FACT
Chapter 4.8 — Kana
I followed Evan out of the room ahead of Grant, still flushed and loose-limbed from everything with Saki, my mind pleasantly empty. As I walked I automatically begin setting myself right. I reached into the neckline of the crimson babydoll and lifted each heavy breast back into the cups, adjusting the lace until the fit is exactly how I wanted it, then smoothed the fabric across my chest and tugged the hem down. The panties came next, and I reached behind myself to work the thin strip of satin back between my cheeks with careful, deliberate fingers, settling the fabric precisely against my sensitive skin.
Even that small friction made me inhale through my nose and pause a step, hips tilting slightly before I recovered and continued walking. I was not embarrassed. I simply cannot let things sit wrong.
Though I felt the absence. I never put the plug back in after the event, and there was a hollow, stretched awareness that makes me hyperconscious of my own body with every step. Empty. I was aware of the emptiness the way I was aware of my own heartbeat, a subtle wrongness that I could fix right now without making a scene. I pressed my thighs together as I walked, trying to recreate some of that fullness, but it only reminded me more of what is missing.
Once in the room, I leaned against the nearest surface and let my attention find Evan with the comfortable, proprietary ease I had developed over the last few days. I told him, with complete sincerity and only a little mischief in my accent, that I was proud of him for finally giving Saki what she needed, because she had been wound too tight for years and a real man was clearly the solution. I framed this the way I framed most things I found amusing: as obvious fact delivered without apology.
“You teach Saki-chan what real man is,” I say, letting the words sit there. “She need this. Too tight, too long. You fix her good.”
I followed it with something more physical. I let my hand drift to the neckline of the babydoll, finding my nipple through the thin crimson lace, and rolled it slowly between my fingers until it stiffened against the fabric. I held Evan’s eyes the whole time.
“Saki done for night,” I said, letting my accent thicken just enough to make him work for it. “I keep going.”
Then I turned around, planted my feet shoulder-width apart, and smacked my own ass with a sharp, open-handed crack. The impact sent a ripple through the enormous round flesh, heavy muscle beneath giving way to a jiggling wave that traveled outward and settled with a slow, hypnotic bounce. Even through the satin panties, the sting ed instantly against my hypersensitive skin, and I let out a high, breathy moan before I could stop myself.
“Ahn... nnn...”
My hips tilted back involuntarily, seeking more, and I had to press my thighs together to keep from moaning again. I glanced over my shoulder at Evan, lips parted, and smiled with the particular warmth I reserve for moments when I have exactly what I want.
Grant arrived a few beats behind me, wearing a cute sundress and heels that he must have bought earlier, smoothing the skirt as he entered. He took in the room, took in me looking satisfied and Evan looking comfortable, and settled into the space with the easy acceptance of someone who had stopped questioning the shape of his own life.
Evan picked up a coin from the counter where he left it. He closed his fingers around it and spoke in a flat, unhurried voice.
“Fact. You both will stand there quietly while I prep you both and then you will forget what I said and go about the rest of your day. You will not hear what I say to the other person, only what I say to you.”
Grant and I went quiet mid-motion, my hand still resting at my hip, Grant’s fingers still at his skirt hem.
Evan took his time looking us over. He ran a finger across my mid-section, savoring my feel. He dipped in and gave me a ionate kiss while Grant just watched. I bet his clitty was hard as a pebble, with as small as it is though I’d never be able to notice. Then he walked past Grant. He made some gesture toward Grant’s chest. Grant’s chest was not soft by any means but them coupled with always hard nipples in a bra made him look ridiculous. It looked like he was saying something else to Grant, but I couldn’t quite hear what was said.
Finally, he turned back to me. I honestly couldn’t imagine how anyone could focus on anything else in a room that I was standing in.
“Now you, my beloved Kana. It is now fact that for the rest of your life, you will be the smartest person to ever live. You will be burdened with infinite knowledge, however with your perverted mind I’m sure you will put that intellect to quite devious use. There is a curse to this as well, for the next 24 hours the longer you go without cumming will slowly eat away at your intelligence until you are dumb, brainless bimbo. This will likely be harder for you too since once you dip low enough I’m sure you will find it hard to speak any English at all. Since you just came... a bunch. You’ll likely start out not too horny.”
Knowledge poured into my brain. I saw clearly.
I understood the molecular structure of the wine on the counter, the exact caloric content of the lipstick I’d applied this morning, the aerodynamic drag coefficient of my own tits when I moved. It was overwhelming and perfect. My mind raced through possibilities, applications, perversions I could engineer with this clarity.
I could synthesize a compound from household ingredients that would permanently increase breast tissue density, create a topical cream that rewired nerve endings to interpret pain as pleasure, design a pheromone that made men physically unable to refuse me. I could calculate the exact frequency of my own voice that triggered arousal in the male brain, then weaponize it. I could-
I could cure cancer and end world hunger, some distant part of me suggested.
I threw that thought away immediately. Boring. Useless. No sexual application whatsoever.
What mattered was control. Evan thought he was in control. Evan was still a man. A man with predictable chemical responses, visual processing biases, neurological vulnerabilities I could exploit. I mapped them all in seconds. The way his pupils dilated when I leaned forward. The micro-tension in his jaw when I spoke with my accent. The exact angle of my hips that short-circuited his frontal lobe.
My nipples tightened against the lace of my babydoll, the friction sending small sparks through my chest with every breath. I shifted my shoulders just to feel them drag against the fabric again, the rough-soft texture teasing me awake. I felt some of what I just had known slip away.
I needed to write this down. Before the hunger took it from me.
I turned and ran for the stairs.
My enormous breasts bounced violently inside the babydoll, the lace cups barely containing them, my nipples rubbing and catching against the material with every step, each stride sending a heavy ripple through my chest that pulled at the neckline and threatened to spill me out entirely. The satin panties rode deeper between my cheeks with every footfall, the thin strip sawing against my sensitive, empty asshole, reminding me with each impact what I was missing. My thighs rubbed together, generating heat, and I could feel the jiggle travel up through my hips and into my core, a liquid, uncontrolled sway that made running feel like fucking.
I took the stairs two at a time, desperate, my body a chaos of bouncing flesh and urgent need.
I burst into my bedroom and lunged for the nightstand drawer, yanking out a pen and paper. My hands shook. I pressed the pen to the page, ready to pour out the formulas, the triggers, the plan-
And caught my reflection in the mirror.
I froze.
The woman staring back at me was overwhelming. She was beautiful, exaggerated, almost cartoonish in her proportions, a fertility statue given life and dressed in crimson lingerie. My waist cinched impossibly small above hips that flared wide enough to make standing straight a challenge. My breasts strained the babydoll to its absolute limit, nipples visible through the lace, heavy and round and obscene. My ass, even in the mirror’s partial view, jutted out behind me like a shelf, the panties disappearing completely between cheeks that had always been this plush, this sensitive, this hungry for attention.
I looked like a wet dream. I looked like a pornographic caricature. I looked like exactly what I was, a goddess.
The pen slipped from my fingers.
I stared at my reflection and felt something hot and urgent replace the cold clarity of moments before. My hands moved without thought, finding my own hips, the curve of my waist, the heavy weight of my breasts still straining the babydoll.
“Beautiful...” I whispered, and the word came out half-English, half something else, my mind already fraying at the edges.
I started at my ankles. I lifted one foot onto the bed and traced the line of my calf with both hands, feeling the muscle beneath soft skin, the way my fingers left faint pink trails wherever I touched. The intelligence noted the dermal friction, the capillary response, the precise nerve density per square centimeter. Then it slipped away, replaced by simpler appreciation: soft. Mine. Good.
My hands moved higher to my knees, then my thighs, spreading them slightly so I could feel the heat between. The empty ache in my ass flared as I shifted, a hollow awareness that made me whimper. I should fill it. I would fill it. But not yet. First, I needed to appreciate what I had.
I cupped my own hips, digging fingers into the plush flesh, watching in the mirror as the meat of me yielded and bounced back. The math of my proportions assembled in my mind like a beautiful equation, then dissolved before I could hold it. All that remained was the hunger to touch more.
My fingers found the hem of the babydoll and lifted it, revealing the satin panties disappearing between my cheeks. I turned slightly, moaning at the sight of myself, the way the fabric barely covered my swollen, sensitive flesh. I smacked my own ass once, watching the ripple, feeling the sting, and the shock of it made me gasp out loud.
“Oh... oh...”
Thoughts were slipping. I ran my hands up my sides, under the babydoll, and lifted my breasts free of the cups. They were heavy, impossibly full, nipples tight and aching. I rolled them between my fingers, tugged them, pinched until my hips bucked forward of their own accord.
“Sugoi...” I breathed, and I didn’t know if I meant my breasts or the pleasure or the simple fact of having a body at all.
I was losing words faster now. Complex thoughts about chemistry and control evaporated like steam. My mind kept trying to form plans, hypnotic... compound... write..., but they broke apart before completion, replaced by the single urgent need to feel more, to touch everything, to be touched.
I pushed the panties down with one hand while the other stayed at my breast, twisting my nipple hard enough to make me cry out. The emptiness in my ass screamed for attention. I needed filling. I needed to be full.
My fingers found my clit, swollen and desperate, and I began to circle it slowly, watching my own face in the mirror. My expression was stupid, open, completely without guile. I loved it. I loved what I saw. I was gorgeous, I was perfect, I was-
“Ahh... ahh... nnn...”
The words dissolved into moans. My hips began to rock, chasing my own fingers, grinding against my hand with increasing desperation. I was dimly aware that thoughts were leaving me, whole concepts evaporating with each ing second, but I couldn’t care because the heat was building, building, building-
I came with a shriek that echoed off the bedroom walls, my body convulsing, my empty ass clenching rhythmically around nothing, my mind going white and blank and perfect.
I blinked.
Clarity returned like a flood. I looked at my hand, still pressed between my legs, and ed everything, the intelligence, the plan, the concoction I needed to make.
“Kuso,” I said, perfectly fluent.
I scrambled off the bed, found the pen where I’d dropped it, and wrote furiously. Not everything, I didn’t have time for the full lecture, but the essentials. The recipe. The trigger phrase. Where to hide it. I wrote in English, in Japanese, in diagrams where words failed, my handwriting deteriorating as I rushed but the content remaining sharp, precise, usable.
I wrote until my hand cramped, then tucked the paper into my bra for safekeeping.
I needed to move fast. The clock was already ticking on my next degradation, and I had work to do.
I went to my dresser and found the next size up from what I’d worn before, a thick glass plug that felt substantial in my hand, though I knew it was nothing compared to Evan. I pressed it to my lips briefly, then turned and bent over the bed, reaching back to spread myself open.
The insertion was easier this time, my body still loose from earlier, and I moaned shamelessly as the plug seated itself deep inside me. I stood, feeling the weight of it, the constant pressure, and smiled. Better. I felt complete.
I dressed quickly: the black mock-neck top with its scalloped lace hem, the cropped leather moto jacket that stopped just above my waist, the high-waisted skinny jeans with frayed openings at both knees. I chose the fitted black ankle boots to extend the dark line of my legs, checking the mirror once to confirm I looked devastating. I did.
I clutched the paper in my bra and made my way downstairs.
Saki was still ed out on the living room floor, but someone, probably Grant, had at least put a pillow under her head. She looked peaceful, thoroughly used, her face slack with satisfaction. I felt a brief flash of maternal pride that warred with competitive envy. She was my genes but younger. Thankfully, her dad’s genes held her back from reaching my full glory.
I continued to the kitchen. Time to make my concoction.
I moved through the kitchen with scientific precision, gathering ingredients from cabinets and the refrigerator with practiced ease. A breast sensitivity cream. This required care, a precise combination of topical irritants and nerve stimulants that would amplify tactile response without causing damage. I worked like a pharmacist, grinding, mixing, testing the texture on my own wrist until it was perfect. The cream was silky, odorless, and absorbed quickly into skin.
I held the small jar in my hand and reasoned through the next step. A good scientist tests her hypotheses. I needed a subject, someone who wouldn’t notice the application, someone whose response I could observe later.
Saki.
I walked back to the living room where my daughter still slept on the floor, the pillow under her head doing little to make the position dignified. I knelt beside her, glancing around to confirm I was alone, then carefully lifted her athletic top just enough to expose her breasts. They were modest compared to mine, firm and athletic, her nipples soft in sleep.
I dipped two fingers into the cream and applied it in slow, careful circles around Saki’s left nipple, then her right, working the substance into her skin. But then I kept circling, my touch lighter, more playful, watching the small pink nub stiffen slightly under my fingers. She was so young, so firm, her body untouched by the exaggerated proportions that had claimed mine. I found myself lost in the softness of her, the way her chest rose and fell with innocent breaths, and I rolled her nipple gently between my thumb and forefinger, squeezing just enough to make her whimper in her sleep. I caught myself and pulled back, breathing harder than I should have been. I lowered her top back into place, smoothing the fabric, and stood.
I lowered her top back into place, smoothing the fabric, and stood.
As I turned to leave, my eyes caught the glint of a designer bag hanging by the door, a small black clutch with gold hardware that I had purchased specifically for tonight. I ed now. I had planned to go clubbing. Before finding Saki home, playing with Evan, getting my ass plowed, I had plans to go out dancing. I loved dancing and the attention I got while flaunting my body.
I grabbed the bag and checked my reflection in the hallway mirror. The moto jacket, the mock-neck top, the jeans that hugged every exaggerated curve. I looked devastating. I looked like a woman who could have anything she wanted.
I pulled up to the club in my Lamborghini, my hips still swaying from the vibration of the plug shifting inside me. Time had ed since I’d left the house, I couldn’t recall exactly how much, and my mind had softened into that familiar, pleasant warmth where thoughts moved slowly and everything felt like suggestion. The plug pulsed every few minutes, a programmed thrill that made me grip the steering wheel and bite my lip. I was getting closer to normal now. Dumber. Hotter. Better.
The line outside was long but I walked past it with my chin up, my designer bag swinging, my tits leading the way like they always did. The bouncer didn’t even check my ID. He just stared at my chest and waved me through.
Inside, the music throbbed against my skin. Lights flashed. Bodies pressed together. I went straight to the bar, wedging myself between two men who immediately made room for me.
The bartender was young, pretty, blonde, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. I leaned my elbows on the bar and let my jacket fall open enough to show the mock-neck top straining against me.
“Drink please,” I said, letting my accent wrap around the words like silk. “Hard. Free because beautiful, ne?”
He laughed, but his eyes stayed on my chest. “I can’t just give away drinks, miss.”
I leaned closer, close enough to smell his cologne, and traced one finger along the back of his hand. “For me? In Japan, drinks free for girls.”
He rushed off and made me the drink, something pink and glowing in a tall glass, and didn’t charge me. I took it with a smile that made him blush, then turned to survey the room. I needed a mark. I needed entertainment. I needed someone to make me feel powerful before my brain melted completely.
I found them at a corner table. Two men, one Black, one White, both in business casual, both with that hungry look that men got when they were away from their real lives. The Black one was built thick, his shoulders straining his shirt, his hands wrapped around a beer bottle like it was nothing. I wondered immediately if what they said was true. About Black men’s cocks. About size. About skill. The thought made me shift my weight, feeling the plug respond, and I had to press my thighs together.
The White one was leaner, sharp-featured, with a wedding ring he kept twisting. Married, then. Probably looking for something his wife wouldn’t give him.
I walked over without hesitation, my hips rolling, my jeans so tight they might as well have been painted on.
“Sumimasen,” I said, and didn’t wait for them to answer. I pulled out the empty chair and sat down, crossing my legs so the frayed holes in my jeans showed just enough skin. “I Kana. You drink with me?”
The Black man raised an eyebrow. The White one sat up straighter.
“I’m Marcus,” the Black one said. His voice was deep. It vibrated in my chest. “This is Steve.”
“Steve,” I repeated, tasting the name. “And Marcus. What you do? Steve first. You look salaryman.”
Steve blinked. “Insurance, actually. How did you—”
“You have face,” I said, waving my hand. “Face of man who tells people trust him. Marcus? You are... construction? No. Security. You protect something.”
Marcus laughed, a real laugh. “Close enough. Corporate security consultant.”
I smiled, leaning forward on my elbows, letting my jacket gape open. Their eyes dropped to my chest automatically. Men were so predictable. So easy.
“You both kakkoii,” I said, and felt the thought I was chasing slip away before I could catch it. What had I been meaning to ask? Something important. Something about... no, it was gone. Replaced by simpler things.
“You married?” I asked Steve directly, as I took a sip of my drink. The liquor spreading down my throat and through my chest. “You have ring. But you are here. Alone.”
Steve’s face shifted, guilt and hunger warring. “I... yes. I’m married.”
I nodded, filing this away somewhere in my softening mind. “And you?” I asked Marcus. “Wife? Girlfriend?”
“Girlfriend,” he said, and his eyes stayed on mine, bold, unashamed. “Why do you ask?”
I took a long sip of my drink, letting the alcohol warm me, letting my thoughts scatter further. The music seemed louder now. The words came slower.
“Because,” I said, feeling my English crumble at the edges, “I want to know... how big.”
“How big what?” Steve asked, leaning in despite himself.
I looked at Marcus first, then at Steve, and let my hand drift to my own chest, tracing the line of my top. “Your cocks,” I said, the word heavy in my accent, almost Japanese in its bluntness. “They Ookii? I curious. Marcus, you are Black, so... they say... is true? And Steve, you are married man, so maybe you have small one and wife is bored, yes? That is why you are here?”
Steve choked on his drink. Marcus just stared at me, something dangerous waking up in his eyes.
I smiled, feeling the plug vibrate again, feeling my mind empty out a little more, and knew I had them exactly where I wanted.
Then a song came on that made my whole body wake up. Heavy bass, something I recognized from somewhere, a beat that vibrated straight through the floor and into the plug inside me. I gasped, my hips jerking slightly, and I grabbed Marcus’s hand with one hand and Steve’s with the other.
“Odorou!” I said, pulling them up before they could answer. “Come! Now!”
They followed because men always followed. I dragged them through the crowd, my ass bumping against strangers, my tits bouncing with every step, until we reached the center of the dance floor where the lights were wildest and the music was loudest. The bass hit again and I felt it in my teeth, in my chest, in the empty place between my legs that still ached to be filled.
I turned to face them both, grinning, my mind soft and sparkly like champagne. Planning felt far away. Thinking felt far away. There was only music and bodies and the heat building under my skin.
I started with my hips. Slow circles, rolling my waist like a belly dancer, watching their eyes drop to the movement. The jeans were so tight I could feel every seam, every stitch, the fabric pressing against my clit when I shifted just right. I ran my hands up my own sides, under the leather jacket, feeling the top straining across my ribs, and I arched my back until my chest thrust forward obscenely.
Marcus moved closer. I let him, turning around so my back was to his chest, and I ground my ass against him in time with the beat. He was hard already. I could feel him through his pants, thick and insistent, and I ed my question about Black men. Maybe it was true. The thought made me giggle, high and stupid, and I pushed back harder, riding the friction, feeling the plug shift inside me with every roll of my hips.
Steve stood in front of me, unsure, his married guilt warring with his dick. I reached out and grabbed his belt loops, pulling him in until I was sandwiched between them. Chest to chest with Steve, ass to groin with Marcus, and the music pounding, pounding, pounding.
I let my head fall back against Marcus’s shoulder, exposing my throat, and Steve’s eyes devoured the line of my neck. I took his hands and put them on my waist, then slid them higher, guiding him until his palms brushed the underside of my breasts through the jacket. He groaned. I smiled, eyes half-closed, drunk on attention and liquor and the sheer pleasure of being touched.
Then the beat dropped and I turned around, facing Marcus now, pressing my tits against his broad chest as I shimmied down, down, down, squatting low with my knees spread, my ass nearly brushing the floor, before rolling back up inch by inch. My thighs burned. The plug pulsed. I didn’t care. I let my hands run through my hair, lifting it off my neck, arching my back so my chest was offered up like a gift.
Steve moved behind me, his hands finding my hips, and I ground back against him while keeping my eyes locked on Marcus. Two men. Two hard cocks. Both wanting me. The power of it surged through my softening brain, better than any smart thought I’d ever had.
I spun between them, rubbing against one then the other, letting my hands wander over their chests, their shoulders, down to the bulges in their pants. I squeezed Marcus through his tros and he grunted, his hand coming up to grip my ass, fingers digging into the denim. I moaned, loud enough to hear over the music, and pressed into his touch.
The song blended into another, slower, dirtier, and I kept dancing. I didn’t want to stop. Stopping meant thinking. Dancing meant feeling. My body knew what to do even as my mind emptied out.
Finally, breathless and sweating, I grabbed both their hands again and pulled them back toward the booth. We collapsed into the seats, me in the middle where I belonged, laughing at nothing, my hair messy, my jacket askew, my nipples hard and visible through the mock-neck top.
“Drinks!” I announced, clapping my hands together like a child. “More! More!”
Steve flagged down a waitress while Marcus slid closer to me, his thigh pressed against mine, his arm draped over the back of the booth behind my shoulders. I leaned into him without thinking, my head finding his chest, my hand resting on his knee. Simple. Easy. No plans. No worries.
The drinks came and I downed mine too fast, the alcohol burning sweet down my throat. I felt sparkly and loose and perfect. Steve was saying something about his wife, some complaint, but I wasn’t really listening. I was watching Marcus’s hand on the table, imagining it on my skin, wondering if I could get them both to touch me at the same time.
My internal voice, usually chattering with observations and calculations, had gone quiet. There was only the next drink, the next touch, the next song. The next thing that would make me feel good.
I smiled at them both, feeling the plug give one last delicious pulse, and knew I would let them do whatever they wanted. That was the easiest plan. The best plan. The only plan my pretty little head needed.
Some time later, I was sitting on Steve’s lap, feeling his hard cock pres against my ass through his pants. I ground down on it slowly, rolling my hips in circles, my head lolled back against his shoulder, giggling at nothing. My jacket was gone somewhere. My top was pushed up, my tits spilling out, and Marcus was in front of me with both hands full of my flesh, kneading and squeezing, pinching my nipples until I squealed.
“So fucking soft,” Marcus groaned, his dark fingers disappearing into my pale skin. “These tits are unreal, girl.”
I giggled, high and empty, and arched into his touch. “Sugoi... feels good...”
Steve’s hands were on my waist, holding me down against his throbbing cock, his married ring cold against my bare skin. I just loved a married man. I could feel him leaking through his tros, wetting the back of my jeans. I didn’t care. I kept grinding, kept bouncing, kept letting Marcus pull and twist my nipples until my eyes watered with pleasure.
“You’re fucking obscene,” a deep voice cut through the haze.
I blinked slowly, looking up at a massive bouncer with a shaved head and crossed arms. He was staring down at me, at my tits out, at Steve’s hands on my hips, at Marcus fondling me in the middle of the club.
“Get out,” he said. “All of you. Now.”
Marcus laughed and pulled my top down, but his hands stayed on my tits, squeezing one last time. “Yeah, yeah. We’re going.”
Steve stood up, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing, and I wrapped my legs around his waist automatically, clinging to him, my face buried in his neck. He smelled like cologne and sweat and desperation. I licked his throat and he shuddered.
“Fuck, Kana,” he breathed.
Marcus grabbed my ass, his fingers digging into the denim, feeling the shape of the plug through my jeans. “Goddamn. You got something in here, don’t you? Freaky bitch.”
I giggled into Steve’s shoulder. “Plug... makes me feel full...”
They carried me out through the back exit, the cold night air hitting my flushed skin like a slap. The alley was narrow, dark, smelling of garbage and piss. Steve set me down and I wobbled on my boots, catching myself against the brick wall, laughing at my own dizziness.
“Here?” Steve asked, looking around. “It’s filthy.”
“Don’t care,” Marcus said, already unbuckling his belt. “Look at her. She’s ready. Aren’t you, baby?”
I nodded eagerly, my mind a warm blank, nothing but yes and more and please. I reached for my jeans and shoved them down, the tight denim catching on my hips, my thighs, finally pooling around my boots. My panties were soaked through, translucent, and I pushed those down too, stepping out of them with clumsy, eager movements. The plug was still in my ass, thick and obscene, the base visible between my cheeks.
“Holy shit,” Marcus breathed, staring at my ass, at the plug, at my swollen, dripping pussy. “That is the finest fucking ass I’ve ever seen. And that thing in there? Fuck, girl. You are built for this.”
He grabbed my hips and spun me around, bending me over a stack of wooden pallets. My tits hung heavy, swinging freely, the cold air tightening my nipples to painful peaks. I gripped the rough wood and pushed my ass back, wiggling it, feeling the plug shift inside me, making me moan.
“Please,” I whined, the word coming out Japanese-tinged and broken. “Please... put it in... hoshii...”
Marcus didn’t wait. I heard his belt hit the ground, the rustle of fabric, and then something huge and hot was pressing against my entrance. He was enormous. Thick as my wrist, long enough that I felt him bottom out with still more to spare. I screamed, a high, delirious sound, my fingers clawing at the wood.
“Ten inches, baby,” Marcus grunted, pulling back and slamming in again. “All for you. Take it. Fucking take it.”
He pounded into me with brutal, rhythmic strokes, each thrust jarring the plug in my ass, creating a double penetration that made my eyes roll back. I babbled incoherently, mixing English and Japanese, my tits bouncing violently with every impact.
“Steve,” I gasped, reaching back with one hand, finding his pants. “You too... suck... hoshii...”
Steve was already there, his cock out, nine inches of pale, veined hardness trembling in front of my face. I opened my mouth eagerly and he pushed in, filling my throat, cutting off my moans. I gagged slightly, drool spilling down my chin, and he groaned, his hands tangling in my hair.
“Jesus, Kana,” Steve panted, his hips stuttering as he tried to hold back. “You’re incredible. We could... we could leave together. Right now. I’ll leave my wife. I’ll give you everything. Just come with me.”
Marcus laughed harshly from behind me, his grip on my hips tightening, his thrusts deepening. “Fuck that. Don’t listen to this pussy-whipped bitch. Come with me, Kana. I’ll fuck you every day. My girlfriend can watch. Fuck her. I want you.”
I couldn’t process their words. They were just noise, like the music from the club, like the traffic somewhere distant. All that mattered was the cock in my pussy, stretching me, filling the emptiness, and the cock in my mouth, hot and salty and desperate. I moaned around Steve, the vibration making him curse, and pushed back harder against Marcus, meeting his thrusts, my ass rippling with every impact.
“So fucking fine,” Marcus growled, slapping my ass hard enough to leave a red handprint. “This ass. This plug. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to get fucked like a whore in an alley.”
I giggled around Steve’s cock, the sound wet and obscene, and nodded as best I could. Yes. Made for this. Made to be full. Made to be used.
Steve’s thrusts became erratic, his grip on my hair painful. “I’m gonna... Kana, I’m gonna...”
He pulled out just enough to spill into my mouth, hot and thick and bitter, coating my tongue. I swallowed eagerly, some leaking down my chin, and I licked him clean, my eyes half-closed, my mind empty of everything but the taste.
Marcus followed seconds later, roaring, his hips stuttering against my ass. He filled my pussy with pulse after pulse of cum, so much that I felt it leaking out around his shaft, dripping down my thighs. He stayed buried in me for a long moment, breathing hard, his hands roaming my back, my sides, finally finding my swinging tits and squeezing.
“Goddamn,” he breathed.
They pulled out of me slowly, leaving me bent over the pallets, trembling, my pussy gaping and dripping, my mouth swollen and wet, the plug still lodged in my ass. I stayed there for a moment, waiting for something, my hips making small, helpless circles.
Nothing happened.
I hadn’t cum.
I straightened up slowly, wobbling on my boots, my hand going between my legs automatically, finding my clit, rubbing desperately. I was close. I could feel it. But my fingers weren’t enough. I needed more. I needed Evan’s cock. I needed the plug to vibrate again. I needed something.
“More?” I asked, looking at them with wide, empty eyes. “Please? I need... I need...”
But Steve was already tucking himself away, guilt creeping back into his face. Marcus was lighting a cigarette, his eyes roving over me one last time before he lost interest.
“You’re something else, girl,” Marcus said, exhaling smoke. “Maybe I’ll see you around next time. Give you another ride.”
They left me there, half-naked in the alley, cum dripping down my thighs, my mind soft and blank and wanting.
I pulled my jeans back up with clumsy fingers, the denim sticking to my thighs where I was still wet. My panties were gone, lost somewhere in the alley. I found my jacket crumpled near a dumpster and shrugged it on, not bothering with the zipper. My tits were still mostly out, the mock-neck top pushed up obscenely.
The alley opened onto the street. The club entrance was right there, the bouncer still standing with his arms crossed. I walked toward him, my hips swaying, my hand trailing along the brick wall for balance.
He looked down at me, his eyes narrowing. Then his gaze dropped to my chin, where something white and glistening still clung to my skin.
I felt his stare and understood. I raised one finger, dragged it slowly across my chin, gathering the cum there. I held his eyes as I brought my finger to my lips, sucked it clean, swallowed with an exaggerated gulp. Then I licked my lips, slow and deliberate, showing him my empty mouth.
“Modoru,” I said, pointing at the door. “Iku. Motto.”
“Out,” he said, his voice rougher now, stepping aside. “Now.”
I stumbled back, confused. Why wouldn’t he let me in? I was beautiful. I was sexy.
I turned around, blinking at the neon signs. One glowed pink and purple, buzzing faintly, the window filled with mannequins wearing impossible outfits.
ADULT EMPORIUM
I stared at it, my head tilted. Toys. Inside. Things to fill me.
“Ah,” I breathed, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Hai... soko...”
I walked toward it, my steps unsteady but eager, my hand already drifting between my legs, pressing against the seam of my jeans, moaning softly at the pressure. The door chimed when I pushed it open, and I stumbled inside, giggling, my eyes wide and empty and hungry.
The store hummed with fluorescent light and faint buzzing from displays. I wandered through aisles, my fingers trailing over boxes and packages I couldn’t read anymore. The words were just shapes, meaningless squiggles, but the pictures told me everything.
A wall of dildos in impossible colors. Pink, purple, black, some shaped like animals, some curved, some with bumps and ridges that made me press my thighs together just imagining how they would feel. I picked one up, thick and veined, and held it against my cheek, giggling at the coolness.
I moved to another aisle. Leather straps, metal rings, things that looked like they would hold me down, keep me open, make me take whatever was given. I touched a collar, soft black leather with silver studs, and imagined wearing it. My pussy clenched around nothing and I whimpered.
There were costumes too. Nurse outfits, schoolgirl skirts, maid dresses. I held up a tiny plaid skirt and laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the empty store.
I turned a corner and stopped.
There was a boy in the corner, hunched over, trying to look invisible. He was young, eighteen maybe, with messy brown hair and a hoodie pulled tight around his face. He looked up when he heard me, his eyes going wide.
I knew him. Somewhere in my softening brain, a memory flickered. PTA meetings. Years ago. He had been small, eight years old, running between chairs while his mother talked about bake sales. Now he was grown.
I straightened myself up quickly, wiping my chin with the back of my hand, licking my fingers clean, smoothing my hair. I pulled my top down as best I could, though my tits still strained against the fabric obscenely. I wanted to look presentable. I wanted him to want me.
I walked toward him, my hips swaying, my smile heavy and inviting. He backed against the wall, his hands coming up.
“Chinpo irete,” I said in Japanese, reaching for his hand, pressing it against my chest. “Koko de. Ima. Onegai.”
“I don’t... I don’t understand,” he stammered, his face flushing red. “Are you okay? You look like you need help.”
I pressed against him, grinding my hips against his, feeling for hardness. I found it, his cock already stirring in his jeans, and I moaned, reaching for his zipper.
“Doko?” I asked, looking around the store. “Aisuru?”
“Miss! We can’t... this is a store... someone will see...” He was panicking, looking around for an employee, his hands trying to gently push me away without touching anything inappropriate.
I pouted, pulling his hand to my breast, squeezing his fingers around it. “Onigai? Hoshii?”
“I have a car,” he said desperately, his eyes darting to the door. “I can take you home. Please, just... let me drive you somewhere.”
I nodded eagerly, clinging to his arm. “Hai! Car! Iku!”
He led me out, his arm around my waist to steady me, his eyes darting everywhere. His car was small, a beat-up sedan that smelled like gym clothes. I climbed into the enger seat, my jeans riding up, the plug shifting inside me, making me moan as I settled in.
He started driving, his hands tight on the wheel, glancing at me every few seconds. I watched his profile, the nervous set of his jaw. He was being so nice. He deserved a reward.
I reached over and unzipped his hoodie, then his jeans. He gasped, the car swerving slightly.
“Mrs. Halloway! What are you—”
I shushed him with a finger to my lips, then reached in and pulled him out. He was hard already, his cock straining against his boxers, and when I freed it, it sprang up, six inches of pale, eager flesh. I smiled. It would fit easily. All of it.
I leaned over the center console, the seatbelt digging into my shoulder, and took him into my mouth. He groaned, long and loud, his hips bucking up. I swallowed him to the base, my nose pressing against his pubic bone, my tongue flat against the underside of his shaft. He filled my mouth completely but not uncomfortably, and I bobbed my head slowly, savoring the taste of him, the salt and youth and desperation.
“Oh god,” he panted, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Oh god, Kana-san, I’m gonna... you have to... the car...”
I didn’t stop. I sucked harder, my cheeks hollowing, my tongue swirling around the head when I pulled back, then taking him deep again. I felt him swell, pulse, and then he was cumming, hot and thick down my throat. I swallowed eagerly, every drop, milking him with my throat muscles until he was whimpering, oversensitive, pushing me away gently.
“Please,” he breathed. “Please, I can’t... I need to focus... we’re at your house...”
I sat back, licking my lips, smiling at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He was trembling. I had done that.
We were parked in front of my house. I looked at it, then at him, then at his lap where his cock was still out, already stirring again. I didn’t want to go inside. I wanted more.
I climbed over the center console, straddling him in the driver’s seat, my knees pressing against the door, my head brushing the ceiling. I reached down and guided him inside me, sinking down onto his six inches with a satisfied moan. He filled me, but barely. I could take so much more. But he was sweet. He was trying.
“Ookii!” I cried, my voice breaking, loud and theatrical, my hands coming up to my own tits, presenting them to him. “Ii! Sugoi! Anata wa kami! Subarashii!”
He stared up at me, his mouth open, his hands hovering. I grabbed his wrists and planted his palms on my breasts, squeezing his fingers around my nipples.
“Sawatte! Tsuyoku! Motto!”
He squeezed, clumsy but eager, and I rode him, rolling my hips, grinding down on him, my ass clenching around the plug with every movement. I reached between my legs and found my clit, rubbing furiously.
“Kande,” I commanded, pulling his head forward, pressing my nipple to his lips. “Tsuyoku!”
He latched on, his teeth grazing my sensitive flesh, and I screamed, the pain mixing with pleasure, my fingers working my clit faster. I was close. So close.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I chanted, my voice rising, my body tensing.
Then it hit. The orgasm crashed through me, my back arching, my pussy clamping down on him, my ass squeezing the plug, my whole body shaking. I screamed, loud and raw, my head thrown back, my hands clawing at his shoulders.
And as the waves subsided, as my breath slowed...
Something clicked.
The clarity returned like a light switching on. I blinked, looking down at the boy beneath me, at my own nakedness, at the situation I had created. My mind raced, processing, catag, ing everything.
The club. Marcus. Steve. The alley. The store. This boy.
I smiled, slow and sharp, my intelligence flooding back.
“Arigato,” I said, my voice now crisp, controlled. “You were useful. You feel proud.”
He stared up at me, confused, still buried inside me.
I climbed off him slowly, barely feeling him slip out, he was so tiny, but my mind was clear now. I knew what I needed to do.
“Put cock away,” I told him, though I knew he was too overloaded with all that happened. I made shooing motions with my hands. “Go. Now.”
I gathered my clothes from the enger seat, pulling my top on, stepping into my jeans. I climbed out of his car, my legs steady, my mind racing with plans.
He sat there, staring after me, his cock still out, his face a mask of confusion and awe.
I walked through the front door and the house was quiet, dark, the hallway lit only by the glow of the microwave clock. Nearly midnight. The others must have been asleep. Good. I needed to wash the night off me, to scrub away the alley and the store and the boy’s trembling hands, to reclaim myself in the silence of my own home.
I dropped my keys on the counter and started toward the stairs, my boots clicking against the hardwood. My body ached in that pleasant, well-used way, my thighs still slick, my ass still tender from the plug that had been inside me for hours. I would shower. I would sleep. Tomorrow I would continue my tests.
Then I heard it.
A sound from upstairs. Soft, frustrated, exhausted. A whimper that climbed into a moan and then broke apart into something desperate and breathless.
Saki.
I paused on the staircase, tilting my head, listening. The sound came again, louder this time, a cry of need so raw it made me smile. I climbed the remaining steps slowly, my boots silent now, and crept down the hallway toward Saki’s door.
It was cracked open. Just an inch. Enough.
I pressed my eye to the gap and looked inside.
Saki was on her bed, sprawled on her back, her nightgown bunched around her waist, her legs spread wide. Her hands were everywhere at once, frantic and exhausted. One was between her legs, rubbing furiously at her clit, the fingers blurring with speed. The other was at her chest, pulling at her nipples, twisting them, pinching them until they stood out dark and swollen.
Her face was flushed deep red, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her mouth open in a silent scream. She had been at this for hours, I could tell. Her movements were jerky, uncoordinated, driven by instinct rather than pleasure. She was chasing something she couldn’t catch.
I watched her pinch her own nipple and arch off the bed, her back bowing, her hips bucking into her hand. She was so sensitive. The cream had worked perfectly. Every touch must have felt like electricity, like fire, like too much and not enough all at once. She was hypersensitive, overstimulated, her body a live wire that couldn’t find ground.
“Please,” she whimpered to no one, her voice hoarse. “Please, please, please...”
She rubbed harder, faster, her fingers slick and shining in the dim light. She brought both hands to her breasts now, squeezing them together, burying her face between them, licking at her own nipples with a desperate tongue. She sucked one into her mouth and moaned around it, her hips still grinding against nothing, seeking friction, seeking release.
But it wouldn’t come. I knew it wouldn’t. The cream didn’t work that way. It made everything feel more, made every nerve ending scream, but it built a wall around orgasm, kept it just out of reach, a mirage that retreated with every step closer.
Saki collapsed back against the pillows, her chest heaving, her hands falling to her sides. For a moment she lay still, panting, her eyes closed. Then her hips twitched. Her hand drifted back to her breast. She started again.
I pulled away from the door, pressing my back against the hallway wall, and let the smile spread across my face. It had worked. Better than I had hoped. Saki was lost in a hell of her own sensitivity, unable to stop touching herself, unable to finish, caught in an endless loop of arousal with no resolution. A great new designer drug.
I checked my watch. The effects should in a few hours, maybe by morning. She would be exhausted, embarrassed, confused. And perfectly primed for the next phase of my plan.
I walked away from her door, my boots silent on the carpet, and headed for the master bathroom.
The shower was hot, almost too hot, the steam filling the room until the mirrors fogged over. I stood under the spray and let it pound against my shoulders, my neck, my sore breasts. I washed the cum from my thighs, the smell of the boy from my skin, the grime of the night down the drain.
Then I reached for the cabinet.
The twelve-inch dildo was there, thick and veined and heavy in my hand. I had used it before, in the shower, in the moments when Evan was away and I needed to feel stretched, filled, owned by something bigger than myself. I suction-cupped it to the shower wall at hip height and turned around, backing up until the head pressed against my entrance.
I was still loose from the night, still wet, still ready. I sank back onto it slowly, feeling the familiar stretch, the burn that turned into pleasure as my body adjusted. Inch by inch I took it, my hands braced against the tile, my head falling forward, water streaming down my back. It filled me completely, pressing against places inside me that made my knees weak, and I stayed there for a moment, just feeling it, just breathing around the fullness.
Then I reached for the second toy.
The anal dildo was smaller, curved, designed to press against my inner walls from behind. I bent forward, my hands on the tile, the twelve-inch cock buried deep in my pussy, and worked the tip of the anal toy against my ass. The plug had kept me open, ready, and it slid in easily.
I was completely full now. Stuffed. Both holes stretched and claimed, the toys pressing against each other through the thin wall of flesh between them. I could feel every ridge, every vein, every curve.
I started to move.
Slow at first, rolling my hips back and forth, fucking myself on the wall-mounted cock while the anal toy shifted inside me. The dual sensation was overwhelming, a constant pressure from both sides, a fullness that bordered on pain and then tipped over into something transcendent. I moved faster, my hips slapping against the tile, water flying everywhere, my moans echoing in the enclosed space.
I reached between my legs and found my clit, swollen and desperate, and I rubbed it in tight circles, matching the rhythm of my hips. The pleasure built in layers, each one stacking on top of the last, my pussy clenching around the dildo, my ass gripping the toy, my whole body tightening like a spring.
“Yes,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Yes, yes, yes...”
I came hard, my back arching, my hips jerking uncontrollably, my vision whiting out at the edges. The orgasm ripped through me like a storm, my pussy spasming around the twelve inches, my ass pulsing around the second toy, my clit throbbing under my fingers. I screamed, the sound bouncing off the tiles, and kept riding the wave, kept fucking myself through it, drawing it out until I was trembling, weak, my arms barely holding me up.
I stayed there for a long moment, panting, the water cooling against my overheated skin. Then I pulled myself off the toys slowly, feeling the emptiness return, the ache of being unfulfilled even after such an intense release.
I dried off with a fluffy towel, my skin pink and sensitive, and walked into the bedroom.
The teddy was new. I had bought it weeks ago, waiting for the right moment. It was black lace, sheer enough to show everything, with a deep V neckline that plunged between my breasts and high-cut sides that rode up my hips. The cups were barely there, just enough lace to frame my nipples, and the back was open, a single string connecting the sides, leaving my ass completely exposed. It came with a matching garter belt and sheer stockings that I rolled up my legs slowly, clipping them into place with practiced fingers.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My hair was still damp, curling at the ends. The black lace made my skin look paler, my breasts look heavier, my waist look smaller. I turned slowly, iring the way the teddy hugged my curves, the way my ass looked framed by the open back, the way the stockings made my legs look endless.
I walked to the bed and pulled back the covers. Then I paused. The other side was empty. The sheets were smooth, untouched. Grant wasn’t there.
I frowned, a flicker of something cold moving through my chest. Where was he? It was nearly midnight. He should have been asleep beside me, it is what I had come to expect. He couldn’t touch me, but the bed felt empty without my husband.
I walked to the window and looked out at the dark yard. Nothing. I checked the bathroom. Empty. I listened for sounds from downstairs, from his study, from anywhere in the house.
Silence.
He had been gone when I left for the club. He was still gone now.
I stood in the center of the bedroom, the black lace teddy stark against my skin, and felt the first real uncertainty of the night prickle at the edges of my confidence. Where was my husband? What was he doing? Who was he with?
Then I pushed the thought away. He would come back. They always came back.
I closed my eyes and let sleep take me, one hand resting on my stomach, the other tucked between my thighs, already thinking of tomorrow.