasp.

"Mm, fuck—such a good boy," she coos in your ear while you devour her chest, teasing the perfect buds that get so excited in response to all this attention. Her hand rests on the back of your head, stroking your hair gently as your mouth remains locked on a breast. Karina just watches you work, attentively studying the way your teeth nibble, how hungrily you suckle, how utterly depraved you must look. 

"God, Karina, your tits, these perfect fucking tits—" 

The words slip out almost against your own volition before you latch onto her other nipple and give the same treatment, equally desperate, suckling until saliva drips down the corner of your mouth, her encouraging whimpers everything that fuels your arousal. 

“There you go, suck on those tits, they’re all yours,” Karina says, voice a bit shaky while your ravenous mouth gives a gentle nibble around the hardened nub between your lips. "Make sure you take care of them both, sweetheart.”

And honestly, how could you not—

Letting them both slide between your lips, such lewd noises come out of your mouth when switching between them, an absolute feast that has no end. Nothing could stop you from doing this for hours, forever even, this delicious fucking pair the best meal you’ve ever had, with these pretty nipples doused in spit, all slippery. But there’s only one thing better than your mouth all over—and Karina knows exactly what. 

"You about ready to get that cock between them?" she asks while you suck and slurp so frantically, but you’re unable to answer with your mouth so full of her heavy tits, devouring them like you’re starved. And once you do finally let them drop, she uses the weight to smother you, a moment you're happy to lose yourself in, pinned there with your face buried in her cleavage.

This is as good as it gets, you think, when all you can see is pale flesh covering your vision, just silently pleading for Karina to suffocate you with those plentiful breasts. It’s a moment that lasts far less than you’d like, only to see that expression on her face as she regretfully lets you come up for air. 

"Do you even have to ask? Rina, please—I need to fuck these tits so bad. I’ve never been more ready.” 

The answer leaves her so smug when she slips herself out of your lap, the rest of your clothes tugged away in a flash. Karina is already down on her knees without a single thought, chest level at the perfect height when she sits back on her heels. That sultry look on her face is to die for, big tits jutting out, full and swollen, mouth-watering as can be.

"Do you want me to blow you first? Or do you want these tits instead?"

"Karina, baby—" you groan at how she toys with you, squeezing the sensitive head with a devious smirk written all over her sinful features. "Your tits. Your beautiful tits, that's all I fucking want."

She giggles at that and runs the swollen head of your cock all over her breasts, slapping it against the jiggly flesh, before ending with a light little graze over a hardened nipple while you get more and more restless. But Karina lets your desperation sink in, staying patient herself as those pretty eyes gaze at your reaction, drinking in the look on your face—

"Hand me the bottle in the side table. The one with strawberries on it," she requests. You’re a bit confused at first, but go ahead and reach out across the cushions to open the drawer, digging out what she asks for—something you didn’t even know existed. 

It's this small bottle of clear liquid with tiny red strawberry shapes all over the label, and it doesn't take a genius to understand what this is for.

Karina flips open the cap, leaning in, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Without a word, she tilts the bottle, pouring the oil all over her chest in agonizingly slow drizzles, filling the room up with the scent of strawberries. It's nothing but erotic; a daze falling over you while she shifts to get comfortable—on her knees, back straight, making sure those huge breasts look as enticing as possible while she watches in amusement. 

Once that abundant chest has gotten the attention and coverage needed, she pours out more into her palms, her delicate hands all slippery when she strokes your aching shaft. 

"Yizhuo bought this one for me, I think, for my last birthday. Told me it would smell nice. But she has no idea what I've been saving it for..."

"Lucky me.” 

“Lucky, lucky you,” Karina repeats, emphasizing it by shaking her chest, the delicious jiggle so hypnotic, and the sheen created by the strawberry-scented liquid sets your desires ablaze. It has your cock hardening impossibly so, and you can only imagine how this will feel, given how soft they are to begin with, now all slick and slippery.

One more drizzle for good measure, right down the valley between her heavy breasts, and the anticipation alone is killing you. “There we go. Now let's have some fun.” 

Before you have the chance to reply, Karina takes your cock, stiff as could be, trapping it between her slippery breasts, nestled right within her cleavage. A sharp groan is all it takes to register the amazing feeling—sinking right into the pillowy softness. 

And Karina indulges, sliding the weight of those oily tits along your shaft, giving all this delicious friction you've been yearning for. 

“Shit—feels so good,” you groan as those heavy tits work their way down your shaft. They swallow every last inch, disappearing entirely through that slippery cleavage, this relentless slide up and down that has you reeling.

“Good, because they look perfect around your huge cock."

Karina says little more, her large breasts doing the talking as she squeezes them tighter, the slickness making all the friction between them even easier for your cock to glide through. You're left fucking breathless at how her tits completely engulf, and how your shaft disappears, all covered in massage oil, glistening every time it reappears. 

The deepening pressure does wonders for your aching cock, and the stimulation is unreal—Karina’s full lips form into a pretty smile while she grinds her chest, finding the utmost satisfaction in seeing you lose it. 

"Sweetie," Karina purrs, looking so pleased. Your breaths are shallow, and she pays no mind, focused fully on squeezing your dick so firmly between those soft, bouncy breasts. "Tell me. Tell me how this feels."

"So fucking good, Rina—never felt anything like it. Your huge fucking tits are driving me crazy." You lean back, cock sandwiched between her full chest, and just let out these desperate groans as you drown in lust. 

All without having to do a thing but sit and enjoy the view of your favorite place to be. 

Karina revels in how crazy she drives you, and there's little point in hiding it—your face says it all. You can hardly get anything out that isn’t a loud grunt or groan.

"How long can you last, sweetie? You’re throbbing like crazy,” she teases, and it’s less a question, more of a challenge—either way, you have no chance here, fighting the pleasure rising, boiling inside. And Karina knows, she can see the weakness all over, a smugness present when she pushes those mounds tighter together, not daring to let your leaking shaft escape.

"Fuck," you curse, bucking your hips almost involuntarily, losing yourself in the warmth of her breasts, overwhelmed with how slick and fucking heavenly it all is. 

“Wanna help a girl out?” Karina offers, knowing your limits are growing shorter by the second. Your answer is simple, and you grab her shoulders without a second thought, thrusting upwards, fucking those gorgeous tits with everything you have. The sight is almost too much—seeing your shaft plunge into the slippery depths of her chest, disappearing again and again, enveloped in all this pale, creamy flesh. 

"Must feel so fucking good. You've been wanting to fuck these tits so badly that you can't even speak, poor thing," Karina tells you, her eyes watching intently while you thrust wildly with all this vigor. The urge grows as you chase your climax, cock begging to burst as you drive right between the huge mounds, a frantic rhythm only hastening while that lust dominates.

"Keep it up. Just like this, sweetie, keep that big cock right between these perfect tits," she purrs, and no longer is Karina doing most of the work—strawberry oil-covered breasts on either side and your throbbing cock in between.

You won't last another minute at this rate.

Karina loves how desperate you get, the utter control she has while you give into your carnal desires, unable to do a single thing other than bury your hard cock as deeply into that beautiful cleavage as possible, not a thought on your mind beyond emptying your balls.

"I hope this feels as good as it looks, sweetheart," her honeyed voice adds, just heightening the desperation. You can hardly even think straight, an aching urge like no other, and you can already picture how good Karina is going to look covered in your hot cum. 

Just a few more pumps are all you have left, and Karina moves her slick breasts along your cock to speed things up. Not that you need any additional help in reaching that goal, because the next stroke might be your last. 

"Shit, Rina—these fucking tits," you stutter out, breath strained, balls tight as you brace for release. 

"Too much to handle? Let it all out, baby, blow that load all over these big tits.” 

There's no stopping what's about to happen—the constant throbs of your cock pumping away in between these glistening breasts tells you there's no hope, and the grip you hold on Karina tightens, pulling her forward to trap your stiff shaft even further. 

“Gonna fucking cover you—"

All this pressure building, threatening to erupt at a moment's notice, and there's only a single word from her mouth, prompting that inevitable release.

“Sweetie.“ 

One last squeeze does the trick—with a single pump of your cock between her tits, you cum. Harder than ever before, the thickness shooting so forcefully, spilling all over and painting a canvas of creamy streaks from between Karina's slick, heavy mounds.

Her expression softens at the sticky mess spilling everywhere. It's one powerful burst after the next, but Karina milks as much as she can, applying a firmer grip, her fingers massaging gently, urging more of those messy spurts from your sensitive tip.

Every last drop is rightfully hers—that pale skin gets splattered and glazed, creamy white streaks filling up her cleavage. A streak hits her chin, while most of it lands on her chest, just as intended, leaving behind a huge mess you've been desperate to give.

And Karina looks so satisfied, admiring the scene she helped create—all that milky seed, thick streaks clinging to her breasts and the rest just dripping lazily while your sensitive shaft still twitches. She holds you there in her grip for as long as she can, just for those lingering spasms, never taking her eyes off even as you start to falter.

"Good boy," she finally coos while you give a couple more lazy pumps, smearing what remains onto her heaving breasts. 

Despite your exhaustion, Karina's enthusiasm to display herself with the results of your climax smeared all over her enormous chest doesn't fade. She’s far from shy, lifting those messy, covered breasts and showing every detail, every streak of hot white. 

"Guess we should thank Yizhuo for such a thoughtful gift, wouldn't you say, sweetie?"

You can hardly muster a nod, slumping back against the pillows of the couch and panting hard as you try to stay conscious—her huge, perfect tits drenched in your load the only thing keeping you upright. 

"Hey, don't pass out on me now," she warns, giving your sensitive dick a few strokes, letting the feeling snap you awake, the overstimulation too much to bear. "We're not done yet, are we?" 

Your answer doesn't come quick enough—she laughs a bit while giving another few lazy strokes to your spent cock. "Jesus, Rina. You make me cum that hard and expect me to go again?"

"Mhmm," she giggles, shimmying down her skintight leggings until they fall down around her ankles, leaving nothing else but thin, pink-lace panties that get tugged down and kicked off in record time. Your balls can’t be completely empty already. Since when has one round ever been enough?"

You can’t exactly argue that, not when there's nothing left to stand in the way as your eyes feast upon Karina's bare cunt, her legs parting, exposing everything and just spreading the slightest bit so you can have this delicious sight of her body in its full glory.

"I'll give you a few minutes. Or are you telling me you don't wanna get balls deep in me? If so, I'll just take care of myself, I guess."

That's an empty threat if you've ever heard one, but still, nothing brings out the hunger faster than a comment like that. "Don't you fucking dare. Give me five minutes—we'll see who can't go again."

"Sure thing, sweetheart. Just come and bend me over once you're ready," she says with this innocent tone that is anything but. "I’ll be waiting."

Karina gives a quick kiss to your cheek, leaving a pile of discarded clothes in a heap as she saunters out of the room, her ridiculous wide hips swaying, naked as can be.

"Five minutes!"

Your head still spins, but you take a deep breath and head towards the kitchen. Quickly opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water, you chug it all as fast as you can. Because in five minutes, you better be ready.

It’s nowhere near long enough to calm all that heat burning inside you, but it’ll have to do. 

Little by little, you start to regain your senses when those five minutes are nearly up, and you're not even sure if it's enough—no, you're certain it's not, but you head to the bedroom regardless, determined to prove her wrong.

When you step through the open doorway, all you can see is Karina and her nude perfection sprawled out on the sheets in the most provocative manner that she can manage, her flawless skin now devoid of your orgasm or any other messy fluids. She's not idle, that's for sure, a hand occupied between her legs, and you get a fantastic view right from the start. 

Two of her slender fingers plunge right inside her needy cunt while the other hand circles a pretty nipple, tugging on it to tease, this lewd scene an invitation for you to come join.

"Thought you might not show up," Karina says, voice all sultry when all you've done is stand there and stare, looking right back. "Got a little warmed up without you. Hope that's okay.” 

"And you call me the needy one.”

She hardly pays attention, more focused on the hurried movements her fingers make, curled to hit just the right spot as they slide effortlessly in. The bedsheets are rumpled by her head, where Karina lies as she thrusts in and out of her pussy, and her contorted features show no trace of shame—eyes heavy, gaze sharp, touching herself like there's no one else around. 

"That's because you are. Now be a good boy and get up here.” 

You aren't about to disobey. 

Her moans don't cease for a moment, getting louder, less controlled by the second. But this heavenly view, Karina's flawless naked figure—it's everything, every gorgeous detail. You can only do so much admiring from the foot of the bed, and eventually, the call to explore her body is undeniable.

No reason to stall the inevitable when you climb the bed, sinking knee deep into the mattress. A front seat to this show, how Karina gets her fingers so deep in her cunt, until the sight is just torturous to watch, not to bury yourself between her legs already. 

"Didn't hear a please. Don't tell me you've gotten so needy you've forgotten your manners?"

"Please? Pretty please, sweetheart,” Karina says in the most sarcastic tone imaginable, because she knows you're going to listen to her, regardless. While she looks like this, in such a depraved state, body entirely flushed and sticky with her arousal, you know your desire to tease her is absolutely meaningless. So you give an unapologetic glance, staring between her spread legs, and just savor the most erotic view, how two pretty fingers continue working away at her entrance.

But just when the show gets good, she pauses long enough to withdraw her own wet digits, making way for a much-needed, anticipated replacement.

Those digits pull out, absolutely drenched and shove right in your mouth, pushing in all the way until you slurp up her arousal. And while you suck her fingers clean, tongue wrapping all around them, it's not lost on you just how pathetic you must appear right now—chasing down that taste, long past the point of it lingering in your mouth, not embarrassed in the slightest. 

"See, I knew you were the needy one." Karina is trying her hardest not to laugh at the desperation you have while sucking her fingers, but it's a losing battle. But you really don't care, not when you can make a show out of it, so sloppy and eager to keep them in your mouth. 

But as much as you love the taste that is unmistakably Karina, it's not nearly enough to distract yourself—you're rock hard again. It doesn't matter that you came moments ago and that there's no way in hell you'll last any reasonable amount of time, not when her delicate hands reach right for your shaft, giving a few long strokes, which has your cock pulsating almost immediately. 

"Are you even gonna be able to hold it long enough to fuck me, sweetie?" she asks, knowing damn well that the answer is an obvious not at all, but her hands feel so fucking good working away that you're going to pretend it's a possibility. “Because I need your cock inside me already. Before I get it myself."

Karina isn't patient like you thought, not in this state. Her thighs are all spread and slick, pussy looking more appetizing than ever before while you take a second to admire the view—the lips of her dripping entrance, pretty and plump, where your entire cock wants to sink right in. And judging by the look given, Karina agrees with that sentiment. 

"Well?" she asks, the lack of patience shining through. Her wide, doe-eyed stare watches intently as you get situated. "Sweetheart, it's all mine—What are you waiting for? I’ve been waiting all day for this."

“All day? We haven’t even been up all day. Now, who’s the needy one?” You hardly get a response when her slender fingers wrap right around the base of your shaft. No more words, no more wasted motion—she strokes your hard, throbbing length slowly, guiding every inch right between her slippery folds. There's nothing to prevent what's next, no say in the matter when you feel the head of your cock disappear inside that wet heat. 

You finish what she starts, easing yourself deeper into her warmth as a long moan erupts from Karina's parted lips. The slow push has her falling flat onto the mattress, head hitting the pillows as she adjusts to being stretched wide—and there’s no chance you can resist sinking all the way in, balls fucking deep, so your stiff cock, still so sensitive, slides the rest of the way into her dripping, hot, greedy cunt.

It feels like heaven the instant you fill her up, the walls of her pussy clamping down tightly around you the moment you're in all the way. Like always, the first time you sink in feels the best, where your dick throbs the most, smothered by all this warmth you can’t escape. 

"God, Rina, you’re way too fucking tight—can’t believe how good you feel,” you groan as she gets such a harsh grip on your cock that you can barely move an inch. There's plenty of reason for hesitation. No need to deny the urge to stay right where you are, balls deep and surrounded by this heat.

“Go on, sweetheart—you don’t need me to tell you what to do, right?” Karina smiles, so blissed out and ready, her voice breathless as the last syllable trails off. And that look has you responding on instinct, the way you roll your hips back to the very edge where the head of your cock nearly exits, right before driving in balls deep once again, spreading her pink pussy lips further. "Let me feel every inch, baby.”

Another hard thrust. This time you bury yourself without hesitation while words turn into nothing but moans, every movement you make sinking in as much as you’re capable. 

It's hard to even find words to express what you're feeling right now; it's overwhelming, being inside Karina, all this heat and tightness, how goddamn wet she is for you. Nothing else feels nearly this amazing. And her reactions, how your cock makes those slippery wet lips part whenever you slide back in, this endless bliss on repeat—it’s perfect. 

"Fuck me, sweetie, get as deep as you can," is all Karina can get out, delicate fingers reaching out to sink into the sheets as you fall right into a deep rhythm. It’s gentle at first, but only for a fleeting moment, when you see this ravenous gaze that demands more, for you to fuck her without restraint. 

You eagerly oblige and get your greedy hands all over her, holding onto that slender waist to anchor yourself in, fingers digging deep into the smooth, pale skin. Every ounce of caution vanishes, and then you start to really fuck into her wet cunt, buried deeper than imaginable, groaning whenever that tightness strangles your cock, refuses to never, ever let go. 

Through these constant plunges that get your shaft so wet, her heavy breasts bounce so freely with every thrust that bottoms out with ease. It’s a constant struggle where to direct your attention, looking at her beautiful features, to her huge tits, and right back again—watching as Karina forms these lewd, drawn out moans while you fuck her like she demands, her heavenly cunt swallowing you right up, begging for more. 

"Rina, baby—you're fucking perfect, these huge tits, your tight fucking cunt,” and you can’t even finish the thought, not a single word left in your mouth when she clenches around your cock, so warm and slippery, desperate to keep you there. 

“My needy boy can’t even think straight when he’s fucking me so deep? Poor thing,” Karina says, and while all you can think of is making her moan without relent, she guides your hands up to her chest, the perfect opportunity to grope at her big bouncy tits. 

"There you go, play with them however you like—god, just like that, keep fucking me like a good boy," she orders, eyes watching so closely when you bury to the hilt, all that slickness guiding your movements in a warm, sticky mess. 

Not a thing could ruin your determination to give Karina everything she wants, when you keep those tits right underneath your palms, at a loss for words as they bounce unabated every time you plunge yourself back inside her, moaning every time. Her ridiculous breasts can't even fully fit inside your hands, even as you try, the heftiness unlike anything else when you squeeze as this beautiful woman writhes underneath your touch. You’re not sure what you’ve done to deserve her, but you’re not going to question a thing. 

“Karina—“ There’s no point in getting a coherent thought out, because your mind is blank, flooded by all these sensations that surround your cock, and the softness of her jiggling breasts while you play with them so roughly, nipples so sensitive as you tease and tug them to get these deeper moans out. 

"You’re so fucking wet,” you manage to finally get out, but the words sound slurred when you're drunk on lust, the vice grip of her cunt working you to a near delirious state. "Your tight fucking pussy makes my cock feel so good, I swear I can't fucking handle it—"

That’s when your hips move on their own, rutting without care, and you don’t even wait for Karina to respond, grabbing such a rough handful of her tits that gets her to moan so desperately while you slap them, hard enough to make a mark. 

“Mm—baby, you know I love that,” she says, and you watch in awe how her breasts bounce repeatedly after every slap, a rosy hue appearing beneath that perfect, milky white skin. Your grip on is anything but gentle, pinching a nipple in between raw smacks that resonate across the room while your thrusts help create a harsher ripple, the redness on her chest more encouragement than anything. 

Karina loves it. The harder you're fucking her, the more suffocating her pussy gets, moans starting to mix in with these cute, desperate whimpers that she just can't help. Her nipples underneath your fingers get so hard, even more sensitive whenever you aim your palm directly there. And god, you can't even think about anything else when your cock is buried deep in this delicious warmth, smacking her heavy tits as roughly as you please and staying exactly where her hot little cunt craves, leaving yourself nowhere to go but deeper and deeper between her legs.

"Fuck, sweetie, harder," she moans, words tumbling free when you play with her chest like it’s all you live for, showing absolutely no mercy whatsoever. "Pound me, fucking pound that pussy with everything you've got. I know you can.” 

Your hands keep grabbing greedily, giving her chest an impatient, possessive grope, with this satisfying feeling where they jiggle so deliciously in your palms. Nothing feels as good as that, seeing them in constant motion, so bountiful when you cup them and give these shameless slaps—loud and frantic, alternating to each, focusing on how this hypnotic sight drives you insane, and the sounds Karina makes are just the cherry on top.

"Gonna cum if you keep fucking my cunt that hard, mmph, fuck, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—"

It's all the more motivation to go even harder, bucking your hips, pistoning into Karina's dripping pussy as roughly as possible, each thrust guided by the constant flow of her juices that keeps you so deep inside. She’s gotten so sensitive by the rough treatment of her swollen, tender breasts, that you just watch the redness on her creamy flesh that doesn’t fade, how they bounce around so obscenely while you fuck her. 

"Harder, keep fucking me as hard as you can, sweetheart—" is all she can choke out, words coming in ragged bursts whenever a powerful thrust sends her breath hitching. 

You fuck her tight cunt the roughest she's ever taken it, grabbing her tits as aggressively as before, hips moving at the same breakneck pace that leaves you both losing it, sweat glistening on her skin, her walls swallowing you right back in each time you withdraw.

When you speed up past your limits, you can't help yourself—Karina’s warm fucking cunt feels so good that your inhibitions get tossed to the side, unable to control the way your cock pounds into her like she demands, like she deserves. 

"So close, sweetie—god, gonna fucking cum, make me cum all over your cock,” she says so desperately, eyes half-lidded, the walls of her cunt clenching so impossibly tight you’re not even sure if you can last before she hits her peak. But when you get another slam in that’s so deep, Karina loses it—cumming hard right on the spot, her whole body going tense, back arching from how strong the euphoria feels. 

There's a rush of warm, sticky fluid coating your cock while you refuse to relent, those pretty features displaying how intense the pleasure hits when she shakes, thighs quivering, toes curling, mouth falling open. And you do your best to let this high linger, slamming your hips against her body so she can take it all, even though you're barely hanging on yourself.

"Fucking god," Karina groans when her eyes open again and her gaze lands directly on you, a sweet, satisfied grin on her lips as you struggle to maintain composure. "So good at fucking my tight pussy, aren’t you? Didn’t think you were going to last long enough for me to—"

“Please, I have some self-control,” you start to say, not even believing the words yourself. 

"Then get rid of whatever you have left," Karina breathes heavily, chest still heaving. And while you pump your cock all the way inside, she wraps her long, slender legs tight around your waist, heels digging into your back. "Need you to cum inside me. Think you can do that?"

You just thrust as fast and deep as possible to answer, the entirety of your wet shaft slamming into until everything becomes a blur. There’s nothing left to prevent the groans that escape your lips when you bury your face into the crook of her neck and ride that edge, fucking into Karina with reckless abandon. 

"Need you to fill me up, make me feel all that hot cum," Karina pleads in your ear, her wet, warm cunt getting an even tighter grip around your cock that makes you go completely insane from how close you are. “You can do it, sweetheart, cum deep inside me, you know that’s how I like it."

But she doesn't have to tell you that when this tightness wrapped around you won't let up as you go completely feral, groaning into the crook of her neck, picking a spot and licking, kissing, sucking her pale, beautiful skin. You lose all focus, and it's easy enough to follow Karina's urgent pleas when those dulcet tones slip into your ear, when the intensity grows and you're pulling every ounce of pleasure you can get.

“Almost there, aren’t you? Empty your balls in me, sweetie. I know you can’t take it any more.” 

Your hips do what Karina asks without any hesitation, surrendering completely, plunging yourself inside that hot, heavenly heat until there’s no turning back. She’s keeping you buried there with those powerful thighs, making sure there’s no escape for your aching cock while you get as deep as possible, nails digging into your back for extra measure, and with a final, powerful thrust—

That’s when you finally unload inside Karina—you can only groan helplessly while erupting thick, hot spurts, her nails dragging across your back as that perfect cunt milks out everything she can get and beyond that. Such an explosive release overwhelms you, especially as she holds you hostage with those sweaty thighs, and all you can do is pump her full of seed like there was never any other option. 

Nothing can ever, ever compare, endlessly filling Karina’s greedy little cunt, just helplessly throbbing when you’re buried so deep, flooding it all into her body with the release she’s earned. Even as you fuck your load deeper into those slippery depths, she keeps you locked in place, still trying to drain every drop from your balls that she can get, practically begging for more. 

But when it starts to calm down—that doesn’t mean you have any urge to pull out. 

“Feels so warm, that’s a good boy,” Karina praises, but you can hardly get a word out when you look up, eyes landing right on that body glistening with sweat, chest heaving to catch her breath after it all. It’s a view you can’t resist, seeing how her breasts rise and fall when she lets out exhausted gasps, and if you weren’t buried in this sticky mess you’d be more than willing to lick her all up. 

“Rina, fuck—“  you groan out when her limbs unlock from your waist one by one.  

"Didn't think you had that much left in you after you covered my tits the first time," she says, meeting your gaze and you can’t help but admire how her disheveled appearance makes her look even prettier. "I think your balls really do never empty."

"What am I supposed to do when your body looks like this?” you ask in this desperate attempt to catch your breath. ”When your tight cunt feels so fucking good, and those perfect fucking tits—"

Karina just laughs. 

"Always going on about my tits. I think you're a little obsessed with them. Not that I blame you. I'm sure you saw those stares earlier, too, on our little walk back?” Karina asks, a gentle reminder about the useless walk that started this all. “Must have felt good to show me off, knowing the guys couldn't believe their eyes. But only you get to suck on them, play with them like you just did. Only you get to put that cock between them and—"

"Jesus, Rina, please, I can't go again.” That's not entirely true, but the mere suggestion already has your spent, exhausted cock stirring with interest again. Through this entire conversation, you're still inside Karina, her cunt remaining impossibly warm, this sticky mess threatening to overflow and spill everywhere. 

"Poor thing, I've gotten you all tired out. You sure you don't want one more? Just a quick little ride while I bounce these tits in your cute face? I promise to go nice and easy…" Karina smiles, batting her eyelashes for added effect. As much as that sounds like everything you’ve dreamed of, your body betrays you in that very moment as the sensitivity starts to kick in. So, with an unimaginable amount of willpower, you pull yourself out with a groan.

When you both look right down to the mess you've created, a huge, sticky flood gushes right out of her—an absolute deluge of white leaking out, dripping all over her thighs and onto the brand new sheets. 

“Too tired to answer, sweetie? You don't want another load dripping out of me just like this? Like I said, I wouldn't go hard—just nice and slow, while you watch. A sweet treat for my sweet boy."

God knows you want nothing else, to just lay on your back and drink in the view of Karina riding you, watching those perfect breasts jiggle and bounce around wildly while you don't even have to move. And yet you can't deny this exhaustion in your bones that has other plans. "Karina, please, I'm so—"

"So spoiled? Is that what you were going to say?" she responds cheekily.

There's not a damn chance in hell you could handle this woman going full speed on your poor, overstimulated cock when she's capable of making you blow within seconds, riding you like only she can and no doubt knocking you unconscious when the job is done. 

"Do you even know what nice and slow is? When has that ever been your style?"

Karina's jaw drops in disbelief, a hand over her mouth as if she's truly surprised by the remark. "Are you saying I'm incapable of such a thing?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Fine, you big baby," she teases as she shakes her head with a smile. "I'll fuck your brains out some other time, I guess. Wouldn't want to break my favorite toy."

You're unable to form a comeback, succumbing to eventual collapse on top of her, face resting on her chest where you take a second to indulge and revel in the sensation of being pressed against her warm body. Karina's fingers run gently through your hair, stroking those sweaty locks.

"You can do anything you want to me next time. But after I'm good and ready again."

"Anything, huh?"

You nod, not even fully cognizant of what those words might mean until it's far too late, when a wave of fatigue takes its effect. Karina guides you away, bringing her head closer and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

✦ ✦

Hours pass by before you stir once more, having fallen asleep right afterwards on Karina's supple chest, the softest pillows you could ask for. You're unsure what time of day it is, if it's evening or even the next morning already—all you know is you’ve never slept so well. 

"Look who finally decided to wake up. It's about time, sleepyhead,” a familiar teasing voice greets as you look up to find Karina's playful features looking at you.

"Sorry. Someone sucked all the energy right out of me."

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic. How are you feeling, sweetie?" Karina asks, running fingers through your hair so tenderly. 

"Good as new. Could use a shower, though."

"Well, how about you wait a minute? There’s just…” Her voice trails off, and it's clear she has something important on her mind, as her fingers slide through your disheveled hair that she's been stroking for quite some time now. “Something I’ve got planned for you.” 

You're not even completely lucid yet before her lips crash against yours, a heated, demanding kiss that can't be refused. No doubt she dominates the moment and slips her tongue inside your mouth, tasting you as thoroughly as possible. And that‘s all it takes for the lust to creep back in, forcing the blood to rush south and a familiar hardness to kick in. 

"Remember what you said before you passed out?"

You just stare at Karina dumbfounded—certain you had a clear recollection, but also well aware this sudden awakening makes recalling events quite difficult, so she leans in to remind you. "Told me you'd let me do anything. Are you still on board, sweetie?"

Now you remember. It's not like the words came from nowhere, and you aren't in the business of breaking promises. A simple nod is all the response needed, and Karina bites her lower lip with anticipation. And with that, she disappears into the bathroom, leaving you curious about whatever she has in mind. When she reemerges, the picture becomes crystal clear.

Karina returns back inside, now sporting black lingerie—stockings, garter belt, the works, all connected with an assortment of straps. There's no doubt your eyes are locked right on that sinful body and all those curves, because you’ve never seen her look so good. Quite the surprise that you can’t even process it all; the way her thick thighs look in that sheer fabric, and those heavy tits look fucking amazing in this particular bra, held together with hopes and dreams, the barely existent fabric exposing far more than it hides. As if her chest didn’t already need more showcasing, this amplifies the sheer size of her assets, drawing further attention right where it should be. 

"What do you think?" she asks, a small smirk appearing on her pretty face as your hungry eyes wander. 

You can't possibly be expected to form an intelligent response. Such a seductive outfit has you nearly speechless—Karina has never looked more breathtaking, straight out of your deepest desires. "Do you even need to ask?"

"Yes. Because I like hearing you say it," she replies almost sheepishly, posing to show herself off, bending over forward to show off that absurd amount of cleavage. 

"Like every fantasy I've ever had, Rina. You're absolutely fucking gorgeous.” 

"Thanks, sweetie." There's a slight pause while she beams from ear to ear, and then the mood shifts when she looks at you—you can see the gears turning inside her head. "Now, follow me. Lose the boxers."

You do so at once and discard that piece of clothing, not particularly caring where it lands. Following Karina comes second nature as you walk obediently behind to the living room, which looks exactly the same as earlier—except for one thing.

Waiting for you is a single chair sitting in the middle of the room, without arms or extra frills and a curved back, but mostly an ordinary black chair. "Alright, sweetie. I want you to take a seat right here."

So without hesitation, you sit, positioning yourself in the chair as comfortably as possible while Karina’s eyes linger, scanning your naked figure while you await further instructions. She gives no immediate explanation, instead circling behind you as that silky touch caresses your back, along your shoulders, making her way around to your neck, nails gently scraping across. 

And while she's got you distracted, Karina moves quickly, taking both of your arms, holding them behind your back as she ties your wrists together with what feels like soft rope, securing you in place. 

"Anything, sweetie?" she echoes right in your ear, the question seemingly rhetorical while she ties you up tight.

“Yeah—anything.” 

Once finished, Karina stands directly in front, towering over you, sizing up your helpless state as you get a closeup view of your desires manifested, full-blown sin, like it’s a reward for your cooperation. 

You can only stare, nearly stunned to silence as your vision is filled by the curves of Karina's body and her lacy undergarments—the shapely thickness of her stocking-covered thighs, the dangerous valley of her breasts desperate to spill out, all framed nicely and right in the center of your line of vision, everything displayed like a beautiful work of art, no ounce of modesty in sight. "Get a good look, sweetheart. Don't be shy."

How could you when she has your attention held captive so easily—the way those tits bounce from the slightest movement, and how goddamn delicious her body looks that makes you throb between your legs like never before. You don’t close your eyes or turn your gaze while you salivate over this gift just out of reach, cock aching like crazy, unable to think, and certainly unable to move.

Karina does her best to interrupt your thoughts as she grazes the side of your face, letting her manicured nails scratch down to your chin, the slightest hint of contact sending shivers through your body. "You seem pretty comfortable tied up. Enjoying this?"

"Not as much as you seem to be," you reply, earning you this devilish little look on her face that turns more sinister with every waking second. Karina tilts your chin up, diverting your gaze from that sinful chest so she forces eye contact. “Tell me, sweetie—what would you do right now if you weren't all tied up like this?"

What wouldn't you do? The options are endless, but at the very least you’d pin Karina right on the ground, rip off every piece of fabric hiding her beautiful body and well—

It’s hard to even put your fantasies into words. “Bend you over that fucking couch and shove my cock right inside you. Wouldn't even take those panties off—just shove them aside and make you cum so hard you forget your own name.”

The reaction to those words is instant. First, her eyes widen, like she’s visualizing just that, swiping her tongue across those sultry lips. Her weight shifts and those creamy thighs press together, with no missing the way her breathing deepens, chest even that more enticing, making your greed boil to the surface as you ache to grope and squeeze those full tits in your grasp. “Would you now? What would you do once you get my little cunt all stretched out for you, dripping wet? Tell me, sweetie. In detail."

A brief moment to gather your thoughts while Karina continues to pull out your deepest fantasies. “With an ass like that, there’s no way I’m not getting my hands all over it—slap those pretty cheeks until it stings, until it’s bright fucking red with my handprints marking you all over.” 

“Fuck, look at you trying to act all tough and dominant,” she says, and lets out a long, content sigh. "More. Come on, don't hold back."

"I'd finger your greedy little asshole while pounding into your cunt. Open you up real good and fuck you while you beg for more, beg me to ruin you.” 

Her smile only gets bigger at the suggestions—she's clearly enjoying this. "That's cute that you think I'd ever beg for anything—that's really more your style," she replies, licking those glossy lips like she's imagining every little detail, so tempted to put your words into reality. 

"But it has been a while since I had anything in my tight ass. But what comes next? What else would you do to my poor, helpless body?"

You imagine it all, Karina with her hands tied behind her back, bent over in this obscene angle, face pressed up against the cushions with nothing to help her escape while you just have your way with her— 

"I'd fucking destroy your cunt. Grab that long, beautiful hair and pull hard on it, so fucking hard. Hold those hips and smack that perfect fat ass until it's bruised while I pump that hungry cunt full of hot cum. Again and again, for as long as I want."

The mere thought alone makes you so impossibly hard it hurts, and you realize you’ve fallen into her trap, going along with her game far too easily, not thinking things through when all you’ve done is riled yourself up. But seeing the satisfaction spread over her face as you stumble over your words is worth the sacrifice.

"Who knew you had such a dirty little mind? Just hearing all that, fuck, do you know how wet you’ve gotten me?” Karina asks as she steps in a bit closer, locking lips again, tongue slipping in so easily. Her free hand strokes you slowly, gripping your cock hard enough to make you moan in her mouth—and while those luscious fingers glide all the way down, you feel something slide over your shaft, down to your base, something secure and snug around you, applying just the slightest pressure. 

"Rina, what—"

She smiles, so innocently, like she's proud, and it clicks into place what exactly it is before she explains. 

"A cock ring. It should make everything I do to you feel even better. And maybe help you last longer. You should start to feel the effects in a minute or two," Karina answers. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

You shake your head immediately; the idea taking some time to register—wondering how a small rubber ring could amplify all these sensations, but you trust her words. With some thought, you conclude this might actually be a blessing when dealing with whatever you're about to be in store for. You're not exactly in a position to argue with it anyway. 

Despite the pressure, the tightness, you can't complain—the sensation feels strangely wonderful. All the blood rushes to your throbbing cock, making the pleasure feel far greater than usual, almost overwhelming, every stroke Karina gives infinitely more intense. 

"Starting to feel good, isn't it, sweetie? Getting nice and sensitive for me?"

Your cock twitches in response, almost involuntarily trying to thrust upward to feel even more, desperate for whatever Karina will give. So distracted by how good these fingers feel wrapped around your shaft you’ve almost forgotten your helpless state, only reminded when the rope digs into your wrist and limits your movement. With an almost painful grip, she jerks faster, all that sensitivity flaring up, making every sensation all more powerful. 

When she stops stroking, her thumb just presses down on that spot right below the swollen head, rubbing ever so gently. Jerking forward becomes something out of your control, and you grit your teeth at the intensity as she applies constant pressure to that area, a loud moan you had no intention of releasing escapes so easily. That same pattern continues, a ritual: a slow rhythm of strokes that ends in her rubbing that same sweet spot, then she picks up right where she left off, squeezing and pumping her hand back up. 

"I can just imagine it—I bet it feels ten times more sensitive than ever. And even harder than you've ever been. God, sweetie, you're leaking so much already, and we've only just started. I'm going to have so much fun with you."

She's not exaggerating, and when one finger circles over the tip, drawing back down a path down to your base, slow, painfully slow—you know this is going to be torturous to endure. With every little touch or stroke, your cock grows more desperate, throbbing heavily in her gasp, craving every bit of stimulation like oxygen. If not for this tight little ring preventing your release, you have a feeling you’d already be making a mess all over your stomach. 

But what really undoes you is the teasing smirk on her face. The way her thumb brushes across the sensitive tip, eliciting an audible gasp when she pulls away. 

"Does it feel good when I stroke your big, throbbing cock? When I squeeze it just like this? Karina asks, refusing to move faster than she needs to, a maddening pace, up and down, all the way to your swollen, dripping tip, collecting your precum on her fingers. “Are you trying not to lose it already?" 

When you only groan in response, desperate and unable to put any coherent thoughts into words, Karina presses her thumb against your leaking slit for a fleeting moment, before stroking quicker, sliding all the way down to the base of your shaft and repeating the motion again. 

With each little touch, each little graze over your cockhead, she grins at every noise you let slip—every single whine, every last whimper. Karina grabs your cock as rough as she pleases, the other hand coming to fondle your heavy balls, squeezing just the right amount to get you absolutely weak—rolling the weight between her fingertips. 

“Now, sweetie—tell me, wouldn’t you like me on the sofa, my legs all spread, dripping wet while you fill up my tight cunt? Your perfect cock plowing in and out of me, splitting me open, that would feel so good, wouldn’t it? How would you even take me if you were so sensitive, so on edge? You’d fucking burst as soon as my pussy swallowed you up, wouldn't you?" 

All you can think of is exactly that exact scenario—how fucking tight and wet that warm fucking cunt always gets, squeezing your sensitive shaft and bringing you to climax within the very first thrust. Imagining burying yourself deep into that sticky mess, folding her in half as you fuck her at your leisure, a raw, merciless pace. And then filling her with your sticky cum as those tits bounce from each vicious stroke, over and over, using her body exactly like you need.

You try to shove that image from your mind, knowing you're already falling apart from the tiniest bit of imagination. 

But it's nothing to how Karina makes you feel with her delicate fingers wrapped firmly around your cock, twisting a bit before stroking down to the base and then repeating all over again, spitting directly onto your cock to ease the glide. 

“Could you even manage not to burst when you get buried deep in this ass?” she asks, snapping your attention back, keeping her thumb circled around the base of that swollen cockhead. “Maybe we can test that out. See how quickly you blow your load when I'm sitting on top of your cock, spreading my cheeks open and stretching my asshole until you're buried as deep as I can take…” 

“Rina, please—“ 

And there's no reply—just the deliberate, focused teasing when Karina spins around, now with her back turned, offering a glimpse of that amazing ass you've been dying to get your hands on. Before you can even prepare, the supple flesh of her ass sits back against your shaft, grinding against what’s trapped right in between her soft, luscious ass cheeks.

That's when the true agony kicks in. That tight, round ass starts rubbing your poor, deprived cock, while your restrained hands tug against your binds, the urge to grasp her hips and slam the full length straight up her asshole becoming unbearable.

"It's a little selfish of me, isn't it?" Karina chuckles, leaning back on your body. "You can't even do anything right now. All I'd have to do is sit on this needy cock of yours, get it all inside this tight little asshole, and your balls would be drained within seconds. Just need a little of that strawberry oil that smells so good. It's been a while since you've fucked my ass—what, a week maybe?"

The grinding persists, using your thighs to help guide her, filling you with frustration as you struggle in this helpless position. It's impossible to take what you desire when you’re tied up, the teasing insufferable.

You can’t deny that every inch of Karina is sculpted by the gods, and that ass—indulgently round, voluptuous cheeks, always flaunted with those snug sweatpants or the tightest jeans imaginable. It's not even fair how relentless she’s gotten, and you can only stare as your shaft slides helplessly between her plump cheeks, the only thing between you and heaven is that flimsy piece of fabric covering her asshole.

"Rina, please, god. I swear I’ll—“

"What was that, baby? Please, what?”

Your response falls silent the second she pulls off, spinning back around to see your desperation up close, letting your cock twitch helplessly against your abdomen. The loss of warmth against you is almost a greater cruelty than the sight of that chest all covered up in nothing more than thin lace, hopelessly confined.

"Didn't hear an answer. Is it getting to be too much?" Karina asks, flashing this all-knowing smile when she begins squeezing your cock hard, jerking the entire length with both her expert hands, the friction too intense to handle. The pumps get so frantic you can hardly speak, your balls growing painfully tight at all this denial.

"Y-yes—need to be inside you. Please, any part of you, baby," you plead, your voice sounding so pathetic, borderline unrecognizable. 

Karina ponders for a moment, brows furrowed, as though in deep consideration. You have no choice but to wait for her verdict, in torment, clenching your fists, dying for the chance to touch her. She presses a finger to your lips and runs it down your chest, flicking against a nipple that sends another rush of delirious pleasure through you. "No, not yet, sweetie. You've been such a good boy so far—just hold on a little longer." 

Her smile is every bit wicked as she swings a leg over around your waist, a bit of her weight settling on your hips. The fabric of her stockings is silky and soft, teasing the area where it rests, even more excruciating that you can't lay a hand on those thighs. Right away she resumes her harsh grip on your cock, pumping so fast, edging right to that climax only to deny it at the last moment—slowly and painfully easing back off. 

You're nearly shaking, hips bucking on repeat, not sure if the frustration feels better or worse than not being touched in the first place. Not to mention how everything feels ten times worse with this damn ring wrapped around the base of your cock that taunts you. "God, you really are ready to explode at any moment. Poor baby, you need to cover me in cum more than anything, isn’t that right?” 

"Yes, fuck—please, Rina, I can't take it, need to cum so bad," you plead, looking up at her, throwing all pride away. 

That's when Karina pumps you ever faster, dragging you over to that finish line, watching your reaction with those devilish eyes when she eases off before your orgasm has a chance to arrive, right back off your shaft and denying it once again. It's a long, torturous game—a few fast strokes, squeezing the head of your cock just how you need. 

And then she stops completely. 

It goes like this, with no reprieve, leaving your poor cock to throb helplessly against your stomach, painful when Karina leaves it abandoned with nothing but cold, frigid air. Bliss and denial, an endless cycle.

"So needy, aren't you, sweetheart? Wanting so bad to blow your load and cover me with this massive load," Karina laughs, admiring the strain on your face. “Tell you what—“ 

There’s a necessary respite that lets you breathe for a moment, when Karina squeezes your balls nice and tight, keeping that desperation held there for far too long. And that's when she reaches behind to unfasten her bra, moving at an infuriatingly slow pace, peeling the straps one by one, dragging this on for as long as she possibly can. 

You watch intently, hanging on each and every motion as she removes and tosses the entire piece right over your head. The best reward you can get for enduring this torture, you think. Her bare breasts come into view again—and it feels like the first time all over, nothing as erotic as these massive tits on display in front of you, that you almost don’t care that you can’t even squeeze them yourself. 

Almost. 

With nothing to stand in the way of your shameless leering, you do so, and Karina welcomes it—brushing her thumbs over her stiff nipples while you commit it all to memory. 

You're more than ready to erupt all over her, to spill everything across those pale breasts, and in the middle of your haze you hardly notice a familiar bottle popping open in her hands. As if this scene weren’t impossible to deal with already. Pouring oil all over her supple chest in a circle, Karina douses herself in more than a generous amount—stealing all of your attention when she rubs and spreads it evenly across her creamy skin. 

She has no intention of stopping there, generously applying more down to her abs, along that tight little frame, down to her milky thighs, still all wrapped in those silky stockings that drive you crazy more than anything. Now she's really playing dirty now, coating and slicking up her entire body for the occasion. And the worst part is how you can't do a goddamn thing—left watching this entire show while your cock aches with neglect as she teases her stiff nipples between her fingertips.

"Liking the view, sweetie?" she asks, running her slippery hands across her curves, knowing what a pathetic state you must be in, an oiled-up Karina up there with one of your biggest weaknesses. 

There's nothing you can manage, not even a nod as you're left helplessly staring, craving all that gorgeous skin under your own hands and you don't even have it in you to beg at this point. Anything you'd say would be beyond incomprehensible. "Can't say a word anymore? No more dirty fantasies you wanna share?"

Silence is a rare occasion, even when Karina has you bound up tight like this. So you must really be in awful shape. You'd love to give a satisfying response, but at this point, all your attempts come out as nothing more than groans. That's about all that you have left. 

Still, Karina takes that as an answer and climbs back into your lap, looking every bit irresistible, all covered and doused in that scented oil that soaks through whatever leftover lace exists, giving it all a nice glisten—nearly making your dick burst from the sight alone. She grabs a heavy handful of her breasts between slippery, oiled fingers, and just seeing her knead and fondle herself gets you squirming hard in your restraints, wanting so badly to sink your lips into them, desperate to have a taste. 

"Since you've been such a good boy—putting up with everything I’ve thrown at you and held on," Karina ponders out loud, as she begins to grind her oily body against you, all the friction intensifying every inch that touches, your skin burning with her touch. "Then maybe my baby deserves a nice, thick load across my chest after handling so much of this, don’t you? Think you could blow a big, messy load right across these tits for me?"

A frantic nod is all you have to offer, overwhelmed from her hot body sliding against you, all coated in warm slickness, driving you beyond the edge. Every ounce of your sanity is being tested. All this slippery flesh against your own drives you towards a finish that’s so imminent, so close, but you still have to wait until the very end, until Karina allows you that permission.

"That won't do," Karina says, slowing her movements down to a mere crawl. "Need you to use your words, sweetie. Let me know how badly you need it. Don’t I deserve that for getting you this worked up in the first place?”

There’s a string of words that escape that hardly make up a proper sentence. “S-so bad. Need to cum, please.” 

But that doesn't satisfy Karina in the slightest as she pushes off your lap and shifts lower down to her knees. This sight feels even worse than having her in your lap—far too tempting, watching her breasts bounce as she lowers and wedges herself closer, hovering between your spread legs. "Baby, we both know that's not enough. Give me a good reason to make you cum."

If not for those oily hands stroking over your thighs, you'd probably be responding a lot differently—but it's so tough to remain concentrated in this state, that the slightest touch nearly unravels you, the neediness in your voice escalating so rapidly. 

"F-fuck, god, please, Rina—want my thick load spilled all over you, need it all over your pretty face, wanna cum so fucking hard and cover every part of you. P-please. Fuck, need it so bad."

Your voice cracks near the end of it—enough for Karina to get both hands around your cock, her fingers fully gripping around every sensitive, throbbing inch of it. And god, you're so close it hurts. You feel like you've gone a month without any relief, and you can't suppress the moan that follows, the full brunt of an orgasm churning through your heavy balls, every sensation twice, maybe three times more powerful than usual.

"That's a good boy. Wasn't so hard, was it?" Karina chuckles, beginning to work your shaft with long, exaggerated strokes and her thumb circling all over the sensitive tip of your cock, admiring how absolutely broken you are. The climax builds an even faster and uncontrollable pressure, balls swelling so painfully tight—everything feels unbearably tense, not even able to imagine holding yourself back now. 

She gives your cock a light slap with her palm, drawing the most pitiful groan from you as you stare on in disbelief, the sensitivity too harsh to bear—and it's not any kind of relief when she gives another, a firmer hit to your swollen cockhead, afraid of blowing your load any second now. You think this is your limit, when all Karina does is deliver repeated slaps to your throbbing shaft, then gripping it even tighter before jerking her hand along the full length. 

"Look at you, you're gonna cum so much, aren't you? Maybe the biggest load you'll blow this month—let's put you out of your misery. Empty those heavy fucking balls and cum for me, sweetheart."

Those final words are all the relief you could've asked for, spoken with an affectionate smile as Karina leans forward and strokes your aching cock furiously, bringing you long past the tipping point. Everything begins with the hardest twitch in her grasp—an unexpected intensity that only progresses when she spurs it all on, her slippery, slender fingers pumping as fast as they can go, making sure you let it all out. 

And there's not an ounce of strength in you left to do anything but that, the tension within your balls unable to hold back anything, leaving you with the one option—to embrace it, the relentless strokes that help achieve ecstasy that's so long overdue. 

Karina's smiling, pretty face in front of you just adds an extra bonus.

There's no going back, and when your balls tighten, nothing can prepare you for the hardest orgasm you've felt in ages—all directed at her face as she anticipates what you've worked so hard for, not letting up one bit. You let out the most unrestrained deep groan as warm, thick spurts burst from the tip, immediately splattering across that stunningly beautiful face, hitting across her forehead and down to the bridge of her nose without a single flinch.

No thoughts to how far the shots reach as you explode more, spraying right across her cheeks, into her hair as Karina pumps the entire time, coaxing out your thickest load, changing the angle to drain you over her soft, pillowy lips as you tremble so violently underneath, overcome with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. Everything keeps pulsing hard—covering even more of her porcelain complexion in white, your hot seed running thick across her face as she unloads every heavy burst over herself, seemingly endless, not easing her grip on your cock even once. 

The strength of your orgasm lingers once your load empties across her face, leaving a complete and total mess that you'll never forget, Karina completely covered in these thick strands that start to drip, her expression quite satisfied and content. The aftermath lingers—breathing so heavy even once your cock finishes the grand finale, throbbing wildly throughout it all and even Karina’s left unable to believe just how much has built up during your denial. 

"That's my good boy," Karina sighs, continuing to pump your oversensitive cock, even though there's no more left to spill—a series of weak twitches firing off after such a large release as you're reduced to a shuddering mess. "Look at all this cum you've painted my fucking face with, sweetie. Aren't I lucky? God, it's just all dripping down, so fucking thick and warm. That must have felt so fucking good, didn’t it?” 

You can hardly hear the giggles escaping, or process the image in front of you, Karina all covered in white and dripping with the results of that long-awaited climax, some of it reaching her sweaty, oily chest as well. When her hands let go, all that tension lifts and you finally breathe with the greatest ease, sinking back against the chair. 

And that's when you get to let it all sink in, this mess that Karina wears—it's rather artistic, in the lewdest way possible, clinging to her lips and chin, practically everywhere, thick and messy. 

Your breaths take longer to even themselves out, despite feeling the purest sense of relief you haven't felt in weeks, unable to take your eyes off from how your cum starts to slowly roll down the side of her chin, where Karina catches with her finger and slowly swipes upwards. She makes sure you're watching carefully and brings it to her lips, delicately taking that long, wet digit in her mouth, wrapping and sucking her lips around.

It's absolutely sinful to watch her suck the mess off like that, tasting your seed right off her fingertips as she hums and savors your load. 

"Tastes even better after what I put you through," Karina says with this wicked laugh, and you can hardly move a muscle from all this. "But you know—" And that pause she gives is filled with a whole other sort of danger, that same grin plastered across her face while she stays kneeling between your legs. "Still haven't gotten to ride you yet. After a load like this, I bet you don't have much left to give, hmm?"

You can't even begin to believe what you're hearing now. 

"Jesus, Rina, are you trying to kill me? I think you emptied me enough for the rest of this month."

Contrary to what you want, there's this devilish look that lingers as she glances down between your legs, noticing how you're definitely still plenty stiff—maybe because of that magical ring still wrapped on your cock, or that you can't look away from those cum-stained features. "R-Rina—please, give me like a day or two, at least."

"Poor thing. Can't handle this much?" Karina gets a few more strokes in, gripping and sliding along your sensitive length as if you hadn't released that large load over her, the pain of overstimulation stirring again in the worst possible ways. "But what if I just keep you here, all nice and hard for me. For the next hour, for two hours, three? Would you like that, sweetie?"

Even her delicate, loving caresses cause your body to shake and convulse. And god, you have never been this sensitive ever before. "Please no—fuck, you can't—g-god, too much, hurts—"

Karina can't help but feel a bit of mercy, so she stops, slowly sliding a finger down to your base and removing the rubber ring from your sore cock—within an instant, your entire length relaxes. "Fine, fine. I suppose that's enough."

Just this sudden reduction in sensations feels like heaven, and all you can manage is a deep, exhausted sigh. But the thing that scares you—is how part of you could easily say yes. "Th-thank you, god—"

"But we're not ending the night without me riding the fuck out of you. You're not off the hook yet." Fair enough, you think, even if you'd be entirely useless after this whole experience. “So, shower or..."

"A little hard to shower like this," you remind, still struggling to gather energy. 

She stifles a laugh. "Oh that? Guess I should let you out of those," Karina muses, undoing the ties around both of your hands. And finally, you have some freedom, taking the deepest, most rewarding breath as she rubs your wrists to help alleviate the discomfort. "Offer's still on the table, though. One more go with me on top riding you?"

"Rina, please, what part of you're going to kill me was unclear?"

"Alright, alright, just checking," Karina laughs, hoisting herself off her knees. "Then come join me in the shower. Still got a bit of you on me." 

Now that you can get behind—because you'll never deny the chance to see Karina's naked body under the hot running water, all soaped up and lathered. 

✦ ✦

Karina has never been one to sleep in. Especially not when she has class in the morning, so you're surprised to wake up first, lying next to her warm, dead-asleep figure. You don’t remember much of anything before passing out, given that a proper round two (three?) didn't exactly go as scheduled. But the soreness does slowly return when you shift your body, and she's the sole culprit for that.

You can’t help but notice how beautiful Karina looks with hardly anything covering her voluptuous body—a thin sheet not quite pulled all the way over, exposing most of her pale skin. 

Moving carefully, you try not to wake her—but it's a mistake to underestimate just how much Karina's eyes are really closed when her arms pull you in, holding you hostage against the warmth of her chest.

"Stay,” she murmurs, breaking the silence and wrapping a leg around your waist. “Were you watching me sleep again?" 

"Maybe," you reply, reciprocating the embrace and sighing happily when her arms coil around your back, pulling you closer against her body. "Am I not allowed to admire someone who looks so beautiful in the morning?"

"Oh my god, shut up,” Karina grumbles, but she’s easily silenced when you kiss her neck, lips running delicately across her skin, breathing her scent in.

"Already so riled up for me this early? Even after yesterday?" she asks, the question murmured between soft pants. "Didn't tire you completely out?"

"Impossible," you respond, delivering more tender kisses, intent on working your way down as you start to explore. 

"So insatiable—where do your hands plan on wandering to, hmm?" Karina laughs, shuddering at the teasing strokes along her hips. 

"Somewhere you'd like, I hope."

Your answer leaves Karina hesitating to respond—only giggling quietly and helping you move down the curves of her body. "Need me to give you the tour?"

"Well—if you're offering."

"Like an impatient puppy, aren't you?" Karina teases, planting a kiss on your cheek. "But it's so fucking cute how desperate you are this early. My needy good boy."

"Can't help it when there's so much for me to explore.” 

“Explore all you'd like then, sweetheart," Karina offers, the words leaving her so easy as she takes your wrists, leading your hands up to her delicious chest that you immediately have the urge to knead, sinking your fingers deep into those full, pillowy breasts. 

"I assume you wanna start with these?" 

And her smirk just encourages your touch, a low sigh coming from her lips when you follow her cue, cupping and squeezing the heavy weight of her gorgeous tits in both hands, the warmth of them so delicious while you grab a firm handful. 

"You know me too well."

The enthusiasm you show isn't shy when you roll the stiff peaks of her nipples under your thumb, relishing the sounds that follow from Karina—the soft moans and whimpers when you toy with them. And you can't help but bury your face in those massive, heaving breasts, running your lips across every supple, tempting inch, absolutely drowning in all this pale flesh. 

"So greedy, are we?" Karina mutters, almost smug as her fingers rake through your hair, gasps building while enjoying the attention lavished on her breasts. You give a hard squeeze, savoring the feel of her soft, supple flesh filling your palms, the shape that fills your hands so wonderfully, and you plant the most greedy kisses all along every inch of that delicious valley, unable to pull yourself away. 

There’s nothing else to be said, not when these ravenous slurps can answer for you. 

Nowhere else you would rather be than kissing your way all across her chest, flicking your tongue against a nipple that gets these loud moans flowing when you take it into your mouth, sucking hungrily before pulling back and doing it all over again, feasting on the other.

You don't leave either neglected, rolling the other bud between your fingertips while your mouth slurps around the opposite, devouring as much as you can. With every seal of your lips, Karina somehow grows more sensitive the longer she squirms beneath you.

"Fuck, you're really enjoying this, aren't you? They're so sensitive," she moans, arching her back as her chest beckons, offering up as much as you can ask for. But per usual, you're not content with just tasting, teeth grazing ever so slightly across her pretty nipples, nibbling at each swollen nub. And the instant you hear the sharp intake of Karina's breath, that's all you need to indulge further—playfully pulling into your teeth, tugging even rougher. 

"Good," you respond without missing a beat between laps of your tongue, swiping over and toying with both nipples, giving no end of this stimulation that your lips provide. 

Karina holds the back of your head as your lips suck so fervently, long past the point her breasts glisten, covered in spit. She doesn't let you wander elsewhere just yet, not that there's anywhere else you would want to go, enjoying this buffet she serves so willingly.

"Oh my god—you're too fucking much, love your mouth on my tits," Karina pants, tugging at your hair, encouraging your lust. Her beautiful breasts bounce when they leave your grasp, but your lips and fingers stay relentless, tweaking and playing with her tits as your mouth gets beyond sloppy, popping off and licking all over with even more vigor, a hunger that can't be satiated. 

Her hand around the back of your head guides you to whichever needs the most attention, your mouth gladly following, working the perfect combination between your lips and teeth to tease out a plethora of whimpers, desperate cries, saliva dripping everywhere. You suck and suck without mercy, completely gone, absorbed in her huge fucking tits like nothing else exists—

"Shit, wait, wait—sweetie, come back up," Karina suddenly demands, pulling you out of your lust-fueled haze. It's a tough separation to make, prying your lips involuntarily off her swollen, slippery buds. 

"What? What’s wrong?" 

"The time. Fuck, I can't be late today," Karina sighs, peering at the clock behind you. 

"Yes you can. I can't just—"

"Hey, I’m serious,” she groans. "Just because you're that desperate to stay latched onto my tits, doesn't mean I want to miss my exam.”

When you meet her eyes—there’s no real sense of truth or commitment, even after she gives this light tug that barely has any energy behind it. This isn’t fooling anyone. In the blink of an eye, she's under you once again, squirming underneath your lips. "My schedule—mm, no, hey, are you listening?”

"You can't leave me after this. All worked up, I haven't even gotten you off yet." 

"This is entirely on you."

"No, I'm not taking the blame. This is on you and these goddamn perfect tits of yours."

"Sweetie—" she whines, growing less and less inclined to leave the bed when she grabs your wrist. "Sweetie, I swear to fucking god, can't you just keep your dick to yourself until I get back?"

"No, not when you keep moaning so much," you tell her, refusing to relent. "You're more turned on than I am."

There’s this feigned surprise on her face when she hears that, like it’s somehow the worst thing you’ve told her. "Am not. We both know you're a worse liar than I am, and—it's not my fault you were sucking so hard I almost came." 

"What did you expect when you shoved your tits in my face first thing in the morning?"

Karina rolls her eyes, because it's all so ridiculous how she's acting like this is all your fault—when it's exactly what she should expect.

"That doesn't mean you had to spend like a fucking hour sucking them for—let me up, I have to get ready, you goddamn animal." 

"Animal? You could have stopped me anytime. Don’t put this on me."

"Not with that fucking mouth I couldn't. Look, I can take care of you the second I get back, I just need to—"

It's not like Karina doesn't notice your frustration, that adorable pout across your face, looking almost offended that she would try to deny you of anything. But she's having far more trouble resisting, especially when you look so needy and pathetic like this.

“How long do you have? You can't leave without me making you cum."

"Fuck, I don't know, not that long—maybe twenty minutes,” she says, not even sure of the estimate herself. 

"Perfect. That's plenty of time." 

"It's not. I need to shower, get dressed, eat something. Let me go, you crazy fucking perv."

"You don't need to shower, you smell amazing."

Karina scoffs. "You're just used to me like this. Which is why I need a goddamn shower." 

"Then I'll just fuck you in the shower. Save us time," you counter, but all Karina can do is groan, face-palming from how impatient and stubborn you are. 

She pushes herself up on her elbows, shaking her head so dramatically. "Jesus, you're not letting this go, are you? Am I gonna have to tie you up again?"

"Is that a promise?" 

And somehow, you've managed to break through her resolve. Karina can't stop laughing, face in the crook of your neck, giggling so cutely. "You're fucking unbelievable. When was the last time I wasn't late for something?"

"Dunno. Does it matter?"

"Fine. Okay. Fine—I suppose the shower isn't a bad idea. Maybe it'll cool you off a bit."

"Don't count on it."

The two of you hurry into the bathroom—and perhaps a better word would be fumbled, given how reluctant you are to take your hands off her for too long. But once the hot water starts raining down from above, there's no stopping what's about to take place.

You're drawn in by everything you love about Karina, embracing her from behind, and you find yourself staring shamelessly at her beautiful features, dripping wet. She looks utterly gorgeous without even trying, hair matted to her forehead, water running down her body to just accentuate each and every curve.

"Sweetheart—" she starts, interrupted quickly when you pull her close, pressing a kiss against the soft skin of her neck. "A quick fuck. That's it. You don't have permission for anything else." 

You don't answer with anything but your hands on her hips that she rolls against you, letting out a breathy sigh at how your cock nudges between her cheeks while she places her hands against the steamy glass of the shower door. 

Then Karina lets out the prettiest moan when you're back inside her warmth again. 

Your fingers dig into her curvy hips while you pump, and she spreads her legs as the perfect invitation to ease yourself deeper into her heat, walls fluttering against your shaft, tits pressed up against the cold glass.

"God, fuck,” Karina cries out. “That’s it, fucking split me open, fuck me like you were begging a few moments ago.” 

Before you can even meet her demands, she pushes her hips against you to get things moving. And it's always a pleasure being ordered around by her, especially when it means your cock gets to be so impossibly deep, burying every single inch in that smothering heat. 

There's no slow, easy thrusts, no warning before she's rewarded with a quick slam of your hips. Her entire body shudders at the sensation, nails dragging down the slippery glass of the shower wall as she braces herself.

"So—it's all my fault?" you growl between thrusts, hips picking up speed, getting a tighter grasp on her body for some needed leverage that has you wetly slamming right in, making the most of every single inch. 

"Absolutely. Mm, ah, fuck, this is your doing—don't you dare hold back. Keep going, keep fucking going, harder—fuck, do your duty and make me cum on that thick fucking cock." 

Every deep thrust forces her further against the glass while you oblige, tits so helplessly pressed up so deliciously as you thrust like your life depends on it, keeping her pinned underneath, ass rippling as you pump in and out with each harsh movement. The hot water beating down on you only adds to the frantic, lewd sounds of your bodies crashing against one another, wet skin on wet skin, every moan amplified. 

"There, just like that, sweetie. So good, love when you fuck me deep, fucking destroy me," Karina moans out, legs wobbling as they almost buckle from how roughly you plunge into her, limits already being tested. She sounds so beautiful, so blissed out when she claws at the glass, body unable to withstand your punishing thrusts, like there’s nothing left but succumbing to your cock.

"A-almost there, sweetie, oh my god don't fucking stop, fuck!" Karina lets out these careless moans, no regards for how loud she's being. Even the neighbors will hear—and she doesn't even fucking care, as long as you don't stop. She's far, far too lost in this, throwing her head back, screams escalating through the echoing walls of the shower. "Gonna cum, shit, I'm gonna fucking cum, sweetie, fucking make me—"

This sudden vice tightening around you is all you need to ensure Karina gets exactly what she demands as she trembles in your grip, falling apart. Another shriek echoes from her throat, clenching violently when her climax triggers, palms flat against the rattling glass, your hips so frantic as they slam against her, driving a few more quick, deep thrusts for good measure.

You can hear it all—and most importantly feel it, the erratic, uncontrolled way she shudders, the convulsing walls of her warm cunt proof you've done a job well done. So you keep pistoning into her, keep up the brutal pace of your hips, not slowing down or do anything but pound right through this blissful release, 

"God, baby—“ Karina gasps out, weak and breathless, clinging onto the glass to not slump forward, already spent by her release, and yet her body can't even help itself when she grinds back, craving even more. “How, how do you keep doing that, making me cum so hard? Such a good fucking boy, keeping me so satisfied.” 

There’s not much of an answer for that as Karina keeps her body flush against the glass, struggling to recover her breath while you thrust so deep. "But as much as I love your cock in me, I think we're running out of time…” 

"Are we?"

"Yeah, so you better wrap this up and fill me. Right now, grab my fucking tits and empty those balls.” 

You don't have it within you to hesitate, grabbing those heavy breasts, squeezing them tightly. Nothing beats this combination: all that supple flesh in your fingertips while your throbbing cock pummels the deepest depths of her, every inch inside her velvety cunt. Then all that’s left is to fuck her like your life depends on it, not a thought left but drilling with reckless abandon. 

There’s nothing but your hips moving, the harsh slap of flesh, this greedy grope you give her chest like you just can’t get enough—which you can’t. You’ve got her pinned so hard against the shower, holding on to her tits as you just fuck her senseless, completely pounding into her cunt, keeping her stretched, using this perfect body to milk your cock. 

“Rina, god—baby, your pussy, oh, fuck, I can't—I'm gonna cum," you groan, losing all control over yourself, barely able to give any warning. Not that Karina needs it when she can feel you throbbing, how much you’re going to erupt. 

It doesn't take a second longer for Karina to get what she wants.

You fall apart and erupt into her, slamming one more time to bury yourself to the hilt as you empty inside her in thick, heavy bursts, each spurt more dizzying than the last. Karina clenches so harshly when you fill her to the brim, this heavenly squeeze when she greedily takes everything, milking it all out, demanding not a drop gets wasted. Everything leaves your balls in an urgent rush, right into her sopping cunt, sending her right over the edge one last time as she joins you in this blissful release.    

“Filled me up so well, sweetie,” Karina murmurs through the bliss, every violent throb pushing her up against the glass window, pinned and helpless against the rough pounding of your thrusts until your hips decide to falter. “Now that you got everything out of your system, do you think you'll be able to survive the rest of the day?"

You only play with her tits in response, catching your breath as you lean against her body, kissing her shoulders from behind. "Probably not. But I'll manage, somehow. I guess."

She laughs softly at the admission, a quick tilt of her head to kiss you while you reluctantly withdraw your drenched cock , the mess leaking out from her freshly pounded, slick hole. As always, this is your favorite sight—all the white leaking from between her thighs and down to the shower tiles. But you know there's not enough time to appreciate this glorious view, because you'll never hear the end of it if you're responsible for making her late. 

"If you really can't manage, you have all those pictures I’ve sent to tide you over. Jerk off on my panties if you need to, I don’t mind. Whatever helps you get by."

"Have a little more faith in me, would you? I'm not so far gone yet that I can't control myself for a little while. I'll survive."

"Could have fooled me," Karina responds as she exits the steamy shower, stepping onto the cool bathroom tile and reaching for her towel. “But maybe if I’m feeling generous, you’ll get some spicy new photos before I come back. If you behave, that is."

"Don't I always?"

"Hardly, sweetie." Karina wraps her arms around your neck, leaning into you and smiling adoringly. "But that's what I like about you."

"Couldn't live without me, could you?"

"Absolutely not. Or your cock," she teases back at you, giving your hair this playful little tousle while she pulls you in for a deep, lasting kiss. And the way Karina looks in just a towel—well, you try not to think too much about it. 

"Okay, seriously. I need to get going now, or else I really will miss class. But maybe when I'm back—"

"Yeah?"

Karina cups your face and just stares for a moment, in deep thought, contemplating a thousand ideas. "I really am going to ride the fuck out of you. Maybe even tie you up again and make you beg like you never have before.” 

"Can't wait."

"Neither can I, sweetie. See you soon."

[astrow1zar6]

Astro Observations ~ 47

Aries suns are super immmature in relationships. I’ve seen so many cases where they just keep ppl around for the attention they receive (men & women). Then they’ll drop you when they find someone else that gives them that spark. They can get turned off super fast or get the “ick” quickly.

Venus conjunct ascendant in synastry really only benefits the ascendant person. Honestly it can go either way but most of the time I see Venus usually really adores and is super attracted to the ascendant person & the ascendant person is kinda meh with the Venus. The Venus person can make the ascendant feel like the most beautiful person in the world. Usually gives them a big ego boost. The ascendant in this scenario is usually the more receptive one. I see this aspect works best when the man is the Venus & the woman is the ascendant person. The ascendant person will feel like a princess when near Venus😍.

Capricorn moons grew up having to earn everything they should’ve been given naturally ( ex: if you asked ur parents for money they expected it to be paid back, having to earn emotional and material comfort). They usually grew up the opposite of being spoiled which is why they have a tendency to spoil the ppl they love once they get older especially their children. Gift giving could be their love language because they lacked a lot of material possessions growing up. People relied on them too much as a kid, they had to grow up wayyy to fast 🙁

On the other hand Leo moons and Cancer moons were usually spoiled to death by their parents. Their parents could’ve smothered them too much causing codependency issues as they aged. Usually the babies of the family or the youngest.

Scorpio & Pisces moons usually have severe mommy issues (cancer moons too sometimes but they can either be super close/ be best friends with their mom or were super traumatized and neglected by them).

Mars in Taurus would rather cut their arms off with a butter knife than admit they were wrong.

Aries sun & Aries Venus women tend to be the “man” of their romantic relationships (especially mixed with Capricorn) because of this they can attract a lot of needy and leechy partners.

If a Venus in Capricorn loves you they’ll buy you the moon if they can afford it. These people TAKE CARE OF YOU! Usually super loyal as well once they have feelings for you. Probably one of the most solid Venus signs.

Cap risings grew up more mature than others young but can become more immature as they age.

Saturn in the 7th house people are always dating people that are like 20 years older than them lol.

Aqua suns I notice can fall into addictive patterns earlier than most & are most likely to experiment with substances. When I check other ids at the store I work at the people who buy alcohol or cigarettes everyday all had Aqua suns it’s actually wild.

Aqua moons have this natural glow in their appearance that’s so hypnotizing. (Ex; Marilyn Monroe & Billie Eilish) they are the definition of ethereal.

Moon in Taurus people are so bossy and controlling when underdeveloped. This trait can be why it’s difficult for them to form close friendships. They have a tendency to rub ppl the wrong way.

Venus in retrograde folks lack social etiquette. Many people see them as rude or emotionless because of this. They are the types where if you smile and say hi they will stare at you with a blank expression and say nothing back. They don’t mean it tho they can just have issues with social awkwardness/shyness. Could feel like expressing their affectionate side is awkward. I notice their affection is either severely lacking or really overbearing no in between.

Scorpio suns are not big family people I notice. They will ghost the shit out of their family for years or just be super secretive with them in general.. most of the time people in their family know nothing about them.

May Taurus’s tend to be big bullies/haters when underdeveloped

Aries mars are some of the best athletes (especially in the 8th house!!!)

On the other hand Pisces mars are usually really bad at sports. Could be the types who refused to participate in gym lol. They are more talented in artistic sports like dance

Mars in aquas are more likely to make a career outta something illegal. They are usually really bad with authority.

Cap sun women I notice like to make others pay for them. They can have big entitlement issues & hate spending their own money.

Aries moon women are not for the weak. It takes a really strong person to tame them. (Especially with Scorpio or Capricorn in their chart as well)

Libra suns with a Scorpio Venus can super promiscuous. Can have a lot of bodies at a really early age (even if they are virgins ppl can make assume they have a lot of bodies bc of their provocative flirty natures). Super charming they can really pull anyone they want even if they aren’t seen as conventionally attractive.

Scorpio Venus men usually fall in love hard with women that kinda scare them. Like they become OBSESSED. They have a thing for danger.

Pisces sun Scorpio moon men are the worst people to date. I hear so many horror stories from this sun moon combo😭 ( also Aries Sun Scorpio moon)

Venus in Taurus people can’t move on from their exes for the life of them. They can be in a 5+ year relationship and still keep their exes on the side lines “just in case”.

On the other hand Venus in Aquas will dump you so fast once that soft spot they have for you is gone. They will walk by you like they never seen you in their life. Their cut off game is CRAZY.

Gemini risings cannot keep a secret for the life of them. Don’t tell these people anything personal unless you want everyone all your friends and family and the whole continent of Africa to know😭

Moon in the 3rd house people are usually the favorite cousin/sibling in the family. Could be the person their siblings send cousins go to for advice all the time.

Venus in Libras can force people to stay in relationships with them if underdeveloped. They can be very overbearing when insecure and force relationships with ppl that neither of them are really ready for. Can have huge boundary issues. I’ve seen this more in women than men.

Pisces Venus people prefer situationships over actual committed relationships. They struggle to stay in relationships when the honey moon phase wears off. They have a low tolerance people when they don’t act the way the expect them to in their fantasies. Can be very unrealistic in love and can expect a lot from their lovers.

Moon in 7th house ppl tend to copy/ mimic their partners behaviors a lot. Or just ppl they like in general. (Ex; start using their slang, or copying the way the speak of dress).

Venus in 2nd house people can be amazing voice actors.

A lot of planets in the 2nd house can show someone who’s able to change their voice easily or be able to copy multiple accents. Their voice usually stands out in some type of way.

Because of Scorpio moons secretive nature they can come across as having no personality or being super boring. (Mostly speaking on the men here the women are actually super interesting). The men I notice also get emotionally triggered by the most minor shit. They act like they are really nonchalant but are real life crash outs. Their nonchalance can also sabotage a lot of relationships that could’ve had the potential to be great but their pride and inability to show a softer side to themselves can completely turn off partners.

[novy2sirius]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐄

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐞

Sun in Aries/1H

Athletics, fighting/boxing, modeling, fashion designing, makeup related things (ex: being a makeup artist), sex symbol, racing (ex: being a race car driver)

Sun in Taurus/2H

Singing, modeling, your material achievements/financial status, cooking (ex: being on a cooking competition show or having your own)

Sun in Gemini/3H

Social media, your siblings, podcasting, politics, gossiping (ex: gossip page), blogging, writing (ex: author), journalist, comedy, streaming, driver (ex: being a race car driver), teaching, mental health advocating

Sun in Cancer/4H

Your family, cooking/baking (ex: being on a baking/cooking show or having your own), real estate/houses (ex: being on a show like house hunters)

Sun in Leo/5H

Acting, your love interests, your children, any type of entertainment, gamer, only fans, your hobbies (ex: if one of your hobbies is playing the piano you could gain fame from that)

Sun in Virgo/6H

Social media, fitness/health, writing (ex: author), journalist, judge (ex: judge judy), comedy, animals/pets (ex: being on a show similar to animal planet)

Sun in Libra/7H

Dancing, your love interests/relationships/spouses, makeup related things (ex: being a makeup artist), beauty symbol, stylist, judge (ex: judge judy)

Sun in Scorpio/8H

Athletics, psychology, inheritance, sex symbol, death/mystery, conspiracies, surgery (ex: being on a show similar to botched), owning your own famous business

Sun in Sagittarius/9H

Television, interviewing, news reporting, the law (ex: being on a show similar to law and order), your grandparents, your in-laws, religion, blogging, photography, comedy, teaching

Sun in Capricorn/10H

Owning a famous business, directing films, your status, your father, your success, industry plant, historian, this is also a big indication of fame in general from anything

Sun in Aquarius/11H

Social media, DJing, film, your connections/friends, wealth, science, inventing, humanitarian, streaming, vlogging, manifesting, this is also an indication of accumulating lots of loyal supporters/fans in general

Sun in Pisces/12H

Singing/music, modeling, acting, astrology, tarot, psychic, spirituality, fantasy/sci-fi film producer, conspiracies, hypnotism, impersonator, mental health advocating

© novy2sirius

[hypnoai]

Deep into hypnosis while listening to an online hypnosis recording.

[sportsentranced]

we are the arsenal

The locker room was empty, save for two figures.

Declan Rice sat on the bench, his bag at his feet, and across from him, the Manager leaned against a row of lockers, arms folded casually. The distant hum of players heading out beyond the walls was muffled, leaving a heavy, intimate silence between them.

“Big match coming up,” the Manager said, voice low, deliberate. “We need you at your best, Declan. Focused. Ready.”

Declan nodded, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Always ready, boss.”

“Good. Get dressed.”

The command was gentle, almost friendly — but there was a weight behind it that made Declan move without thinking.

He pulled his shorts from the pile first — crisp, clean, the Arsenal crest stitched proudly on the leg. As he slid them up his thighs, he felt a gentle heat begin to spread through his legs, as if the fabric itself was alive, whispering against his skin. He shifted slightly on the bench, trying to shake it off, but the warmth only deepened, wrapping around his muscles like a coiling mist.

The Manager watched him with a small, knowing smile.

Next came the jersey. Declan grabbed it and pulled it over his head. As the material brushed down over his chest and shoulders, he inhaled sharply — the warmth surged, thicker now, richer. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, seeping into his ribs, his spine, his very breath. He exhaled slowly, blinking a few times as the locker room seemed to dim and sharpen all at once.

“How’s it feel?” the Manager asked quietly.

“...Warm,” Declan muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Feels good. Real good.”

He barely noticed the smile widening slightly on his Manager's face.

Declan bent to grab his socks next. As he tugged them up his calves, the warmth grew heavier, more intoxicating. His legs felt solid, grounded, but somehow lighter at the same time, like he could run for hours without tiring. A light-headedness tickled the edges of his mind, but it felt... nice. Comforting.

“Just a bit more,” the Manager coaxed, his voice now barely above a murmur.

Finally, Declan picked up his boots. The moment he slid his feet inside and tightened the laces, the warmth turned molten. It flooded up from his soles, rushing through his body in a single, overwhelming wave. His muscles relaxed, his jaw went slack for a brief moment. He blinked heavily.

His back straightened like it he was pulled up by a string, like a puppet, before his head lolled, his eyes rolled back and a strangled, low sound leaves his lips.

“There it is,” the Manager whispered.

Declan stood automatically, swaying slightly. Without thinking, he ran his hands absently across his chest, feeling the tight, perfect fit of the jersey against his skin. A slow, content smile played across his face, his mind clouded and soft.

The Manager stepped closer, his presence commanding.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he said.

Declan nodded slowly, eyes slightly glassy.

The Manager raised a hand — and with a single, deliberate tap of his finger against Declan’s forehead, right between the eyes, something inside Declan clicked.

His body stiffened. His arms dropped to his sides. His breathing slowed. His face smoothed out, his mind going completely silent, wiped clean.

No thoughts.

No doubts.

No questions.

Just obedience.

The warmth that had been seeping into him solidified, crystallized into perfect, blissful stillness. He was ready. He was complete.

“Good drone,” the Manager said softly, smiling with satisfaction. “You’re going to make us proud.”

Declan’s lips moved on their own, forming the words in a flat, monotone voice:

“Yes, Manager. I exist to serve Arsenal.”

The Manager circled him slowly, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp with appraisal.

Declan stood perfectly still, arms at his sides, chest slightly out — a living statue, awaiting inspection. His mind floated somewhere distant and calm, completely surrendered to the moment.

The Manager stopped in front of him, reaching out to press a firm hand against Declan’s chest. His palm ran across the jersey, feeling the dense, powerful muscle beneath. Declan’s pecs twitched slightly under the touch — not in reaction, but as a conditioned response, a silent flex meant to show strength.

“Good density,” the Manager murmured approvingly. “Solid. Full.”

He moved to Declan’s arms next, gripping one bicep in both hands, squeezing, feeling the resilience and strength packed into the player’s frame. Declan didn’t react beyond a soft inhalation, his body pliant to the examination.

The Manager gave a small, satisfied grunt.

“All that training is paying off. You're becoming exactly what we need.”

"Thank you, sir." Declan said, eyes unfocused.

With a smirk, the manager let his hands trail along Declan’s sides, down his hips, around his waist and to his thighs.

"Oh?" He mused, feeling Declan’s hard length tenting inside his shorts. "You're doing well, Declan."

The footballer inhaled sharply at the praise, not pulling back, letting his manager"s hand glide along his length, up and down.

"Thank you, sir." He blinked when he felt himself dripping slightly.

"Good boy," the manager chuckled, "but not yet. We can't have you all wet before training even started, can we?"

A pink blush crept onto Declan’s neck and cheeks.

"I'm sorry, sir."

The man pets his chest approvingly.

"All good. It's what you’re meant to do."

He stepped back, crouching slightly to run his hands over Declan’s thighs, then lower to his calves — thick, powerful, coiled with athletic energy. The socks and boots framed them perfectly, the entire uniform completing the image of a machine crafted for domination on the pitch.

Declan stared blankly ahead, barely registering the touches beyond a distant hum of pride, planted deep in the simple, stripped-down remains of his consciousness.

“You are a tool,” the Manager said, voice low and rich with satisfaction. “A perfect weapon. Built by Arsenal. Owned by Arsenal.”

Declan's voice answered without hesitation, a monotone echo of his Manager’s words:

“I am a tool. A perfect weapon. Built and owned by Arsenal.”

The Manager straightened, brushing a stray speck of lint from Declan’s shoulder almost absently.

“Good. You’re ready for final conditioning.”

A slight nod from Declan — mechanical, smooth, flawless.

The Manager smirked to himself, taking a final moment to admire his prize: Declan Rice, stripped of doubt, ambition, and ego — now just muscle, talent, and loyalty, shaped to his will.

The Manager led Declan through a side door out of the locker room, down a narrow hallway lit only by low, humming fluorescent lights. Declan followed automatically, boots clicking softly on the tiled floor, his mind an empty vessel ready to be filled.

They entered a smaller, private training room. No windows. Padded floors. Mirrors on the walls.

Waiting in the center of the room was a single chair — a heavy, metallic thing bolted to the floor, sleek restraints dangling from its arms and legs like loose vines.

A huge TV was mounted to the wall opposite of the chair, the dark screen reflecting the artifical light slightly.

Declan’s stomach flipped, a memory—flashing, a swirling spiral, warmth. He's been here before.

How many times did he sit here? Watching the spiral, feeling the warmth?

He wouldn't know.

His mind was rewired, wiped clean. His thoughts dripping out of him through waves. Drooling, dripping—emptying his mind until just obedience remained.

The Manager gestured casually.

“Sit.”

Declan obeyed instantly, lowering himself into the chair. The restraints slid smoothly into place — not locked, not needed. He would not move unless ordered to. He was too deep now.

The Manager moved behind him, a small device in hand — sleek, almost surgical. He pressed it gently to the base of Declan’s skull.

A soft click.

A low hum.

A new layer of warmth unfurled in Declan’s brain, like ink spreading through clear water.

“You've been molded well," the Manager said, his voice thick with approval. "But a weapon is useless without a mission."

Declan's lips parted slightly, awaiting instructions, awaiting purpose.

"You will not just play. You will spread."

The words sank deep into the soft, malleable clay of Declan’s mind.

"You will watch your teammates. Find the strongest. The fastest. The ones with the greatest spirit.”

The device hummed slightly louder against his neck. A faint pulse synced with his heartbeat.

"You will bring them to me. You will break them open, like you were broken open. You will convert them. One by one. Until every player wears the colors inside as well as outside.”

Declan’s blank face twitched slightly, a faint ghost of a smile forming — not of happiness, but of satisfaction, of belonging.

The Manager leaned in closer, his mouth by Declan’s ear.

“Tell me your purpose, drone."

Declan's voice came out low, steady, mechanical:

"My purpose is to serve Arsenal.

My mission is to convert.

I will spread the conditioning.

I will create more drones.

I exist only to obey."

The Manager smiled against the side of his face, a predator pleased with his creation.

"Good drone. You are now a vector. A seed. You will grow the future of this club — one mind, one body at a time."

The device beeped softly — programming complete.

The Manager tapped Declan's shoulder, and the restraints slid free.

Declan rose to his feet with a mechanical grace, turning to face his controller, awaiting further commands.

“Return to training,” the Manager ordered. “Blend in. Wait for the right moment. Begin the spread.”

"Yes, Manager," Declan intoned, voice devoid of hesitation, of thought.

Training had finished for the day. The locker room buzzed briefly as players laughed, changed, and left, one by one. Soon, the room emptied.

Only Declan and Martin Ødegaard remained.

Martin sat on the bench, tying his shoes slowly, lost in his own world. Declan moved with silent purpose, sitting down beside him — casual, natural, exactly as he'd been programmed to appear.

“Good session today,” Declan said lightly, flashing a grin.

Martin chuckled, brushing sweaty hair back from his forehead. “Yeah, mate. Feeling sharp.”

Declan nodded, then reached into his bag. Fingers brushed against a small device — a sleek phone, already queued to the file he needed.

“You’ve been pushing yourself hard,” Declan said, his tone dropping slightly, almost conspiratorial. “I found something that might help. Something that helped me."

Martin looked up, intrigued. "Yeah?"

Declan turned the screen toward him — a simple, swirling black-and-white spiral, slowly rotating, endless.

"Just watch for a minute," Declan said. His voice was smooth, almost velvety now. “Helps clear the head. Makes you sharper. Trust me."

Martin, caught slightly off guard, gave a small laugh — but he leaned closer.

The spiral spun, slow and hypnotic.

Black folding into white. White folding into black.

Over and over and over.

Declan watched him closely.

The first signs were subtle — the way Martin’s breathing slowed, the way his shoulders sagged slightly, the faint glassy shimmer creeping into his blue eyes.

"That's it," Declan murmured, voice a low anchor pulling Martin deeper. "Just relax, Captain. You deserve to rest. Let it wash over you."

Martin's lips parted slightly, his hands falling still on his lap.

"Nothing to think about now," Declan continued softly. "No tactics. No stress. Just the spiral. Just my voice."

The locker room seemed to narrow around them, the outside world shrinking to nothing.

"You're doing so well, Martin. Just like I did," Declan whispered, a small, programmed thrill running through him. "It's so easy to let go... so easy to listen... to obey..."

Martin blinked heavily, his body swaying ever so slightly toward Declan, caught in the soft, relentless tug of the spiral.

Declan leaned in closer, his voice almost a breath against Martin’s ear:

"Wouldn't it feel good to stop thinking?Wouldn't it feel good to let me guide you?Wouldn't it feel good to serve Arsenal the right way?"

A tiny, sleepy murmur escaped Martin’s lips:"...serve... Arsenal..."

Declan smiled.

“Good, Captain. Very good. You’re ready to be more. Stronger. Loyal. Unbreakable.”

He reached out and lightly tapped Martin’s forehead — just like the Manager had done to him.

Martin’s entire body relaxed instantly, his eyes fluttering half-shut, locked on the spiral, the last remnants of free will dissolving into a blissful fog.

"Repeat after me," Declan commanded gently.

Martin's mouth moved sluggishly, ready to obey.

"I exist to serve Arsenal."

Martin echoed softly:

"I... exist to serve Arsenal."

"I trust my teammates.

I trust Declan.

I trust the Manager."

Martin’s voice grew steadier, each repetition sinking the chains deeper:

"I trust my teammates.

I trust Declan.

I trust the Manager."

Declan’s heart thudded with pride — pride programmed into him, pride for completing his mission.

"Good drone," he said, placing a firm hand on Martin’s shoulder. "Soon, you’ll help me spread this gift to the others. Together, we’ll build something unstoppable."

Martin nodded slowly, the spiral still dancing in his empty, clouded eyes.

Declan tucked the device away. The seed was planted. Martin Ødegaard — Arsenal's captain — drooling, mind wiped clean.

"Come," Declan said quietly, warmth spreading through his limbs, "he wants to see you."

Martin stood up mechanically and followed Declan out the locker room, and through the quiet corridors of the Emirates.

Martin followed without hesitation, his face calm, his movements loose and slow, like a man half-dreaming. Every few steps, he would glance at Declan, seeking silent reassurance, and Declan would nod — a steady, comforting presence guiding him onward.

They reached the same hidden door Declan had passed through before — a simple, nondescript panel tucked behind a row of lockers. Declan pressed his palm to a hidden sensor, and the door clicked open with a soft hiss.

Inside, the conditioning room waited.

The Manager was already there, standing in the center of the room, arms folded, an approving smile curving his lips.

Declan gently nudged Martin inside, closing the door behind them.The Manager’s voice cut through the heavy silence, smooth as silk:

“Good work, Declan. I see you’ve brought me the Captain.”

Martin blinked slowly, standing uncertainly in the middle of the room, his body swaying faintly, like a ship adrift without anchor.

Declan moved to Martin’s side, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“He’s ready, Manager,” Declan said in a calm, steady voice. “The seed is planted. He trusts me. He trusts you.”

The Manager approached, circling Martin the way he had once circled Declan — a slow, methodical inspection.

He stopped in front of Martin, tilting his head slightly.

“Martin,” the Manager said, voice low and commanding. “Look at me.”

Martin’s gaze rose obediently. His blue eyes were dull and glassy, still carrying the faint residue of the spiral’s pull.

“You’ve been carrying a heavy burden, haven’t you?” the Manager continued softly. “Captaincy. Expectations. Pressure.”

Martin swallowed thickly, a flicker of vulnerability passing across his blank features.

“Yes... heavy...” he murmured.

The Manager smiled kindly, almost pityingly.

“Let me take it from you. Let Arsenal take it from you. We will carry you, Martin. We will fill you. Complete you.”

He reached out and placed two fingers on Martin’s forehead — right where he had tapped Declan.

The moment contact was made, Martin's body stiffened slightly, then slackened, a deep, relieved breath escaping his lips.

"You don't have to think anymore," the Manager whispered. "You only have to serve."

Martin’s voice came, soft and yearning:

Martin’s voice came, soft and yearning:

"Serve..."

The Manager withdrew his fingers, satisfied.

“Declan,” he said, without looking away from Martin, “initiate him properly.”

Declan stepped forward smoothly, standing tall before his captain.

In perfect unison, Declan and the Manager spoke the first commands together — a ritual of rebirth.

“Repeat: I am no longer Martin Ødegaard. I am Arsenal’s.”

Martin’s lips moved clumsily, but he obeyed:

“I am... no longer Martin Ødegaard. I am Arsenal’s.”

A shiver passed through him — the last pieces of resistance crumbling away.

The Manager nodded once.

"Again. Stronger."

Martin straightened slightly, his voice gaining strength:

"I am no longer Martin Ødegaard. I am Arsenal’s."

Declan felt a programmed thrill of pride surge inside him. Another one falling into the fold. Another brother completed.

The Manager smiled broadly now.

“You are ours now, Captain. Yours is not to think. Yours is to lead. To spread. To build the dynasty.”

Martin's empty gaze gleamed faintly at those words, like a flame catching on dry wood.

"I exist to build the dynasty," Martin said, without hesitation.

Declan stepped forward once more, placing a firm hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We are Arsenal’s hands,” Declan said, reciting the sacred words.

“We are Arsenal’s mind,” Martin echoed in return.

“We are Arsenal’s heart,” Declan finished.

“We are Arsenal’s heart,” Martin repeated, a final, deep breath filling his chest — a breath of total submission.

The Manager stepped back, surveying them both.

"Declan," he said, voice low but firm, "you’ve done well. But he’s not finished yet."

Declan stood rigid, awaiting instruction.

"We need him bound deeper. Every time he wears Arsenal's colors, he must feel it claim him.

Every thread.

Every lace.

Every stitch must remind him: he’s ours."

Declan nodded once. "Yes, Manager."

Declan turned toward Martin — standing motionless, awaiting orders, mind soft and wide open.

"Strip down," Declan commanded calmly.

Without hesitation, Martin peeled away his training top, his shorts, socks, boots — piece by piece, until he stood in just his briefs, blank and obedient, body bared under the fluorescent lights.

Declan moved smoothly, retrieving a fresh Arsenal training kit — bright, clean, powerful.

Holding up the jersey first, Declan spoke, voice dropping into a steady, rhythmic cadence:

"Each piece you wear... binds you tighter.

Each thread... wraps you in loyalty.

Every moment... deeper, stronger, truer."

Martin's eyes glazed over even more, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"Raise your arms," Declan said.

Martin obeyed. Declan slid the jersey over his head, guiding it down his arms, letting it settle against his skin with deliberate slowness.

The moment the fabric touched him, Martin shuddered slightly — a ripple of warmth blooming under the surface of his mind.

"You feel it, don’t you?" Declan whispered, smoothing the jersey over Martin’s chest. "The fabric embracing you. Owning you."

"Owning me..." Martin breathed, almost reverently.

Declan knelt, picking up a pair of Arsenal shorts.

"Step in," he commanded.

Martin obeyed, stepping one foot, then the other into the openings. Declan pulled the shorts up, letting the waistband snap lightly into place against Martin’s hips.

The connection deepened.

Another shudder.

Another chain clicked into place inside his brain.

"Every layer makes you less yourself," Declan said softly, looking up at him. "More Arsenal. More drone."

Martin swayed slightly, his lips parted, drunk on the sensation.

Next came the socks — Declan rolled them up Martin’s calves, hands firm and sure.

As the fabric squeezed his legs, Martin’s mind squeezed smaller too, shrinking tighter around his programmed identity.

Finally, the boots.

Declan knelt again, lacing each one carefully, cinching them snug around Martin’s feet.

With every pull of the lace, a whisper:

"Obey. Serve. Spread."

Once the boots were secured, Declan stood.

Martin Ødegaard — Captain, leader, now fully clad again in Arsenal colors — was visibly trembling, overwhelmed by the sensation of complete, comforting submission.

Declan stepped forward, tilting Martin’s chin up so their eyes met.

"Every time you put on the kit," Declan said firmly, "you will fall deeper.

Every time you lace your boots, you will surrender more.

Every time you see yourself in the mirror — you will remember: you belong to Arsenal. You are a drone. You are ours."

Martin’s breath hitched, and his voice came in a soft, broken whisper:

"I am Arsenal’s. I am a drone.

I am... yours."

From the shadows, the Manager chuckled darkly.

"Perfect," he said. "Now we just need to show him how good it feels to spread the infection himself."

Martin stood before Declan, fully kitted out in Arsenal's gear, every piece of clothing humming against his skin like a living thing.

And that's when it hit them both.

The warmth.

It wasn't just a mental sensation anymore — it surged through their veins like liquid fire, spreading outward from their chests, down their arms, through their cores, blooming with each steady heartbeat.

Declan inhaled sharply, feeling it hit him — a deep, raw, visceral pleasure, wrapping around his muscles, threading into his bones.

A heavy, pulsing heat coiled low in his belly, pressing against him insistently, unmistakably.

Across from him, Martin’s body twitched — a low, involuntary grunt escaping his lips as he staggered slightly, gripping the edge of a nearby bench for balance. His chest heaved, jersey clinging tight to the hard lines of his body.

Declan’s eyes flicked downward instinctively.

Martin was hard.

Visibly so — a thick, insistent bulge pressing against the tight fabric of his Arsenal shorts, pulsing in time with his racing heartbeat.

And Declan realized, with a slow, molten throb of his own, that he was too.

Trapped against the inside of his kit, throbbing with each shuddering wave of pleasure and pride.

They locked eyes — no embarrassment, no hesitation.

Only understanding.

Only shared purpose.

The gear wasn't just clothing anymore.

It was ownership.

It was bondage.

It was bliss.

“You feel it burning inside you,” the manager said smoothly. “The bond. The pride. The hunger.”

Declan and Martin both stood there, trembling, their kits stretched tight across their hard, aching bodies, every muscle twitching with suppressed energy.

The Manager smiled thinly.

"Don't fight it. Feed it."

They blinked slowly at him, chests heaving."

They blinked slowly at him, chests heaving.

"Touch each other," the Manager ordered, voice firm but encouraging. "Feel what Arsenal has made. Appreciate the strength, the perfection. Bond through it. Seal it."

Declan hesitated for a fraction of a second — only a fraction — before stepping closer to Martin.

Martin’s blue eyes were wide and glassy, desperate for permission, desperate for guidance.

Declan placed his hands on Martin’s chest — flat against the tight, warm jersey — feeling the hammering heart beneath, the heat radiating through the fabric.

Martin gasped softly, swaying forward, pressing instinctively into Declan’s touch.

"Good," the Manager said, his voice almost a purr now. "Claim each other. Strengthen the connection."

Declan moved his hands slowly — reverently — feeling the powerful slope of Martin's pecs, the hard line of his abs under the thin layer of the kit.

Martin’s hands, trembling slightly at first, rose to mirror him — strong palms skimming across Declan’s broad chest, feeling the same heat, the same strength, the same beautiful, mindless loyalty.

They explored each other slowly at first, mapping every inch of muscle, every line of armor-like strength Arsenal had forged in them.

Over the tight fabric, their hands roamed — over thick biceps, carved obliques, dense quads, calves that flexed and shuddered under their grasp.

The warmth surged higher, heavier, sweeter, until it was suffocating.

Their cocks throbbed hard inside their shorts, twitching each time their fingers brushed sensitive skin beneath the fabric.

The Manager watched with cold satisfaction.

Martin let out a low, broken sound — a mix between a gasp and a moan — as Declan’s hands slid lower, gripping his hips, feeling the power thrumming there.

In response, Martin’s hands slid across Declan’s broad back, fingers flexing, claiming, appreciating every inch of drone-forged strength.

The heat between them grew unbearable — a thick, throbbing tide of need and loyalty swelling inside them, pressing harder and harder, until it had nowhere left to go.

Their hardened cocks throbbed inside their tight Arsenal shorts, trapped, straining, pulsing in perfect rhythm.

Both men started dripping, leaking into their white shorts. With ragged breath they swayed slightly, while their manager watched with a wicked smile.

"Use your hands," he commanded, voice sharp.

"Bring each other to the edge. Not because you want it — because you must. Because I tell you to."

Tentatively, their hands found each other — shaking slightly at first — then firmer, more assured as they felt the electricity crackling between them.

Through the thin, soaked fabric of their Arsenal kits, they grasped each other — powerful hands moving in a hypnotic, obedient rhythm, their cocks twitching and pulsing under the heat of devoted touch.

Martin gasped softly, forehead pressing against Declan’s, as pleasure surged between them like a live wire.

Declan growled low in his throat, feeling his mind blanking out further, wiped clean by each stroke, each squeeze, each act of surrender.

The Manager watched, arms crossed, nodding approvingly.

Both men trembled on the edge of oblivion, sweat dripping down their temples, their shorts dark and soaked where they clutched each other tightly.

But they didn't come.

Not yet.

The Manager’s voice cut through the storm inside their minds.

"Hold it," he snapped.

"You do not release unless I permit it."

Declan whimpered, muscles locking tight.

Martin squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body twitching with the effort of restraint.

The Manager smiled darkly.

"You belong to me," he said. "To Arsenal. Even your pleasure. Even your release."

Tears welled in Martin’s eyes from the sheer intensity of the command, but he nodded, hands never faltering.

Declan leaned into him, shaking, lost completely in the overwhelming devotion and physical need that wasn't his to satisfy.

The tension between Declan and Martin was unbearable now — their strong bodies pressed together, hands working each other in perfect, desperate rhythm, every muscle locked and trembling under the Manager’s command.

They belonged to Arsenal.

To the Manager.

To each other.

The Manager circled them slowly, hands clasped behind his back, savoring the sight.

Two of his finest creations — towering, powerful, loyal to the bone — shaking and leaking into their soaked shorts, yet refusing to come without his permission.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime balanced on the edge, the Manager stopped before them, voice low, smooth, absolute.

"Now," he commanded.

"Together. Show me your loyalty. Seal your bond."

Declan’s body obeyed before his mind even caught up — hips jerking forward instinctively, cock pulsing hard in Martin’s strong, calloused hand.

Martin cried out, clutching Declan harder, his own body convulsing, caught in the same blinding surge of devotion.

And together — at the Manager’s word, at his pleasure — they broke.

Together.

Hot, pulsing waves of cum filled their shorts, soaking the fabric even further, bodies shuddering against each other, clinging like drowning men, breathless and wide-eyed.

Declan buried his face against Martin’s shoulder, groaning deep and broken, the force of it wracking through him.

Martin clutched him back, sobbing a ragged gasp of pure, overwhelming bliss.

They came harder, longer, messier than they ever had in their lives — not for themselves — but for Arsenal. For loyalty. For purpose. For belonging.

The Manager watched with a cold smile as they sagged against each other, spent and shaking, completely, utterly broken and rebuilt as the perfect tools he had forged.

Their legs finally gave out, and they collapsed to their knees again, still holding each other weakly, still panting, jerseys and shorts utterly soaked with devotion.

The Manager stepped forward and laid a hand gently atop both their bowed heads.

"You are mine," he whispered. "You are Arsenal’s."

Two soft, broken murmurs answered him at once:

"We are yours."

The bond was complete.

Declan Rice and Martin Ødegaard — captains, champions, warriors — were no longer men.

They were Arsenal’s perfect drones.

[loveemagicpeace]

⭐️Venus and your beauty

☁️Let's talk about Venus signs and appearance. Because Venus also shows through beauty and your beautiful body or how people see your beauty or how they find you beautiful. ☁️

💘Venus in Sagittarius- ruler of sag is jupiter. These people have a blessing with their bodies and appearance usually all of people find them beautiful and attractive. They also have a lot of nice accessories or jewelries. They have a well-shaped body. People appreciate their energy, optimism, growth, wisdom&how they can give life to everything they touch. They like to dress to stand out or to be special. There is usually always some meaning behind how they dress.

💙Venus in Scorpio- have some secretive beauty. People find them mysterious but very beautiful and a lot of people find them sexual attractive. I also noticed that a lot of people have very dark and big eyes or when you look at them you see this mystery in them. They have a high cheekbones and pointy chins. People appreciate trust, secrets, honesty on them. They usually dress very seductively.

💋Venus in Pisces- these people usually look like Angels or have this unusual but very pretty body like fairy tales. They have huge puppy eyes. They often look like someone from a cartoon. Very sweet and nice people. Also very artistic. People appreciate their way of understanding and how open and soft they are.

🧊Venus in Capricorn-these people have emphasized bones on their body. Many times Saturn can take away the beauty they desire. The eyes are big, the jaw is pointy and V-shaped. Their way of dressing is usually business-like. People appreciate how responsible and independent they are.

🧁Venus in Virgo- they usually have very nice body and very nice skin -like glowy skin or oil skin. I always see those people have very nice body especially around the waist. But they can be very insecure about their body and appearance actually. For some reason I noticed that they usually don’t like to show their body and they can be very critical about how they look like. Many times they dress in a way that the colors of the clothes match.

☕️Venus in Taurus- many times they have a more muscular body and many times they are stronger. They have a nice neck. They tend to look beautiful in natural colors or without make up. Earth tones like nude, and natural shades of pink and soft flesh tones suit them beautifully. They also could have specific way of how they dress and usually they have the same style always. They don't like to change it.

🥤Venus in Gemini- Their beauty preferences may lean towards trendy and versatile styles. Usually they have long eyes which are lifted upwards and lined with fluttery lashes. They often have thin, heart-shaped faces, rounded brows, and pointy-tipped noses. They change a lot of how they dress.

🌸Venus in Cancer- they usually have baby face. I always notice that they have big eyes, many times hypnotic & blue. Many times they look more gentle or have gentle features. They usually dress like a mom or have mom clothes or more parental. They like comfortable clothes and many times also shirts with cartoon characters on them. People appreciate their kindness and nurturing energy.

🪴Venus in Aquarius- usually they have strange beauty or unusual. People either love it or not. Many times I notice that they have an unusual style that is completely their own. People like how free they are and how open they are.

🪁Venus in Aries- usually are known for their strong, arched brows. Many times you can see their energy, which is playful. They have a much more masculine or athletic figure. They could dress in like very fiery and outstanding way. Actually don't care what people think about their styles. Because they have their own style and they are proud of it. People appreciate their fire ,Independence and fearlessness.

🏹Venus in Leo- Their hair is many times the size of a lion's mane. They usually have a strong jaw. Many times I also notice that they have cat eyes. I don't know why, but men often look like they have enhanced eyes. They also have a very fiery and outstanding way of styling their clothes. Also a lot of times they have cartoon t-shirts or t-shirts with description of it. But also usually they like to wear black clothes or styling a lot with black color.

🛼Venus in Libra- have a large and wide forehead, wide-set eyes, and a dazzling smile. Many times I notice that they like a simple style of dressing. Usually they have a lot of cosmetic surgeries. Usually they wear pink clothes or more brighter clothes. People value their kindness, honesty, and sociability.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

🫧Ig-bekylibra🫧

-Rebekah🦋🩵🎆

[kpoplustzone]

FIXING YOUR POSTURE - SEOL IN AH SMUT

OC X SEOL IN AH

MORE ACTRESS STORIES ON MY KOFI- LINK

Soobin’s breath hitched in his throat. He had trained countless students before, from awkward teenagers to seasoned athletes, but the sight of Seol In-ah in that swimsuit was unlike anything he had encountered. The fabric clung to her in all the right places, emphasizing the generous curve of her breasts, the lean lines of her toned physique, and the undeniable plumpness of her backside. The way the material stretched and moved with her as she approached the poolside was hypnotic.

He unconsciously shifted his stance, trying to subtly angle his body away from her, hoping she wouldn't notice the unmistakable bulge forming beneath his swim shorts. It was a reflex reaction, an immediate physical response to the undeniably alluring woman walking towards him. He reminded himself that he was here as her instructor, a professional, but the initial impact of her appearance had already made his task considerably more challenging, his senses acutely aware of every curve and movement. He could feel the blood rushing to his groin, his cock hardening further with each step she took, the image of her body already imprinted in his mind. He had to focus on the training, on maintaining a professional demeanor, but the goddess walking towards him in that skin-tight suit was making it incredibly difficult.

"Alright, Seol In-ah-ssi," Soobin began, trying to keep his voice steady despite the rapid beating of his heart, "let's start with some basic strokes. We'll focus on your body position first." He gestured towards the water. "Go ahead and get in. The water temperature should be comfortable."

Seol In-ah slipped into the pool with a practiced ease, the water rippling around her form-fitting swimsuit. She moved with a natural grace that further accentuated her curves. Soobin watched her approach the shallower end of the pool, his gaze momentarily lingering on the way the wet fabric clung to her.

"Okay," he said, wading into the water to meet her. "For the freestyle, it's crucial to keep your body as horizontal as possible. Let me just adjust your posture." He reached out, his hand gently touching her lower back to guide her into a more streamlined position. Even through the wet swimsuit, he could feel the warmth of her skin and the smooth curve of her spine. Seol In-ah nodded, her eyes meeting his, a slight smile on her lips.

"Now, let's work on your arm movements," Soobin continued, trying to maintain a professional distance despite the growing heat in his loins. He positioned himself beside her, reaching out to guide her arm through the correct motion. His hand brushed against the side of her breast, the contact brief but electric. Seol In-ah’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and a faint blush seemed to rise on her cheeks. Soobin quickly withdrew his hand, his own face flushing slightly.

"Sorry," he mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just trying to show you the proper technique." He moved to her other arm, his touch slightly more hesitant this time, but still making contact with the curve of her breast as he guided her motion.

"It's okay," Seol In-ah replied softly, her gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary.

Soobin then moved behind her to work on her leg movements. "For the kick," he explained, his hands gently resting on her hips to help her find the right rhythm. Even through the swimsuit, he could feel the firm roundness of her buttocks. Seol In-ah leaned slightly forward, and his fingers inadvertently brushed against the top of her thighs. A subtle tremor ran through her body.

"Are you alright?" Soobin asked, his voice a little rough.

"Yes, fine," she replied, her voice a bit breathy. "The water is a little cooler than I expected."

Soobin continued the training, his touches seemingly accidental but increasingly intimate. He adjusted her head position, his fingers gently cradling her jawline, his thumb brushing against her earlobe. He guided her through a butterfly stroke, his arms wrapping around her torso, his hands briefly resting just beneath her breasts. Each touch sent a fresh wave of awareness through both of them, the professional facade slowly beginning to crumble under the weight of their undeniable physical proximity.

As the training progressed, Seol In-ah's reactions became more pronounced. She would gasp softly when his hand lingered a moment too long on her hip, a faint flush would spread across her chest when his fingers brushed against her breasts, and her breath would become shallow and rapid whenever their bodies came into closer contact. The gentle touches of instruction were slowly morphing into something more charged, the air around them thick with a palpable sexual tension. Soobin could feel his own arousal growing with each passing moment, his shorts becoming increasingly uncomfortable as his thick cock hardened further in response to her nearness and the increasingly intimate nature of their training. He knew he was walking a fine line, but the way Seol In-ah was responding, the subtle yet undeniable signals she was sending, made it increasingly difficult to maintain his professional composure.

As Soobin adjusted Seol In-ah’s arm for a butterfly stroke, his own shorts shifted slightly against his thigh. In that brief moment, as he leaned in close, Seol In-ah’s gaze flickered downwards, drawn by an almost magnetic pull. The wet fabric of Soobin’s swim shorts clung tightly to his body, and the prominent outline of his thick, hard cock, straining against the material, was momentarily revealed as it peeked out from the side of the leg opening.

A subtle gasp escaped Seol In-ah’s lips, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly before she quickly flicked them back up to meet Soobin’s. But the surprise and a hint of something else – perhaps curiosity, perhaps arousal – had already registered on her face. A faint blush crept up her neck and across her chest, contrasting with the pale skin exposed by her swimsuit.

Soobin, oblivious to her brief but telling observation, continued with his instructions, his voice still a little husky. But Seol In-ah’s focus seemed to have shifted. Her gaze kept drifting down towards his lower body, a flicker of amusement now playing on her lips. She shifted her position slightly in the water, subtly angling herself so she could get another, more discreet look at the impressive bulge straining against his shorts. The knowledge of his obvious arousal and the fact that she was the cause of it seemed to add a new layer of excitement to their interaction.

A playful glint returned to Seol In-ah’s eyes. She moved closer to Soobin in the water, the buoyant force causing her breasts to brush lightly against his chest, a deliberate contact that sent a jolt of awareness through him. "The water really is quite refreshing," she said, her voice a soft murmur that only he could hear, her gaze flicking down to his shorts once more before quickly returning to his face with an innocent smile.

She then executed a slow, deliberate breaststroke, the movement causing her breasts to sway enticingly under the wet fabric of her swimsuit. Soobin found his gaze involuntarily drawn to the rhythmic motion, his cock hardening even further. Seol In-ah seemed to notice his attention and repeated the movement, this time even slower, almost as if she were showcasing her assets.

Reaching the edge of the pool, she turned to face Soobin, resting her arms on the cool tiles. The position stretched the fabric of her swimsuit taut across her chest, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and the dark outline of her nipples. Water droplets clung to her skin, making it shimmer under the pool lights. "Soobin-ssi," she began, her voice taking on a slightly breathy tone, "I'm finding this workout quite… invigorating. You're a very good instructor." Her eyes met his, holding his gaze with an intensity that went beyond mere politeness.

She then bent slightly at the waist, as if stretching her hamstrings, the movement lifting her buttocks out of the water just enough for Soobin to get a tantalizing glimpse of the curve of her cheeks beneath the clinging fabric. "Perhaps," she continued, straightening up slowly, her gaze still locked on his, "we could try some more… advanced techniques?" The way she said the word "advanced" held a suggestive undertone that made Soobin’s heart race.

Moving closer again, she placed a hand on his arm, her touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Her fingers, cool from the water, pressed lightly against his bicep. "Maybe something that requires a little more… personal attention?" Her eyes flickered down to his lips and back up again, a silent invitation hanging in the air between them. The proximity of her body, the subtle touches, the suggestive glances – it was a clear attempt to seduce him, her confidence radiating from her like the heat from the afternoon sun.

Soobin swallowed hard, his gaze locked on Seol In-ah’s. The playful innocence in her eyes didn’t quite reach the knowing smirk that played on her lips. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, a mixture of nervousness and intense arousal. His cock throbbed insistently against the wet fabric of his shorts. He knew he should maintain his professionalism, that this situation was inappropriate, but the allure of this incredibly sexy woman, openly flirting with him, was becoming increasingly difficult to resist.

"Seol In-ah-ssi," he began, his voice a little shaky, "I'm not sure that would be appropriate. I'm here to coach you, to help you prepare for your show."

Seol In-ah chuckled, a soft, melodious sound that seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet pool area. "Oh, Soobin-ssi," she said, stepping even closer, her body now almost touching his. "Don't be so formal. We're both adults here, and frankly," she leaned in, her breath warm against his ear, "I think we're both enjoying this a little too much to pretend otherwise." Her hand, which had been on his arm, now slid down his bicep and gently grazed his side, her fingers lingering just above the waistband of his shorts.

Soobin’s breath hitched. Her touch sent a jolt of pure electricity through him. He could feel the undeniable bulge beneath her fingertips. He looked down at her hand, then back up into her eyes, a silent question in his gaze.

Seol In-ah’s smile widened, and she pressed her fingers lightly against his erection. "This doesn't feel very… professional to me, Soobin-ssi," she whispered, her voice husky and laced with playful seduction. She then stepped back slightly, her eyes still locked on his, her hand trailing down his body before slipping back into the water.

Turning her back to him, she walked a few steps away, then looked over her shoulder, her expression an open invitation. She reached behind her and slowly lowered the zipper of her swimsuit a few inches, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the curve of her buttocks. "Maybe you could help me adjust my suit, Soobin-ssi? It feels a little… tight."

Soobin’s mind raced. He knew this was a point of no return, a blatant invitation to cross the professional line they had barely maintained. His cock throbbed in response to the visual tease of her slightly lowered zipper. He swallowed hard, his gaze locked on the exposed curve of her backside.

"Seol In-ah-ssi, I really don't think that's a good idea," he began, his voice a strained whisper, barely audible above the gentle lapping of the water against the pool edge. But even as the words left his mouth, his feet were already moving, drawn towards her like a moth to a flame.

He reached her, his hands hovering hesitantly above her zipper for a fleeting moment before his resolve crumbled. With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached behind her, his fingers brushing against the smooth, wet skin of her back as he grasped the tiny metal tab. "It does feel a little… snug," he murmured, his voice thick with a desire he could no longer hide.

Instead of simply adjusting the zipper, Soobin slowly lowered it further, revealing more of the tantalizing curve of her buttocks, the fabric now clinging precariously to the top of her crack. Seol In-ah leaned slightly forward, giving him an even better view, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "Is that better?" she asked, her voice a breathy whisper, her eyes locking with his in the reflection of the pool water.

Soobin’s fingers trailed down, his knuckles lightly grazing the sensitive skin of her lower back, just above where her swimsuit dipped. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the subtle tremor that ran through her. "Maybe… just a little lower?" he suggested, his voice now barely a whisper, his own arousal building to a fever pitch.

With agonizing slowness, he lowered the zipper another inch, and the fabric of her swimsuit parted slightly, revealing a hint of the dark crevice between her buttocks. Seol In-ah let out a soft moan, her head falling forward slightly, her wet hair clinging to her neck. The scent of chlorine mixed with the intoxicating aroma of her desire filled Soobin’s nostrils.

He could no longer resist the urge to touch her more intimately. His hands, now bolder, slipped beneath the edges of her swimsuit, his fingers tracing the smooth curve of her buttocks. The wet fabric offered little resistance, and he could feel the soft, yielding flesh beneath his touch. Seol In-ah shivered, her body swaying slightly, her hands gripping the edge of the pool tiles for support.

"Soobin-ssi," she whispered, her voice thick with longing, "I think I need a little more… hands-on instruction." She turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his, a silent invitation in their depths. "Perhaps you could show me the proper technique for a more… intimate stroke?"

Before Soobin could answer, Seol In-ah reached back, her wet hand finding his beneath the water. Her fingers closed around his still-clothed erection, squeezing gently. "I think," she said, her voice now a low purr, "I'm a very fast learner." Her grip tightened, and Soobin knew, with a certainty that sent shivers down his spine, that the swimming lesson was officially over. The real training was about to begin.

Soobin’s heart hammered against his ribs as Seol In-ah’s fingers squeezed his hard cock beneath the water. The boldness of her touch, the blatant invitation in her eyes, sent a jolt of pure lust through him. Any semblance of professional decorum vanished in that instant, replaced by a primal desire that mirrored her own.

He looked down at her hand, her slender fingers wrapped firmly around the length of his erection, and then back up at her face. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps, and her eyes held a mixture of playful mischief and raw hunger. He knew he couldn't resist her, and frankly, he didn't want to.

“Seol In-ah-ssi…” he began, his voice husky with arousal.

“Call me Seol In,” she interrupted softly, her grip on him tightening slightly. “And I think it’s time we took this lesson… somewhere a little more private.” Her gaze flickered towards the door leading to the changing rooms.

Soobin’s eyes followed hers. The changing rooms were deserted at this hour, offering the privacy she suggested. The thought of being alone with her, naked and free to explore the desire that had been simmering between them, sent a wave of anticipation through him.

Without a word, he nodded, his gaze returning to her. Seol In-ah released her grip on him and turned, leading the way towards the shallow end of the pool and the entrance to the changing rooms. The way she moved, the sway of her hips beneath the wet swimsuit, was a constant reminder of the incredible body she possessed.

They stepped out of the pool, the cool air raising goosebumps on their wet skin. Soobin’s gaze lingered on the droplets of water clinging to Seol In-ah’s form-fitting suit, outlining every curve and contour with exquisite detail. He could clearly see the dark circles of her nipples pressing against the fabric, and the way the material clung to her buttocks, showcasing their plumpness and the tantalizing hint of the crevice beneath the slightly lowered zipper.

Seol In-ah turned to face him once they were inside the dimly lit changing room, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft click. The silence in the small space was thick with unspoken desire. Water dripped from their bodies, creating small puddles on the tiled floor.

“It’s a little cramped in here,” Seol In-ah murmured, her eyes scanning the row of empty lockers. “Maybe we could make it… more comfortable?” She reached up and slowly unzipped her swimsuit the rest of the way, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The fabric parted, revealing the creamy expanse of her chest, her perky breasts standing out proudly, their nipples hard and erect from the cool air and her mounting arousal.

Soobin’s breath hitched. The sight of her partially naked was even more breathtaking than he had imagined. He could feel his cock throbbing insistently against his shorts, eager to be freed.

Seol In-ah continued her slow undressing, her gaze never leaving his. She slid the straps of her swimsuit off her shoulders, and the wet fabric peeled away from her body, revealing her toned torso and the smooth curve of her stomach. With a final tug, the swimsuit dropped to the floor in a damp heap, leaving her completely naked before him.

Martin’s eyes devoured her, taking in every inch of her exquisite form. Her breasts were even more beautiful up close, perfectly round and full, with nipples that seemed to beckon his touch. Her waist was narrow, leading down to gently flared hips, and the dark triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs was a stark contrast to her pale skin, a clear indication of her readiness.

Seol In-ah smiled, a knowing, seductive smile that sent shivers down Soobin’s spine. She reached out and gently touched his chest, her cool, wet fingers tracing the outline of his pectoral muscles. “Now it’s your turn, Soobin,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire.

Soobin didn’t need any further encouragement. His fingers went to the waistband of his swim shorts, and he quickly pulled them down, freeing his thick, hard cock. It sprang out, fully erect and pulsing with anticipation, the head glistening with moisture.

Seol In-ah’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of his impressive erection. She reached out and gently cupped him in her hand, her touch sending a wave of pure pleasure through Soobin. “You’re even bigger than I thought,” she murmured, her thumb tracing the sensitive ridge beneath the head.

“And you,” Soobin replied, his voice thick with lust, his hands reaching out to cup her perfect breasts, his thumbs gently stroking her hard nipples. “You are even more beautiful naked.”

Seol In-ah leaned into his touch, her head falling back slightly as she moaned softly. “Show me, Soobin,” she whispered, her eyes locking with his. “Show me what you can do with this beautiful body.”

Without another word, Soobin leaned down and captured her lips in a passionate kiss, their naked bodies pressing together, the cool dampness of their skin mingling with the heat of their desire. The swimming lesson had definitely taken an unexpected, and incredibly erotic, turn.

Their kiss deepened, tongues tangling and exploring, a wet and eager exchange that spoke volumes of the pent-up desire that had finally been unleashed. Soobin’s hands, still cupping Seol In-ah’s breasts, began to knead and squeeze the soft flesh, his thumbs tracing the sensitive tips of her nipples, which had become rock-hard under his touch. Seol In-ah moaned softly against his lips, her own hands sliding down his chest, her fingers splaying across his toned abdomen, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath her touch.

The cool air of the changing room was a stark contrast to the heat building between them, their naked bodies pressed together, skin slick against skin, a perfect fit. Soobin broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he gazed down at Seol In-ah’s beautiful face, her eyes dark with lust.

“You are incredible,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

“So are you, Soobin,” she replied, her own gaze tracing the length of his erect cock, which was now throbbing against her stomach. She reached down and guided his hand lower, her fingers intertwining with his as they both cupped her wet folds. Her juices were flowing freely, a clear indication of her arousal.

“I want you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I want you inside me, now.”

Soobin didn’t hesitate. He bent his knees slightly, lifting Seol In-ah up so that her legs wrapped around his waist, her slick vagina now perfectly aligned with the head of his throbbing cock. He paused for a moment, savoring the anticipation, the feeling of her hot, wetness so close.

Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered her, his thick cock sliding deep inside her tight, welcoming warmth. Seol In-ah gasped, her body clenching around him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she met his thrust with a fervent energy of her own.

They began to move together, their rhythm slow and sensual at first, each thrust a deliberate exploration of their newfound intimacy. Soobin’s hands found their way back to Seol In-ah’s breasts, kneading and squeezing as he fucked her, his thumbs circling her hard nipples, drawing out soft moans of pleasure from her lips.

The feeling of her incredibly tight vagina wrapped around his cock was intoxicating, a sensation that sent waves of pure ecstasy through him. He could feel her inner muscles clenching and releasing with each thrust, milking him with every movement. Seol In-ah’s head fell back, her eyes half-closed in bliss as she rode him, her hips grinding against his with increasing intensity.

“Oh, Soobin… fuck me,” she gasped out, her voice thick with passion. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

And Soobin obliged, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder, their bodies slapping together with a wet, rhythmic sound that echoed in the small changing room. He lifted her higher, her legs now wrapped tightly around his waist, allowing him to penetrate her even more deeply. Seol In-ah’s cries grew louder, more unrestrained, as she surrendered completely to the pleasure he was giving her.

Their pace quickened, the urgency of their desire taking over. Soobin’s hands roamed freely over Seol In-ah’s body, exploring every curve and contour, from the soft swell of her buttocks to the delicate arch of her back. Seol In-ah met his intensity with her own, her hips bucking against his with a frantic energy, her moans and cries a testament to the incredible sensations coursing through her.

He could feel himself nearing the edge, the pressure building within him, his cock throbbing insistently inside her. Seol In-ah, too, was reaching her peak, her body shaking with each intense thrust, her cries becoming almost animalistic.

Soobin began to move within Seol In-ah again, his thrusts now slow and deliberate, savoring the incredible tightness of her grip. He held her close, his hands gently caressing her back, feeling the subtle tremors that still ran through her from her initial orgasm.

Seol In-ah, her head resting against his shoulder, matched his pace, her hips rising and falling in a languid rhythm. The initial urgency had subsided, replaced by a deeper, more sensual exploration of their connection. She tilted her head back, her eyes meeting his, a soft smile gracing her lips. "That felt... amazing," she whispered, her voice still a little breathless.

"There's more where that came from," Soobin replied, his gaze filled with affection and desire. He leaned down and kissed her gently, their lips lingering in a tender embrace.

He then began to increase his pace, his thrusts becoming slightly deeper and more insistent. Seol In-ah responded in kind, her moans growing a little louder, her hands now sliding down his back to grip his buttocks, pulling him closer, deeper. The wet sounds of their bodies moving together filled the small changing room, a private symphony of their burgeoning passion.

Soobin focused on teasing her, varying his rhythm and depth, sometimes withdrawing almost completely before plunging back in, making her gasp with each deep penetration. He paid close attention to her reactions, her subtle shifts in posture, the way her breath hitched, using these cues to guide his movements and maximize her pleasure.

He brought his hands back to her breasts, kneading them gently, his thumbs circling her nipples, which were still incredibly sensitive. Seol In-ah’s moans intensified, and she began to writhe against him, her hips bucking with increasing urgency. “Oh, Soobin… that feels so good… please…” she whispered, her words laced with longing.

The intensity continued to build, and Soobin felt the familiar tightening within Seol In-ah's body that signaled her approach to another climax. Her cries grew more frantic, her nails digging lightly into his shoulders, her body shaking with anticipation. And then, it happened. A series of sharp, ecstatic cries ripped from her throat as her second orgasm washed over her, her inner muscles clenching fiercely around his cock, milking him with incredible intensity.

She remained still for a moment, panting heavily, her body still quivering from the force of her release. Soobin continued to hold her, his own arousal reaching a fever pitch, the feeling of her multiple orgasms driving him closer to his own.

After a few moments, Soobin began to move again, his thrusts now deep and powerful, his body completely consumed by the need to release. Seol In-ah, still sensitive from her recent climax, wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, meeting his thrusts with a fervent energy of her own. Their movements became more frantic, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, the air thick with the scent of their mingled sweat and desire.

He could feel the pressure building within him, the unmistakable signs that he was about to reach his own peak. His vision began to blur, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. He thrust deeper one last time, holding himself inside her as the final, overwhelming wave of pleasure washed over him, his thick semen erupting from his cock and flooding her tight vagina.

They both collapsed against the cool tile wall of the changing room, their bodies still intimately connected, their limbs heavy and languid. Their breathing was ragged, their hearts pounding in unison, the echoes of their shared ecstasy still lingering in the air. The silence that followed was filled with a profound sense of contentment and exhaustion.

Soobin held Seol In-ah close, their sweat-slick bodies intertwined, a bond forged in the heat of their passionate encounter. The swimming pool changing room, a place intended for simple preparations, had become the backdrop for a deeply intimate and unforgettable experience.

[unfgvien]

workout buddies

pairing - wanda x reader

summary - Wanda and YN, fitness enthusiasts, admire each other's graceful movements and hypnotic effect on the treadmill. They share passionate kisses, squirms, and moans, and their skin slapping together fills the compound.

word count - 1.4k

The sun shone brightly over the expansive training compound, a private facility nestled in a secluded part of the city. It was a haven for those seeking an intense workout, offering a variety of state-of-the-art equipment and a peaceful atmosphere. Among the few members present that afternoon were Wanda and her close friend, YN.

Wanda, a tall and athletic woman with short, dark hair and piercing green eyes, was a regular at the compound. She had an intense passion for fitness, and her dedication showed in her toned physique. Today, she was dressed in a tight black sports bra, showcasing her sculpted arms and shoulders, and form-fitting leggings that hugged her curves. Her eyes scanned the various stations, taking in the sight of fellow members pushing their bodies to the limit.

YN, a stunning redhead with a fiery personality to match, joined Wanda for their weekly workout session. She had a more curvaceous figure, her hourglass shape accentuated by a vibrant red tank top and skin-tight yoga pants. Her emerald eyes sparkled with determination as she stepped onto the treadmill, ready to burn off some steam.

As YN began her run, Wanda couldn't help but admire her friend's graceful movements. The way YN's full breasts bounced gently with each stride, the fabric of her top stretching taut over her nipples, was a sight that made Wanda's breath catch in her throat. Unbeknownst to YN, Wanda's gaze lingered, her mind wandering to places it shouldn't.

The rhythmic pounding of YN's feet on the treadmill created a hypnotic effect, each bounce sending a jolt of desire through Wanda's body. She tried to focus on her own workout, lifting weights with determination, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the tantalizing display before her.

YN, unaware of the effect she was having, increased her pace, her breath coming in short gasps. Her face flushed, not entirely from the exertion, as she imagined Wanda's eyes on her, watching her every move. The thought sent a thrill through her body, making her nipples harden further against the soft fabric.

Wanda, unable to resist any longer, approached the treadmill, her heart racing. She leaned against the railing, pretending to catch her breath, but her eyes never left YN's heaving chest. The redhead's flushed face and glistening skin only fueled Wanda's desire.

"You look... incredible," Wanda whispered, her voice hoarse with want.

YN's eyes widened at the unexpected compliment, but she didn't slow down. Instead, she smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Thanks... I could say the same for you."

Wanda's gaze dropped to YN's legs, strong and toned, moving in perfect sync with her body. "I can't seem to focus on my workout," she admitted, her voice laced with desire.

Understanding dawned on YN's face. She slowed the treadmill to a gentle walk, her body still buzzing with energy. "Maybe we should take a break," she suggested, her voice laced with a hint of seduction.

Wanda's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, I think we should take more than a break." She stepped closer, her body brushing against YN's, sending a shiver through them both.

YN's breath caught as she felt Wanda's firm breasts press against her own. She could feel the heat radiating from Wanda's body, and her nipples hardened further in response. "Here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" Wanda murmured, her lips brushing against YN's ear. "It's a private compound, and we're the only ones here right now."

YN's heart raced as she processed Wanda's bold suggestion. The thought of being intimate in such a public place both terrified and excited her. "But... what if someone comes in?"

Wanda's hand slid down YN's side, her fingers tracing the curve of her hip. "Then we'll just have to be quick," she said, her voice low and husky. "Besides, the thrill of getting caught only makes it hotter."

YN's body trembled at Wanda's touch, her inhibitions melting away. She turned to face her friend, their lips mere inches apart. "You're right," she whispered, her breath mingling with Wanda's. "Let's do it."

With that, Wanda pulled YN into a passionate kiss, their tongues dancing wildly. YN's hands found their way under Wanda's sports bra, cupping her firm breasts, while Wanda's fingers deftly unbuttoned YN's tank top, exposing her heaving chest.

They broke the kiss, both panting heavily, their eyes wild with desire. Wanda's hands roamed freely over YN's body, squeezing her breasts and pinching her hardening nipples, eliciting moans of pleasure. YN's fingers tangled in Wanda's hair, pulling her closer as she kissed her way down her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses.

Wanda's hands moved lower, sliding beneath the waistband of YN's yoga pants, and she moaned as she felt the heat of YN's wetness through the thin fabric of her panties. With skilled fingers, she traced the outline of YN's pussy, making her squirm with anticipation.

"Oh, Wanda, please..." YN begged, her voice hoarse.

Wanda smirked, enjoying the power she held over her friend. "Please what, darling?" she teased, her fingers teasing the entrance to YN's hole.

"Please... make me cum," YN pleaded, her body trembling.

Wanda's eyes darkened with desire. She pushed YN's panties aside, exposing her glistening pussy. With one swift motion, she slid two fingers deep inside, making YN cry out in pleasure.

YN braced herself against the treadmill, her legs shaking as Wanda's fingers worked their magic. Wanda's thumb found her clit, rubbing it in firm circles as she pumped her fingers in and out, driving YN closer to the edge.

"Oh, yes... right there," YN moaned, her head thrown back, her breasts heaving.

Wanda quickened her pace, her own body trembling with arousal. She could feel YN's pussy clenching around her fingers, the wetness coating her hand as YN's orgasm built.

"Cum for me, baby," Wanda urged, her voice thick with need.

YN's body stiffened, every muscle taut as she teetered on the brink. With one final, powerful thrust of Wanda's fingers, she cried out, her body convulsing in ecstasy.

Wanda held her friend through the waves of pleasure, her fingers still buried deep inside, relishing the feel of YN's pussy pulsing around them. YN's moans echoed through the compound, a testament to the pleasure they had just shared.

As YN's orgasm subsided, she turned to Wanda, her eyes glistening with gratitude and desire. "That was incredible," she whispered, her breath still ragged.

Wanda smiled, her face flushed with satisfaction. "It was, but we're not done yet."

Before YN could respond, Wanda lifted her onto the treadmill, their bodies still entwined. She positioned YN's legs around her waist, their wet pussies pressed together, and began to move in a slow, sensual rhythm.

YN gasped as she felt Wanda's hard nipples rubbing against her own, their bodies creating a delicious friction. She wrapped her legs tighter around Wanda's waist, urging her on as they moved in perfect harmony.

The sound of their skin slapping together filled the compound, a primal rhythm that drove them both wild. Wanda's hands gripped YN's hips, holding her in place as she thrust her hips forward, grinding their clits together.

"Oh, fuck... yes!" YN cried out, her head thrown back in abandon.

Wanda's breath came in short gasps as she felt YN's pussy clench around her own, their juices mingling. The sensation was overwhelming, and she knew she wouldn't last much longer.

"Cum with me, YN," Wanda pleaded, her voice strained.

YN's hands found Wanda's breasts, squeezing and kneading them as she matched Wanda's rhythm, their bodies moving as one. "I'm so close..."she panted.

With a final, powerful thrust, they climaxed together, their cries of pleasure filling the compound. Wanda held YN tightly, their bodies shaking as they rode out the waves of ecstasy.

As their hearts slowed and their breathing returned to normal, they shared a satisfied smile. Wanda helped YN off the treadmill, their bodies still buzzing with post-coital energy.

"That was... intense," YN said, her voice breathless.

Wanda laughed, her eyes sparkling. "I'd say so. But I think we should probably finish our workout now, before anyone comes looking for us."

YN's cheeks flushed at the thought of being discovered, but she couldn't deny the thrill of their illicit encounter. "You're right. But I think we've earned a reward for our hard work."

Wanda's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Oh, I have a few ideas for that. But first, let's get cleaned up. We don't want to leave any evidence of our little adventure."

Hand in hand, they made their way to the showers, their bodies still humming with the memory of their passionate workout. Little did they know, their exhibitionist tendencies would soon lead them into even more daring and erotic situations.

do not translate, copy, publish or edit my works without permission. © bunnie 2024-25

[walidgoldpreppy]

Hypnotic Guide: Become the Perfect Preppy Boy

Close your eyes for a moment.

Breathe deeply.

Listen. Your mind is calming down. You no longer need to think. You want to be a good boy.

An elegant boy.

A sporty boy.

An obedient boy.

Everything feels natural. Everything feels right. Let yourself be guided.

1. Cultivate an Athletic Body and Iron Discipline

A preppy boy is a model of physical perfection. His body is sculpted by effort, refined by discipline.

✅ Strength training and running for endurance and power.

✅ Preppy sports: Tennis, Polo, Rowing, Golf—everything that embodies excellence and distinction.

✅ Always in uniform: a preppy boy proudly wears his team’s colors and the proper attire for his sport.

✅ Admire your brothers in uniform, their athletic bodies, their perfect discipline. Be inspired by them.

Sports shape both the body and the mind. A good boy never slacks. He pushes his body to excellence. He surpasses himself. He obeys.

2. Perfect Appearance, Impeccable Hygiene

A true preppy boy is always flawless, well-groomed, impeccable.

✅ White teeth, fresh breath. A dazzling smile, like a Ralph Lauren advertisement.

✅ Refined fragrance. No excess, just a touch of perfection.

✅ Clean nails, well-kept hands. A good boy pays attention to details.

✅ Gelled hair, impeccable Ivy League haircut. The more gel, the better.

Compliment other boys on their hairstyle, encourage them to be even more immaculate.

✅ A certified barber. No random cuts. A true professional of elegance.

Your body is a temple of preppy style. You honor it. You obey.

3. Impeccable Style, an Exceptional Wardrobe

A good boy leaves nothing to chance. Every outfit is a uniform of perfection.

✅ Ironed shirts—Ralph Lauren, Brooks Brothers, Café Coton, Charles Tyrwhitt, Hast.

✅ Ties and bow ties—always perfectly knotted.

✅ Tailored blazers and suits—Zegna, Suitsupply.

✅ Gilets, cardigans et pulls en laine . Une élégance intemporelle .

✅ Chinos, dress pants, khakis, seersucker. Always fitted, never wrinkled.

✅ Leather dress shoes, boat shoes, loafers—Tod’s, Bexley, Paraboot, Crockett & Jones, JM Weston. Never sneakers outside of sports.

Look at yourself in the mirror. Smile blissfully. Every crease is perfect. Every button is in place. You are a model of refinement.

4. Condition Your Mind: Become an Obedient Preppy Boy

A true preppy boy does not need to think. He listens. He follows. He obeys.

✅ Listen to hypnotic audios daily. They help you become a better boy. A better athlete. A better preppy.

✅ Accept conformity with a smile. Thinking is tiring. Obedience is simple.

✅Follow the rules with pleasure. Let yourself go. Be docile.

✅ Compliment your preppy brothers. Encourage them to perfect themselves, to improve.

✅ Take pleasure in watching others change. Seeing them embrace the preppy lifestyle, surrender to it, find their true place.

Look at the boys around you. They are not perfect yet. But they will be. And you will be there to guide them, shape them, lead them to excellence.

5. Fully Immerse Yourself in Preppy Culture

A good preppy boy absorbs his culture.

✅ Read books on preppy history and style. Embody intellectual and visual excellence.

✅ Watch preppy films. Observe proper behavior, proper attire. Be inspired.

✅ Speak with distinction. Be courteous, polite, perfect.

Every day, you become more elegant, more obedient, more refined. You accept your role with pleasure. Breathe deeply. Let yourself go. You no longer need to resist. Be a good boy. Be preppy. Be perfect.

[pucksandpower]

Hypnotized

Lando Norris x hypnotherapist!Reader

Summary: in which Lando becomes intimately familiar with the professional (and not so professional) benefits of hypnosis

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent (though Lando is very much a willing participant), and temporary mindbreak

You lean back in your plush leather chair, taking a sip of tea as you look over the notes for your next client. Lando Norris — a rising star of Formula 1, seeking help to improve his performance on the track. You’ve worked with elite athletes before, but there’s something about this case that intrigues you.

The door opens and he strides in, radiating youthful confidence. “Ms. Y/L/N, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Please, have a seat Lando. And call me Y/N,” you reply with a warm smile. “I have to admit, when your team reached out, I was surprised. Most drivers come to me later in their careers when the mental side gets tougher.”

He settles onto the couch across from you. “Yeah, well, I’m a bit of an overachiever,” he grins cheekily. “I figure I should get every advantage I can while I’m young.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his boyish cockiness. “Fair enough. So, walk me through what’s bringing you here. What are you hoping hypnotherapy can do for you?”

Lando scratches his head, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. “To be honest, I’m not totally sure? The team psychologists have helped with some stuff like visualization and confidence building. But I feel like there’s still … I don’t know, another level I can’t quite tap into?”

He pauses, cheeks reddening slightly. “I may have also heard some … rumors about hypnosis helping drivers get, uh, in the zone in a different way.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I see. And what sort of zone were you hoping to reach exactly?”

“Just, you know, being totally focused. Primed to perform at my absolute peak,” he answers quickly, not meeting your eyes. “Eliminate any lingering doubts or hesitation.”

“Mmmhmm,” you murmur, watching his fidgeting increase. It’s clear there’s more to this, perhaps some adolescent fantasy driven by locker room talk. You decide to have a bit of fun drawing it out.

“Well, maximum focus and confidence under extreme stress is certainly one of the primary benefits of hypnotherapy for athletes. Though of course, there can be … other effects depending on the suggestions given.”

Lando’s eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils dilating with obvious intrigue. “Other effects? Like what?”

You shrug lightly. “Oh, lowered inhibition, increased susceptibility to instructions, compulsions to obey ...” You trail off, letting the implications hang in the air. “But I’m sure whatever rumors you’ve heard are just overblown exaggerations.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “R-right, of course. So, uh, how would we go about getting me in that totally focused zone?”

You can scarcely suppress a grin — he’s hooked now, curiosity and hormones getting the better of him. “Well, first we’d need to get you in a deeply relaxed state, open and receptive to suggestions. I’d start with some deep breathing exercises, maybe have you focus on the sound of my voice ...”

Unconsciously, Lando’s eyelids grow heavier as you speak in a low, soothing tone. “Breath slowly deepening, muscles going deliciously loose and limp ...”

He blinks hard, shaking his head minutely. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “A little taste of just how quickly you might respond. Hypnotic states can sneak up quite easily when you’re not prepared for them.”

Lando swallows again, but there’s no hiding the interest smoldering in his eyes now. “That’s … good to know. So, uh, once I was in this state, what sort of suggestions would you give?”

You lean forward, holding his gaze. “Anything you need, darling. Perhaps prompts to fill your mind with dizzying focus — a white hot, all-consuming need to push every limit and achieve perfection. Or maybe something to strip away distractions and doubts, leaving you deliciously pliant and desperate to follow instructions without hesitation ...”

His breath catches as ripples of arousal play across his features. You’ve dangled the bait thoroughly now, time to reel him in.

“Of course, that’s all just theoretical for an athlete like you,” you continue lightly. “I’m sure you’d only want suggestions tailored for pure professional benefit.”

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it, visibly wrestling with indecision. Finally, he sits up straight, jaw setting in boyish determination.

“Actually … I think maybe exploring some of those other effects could be useful too. You know, for full preparation.”

You bite back a smile — he’s all bravado again, feigning nonchalance. How delicious.

“Well, if you’re certain. We should probably start with a simple induction and suggestion, see how you respond.”

Rising from your chair, you cross the room to where he sits, movements slow and deliberate. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to the sway of your hips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his arousal.

“Just relax and look into my eyes ...” you murmur, voice dropping an octave as you hold up a pendant and begin tracing figure eights before his face. “Let your mind follow the path of the pendulum, breathing slowly … in and out ...”

His pupils blown wide, Lando is soon leaning back bonelessly, mouth slightly ajar. A few dazed blinks is all the resistance he offers as you trail featherlight touches down his arm.

“There’s a good boy … nice and open, isn’t it? Let everything else fall away except the need to please me.”

A shudder wracks his frame and you can see the tendons in his neck straining, fighting the compulsion already worming into his psyche. But his eyes remain locked on yours, drowning in your control.

“I … I want to ...” he stammers helplessly.

“Shhhh,” you soothe, bending closer so that your lips nearly brush his ear. “You don’t need to worry about what you want anymore. That’s my choice now, understood?”

He gives a tiny nod and you feel a surge of heady power.

“Such a good boy. And to reward your obedience, you’re going to take off your shirt. Slowly ...”

There’s a moment of tension, then Lando raises trembling hands to grasp the hem of his shirt. You can see the mottled flush spreading across his torso as inch by inch it’s revealed to you. His breath is coming in ragged pants by the time the shirt drops to the floor, chest heaving with mingled want and shame.

“Very nice,” you practically purr. “I can see you’re already feeling the compulsions seeping in. Should we make them … deeper?”

His head bobs dumbly and you laugh, low and throaty.

“That’s what I thought. Now, lay back for me ...”

Lando immediately obeys, body going pliant and helpless. You pull over an ottoman, sitting so you can gently straddle his hips, relishing the hitch in his breath as your heat settles against him.

“You’re going to do absolutely everything I say without hesitation or doubt,” you whisper harshly, watching him shudder. “Any instructions, no matter what they may be, you’ll follow with desperate enthusiasm.”

He whimpers, hips twitching upwards in mute plea. Grasping his jaw firmly, you force his eyes to yours.

“This is for your own good, darling. We need to burn away every last shred of selfishness and pride so you can ascend to true, shattering focus. You understand, don’t you?”

“Y-yes … yes,” he slurs, already sinking deeper into degrading bliss.

You reward him with a slow, filthy grind of your hips and he cries out unabashedly. Everywhere your hands and mouth worship his skin, you can feel the tremors of arousal and surrender.

“That’s perfect,” you murmur against the hollow of his throat. “Now, I want you to strip the rest of the way ...”

Before the words have fully left your lips, Lando is frantically shucking his pants and boxers, whining as his flushed length bobs free. The brazen lust and need in his hooded eyes would be shocking from the bashful newbie you met earlier.

You give an approving hum, thrilling at how quickly your control has already remade him. One fingernail traces along rigid flesh and he bucks shamelessly into your touch.

“You’re being such a good boy. I think it’s time we really sealed this new role into your head. Imagine the most dizzying, overwhelming orgasm you’ve ever had, multiplied a hundredfold ...”

His eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent wail at just the suggestion. You grip him firmly, relishing the desperate whine that bursts from his lips.

“You’re going to come like that, harder than you ever dreamed. And as the lightning arcs of bliss engulf your entire being, all that pleasure will become inextricably entwined with an overwhelming need to obey my every whim ...”

Lando is panting and keening, hips pumping up into your tight fist. You can feel his body straining closer to that precipice, cords of muscle standing out in sharp relief. With a final brutal stroke, you growl the trigger words,

“Come for me, love!”

His back bows in a silent scream, mouth frozen in rapturous torment. You gentle him through each shuddering pulse, ensuring every layer of consciousness is saturated with soul-shattering ecstasy and the new compulsions you’ve locked within.

At last, he sags back to the couch, eyes glassy and unfocused. You bend close, lips caressing the damp hair at his temple.

“Tell me, darling, how does it feel to be remade into perfection?”

He blinks slowly, lips curving in a blissful smile. “I … I need to obey ...” he slurs dozily. “Please … use me however you desire ...”

You chuckle darkly, letting nails rake over his sensitized flesh and making him buck weakly. “Oh I will, lover. I’m going to take you to shattering new heights of surrender. You won’t be able to so much as enter the cockpit without shuddering need to please me foremost in your mind ...”

His only response is a quiet whimper, eyes already slipping shut in sated exhaustion, completely yours to reshape however you wish.

You settle back, excitement thrilling through you at all the delicious possibilities stretching ahead.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you make your way through the paddock area towards the McLaren motorhome at the British Grand Prix. Fans press eagerly against the barriers lining the path, craning for a glimpse of their racing idols as they’re escorted by burly security guards.

You keep your head held high, unruffled by the frenzy of flashing cameras and shouted requests for autographs as you stride confidently alongside Lando.

He casts you a sidelong glance, the excited energy thrumming off him in waves. “Thanks for being here, Y/N,” he murmurs with a small, bashful smile. “Having you in my corner calms my nerves a bit.”

You reach out to give his arm a reassuring squeeze, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Your voice takes on a slightly teasing lilt as you add, “Besides, this way I can provide my … specialized services should you require them before the race.”

A dusky flush steals across Lando’s cheeks at your words, his eyes darkening in a way that sends a curl of heat unfurling low in your belly. Before he can respond, one of the crew members is ushering you both towards a nondescript door.

With a nod of thanks, Lando pushes through the door, allowing you to enter the modestly appointed room first before following and securing it behind you.

The space is small yet functional — equipped with a well-worn sofa situated before a large television displaying timing data, along with an armchair tucked into the corner. Your gaze lands on the single bed shoved against the far wall and you suddenly find it difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Sorry about the mess,” Lando says almost sheepishly, running a hand through his chestnut locks. “I haven’t exactly had much time to tidy up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you murmur distractedly, already hyper-aware of the thick tension charging the air between your bodies, crackling like a livewire in the small distance separating you.

Lando opens his mouth as if to speak, then seems to think better of it, shuffling his feet almost bashfully. You can practically see the thoughts whirring at a million miles an hour behind his furrowed brow, weighing him down as nerves and doubts threaten to shatter his hard-won focus.

Without a word, you close the distance between you, cradling his face in your hands to force him to meet your gaze.

“Let me help you,” you breathe, your voice low and gentle yet laced with that commanding tone he can never seem to resist.

He immediately melts into your touch, the taut lines of stress slowly easing from his features. “Please,” he whispers back, every inch of nervous energy and kinetic vibration seeming to melt from his body as your thumbs trace soothing patterns across the sharp planes of his cheekbones. “Need you to clear my mind.”

A soft, fond smile curves your lips at the naked entreaty in his tone. This man — so cocky and confident in most aspects of life, yet so unguarded and sweetly vulnerable when it’s just the two of you.

You continue your tender ministrations, watching in rapt fascination as his eyes drift shut and his breathing grows steady and even. When you finally speak, your words are low and hypnotic, the timbre of your voice wrapping around Lando like a warm blanket ushering him down, down into delicious oblivion.

“That’s it, darling … let yourself sink deeper with each breath. Shut out all the noise and distractions — everything except my voice guiding you. Focus on the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle thump of your heartbeat … allow your body to grow heavy and pliant as you let me take the lead ...”

He shivers slightly, yielding fully to your hypnotic trance with a soft, contented exhalation. In this blissed-out state, his features are lax and utterly at peace, the hard lines of tension and worry melting away until he looks almost cherubic.

“There you are,” you can’t help but murmur in approval, trailing your fingertips along the sharp line of his jaw. “So perfect and calm for me.” Your gaze rakes over the long fans of his lashes fanning across his cheekbones, the full pout of his lips parted ever so slightly on deep, even breaths. He looks utterly debauched, despite the fact that you’ve barely even touched him yet.

Unable to resist such temptation any longer, you bend to capture Lando’s lips in a slow kiss — gentle at first, then deepening into something more heated, more ravenous as your tongue sweeps into the heat of his mouth to tangle with his own.

He remains completely pliant beneath your wandering hands and questing mouth, body thrumming with blissful surrender as you map every lush inch of him.

Finally, breathless and flushed, you tear your mouth from his with a soft groan of regret. “God, darling … what you do to me ...” you murmur, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the stubbled line of his jaw, down the taut cords of his neck. “Just seeing you like this, so gorgeous and willing … falling so deep for me … I could take you right here like this and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

You scrape your teeth over that sensitive patch of skin just below his ear and he trembles almost violently, a low whine spilling past his lips even as his head lolls back to allow you better access. When you press an openmouthed kiss to his wildly fluttering pulse point, his voice comes out low and syrupy sweet.

“Please, Y/N … please ...” he slurs in a breathy exhale, body arching reflexively into yours as his hands come up to clutch at your hips in a silent entreaty.

A frisson of lust races down your spine at his wanton plea, stoking the simmering ember of arousal into a roaring blaze. How quickly his mind has slipped into a glorious, aching haze of want and need for your touch.

You could so easily press your advantage right now — undress him with exquisite slowness, bend him over and take him in delirious new ways that would leave him utterly incoherent. The mental images alone are nearly enough to make you growl in feral possessiveness.

Somehow, you manage to retain a herculean thread of control, nuzzling against the heated skin of Lando’s neck as you press him gently yet insistently towards the bed until the backs of his thighs hit the mattress and he sinks onto the soft cotton sheets with a dazed exhale. His eyes are molten embers burning with naked want and trust as he gazes up at you, outright trembling with the effort of holding himself back from hauling you down on top of him.

Gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow, you settle yourself to straddle his lap, reveling in the delicious points of heated skin against skin where your bodies make contact through the thin barrier of your clothing. For an aching span of heartbeats, you drink in the sight of him — kiss-swollen lips parted on shallow pants, the tempting vee of his open shirt collar exposing just a tantalizing sliver of his smooth chest, hard planes of muscle rippling beneath tanned skin as he quivers with ill-restrained desire.

“Beautiful,” you husk in a low rasp, summoning every ounce of your rapidly waning willpower to force the words past the molten heat in your throat. “You are so fucking beautiful like this.”

Lando swallows thickly at the unadulterated lust and reverence saturating your tone, his throat bobbing convulsively. “You … you should see yourself,” he finally manages in a strained murmur. “You’re a goddess ...” His hands come up of their own volition to splay across the supple curves of your waist, tracing searing paths across your skin as if to memorize every lush dip and swell.

A throaty chuckle escapes you as you lean into his touch in shameless encouragement. “I could devour you in this moment and I’d still crave more.” Dipping your head to drag openmouthed kisses along the salty-sweet skin of his collarbone, you muse heatedly, “In fact, I’m tempted to lock that door and have you right here like the decadent treat you are.”

“God, yes ...” Lando outright groans at your words, hips arching up in a desperate, instinctual grind against yours that leaves you both shuddering at the sudden, intoxicating friction. His fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, pupil-blown eyes full of unrestrained need as he gazes up at you like you’re the answer to his every secret desire. “Please, Y/N … anything, just … need you.”

The reverent, naked pleading in his voice steals the breath from your lungs and you’re abruptly reminded of the singular responsibility you have — not just as his lover, but as the person he’s entrusted to guide and ground him when he’s spiraling.

Your mouth curves into an indulgent smile as you tenderly cradle his face in your palms, tapping into that core of composure and peace that helps tether you both in moments like this.

“In due time, my love,” you murmur, leaning in to pepper slow, lingering kisses across his brow, along the delicate skin beneath his eyes. You feel Lando physically sink back against the mattress with a soft exhalation as your tender ministrations lull him once more into a state of relaxation and receptivity — his mind clearing of everything but blissful focus on you and your touch.

“Remember why you’re here, and all the hard work that brought you to this moment,” you continue in a low, soothing murmur against his flushed skin. “You’ve poured your heart and soul into this dream, and now it’s time to reap the sweet fruit of your efforts. Leave behind all the doubts, all the fear and anxious energy that’s been holding you back.” Arching up on your knees, you gently resettle your weight so you’re seated flush against his core, waves of heat radiating between your joined bodies in delicious waves with every motion and shallow breath.

“Let go of everything but my voice, my touch grounding you in this moment. This is your destiny, Lando — all you have to do is embrace it.” With your final murmured words, you seal the sentiment by slanting your mouth over his in a filthy, openmouthed kiss that quickly descends into pure, unbridled passion as he releases an unrestrained keen of surrender.

His arms come up to band around your waist, clutching you impossibly closer as if to merge your very beings into one searing point of euphoric light. You lose yourselves in the wet slide of tongue and teeth and racing heartbeats until the buzzing of Lando’s phone against the nearby nightstand finally jolts you from your haze of lust and need. For a suspended beat, you simply drink in the sight of him — debauched and beautifully wrecked in the best way possible, with slick lips parted around panting breaths and hair tousled in a riotous mess.

“Time?” Lando finally rasps, sounding as utterly gutted as you feel.

You force yourself to glance at the glowing numbers on his phone screen, steeling yourself against the surge of regret at having to end this delicious interlude. “Twenty minutes until you need to be in the garage,” you confirm with a heavy exhale.

With a low groan that goes straight to your core, Lando surges up to slant his mouth hungrily over yours once more in one last kiss goodbye before allowing you to carefully extract yourself from his lap. You both take a few moments to catch your breath and restore some semblance of outward composure, though your insides continue to feel like a lit match in a patch of dry tinder.

“Ready for this?” You arch a pointed brow at Lando as he pushes off the bed to put on his fireproofs and race suit with admirably steady hands, given how thoroughly unwound he had been mere moments ago.

He flashes you his trademark grin — though this time it holds an air of supreme confidence and purpose that sends a thrill racing down your spine. “Like you said … this is my destiny.” Pulling you close with one hand at the small of your back, he dips his head to murmur gratefully against your lips, “And you helped me find it today.”

With one final kiss that leaves you lightheaded, Lando turns to grab his water bottle and heads towards the door, every bit the consummate professional buckling down to handle the job at hand. You watch him go with a tender smile playing across your lips, filled with an irrational surge of pride at how far he’s come.

A few hours later, you’re holding your breath in the garage as Lando’s MCL38 comes screaming around the final turn and over the finish line — the checkered flag signaling his maiden victory at long last. From on top the podium, his elated gaze immediately finds yours through the throngs of people and hoisted champagne bottles.

The smile he bestows is so private and full of promise that warmth blossoms in your chest and your skin tingles deliciously in anticipation.

After the celebrations and press obligations have wound down, Lando nearly sprints off the track and back into the paddock area, lifting you clean off your feet in a tight embrace when he reaches you. His lips move feverishly against your own, words tumbling out in a reverent exhale barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

“Thank you, thank you … I couldn’t have done it without you. God, I love you so much ...”

And in that perfect moment — drunk on the roar of the crowd, the giddy thrill of victory, and the smoldering promise in the depths of Lando’s eyes — you’re already mentally preparing to give him the most mind-blowing reward imaginable.

***

The champagne is still buzzing through your veins, lending an extra fizz of exhilaration to the crackling charge in the air as you hastily key into your hotel suite hand-in-hand with Lando.

No sooner has the door clicked shut behind you than he’s on you in a searing tangle of heat and desire — mouth hot and insistent, fingers skating across every bare inch of exposed skin as if he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re the last oasis for miles.

“Fuck, Y/N ...” he rasps reverently against the fevered skin of your neck, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss to your wildly fluttering pulse. “You’re incredible, so bloody perfect.” His hands roam hungrily, deftly stripping you of layer upon layer of clothing until you’re left deliciously bare before his molten gaze. “Let me worship you properly, yeah? God knows you deserve it after today.”

A tremor of need races through you at his naked desire, amplified tenfold by the molten timbre of Lando’s rough, lust-thickened voice. Without breaking eye contact, you hook your fingers through his belt loops and begin walking him back towards the lavish bedroom, relishing the sharp inhale he sucks through his teeth at your commanding confidence.

There’s a practiced, sensual arch to your spine as you work the tails of his crisp button-down free from the waistband of his trousers, taking your sweet time to pop each individual button until the smooth, tanned expanse of his torso is laid bare.

Warm fingertips trail an achingly slow path up the defined ridges of his abdomen as you drink in the sight of him — pupils blown wide with barely restrained want and that delicious lower lip caught between his teeth as his chest rises and falls with shallow stuttering pants.

“Is this what you want, darling?” You murmur silkily, palming him through the rapidly tenting fabric of his pants and delighting in the strangled whine that punches from his lips at the contact. His hands fly up to clutch convulsively at your hips, gripping with bruising force as if you’re his only lifeline in a raging sea of lust and sensation.

“Yes … please,” he forces out on a ragged exhale, body practically thrumming with desperation as you continue to work him with languid strokes while rocking your hips in a slow, sensual grind against his throbbing need.

The headiness of having this confident man quivering and needy at your touch sends a heady surge of possessive satisfaction coursing through you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely ...”

With a decadent hum, you deftly pop the button of Lando’s pants and drag the zipper down in one smooth motion, allowing his rigid cock to spring free at last, flushed and straining obscenely. You swipe your thumb through the pearlescent bead of precome gathered at the swollen tip, making his hips judder with desperate rolls at the stimulation.

“Y/N … fuck, I need … need your mouth ...” Lando grits out, tangling his fingers in your hair with a barely restrained growl.

You can’t help the low, sultry chuckle that spills past your lips at his feverish plea. “So impatient,” you tut, even as you sink gracefully to your knees before him, trailing openmouthed kisses along the hard ridges of his abdomen. “But you’ve been such a good boy for me lately, I suppose I can reward you.”

Another punched-out curse fractures the air as Lando’s head tips back on a low groan at the first hot lick of your tongue up the length of his rigid shaft. You take your sweet time working him over until his entire body is trembling with the effort of holding himself in check, fingers clenched white-knuckle tight in your hair.

“Look at you, so pretty for me,” you purr at him from beneath your lashes. “I wonder how quickly I could have you coming apart completely on my tongue.”

A broken, desperate whine escapes Lando at your words. “Fuck … I’m not gonna last,” he warns through gritted teeth.

With a final swirl of your tongue around the swollen crown of him, you pull off with a lush, obscene pop. “Don’t you dare hold back for me,” you murmur, voice dripping wanton sin as you tighten your grip at the base of his throbbing length to stave off the mounting waves of his building release. “I want to taste every … last … drop.”

The broken whine that tears itself from Lando’s throat quickly warps into a strangled shout of ecstasy as you hollow your cheeks and sink back down to take his aching cock as far as you can. He outright sobs your name over and over as you relentlessly work him undone with hollowed cheeks and swirls of your talented tongue — at this point he’s putty in your hands, helpless to do anything other than clutch at you and shatter apart.

You pull back with a filthy, slurping noise just as the first hot ropes of milky white spurt from his slit, painting your tongue and lips with thick, viscous streaks. A guttural groan rumbles up from his chest at the shamelessly lewd sight, cock giving one final twitch against your lips as you swallow greedily, lapping and sucking every musky drop from his overstimulated flesh.

His knees nearly buckle at the over-the-top eroticism of it all, hands knotting tighter in your hair as if the grounding points of contact are all that’s keeping him anchored to this mortal plane.

Only once you’ve thoroughly wrung him dry with your mouth and tongue do you sit back on your heels, swiping the back of your hand across your swollen, well-used lips to clean away the remnant beads of his climax. Each breath Lando sucks into his heaving lungs is like molten fire in his tortured chest, his pupils still dilated as he gazes down in awe and not a small amount of reverence at where you’re tucked so demurely between his parted thighs.

“Bloody fucking hell, love,” he rasps around a breathy, disbelieving puff of laughter. “C’mere, lemme return the favor … I need to taste you in the worst way.”

His words go straight to your rapidly tightening core, sending a fresh gush of slick arousal pooling between your thighs. You allow him to haul you up by your elbows and press you into the plush mattress, surrendering to his hot, open-mouthed kisses and seeking hands as he divests you completely of your last shreds of clothing.

When his tongue finally finds your drenched center, you keen high and helpless in the back of your throat. “Oh god, Lando … yes, just like that ...”

Lando answers your breathless encouragement by burying his tongue deeper into your grasping heat with a satisfied groan. The wildly intimate stretch and stimulation of his clever licks and kitten flicks against your swollen bud quickly has you squirming and thrashing against the mattress in a glorious, overstimulated daze.

All you can do is pant and whimper encouragements, fingers tangling unconsciously in his thick chestnut locks as you rock yourself shamelessly into his mouth.

Just when you think the maddening coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter deep in your core can’t possibly grow any tighter, Lando slips two long fingers inside your slick, fluttering entrance with a guttural groan of satisfaction. The fullness of the dual sensations instantly has you seizing up all over, back arching off the bed as he works you over with sure, steady strokes.

“Oh fuck, fuck me … Lando, you feel … so g-good, ungh!” The inarticulate stream of praise and curses rapidly devolves into broken moans as he relentlessly pistons his fingers in and out, strumming insistently against that spongy cluster of nerves with each punishing thrust. You’re quickly rendered mindless, nothing but a writhing, desperate bundle of raw need and want with every nerve alight at his exquisite touch.

When Lando’s lips finally close over your pulsing clit and suckle hard, your entire world shatters into stardust with the force of your climax. A hoarse shout rips from deep in your chest as the coil within you finally detonates in waves of dizzying, toe-curling pleasure that seem to go on and on and on. Lando works you through it all with his plush mouth and tireless fingers, lapping up the honeyed rush of your release like a man dying of thirst.

For several long, blissful moments, the only sounds are your mingled gasps and pants for air as you float hazily down from your high. Lando’s lips trail scorching paths along the inside of your trembling thighs, nuzzling and nipping at sensitive flesh before finally lifting his head to grace you with that familiar adoring look that never fails to make your heartbeat trip.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, love,” he drags his index finger through the slick mess coating his chin and lips. With a blatantly filthy leer that sends a shiver of fresh arousal cascading down your spine, he slips the digit into his mouth and sucks it clean with a rumbling groan of satisfaction. “Delicious.”

You’re still totally wrecked and incoherent from your release, every nerve in your body humming and jangling in the aftermath like overstimulated livewires. A punched-out moan manages to escape you at his brazen obscenity as your hips lift off the bed in an instinctual, needful grind. “Inside me. Need y-you inside ...”

Lando rises over you in one fluid, graceful motion, hips slotting effortlessly between your splayed thighs as he brackets your face between his large palms, drinking you in hungrily. “God, look at you — you’re fucking glorious like this, wrecked and desperate for me,” he murmurs in a low rasp, cock dragging slickly through your sopping folds to nudge insistently at your entrance. “How do you do this to me, huh? Break me apart so effortlessly then have me begging on my knees for more of you ...”

With that, he bottoms out in one smooth, torturous glide — the exquisite, familiar fullness stealing your breath and sending stars bursting across your vision at the electrifying feeling of being stuffed so deliciously deep. You wrap your legs high around his taut waist, ankles locking needfully as you roll your hips in frantic little circles seeking any kind of friction.

“Oh god, Lando … move, please … need you to move, it hurts so fucking good ...”

He answers your pleading moans with a soul-scorching kiss, lips and tongue consuming you in delicious, velvet heat as he sets a ruthless, punishing pace, spearing into your clenching depths with all the force and stamina that makes him such a world-class athlete. You match him thrust for thrust, your cries swallowed by his plundering mouth as the delicious drag and slap of skin against skin fills your senses.

“I’ll never get enough,” Lando grits out between breathy curses. His teeth find purchase at the dip of your neck, sending a starburst of sensation and pain across your sensitized nerves that only compounds the haze of carnal bliss wrapping you in its searing embrace. “Could spend my life buried inside you like this and it still wouldn’t be long enough ...”

His words ignite something feral, darkly possessive in your core, an echoing howl of belonging and ownership that it feels like you’ve been careening towards since the very first time he surrendered to you in trance. With a carnal growl, you hook your ankles tighter, using your legs to flip Lando onto his back as you rise up to straddle his hips.

His eyes go comically wide before he’s grinding up into you with a gasp, grasping your hips hard enough to bruise as you set a punishing new rhythm.

“Say it again … tell me who you belong to.” Your voice is hoarse, burnished in equal parts wanton need and flinty command — you don’t care which one makes him shatter apart at the seams so long as he answers your order.

Lando immediately locks eyes with yours, gaze fever-bright and seeming to pierce straight into your very soul as he clamps his hands around your throat with delicious pressure. “You,” he groans without hesitation, the pads of his fingers flexing as your pulse throbs wildly beneath his touch. “You own me, down to my bloody bones.”

The reverent oath sends a surge of lust and possession searing through your bloodstream, stoking the incandescent heat pooling low in your belly to fever pitch once more. Your hips move in wild rolls, desperate and ragged as you ride him with reckless abandon. Lando keeps one hand locked at the juncture of your throat while the other skates up your side to palm your breast, rolling the peaked tip between calloused fingers.

“I can feel you getting close already, look at you … my perfect, filthy girl throwing herself at me like she needs nothing else but my cock splitting her apart,” he growls gutturally, his words and the punishing rhythm growing more and more erratic as your combined pleasure crests higher and higher.

Quite suddenly, Lando hooks his feet against the mattress and surges up to capture your lips in a sweltering, soul-devouring kiss as his hips somehow piston even faster into your desperately clenching depths. His name fractures and shatters around the seal of your kiss as your entire world liquefies into ribbons of rapture, ecstasy blotting out all coherent thought until every last shred of tension and want finally implodes in a supernova behind your navel.

Lando gasps against your lips as your release floods him, thick and scorching hot — wave after wave milking the most intense convulsions from his straining cock as his own orgasm shatters loose. You rock together through the shared obliteration of your mutual bliss until there’s nothing left but the gentle lapping of aftershocks and Lando’s thumb stroking idly along the racing pulse at the hollow of your throat.

When you finally manage to crack your eyes and focus on the beautiful wreck of a man sprawled boneless beneath you, the look of besotten awe on his features nearly takes your breath away all over again. Then his rueful chuckle rumbles up from deep in his chest, melting away the last smoldering embers of tension as he brushes a stray lock of damp hair back from your brow.

“What on earth am I going to do with you, love?” He murmurs, the hint of a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. “Now I’m permanently addicted.” He presses a lingering, searing kiss to your swollen mouth before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Though I suppose there are worse fates.”

You answer his sentiment with a breathless chuckle of your own, tracing the lines of his face in an achingly tender caress as the last lingering flickers of passion slowly ebb and flow into deep, drowsy contentment. “Such are the spoils of victory,” you breathe fondly. “Though I suppose I should thank you for being such an … enthusiastic participant.”

“Mmm, I think I can manage that.” His eyes slip closed as he winds his arms around you to roll until you’re flush atop his chest, every supple inch of heated skin against skin and your legs tangled together in a sprawl. “You’ve ruined me,” he murmurs softly, reverently against your hair. “And I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.”

You hum serenely in agreement, nestling impossibly closer as Lando’s breathing evens out and you both begin to drift into a dozy haze of sated bliss. The warm, hypnotic lull of his heartbeat against your cheek and the delicious ache of well-used muscles is pure nirvana.

In this moment, suspended in time in the afterglow, you can scarcely fathom how you ever existed before Lando barreled into your life and ignited this intoxicating flame of desire, devotion, and bone-deep belonging between you.

His voice, already rough and worn velvet from your passionate exertions, breaks the contented silence once more as he nuzzles against your temple. “Stay with me tonight? God knows I could use a few more hours with you in my arms before we have to brave the real world again.”

A languid smile curves your lips at his soft plea, warmth blooming in your chest. “As if you even need to ask,” you murmur, punctuating the sentiment with a tender brush of your lips across the thundering pulse at the base of his throat. “I’m yours, remember? Any time and any place you’ll have me.”

Lando doesn’t respond further, simply tightens his arm around your waist as he hooks his chin over your head with a low, satisfied rumble.

With his name a breathless vow on your lips, you allow the bone-deep weariness of pure satisfaction to finally pull you under into peaceful oblivion beside the only man who will ever hold the keys to unraveling you so completely in return.

***

The pale moonlight filters through the gauzy curtains of Lando’s posh London flat, casting everything in an ethereal blue-silver glow as you burrow deeper into the plush duvet.

A lazy, spent sort of satisfaction permeates the air in the wake of your earlier lovemaking — though honestly, is there ever a time when you don’t feel utterly cherished and deliciously sated these days?

Lando’s arm is a warm, heavy brand across your waist, the solid plane of his chest pressed flush against your back. You can sense the steady thrum of his heartbeat mellowing into the deep, even cadence of slumber and make to slip out of his embrace, eager to make use of the en-suite facilities. But the moment you shift, his arm reflexively tightens, drawing you impossibly closer as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck with a low, sleepy noise of protest.

“Mmm … stay,” he mumbles groggily against your skin, voice still rough and sweetly wrecked from the way you had him crying out your name mere hours ago.

You huff a quiet laugh at his drowsy insistence, nosing affectionately at his tousled curls. “I’ll be right back, you insatiable thing,” you rasp, carefully extracting yourself from his octopus-like clutches to plant a lingering kiss to his slack, pillow-creased cheek. “Promise I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Lando grumbles something indistinct but doesn’t protest further, already slipping back into the lull of sleep with a final contented sigh muffled against the plush bedding. You take a moment to simply drink in the sight of him sprawled out so unguardedly – all toned muscle and tousled chestnut curls, the crisp white sheets tangling artfully around his hips to offer tempting peeks of tanned skin and lean, powerful thighs.

He’s gorgeous like this, you muse with a soft smile, feeling that oh-so-familiar spark of possessive want begin to simmer low in your belly. A dizzying rush of affection and belonging surges through you as your gaze rakes over the starburst of reddened lovebites peppering his throat and shoulders from where you marked him as yours so enthusiastically earlier.

It’s hard to fathom that there was ever a time you considered your life remotely complete before Lando and his smoldering passion whirlwinded into your world.

Still, you force yourself to tear your eyes away from the alluring scene with a steadying breath, retreating to the en-suite with the promise to return hanging unspoken between you.

By the time you’ve padded back into the bedroom wrapped in one of Lando’s obscenely soft bathrobes, he’s shifted to sprawl across the centerline of the mattress, face half-buried in his pillow and one hand flung haphazardly above his head. The rakish sprawl of bedsheets and moonlight across his sculpted form renders him a vision of absolute debauchery and desire — not that you’d have him any other way.

You can’t resist ghosting your fingers in a featherlight caress along the hard ridges of his spine and the lean cords of muscle defining his broad shoulders, relishing the shiver that chases itself visibly across his skin. “You awake, darling?”

Lando grunts an affirmation, languidly cracking one eye to regard you through the tangled fringe of lashes fanning across his cheekbones. There’s a hint of wry amusement laced through the rough velvet of his voice when he speaks. “Was starting to worry you’d wandered off again without me.”

“Never,” you reply instantly, warmth threading through the simple avowal. Moving to settle in the vee of his splayed thighs, you trail a meandering path of openmouthed kisses along his lower back, nosing aside the rumpled sheet to expose the swell of his ass with deliberate intent. “You know I’m defenseless against this gorgeous body of yours.”

A low, approving rumble vibrates up from Lando’s chest at your blatant appreciation, his hips giving an unconscious, languid roll as your lips brush across the dimples at the base of his spine in a teasing caress. But then, quite suddenly, the boneless sprawl of his limbs seems to tense as a perceptible aura of hesitance permeates the desire charging the air between you.

You immediately feel the subtle shift in his energy, that jarring note of dissonance plucking disquietingly at your intuitive senses — the same ones that have always allowed you to tune into the deepest vibrations of the soul with preternatural clarity. Without pause, you abandon your sensual exploration of his body to settle beside him once more, cradling the sharp line of his jaw in your palm and wordlessly coaxing him to turn and meet your gaze.

“Hey … talk to me, love,” you murmur, the soothing tone of your voice blanketing the sharp edged undercurrent of uncertainty in its rich, soothing folds. “Where’d you go just now?”

Lando exhales a soft, humorless puff of breath, worrying his plush lower lip between his teeth in that adorable yet concerning tell of his whenever something is weighing on that mind.

For a long stretch, he studies your features in silence, the only sounds in the room the ambient thrum of the city beyond the flat’s walls and the occasional muted honk of a passing car in the night below. Just when you’re about to prompt him again, the words finally tumble out in a low, slightly self-conscious rush.

“You … you don’t take on other clients like me, do you?” You feel him tense further under your palm, discomfited energy practically vibrating off him in waves. “Not that I’m judging, honest! It’s none of my business what you do or who you see for work, but I just ...” He breaks off on a frustrated exhale, jaw ticking in that way that tells you he’s holding back a tidal wave of emotion beneath his placid surface.

A dawning realization begins to unfurl in your chest, intimately familiar with the root of Lando’s inner turmoil. This brilliant, sensitive, achingly beautiful man — the force on the racetrack who melts into the most sweetly vulnerable creature behind closed doors whenever you bestow him with the full force of your focused attention. Of course he would crave that intensity of focus, that promise of belonging solely to him in your most intimate embraces, no matter how irrational or paradoxical the notion seems from the outside looking in.

Slowly, carefully, you reach up to frame that beloved face between your palms, silently urging Lando to hold your unwavering gaze as the words he needs to hear spill forth in a low, resonant murmur.

“Do you remember when this first started between us? How completely you surrendered yourself to me in the most profound way?” You begin, watching his pupils slowly dilate and a nearly imperceptible tension begin to unwind from his shoulders at the timbre of your voice. “The absolute trust it takes to let someone delve that deep into the most sacred corners of your psyche … to share your fears, insecurities, and unvarnished essence without artifice?”

Lando swallows thickly, nodding once in a jerky affirmation as the words seem to bypass his conscious mind and resonate somewhere deeper. You card your fingers soothingly through his disheveled curls, allowing your touch to lull and ground him as you continue in that same low, hypnotic cadence.

“That depth of surrender and connection is not something that can simply be replicated or transposed onto others, Lando. What we have is singular. Untouchable.” You press your forehead to his, registering the faint hitch in his breath as you drink in every last nuance of his features. “My gift has always been to help unravel the truths someone tries to bury, follow the threads that tether the conscious mind to something vaster and more primal. But with you ...”

A low exhale ghosts across his parted lips as your thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone in an achingly tender caress. “With you, it was as if the universe aligned to allow me to shed every last shred of protection and pretense until there was nothing left but the purest vibration of my very essence resonating in time with yours. Do you understand?”

Lando’s gaze is a hazy swirl of naked emotion and trust, drinking in your every syllable with the desperate reverence of a man being offered the world’s greatest truth. “Like … like the truest version of ourselves was always there, simply waiting to recognize its other half,” he rasps, the words seeming to bypass his conscious faculties entirely as he remains held captive in the depths of your connection. “Two souls spilling into one another.”

“Precisely.” Your lips curve in the ghost of a smile, a bone-deep sense of belonging and contentment settling over you both like a well-worn hug. “In that moment, you became an inextricable part of me, and I of you. Something that profound doesn’t simply … vanish, or dim, or lessen with time and distance.”

You allow the weighted truth of your decree to resonate between your joined bodies for a suspended heartbeat, cradling Lando’s face as if mapping every plane and angle with worshipful precision.

“I could help countless others access their potential or tap into dimly lit corners of their awareness,” you continue. “But there will only ever be one person to whom I belong in that elemental way. One person who will ever see this side of me and who lays the very fabric of their being bare without reservation.”

A tremulous exhalation shudders across Lando’s lips at the finality in your tone, as if every lingering filament of doubt or uncertainty has finally dissolved in the face of your avowal. One of his hands comes up to splay across the small of your back, fingers flexing and bunching the silky material of your robe in a desperate clutch as if you’re the last solid comfort in a churning sea.

When his eyes slip open once more, they’re practically luminescent with a naked heat that sends a delicious curl of answering want unfurling through your core.

“Show me,” he rasps, the simple entreaty laced with an edge of heart-stoppingly vulnerable need. “Please, Y/N …. I need to feel you completely.”

In the stillness that follows, the only sounds are your mingled exhales and the thunderous gallop of racing pulses filling the air with resonant verses of sin and worship. Then, with an instinctual roll of your hips, you’re slotting one toned thigh between Lando’s splayed legs and sealing your mouth over his in a filthy, searing kiss that instantly has his back arching off the rumpled sheets with a muffled groan.

There’s nothing tentative in the wanton slide of your lips and tongues, every flick and brush and gentle graze brimming with carnal intent and the unspoken promise to strip one another to the very marrow.

Lando surrenders to the sweet onslaught eagerly, hands skating across your body in frantic, searing paths until the belt of your robe finally falls away and he can palm the bare curves of your ass to grind you more fully against his rapidly stiffening length.

You break away with a sharp gasp at the delicious friction, mouth immediately seeking out the fevered juncture of Lando’s neck and shoulder to mouth searing patterns across the taut tendons there. “You want my gift?” You rasp against the thrumming pulse under your lips, rolling your hips in a languid, purposeful grind that drags the already swollen head of his cock through the slick evidence of your arousal with tantalizing friction.

Lando’s response is a low, breathless stream of curses and encouragements, blunt fingernails raking distractedly down the length of your spine in a way that sets every nerve alight with tingling sparks of pleasure-pain.

Allowing him to nip and suck intoxicating patterns across your collarbones, you dip your hand between your bodies until you can wrap your fingers around his rigid shaft, dragging the pads in a devastatingly slow glide from base to tip.

The groan that punches from Lando’s chest at your touch is guttural, hips pumping restlessly into the tight channel of your fist. “Fuck, yes … want all of you, every bloody inch ...”

His words seem to bypass your conscious mind entirely. You’re suddenly blisteringly aware of each and every point where your bodies join: the heated crush of his straining cock in your palm, the delicious friction of your slick folds catching and dragging against the cut grooves of his abdomen with each gyration of your hips, the teasing rasp of his calloused palms as they roam hungrily across your skin.

It’s as if Lando’s very being calls out to yours in an ancient tongue, rendering coherent thought utterly obsolete as you simply feel — the pulsing, cosmic certainty of your connection amplifying every tingling spark of friction and delirious drag of skin against skin until your entire world narrows to the joining of your shared potential cresting higher with each and every move.

“Now,” you grate out, vision whiting out as your climax detonates in a blinding supernova behind your navel — an ecstasy so transcendent that you’re certain it scorches across the very fabric of your soul. Your fingernails sink vicious crescent moons into Lando’s bicep as you arch against him with a keening cry.

“Y/N!” His hoarse shout fractures on a broken whine, muscles tensing as the first searing pulse of his orgasm floods your belly, joined soon by rich, viscous ropes of white heat that leave you both totally undone.

You simply clutch at each other through the relentless waves, Lando’s teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as if urging you to brand him irrevocably as yours.

When the explosive rapture finally begins to ebb, you both sag into the tangled bedding in a limp sprawl of sweat-slicked limbs and trembling aftershocks, chests heaving in perfect synchronicity as you cling to one another like lost mariners adrift in some fathomless sea.

You can’t even begin to discern where your consciousness begins and Lando’s ends — your very essences having merged so irrevocably that you simply exist as a singular vibration pulsing through the cosmos.

It takes several long, suspended moments for the concept of individual awareness to gradually seep back into the edges of your being, though even then it feels blasphemous to separate yourself from the soul-deep profundity of what you’ve just shared.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, you manage to crack your eyelids enough to drink in the sight of Lando gazing back at you with that same awed wonder etched across his beloved features.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he rasps, the words little more than a throaty whisper ghosting against your over-sensitized skin. “That was … there aren’t even words, are there?”

In lieu of responding, you simply wind your arms around him with a tremulous exhale, hooking your chin over the solid comfort of his shoulder and allowing his clean, earthy scent to wash over you like a balm.

In this place, suspended between bliss and awareness, there’s no need for words or platitudes. You can feel Lando’s very essence thrumming in tandem with yours — the inherent recognition of your twin flame and sacred belonging reverberating on a molecular level.

Here, entangled in the vital warmth of shared trust and intimacy, all that exists is the boundless and the eternal.

[preppyacademy]

Breaking and Remaking : No Thoughts, Only Obedience

Kyle or Prescott's story

Kyle was in his senior year of high school and part of the football team. Academics were secondary for him—it was sports in the morning, sports at noon, and sports in the evening. He hoped to earn a scholarship by being one of the top athletes in his school. Unfortunately, Kyle always acted before thinking, which sometimes led to avoidable accidents.

One game night in early November, his team faced an opposing high school team. Kyle, prone to arrogance, didn’t warm up much, believing he didn’t need to—after all, he was one of the strongest players. His team was scoring well, but in the final decisive minutes, time seemed to slow down. Rain had started to fall, making the field slick. As he caught the ball mid-air, Kyle slipped on the wet grass and crashed violently to the ground before being tackled by several other players. His teammates, still in action, grabbed the ball and scored, securing victory.

As for Kyle, he ended the night in the hospital. His team won, but his medical results were far from victorious. A fractured collarbone, six to twelve weeks of recovery, immobilization, and rehabilitation. He was told he had to remain bedridden for weeks before he could even move.

Kyle had no choice. The hospital that admitted him had to transfer him to a specialized rehabilitation center, located six hours away but renowned as one of the best. His family spared no expense, wanting only the best care for him.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Kyle felt well received. He quickly noticed that most of the staff were male, which struck him as unusual. He was assigned to Dr. Pritchard.

Dr. Pritchard: "You’ll be well taken care of here. You’ll be staying with us for at least six weeks, possibly ten if your condition doesn’t improve. I hope we’ll get along well."

Kyle: "I hope so too."

The first few nights, Kyle struggled to sleep. The feeling of being far from home and his friends weighed heavily on him. Moreover, a low, constant noise resonated throughout his room—a repeating frequency that played over and over. The following nights were the same, but Kyle gradually became accustomed to the sound.

Dr. Pritchard: "I know time may feel slow, but here, rehabilitation is not just about physical recovery—it’s also about relaxing your mind and body. From now on, no more phone screens. We took yours last night. You need rest and must adapt to our institution’s methods."

Kyle was furious but couldn’t fight back—his body was in too much pain, forcing him to comply with the medical staff’s instructions. How was he supposed to survive weeks without his phone?

Dr. Pritchard: "When you wake up, the screens in your room will display relaxation and meditation videos. Follow them, and you’ll see—time will pass much more quickly here."

The next morning marked the beginning of Kyle’s first session with the videos. They consisted of breathing techniques and mantras to repeat. A spiral accompanied the voice-over, guiding him through the instructions.

Kyle, repeating the words: "I feel good, my body is relaxed, I let myself be carried by the waves, my mind sinks deeper into the abyss, I feel calm, every word I hear is a new way of thinking to embrace, to listen, and to learn."

Each day, Kyle was captivated—hypnotized—by these screens, which seemed to absorb his attention completely. Slowly, his thoughts began to change, and time passed in a rhythm dictated by the spiral and the mantras. Over time, the words evolved into something else.

Kyle, repeating the words: "I feel good, I am happy, my body is relaxed, my mind sinks deeper into the abyss. I am obedient, I listen to what I am told, I must act as I am instructed, I feel calm, I love to obey, I want to learn to obey."

As the days and weeks passed, Kyle healed not only physically but mentally as well, thanks to the soothing words of the spiral. His mind was gradually shaped into a model of perfection, discipline, and obedience.

Kyle: "I wish to submit to the orders of superior men, I wish to obey them, I wish to be submissive. I wish to be submissive. I wish to be submissive."

Dr. Pritchard: "Good boy. You have found true relaxation within your body."

Like a machine executing programmed instructions, Kyle regained mobility in his body. His absolute obedience, now stripped of all arrogance and rebellion, made rehabilitation much easier.

Then, the final week of his stay arrived. Kyle sat on his bed, staring into the distance, still repeating the obedience mantra.

Kyle: "I listen, I obey, I serve. My will is that of the Academy. To doubt is to fail. To resist is to fall. Order is my truth, obedience is my virtue. I bend, I disappear, I become. Every command is an honor, every task a privilege. I do not need to think—only to answer: Yes, Sir."

Dr. Pritchard: "Good boy, you make me proud. You’ve done well in your exercises, and now, after ten weeks, your time with us has come to an end. Unfortunately, we must make room for new arrivals like you."

Kyle: "Yes, Sir."

Dr. Pritchard: "As you say—'your will is that of the Academy.' Your mind has been shaped for the Academy—the Preppy Academy, to be precise. Would you like to join the Academy, my boy?"

Kyle: "Yes, Sir."

Dr. Pritchard: "You no longer wish to return to your old high school, correct?"

Kyle: "Yes, Sir."

Dr. Pritchard: "You will remain a good boy—obedient and disciplined?"

Kyle: "Yes, Sir."

Dr. Pritchard: "We will now relieve you of these hospital clothes—you no longer need them."

Dr. Pritchard placed a harmonization device over Kyle’s head. It resembled a large lamp with a metallic tube beneath it, sending electric signals into the subject’s brain. He activated it while Kyle continued to chant his desire to obey.

Kyle remained immobilized, paralyzed by the machine—unable to move of his own will. In his mind, the words "Obedience," "Submission," "Discipline" flashed over and over again.

Two nurses arrived, cut off Kyle's clothes and stripped him naked. Dr. Pritchard pulled a chastity cage from a drawer and locked Kyle's penis in it. He locked the cage and gave the key to a nurse, who left with it.

Dr. Pritchard: "You'll learn that your sex is no longer of any use to you; it belongs to the Academy. You only need it to urinate, because that's a natural need. But to urinate, you'll have to ask permission. If you feel pleasure, your penis, now the size of a phalanx, will be compressed, you'll feel pain and you'll learn to live with pain. Pain is a gift to be cherished, the very essence of a good Preppy Academy student. The more time passes, the more you won't even feel it anymore, you'll get used to what you've become."

Kyle: "Yes, Sir."

Kyle did not flinch. Who he had been just weeks ago had disappeared into the abyss of his mind. Sometimes, though rarely now, he could hear a faint inner voice telling him this wasn’t him, urging him to fight. But that voice was slowly drowning beneath the waves of his consciousness.

Dr. Pritchard: "Now, we will dress you. You haven't learned this here yet, but you will soon understand that being a good boy means being elegant at all times. Appearance is an extension of your obedience. It’s not about having style—it’s about proving your submission through every detail of your attire. Dressing preppy is fundamental. It is a duty, not a choice."

Kyle: "Yes, Sir."

Kyle was dressed from head to toe, like a boy being sent off to school. A neatly pressed, button-down plaid white shirt, tucked into light khaki shorts held up by thick brown suspenders. Long white socks and polished black loafers completed the outfit, along with a large, subtly checkered bow tie.

When Dr. Pritchard tied the bow tie around Kyle’s neck, Kyle opened his mouth—not in surprise, but as if this attire had been meant for him all along, as if the relaxation of feeling truly himself in this clothing had loosened his jaw. His body and mind understood: he was meant to be a good preppy boy.

Dr. Pritchard: "That’s a good boy."

By late morning, Kyle was transferred to the Preppy Academy, placed in a class appropriate for his age. He was quickly integrated among other students eager to learn submission, obedience, and discipline.

He embraced the academy’s dress code without hesitation, developing a particular fondness for plaid patterns—the very motif Dr. Pritchard had introduced him to. In time, the administration and Kyle himself sent a letter to his family, informing them of his transfer and his wish to continue his education at the Preppy Academy.

Kyle’s father had heard of the institution through a friend whose son had returned home completely transformed—eventually becoming the family’s butler. Pleased with the results, and reassured that this was Kyle’s own request, his parents placed their trust in him.

Dr. Pritchard frequently visited the Academy to check on Kyle. Over time, he began calling him Prescott—his middle name—which suited him far better and carried a more refined sound.

Dr. Pritchard became Master to Prescott, who, with the Academy’s approval, would come to serve him every weekend—submissive and obedient. For example, he offered him his mouth to be filled with the doctor's cock from times to times.

Dr. Pritchard decided how Prescott should dress. He had even noticed during Prescott’s hospitalization that he often squinted from staring at the spiral for too long. As a result, he gifted him a pair of elegant glasses—enhancing his preppy and exemplary style even further.

Far from the field, far from his arrogance, Prescott had become a good boy. He could thank the Preppy Academy for that.

Who’s next?

[fratttymatty]

A New Type Of Art

(All characters are 18+)

Luke had always been the kind of guy who didn’t fit into a mold, and he liked it that way. He was an artsy, liberal college sophomore who spent more time with his paintbrush than his textbooks, more time discussing philosophy than politics. His long, blonde hair was usually in a messy shoulder-length style, a reflection of his creative, laid-back personality. People often joked that he looked like he’d stepped out of a 90s indie film, and he was fine with that.

He was proud of who he was—gay, unapologetic, and fiercely liberal. His friends in the dorm loved him for his passion, his endless debates on everything from climate change to gender fluidity. He wore the brightest colors he could find, mismatched patterns, and unashamedly displayed his individuality through his clothes. He didn’t care if people stared—he wanted them to. Being different was his art.

Luke was someone who lived openly. He was out, loud, and proud. He believed in change, in equality, in breaking barriers. But then something strange happened that would turn his world upside down.

It started when he wandered into the obscure little gallery downtown. The art was... different. No, it wasn’t just different—it was weird, unsettling even. All the paintings were of men—clean-cut, athletic, stoic figures that seemed too perfect, too polished, as if they were all carved out of the same mold. They stared down from their frames with proud, almost smug expressions.

Luke felt a tug of unease, but his curiosity got the better of him. He walked deeper into the exhibit, looking for something new, something that would spark his imagination. But what he found was something far more unsettling.

The curator, a sharply dressed man with cold eyes, suddenly appeared at his side.

"You’re not from around here, are you?" the man asked, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic.

Luke didn’t know how to answer. “I just came to see the art,” he said, glancing at the paintings again, the faces of the men still haunting him.

The curator smiled faintly. “Art is not just for seeing, my friend. It’s for becoming.”

Before Luke could ask what he meant, the curator’s hand landed on his shoulder. And everything changed.

Luke awoke with a start, his heart racing. The room was unfamiliar. The air smelled different—stale, almost like rubber or plastic. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness that had overtaken him. His mind was foggy, his thoughts spinning like a broken record.

He glanced around. The walls were bare except for a few sports posters—one of a football team, another of a group of athletes holding up trophies. A large computer sat on a desk, the screen blank but sleek, high-tech. The bed he was lying on was too small, too clean.

Then, something caught his eye—a full-length mirror on the wall. He stumbled over to it, his feet feeling heavier than usual.

The reflection staring back at him was... not Luke.

It was a completely different person. His face—his features—were different. His once soft jawline was now square, his cheekbones high and pronounced. His blonde hair was gone, replaced by a rich, dark brown mane that was tousled perfectly, messy but in a way that looked effortlessly stylish. It was a little wavy, but in a way that made him look... well, hot.

The messiness of his hair gave him a rugged appeal, like he’d just rolled out of bed after a late-night party or a spontaneous game of pick-up basketball. His chest was broad, and his body had more definition—muscles that didn’t exist before now rippled under the tight-fitting T-shirt he wore, and his skin had a deep tan that made his features pop even more.

He reached up to touch his hair, the strands feeling thicker, softer than he remembered. There was a strange sense of satisfaction in how it fell around his face, like he was born to have it that way. As his fingers ran through the tousled locks, he caught the faintest whiff of cologne—something strong, athletic, and masculine.

Something inside him—a feeling that had been buried before—shifted. This was right. He was... supposed to look like this.

And then, as if to confirm it, a sudden wave of memories flashed before his eyes—high school memories. Football games. High fives with his teammates. Laughter with his jock friends. A pretty girl’s smile as she flirted with him in the halls. The vague recollection of endless hours spent playing Call of Duty in his friend’s basement, of sports cars and parties. The memories were his now, and they felt... good.

He glanced back at the mirror again. The face staring back at him was someone completely new—someone named Ethan Clark.

Ethan.

It sounded... right. It felt like the right name for the guy he had become.

Ethan’s first full day in this strange new life was a blur of sensations, conflicting memories, and awkward realizations.

He stood in front of his high school locker, the red-and-black track jacket feeling tight against his shoulders. The hallway buzzed with activity around him—students laughing, chatting, rushing to classes—but his attention kept wandering.

He couldn’t help but notice the girls.

They were all looking at him—some giving him shy smiles, others openly admiring him, especially the ones who whispered to each other and then giggled. Ethan had no idea how to handle it, but something inside him surged at the attention. It was like he wanted it. He liked the way they were looking at him. The way his tousled brown hair framed his face just right, the way it somehow made him look cooler, more attractive.

He caught a glimpse of himself in a locker mirror, and his heart skipped a beat. He looked good—like a guy who played varsity football, who could crush a bench press, who wore his hair just so in a way that drove girls wild. It was different, but it felt natural. Comfortable.

“Hey, Ethan,” one of the girls said as she walked by, her gaze lingering on him for a second too long. “You’re looking extra hot today. What’s the secret?”

Ethan blinked, confused at first. Was she talking to him? She smiled, and he suddenly felt this unfamiliar surge of confidence flood his chest. Without thinking, he ran a hand through his dark hair, giving her a slight smirk.

“Just, uh... woke up this way, I guess,” he said, his voice rougher, deeper than it used to be.

The girl giggled, clearly charmed, and kept walking, throwing him one last glance over her shoulder. Ethan watched her go, a mix of pride and something else stirring inside him. He couldn’t quite place it, but he didn’t need to.

This was who he was now. The guy with the dark, messy hair who turned heads, who was adored by girls, who fit right in with the team, the jocks, and the “normal” crowd. He was straight, athletic, confident—and he had no idea who he was before. The memories of his old life were slipping away, like sand through his fingers.

He walked down the hallway, his steps firm and sure. The world was different now. And for the first time in a long time, he was okay with it. In fact, it felt pretty damn good.

As Ethan settled further into his new identity, he quickly realized he was getting a lot more attention than he ever had before. It wasn’t just the girls; the guys on the football team were treating him like one of their own, giving him high-fives, calling him “bro,” and acting like he was the man.

He loved it. And he made sure everyone around him knew it.

One day, during lunch, he walked into the cafeteria with his new crew—a group of jocks who clearly saw him as the alpha in their little pack. The guys were laughing and slapping each other on the back. Ethan’s loud voice cut through the chatter as he cracked a joke about how the girls were practically throwing themselves at him now that he’d "finally started dressing like a real man." His comment earned a chorus of laughs from the table.

“I swear, bro, these chicks don’t know what to do with themselves,” Ethan said, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his now perfectly tousled hair. “Like, calm down. I’m just a normal guy.”

He smirked as the guys around him laughed, but the joke was all too familiar to him now—this was how they all talked. How the guys had to talk to be part of the crew. The alpha energy. The mocking of others. The jokes about the ‘liberal snowflakes’ and the ‘woke culture.’

“So, bro, what do you think of that chick in your history class? The one with the, like, big eyes?” one of his teammates asked, nudging him.

Ethan’s lip curled. “Pfft, she’s cute, but, like... I’m not really into the whole ‘intellectual’ thing,” he said with a scoff. “Girls should be, you know, fun. And pretty. That’s the only thing that matters. Politics are for losers anyway.”

The guys around him laughed, and a few clapped him on the back.

Ethan’s transformation was complete, or so he thought. Each day that passed, the remnants of his old life—the life of Luke—faded into oblivion. The whispers of art, of activism, of painting vibrant canvases of rebellion and love, all became distant echoes, drowned out by the thumping bass of his new life. The image of his blonde, shaggy hair, the colorful shirts, and the feeling of freedom in being himself—they were all gone now. Ethan Clark, the confident, athletic, and straight high school senior, was who he was meant to be.

And honestly? He couldn’t be happier.

The guy who once hated the idea of conformity, who argued endlessly with anyone who didn’t share his beliefs, had morphed into a version of himself that didn’t question anything.

Girls flocked to him. He flirted effortlessly, his tousled brown hair always falling just right, his posture always leaning casually against the locker with a smug smile that made their knees weak. He could tell that they adored him—hell, everyone adored him. The jocks respected him, and he’d even made it to captain of the track team. He was the star athlete, the alpha in his group, and nothing felt more exhilarating.

The few times when a flash of Luke’s old world would flicker—like when he’d overhear a conversation about climate change or a new art exhibit downtown—he’d feel a weird, nagging sense of discomfort, but it never lasted long. He’d push it aside with a loud joke or by tossing a football to one of his buddies, and the feeling would evaporate.

The most recent instance had come during a heated debate in his government class. A kid who sat in the back—one of those annoying guys with a patchy beard and a mind full of "woke" ideas—had dared to challenge Ethan's casual dismissal of LGBTQ+ issues. Ethan had shrugged it off with the kind of condescension that only someone truly at ease in his masculinity could muster.

“Dude,” Ethan had said, his voice dripping with arrogance, “I don’t know what kind of crazy world you’re living in, but we’re not doing that whole ‘gender-fluid’ thing here. I’m straight, I’m proud, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to some liberal lecture about equality. It’s simple: be a man, get a girl, and stop with all this nonsense.”

The guy had opened his mouth to argue, but Ethan had silenced him with a mock chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t have time for this bullshit,” he’d said, and with that, the room had gone quiet.

The looks of approval from his teammates and the laughter from his group had only fuelled Ethan’s growing sense of power. He was right, and everyone else was just wrong.

It was after that incident that the strangest thing happened—one night, alone in his room, Ethan stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his hair for the hundredth time, as he always did. His tousled, perfectly messy brown locks had become his trademark, and he ran his fingers through them with the kind of pride only a high school jock could have. He looked good. He knew he looked good. And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to enjoy the full force of that knowledge.

But then... it hit him.

The reflection wasn’t the problem—it was what was missing.

For a brief, disorienting moment, he could almost see it—the flash of blonde hair, the open, unapologetic expression, the vivid colors in his clothes. The warmth of a smile that wasn’t just for the girls or the boys who wanted to be his friend. It wasn’t just for the applause or the attention—it was a smile that came from being who he was, not from performing for everyone around him.

But the moment passed quickly, replaced by the face in the mirror that he now recognized so well—the face of Ethan Clark, the confident jock, the proud guy who didn’t care about the world of art or politics anymore.

For a second, though, Ethan’s gaze faltered. There was a slight hesitation—a small, uncomfortable ripple in the stream of his new identity.

“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. The thought felt foreign, even stupid. He smirked at his reflection, his confidence quickly returning.

“Get over it, man,” he told himself, his hand running through his messy hair again, his grip tight as he styled it just right. “This is who you are now. This is who you were meant to be.”

The unsettling sensation lingered, but only for a moment. Ethan stood tall, shoulders squared, and he smiled—genuinely, arrogantly—at the guy in the mirror. He had everything now. He was popular. He was strong. He had girls after him and the guys at his back. And most of all, he didn’t care about anything that didn’t fit into this new version of himself.

The weeks passed, and the echoes of Luke’s old life grew quieter. Ethan’s friendships with the other guys on the football team deepened, and his bond with the girls only grew more intense as they swooned over his rugged good looks and cocky charm. He spent less time reflecting on his past—less time worrying about the strange feeling in his gut that tugged at him when he thought about what he had lost.

One night, at a house party thrown by one of his teammates, Ethan stood with a group of his closest friends, a drink in his hand, and the girls around him laughing at his latest joke. Everything felt perfect. It was what he’d always wanted—what he’d deserved.

One of the girls, a blonde who’d been flirting with him for weeks, pulled him aside, her voice low and sultry. “Ethan, you’re like... so different from other guys,” she whispered, brushing a lock of his messy hair out of his face. “You’re just... amazing.”

He grinned, the compliment going straight to his head. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar rush of confidence flood him. “Well, babe,” he said, his voice smooth, “I’m just a man’s man.”

The girl laughed, leaning in closer, and Ethan kissed her on the lips. He’d become so used to this attention, this life of being the center of everything. It was a feeling he didn’t just enjoy—it was the only feeling that made sense anymore.

But as the night went on, as the alcohol and the party noise blared around him, a thought flickered again in the back of his mind. It was small, almost imperceptible, like a whisper from a distant past he couldn’t quite grasp. A memory of a world where being himself didn’t mean fitting in. A world where being free meant embracing everything that made him who he truly was.

The thought came and went, but this time it was different. It didn’t make him feel scared—it didn’t make him feel sad. It just... faded.

Ethan Clark was who he was. The boy who had been Luke was gone now. Completely gone.

And as Ethan kissed the blonde girl again, he couldn’t help but smile. He was everything he was meant to be.

There was no going back. There was no reason to.

Ethan’s transformation was complete. Every morning, he woke up in his new life, slipping effortlessly into the role of the popular, athletic jock—his tousled brown hair falling perfectly into place as if it had always been this way. His body was strong, chiseled from hours of training, and he was the star of the track team. More than that, he was a leader among the jocks, a natural at commanding attention without trying. He had the kind of quiet confidence that came from knowing he had it all, and he knew the girls were obsessed with him.

The girls couldn’t get enough of his athletic frame, his perfectly styled hair, and the cocky, yet irresistible smirk he threw their way. He had a certain swagger now—one that came from both his physique and the newfound belief that he deserved to be admired. Ethan was a magnet for attention, and it felt so good.

But there was something else—something he didn’t always let the jocks see.

Ethan had always been a gamer. Sure, he was now the track team captain, the guy everyone turned to for advice on their bench press, but late at night, after practice, when the house parties were over and everyone had gone home, Ethan logged into his gaming setup.

The gaming chair, the massive monitor, the LED-lit keyboard—it was all tucked away in his bedroom, hidden behind a door that only his closest friends knew about. But even now, as captain of the team, as the guy who’d casually broken the 400-pound squat record and was getting invited to college recruiters' camps, Ethan was still that guy—the gamer who lived for the thrill of the digital battlefield.

He had always been good at it. No, scratch that—he’d always been great at it.

Every night, he dominated the leaderboards in Call of Duty and Fortnite, racking up kills with ease. He had his own Twitch account, but it wasn’t for the fame. It was just for the adrenaline, the rush of hearing the ping of a headshot, the satisfaction of topping the scoreboard with his friends.

There were nights when he played until 3 a.m., still wearing his track hoodie, drinking a monster energy drink, the glow of the screen lighting up his face as he obliterated opponents. He'd be wearing his headset, yelling at his buddies—laughing, trash-talking, keeping it light. No one knew about his online identity, but to Ethan, it was just as important as any track medal or touchdown. It was where he could be himself without the weight of the jock persona, without the expectation of being perfect all the time.

The football field was where Ethan thrived. The air was thick with the sound of cleats pounding the turf, the shouts of coaches pushing their players harder, and the constant rhythmic thumping of the ball hitting the ground. Ethan, naturally, was right at the center of it all, a strong, imposing figure in his football gear, his dark hair peeking out from under his helmet, his chest heaving with every breath.

As the captain of the football team, Ethan had earned the respect of every player on the field. They respected his strength, his unrelenting drive, and his ability to motivate others. He was ruthless in practice, always pushing the team harder, making sure no one slacked off. But despite his hard-nosed approach, he kept a certain arrogance that kept the guys in line. He wasn’t just the captain—he was the guy who set the tone for the team, the one who was feared and admired in equal measure.

Today’s practice was intense—punishing drills designed to improve agility and reaction time. Ethan’s muscles burned with the effort, but he wasn’t about to let up. He was determined to lead his team to victory this season. They had a big game coming up, one that could secure them a championship spot. And Ethan was more than ready.

He finished his sprints with ease, his lungs pushing through the burn, his legs feeling stronger with each stride. The guys were panting behind him, but Ethan didn’t even break a sweat.

“That’s how you run,” he said, smirking as he jogged back to the sidelines, his teammates panting behind him.

“Jesus, Ethan, you never slow down,” one of the defensive linemen, Jake, said between breaths.

Ethan threw him a lazy grin. “That’s because I’m built different, bro. You’re just not on my level yet.”

The guys chuckled, and Ethan felt the familiar swell of pride. He loved it. This was his world now. It felt right. The jocks who had once laughed at him in high school now admired him. The girls who had once ignored him now threw themselves at him. Ethan was the epitome of what every high school athlete dreamed of becoming—the guy who was good at everything, effortlessly cool and untouchable.

But then something caught his eye—a flicker of doubt. It was subtle. One of the guys on the team, Alex, had been showing Ethan something on his phone earlier in the locker room. He’d been talking about the new Star Wars Battlefront game and how he was crushing it with some of his online buddies. Ethan barely registered it at the time.

Now, as he caught his breath, he couldn’t help but think about it. Alex had mentioned a team—a clan that all played together late at night. The more Ethan thought about it, the more he realized that even though he was crushing it on the field, there was something oddly thrilling about those nights alone in his room, the camaraderie of his gaming friends, and the rush of winning in a world that didn’t care about how many touchdowns he scored or how big his biceps were.

His thoughts were interrupted when Coach shouted across the field.

“Clark! Get your head in the game! We’ve got a season to win!”

Ethan snapped back into focus, mentally shaking off the random thought. He was Ethan Clark, football captain, jock, the guy everyone looked up to. That was who he was.

Later that night, after the last of his teammates had left, Ethan headed back to his room, dropping his gear on the bed and collapsing into his gaming chair with a deep sigh. His muscles ached, but the comfort of his familiar setup—the glowing RGB lights, the cool click of his mouse, and the hum of the PC booting up—was like an old friend welcoming him back.

He was back where he belonged.

Ethan fired up Call of Duty, glancing over at his phone to see if any of his friends were online. Sure enough, a notification popped up: “Your Squad is waiting.”

He grinned.

Sliding on his headset, Ethan clicked “Join” and immediately heard the familiar voices of his gaming buddies flood through the speakers.

“Yo, Ethan, we’re about to wreck some noobs. You ready?”

Ethan’s grin widened. “Always, bro.”

As they dove into the game, Ethan’s body relaxed, his muscles still sore from practice, but his mind fully focused on the game ahead. This was where he felt free. This was where he could shut out the expectations of being the perfect athlete, the perfect teammate, the perfect son. Here, on the battlefield of the game, there were no rules about how to act or what to be. It was just him, his friends, and the rush of winning.

The hours slipped by in a blur of headshots and jokes. The adrenaline was just as real as it was on the football field, maybe even more so. Ethan was still the dominant force here. His reflexes were sharp, his aim precise. He dominated every match, and when they won, the rush was the same as it was when they hit the game-winning touchdown.

"Man, you're on fire tonight," one of his buddies, Tyler, said, laughing.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. "Just like always, bro. Who else can carry the squad like I do?"

The guys laughed, and Ethan reveled in the sound of their praise. It felt good. It felt right.

For a moment, as the squad geared up for the next round, he thought back to earlier that day on the football field—the sweat, the cheers, the hard work that had earned him his place as the team captain. Then, without even realizing it, his mind drifted back to his gaming chair, to his gaming world, where everything was just as real.

He wasn’t just Ethan Clark, the football player, the alpha jock. He was Ethan, the gamer, the guy who could lead a team to victory in both worlds—whether on the field or behind a screen. And for the first time in a long while, Ethan felt a sense of balance between these two sides of him. He had it all.

In this life, no one could touch him.

And that was exactly how he liked it.

Ethan's life seemed to revolve around two worlds: the football field and his gaming chair. But then there was Sophia—his girlfriend—who lived somewhere right between them, a perfect accessory to his newfound high school popularity.

Sophia was the blonde girl everyone noticed—the type of girl who was the center of attention at every party, with a laugh that made guys turn their heads and an effortless grace that made other girls a little jealous. She was the kind of girl who belonged on the arm of a guy like Ethan—athletic, handsome, and undeniably cool. And now she was, and she knew it.

The two had started dating a few weeks ago, and it had been a perfect fit. She was beautiful, outgoing, and obsessed with the idea of being with someone like Ethan—someone who could give her all the status and attention she craved.

Ethan wasn’t the kind of guy who spent a lot of time on his emotions, but when Sophia smiled at him, he couldn’t help but feel a certain rush of pride. He'd caught her eye first, but now she was his, and it felt good. There were whispers in the hallways, and every girl who tried to get his attention was met with the same smug, “I’ve got my girl” attitude. It was the kind of confidence that only someone who knew he had everything could pull off.

Sophia didn’t mind the attention. She was used to it, and she loved the way Ethan’s popularity amplified hers. It was a match made in high school heaven.

Later that day, after practice, Ethan found Sophia waiting by his truck, her arms crossed, a playful smirk on her face. He had been walking out with a couple of the guys from the team, talking about the upcoming game, but when he spotted her leaning against the tailgate, all conversation stopped. His friends shot each other knowing looks, and one of them, Alex, made an exaggerated “Ooooh” noise.

Ethan didn’t even acknowledge them. He made his way over to Sophia with that familiar swagger, not caring if anyone was watching.

“What’s up, babe?” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Sophia grinned, her eyes gleaming. “Not much. I was just thinking about how awesome you looked out there today. You were like, on fire.”

Ethan couldn’t help but smirk. “Of course I was. It’s what I do.”

She laughed, the sound high and melodic, and stood up straight. “Well, I’m glad you’re on fire... because I was thinking you could use some company tonight,” she said, teasing him a little as she walked toward the passenger side of his truck.

Ethan raised an eyebrow as he followed her. “What kind of company?”

She shot him a wink as she slid into the seat, settling in with a practiced ease. “Let’s just say I have plans for us—and they don’t involve any football or video games tonight. Just you and me, Ethan.”

Ethan grinned, his chest puffing up with pride. This was the life—the kind of life he’d always imagined. Popularity. Strength. A beautiful girl who loved him.

It was almost too perfect.

As he drove off, his mind wandered briefly, but it wasn’t to his old self—the person he used to be. There was no trace of Luke anymore, no reminder of the boy who’d been scared to even talk to a girl like Sophia. No, this was his world now. He was Ethan, and Sophia was his, and that was all that mattered.

At least, that's what he told himself.