The space beneath Abbie’s desk was stifling, drenched in shadows and heat, but she barely noticed. In one sense, the world was shut out; in another, her entire world was right here, in the stiff weight of John against her tongue, and in the thrill of knowing her mouth was unraveling him piece by trembling piece.
She took him deeper, savoring the velvety heat of his cock as it slid through her lips and filled her mouth completely. The taste of him—salty and clean, so familiar now and even more intoxicating—spread across her tongue as her cheeks hollowed and her mouth worked with steady purpose. She knew every ridge, every contour by heart now, the way his swollen tip twitched when her tongue swirled just so, or how the thick veins along his shaft pulsed against her lips with every pump of his rapid heartbeat.
His breath staggered above her.
“Yeah, no, no…” His voice cracked slightly, strained by a tremor as he struggled to keep himself steady. “I’m doing fine, Mom…”
Abbie gazed up, watching him from beneath the fiery curtain of her hair. His jaw was tight, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly, the hand holding his phone white-knuckled as he gripped it like a lifeline. She knew how much effort it was costing him to maintain even this thin veneer of composure. The knowledge was its own kind of high.
And it provoked her.
She dragged her tongue along the sensitive underside of his cock, teasing the spot just beneath the head, and felt him twitch against her in response. The sound that escaped him then—a low, broken exhale—was enough to make the heat rise between her thighs. Her hands, resting on his thighs for balance, squeezed slightly as her lips sealed tighter around him.
The soft hum of his mom’s voice was barely discernible over the growing obscenity of the wet sounds, but Abbie caught fragments of the conversation.
“You don’t sound like yourself. Are you feeling sick?”
Sick. Her lips curled into a smile around his cock, even as she continued to work it with growing fervor. Sick wasn’t the right word for the last seven days, but it wasn’t entirely wrong either. Feverish, maybe, or utterly consumed. That was what this felt like, as if an inferno had burned through every level of restraint they’d once had, leaving nothing but this raw, unrelenting urgency in its place.
“Really, mom…I’m fine.” John managed, though his voice sounded frayed, like it was unraveling at the seams.
The chair creaked faintly as he shifted, his legs tensing beneath her hands. She could feel the pent-up restraint, the power of his bucking hips held at bay, as she bobbed her head with deliberate intensity.
His mom’s voice drifted through the haze again. “And what about that girl, Abbie? The one you mentioned? You said she was so sweet—how’s she doing?”
The sound of her name sent a shiver racing down her spine, but it was the way John’s eyes snapped downward that made her pulse explode into a race. Their gazes locked, and the connection was electric—hot and sharp and utterly consuming. His pupils were blown wide, his brown irises darkened with a domineering lust, and she could see the struggle etched into every line of his face.
“Abbie’s…good.” His voice was hoarse, a rasp of breath and sound that barely qualified as speech. He swallowed hard before continuing, his words weighted with sincerity. “Great, actually. Perfect.”
Perfect. The word produced a jolt of heat straight to her core, her heart pounding in her chest as she redoubled her efforts. She wanted to be more than perfect for him—she wanted to be everything. His companion, his lover, his whore. Her hands slid upward, one wrapping firmly around the base of his cock to stroke in time with her mouth, the other bracing against his thigh as she closed her eyes and every ounce of her efforts went to the slutty task.
His Mom’s voice came again, gentle and unwittingly teasing. “Well, if she’s the angel you say she is, make sure you’re treating her with gentleness, okay?”
The irony of the words hit her like a lightning bolt, shocking in its arousal. Angel. If only the world could see her now, her lips stretched around him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy with the sheer need to please. She was his angel, yes—but angels were made to serve, weren’t they? To kneel, to obey, to worship.
John’s hand trembled as it loosened on the phone. “I—I will,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. Then the call was over.
The phone slipped from his grasp then, landing with a soft thud on the floor. His hands found her hair almost immediately, his fingers tangling in fiery strands as he gripped tightly, a rough pull sending a sharp sensation down her spine. Abbie’s scalp tingled where his fingers twisted, the pressure grounding her in the heat of the moment.
This was where she belonged—on her knees, his hands in her hair, his strength claiming her mouth. For in this moment, in the most perverse way, she felt more powerful, more alive, than she ever had before.
She yielded completely as his cock slid deeper into her mouth, filling her throat until the soft gag at the back of her tongue escaped as a stifled choke. Her glasses slipped down her nose with the motion, the frames teetering precariously as the pressure of his hold tilted her head just enough to make the world blur around the edges.
Yet all that mattered was him.
“Goddamn,” he rasped, his voice thick with satisfaction, his words seeping into her like molten heat. “You are fucking perfect—” His grip flexed, pressing her head downward, the head of his cock nudging deeper into the tight clutch of her throat, “—and you’re mine. All mine. You love it, don’t you? Being this filthy for me?”
She couldn’t speak; she didn’t have to. In an explosive declaration of truth, she gave everything else—her mouth, her tongue, her throat all working together in perfect devotion, glugging around him in sharp, manic movements. The effort, the intensity, the sheer fervor of her actions said what words could not: Yes, this is who I am for you. I’m your little whore.
The weight of his gaze was burning as he pulled her off with a wet, lewd sound, leaving her gasping for air. Spit and precum flooded from her mouth, a glistening trail connecting her chin to his cock as he held her in place, his hand firm in her hair. She tilted her face up to him, her chest heaving, her glasses sliding further down until they were askew entirely.
And then he spoke, voice low and steady but laced with that deliciously teasing edge that made her insides burn. “What is it you want? Come on, tell me.”
She knew he didn’t ask because he didn’t know. He knew—he always knew. He asked because he wanted to hear her say it, to make her confess it again and again, to make her to surrender in the most intimate way possible. And the truth was, she loved saying it even more than he loved making her.
She licked her lips, tasting the salt of him on her tongue as she met his gaze. Her voice came soft but unwavering, her heart swelling with the weight of what she felt for him, the sheer rightness of what she’d become.
“You,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed, her lips curving in a small, trembling smile. “I need your cock. Now. Please.”
His grin was slow, wicked, possessive, and she felt the heat of it down to her core. The hold on her hair tightened, and for a moment he simply looked at her, as though savoring the sight of her completely undone, completely his.
Then his grip was unrelenting as he yanked her up from the desk, her legs trembling beneath her, the sharp edge of the desk digging into her thighs. Without a moment’s pause, he threw her down onto the desktop, her body hitting the surface with a jarring impact. The force of it left her breathless, but she barely had time to adjust before his lips were on hers—rough, demanding, as though he couldn’t get enough. His kiss was savage, his tongue plunging into her mouth with a hunger that set her heart racing, every kiss a claim, every movement a declaration that she belonged to him.
His fingers moved without hesitation. One hand slid to her throat, the pressure at once grounding and thrilling, forcing her to tilt her head back in surrender, her lips parted under his. The other hand shot beneath the fabric of her skirt, fingers tearing past panties and finding the wet heat between her legs. She moaned into his mouth, her body betraying her desperate need, her hips thrusting forward instinctively.
“Look at you,” he growled, breaking the kiss just enough to speak, a voice of dark satisfaction. “You’re soaked. God, you want me, don’t you? Want me to fuck you, just the way you like?”
“Yes,” she gasped, unable to hold back the desperate cry. A week ago, the thought of such words would have sent her spiraling with shame, self-doubt, and hesitation. But now, it was like a gasp of air after suffocating in a cage. Her body opened to him without fear, without hesitation. Her hands dug into the desk beneath her, the rough surface pressing into her palms as she spread her legs wider. “Please, John! I’m fucking yours.”
His fingers asserted as much, sliding through her folds, the wetness coating his fingers as he pushed them inside with slow precision. It stretched her in the most intimate way, drawing desperate, helpless moans from her lips. His fingers worked her steadily, curling and pressing, finding the rhythm that made her body quake.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he murmured, his voice thick with approval as he moved faster, the slick sound of his fingers sliding in and out of her filling the room. “I can feel how desperate you are. You love this, don’t you? How my fingers make you come apart.”
“Yes,” she whimpered, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She was melting, every part of her body trembling under his touch, every nerve screaming for more. Time passed but she couldn’t think. She didn’t want to think. All that mattered was him, and the way his fingers moved inside her, forcing her body to submit to the overwhelming sensation.
“Fuck, John!” she breathed, her voice ragged with need. “I’m going to—please, don’t stop!”
But just as the pressure inside her began to build to its peak, he pulled away, leaving her gasping for air, her body quivering with the loss of him. Her eyes shot open, but he didn’t give her time to speak.
With a sharp motion, he lifted her off the desk and spun her toward the bed. The air shifted as he shoved her forward, her hands falling onto the mattress to catch herself, her knees buckling as she collapsed onto all fours. The sensation was dizzying, her glasses slipping down her nose as she moved, and then—crack—the sound of his hand landing across her ass echoed through the room, a sharp sting that sent her body jerking forward, her glasses flying off completely, the force of the impact throwing her further into a heady daze.
“God, you’re perfect,” John growled, his voice rough as he reached down, tearing down her skirt, then her panties, and massaging the red mark he’d painted on her skin, his fingers tracing the imprint with a possessive touch. “Look at you—bent over, ready for me. Do you know how much I fucking love that? How much I love watching you fall apart for me?”
Her breath was ragged, each inhale shakier than the last. She trembled beneath his touch, her body still sensitive from the spanking, every nerve alive with want. She wanted him, all of him. She wanted more.
“I’m yours,” she gasped, the words slipping out of her as she arched her back, offering herself completely. “Your little whore! John, take me! I fucking want it!”
John’s hand gripped her hips as he moved closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “You’re fucking mine, Abbie. Forever.”
He entered with one steady, possessive thrust, spreading her open around him, forcing a ragged gasp from her lips as her body arched against the force of him. The stretch was perfect, the overwhelming fullness leaving her breathless, shaking, her fingers digging into the sheets as he held himself deep, letting her feel every inch of him.
Then he moved.
A snap of the hips sent shockwaves through her body, forcing her forward, tits bouncing wildly. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, drowning out everything else—her gasps, his grunts, the creaking of the bed beneath their bodies.
She was nothing more than his—his to take, his to fuck, his to please. And she loved it.
Her head spun, pleasure crackling through her veins like a live wire. The heat between them was unbearable, suffocating, perfect. She moaned, her back arching, her ass pressing back to meet every thrust, desperate to keep him as deep inside her as possible.
Then—suddenly—he ripped himself away.
She whimpered at the loss, her body clenching around nothing, aching, needing. But before she could process it, before she could even breathe, his hands were on her again—grabbing, flipping, tossing her onto her back like she weighed nothing.
The world blurred as she landed, hair fanning across the mattress, her chest heaving. Her thighs fell open automatically, inviting him back in, her body screaming for his. But John didn’t move—not yet.
He hovered over her, eyes dark, wild, possessive.
Then he slammed into her.
Abbie shrieked. Her back arched violently, her nails clawing at his shoulders as he drove into her over and over, taking her the way she needed to be taken, how she had begged to be taken.
It was everything. He was everything.
His fingers slid up, trailing from her collarbone to the delicate column of her throat. The touch was possessive, claiming, his palm spreading wide as he wrapped his fingers around her neck—not squeezing, not yet, just holding, just claiming. A shiver ripped through her at the weight of it, at the implication of it. She gasped, her back arching, pressing her throat more firmly into his palm as her hands clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin.
His grip tightened.
Not enough to hurt—just enough to control.
The pressure made her feel smaller, helpless, yet never more safe. His hips pounded into her harder, sharper, the force of it making her tits bounce violently with each impact. She could feel the weight of his gaze drinking it in, devouring the way she moved for him, the way her body was beyond her control, offered to him in eager, desperate submission. She didn’t want control.
Her world had shrunk to the sensation of him inside her—stretching, filling her, again and again, harder, faster, deeper. She felt every inch, every ridge, every pulse of him as he drove her toward the edge with an intensity that obliterated all thought.
Then she couldn’t hold back any longer. The pleasure was building too fast, curling tight in her belly, screaming for release.
“John—” Her voice was breathless, raw, a plea and a confession all at once.
His fingers flexed against her throat as his other hand slid between them, finding her clit with ruthless precision. The moment he pressed down, circling in time with his thrusts, her entire world detonated.
She screamed. Her body seized beneath him, muscles locking as pleasure crashed over her in a violent, all-consuming wave. Her cunt clenched down hard around him, milking all sensation, and he let out a strangled groan, his hips stuttering as he lost control.
“Fuck—” His grip in her hair yanked, forcing her face up just as he tore himself free.
His cock pulsed in his hand, hot and heavy, and then—
The first thick, hot rope of his release splashed across her flushed chest.
Another followed—higher, streaking across her throat, her collarbone.
And then the last, hitting her cheek, her lips, the taste of him spreading across her tongue as she gasped, dizzy and drunk with it.
She lay there, panting, utterly wrecked, as his hands slid down, caressing her body like she was something to be worshipped.
And she was.
For she was his.
And then—
The click of the key in the lock sent a jolt through Abbie’s exhausted, pleasure-drunk body.
Her pulse spiked, her muscles still weak and trembling in the aftermath, but her mind sharpened in an instant. John’s warmth was still on her, his hands barely having left her skin, his cum cooling in streaks across her chest, her throat, even dripping from her chin—
Shit.
John moved first, his body tensing, reaching wildly for the sheets, but there was no time.
The lock turned. The door swung open.
Abbie barely managed to snatch a pillow from beside her, hugging it to her chest as Madison—her dormmate, her friend, the girl she’d known since middle school—walked straight into the room, eyes down, completely oblivious.
Madison had her earbuds in, the faint tinny hum of music escaping as she stepped inside, dressed in nothing but an oversized hoodie and sleep shorts, her short blonde hair slightly tousled, the blue light of her phone casting soft shadows across her delicate face.
She wasn’t looking. She hadn’t noticed.
But then—
She did.
She looked up.
And Abbie saw it—saw the moment everything registered. Saw Madison’s gaze catch on John, saw the way her pupils dilated, her lips parting in sheer, stunned disbelief as she realized he was naked, his hands only just managing to cover himself, but not before—
She saw.
Her eyes darted to Abbie next.
To the pillow pressed hastily against her bare chest.
To the glistening trail of cum dripping from her chin.
And Madison froze.
“Oh—” Her voice cracked, barely more than a breath, high and horrified. “Oh my God—”
Her entire face erupted in red, her hand flying to her mouth as she stumbled back a step, looking between them with wide, mortified eyes.
Abbie didn’t move. She didn’t shrink. She didn’t hide.
She only watched.
Because she saw something else flicker in Madison’s eyes.
Not just embarrassment.
Something else. Something darker.
Something curious.
But before anything more could settle, before the moment could stretch and become something, Madison spun on her heel and yanked the door back open with frantic, fumbling hands.
“I—I’m so sorry—” she gasped before bolting from the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
The silence that followed was thick.
Then—
John exhaled a sharp breath, dragging a hand down his face.
“Well,” he muttered, casting Abbie a look that was far too amused. “I guess that could’ve been more disastrous.”
Abbie’s lips curved into a small, amused smile at John’s words, but her mind was elsewhere—still lingering on the look on Madison’s face. That split-second moment when her eyes had flicked over John, her pupils dilating, her breath stopping. It had been embarrassment, yes. That much was obvious. But it had been something else, too. Something deeper. Something flickering just beneath the surface.
John shifted beside her, peeling himself off the bed with a soft groan of exhaustion. He crossed the room, his lean, toned form moving with a lazy confidence as he grabbed a handful of tissues from her desk. When he returned, he offered them to her first, wiping the remaining traces of himself from his stomach before tossing the used ones into the waste bin.
Abbie took them, but she barely registered what she was doing. She wiped herself off absently, her fingers slow, mechanical. Her mind was still there, replaying that moment over and over.
Madison’s wide eyes.
The way her breath had caught in her throat.
The way she had looked at John. The way she had looked at her.
A warm, strong arm wrapped around her, pulling her into a familiar embrace. John pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his breath ruffling her hair as he sighed against her.
“Feel kinda bad for Madison,” he murmured, voice tinged with amusement. “She looked so embarrassed. Hopefully I’m still allowed around here to study.”
Abbie hummed in response, but her mind was still spinning. She nestled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek. He made her feel so safe. So secure.
Maybe that was why she started thinking crazy things.
Maybe her brain was still buzzing with arousal, with that sickness of wanting to please him, of wanting to give more. Or maybe she was just finally admitting something to herself that had been lurking in the deepest, darkest corners of her thoughts for a while now.
Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin, her voice hesitant, but curious. “Do you think Madison’s cute?”
John’s body stiffened slightly. Not much, but enough for her to notice. He was quiet for a beat too long.
“I’ve never looked at Madison that way,” he said.
Abbie almost laughed. It was so sweet and so careful—his loyalty to her on full display. But it was a lie. A small, harmless lie, one she saw through immediately.
And instead of bothering her…
It thrilled her.
She turned her face slightly, resting her chin against his chest as she murmured, “You can be honest.” John huffed a quiet chuckle, but his fingers traced gentle circles against her back, grounding her. “She was clearly impressed with you when she saw your cock,” Abbie added, her voice teasing but certain.
John smirked, a cocky edge creeping into his grin. “Of course she was.”
Abbie swallowed. She hesitated, shyness creeping in, the same shyness she had once had before. But she had overcome it then. She could overcome it again.
She took a breath, then exhaled, summoning her courage.
“It’s every man’s dream to be with two women at once, isn’t it?”
The shift in John was instant.
His entire body tensed beneath her. His heartbeat thudded against her cheek. His fingers, which had been so casually stroking her back, suddenly stopped. He pulled away just enough to look down at her, brow furrowed, disbelief flickering behind his dark, searching eyes.
“Abbie…” His voice was slow, careful. “You think Madison would ever want to do something like that?” He paused. “She’s so… shy.”
Abbie bit her lip.
He wasn’t wrong.
Madison had always been shy, always buried behind her books and quiet glances, hiding behind too-long sleeves and nervous laughs. Just like her.
But then—
She lifted her gaze to meet his, her voice soft, steady.
“I used to be shy, too.”
