You’ve stepped into the first chamber of the Of Flesh and Fear Trilogy… a world of desire, dread, and the things that cling to us long after the lights go out.
Not every story is told in order.
Nothing waits patiently for you.
Every post is a fragment of bone, breath, memory, a clue… or hunger.
This first series of 16 Episodes forms Book 1: The Devil Within Me.
Fridays uncover new Episodes.
📸 Find me on Instagram 💥 or medium
The days between belong to obsession and the choices that led them here.
Read slowly. Sink carefully.
Every craving leaves a mark.
And now…
you’re part of what lives here.
☕️ buymeacoffee.com/elvolk
I write erotic fiction for people who like their desire layered, power, tenderness, obsession, control.Nothing rushed. Nothing hollow. Every
Sticky and soft, cut open in a wooden bowl, their insides spooned straight into mouths by fingers that didn’t care whose they were. Juice ran down chins. Down necks. No one wiped it away. Not really. A tongue here. A thumb dragged slow over a collarbone there. Laughter melting into low hums of pleasure.
Laura was passed a slice. No plate. Just a hand, Kael’s, offering it with a grin and no napkin.
“Eat,” he said. “Careful, it’s drips.”
She did.
It was too ripe. Ridiculous. Sweet and obscene. She moaned without meaning to and someone, somewhere, whistled.
Kael leaned close. “Told you.”
The air seemed to shimmer in the sun. Bronze limbs and linen, glass and fruit. The music throbbed low, sensual. Every conversation had softened into touches. Backs arched into mouths. Fingers tucked beneath waistbands. Kael laughed as someone shoved him aside and dropped into Laura’s lap.
“Who the fuck is this snack?” the stranger grinned, early twenties, tanned, shirtless, drunk. “A mirage? You look like a sacrament… Something I’ll need to repent for later.”
Laura opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her.
Fast. Messy. Not cruel. Just feral. And loud. She made a noise part protest, part surprise, part… god, something else.
“Oi,” Kael called over, amused but not interrupting. “Slow down, you’ve still got peach dripping down your face and down your...”
The boy laughed into her mouth and then licked up her breast to her bottom lip. “But it tastes so good.” He smiled.
Laura shoved at his chest, breathless. “You’re drunk.”
“Maybe.” He grinned. “But I’ll still remember how your skin tastes tomorrow.”
His hand slid up her thigh.
No one stopped him.
Someone was giggling in the grass beside them, kissing a shoulder, pushing fingers between someone else’s legs. Laura saw it sideways, bodies moving, lazy and bold. Tits out. Mouths open. Lust without shame.
The young man, Finn, didn’t stop touching her.
Not properly. Not after that.
His hands stayed busy, skimming her waist, brushing her ribs, thumbs catching under the line of her breasts like he was testing how far he could go without being told no.
Laura felt it immediately. That shift. That click in the air.
Finn moved in closer, into her space, pressing his thigh between hers.
Kael shifted behind her like it had been choreographed.
Not protective. Not possessive. Just participating.
His hands slid to her hips, thumbs hooking lazily into the fabric of her dress. His chest brushed her back. His mouth found the soft skin beneath her ear.
They ate and drank like they were edging each other.
Fruit passed mouth to mouth. Fingers dipped into bowls and then into lips. Someone licked honey from another girl’s wrist. A boy straddled a bench while a woman sucked juice from his fingers like it was a game.
They drank. They laughed. They touched.
Everything felt slow and slippery and deliberate.
Kael’s hands slid higher, palms cupping the underside of Laura’s breasts through the thin dress. He didn’t squeeze. Just held them. Letting her feel the weight of them in his hands.
Finn leaned in and kissed her again.
This time Laura didn’t hesitate.
She opened for him.
Their mouths met wet and hungry. His tongue pushed in. Her fingers curled into his hair. Kael pressed closer behind her, hips aligning with her arse, his cock already hard through his trousers.
She felt it.
He wanted her to feel it.
Kael kissed down her neck, teeth grazing her shoulder. The lad groaned softly into her mouth and slid his hands under her dress, palms dragging over her thighs.
Someone laughed nearby.
Someone moaned.
Laura was being held between them, Finn in front, Kael behind, kissed from both sides, touched everywhere, her body turned into a shared object.
Kael’s mouth found her collarbone and whispered, “That’s it. Let go.”
A girl dropped onto the blanket beside them, dark curls and glossy lips, already flushed.
She reached up and kissed Laura’s shoulder.
Then her neck.
Then her mouth.
Laura gasped.
Kael laughed softly and quietly. “Good girl.”
The woman kissed Laura slow and deep, hands sliding up her back, while Finn stayed pressed between Laura’s thighs and Kael’s hands never left her breasts.
Someone fed Laura a peach slice while the girl kissed down her throat.
Juice ran over her skin.
The girl followed it with her tongue.
“Down,” the girl murmured, lips brushing Laura’s sternum.
Laura didn’t think. She let herself be guided.
She kissed the girl’s mouth, then her cheek, then her throat.
Lower to her collarbone.
Lower to the soft swell of her breast through sheer fabric.
Lower her stomach.
The girl made a soft sound and spread her legs.
Laura knelt between them without anyone telling her to.
Hands in her hair. Fingers stroking her scalp.
She kissed skin.
Slow and lingering.
Down down down.
Finn groaned aloud.
Kael’s grip tightened on Laura’s hips.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Look at her.”
Laura came back up dazed, lips swollen, dress crooked, body humming.
Finn pulled her upright and kissed her like he meant to own her.
Kael kissed her shoulder.
The girl kissed her cheek.
They were circling her.
Sharing her.
Laura didn’t know when the bottle appeared in her hand again.
She drank. Too much.
She laughed. Too loud.
Her limbs felt loose and liquid. But fuck it felt good.
By the time Finn took her hand and tugged her away, she barely registered it.
They slipped through a side gate, into a courtyard tucked against the house.
Stone walls. Ivy. Warm shadow.
He pushed her gently back against the wall and kissed her.
His hands were everywhere. Her thighs. Her arse. Sliding under her dress.
She kissed him back, dizzy and reckless, fingers already tugging at his belt.
He fumbled with the front of his trousers, breath ragged.
“Fuck, you’re unreal,” he whispered.
Laura barely heard it.
She was too busy opening for him.
She should’ve walked away. Instead she kissed him again. Harder this time.
Her hands on his jaw, her dress hiked up over her thighs, his fingers now warm against the edge of her knickers. She was straddling him before she even realised.
He groaned, low and desperate, as her soaked cunt rubbed hot against the front of his trousers. Her teeth dragged along his throat.
“Fuck… you don’t waste any time do you,” he muttered, fumbling with the tie at his waist.
That’s when it happened.
A shadow. A shift. A breath before the snap.
Lucan.
His hand gripped the back of the boy’s collar and ripped him backward, off the blanket like a ragdoll. Laura gasped as the boy landed hard on his back, half-naked, cock out, swearing.
“The fuck?” he shouted, scrambling.
Lucan didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He dragged him upright by the front of his shirt and slammed him into the courtyard wall.
“She’s not yours,” Lucan said, voice low, vicious.
“She’s not yours either,” the boy spat.
Lucan threw him straight out the courtyard gate, feet barely touching the ground.
Then he turned to Laura.
She was still straddling the empty space, breath heaving, nipples peaked against the thin rose gold dress. Her thighs slick. Her mouth bitten red. Her eyes, furious.
“Are you kidding me?”
Lucan ignored it. Crossed to her, hauled her up in his arms. “Put me down!”
“No.”
“Lucan!”
“Shut up.”
He carried her across the courtyard, through the sun-drenched hush that had followed the drama, through the patio doors and into a room. His room. Slammed the door. Walked straight into the bathroom. Kicked the shower on.
Cold.
“Don’t you fucking…”
Too late.
He stepped in with her still in his arms, and dropped her under the water.
Laura screamed.
He didn’t flinch.
“You’re not thinking,” he said. “You’re not sober. You’re not fucking safe.”
“I was fine!”
“You were about to fuck some random boy out in the courtyard…”
“So what?! Maybe I wanted to… maybe I needed to.”
“Nobody needs…”
He stared at her, chest heaving. His shirt clung wet to his skin. Her dress was see-through now, nipples dark against the soaked knit, skirt clinging up between her thighs.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she hissed.
“Then stop looking like that,” he snapped.
She shoved him. He didn’t move.
She shoved him again.
And this time, he grabbed her wrists and kissed her. Hard.
Like he meant to punish. Like he meant to stop her.
But it didn’t.
She whimpered into his mouth and arched against him, rubbing up his thigh, grinding. His hands cupped her soaked arse, dragging her against him.
“Mine,” he said into her mouth. “Mine.”
She moaned. “Then fucking take me.”
So he did.
Right there in the shower.
She wrapped her legs around him as he fucked up into her, steam curling between their bodies, cold water still pounding down. She bit his shoulder. He groaned and gripped her tighter.
“Say it.”
“Yours,” she gasped.
Louder. “Yours…fuck!…Lucan!”
And when she came, it was loud and raw and ragged, her body jerking as he pressed her to the tiles and followed her over.
Neither of them said anything for a long time. Just pulses and panting.
The water kept running.
The house didn’t stop.
But for a moment, the heat between them was the only thing that felt real.
Somewhere, Sylvia smiled.
Her plan falling perfectly into place.
She could feel the power in her bones, and through her cunt.
Subtitle: She’s the rubber, he’s the goon, it’ll drip off of her, while he cums in the next room.
The corridor light flickered once as Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing Elena’s in a kiss that felt almost tender. His hand lingered on the small of her back, thumb tracing the same slow circle he always did when he was trying to steady her.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured against her mouth. Then, quieter as he adjusted her bra strap under her to, “I’ll be right next door. The all ready. Just… let go tonight, okay? Just like last time. For me… for us.”
🔞🗝️ Erotic Horror below the line … discretion advised
Elena nodded, throat tight. She wanted to ask if he was sure, if this was really what he needed to see, but the words stayed trapped. Instead she let him guide her to the plain black door at the end of the hall. He opened it, gave her one last soft look, and closed it behind her with a click that sounded louder than it should.
Inside the room smelled faintly of leather and clean linen. A single camera stood on a tripod in the corner, red light already blinking. Elena exhaled, told herself it was fine, he liked watching. He always had.
She slipped into the attached bathroom, fingers trembling as she changed into the black lace set he’d picked out weeks ago, a bra that barely contained her, thong that disappeared between her cheeks, garters she fumbled to clip. In the mirror she looked like someone else’s fantasy. She whispered to her reflection, “It’s for him. Just for him.”
She stepped out.
Five men. All of them stripped to the waist already, cocks thick and heavy in their hands, stroking lazily. Dr. Vernon stood at the center like a conductor, silver pendant dangling from his fingers.
“Elena,” he said, voice velvet-soft and certain. “You’ve come so far in our sessions. Tonight we finish the conditioning. Deep surrender. Total plasticity. You’re ready.”
The pendant swung slower now, deliberate, catching every flicker of the low lights. Elena’s eyes locked on it without choice, pupils already dilating wide, vacant.
Dr. Vernons voice slid in like warm oil. “Deeper now, Elena. Let every last bit of you soften… stretch… fill. You’re not a woman anymore. You’re becoming exactly what you were always meant to be.”
Her body answered before her mind could scream.
First her breasts surged, already massive, and they kept going. Skin gleamed under the lights as it turned slick, synthetic, the faint texture of real flesh smoothing out into seamless, shiny vinyl.
Nipples hardened into perfect, dark-pink rubber plugs, jutting forward like they were molded for suction. The weight pulled her rigid shoulders back further; she could feel the air pumping in, hissing faintly inside her chest cavity as the tits ballooned to cartoonish proportions, impossibly round, impossibly firm, bouncing with a plasticky thwap-thwap every time she moved.
Her ribcage creaked. Waist sucked in tighter, an audible pop as the vinyl contracted like it was being heat-sealed. Hips flared wider with a slow, deliberate stretch, bones no longer bone, just flexible plastic framework under glossy pink surface.
Arse inflated in heavy pulses, each cheek rounding out until they jutted shelf-like, cleft so deep the thong disappeared completely. She felt the material thin there, almost translucent, stretched so taut it squeaked with every tiny shift.
Between her legs her labia plumped and fused slightly at the edges, molding into one continuous, puffy silicone sleeve, permanently parted, glistening with factory-fresh lube that seemed to well up from nowhere.
Her clit swelled into a raised rubber nub, hypersensitive, throbbing in time with nothing but the need to be touched. Inside, her cunt walls thickened, ribbed faintly like cheap TPE, self-lubricating, self-tightening around whatever filled her.
Her arms locked straighter, elbows hyperextended just enough to make her tits thrust even more prominently. Fingers splayed and froze, posed like a doll’s, ready to be posed, gripped, ignored.
Thighs squeaked when they rubbed, plump, glossy and frictionless.
Every breath came out in tiny, airless puffs through that wide O mouth, lips thickened into permanent cock-sucking pout, tongue flattened and pink, useless except as a runway.
Thoughts didn’t leak anymore. They evaporated.
Work…Pop.
Mortgage… Pop.
Marcus cheating… Pop.
One final burst.
Marcus is watching…
and then nothing. Just pink. Glossy. Empty.
A blow-up sex doll with fuckable holes and nothing behind the painted-on eyes.
The first guy, broad chest, cock already hard, stepped up and grabbed her by the locked wrists like they were handles. “Fuck, look at this thing. Already leaking like it’s been waiting weeks.”
He lined up and slammed in to the hilt. Her new cunt stretched around him with a wet schlick, walls gripping like they were programmed to. “Goddamn, feels like fucking warm silicone. Tight as… as… shit.”
Another guy, taller, veins bulging in his forearms, fisted her hair and shoved straight past the O lips. “Open wider, doll. Yeah, that’s it… fucking perfect.”
He bottomed out in her throat, balls slapping her inflated chin. No gag. No teeth. Just a wet plastic throat. “Fucking unreal.”
They set a brutal rhythm. The one in her cunt growled every few thrusts. “Bounce those fake tits for me…fuck… fuck yes, look them bounce. Like they’re filled with air. Gonna pump you so full we’ll hear you slosh.”
Dr Vernon smiles as he adjusted the camera so that it wasn’t obstructed.
The guy in her mouth laughed low. “Hear that squeak every time I pull back? She’s creaking like cheap vinyl. Bet she inflates more if we keep going.” He laughed as he panted.
A third stepped in behind, waiting his turn, stroking himself. “My turn soon. Gonna paint that bubble ass white. Look at it, shiny as fuck, begging to be slapped.” He reached around and cracked a palm across one swollen cheek; it wobbled, rippled, squeaked loudly. “Jesus. Feels like spanking a beach ball.”
They rotated faster now. Cum already dripped in thick strands from her gaping cunt, white rivulets running down glossy thighs, pooling between her locked feet. The next cock slid in easy, pushing previous loads deeper with a filthy squelch.
The man in her mouth pulled out, groaned, and shot ropes across her face, thick white streaks landing on her frozen cheeks, dripping into the permanent O. “Take it, doll. Paint that pretty plastic face.”
Another immediately replaced him, shoving in so deep her throat bulged visibly under the smooth vinyl skin.
Dr. Vernon stayed close, voice calm and kind even as the room filled with grunts and wet slaps. “You’re doing beautifully, Elena. See how right this feels? No more tension in that empty head. Just warm holes, endless purpose.”
He leaned in. “Cum, doll.”
The trigger hit like lightning in plastic. Her cunt clamped down hard, spasming in violent, mechanical pulses that milked the cock inside her.
A high-pitched, airless eee-eee-eee squeaked out around the shaft in her mouth as orgasm chained through her rigid frame. Tits bounced wildly. Her arse quivered. Every exaggerated curve shook while they kept pounding, filling, replacing.
“Fuck—she’s cumming again,” the current cunt guy snarled. “Squeezing like a goddamn fleshlight. Gonna….take it, you plastic whore…”
He unloaded deep, groaning loud. Pulled out. Cum gushed out in a thick pour, splattering her inner thighs.
Next guy was already pushing in. “My turn. Gonna fuck this cum-filled doll-pussy raw.”
Dr. Vernon smiled softly. “Purpose feels good, doesn’t it? So much better than thinking.”
Next Door Marcus moaned.
“Fuck… yeah… keep using her… fill that thing… fuck so beautiful… she’s just a doll now… fuck…gonna cum…gonna…nngh…”
She felt the footsteps vibrate through the floorboards. Not hard, unhurried, certain.
She didn’t turn her head. Just let the presence behind her settle, heat and scent and gravity folding around her like steam.
“You’re frowning,” Sylvia murmured.
Laura blinked. She hadn’t realised.
Sylvia didn’t press. She just sat on the edge of the bed and began to smooth the blankets back from Laura’s shoulder with a hand that barely weighed anything at all.
“I don’t like it,” Laura whispered.
Sylvia tilted her head. “Don’t like what my love?”
“Being… feeling this…” She stopped. Her throat felt tight.
Sylvia waited. Then leaned closer. “You don’t need him,” she said, quiet and clean. “He’s not your anchor. You are.” Sylvia held her face. “You are loved, you are cared for and you have no time for boys and their games.”
Laura didn’t answer. But her breath shook.
That was enough.
Sylvia reached for the robe folded by the dresser and let it fall to the floor. “Come,” she said gently. “Bath’s drawn, you could use some fresh air.”
The bathroom was warm. Quiet. The air smelled like lavender, bergamot, and something syrupy beneath, not vanilla, not honey. Something older, something comforting.
Sylvia helped her step into the tub. Not like a child. Not like a lover. Like a ritual.
Laura sank slowly, knees rising through the water’s surface like pale moons. Her breasts floated softly. She flushed, unsure why. She’d been naked in front of Sylvia before.
But this felt different.
Sylvia knelt beside the bath and began to pour water over her shoulders. Her hands were strong. Careful. She cupped water against Laura’s collarbone, brushing it over her chest with slow, measured strokes, never overtly sexual, never not.
Laura’s nipples peaked above the surface.
Sylvia watched. Said nothing. Just reached for a cloth and began to soap her thighs.
“You carry so much here,” she murmured, massaging the inner muscles. “All that wanting. All that shame. It’s not good for you.”
Laura bit her lip. The cloth circled higher.
“You’re allowed to enjoy being wanted, being worshipped,” Sylvia whispered.
When Laura finally stood, trembling slightly, Sylvia towelled her dry in silence, slow passes of soft cotton, careful dabs between her thighs, under her breasts. Then she brought the dress.
It wasn’t white.
It was a warm rose gold, almost copper in the light. Fine-knit, gossamer-thin, it clung in all the ways Laura wouldn’t have chosen for herself. The neckline dipped too low. The sleeves hung open at the shoulders. And the hem? Barely brushing her thighs.
Laura blinked. “I…”
“You look beautiful,” Sylvia said, fastening a delicate bronze clasp behind her neck. “Let them see what I see.”
“I thought I was supposed to be…I’m supposed to be writing about…I…”
“You are,” Sylvia said firmly. “But that doesn’t mean you hide. And what better way to understand, than to live it.”
Laura stared at her reflection. The fabric was nearly sheer at the hips, hinting at the curve of her arse, the soft line between her legs.
She felt ridiculous. And yet… powerful.
Kael’s mouth dropped open when he saw her.
“Shit,” he laughed. “You’re going to get me in trouble. Not that I’m complaining.”
Laura flushed. “Sylvia said…”
Kael stepped forward, eyes still dancing. “Sylvia said exactly what she meant.” He grinned. “You’re coming with me.”
She hesitated. “What? Where?”
“Out. Just for a bit. Come meet the rest of us, the ones not in charge of you.” He winked. “I promise not to let them eat you alive… well most of them. Nope in fact scrap that. I’m not making promises they can’t keep.”
Sylvia appeared behind Laura and brushed a curl back from her cheek. “Go,” she said. “You need sun. And movement. And peers.”
Kael caught that word. Peers. He didn’t flinch. He turned to Sylvia and asked, quiet, cheeky “You want me to get her out of her shell a bit?”
Sylvia smiled, slow and fond.
“You know how to coax the petals open, my love. Just don’t pluck them yet.”
Kael grinned. “Scout’s honour.”
“Darling, you were never a scout.”
“And her legs aren’t going to stay closed for long if you keep dressing her like that and dosing her with those sea glass sweets.”
Sylvia didn’t correct him or deny it.
They made it halfway across the courtyard before Lucan appeared.
He didn’t mean to cross paths with them, that much was clear. But when he caught sight of Laura’s dress, his eyes darkened. Then narrowed.
He let out a breath of disbelief. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
Laura didn’t look at him. Didn’t stop.
She just let the sun catch the shimmer of the dress and kept walking, bare legs brushing the breeze.
Kael barked a laugh. “God, I love this.” He made one obscene grab of his cock through his trousers as he followed Laura out with a shit eating grin.
Lucan stared after her. Then turned, eyes sharp. “Really?” he said to Sylvia, who had stepped out into the doorway. “That’s what we’re doing now?”
Sylvia didn’t blink. “We aren’t doing anything,” she said. “You let her feel unseen. Don’t be surprised if she starts shining for someone who sees her.”
Lucan’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t reply. If anything he had too much to say back to Sylvia.
Sylvia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Go sulk somewhere else.”
—
Laura and Kael walked downhill toward the orchard path.
A group of young people sat sprawled across blankets and baskets. Someone passed a bottle. Someone else was playing a game with stones and laughter. Shirts were already halfway off, skin bronzed and glowing. A girl with hair in curls and a see-through dress waved.
Kael raised a hand. “They’re good people, funnier when drunk, feral if you ask nicely,” he said.
“Like you then?” Laura asked.
Kael glanced at her. “They’re worse.”
She blushed. “Somehow I doubt that.”
He grinned. “You’ll fit right in.”
Then he took her hand, not possessively, not protectively. Just because… but also because he knew what Sylvia wanted.
🔞 This story contains explicit sexual content and themes of consensual ritual, power exchange, and erotic worship within cult-like structures. Reader discretion advised.
Laura woke to warmth.
Not just the heat of the sheets or the thin sheen of sweat behind her knees, but a broader warmth. Like the house itself was holding her.
The linens smelled of lavender and something sweeter beneath. Peach skin maybe, or honeysuckle.
Her body ached in vague, pleasurable places. Her breasts felt full. Between her thighs: damp.
Once, she would have dismissed it as heat. Now, she simply slid from the bed and started the bath.
It was the silence that struck her most.
No questions.
No guilt.
Just breath. Linen. The gentle hum of a house already awake without her.
She washed and dressed without needing direction. A dress had already been laid out again. This time softer, not white but a gentle earth tone. Loose at the shoulders. Breathable.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, Sylvia was already seated on the edge of the bed, smiling.
Laura crossed the room as if it had always been like this. Because in some ways, it had.
Sylvia, always the first voice she heard. The first touch.
She turned obediently, and Sylvia fastened her hair up.
Fingertips slid down the damp slope of her shoulders, pausing just long enough to be felt.
Then a kiss, light and warm, pressed beneath her ear.
“You look like you could use some tea. You’ve had such a full few days here.”
Her voice was low. Kind. Knowing.
Laura didn’t speak. Just breathed her in.
Her nipples were tight, chest full of something she couldn’t name. Her thighs shifted.
“Tonight,” Sylvia murmured, “we celebrate a vow. You’ll get to witness real devotion. The kind you feel more than understand.”
She brushed a strand of hair behind Laura’s ear and cupped her face.
Her thumb stroked slowly across the girl’s lower lip.
“The first time someone knelt for me, I cried,” she said softly. “I didn’t know I could be wanted like that. To be seen.”
Laura’s lips parted.
Sylvia’s thumb slipped into her mouth.
Not deep. Just enough.
She suckled, soft and slow.
“That’s it. Not hunger. Honour.”
Her voice was calm. Steady.
“Show me you understand.”
Sylvia drew her hand down, dragging it lightly over Laura’s throat, chest, down between her breasts.
Laura followed.
Knees bent.
Mouth seeking.
Soft kisses to warm skin. A trail downward.
“Your mouth is sacred,” Sylvia said.
The robe loosened. Laura didn’t hesitate.
“It’s not for begging. It’s for presence. Focus. Breath.”
Laura knelt fully now, tongue tracing upward through soft slick heat.
Her lips closed around Sylvia’s clit.
She pressed deeper. Breathed her in. Rocked gently, not for friction but for rhythm.
“You give someone your mouth,” Sylvia whispered, “you give them your attention. The kind that says I see you. I want to learn you.”
Laura moaned softly, the rhythm growing steady.
Sylvia opened wider.
“There you are,” she breathed.
“My beautiful girl.”
⸻
When Laura stepped into the kitchen, a woman she didn’t know smiled and passed her a mug.
“Tea, love. Just how you took it yesterday.”
Laura blinked. Accepted the cup.
No one asked where she’d been.
No giggles. No glances.
Just morning.
She moved through the day like a figure already drawn.
Not led. Not dragged. Just lightly placed.
Someone suggested she help lay linens in the outer circle.
Another asked if she could read aloud from the journal.
Somewhere between lunch and the golden tilt of afternoon light, a woman touched her hair and said, “We should pin this up tonight.”
Then came the dress.
Pale. Almost sheer.
The sleeves were soft. The hem grazed her ankle. The neckline dipped just enough.
When she held it up, it looked like something Sylvia might wear.
Timeless. Almost ceremonial.
“Wear this for dinner,” said the woman who handed it to her.
“She’ll like that.”
“The colour suits you,” murmured another, wiping down the table.
The dining hall was long and low-lit. Candles flickered in tall holders.
Dishes were laid: roasted vegetables, barley, figs in honey.
Laura stepped in. For a moment the candlelight caught the fabric just right.
It outlined her in gold.
Kael whistled. Someone laughed.
Lucan looked up.
His jaw clenched.
Sylvia smiled.
“Come,” she said, tapping the seat beside her. “Sit. Let us see you properly.”
Laura sat.
Hair pinned. Skin flushed.
She laughed when Kael teased across the table. She passed dishes like she’d done it a hundred times. The fabric clung just so when she leaned.
She didn’t look at Lucan.
Later, in the hallway, he caught up to her.
“That dress,” he said. “It’s hers.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s what she wore when she put my mother in the ground.”
Laura froze.
Lucan stared.
“You think she’s gentle. She is. But only when it benefits her.”
Laura said nothing.
“She made this place. Not Darius. Not some old law. Her. She decides who shares beds. Who’s seen. Who’s paired.
She let me grow up thinking I might lead one day, until I was old enough to realise I never had a choice.”
Laura’s voice was thin. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because she’s doing it again.
But this time, she picked someone who might actually fall for it.”
He hesitated. “That I might actually…”
“You think I’m a plant?”
“No,” he sighed. “I think she saw you coming and bent the light just enough to make you stay.”
Something in her snapped.
“Oh, fuck off. You think I’m too stupid to know if I’m being manipulated?
You think you’re above it all? Above everyone?”
“Laura…”
“No. You don’t get to pull me in one moment and act like I’m tainted the next.”
She turned. Walked fast.
Tears rising. Unshaped.
She didn’t mean to end up at Sylvia’s door.
She didn’t knock.
The room was warm. Candlelit.
Soft shadows curled like breath.
Sylvia sat at the vanity, brushing her pale hair.
Wine in the glass beside her. A slow smile.
“Come here, little one.”
Laura stepped forward. Then dropped.
Knees first. Like her body knew.
Sylvia turned. Arms open.
Laura folded into her lap, face against warm skin, breath catching in her throat.
One hand stroked her hair. The other pressed gently between her shoulder blades.
Still. Anchored. Held.
“I know,” Sylvia whispered. “It hurts before it frees you.”
Laura’s fists clenched against the floor. Her shoulders shook.
“But you’re doing so well.”
Sylvia’s robe loosened.
Bare skin. A breast revealed.
Laura’s lips parted before she even realised. Her head lifted.
And then her mouth found nipple.
Soft pressure. Familiar heat.
“There,” Sylvia murmured. “There she is.”
Laura suckled. Slowly. Steadily. Not for milk, not for lust. For safety.
For belonging.
Her breath slowed. Her eyes fluttered.
She rocked. Barely. A hum in her hips she couldn’t stop.
Sylvia brushed the pins from her hair. One by one.
“Let it go. Let him go.”
Her body obeyed before her mind did.
“You don’t need to explain yourself to anyone now. Not here. Not with me.”
Laura woke to pressure. Not pain. Weight. Warm, human weight.
Kael was draped over her like he belonged there, one leg hooked between hers, arm slung across her waist, face pressed into the curve of her neck. His skin radiated heat. He was asleep. Bare.
She blinked hard.
Her dress was gone. The sheets smelled of herbs and sweat. Her breasts ached. Between her thighs was a tenderness that pulsed, slow and sore, like she had been worshipped with teeth.
Her stomach twisted.
“Kael?” Laura nudged his shoulder.
He stirred, letting out a low hum as his hand slid lazily over her belly. Without opening his eyes, he dipped his head and licked her nipple, slow and soft.
She gasped and shoved at his chest. “What the fuck?”
That made him grin. Eyes still heavy with sleep, he pulled back enough to look at her, unbothered.
“Morning… mother’s pet. You were a bit clingy last night.” He smirked. “Not that I’m complaining. Was kinda nice.”
“I… what?” she said, trying to pulling the sheet up to cover herself. “I don’t remember…”
Kael propped himself up on one elbow. Still completely naked. Still completely at ease.
“Must have been the wine,” he said. “Or all those late nights scribbling in that notebook instead of sleeping. You crashed not that long after we all finished dinner. I didn’t want to leave you alone.” His voice gentled. “You were shaking a bit. Sylvia said you were just processing.”
That word made her flinch.
He noticed.
“Hey,” he said, brushing hair from her face. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Nothing bad happened.”
Then he kissed her. Soft and warm and just a little too easy. The kind of kiss that invited her to give in and let go. To stop asking. To stop remembering. To let herself be held.
And for a second, she almost did.
The door slammed open.
Lucan stood in the doorway. He didn’t look surprised.
His eyes moved from Kael’s bare back to Laura clutching the sheet, then settled on the twisted bedsheets between them. There was no flicker of shock. Just something darker. Cooler.
“Of course,” he said, voice flat. “Should have known you’d be quick to seize the opportunity.”
Kael didn’t flinch. He stretched and stood, bare and golden and smug.
“Good morning to you too,” he said brightly, strolling past Lucan, cock bobbing, like nothing was out of place. “Be careful with her, yeah?” He paused, then added with a grin, “She’s still bruised in places.”
Lucan’s hand cracked across the back of Kael’s head as he walked past.
Kael laughed as he left the room, still not reaching for clothes.
Laura pulled the sheet tighter around her. Her face burned. “What the fuck is going on?”
Lucan stepped closer. His jaw worked like he was biting something down.
“Oh, don’t start being shy now,” he said. “I’ve seen it.”
She froze. “You have no…What?”
He didn’t answer. He looked at her like he wanted to accuse her of something she didn’t understand. His hands curled. His voice dropped.
“You’re part of Sylvia’s little chess game. You just don’t see it yet.”
He stepped further into the room, door still open behind him. His gaze never left hers.
“You don’t even know what they did to you, do you?” he asked low and quiet.
Laura’s throat tightened. She shook her head. “I don’t remember…”
“Exactly.”
“Kael said…”
“Fuck what that little weasel said! He’s been balls deep in Sylvia for years. If she yanks any hard on him he won’t know if it’s Tuesday or harvest time.”
He reached the edge of the bed. His hand shot out.
The sheet was gone in a second, yanked away like it offended him. Laura gasped and curled inward, arms across her chest.
Lucan leaned in.
“There,” he murmured, eyes flicking over the marks between her thighs, the bite on her hip. “You let him put that there. You let him touch you while you were too far gone to know your own name.”
She tried to pull away. He caught her chin in one hand.
“Does it feel good?” he asked. His voice was low now. Cruel. Almost curious. “Waking up sore and soaked and not knowing who fucked you? You get off on that?”
She didn’t answer. Her skin burned. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry and shout back.
Lucan’s jaw clenched. He dropped her chin like it disgusted him.
“You’re becoming exactly what Sylvia wants.”
Then he turned to leave. Not gentle. Not soft. Just gone.
“Fuck you,” Laura snapped.
He paused near the doorway.
Laura scrambled off the bed, yanking the sheet around herself. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She didn’t know if it was shame or rage. Maybe both.
“The man who fucks girls under trees and against trucks like it’s nothing,” she snapped. “You’re not the moral compass here. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree from what I’ve seen.”
That stopped him.
He turned slowly. Walked back in.
She clutched the sheet tighter, trying to step back, but he was already there. One boot on the edge of the fabric.
“Get off,” she said, tugging.
He didn’t.
Instead he stepped in closer, hand curling around the back of her neck. His mouth crashed against hers, rough and furious. She gasped into it, lost her balance, and he caught her easily, lifting her without effort and dropping her back onto the bed.
His hips pressed between her legs, still clothed but hard. She felt him through the fabric, pushing against the heat of her, the friction making her arch up in reflex.
She didn’t mean to open her legs.
But she did.
Lucan kissed her throat, his breath hot and bitter.
Then he leaned over her, eyes locked on her face.
“Look at that,” he said, low and close. “Sylvia’s already got you opening your legs on command.”
“Oh you can fuck yourse…”
Laura didn’t finish.
She felt the tension snap between them like a string pulled too tight.
Lucan grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the mattress.
She didn’t resist. She arched.
He kissed her again, and this time she bit his lip. Hard. Not to stop him. Just because it hurt and she needed it to.
He growled against her mouth and pushed into her with no warning.
It was fast and rough and too deep. She cried out, body tensing, then clung to him as he set a brutal rhythm. Her legs wrapped around him, not because she meant to, just because her body wanted him deeper. Harder.
He buried his face in her neck. His thrusts turned ragged.
“Sylvia’s pet whore.”
Laura came. It hit so fast she didn’t have time to fight it. Her body clenched around him, hips lifting off the bed, a helpless moan spilling out.
Lucan cursed and came with a grunt, hips jerking hard as he spilled into her.
They lay there a second. Breathing. Sweating. Staring at nothing.
The words still rang in her ears. Sylvia’s pet whore. Like he knew it fit.
Then he pushed off her like he couldn’t stand the contact.
“Keep fucking like that and you’ll be her favourite in no time,” he spat, tucking himself away as he walked
The door slammed behind him.
Her cunt throbbed around nothing. Sylvia’s pet whore. That’s what he’d called her.
That’s what she’d come to.
Laura lay there, staring at the ceiling, skin flushed, thighs sticky, and throat tight.
She could still feel his cock inside her. Her body didn’t care that he left. It wanted more.
Laura’s body begins to remember lessons she was never taught, but always meant to learn.
🔞 This is a work of literary fiction.
It contains explicit sexual content, ritualised power dynamics, and scenes of consensual worship within cult-like structures.
Includes taboo themes and adult consensual dynamics that may be considered transgressive.
All characters are adults.
Reader discretion is advised.
The room held a hush that felt old and warm and safe.
Laura straddled over Sylvia’s thigh, cheek pressed to the soft swell of her breast, mouth latched and drawing slow. Beside her, Kael mirrored the motion on Sylvia’s other side, two bodies moving in an unhurried rhythm, hips rocking gently.
Sylvia’s hands rested in their hair, fingers combing and holding, not directing so much as allowing.
It was reverent. Tender. And unmistakably erotic.
Darius watched from the chair, one ankle crossed over the other, cock heavy in his hand. He stroked himself absently, not chasing pleasure, witnessing it. Guarding it.
Laura felt full of it. Warm. Chosen. Her rocking wasn’t deliberate anymore, it was instinct. Her body was learning what it wanted without words. Without shame. Wrapped in Sylvia’s care and praise.
The door opened.
Lucan didn’t stop in the doorway out of surprise. He stopped because he refused to step further in.
“For fuck’s sake,” he said coolly, eyes raking over the scene. “This is… pathetic.”
Laura flinched, just slightly, but Sylvia’s breast stayed in her mouth, Sylvia’s hand tightened in her hair, grounding her. Kael didn’t even look up.
Darius smiled.
“You say that,” he replied mildly, “but you’re still watching. You’ve always liked watching.”
Lucan scoffed. “I’ve no intention of participating in your games.”
Darius stood then, slowly.
He rose without shame, still hard, still exposed, as if nakedness meant nothing here.
He crossed the room and placed a hand beneath Laura’s chin, lifting her mouth gently away from Sylvia. A thin line of milk-sweet wetness followed, stretching, before snapping back.
“Come here, my little angel,” he said, voice soft with something that made her knees weaken. “I want to show you something.”
He drew her to him, lifting her easily and settling her onto his lap back in the chair. Her dress bunched high as she sank down, gasping as he filled her, already hard, already waiting. His hands framed her hips, stilled her movement.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “This is a lesson.” He didn’t say who the lesson was for.
Lucan laughed sharply. “You really think this is for anyone’s benefit but yours?”
Darius didn’t look at him as he spoke. “Care is rhythm. Consistency. Holding someone while they learn who they are.”
Laura rocked experimentally, and Darius guided her, slow, circular movements, patient. “Like this,” he said. “Easy. Let your body find its natural rhythm.”
He glanced up then, eyes locking on Lucan’s.
“You’re not above this, you know,” Darius added calmly. “No one can exist without care from those who love him.”
Lucan’s jaw clenched. His reply came fast, sharp. “This isn’t care.”
Then Darius saw it. The undeniable strain in Lucan’s trousers. His cock hardening despite himself.
He reached forward and undid the front of Laura’s dress, just enough to free her breasts. He cupped them, squeezed, thumbs brushing her nipples until her breath stuttered and her head lolled back against his shoulder.
His other hand slipped between her thighs and found her clit, circling with practiced ease. Laura moaned openly now, rocking harder, faster, her body unraveling.
Darius flicked his gaze downward.
Lucan resisted for half a heartbeat.
Then he stepped forward and knelt.
His hands spread Laura’s thighs, firm and reverent, as if the act itself demanded respect.
He bent in close, tongue dragging from her clit down over the slick heat where Darius filled her, slow, thorough, unashamed. He gathered everything. Her wetness and Darius’s. The proof of both.
Darius thrust upward, setting the pace now. Laura cried out as the rhythm sharpened, her body tipping.
Lucan looked up as he worked, eyes lifted to Darius’s face as he sucked the slick from his balls, licked along his shaft, and finally sealed his mouth back around Laura’s clit. He didn’t break eye contact as she came apart, gushing, shaking, her cunt clenching hard around Darius’s cock.
Darius groaned low, holding her through it, cumming deep within her and letting Lucan clean them both like it was sacred.
Because there, in that moment, it was rhythm. It was care. It was worship.
Laura stirred first, limbs soft and satisfied. She lifted herself gently from Darius’s lap, his cock sliding free with a wet sigh. She moved without shame, without hesitation, folding beside him on the floor, her head resting against the inside of his thigh. One arm draped lazily over his knee. Her cheek warm on his skin. Darius spread his legs wider for her, not looking down, only lifting a hand to rest in her hair.
Then his gaze returned to Lucan, still kneeling. Lips slick, chest rising and falling like he’d run a great distance.
“Finish what you started,” Darius said, calm as still water. Not cruel. Not soft. Just inevitable.
Lucan didn’t move at first. His jaw flexed, tongue darting out to taste what still lingered on his lips.
And then he obeyed.
He crawled closer, kneeling now between Darius’s wide-spread legs, and took the softened length into his mouth without a word. Slowly and thoroughly.
One hand cupped Darius’s balls, the other slid back between his own thighs and without hesitation, he began to fist himself. Not slicked. Not slow. Just raw and needing.
Darius sighed, head tipping back slightly, hand still stroking Laura’s hair. “You think this is beneath you,” he said quietly, “but it isn’t.”
Lucan whimpered around his cock, his hips now fucking his own palm.
“This,” Darius continued, voice low and even, “is how power is learned. Not by posturing. Not by punishment. But by service. By understanding.”
Lucan’s cheeks hollowed, mouth working harder, as if trying to silence the words with motion.
“You’ll lead one day my boy,” Darius said, looking down at him. “You know that. I see it. But if you only ever command from the head… if you never let yourself be known...” his hand brushed Lucan’s cheek, his temple “… you’ll have no one left to follow you. True devotion, is absolute.”
Lucan made a desperate, guttural sound.
Laura shifted slightly, not to interrupt, just to watch. Her fingers curled loosely around Darius’s thigh. Her eyes were still half lidded from the sea green lozenge she’d been given earlier, her lips brushing his skin.
Darius’s voice dropped. “You’re learning the weight of it now. What it means to be taken in. What it means to carry another, in your soul, in your body. What it means to kneel and to be seen.” Darius leaned his head back. “I will always be proud of the man you are becoming.”
Lucan came with a ragged cry, cock pulsing untouched in his fist as he gasped around Darius’s length. His body shook. It was too much. Too exposed.
He jerked back, choking on his breath, eyes wild. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, already rising to his feet, stumbling slightly as he stood.
“Fuck you,” he hissed, voice hoarse and trembling. “And your cock hungry cult.”
But Darius didn’t respond. He just looked at him with maddening calm.
Lucan’s mouth twisted, shame, fury, something like grief behind his eyes, before he turned and stormed out, bare chest rising and falling like a wave still crashing.
The door slammed.
Silence bloomed again.
Darius didn’t speak for a while. His hand slid from Laura’s hair to her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly there.
“Every leader learns to kneel. Or they fall.”
He wiped some slick from himself and held his fingers out for Laura to suck.
“And that is why you, my little angel, are so important.”
It contains explicit sexual content, ritualised power dynamics, and scenes of consensual worship within cult-like structures.
All characters are adults.
Themes include erotic devotion, submission, control, and spiritualised sexuality.
Reader discretion is advised.
The house was silent that night. Too silent at first, but the longer Laura listened the more she heard. An owl, the house creaking, bats flying past the window.
She sat upright in the dark, heartbeat drumming in her ears. She hadn’t meant to stay awake, but her body had other plans. Her skin buzzed. Every sense prickled.
Through the mess of silence she heard foot steps again.
She was out of bed before thinking, toes hitting the floorboards as if tugged forward by string. She cracked open the door just as a figure passed.
It was Lucan. Shirtless, sweaty and walking quickly, deliberately, like a man trying not to remember where he’d just been. He paused just as he passed Laura’s door but didn’t look at her. His eyes fixed on the floor. He exhaled sharply through his nose and then carried on without a word.
Laura looked back along the corridor towards Sylvia’s door and walked through the dark until she reached threshold.
The room was dimly lit, warm golds and dusky shadows. This time, she didn’t hesitate. Laura stepped inside.
Sylvia lay reclined against a bank of pillows at the foot of her bed, head tipped back in soft moaning surrender. Kael knelt before her, naked from the waist down, hips rising subtly with every motion of his mouth. His hands gripped the insides of her thighs, and his lips were buried between them, moaning into her like it was prayer. Every now and then he slowed, as if it was too much, and then he’d continue with his previous rhythm.
At the edge of the bed, Darius sat, serene, composed, a hand resting fondly in Kael’s hair. His other hand propped him up in the bed almost displaying a visible bulge in his linen trousers.
There was a small, flattened cushion on the floor in front of him, two soft indentations still visible in its surface. Someone had knelt there moments ago.
He looked up and saw her. Didn’t speak. Just opened his knees slightly and patted one thigh. Laura walked over, her mind screaming leave but her feet still took her there.
Sylvia looked almost serene as her hips rocked up slightly and a soft quivering moan left her.
Kael groaned into Sylvia, and she thrust forward a bit, her stomach tensing.
Darius pulled Laura in like a child to his thigh.
“Isn’t she beautiful my angel”
Darius looked at Laura and shifted his thighs wider.
“You’re clever, little bird. You learn by watching, don’t you?”
Laura slid from his knee and knelt.
Right in the impression left by someone else.
Darius didn’t say “good girl.” Didn’t pet her like an obedient dog.
He simply smiled, let her settle.
“You can tell a lot by who kneels where.”
His hand settled gently at the back of her head. Not guiding. Not holding. Just present, grounding her like a weight across her shoulders.
Sylvia’s hips trembled as Kael worked, her moans soft and rising. She kept trying to reach down to stroke his cheek but was too lost in it, her hands falling back beside her.
“It’s all right to be soft, to need devotion,” Darius whispered, more to the air than to her. “That’s why we love them. That’s why we teach them how to kneel, how to care and be cared for.”
Laura’s face was close enough to feel Sylvia’s heat, to see Kael’s thighs flex and shake. His cock hung thick and hard between his legs, dripping with precum. But he didn’t touch himself. He just kept licking. Kept serving.
Sylvia let out a strangled moan and bucked upward. Her thighs closed around Kael’s head as she came and at the same moment, Kael let out a low, shuddering cry and came untouched, spilling onto the floor beneath him as he stayed kneeling, mouth still open, still giving.
Darius took Laura’s hand and used it to stroke his hair again, with soft reverence.
“Good boy,” he said. “Stay in it.”
Kael didn’t move. He stayed pressed between Sylvia’s legs like a man still caught in rapture.
Sylvia exhaled slowly, her body slowly melting into the pillows. She blinked her eyes open, dazed and gleaming, and looked at Laura.
“Will you be good for me, little love?” she asked gently. “Come learn with your mouth.”
She didn’t command it. She invited.
Laura crawled forward.
But Sylvia didn’t guide her between her legs.
She brought a hand to her own breast, cupping it with delicate fingers, the fullness pale and heavy in her palm. She held it out, not forcefully but with quiet offering.
“This,” she said softly, “is where we start, it’s where we all start.”
Laura’s lips parted instinctively. She leaned forward. Unsure if she was meant to kiss, lick, suck. Sylvia stroked her hair in long, slow motions.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “Let your mouth learn my shape. Let me care for you. You are worth such tenderness.”
Laura suckled tentatively, then deeper. The scent of sex and skin filled her nose. Her hands shook. Her thighs clenched. But Sylvia’s touch was slow and constant. No rush. No shame.
Still naked, still breathless from his climax, Kael moved. He rose and crawled beside Sylvia across from Laura. Without a word, his head dipped to Sylvia’s other breast, mouth finding it like a man returning to a known temple. They mirrored each other. Heads bowed. Bodies curved inward.
Sylvia let out a low sigh of pleasure.
“My beautiful little ones,” she murmured, arms cradling them both. “Every one of you, starving in a world that taught you to chew gravel and say thank you.”
And then Kael leaned across and kissed her.
Not Sylvia. Her.
He turned, lips slick with milk and salt, and captured her mouth with his. Open, eager, desperate. He didn’t ask permission, he shared what he’d been given. Sylvia’s taste. His pleasure. Worship passed from one tongue to another.
Laura moaned against him. Her kiss wasn’t polite. She devoured. Lapping up every trace of Sylvia from his mouth.
Darius watched in silence, hand still stroking himself with a patient rhythm.
“That’s it,” he said softly. “Share her. Praise her. Let her body teach you how to love.”
Sylvia smiled as she cupped Laura’s cheek, guiding her gently back.
“Don’t like how devotion tastes?,” she said, eyes half-lidded. “Would you like more?”
Laura nodded.
Sylvia spread her thighs again. This time she beckoned lower.
Laura’s kisses trailed from breast to stomach to hip to thigh, her body no longer hesitant. When she reached Sylvia’s cunt, she kissed the trembling skin, lapped the slickness from her thighs, and then buried her mouth in her.
Sylvia moaned, her voice heady and warm. “That’s it, my good girl…”
Laura was lost in it.
Lost in the scent of heat and salt, in the silk of inner thigh and the trembling tightness under her tongue. She kissed and licked, rocked and tasted.
Kael watched, slack-jawed on Sylvia’s breast, one hand stroking himself again, the other still resting on Sylvia’s hip.
Darius stood, bare feet silent on the floor, and walked closer. His voice smooth and sure.
“I told you, she belongs here.”
Sylvia’s hand came down to stroke Laura’s head, tender and full of joy.
The shower was already running when he opened the app.
She’d only been in there a minute. Maybe less. Long enough to hum something soft and tuneless as she adjusted the heat. Long enough for the bathroom light to pool under the door.
He hadn’t meant to check.
Not consciously.
But his fingers unlocked his phone with that automatic rhythm he barely noticed anymore.
Tap. Tap. Scroll. There she was.
New video.Posted an hour earlier.
“you don’t need to cum. you need to obey.”
He clicked before he could think.
She was in bed. Still sleep-flushed.
Yet in full makeup, no bra, just a white shirt and soft light through linen curtains. Her hair was messy, clinging to her cheek where it had dried into a loose curl.
She smiled.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
His hand moved under the blanket almost without permission.
“Did you miss me?”
“Mmm. Don’t lie. I can feel it already…
the way your stomach tightens.
That twitch when I say stroke.”
He did.
Just once.
Then again.
“Slower.”
He obeyed.
“That’s better.
You want it fast, but you don’t get to decide that anymore.
You know the rules.”
The water ran louder. A bottle knocked over in the tub.
He didn’t hear it.
“Three strokes. Then stop. Go on.”
He did.
“Faster.”
He bit his lip. Shifted.
“Now stop.”
She laughed softly.
“Poor thing.
Your cock’s probably aching, isn’t it?
Dripping already?
Show me.”
He almost did.
Almost pulled the blanket back, even though no one could see.
The screen flickered slightly as she leaned forward. Her nipples showed through the fabric. Her voice dropped into something hushed, coaxing.
“You don’t need to cum.
You need to obey.
That’s the difference between you and them.”
He was close. So close.
The voice, the rhythm, the illusion that this,
this intimacy, this control…
In his mind it was for him.
“Mmm. But I’m not free.”
The screen cut to black.
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He blinked.
Sat frozen, cock in hand, pulse thrumming in his neck.
“Shit.”
His laptop was on the duvet, half-slid from his thighs.
The bathroom door hadn’t opened yet.
The water stopped.
He tapped to subscribe.
Didn’t even flinch at the price.
£9.99 for the first tier.
Fingerprint. Done.
The email arrived instantly.
“Your subscription is active.”
Lexi opened the bathroom door, wrapped in a towel, dripping onto the floor as she walked through. Her skin flushed from heat, a soft smile on her lips.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“Just… just tired.”
But that night, after she fell asleep beside him, he turned the screen brightness down low and watched the rest.
Lucy picked up mid-sentence:
“… you’re still hard for me, aren’t you?”
He was. He really fucking was.
“You stroked like I said, and then I left you hanging.
The sky had bruised by the time she made it back to the house.
Most of the commune had gathered near the firepit, laughter low and hazy under the scent of smoke and fruit. Someone strummed a slow rhythm on a guitar; someone else was threading wildflowers into the long braid of a girl’s hair. It should have felt safe.
But Laura didn’t stop.
She slipped past the steps, barefoot now, the hem of her dress catching the breeze like breath. The house loomed quieter at night. Fewer voices. More shadows. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, just patient.
She wasn’t looking for anyone in particular.
That’s what she told herself.
She padded down the hallway toward the east wing, past shuttered rooms and closed doors. Just looking. Just walking. That was all. The fact that Lucans room was on this side of the house was… irrelevant.
That’s what she told herself. Then she heard it.
A soft, wet sound. Rhythmic. Close.
She slowed.
It came from behind a half-closed door, the light inside low and golden. Darius’s office. She recognised the shape of the chair through the crack, the edge of the desk.
Laura paused because of the sound. Because of the low hum of breath. Because of the voice that followed.
“Good. Just like that.”
It was Darius.
Even. Calm. As if speaking to someone mid-prayer.
Laura really didn’t want to interrupt him and Sylvia.
Still she stepped closer.
Her bare foot brushed the edge of the hall rug, and her eye found the narrow sliver between door and frame.
Matthias was on his knees.
Shirtless. Head bowed.
His mouth moved steadily over Darius’s cock, slow and deliberate, like it was a task. Or a ritual. Or both. His hands rested lightly on Darius’s thighs not gripping. Just placed.
Darius leaned back slightly in his chair. Unhurried. One hand resting in Matthias’s hair, not pushing. Just holding. Almost affectionately.
His gaze was fixed ahead.
Not glazed. Not undone. Just still.
He spoke again, so softly Laura almost missed it.
“Always so obedient.”
Matthias moaned around him.
Laura didn’t realise she was holding her breath until her chest started to ache. She hadn’t moved. Couldn’t.
This wasn’t performance.
Wasn’t spectacle. It wasn’t for her.
She took one step back.
Then another.
The door stayed open. The sound stayed soft.
And when she finally turned, walking quickly now, the quiet of the house swallowed her whole.
Laura turned, wide-eyed, pulse thudding in her ears.
The corridor stretched empty ahead, shadows pooled at the edges but she hadn’t taken three steps before she nearly collided with someone coming the other way.
Lucan.
She jerked back, but his hand was already on her arm.
He didn’t look surprised. Just stared past her at the half-open office door.
Darius’s voice was still audible. Just barely.
Lucan’s jaw flexed once.
Then he moved quick, deliberate, guiding her down the corridor without a word. His grip was firm, not painful, but not gentle either.
He opened a door near the end of the hall and pulled her through.
It was clearly a bedroom. His.
Smaller than the others. Sparse. The Dark Navy walls bare, the bed unmade. A knife on the windowsill. No scent of lemon balm here just wood, sweat, and something metallic.
He shut the door behind them with a click.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you.”
It wasn’t a question. His tone was sharp, but not loud. Controlled.
Laura blinked at him, chest still tight. “I…I was just exploring and…”
“And you thought you’d get a show in while on the house tour?”
His mouth twitched at the corner. Not a smile. Something more dangerous than that.
“N-no,” Laura stammered. “I didn’t mean to…I didn’t know…”
She turned, reaching for the door.
Lucan planted a palm flat above her head, holding it shut.
“Better wait till they’re done,” he said.
Laura froze, breath catching.
“You know about…?” she whispered.
Lucan leaned in slightly, just enough to make her feel the heat of him behind her.
“Nothing’s a secret in this house,” he said.
His voice dropped, darker now.
“Or sacred.”
From down the corridor, faint but clear, Darius moaned.
It wasn’t loud. But it was unmistakable.
Laura stiffened instinctively.
Lucan didn’t move, except for the hand still braced above her, knuckles pale. His body behind her had gone taut. Not with fury. Not quite.
Tense like something held too tightly. Something threatening to snap.
Laura felt it before she saw it.
The change in his breathing. The low hum of air pulled sharply through his nose. The shift in his hips, how they no longer quite held distance.
She risked a glance up.
Lucan’s jaw was clenched, but his mouth wasn’t tight.
His eyes flicked to hers, just once, and in that flash she saw it.
Not rage. Not disgust.
He was aroused.
Buried deep. Forced down. But unmistakable.
His gaze dropped to her lips. Then lower. Then he blinked, exhaled hard through his nose, and pulled back an inch.
Laura didn’t dare look down.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
Then his eyes met hers again, sharper now, trying to burn out what had just passed between them.
“You just want to be owned, don’t you?” he said, voice low and vicious.
“Doesn’t even matter by who.”
The words hit like a curse he hadn’t meant to say out loud.
But he didn’t flinch.
“Does Sylvia know her new pet likes watching Daddy Darius get sucked off by the staff?”
He stepped back, hand falling from the door. His breath laboured.
The space between them filled with everything they were avoiding saying.
Laura didn’t break eye contact as she fumbled for the door handle and slid out and back down the corridor, her heart pounding in her ears.
She didn’t stop walking until she reached her room at the far end of the house, the door clicking shut behind her with more finality than she expected.
In the dark, with the sounds of the commune muffled to a distant hum, Laura pressed her back to the wood and let out a breath.
Lucan’s words came back to her then, uninvited.
Not as an accusation.
As a question she hadn’t yet learned how to answer.
The grass was damp when they stepped outside, the dew clinging to sandals as they made their way through the garden and down the slope beyond the orchard gate. The path split twice, and both times Sylvia guided her with a gentle touch to the elbow, like she might forget which way to go.
There were others already working, women bent low between rows of vines, men hauling empty crates toward a shaded bench. Nobody rushed. Nobody barked instruction. It just… unfolded.
Laura carried an empty basket. She hadn’t been told what to pick, only to “go where the trees call.” Sylvia had said it with that same half-smile she used when saying something that felt like it should be a joke but wasn’t.
The sun rose higher.
It was already warm enough that Laura felt the dress clinging slightly at her spine, just damp enough to outline the top of her thighs when she leaned. She shifted the basket to one hip, trying not to think about it.
“Morning, sunshine.”
Kael’s voice came from somewhere behind her too close and too smug.
She jumped. He caught her elbow lightly.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he grinned. “Though for the record, it was a very graceful flinch.”
“You’ve been stalking me since the fig trees, haven’t you?”
“Since before that, actually. I wanted to see if you’d know a peach tree if you saw it.” He let go of her elbow, but his hand lingered in the air a beat longer than necessary.
Laura turned, trying to give him a look.
Kael just nodded at her basket. “You’re meant to start from the east end. Otherwise the bees get territorial.”
“I’ll risk it.”
He laughed. “Brave.”
She bent slightly to inspect a low branch, the fruit hanging heavy and split at the seam too ripe, too ready. Her dress lifted an inch with the movement, and she heard Kael’s breath catch.
“You know,” he said casually, “that dress is basically sheer when the sun hits it.”
Laura looked up sharply. “Then stop looking.”
He didn’t leer. Didn’t smirk. Just said it like the weather. “Shan’t.”
She straightened.
“Thought you might want the heads up,” he added. “Before Lucan sees.”
He was already backing away as he said it, barefoot, casual, like it wasn’t meant to land.
“Pretty sure I’m not on Lucans radar.”
“Save me a peach, a juicy one.” he called, and was gone before she could reply.
Laura stood very still.
Then picked the softest fruit on the branch and set it gently in her basket.
“One down, feck loads to go.” She swatted at a bee that hovered too close as she gazed down the long line of trees.
———
Lunch was spread out under the trees.
No blanket had been laid, but bodies folded into the grass as if they belonged there. Shoes abandoned. Dresses hitched. Someone passed bread from hand to hand, while bowls of olives and tomatoes circulated like offerings.
Laura sat with her legs tucked under her, a plate balanced on one knee. Juice from sliced fruit ran down her wrist. She licked it absently, already too full of sun to care how it looked.
To her left, a woman in a mustard yellow shift laughed at something Kael said, tipping sideways until her head landed on his thigh. He didn’t stop eating. Just reached down and curled a strand of her hair around his finger like it was nothing.
On her other side, two of the younger girls were arguing over who’d made the better batch of almond cakes. Neither sounded particularly invested in winning.
Laura tried not to stare, but everything about it was… so easy.
No tension. No need to ask permission. The kind of closeness she’d spent her adult life watching other people have, the kind born from time and trust and shared experience. Except it hadn’t been time here. Not really.
And yet…
She looked down at her bare legs, the soft cotton of the dress, the way her toes flexed against the grass.
Maybe trust wasn’t always earned.
Maybe sometimes it was extended first and proven after. She scribbled that down in her notebook.
Darius’s voice floated toward them before he appeared calm and amused.
“No, I promise, I’ve seen that tree. It’s exactly the same as it was last year. You’re imagining things.”
The girls clustered around him laughed. One tugged playfully at his hand.
“But we have to show you,” another insisted. “It’s changed. You’ll see.”
“It’s about the shape,” the third said, more slyly.
Laura turned just in time to see the look they shared.
Not girlish. Not innocent.
It was the gleam of inside jokes and practised seduction.
Darius let himself be led.
His expression didn’t change, but one of the girls leaned in and whispered something near his ear. He smiled. Slow and secret.
They all disappeared between the rows of trees.
Laura realised she was still holding her peach, half-eaten.
She set it down and wiped her hand on her dress.
Something about the moment itched.
Not jealousy. Not quite.
Just the knowledge that she’d been watching something she wasn’t meant to understand yet.
———
The orchard had grown quieter after lunch.
Some stayed behind, stretched out in patches of sun like cats. Others drifted back toward the houses to check on children, baskets in hand, mouths still stained with juice. The trees buzzed low with bees and birdsong.
Laura wandered back toward the eastern edge where the trees curved inward, cradling a small grove she hadn’t explored yet. Her basket swung lightly at her side, three peaches nestled inside, soft and almost too ripe.
She liked this part, the quiet. The sense of being alone but not abandoned.
She turned a corner, and stopped dead.
Lucan was standing in the dappled light between two trees, back slightly to her, one hand at his waistband.
He was zipping up.
The sound of the zip cut through the hush like something obscene.
A girl was beside him. Younger than Laura, loose braid down her back, cheeks flushed and pink. She was smoothing her dress down over her thighs with both hands, not looking up.
Lucan saw her first. He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t apologise.
Didn’t even button his top button.
Instead, he raised one eyebrow and let the silence stretch. The girl brushed past Laura without a word, her head ducked, her sandals crunching softly in the grass.
Lucan stayed where he was.
Hands now loose at his sides. No shame. No effort to hide what she’d walked in on.
“Oh look,” he said, voice dry. “It’s our favourite little spy.”
Laura’s throat worked.
“I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to…”
Lucan tilted his head.
“Sure you didn’t.”
He took one step forward. Not close. Just enough to make the moment his.
“See anything you like,” he murmured, “or just browsing?”
Laura’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
He didn’t wait.
Bent slightly, picked up a fallen peach from the grass, not bruised or split, and bit into it. The sound was wet. Satisfied.
She moved to pass him, not looking up.
As she shifted her basket to offer one of the fruit she’d picked, automatically, stupidly, his hand brushed hers.
A light touch. Intentional. Unmistakable.
He didn’t take the fruit.
Just held her gaze for a fraction too long.
Then turned and walked away, the peach dripping at his side.
Laura woke before the gong. She heard the tinny noise vibrating through the house.
The light outside was still pale, barely there, slipping in through the edges of the shutters. The room smelled faintly of salt and something deeper, the air still holding a trace of someone else’s skin or maybe that was just her memory of last night.
She stood, slowly. The sheets were twisted beneath her, her thighs tacky with sweat, or want, or whatever passed for sleep here.
The mirror caught her before she could turn away.
She didn’t look different.
But she didn’t look the same, either.
She put it down to the sea air making her hair frizzy.
Laura crossed to the washroom, closing the door softly behind her. The floor tiles were cool beneath her feet, the jug already full. Someone had left fresh water, clean linen. A pale towel folded neatly by the bath.
She washed in silence. Careful hands. Neck. Arms. Between her legs. Trying not to linger.
She wrapped herself in the towel, and settled at the low table by the window, notebook open across her lap, pen poised but unwilling.
The words wouldn’t come.
She wrote down: Another day in paradise.
Then crossed it out.
She tried again: The commune wakes early, but never with urgency. Everything here feels unhurried. Everyone knows what comes next.
She tapped the page.
Maybe that’s why it works, she scribbled, almost as an afterthought.
A knock, then. Gentle.
Laura startled, notebook snapping shut instinctively.
Sylvia.
Dressed in soft grey, her hair loose over one shoulder, she looked more like a favourite aunt than a cult wife. Her voice was even gentler than the knock.
“May I?”
Laura nodded.
Sylvia stepped inside, eyes sweeping the room with a quiet ease. “I thought you might like some help getting ready,” she said. “It’s going to be a busy day.”
Laura shifted in her towel. “I didn’t think…I mean, I can dress myself…”
“Of course you can,” Sylvia said warmly. “But things move so much smoother with help and care.”
She crossed to the wardrobe and drew something out, a pale tea dress, ankle-skimming, with tiny white flowers scattered across the fabric like someone had pressed them into the cloth by hand. It fluttered when she held it up. Almost translucent in the light.
“I thought this one,” Sylvia said. “It suits the morning.”
Laura hesitated.
“It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “A bit…”
“Light?” Sylvia smiled. “Only in the right places. This is not a day to be weighed down by anything unnecessary.”
She set the dress gently on the bed, then reached for a small wooden box on the dresser. Inside: hair pins, a soft-bristle brush, a comb carved from pale bone.
“Sit,” Sylvia said softly, patting the low stool.
Laura sat.
Sylvia worked slowly. Brushing out the damp, gently tangled strands. Her fingers never tugged. They smoothed. Soothed. Worked with the kind of attention that didn’t feel performative, just warm and present.
“Your hair holds so much,” she murmured. “All the thinking. The tension. It knots before we even notice.”
Laura didn’t answer. Her eyes fluttered closed.
Sylvia’s fingers moved to braid, then twist, then pin.
Not motherly. Not exactly.
There was too much reverence in it.
Like she was preparing Laura for something sacred.
When it was done, she rested her hands on Laura’s shoulders, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“You’re ready.”
Laura rose. The towel slipped. Sylvia helped her step into the dress.
It clung delicately. Weightless. Soft against her skin. Not see-through. Not quite. But sheer, in a way that felt noticeable. Like she’d been cast in sugar glass.
Sylvia stepped back, nodding with quiet satisfaction.
“Perfect,” she said. “You’ll want sandals. And maybe a cardigan for the breeze.”
Laura found both near the wardrobe. Even those felt already chosen.
When she turned back, Sylvia was standing at the door.
“Come,” she said. “The others are already gathering.”
Laura smiled despite herself.
She tucked her notebook beneath her arm and followed.
———
The morning air outside was cool but not biting, the kind that kissed the skin without warning it.
The house’s main room had been rearranged again. The long table pulled closer to the hearth, sunlight pooling over it like warm honey. Steam rose from ceramic mugs, the scent of lemon balm and something darker, clove maybe, lifting into the air.
Darius was already seated at the head, sleeves rolled, eyes half-lidded like he’d been up for hours and hadn’t rushed a second of it. He glanced over when they entered and smiled.
Not wide or performative.
Just enough curious.
Sylvia led her to the seat beside him, the same one from the first morning. Kael was on the far end this time, barefoot and bright-eyed, peeling a pear with a knife. Lucan was already there, sitting to Darius’s right. He looked like he’d been there longer than the chair itself.
“Good morning, Laura,” Darius said smoothly.
His voice did the thing it always did, it made her lean in slightly without realising.
“Morning,” she replied, forcing her shoulders back.
Lucan’s mouth twitched, as if he’d noticed the correction.
Sylvia poured her a cup before Laura could reach for anything. The tea was hot. Fragrant. Her hands wrapped around it out of reflex.
“Big day today,” Kael said around a mouthful of fruit. “Peaches are near bursting, and the lower orchard’s practically showing off.”
He grinned like he’d had something to do with it. Laura smiled back, softer than she meant to.
Lucan didn’t look up.
He tore a chunk from a crust of bread with his teeth, chewing like he was unimpressed with every conversation in the room.
Lucan finally looked at her.
His gaze moved slowly. Not her face first. The line of her collarbone. The thin fabric of her dress where the sun caught it. Then her mouth.
“They bruise easy,” he said, tearing a piece from his bread with his teeth. “Peaches.”
Laura blinked. “I…”
“If you’re rough,” he added, calmly. “If you’re impatient.”
Darius laughed under his breath. Sylvia shot Lucan a look that might have been a warning or an invitation. It was hard to tell.
Sylvia served eggs. Greens sautéed in something that smelled rich and faintly nutty. A slice of still-warm sourdough appeared on Laura’s plate. She hadn’t noticed who passed it to her.
No one gave orders. No one listed tasks.
Everything just… moved.
Rhythm, not routine.
At one point, Darius reached across her to refill Sylvia’s cup, his hand grazing Laura’s wrist without apology. It wasn’t a grab. Not a claim. Just contact. Warm and unhurried.
“I think you’ll enjoy the harvest,” he said, not looking at her when he spoke. “It’s one of our oldest rituals.”
“Traditions,” Sylvia corrected, her tone light.
“Rituals are traditions,” Darius replied, with a smile just shy of teasing.
Lucan leaned back in his chair. “Depends how seriously you take them.”
His knee brushed Laura’s under the table. Not enough to call it an accident. Not enough to call it anything else.
Kael made a mock gagging noise. “God, not before I’ve finished my toast.”
Darius lifted his mug toward him without looking. Kael raised his knife in salute.
Laura laughed, surprised by how easily it came. How warm her body felt. How difficult it suddenly was to remember what she was meant to be observing, recording, keeping distance from.
Lucan’s voice dropped as the conversation moved on.
“Eat,” he said quietly, almost kindly. “You’ll need the strength.”
By the time she realised she was blushing, it was already too late.
It was almost impossible to remember what she was meant to be writing down.
Daniel was just curious. Fifteen minutes to kill. Now it’s hours later, and he can’t remember the last time he blinked.
Daniel’s two o’clock Zoom had been cancelled without warning. He stared at the meeting link for a while anyway, waiting for the universe to rebook it or strike him down. Neither happened. So he did what any mildly bored man working from home might do. He opened a new tab and typed something that started with edging.
Nothing serious.
Just something to pass twenty minutes.
The thumbnail looked homemade. Blurry in a way that made it feel a bit more real.
The title was some stupid phrase about focus and denial.
He clicked play with the sound off, at first.
She was sitting on a stool in front of a full-length mirror. Lingerie.
He’d seen bigger tits, but they were round and soft and pale, the kind you wanted to fuck your face into and moan while your cock twitched against the sheets. The camera angle wasn’t porn-filthy. It looked like she’d filmed it for someone. Intimate. Slow. Like a message. Like a trap.
He turned the sound on at 1:04.
The first thing he heard was her laugh.
Not scripted. Not dirty.
Just a low chuckle like she’d been watching him the whole time, amused by how quickly he’d given her his attention.
“Oh, you thought this would be a quick one,” she said softly, her voice spilling out of his laptop like syrup. “Poor thing. You don’t even realise what you’ve clicked, do you?”
He didn’t.
But his cock did.
She reached forward, slow enough to draw the eye, and adjusted the camera. Her tits took up the frame for a second. Heavy, pale, pillowy. She didn’t bounce them. She didn’t jiggle. She just let them exist. As if it were a privilege to watch. As if he’d earned the right to ache for them.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “Nice and slow. Take your cock out, baby.”
Daniel stared. He wasn’t going to.
But then his hand moved without thinking, sliding under his waistband, freeing himself.
He was already half-hard, the weight of it rising warm in his palm.
He wrapped his fingers around the shaft. Not tight. Just enough.
The skin felt hotter than usual. The head already sticky with the kind of pre-cum that only came from thinking, not touching.
He waited for the usual rhythm. A suggestion. A tempo. Something to work with.
Instead she just looked straight ahead, smiling, one shoulder dipping slightly as if adjusting her bra strap. Her breasts shifted just a little. God, they looked soft. Like you could fuck them for hours and never want to stop.
“I’m not here to make you cum,” she said gently. “I’m here to make you stay.”
The way she said stay hit something in him.
It didn’t even sound sexual. It sounded like a command that would live under his skin forever.
“You’ll forget your name before you forget this feeling,” she said.
His breath caught.
He hadn’t noticed he was breathing differently.
Stroking slow. Barely moving.
Just enough to feel the drag of skin over heat, the electric throb building at the base.
Not the usual lazy wank.
This felt… good. Too good. The kind of good that tightened your ribs. That forced your thighs apart and made you want to breathe through your mouth.
Her eyes stayed locked on the lens.
“You don’t need to finish,” she purred. “You just need to listen. Let your cock listen for you.”
He moaned, low and brief.
A sound dragged from the pit of his stomach.
“feels good, doesn't it?
Slow your hand.
Let it glide.
Base to tip. Tip to base.
Stroke softly.
Dripping.
You've got all the time you need.
No heavy thoughts.
Nothing sharp.
Nothing loud.
Just heat.
Soft and smooth. “
He shifted in his chair, trying to find the angle. The head of his cock brushed against his belly and it jumped, leaking against his skin. His balls felt heavy already, tight with something raw.
“Your cock,
warming and swelling under your palm.
And my voice.
Soft and dripping.
Soft and trusting.”
He picked up the pace. Just a little.
Her tits shifted again in the video and his grip faltered.
“Good boy,” she whispered. “That’s it. Stay right there. Float. Don’t think. Don’t decide. Just stroke.”
His vision blurred slightly.
“You don’t need to know the time.”
His mouth was open.
“You don’t need a name. Just a cock. Just my voice.”
He blinked. Swallowed.
“Wouldn’t it be easier,” she whispered, slower now, “if you just dropped?”
His head nodded slightly. No conscious thought.
“Don’t cum. Don’t think. Just drop and stroke. Good boys don’t stop. Good boys just feel.”
He moaned softly to no one. A glaze across his eyes. Pre-cum slick on his hand and belly. His body humming. Still edging.
Still gooning.
He didn’t even realise it had stopped.
His phone buzzed. Loud. Violent.
The sound cracked through the trance like a whip.
He jolted. Blinking. Breathing hard. Still holding his cock. Still leaking.
The browser tab was black. The video had ended minutes ago.
His phone buzzed again.
Lexi.
Need anything from the shop?
Daniel fumbled his phone. Cleared the tab. Closed everything.
His cock was still half-hard and twitching. His chest tight with something like afterglow.
He stood, slow and unsteady, adjusting his waistband like he was putting a lid back on a shaken bottle.
He didn’t feel normal.
He felt floaty.
High.
That night, he said nothing.
He acted normal. Ate dinner. Made her laugh. Helped with the washing up. Watched some series about people getting murdered in nice kitchens.
But he couldn’t stop noticing her. The slope of her back. The way her arse filled out her joggers. The bounce of her tits when she leaned forward to grab a cushion.
When she got ready for bed, he watched her peel off her hoodie, stretch, and slide into her pyjama shorts. His cock pulsed against the inside of his thigh with a stubborn, aching want.
It didn’t go away.
It didn’t fade like it normally would.
It built. Quietly. Like pressure behind a dam.
She rolled onto her side. He curled up behind her.
His cock pressed against the soft curve of her arse, thick and eager under the duvet.
She made a sleepy noise, and he kissed her neck.
One shift from her was all it took.
He slid inside her, gasping against her hair.
She was warm. Wet. Sleep-slick and open.
He began to thrust without thinking. Just moving. Letting his hips do what they’d been denied all day.
He fucked her deep, then harder, then with no rhythm at all.
His breath caught on every thrust.
His cock felt too good, like it had been starved. Like it remembered every second of being edged earlier and wanted revenge.
He moaned into her shoulder. Too loud.
His fingers gripped her hip, dragging her back onto him with a desperate force that surprised them both.
He came harder than he had in months.
Hot. Sharp. Prolonged.
He twitched inside her, panting, groaning, his whole body shuddering as he spilled.
Lexi stroked his chest when he flopped back.
“You must’ve needed that,” she murmured.
Daniel nodded.
He didn’t say it was the first orgasm he hadn’t earned from start to finish in months.
He didn’t say the voice from the video was still in his head.
