"The modern womas in a state of perpetual tradi: educated to believe in her independe biologically ened to desires that mock such freedom. How delightful then the submission, how transdent the moment when one's carefully structed identity dissolves beh the relentless assault of a cock that demands not versation but capitution, turning refined speech to guttural moans and polite society's daughter into nothing more than a quivering vessel of reception, her pussy lips sug greedily at what her actual lips would never dare fess to wanting."- Virginia Woolf, probably, in some lesser-known missive

  The bck y Victoria's Secret demi-cup presses against my flesh differently than I remember. I adjust the straps, frowning at my refle as I turn sideways to examihe fit.

  "What the actual fuck?" I mutter, cupping the sides of my breasts and lifting slightly. They feel... heavier. Softer. The once-perfect breasts that filled out my cheer uniform with athletic perkiness now strain against the ce with a new fullness, almost spilling over the top in a way they never did before.

  I lean closer to the mirror, examining my face. My cheekbones are the same, my jawline just as defined, but there's a perpetual flush to my skin now, like I'm stantly on the verge of blushing. My lips look slightly fuller too, the bottom one especially plump.

  "It's just water retention," I decide. "PMS or whatever."

  But my period isn't due for awo weeks, acc to the trag app I installed after the first... i.

  I adjust my thong, wing as the ce slides between my bia, which feel puffy aive. The once-perfect triangle of fabric doesn't sit quite ft against my mound anymore—my pussy lips seem to grab at it, pulling it slightly into the crease.

  "This is stupid," I mutter, turning to check my ass in the mirror.

  Has it gotten... rouhe high, tight cheerleader butt I've maintaihrough tless squats and lunges seems softer somehow, with a more pronounced jiggle when I shift my weight from one foot to the other. My thighs, too, appear slightly fuller, though not in a bad way—more like I've been sculpted by someoh a very specific ideal of femininity in mind.

  "It's all in your head, Bir," I tell my refle firmly. "You've been w out just as much as before. Nothing's ged."

  Today I have my alumni interview for ell, followed by what Chad is calling our "ree date." He's beeing me all week about how he misses me, how we o "get back to normal." Transtion: he's horny and ahat his girlfriend isn't putting out.

  I haven't slept with Chad iwo weeks now. Every time he tries, I've had an excuse ready—period, headache, too muework, parents home. The truth is, I 't bear the thought of his perfectly adequate dick after experieng... the alternative.

  I slip a casual but subtly sexy sundress over my lingerie—the kind of outfit that says "I'm n too hard" while still showg my assets. It's light blue with thin straps, hitting mid-thigh, the material just sheer enough to hint at the bck derh if the light hits right. Cssic date outfit when you want to seem effortless.

  "Maybe I should just end it with Chad," I muse, applying my Dior lip gloss. "It's not like I enjoy the sex anymore."

  But that would mean admitting something's wrong. That would meaions from friends, from parents, from everyone who sees us as Westke's golden couple. And what would I say? "Sorry, I 't fuck Chad anymore because my body only responds to disgusting otaku coow"?

  My phone buzzes on the vanity.

  ??CHAD??: Looking forward to tonight babe. Been too long. Miss you.

  Attached is a shirtless gym selfie, his abs glistening with sweat, that manufactured smile in pce.

  I set the phone down without responding and finish my makeup, going with a subtle smoky eye that makes the blue pop. The alumni interview doesn't start until 2 PM, giving me plenty of time to perfect my "future ell freshman" look.

  The doorbell rings as I'm applying my final coat of mascara.

  "Ugh, finally," I mutter, setting down the wand. I ordered avocado toast and a poached egg from that bougie café downtown—overpriced but perfect for Instagram.

  I grab my silk robe from the hook on my bathroom door, slipping it over my dress to avoid getting food on it.

  "ing!" I call, hurrying down the curved staircase. My parents are at some charity golf tour, leavihe entire house to prepare in peace.

  I swing open the door, already reag for my wallet. "How much do I owe—"

  The words die in my throat.

  Oliver Tanaka stands on my doorstep, his bulk taking up most of the frame, dressed in his usual uniform of cargo shorts and a graphic t-shirt—this ouring some big-eyed anime girl with cat ears. He's holding a small gift bag in one hand, the other raised like he was about t the bell again.

  My blood turns to ice, then immediately to va. "What the FUCK are you doing at my HOUSE?" I hiss, gng frantically around to make sure none of the neighbors are watg.

  Oliver blinks owlishly behind his smudged gsses. "Hello, Bir. I brought you something."

  He holds out the gift bag like an . It's bck with pink tissue paper stig out the top, looking suspiciously like it came from a mall lingerie store.

  "Get inside!" I snap, grabbing his wrist and yanking him through the doorway. "Are you INSANE?"

  I don't mean to pull him inside—I mean to tell him to go away—but my body makes the decision before my brain catch up. The moment his skin touches mine, my thighs ch together so violently I have to suppress a whimper, a sudden flood of arousal dampening my hong.

  I sm the door behind him, my heart thundering in my chest. "My parents could e home any minute!"

  Oliver looks around my foyer with undisguised curiosity, taking in the marble floors, the crystal delier, the sweeping staircase. "Your home is very impressive," he says, eyes lingering on the inal Warhol hanging irance hall.

  "What are you DOING here? How do you even know where I LIVE?"

  "School directory," he says simply, still examining my house like he's cataloging every detail. "And I wao give you this." He holds out the gift bag again.

  "I don't want your stupid present," I snap, even as I notice the Victoria's Secret logo on the side of the bag. A traitorous tingle runs through me. "Whatever anime figurine or—or—hentai body pillow you've brought, you take it right back."

  Oliver's face falls slightly, and for a bizarre moment, I actually feel bad. Then I remember this is OLIVER TANAKA standing in MY HOUSE where anyone could see him.

  "We o go upstairs," I hiss, already moving toward the staircase. "If the housekeeper es bad sees you—"

  "You have a housekeeper?" Oliver asks, following me up the stairs, his eyes now fixed on my ass as it sways in front of him. I feel his gaze like a physical touch, hot and invasive.

  "And a gardener and a pool guy," I toss over my shoulder.

  I don't know why I'm telling him this, except some part of me wants him to uand the gulf between us—that I'm Bir Williams, daughter of Richard and Catherine Williams, future ell student, not some otaku's cum dumpster.

  We reach my bedroom door, and I hesitate for a fra of a sed before pushing it open. Something feels deeply wrong about letting Oliver into my personal space—my sanctuary, my perfect pink-and-white haven that's beeured in han three "room tour" TikToks.

  But the alternative is leaving him in the hallway where anyone could see him, so I usher him inside and close the door firmly behind us, clig the loto pce.

  Oliver stands in the middle of my room, looking ically out of pce among the pristine white furniture, the designer bedding, the carefully arranged photos of me with various celebrity children I've met through my parents' es.

  "Here," he says, holding out the gift bag for a third time. "I saw this and thought of you."

  "I really don't want it," I say, mently this time, feeling a weird twinge of guilt at the disappoi on his face. "Look around, Oliver. I have everything I could possibly want."

  I gesture to my room—the built-in closet filled with designer clothes, the vanity covered in high-end makeup and skihe MacBook Pro and iPad on my desk o the stack of ell paperwork.

  "Those are just things," Oliver says, his voice taking on that annoyiure-y tos. "Material possessions don't necessarily fulfill emotional needs."

  "Oh my GOD, spare me the philosophy." I roll my eyes, setting the gift bag on my desk without looking inside. "Why are you really here?"

  Oliver adjusts his gsses, looking suddenly uain. "It's been four days. I calcuted that based on our previous pattern, you would be experieng withdrawal symptoms by now."

  My face flushes hot, embarrassment and arousal mixing in equal measure. "Withdrawal? I'm not some—some ADDICT!"

  "Your physiological responses suggest otherwise," Oliver says, his eyes dropping to where my thighs are pressed together. "You're exhibiting cssic signs of arousal: dited pupils, flushed skin, increased respiration rate. And..." His gaze drops lower. "You appear to be leaking."

  I look down in horror to see a thin trickle of wetness running down my ihigh, visible just below the hem of my sundress.

  "Oh my GOD," I gasp, mortified beyond words.

  "It's a normal response," Oliver says, stepping closer, his voice dropping to that deeper register that seems ter something primal in me. "Your bs source of pleasure."

  "Shut UP," I snap, but there's no real force behind it. My brain feels foggy, my skin too hot, too tight. There's a hollow, empty sensatioween my legs that's growing more insistent by the sed.

  Oliver is still talking, something about dopamiors and Pavlovian responses, but all I focus on is the outline of his cock visible through his cargo shorts. Even soft, it creates an obse bulge that makes my mouth water against my will.

  "Are you even listening to me?" he asks, and I realize I've been staring directly at his crotch.

  "No," I admit, my voice sounding strao my own ears—breathier, higher.

  My face is on FIRE, my cheeks burning so hot I half expect my makeup to melt off. The trickle down my thigh has bee a steady stream, my pussy literally weeping for attention.

  "This is so STUPID," I huff, cutting him off mid-sentence about ransmitters or whatever. "We don't even LIKE each other."

  I untie my silk robe with trembling fingers, letting it slide off my shoulders to pool on the floor. My sundress follows, carefully lifted over my head and py desk chair to avoid wrinkling it.

  I stand before him in just my bck ce lingerie, my body flushed and trembling. The cool air kisses my overheated skin, raising goosebumps along my arms and legs.

  "Your body is remarkably effit at self-lubrication," Oliver observes again, his eyes fixed on the darkening paty thong where I'm soaking through the delicate fabric.

  "Oh my GOD, shut UP!" I groan, turning away from him and brag my hands on my desk. "Just... just put it in, okay? I have an alumni interview at two, and these are my reendatioers that I ." I gesture to the stack of papers ly arranged in a folder. "And a date with Chad at six, so you o be gone by o the test."

  I hook my thumbs into the sides of my thong, pulling it aside to expose my dripping pussy. The sound is obse—a wet SCHLICK as the fabric peels away from my swollen lips. I feel cool air on my exposed flesh, making me shiver.

  "Well?" I demand over my shoulder, arg my back to present my ass more promily. To my horror, I find myself WIGGLING it slightly, a subscious invitation that makes me want to die of embarrassment. "What are you waiting for?"

  Oliver approaches slowly, his hands going to his cargo shorts. I hear the rustle of fabric, the metallic hiss of his zipper, then a heavy TH as his cock springs free.

  "I regret to inform you that I haven't been able to masturbate for the past four days due to family obligations," Oliver says in that ical way of his. "My parents have been on a staycation, limiting my privacy. As a result, my testicles are somewhat enged."

  I risk a gnce over my shoulder and nearly choke. His cock looks even more monstrous than I remember—the veins more pronouhe head darker and ahe shaft impossibly thick. It's like someoook what was already a terrifying appendage and enha further.

  "What the fuck?" I whisper, uo tear my eyes away. "Is that... bigger?"

  "Approximately 8.3% rger in circumference due to prolonged abstinence," Oliver firms, ing his hand around the base. "And approximately 12.7% mid."

  I should be running screaming from the room. Instead, I feel my inner walls ch desperately around nothing, my womb going hot and liquid at the mere sight of it. My pussy spreads itself further, like it's trying to wink at him, my fingers pulling my lips apart to showcase the glistening pink interior.

  The air between us fills with the musky st of my arousal—a heady, feminine perfume that mingles with the stale sweat and energy drink smell that stantly surrounds Oliver. Wheeps behihat smell intensifies—unwashed male, with uones of something chemical and syic.

  "Your female lubrit has increased in viscosity," Oliver notes, running a finger up my slit, colleg my wetness. I wat horrified fasation as he exami, rubbing it between his fingers. "The sistency resembles egg whites, suggesting peak fertility."

  " you please stop talking like a fug biology textbook and just—OH!"

  My words cut off as he THS his massive cock dowween my ass cheeks, letting it rest heavily against my lower back. The weight of it is shog—like someone id a warm, pulsing forearm ay spine. I feel it throbbing against my skin, each beat of his heart transted into a twitch that sends vibrations through my entire body.

  Hot, viscous precum leaks from the tip, pooling in the small of my back before running down my sides in sticky rivulets. It's scalding, way hotter than should be possible, the temperature making my skin tighten and prickle.

  "Your lingerie appears to be Victoria's Secret," Oliver observes, his hands moving to my hips. "Bck Lace Plunge Demi, 2022 colle, if I'm not mistaken." His firace where the straps of my thong cut ay hips. "Not as high quality as the La Per I destroyed previously, but aesthetically pleasing heless."

  "How do you even KNOW that?" I start to ask, but my question dissolves into a guttural moan as he drags his cock downward, the massive head slidiween my ass cheeks, leaving a trail of sticky precum in its wake, before notg itself against my entrance.

  "HHHHHNNNNNNGGGGGHHHH!" The sound that escapes me is inhuman—a thick, breathy groan that seems to start in my toes and work its through my entire body. My eyes cross, then roll back slightly as the blunt head stretches my opening, my pussy lips immediately g around it like they're weling home a long-lost friend.

  "Your bia demonstrate remarkable grip strength," Oliver ents, pressing forward just enough to lodge the head inside me. "They cradle my gns as if specifically evolved for this purpose."

  "Will you STOP with the—AAAAHHHH!"

  My attempt at bitess gets derailed as he pushes forward another inch, the girth of him f my body to aodate more than it should be able to. The stretch burns in the most delicious way, my flesh yielding to his invasion even as I try to maintain some sembnce of anger.

  "This is so—NNGGH—so STUPID," I gasp, my fingers curling against my desk, nails scraping the expensive wood. "I have an interview t-today, and—OH GOD—a date with my b-boyfriend, and I'm letting some disgusting—FUCK!—anime freak fuck me on my d-desk!"

  As Oliver's massive cootches into my entrance, something shifts inside me. My womb feels like it's suddenly been plugged into arical outlet, a wave of heat spreading through my reproductive system like someone's lit a furna my pelvis. It's horrifying, disgusting, and so fug good I barely form words.

  "HHHHHNNNNNNGGGGGHHHH!" The sound tears from my throat—thick, breathy, humiliatingly desperate.

  I feel like I'm melting from the i, my internal tissues heating up around him like my body is preparing an incubation chamber. My cervix actually seems to pulse and dite slightly, as if being his eventual deposit deeper, eager to usher his disgusting sperm toward my eggs.

  Oh god, my eggs. I SWEAR I feel them responding, like tiny marbles dropping into position, little pinprick sensations in my ovaries as they release their payload at the mere PRESENCE of his cock.

  "NNNNNGHH!" I squeal.

  I feel my pussy lips straining, ging desperately to the invader as it pushes past them, creating a seal so tight I swear I feel eadividual vein as it slides ihe head alone feels like it's occupying half my pelvis, pressing against pces that nothing should ever reach.

  "You're very receptive today," Oliver observes, his hands moving to grip my hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh with surprising strength. "More so than our previous enters."

  "Fuck—YOU," I pant, back arg involuntarily as he pushes another inside me. "Just hurry UP! I told you, I have an in-interview ter!"

  "This is a natural process," Oliver says, his voice more strained now, showing the first hints that he's not as ical as he's pretending. "It shouldn't be rushed."

  "I'm not some—some EXPERIMENT!" I try to growl, but it es out as more of a whimper as he inches fain, the massive shaft splitting me open oimeter at a time. "This is just—oh MY GOD—just me getting off, okay?"

  "No," Oliver says simply, his grip tightening on my hips. "This is me fug you."

  The crude nguage ing from his usually ical mouth sends a jolt through me, my pussy g violently around him. It would have been LESS shog to hear him recite the periodic table than to hear actual dirty talk.

  "You like that phrasing," he notes, pressing forward until half his length is buried inside me. "Yinal walls tracted in response."

  "They DID NOT—oh fuck, fuck, FUCK!"

  His hrust is harder, more decisive, burying awo inches in a siroke. I feel him pressing against my cervix now, that special kind of not-quite-pain that radiates through my abdomen straight to my nipples.

  "Yetting a D+ on your anatomy test," I gasp, trying desperately to maintain some sembny normal scathing personality. "My vaginal walls are not—AHHH!"

  He pulls back slightly, then drives fain, this time with enough forp directly against my cervix. The impact sends shockwaves through my entire body, from the soles of my feet to the roots of my hair. It's like someoonated a pleasure bomb in my womb.

  "That was—" I start to say, but Oliver repeats the motion, harder this time, cutting off my words.

  "That was my penis tag your cervix," he supplies, his ical terminology somehow making it WORSE. "Based on your vocalizations, you found it pleasurable."

  "NO SHIT!" I nearly scream, my fist pounding weakly against the desk as he does it AGAIN, each impact sending fresh ripples of pleasure-pain through my system. "Oh—my—FUG—god!"

  I feel the asm building in my pelvis—a swelling pressure that threatens to drown me. I try to fight it, g my teeth, squeezing every muscle in my body to hold back the humiliating release that's looming from just his initial entry.

  "No, no, no," I whisper, my fingernails scratg deep grooves into my expensive desk. "Not from just—just putting it—in—"

  But my body refuses to obey as Oliver drives the final inches home, his massive bulk pressing against my back, his cock reag depths that shouldn't be physically possible. I feel his heavy, sweat-slick balls sp against my pussy lips as he bottoms out, the sensatiering something primal in me.

  "NNNGGHHH!" I growl through ched teeth, the sound turning into a squeal as my resistance crumbles. "I'M—I'M CUMMING! FUCK! I'M—"

  I sp my hand over my mouth to muffle my scream, but it's too te. My entire body vulses, my spine arg so dramatically I'm afraid it might snap. My pussy tracts violently around his invading co rhythmic pulses that I 't trol.

  And then—oh GOD—I'm squirting. Not the delicate, feminine moistness of romanovels, but a forceful, humiliating GUSH of fluid that sprays past his cock, spttering onto my pristine white carpet with an audible SPLAT.

  "My RUG!" I wail as another pulse of fluid erupts from me, adding to the growing puddle beh us. "That's hand-knotted silk! How am I supposed to expin THAT?"

  Oliver's response is to grab my hips with his pudgy hands and pull me bato his cock with brutal force, the impact jarrio my core. His fingers dig into my flesh hard enough to leave marks, his palms sweaty against my skin.

  "Seven thousand dolrs," I babble, uo stop myself as he starts to move inside me, pulling batil just the head remains before smming fain. "That rug cost seven—AAAAHHH!"

  His thrusts turn savage, all pretense of stific observation gone as animal instinct takes over. The sound is obse—SCHLORP-SLAP! SCHLORP-SLAP! SCHLORP-SLAP!—the wet sug noise of my pussy trying to keep him inside mixed with the meaty impact of his thighs hitting my ass.

  My tits, still fined in the bck ce demi-cup but increasingly unruly, swing wildly with each thrust. They feel heavier, floppier than I remember, more sensitive too. Each time they crash into each other, the fri of ce against my nipples sends sharp zings of pleasure straight to my clit.

  "Fuck!" Oliver grunts, his usual articute speech deserting him as he rutts into me like an animal. "You feel—so—"

  "Just shut UP and fuck me!" I cry, my face burning with humiliation at the words ing out of my mouth. "Just use me a OVER WITH!"

  He takes me at my word, his pacreasing to a brutal rhythm that has my entire body jolting forward with each thrust. My tits finally escape their ce prison, spilling over the top of my bra to sp against the desk with wet PLAP-PLAP sounds, the impact stinging my sensitive nipples in a way that somehow adds to the pleasure.

  "SPLURCH-SLAP! SPLURCH-SLAP! SPLURCH-SLAP!"

  The sounds grow wetter, more disgusting as my arousal increases, my body produg so much fluid it's running down my ihighs in sticky rivulets. I feel it pooling on the floor beh us, mixing with the earlier evideny squirting.

  Oliver's grip on my hips tightens, his movements growing more erratic. "I'm already—" he pants, his voice strained. "It's been too long—I 't—"

  "ALREADY?" I try to sound ed, but it es out more desperate than anything. "It's barely been five minutes!"

  "Four days without release," he reminds me, his hips still pistoning against my ass. "My testicles are—nnngh—overfull."

  Before I respond, he releases my hips and grabs my wrists instead, yanking them behind my back like hahe new position arches my spine dramatically, thrusting my ass higher, my tits now pletely spilling onto the desk.

  "What are you—OH!"

  The ge in as him hit something deep inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes. My vision actually blurs, the edges going dark as pleasure overwhelms my system.

  "SCHLURP-SPLAT! SCHLURP-SPLAT! SCHLURP-SPLAT!"

  The wet, nasty sounds of our coupling echh my bedroom, mixing with my increasingly desperate moans and Oliver's bored breathing. The smell of sex—musky, sweaty, primal—fills the air, overp even my expensive Diptyque dle burning on the nightstand.

  "I'm going to—" Oliver grunts, his pace being frenzied. "I 't—hold—"

  "DO IT!" I cry, the words bursting from me without scious thought. "FILL ME UP! FUG CUM INSIDE ME!"

  My head whips around, twisting to look back at him over my shoulder. The sight is both grotesque and somehow mesmerizing—his face flushed and sweaty, multiple s pressed as his head tilts back, gsses slightly askew on his nose.

  His hips sm forward one final time, driving his cock so deep I swear I feel it in my throat. He bottoms out pletely, his balls pressed firmly against my bia, and then I feel it—the first massive pulse of cum erupting inside me.

  SPLURT!

  The sensation is indescribable—hot, thick, almost semi-solid as it floods into me. This isn't the watery ejacute of teenage boys; this is trated geic material, thick as custard, scalding hot as it paints my insides.

  My eyes cross involuntarily, my mouth falling open in a silent scream as my own asm crashes through me in response. My pussy ches rhythmically around his pulsing shaft, milking him for every drop of his disgusting seed.

  SPLURT! SPLURT! BLORRRRT!

  Each pulse feels more substantial tha, physically pushing against my cervix, filling my womb to capacity and beyond. I feel his balls g against my pussy lips as they empty their enormous load, the muscles w to pump every st drop into me.

  "Nnnnngh!" Oliver grunts, his grip on my wrists tightening to the point of pain as he empties himself. "Bir..."

  The sound of my name on his lips triggers anasm, this one so powerful my legs give out pletely. I colpse forward onto the desk, my cheek pressing against the wood, drool poolih my face as my brain short-circuits from pleasure overload.

  Oliver stays buried inside me for a long moment, his cock still twitg with aftershocks, before slowly pulling out with a wet SCHLORP that makes me wince.

  Without his support, I slide bonelessly to the floor, my legs spying open as I nd on my back. My pussy makes a wet SPLAT as it ects with the carpet, immediately followed by a disgusting BLORP as cum starts to leak out.

  GLORP! SPLURCH! BLURRRP!

  The sounds are probably objectively revolting as my well-used hole struggles to tain the massive deposit he's left inside me. I feel it bubbling out in thick globs, soaking into my expensive carpet, adding to the mess we've already made.

  But the physical sensation—the feeling of being so thhly FILLED—is indescribable. My womb feels heavy, warm, almost like it's humming with pleasure, bathed ihick soup of Oliver's geic material. The weight of it creates a stant, subtle pressure on my G-spot, keeping me in a state of low-grade asm even as I lie there panting.

  Oliver looks down at me sprawled on the floor.

  I want to snap at him, to tell him to get out, to remind him I have an interview and a date and a LIFE outside of this—whatever this is. But something has shifted inside me, some fual alig has ged. The thought of going even a day without this feeling—this fullness, this pletion—makes me physically ed.

  "I his," I realize with horror, the admission staying safely inside my head. "I 't fun without his coymore."

  ---

  "Your oral teique has improved," Oliver observes, his haing awkwardly on my head as I nurse on the head of his cock.

  We've somehow migrated to my bed—my perfect pink duvet now stained with various bodily fluids—with Oliver sitting propped against my pillows, his legs spread wide. I'm draped across his thigh, my naked body pressed against his equally naked, far less attractive one, my lips ed around the still-impressive girth of his semi-hard cock.

  My heavy tits rest on his leg, spilling across the pale, hairy flesh in a way that should disgust me but somehow doesn't anymore. I'm using both hands to stroke what doesn't fit in my mouth, which is still most of it, my fingers barely meeting around the circumference.

  "Mmmmph," I respond, uo form words with my mouth so full. I pull off with a wet POP, lig my lips to catch the strand of saliva eg us. " you PLEASE stop narrating everything like it's a nature dotary?"

  "Sorry," Oliver mumbles, his fiangling in my hair as I dive back down, taking him as deep as I , which is still pathetically shallow given his size.

  I taste myself on him—tangy and musky—mixed with the lingering saltiness of his cum. The bination should be revolting. Instead, I find myself eagerly pping at it, ing him with my tongue like some kind of depraved kitten.

  The cloy nightstand reads 12:30. I still have time before I o get ready for my interview. Plenty of time to worship the disgusting appehat's somehow bee tral to my existence.

  "Your tongue—" Oliver starts, but cuts himself off when he sees my gre. "That feels... nice."

  I roll my eyes but don't stop, my tongue swirling around the head, dipping into the slit to collect the fresh precum beading there. My hands work the shaft in tawisting slightly on the upstroke, applying firmer pressure on the downstroke.

  I HATE that the little grunt of approval he makes when I swirl my tongue just right sends a flush of pride through me. My cheeks burn as I work his disgusting cock between my hands, feeling the hot, twitg flesh pulse against my palms.

  It's REVOLTING. The wiry, untrimmed pubes tickle my h each downstroke, his musky, unwashed st filling my nostrils. The veins are so pronouhey create a textural map under my fingers—ridges and valleys of pulsing blood vessels that feed this monstrous appehe skin itself is surprisingly soft, almost velvety, stretched tight over the rigid core like an obse sausage g.

  And the HEAD—purple and swollen, leaking a stant stream of cloudy, bitter fluid that bubbles up from the slit with each twitch. I find myself eagerly pping it up, moaning around the massive as I taste his disgusting pre-cum. It's salty and slightly metallic, with an underlying chemical bitterhat should make me gag but somehow doesn't.

  My 60 Nars lipstick is smeared all over his shaft, creating a pink road map of my degradation. My carefully applied mascara is probably running in bck rivers down my cheeks, but I 't bring myself to care.

  "Nnnghh," Oliver grunts as I take him deeper, the sound embarrassingly loud in my quiet bedroom. "Your mouth is... exceptional."

  I try to gre up at him, but it's hard to look intimidating with your lips stretched around a cock the size of a soda . Instead, I double down, hollowing my cheeks and SUG with obse enthusiasm, maki, sloppy hat would mortify me if I had any dignity left.

  SLURP-SCHLORP-SLURP!

  I'm actually WORSHIPPING his disgusting cock, w it with both hands and mouth like it's the ter of my universe, like I'm a devoted priestess at the altar of Oliver's dick. The realization should horrify me. Instead, I just suck harder, moan louder, press my tits more firmly against his hairy thigh.

  My phs somewhere behihe cheerful jingle ingruous with the filthy tableau on my bed. I ig, too focused oask at hand (and mouth), but Oliver gnces over.

  "Your phone," he says unnecessarily, stroking my hair as I tio nurse on his cock head.

  I pull off with a wet POP, strings of saliva eg my lips to his shaft. "Ig," I pant, immediately diving back down.

  SCHLORP-SLURP-GLURP!

  The phoops, then immediately starts again. With a frustrated growl, I release his cod twist around to grab it, careful not to dislodge my position draped across his leg.

  A text from the ell alumni interviewer: "Looking forward to meeting you at Starbucks at 2 PM. Bring your portfolio and reendatioers."

  And multiple texts from Chad:

  ??CHAD??: Hey babe, excited for tonight!??CHAD??: Wear that blue dress I like??CHAD??: The ohat shows off your ass??CHAD??: Miss you

  I g Oliver's cock, still wet from my mouth, standing proudly erect despite the interruption. Then at the clock: 1:00 PM. Then back at my phone.

  Without hesitation, I switch it to Do Not Disturb and toss it aside.

  "Where were we?" I purr, but instead of returning to my previous position, I flip onto my back beside him, spreading my legs obsely wide.

  My pussy is a disaster zone—swollen, red, and literally OVERFLOWING with his previous deposit. As I spread my lips with my fingers, fresh globs of cum bubble out, maki GLORP-SPLORT sounds as they nd on my already-soiled duvet.

  "I think there are still some pces ihat aren't pletely filled," I say, my voice husky and desperate as I spread myself wider, showing him the few pink patches of my inner walls that aren't coated in his thick spunk. "Don't you want to fix that?"

  Oliver's eyes darken behind his smudged gsses. Without a word, he moves between my spread legs, his bulk creating a dip itress that rolls me slightly toward him. His soft stomach presses against my toned abdomen as he positions himself, the trast in our bodies making this somehow even more depraved.

  "Your bia demonstrate impressive esticity," he observes, notg his cock head against my entrahe colors are also aesthetically pleasing—the gradient from—"

  "Just FUCK ME already!" I wail, reag down to grab his shaft and guide it more firmly against my opening.

  He plies, driving forward with a brutal thrust that sheathes him to the hilt in one go. The impact forces a fresh wave of his previous load out around his cock, the excess spurting upward to spsh against our stomachs with a wet SPLORCH.

  "AAAAHHHH!" I scream, my back arg off the bed, tits boung violently with the movement. "OH MY FUG GOD!"

  Oliver establishes a punishing rhythm immediately, his soft body somehow taining surprising strength as he pounds into me. Each thrust drives the air from my lungs in high-pitched squeals that I barely reize as my own voice.

  SPLURCH-SLAP! SPLURCH-SLAP! SPLURCH-SLAP!

  The sounds are FILTHY—wet, sloppy, and unmistakably praphic. My pussy makes obse squelg noises with each thrust, like someoirring a pot of mad cheese, the excess cum from his previous deposit providing even more lubrication.

  His pacreases, his bulk now fully pressio the mattress, his sweaty chest crushing my tits beh him. The position should be unfortable—he's literally squashih his weight—but instead, it feels oddly secure, like being ed in a heavy, disgusting b.

  "I'M CUMMING!" I squeal, my voice higher and more desperate than I've ever heard it. "I'M CUMMING AGAIN! OLIVER! OLIVER!"

  My asm crashes through me like a tsunami, starting at my clit and radiating outward until every cell in my body is pulsing with pleasure. My legs tighten around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper, my heels digging into his soft back.

  "FOR REAL, WHAT AM I DOING?" my st rational brain cell screams as I vulse beh this revolting otaku. "I BROUGHT HIM TO MY ROOM! MY ACTUAL BEDROOM!"

  But that thought is quickly drowned out by another wave of pleasure as Oliver shifts his position, his mouth finding my nipple and SUG with ued skill. His tongue swirls around the sensitive peak, teeth grazing just enough to send jolts of electricity straight to my clit.

  "HNNNNGH! OH GOD! OLIVER!" I wail, clutg at his sweaty baails digging into the soft flesh. "RIGHT THERE! DON'T STOP!"

  He grunts against my breast, the vibration adding another yer to the sensation as he tio pound into me. His rhythm grows more erratic, his breathing more bored, signs I nnize as his approag climax.

  I g the clock through tear-blurred eyes: 1:15 PM. I still have time. I get ready in fifteen minutes if I hurry. Drive there in another fifteen. I have at least thirty minutes more to let him use me. (But didn't I o print something? Wasn't there a form to fill out? These practical s seem increasingly distant, irrelevant pared to the cock currently rearranging my insides.)

  "I'm approag ejacution," Oliver warns, his iguage at odds with the animal rutting of his body.

  My legs tighten around him, ankles log behind his back to prevent any possibility of withdrawal.

  Oliver's entire body tenses above me, his soft bulk suddenly rigid as his asm hits. "BLAIR!" he grunts, my orn from his throat as his cock swells inside me, then starts to pulse with frightening iy.

  SPLURT! BLORRT! SPLOOORCH!

  I FEEL each jet of cum as it erupts inside me, hot and thick, painting my already-coated walls with fresh nut-sludge. The pressure is so intense some of it immediately squirts back out around his shaft, creating mini-geysers with each pulse that spsh upward between our bodies.

  The sensation of being filled so pletely, so THHLY, triggers anasm, this one even more powerful tha. My pussy tracts wildly around him, milking his cock for every drop, even as excess spunk bubbles out around his shaft.

  "CUMMING! I'M CUMMING WITH YOU!" I wail, my eyes rolling back as pleasure obliterates my sciousness momentarily.

  Our bodies are fused together in the most primal ossible—his cock buried to the hilt, his balls pressed against my ass, his weight crushio the mattress as he empties himself into my womb. It's animalistic, disgusting, and so fug good I 't form coherent thoughts.

  SPLORCH! SPLURT! BLORRRRRT!

  More cum pumps into me with each heartbeat, more than should be physically possible, especially after his earlier deposit. It's like his balls produce sperm at an industrial rate, st it up just to flood my reproductive system.

  The weight of him presses me deep into the mattress, trapping me beh his sweaty bulk as he tio twitd pulse inside me. His breath is hot against my neck, smelling of energy drinks and stale chips, yet somehow I find myself turning toward it rather than away.

  I should push him off, should check the time, should be panig about my interview. Instead, I just lie there, legs still ed around him, feeling the bined weight of his body and his deposit inside me.

  "o get ready soon," I murmur, making no move to dislodge him. "Interview."

  "Yes," Oliver agrees, also not moving. "That would be the responsible course of a."

  It's 1:35 PM. I should be in the shower, washing away Oliver's st, getting ready for my alumni interview. Instead, I'm on my knees beside my desk, my lips stretched around his monstrous cock while I try to multitask with my college appliaterials.

  "Just o finish these st forms," I mumble around his shaft, pulling off with a wet POP to dip my pen in ink. "The interview prep coach said they'll definitely ask about my extracurricurs."

  My left hand ops w Oliver's cock, pumping it with meical precision while my right hand struggles to plete the supplementary questionhe one where ell asks about "a signifit challenge you've overe" (does "addi to otaku dick" t?) and "how you pn to tribute to campus culture" (by not fug the entire anime club, hopefully).

  "Your oral teique is—nngh—quite thh," Oliver observes, his pudgy hands resting awkwardly on my head.

  I ignore him, fog on the reendatioer from my calculus teacher that needs my signature aowledging receipt. o it is the portfolio of my cheerleading achievements, plete with glossy photos of me in mid-air splits, and the unity servientation showing my (minimal) hours at the animal shelter where I mostly just took selfies with puppies for Instagram.

  My lips return to his coursing on the head while I reach for the final form—the interview firmation slip that I'm supposed t to show I'm serious about attending ell. "Just one more," I mumble, the warbled around his girth.

  SCHLURP-SLURP-SCHLORP!

  The sounds are absolutely praphic—wet, sloppy, desperate. My teique has evolved from relut to enthusiastiething approag religious devotion, my tongue w the sensitive spot just uhe head while my hand twists on the upstroke.

  "Bir," Oliver grunts, his voice strained. "I'm approag—"

  "Hold on!" I pull off his cock, a strand of saliva eg my lower lip to the purple head. "Just let me sign this st—"

  "I 't—hold back—" Oliver's voice tightens, his cock swelling in my hand.

  "HOLD IT!" I snap, frantically reag for the interview firmation form. "Just one more sed!"

  But it's too te. Oliver's cock jerks violently in my grip, the slit widening as the first rope of cum erupts with shog force.

  SPLURT!

  Time seems to slow as I watch the thick, ropey strand of cum arc through the air—a disgusting parabo of yellowish-white sludge, steaming slightly in the cool air of my bedroom, glistening in the light of my sted dle like some unholy et.

  It's mesmerizing in its vileness—ky and viscous, swirling with what looks like actual CLUMPS of sperm, the sistenewhere between tapioca pudding and school glue.

  And then—

  SPLAT!

  The thick rope nds diagonally ay ell Honor Pledge, the terpiey application package. The paper immediately buckles slightly from the moisture, the expensive cream-colored stationery abs the fluid, my signature disappearih a steaming puddle of otaku sperm.

  "OH MY GOD!" I shriek, grabbing a tissue from the box on my desk and frantically dabbing at the mess, whily succeeds in smearing it further across the page. "MY HONOR PLEDGE!"

  Oliver doesn't seem tister my distress. His eyes are closed, his head tilted back, his cock still pulsing in my hand as another massive jet builds at the tip.

  "STOP!" I wail, but my hand—my traitorous, dick-drunk hand—tinues pumping him through his asm, literally milking more cum onto my ruined paperwork.

  SPLAT! SPLURT! SPLOOORCH!

  Each fresh rope adds to the devastation, soaking through the papers, pooling on the desk, dripping onto the unity servientation below. The animal shelter puppies now swim in a sea of spunk.

  "My PAPERWORK!" I cry, watg in horror as cum seeps into my calculus teacher's signature, turning the blue ink into a blurry, illegible smear. "My INTERVIEW!"

  The symbolic devastation isn't lost on me—Oliver's disgusting cock is literally destroying my future, my carefully structed path to success reduced to cum-soaked paper in a matter of seds. Years of resume-building, volunteer work, academic excellence, and social climbing wash away under a tide of sticky, steaming sperm.

  Yet even as I watch my ell dreams dissolve in a puddle of semen, I 't stop jerking him, 't stop leaning forward to catch the rope on my TOher thaing it add to the paperwork destru.

  SPLURT! BLORRT! SPLAT!

  The final jets nd on my cheek, in my hair, ay lips—marking me as what I've bee: just another surface for Oliver Tanaka to coat with his disgusting seed.

  And the worst part? I 't even bring myself to be truly angry. Some sick, twisted part of me finds a perverse satisfa in watg my perfect Bir Williams life get defaced by something so primal, so disgusting, so REAL.

  "Your dotations appears to be promised," Oliver observes, looking down at the cum-spttered desk with detached i.

  "No SHIT," I hiss, finally releasing his cock to assess the damage. Every single piece of paperwork is ruined—soaked through, stained, wrinkled from the moisture. My perfect application package looks like it's been used as a cum rag in a frat house.

  "The interview starts iy minutes," I moan, staring at the clo horror. "I 't print new copies in time. I 't show up with... with THIS." I gesture to the dripping, soggy mess on my desk.

  For the first time, the full weight of what's happening hits me. I'm going to miss my alumni interview—the critical final step in my ell application process. The path that's been id out for me since birth is crumbling before my eyes, and all because I couldn't stop myself from sug Oliver Tanaka's disgusting cock.

  I should be devastated. I should be panig. I should be scrambling for a solution.

  Instead, I find myself staring at his still-hard cock, a fresh wave of arousal washing over me at the sight of it glistening with my saliva and his cum. My pussy ches around nothing, suddenly feeliy and ed.

  "I think," I hear myself say, my voice distant and dreamy, "I o call and reschedule the interview."

  Oliver pushes his gsses up his nose, his expression unreadable. "That would be the logical course of a."

  I reay phone, but instead of dialing the interviewer's number, I find myself texting:

  Me: So sorry but I've e down with something sudden and severe. o reschedule our meeting. Will call tomorrow te. Deepest apologies.

  I set the phone down, not waiting for a response, and turn back to Oliver. His cock is still standing proudly erect, apparently ued by the massive load he just deposited ay future.

  "I think," I say slowly, crawling toward him on all fours, "we have a little more time now."

  ---

  We ighe clopletely as primal instinct takes over. My body bees a pyground for his depraved desires, and worse, my own.

  I find myself straddling his p, fag him, my sweaty tits boung and spping together as I ride him with frantic desperation. His face is inches from mine, his breath hot and stale against my skin.

  "Kiss me," I hear myself beg, the words shog me even as they leave my mouth. "Please, Oliver, kiss me!"

  His lips meet mine in a sloppy, i kiss that shouldn't be arousing but somehow is. I'm making out with Oliver Tanaka. MAKING OUT. Like we're lovers, not whatever sick, twisted thiually are.

  SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SPLORCH-SLAP!

  My ass bounces against his thighs as I ride him, w my hips in a circur motion that ensures his cock head massages every sensitive spot inside me. Each downward thrust makes my pussy make these humiliating squelg noises, my body produg so much lubrication it's running down his balls to pool on my Anthropologie duvet.

  "Your cock feels so good inside me," I whimper, my mind bnk with pleasure. "So fug BIG. So fug DEEP."

  His pudgy hands clutch at my waist, helping guide my movements, his hips bug upward to meet each downward thrust. The bination drives him impossibly deeper, hitting pces inside me that make white spots da the edges of my vision.

  "CUMMING!" I wail, grinding down hard against him as my asm crashes through me. "CUMMING ON YOUR DICK! CUMMING—CUMMING—CUUUMMIIINNNG!"

  My pussy ches violently around him, rippling trailking his shaft as I tinue grinding through my climax. The sensation is too much—I colpse fainst his sweaty chest, my face buried in the crook of his neck, inhaling his musky, unwashed st like it's expensive perfume.

  Before I recover, Oliver rolls us over, pinnio the mattress with his siderable bulk. One hand reaches up to grab both my wrists, holding them above my head against the headboard. The other hand mashes my tits together, fingers sinking deep into the soft, yielding flesh.

  My boobs seem softer than before, more pliable, the flesh yielding under his grip like memory foam. He squeezes them together, creating a deep valley of cleavage that he stares at with undisguised lust.

  "Your mammary tissue is remarkably estic," he observes, thumbs flig over my nipples, sending jolts of electricity straight to my clit.

  "Just shut up and fuck me," I groan, arg my back to press my tits more firmly into his grasp. "I . Need your cock."

  He plies, smming into me with renewed vigor, each thrust making my entire body jolt upward before his grip on my wrists arrests the movement. I'm pinned, helpless, pletely at the mercy of this disgusting otaku and his monster cock.

  And I fug LOVE it.

  "HARDER!" I scream, my legs ing around his waist, heels digging into his soft back. "FUCK ME HARDER!"

  Oliver's rhythm falters, his breathing being bored, his cock swelling inside me—telltale signs of his impending asm. I should tell him to pull out, should worry about the sequences, but the thought of him withdrawing feels worse than any potential pregnancy.

  "DO IT!" I urge, log my aighter around him. "CUM INSIDE ME AGAIN! FILL ME UP!"

  His entire body tenses above me, his face t into that bizarre expression that somehow looks both pained aatic. Then I feel it—the first massive pulse as his cock erupts inside me.

  BLURRRRTT!

  This load feels even thicker than the previous ones, if that's possible—like warm cake batter being pumped directly into my womb. The pressure is incredible, his cock perfectly sealed against my cervix as he unloads, ensuring every drop goes exactly where it's desigo go.

  The feeling of being so thhly BRED triggers anasm, this one so intense my vision actually bomentarily. When I e bayself, Oliver is still twitg inside me, the final spurts of his massive load joining the reservoir already built up in my womb.

  There's no need for forepy with Oliver—no awkward fumbling, o "warm up" like with uys. It's just pure, animalistic mating, the most basic biological imperative stripped of all pretense.

  And that's when it hits me—the realization that's been h at the edges of my sciousness. His goal, scious or not, is to impregnate me. My body knows it on a cellur level, responds to it with a fervor that terrifies me.

  "Water," I gasp, my throat raw from screaming. "Need water."

  Oliver reaches for my Stanley cup on the nightstand, handing it to me with surprisileness. I gulp desperately, water spilling down my and onto my heaving tits. I've never been so thirsty in my life, my body desperate to replenish the fluids I've lost through sweat and... other means.

  We barely pause before we're at it again, and again, and AGAIN—a marathon of fug that defies all logid physical limitations. Each position is more depraved tha, each asm more shattering.

  My brain is soup, my body nothing but nerve endings and pleasure receptors. The room spins around us, the bed creaks in protest, and still we titing like animals, coputing with single-minded purpose.

  "Your pussy feels nice," Oliver grunts as he takes me doggy-style, his hand ed in my hair like a leash, pulling my head back at an ahat should be painful but just adds to the iy.

  "It's YOURS," I hear myself babble, words I'd hought I'd say p from my lips in a delirious stream. "Your personal cum dump."

  His grip on my hair tightens, his thrusts being brutal, animalistic. "Keep... talking," he demands, his voice deeper than I've ever heard it.

  "I'm your FUCK TOY!" I scream, beyond g if the neighbors hear, beyond g about ANYTHING except the cock destroying me from the i.

  Each filthy word that leaves my mouth should horrify me, but instead just pushes me closer to the edge, my degradation being its ohrodisiac. My body isn't my own anymore—it's a vessel for his pleasure, a receptacle for his seed, and the thought makes my insides SQUEEZE him even harder.

  "CUMMING AGAIN!" I wail as anasm rips through me, my pussy squirting violently around his shaft, soaking both of us and adding to the growing puddle beh us. "FUCK! OH FUCK! OLIVER! OLIVER! OLIVERRRR!"

  His answering groan tells me he's close too, his cock swelling impossibly rger inside me. I feel every ridge, every vein, every throb as he prepares to unleash yet another flood inside me.

  BLURRRT! SPLORT! SPLURCH!

  More cum pumps into me, joining the reservoir already built up from our previous rounds. The pressure is so intehat some of it immediately spurts back out around his shaft, creating an obse fountain that sprays onto my lower bad ass.

  We colpse together onto the soaked mattress, both gasping for breath, bodies slick with sweat and various other fluids. Oliver's soft stomach rests against my back, his arms ed around me in what might almost be mistaken for tenderness.

  "Let's rest for a bit," he murmurs, his cock finally softening, slipping from my abused hole with a wet SCHLORP followed by a gush of cum that soaks into the already-ruined bedding.

  I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as reality slowly reasserts itself. My room—my perfect, Instagram-worthy bedroom—is utterly DESTROYED.

  The once-pristine pink duvet is now a Ja Pollock of bodily fluids—cum stains in various stages creating a topographical map of our debauchery. The sheets beh are soaked through, probably ruined beyond salvation. My silk pillowcases are streaked with makeup, sweat, and what looks like drool—mine or his, I 't even tell anymore.

  Clothes are strewn everywhere—my expensive sundress crumpled in a er, his a-shirt hanging from my desk chair, my bck ce bra dangling from the bedpost with orap pletely torn off. My ell paperwork is still on the desk, now almost unreizable us glossy coat of dried cum.

  The air is thick with the smell of sex—musky, salty, slightly sour. It's the st of a brothel, not a teenage girl's bedroom in an upscale neighborhood. The dle I lit earlier to create a "studious atmosphere" for my interview prep now seems ughably ie against the primal stench we've created.

  I reach dowween my legs, assessing the damage. My pussy feels utterly transformed—swollen, puffy, and gaping open. As I shift my hips, a baseball-sized glob of cum GLORPS out of me, nding on the bed with a wet SPLURCH that should disgust me but somehow doesn't.

  Before I fully process the devastation, I feel movement beside me. I turn my head to see Oliver's cock hardening again, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of our previous rounds.

  "You 't be serious," I whisper, both horrified and thrilled. "Again?"

  Instead of answering, he moves behind me, hands gripping my hips, positioning me on my hands and knees once more.

  I find myself arg my back, presenting myself to him like a bit heat.

  "Please," I whimper, all pretense of resistance gone. "One more time."

  He enters me with a single, brutal thrust that makes my entire body jolt forward. His hands ch around my waist with surprising strength, holding me in pce as he begins to pound into me.

  SLAP-SLAP-SLAP-SPLORCH-SLAP!

  The sounds are eveer now, my thhly used hole ao his invasion. His fbby belly rests on my lower back like a shelf, the weight oddly f as he establishes a punishing rhythm.

  My phone buzzes somewhere iangle of bedding—probably Chad, w why I'm not responding to his texts about our date. Without breaking stride, I fish it out with one hand, squinting at the s through pleasure-hazed eyes.

  ??CHAD??: Getting ready to pick you up soon babe. Wear something hot.

  I stare at the message for a moment, then type with shaking fingers:

  Me: This isn't w anymore. I'm breaking up with you. Sorry.

  I toss the phone aside, not waiting for his response, and push back against Oliver's thrusts with renewed enthusiasm.

  "OH! So DEEP!" I cry as his cock reaches depths inside me that shouldn't be possible.

  His grip tightens as he pulls me bato him, impaling me pletely. I feel the head of his cock pressing directly against my cervix, creating a pressure that walks the perfect liween pleasure and pain.

  And then he does something new—instead of thrusting in and out, he grinds himself against me in a circur motion, the massive head of his cock pressing and swirling against my cervix like it's trying to find a way in.

  "What are you—OH MY GOD!"

  There's a sensation of yielding, of opening, that should be physically impossible. It feels like the head of his cock is actually pressing THROUGH my cervix, entering the sacred spay womb directly. It 't be real—human anatomy doesn't work that way—but the feeling is so vivid, so intense, I swear I feel him breag that final barrier.

  "AAAAAHHHHH!" I scream, an asm unlike anything I've ever experieearing through me.

  My entire reproductive system seems to vulse, my uterus trag around what feels like an invading presence.

  "FUCK! YOU'RE INSIDE MY WOMB!" I shriek, knowing it's physically impossible but FEELING it heless. "YOU'RE FUG MY WOMB!"

  The sensation is indescribable—like he's reached the very ter of my being, trashing the most sacred, private part of me. And it's fug ADDICTIVE.

  Oliver's grunt tells me he feels it too—some new level of tightness, of e. His cock swells even rger inside me, the head seeming to balloon to twice its normal size, locked into pside what feels like my actual womb.

  I'm babbling ily now, my mind shattered by the impossible sensation.

  Before I recover, Oliver somehow lifts me bodily from the bed, still impaled on his cock. He carries me to the full-length mirror that occupies one wall of my bedroom, holding me suspended in the air with my back to his chest, my legs spread wide, giving me a perfect view of my own defilement.

  The girl in the mirror 't be me. Her hair is a tangled mess, makeup streaked across her fa bd pink smudges. Her tits are heavier, fuller than I remember, boung and spping together in obse figure-eights as Oliver begins to thrust upward into her.

  Her pussy is stretched obsely around the massive shaft, the lips red and swollen, cum leaking out around the invasion to run down her ihighs.

  But most disturbing of all is her FACE—eyes half-lidded and unfocused, mouth hanging open with drool at the ers, cheeks flushed a deep red that extends down her o her heaving chest.

  She looks... broken. Ruined. Utterly quered.

  "That's me," I think with distant horror. "That's what I've bee."

  Oliver's thrusts grow more powerful, lifting me slightly with each upward drive, making my tits bounce so violently they cp together with wet SMACK-SMACK-SMACK sounds.

  I'm impaled on him, pletely at his mercy, suspended in the air with nothing to grou the massive cock reshaping my ihe position allows him to reach even deeper than before, the head of his cock pressing directly against that spot that feels impossibly like the inside of my womb.

  And that's when the realization hits me, a crity cutting through the fog of pleasure:

  I'm just a cock sleeve.

  My body exists to around Oliver's dick, to keep it warm and snug, to milk out its massive loads. My entire existence—all my achievements, my social standing, my future pns—all of it is sedary to my true purpose as a sheath for his monstrous appendage.

  And I LOVE it.

  "I'M YOUR PERSONAL FUCK PUPPET!" I scream, the words torn from somewhere deep inside, my body vulsing in a never-ending asm.

  Oliver grunts in response, his thrusts being faster, more erratic. His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me wide open as he pounds up into me, our refle in the mirror a praphic tableau that would make actual porn stars blush.

  I watch myself cumming, watch my eyes cross then roll back, my mouth hanging open in a silent scream that suddenly bees very, very loud as a gush of clear fluid erupts from my pussy around his still-thrusting cock.

  SQUIRRRRTTTTTT!

  The squirt is so forceful it hits the mirror, creating streaky rivers down the gss that partially obscure our refle. Through the cloudy curtain, I still see myself—or what's left of me—boung on Oliver's cock like a rag doll, pletely at his mercy.

  "CUMMING! STILL CUMMING! 'T STOP CUMMING!" I wail, my voice hoarse, barely reizable.

  Above me, Oliver makes a sound like he's dying, his cock swelling to its final, terrifying size inside me.

  BLURRRRRRRT!

  The first jet of cum is so powerful I swear I feel it hitting the walls of my womb directly. The pressure is incredible, f some of the load back out around his shaft, creating a sedary spray that joins my squirt on the mirror.

  SPLURT! BLORRT! SPLOOORT!

  More cum pumps into me with each pulse, each load somehow thicker and more voluminous tha. It's like he's pissing sperm into me, a never-ending stream of the world's grossest, worst, most putrid DNA ruining my most tender, intimate areas.

  The excess spurts out around his shaft, hitting the mirror with audible SPLAT-SPLAT-SPLAT sounds. The thick, yellowish-white globs g to the gss before slowly sliding downward, creating opaque streaks that further obscure our refle.

  "OHHH! OH! OH! OHHHH!" I moan as the st massive splurts unch against the mirror, the thick, ky cum running down in viscous rivulets, some of it so de barely moves, just gs to the gss in globur masses.

  The final jet is so thick it's almost solid, nding on the mirror with a wet SPLAT before slowly sliding downward, leaving a trail like a snail. The cum is lumpy and off-white, with swirls of yellower material throughout—like badly mixed oatmeal, steaming slightly in the cool air of my bedroom.

  "FUCK!" I scream, one final, overwhelming asm tearing through me as Oliver's deposit pletes, my brain short-circuiting from pleasure overload. "FUUUUUCK!"

  ---

  I'm slumped against my bedroom door, legs trembling so badly I he solid wood for support. My hair is pstered to my fa sweaty tendrils, my cheeks burning red as cherry tomatoes. I've thrown on an oversized ell t-shirt (ironically) that barely covers my thighs, painfully aware of the wet SQUELCH between my legs with every tiny movement.

  Oliver stands awkwardly in front of me, fully dressed now in his cargo shorts and anime girl t-shirt, looking remarkably posed for someone who just fucked an honors student's brains out for three secutive hours.

  My parents won't be home until evening—thank GOD—but the state of my room behind me is apocalyptic. The bed looks like a crime se. The carpet will need professional ing. The mirror... Jesus, the MIRROR. I don't even know if it's salvageable at this point.

  "So," I say, trying to i some of my usual bitchy hauteur into my voice but failing miserably. It es out raspy and uain, my vocal cords raw from screaming.

  Oliver nods, pushing his smudged gsses up his nose. "Indeed."

  An awkward sileretches between us. I'm FUMING, but I 't even articute what I'm angry about. Him for showing up? Me for letting him in? The universe for making his disgusting cock the only thing that satisfies me now?

  Oliver reaches doicks up the little bck gift bag—the one I rejected twice already—and turns to leave. The sight of him taking it back sends an ued pang through me.

  "Wait," I hear myself say, extending my hand. "I'll... I'll take it."

  Oliver pauses, looking genuinely surprised. "You said you didn't want it."

  "I know what I said." I gre at him, but there's no real heat behind it. "Just... give it to me."

  He hands me the bag with a small, uain smile that makes something flutter in my chest. I immediately squash the feeling, attributing it to hormonal aftershocks.

  "I'm..." I clear my throat, staring ily at my toes (currently curling into the carpet as arickle of something warm runs down my ihigh). "I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. And for rejeg yift. It was... nice of you to think of me."

  The words taste strange on my tongue—Bir Williams doesn't apologize, especially not to social outcasts with questionable hygiene and anime obsessions.

  "You're wele," Oliver says simply.

  Another awkward silence desds as we stand in my doorway, the air between us charged with something I don't want to name.

  "Well," I finally say, gesturing vaguely toward the staircase. "My parents will be home soon, so..."

  "Of course." Oliver nods. "I should depart."

  He takes a step back, theates. "Will you... that is... should I expect..."

  "I'll call you," I mutter, staring at a particurly iing spot on the floor. "From now on, I'll call you, so... don't just show up again."

  A tiny smile tugs at the er of his mouth—not his usual awkward grimace, but something softer, menuine. "Uood."

  As he turns to go, a glob of cum chooses that exaent to slide down my thigh, creating a warm, sticky trail that nearly reaches my knee before I cmp my thighs together. The SQUELCH is audible in the quiet hallway.

  Oliver's eyes flick down, then quickly back up, his cheeks flushing. "You might want to... up."

  "You THINK?" I snap, my bitess returning in a fsh of embarrassment. "Get OUT, Oliver!"

  He scurries dowairs with surprising speed for someone of his bulk. I watch from the baly as he reaches the front door, turning back for one final gnce.

  "Goodbye, Bir."

  "Bye," I mutter, clutg the gift bag to my chest like a shield.

  The door closes behind him with a soft click that feels strangely final. I stand there for a long moment, listening to the silence of the empty house, before curiosity gets the better of me.

  I peek into the gift bag, pushing aside the pink tissue paper to reveal what's inside.

  A small, helpless ugh escapes me.

  Alone in my ruined bedroom, cum literally dripping down my legs, ell dreams shattered, boyfriend dumped, standing in an oversized t-shirt with sex hair and mascara streaks... I finally accept what I've been fighting all along.

  I'm pletely, utterly, hopelessly fucked—in every possible sense of the word.