The sun burned against my shoulders— the perfect heat, the kind that made skin look expensive. I tilted my phone, the good one, my iPhone 16 Pro Max, checking the ring light against the natural glow. Golden hour was still three hours out, but the Pacific never failed me.
Three cameras.
Three perfect angles.
The teak table was aged to that perfect ash-grey that made my tan look five shades deeper. An intentional backdrop for the unfiltered aesthetic that cost my manager six months of back-and-forth with the designer.
I dragged the gold-plated letter opener, a gift from some jewelry brand I forgot to tag, across the tape sealing the black box. The sound cut sharply through the steady crash of waves beneath the deck.
“Okay… so this just arrived,” I murmured into the center camera, softening my voice on instinct. Breathier. Closer. The fry slid in automatically now, like a filter I couldn’t disable. “And you guys know I only partner with brands I actually believe in.”
A total lie.
The box was heavier than it looked, minimalist in that annoying tech-bro way. Matte black. No branding, just a faint embossed logo you’d miss unless you were looking for it. I peeled back layers of tissue paper.
The Aura stared back at me.
Cold. Sleek. A dark mirror surface that caught my face in brutal, high-definition clarity, even while powered off. Every pore. Every micro-bladed hair in my brow. It looked expensive and clinical. Something lifted from a dermatologist’s office that wanted to pretend it was luxury.
The memory floated into place.
An LA boardroom weeks ago, all glass and over-air-conditioned to the point of aggression. Cold enough that my silk camisole showed more than I’d planned. Julian sat across from me in a charcoal suit, no tie, top button undone like proximity alone was a favor. Grey eyes. An accountant’s eyes. He slid the contract across the table.
Julian had looked at me like I was a spreadsheet with a typo. I’d leaned forward just enough to let the silk slip, waiting for that familiar flicker of distraction in his eyes. It never came. He just kept tapping that finger on the paper. Bored. Like my cleavage was just another line item he didn’t have time to audit.
“Performance compliance is outlined in Section Seven,” he’d said, tapping the clause with one blunt finger.
What a robot.
I’d scrolled Instagram while my manager skimmed. The number had so many zeros I didn’t bother reading the words wrapped around it.
“Omg, the packaging alone,” I gushed now, lifting the mirror with both hands, angling it just right.
The second I stopped recording, my face went slack.
I left the thing sitting on the table, already bored, as salt air drifted in from the ocean.
~oO🐺Oo~
The upload bar crawled. Seventy-eight percent. My thumb hovered over the caption box.
#Ad #Skincare #AuraVibes
Generic as hell, but the algorithm didn’t care about effort. It cared about my face.
I watched the preview loop on my screen. White linen La Perla robe… from last month’s campaign. The Aura sat behind me on the bathroom counter, a vague shape barely in frame. I’d angled it so you could see the logo if you squinted.
Maybe.
“Morning skin situation,” my voice purred through the phone speaker, all sensual and intimate. I ran fingers through my hair, the wolf-cut catching light. Oribe’s Gold Lust scent hung in the air, coconut and amber. “So this mirror has like… AI stuff? It scans your skin or whatever.”
I didn’t demonstrate. Didn’t turn it on.
Instead, I leaned closer to the camera, tilting my jaw. “But honestly, the lighting in here is chef’s kiss. And can we talk about how good this haircut looks when it air-dries?” My fingers raked through blonde layers. “Like, I’m obsessed.”
Thirty-eight seconds. The product appeared for maybe ten.
The reel ended on my face— eyes wide, lips slightly parted. The expression I’d practiced ten thousand times. Effortless surprise. Candid perfection.
I hit post.
The engagement rolled in before I’d even locked my screen. Hearts. Fire emojis. Comments stacking so fast they blurred.
April— Queen behavior
RealAliceMac— WHERE is that robe from???
Smiler69— Marry me
MaryB12— Skin goals OMG
My name carried weight. Sienna Vale didn’t sell products… she sold aspirations. The mirror was irrelevant. I was the brand. Aura paid for proximity to my face, my audience, my carefully curated world where everything looked expensive because I touched it.
The Porsche waited in my garage. Vintage 911, Guards Red, with leather that smelled like money, clicks and someone else’s nostalgia. I’d bought it in cash three days after the Aura deposit cleared.
Six figures for forty seconds of content. If they wanted a tutorial, they should have added another zero to the transfer.
I scrolled past the flood of comments, bored already. Some tech-bro brand account had posted a thoughtful paragraph about the mirror’s features beneath my reel.
I didn’t read it.
My phone buzzed. A DM from someone with eight followers and a blank profile picture.
J@Lumescent— You didn’t even turn it on.
Delete. Block.
Untouchable.
~oO🐺Oo~
The email arrived while I was at Catch, second lemon drop martini halfway to my lips.
Subject: AURA Campaign Performance Review — Breach Notice
My thumb almost swiped it into trash. The preview line stopped me.
Re: Contract Fulfillment, Section 4.2: Creative Deliverables & Clause 8.1 Enforcement
Julian… The suit from the contract signing.
I opened it. The text hit like a legal brief had mated with a spreadsheet.
Ms. Vale,
Per our Partnership Agreement dated March 14th, your Instagram Reel (uploaded 09:42 PST) fails to meet the following Creative Brief requirements:
— Timestamp 0:08-0:22: Product remains unfocused, logo obscured
— Timestamp 0:24-0:38: Zero demonstration of core features
— Total product visibility: 11 seconds of 38-second runtime
This constitutes material non-compliance.
My pulse jumped. Around me, Becca shrieked about someone’s Cartier bracelet.
The email continued.
Failure to rectify with a dedicated, positive feature within 4 days will trigger Clause 8.1: Physical Audit and Asset Re-allocation protocols, enforceable as of April 23rd.
Next week. My St. Barts trip.
I laughed. Loud enough that heads turned.
“Legal bros are so dramatic,” I announced, already typing my response.
Lol, chill Julian. That post got 200k likes. Youre welcome. On vacay next week, talk then!
xoxo
—SV
Send.
I drained my martini.
~oO🐺Oo~
The ring light bathed my bed in that perfect, peachy glow. Propped against the tufted headboard, legs crossed, oversized white tee slipping off one shoulder— the algorithm loved this setup.
Live with SV glowed across the top of my screen. Comments streamed past like slot machine wins.
PSNIvy— She’s so pretty I can’t
BellaBeautyJunkie— Is that new mirror worth the $4k?
Smiler69— MY QUEEN
I tucked a strand of strawberry blonde behind my ear, let my smile go soft and conspiratorial. Thirty thousand viewers. Not bad for 10 PM on a Wednesday.
“Okay, okay, next question…” I scrolled through the flood. “Oh! @BellaBeautyJunkie asks, ‘Is that new mirror worth the $4k?'”
My stomach flipped.
Perfect.
I let my face fall flat. Rolled my eyes hard enough for the back row.
“Honestly?” I leaned closer to the camera. “No. It’s so… clinical. Like, the lighting made my skin look dead. Literal zombie vibes.” I wrinkled my nose. “Stick to natural light, babes. Technology can’t replace a good tan and decent genes.”
The comments exploded.
AmyNY11— OMG cancelling my order now
BellaBeautyJunkie— THANK YOU for being honest!!!
Daisy— Lumescent sounds like a scam lol
Zoey77— This is why we trust you
Heat spread through my chest. That electric buzz when you know you just moved the needle. Somewhere, Julian was probably watching his pre-orders crater in real time.
Good.
I grinned, wide and bright. “But guess what? Tomorrow I’m flying to St. Barts. Expect SO much content over the next week. Beach days, sunsets, maybe some spicy bikini shots if you’re good.”
Smiler69— TAKE ME WITH YOU
AmyNY11— Living for this
AprilDreams— Ugh goals
I flipped my hair over my shoulder, the wolf-cut catching light like spun gold. Brought two fingers to my glossed lips, kissed them, pressed them toward the lens.
“Love you guys. Sleep tight.”
I tapped the red button.
The stream died. My bedroom fell silent except for the hum of the ring light.
Notifications rolled in. Screenshots, reposts, a PR firm asking if I’d review their resort wear.
I stretched across the Egyptian cotton sheets, phone warm in my palm.
Tomorrow: first class to paradise.
Tonight: 34k people hanging on my every word.
I smiled at the ceiling.
Untouchable.
~oO🐺Oo~
The water wrapped around me, smooth and effortless.
I floated on my back, arms stretched wide, blonde hair fanning around my head in that perfect mermaid halo. The infinity pool blurred into the Caribbean— no seam, no edge. Just endless turquoise bleeding into sky.
My phone sat three feet away on sun-warmed stone. Screen-up. Notifications light up every few seconds like a heartbeat.
The champagne from first class still fizzed in my veins. Or maybe that was just the high of 547k views on the villa tour. Posted two hours ago. Already my third-best performing reel this month.
I let my eyes drift shut. Salt air mixed with Supergoop. The sun pressed warm fingers against my oiled skin, turning me golden, turning me into the exact fantasy ten million people wanted to be.
This… This was the life they paid to watch.
A notification chime cut through the quiet.
I tilted my head, squinting at the screen.
BellaBeautyJunkie just donated $50: Thank you for saving me from that mirror scam!
My lips curved. Lazy. Satisfied.
I’d torched Julian’s product and somehow made my followers love me more for it. The comments under the villa tour were a religion— Queen, Icon, She’s literally glowing.
Another chime.
PSNIvy— liked your photo.
AmyNY11— shared your reel.
The numbers climbed. The engagement rolled. The world bent around me like light through a prism.
I spread my fingers, let the water slip between them.
Untouchable.
Floating in a twenty-million-dollar villa. Skin bronzed. Hair perfect. Every angle optimized.
I exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling beneath the surface.
Invincible.
~oO🐺Oo~
The buzz came differently.
Not the soft pulse of a like. Not the triple-tap of a comment. This one vibrated sharply against the stone. Insistent.
I cracked one eye open.
The screen glowed.
SiennaVale just posted a new Reel.
My stomach dropped.
I sat up fast. Water sloshed over the infinity’s edge. My hand shot out, grabbed the phone.
I didn’t post anything.
Been floating for forty minutes. Phone untouched.
Thumb shaking, I opened Instagram.
There I was.
Same corol bikini. Same wet hair slicked back. Same pool, same angle I’d filmed the tour from.
The me on screen smiled. Lips glossed, eyes bright. She brought her fingers to her mouth and blew a kiss.
“Finally reached paradise.” Her voice. My voice… The slight rasp, the breathy lilt. “Putting the phone down to actually live for a bit. See you soon, babes.“
The tiny mole. Right there on my left shoulder, where it always sat.
My skin went cold despite the sun.
I tried to delete it. Thumb stabbing the screen.
The app froze.
Loading…
I refreshed.
Locked out.
Unable to verify account credentials.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
~oO🐺Oo~
Movement caught my peripheral vision.
Inside.
Through the villa’s glass doors— floor-to-ceiling, spotless, sat a figure on the white linen sofa. Not sprawled. Not casual.
Perched.
Navy suit. Crisp despite the heat that had me melting.
Julian.
My lungs forgot how to work.
He stood. No rush. Just that terrifying economy of motion, like every step had been calculated three moves ahead.
He crossed the polished floor. Stopped at the pool’s edge, hands in pockets. His shadow fell across the water.
Definitely not a fan coming to grovel.
“The engagement on that last post is already 30% higher than your average, Sienna.”
His voice carried that same resonant calm from the conference room. Clinical. Detached.
“Turns out, when you aren’t the one in control, you’re much more appealing.”
My throat closed.
The phone slipped from my fingers onto the ledge of the pool.
I couldn’t look away from those grey eyes. They didn’t burn with anger or lust.
Just assessment.
Like I was a number on a spreadsheet that finally added up.
~oO🐺Oo~
The folder hit the stone ledge with a slap that made me flinch.
Leather. Expensive. The kind of thing that holds mortgages, not threats.
Julian didn’t crouch. Didn’t get closer. Just stood there, hands back in his pockets, while I stared at the thing like it might bite.
“Open it.”
Not a request.
My fingers shook as I pushed myself up on the ledge, water streaming down my thighs. The stone burned hot under my palms. I grabbed the folder.
Inside: pages. Dense blocks of text. My signature at the bottom, looping and careless, next to his—precise, controlled.
Supplemental Settlement for Material Breach.
The words swam.
“Section 7.4,” Julian said. “Third paragraph.”
I found it. Read it twice. My brain refused to process.
“In the event of Malicious Disparagement resulting in projected losses exceeding $1,000,000, the Sponsor reserves the right to Immediate Asset Seizure for Brand Rehabilitation, including but not limited to the use of Talent’s likeness, voice, and digital identity for corrective marketing purposes.”
“That’s not…” My voice cracked. “That’s not legal.”
“It’s ironclad. Your attorney signed off. You were too busy choosing filter presets to read it that day.”
He pulled his phone from inside his jacket.
Held it up.
My stomach dropped into the pool.
The screen showed me. This villa. This bedroom. But I wasn’t doing a unboxing video or a morning routine.
I was on my knees.
The camera angle was perfect. Professional. The lighting made my skin glow. The tiny mole on my right shoulder— the one only close-up shots ever caught, was there.
I watched myself do things I’d never filmed. Never even considered filming.
My O face. Exact.
“Turn it off.”
“This goes live in forty-eight hours unless you comply with the audit terms.” He closed the folder. “Every pirate site. Every tabloid. Every family-friendly brand currently in your inbox will see Sienna Vale’s premium content.”
“You made that. That’s… that’s fake.”
“It’s optimized content. Your followers will believe it. Your sponsors will drop you. Your parents will see it.”
He reached into his pocket.
Pulled out a ring.
Gold. Thick. But when he held it out, his hand dipped slightly under the weight.
I registered the weight immediately. My hand dipped, muscles tightening against something that looked delicate but dragged like an anchor.
“Forty-eight hours, Sienna. You wear this, you consent to the audit. Physical compliance. Total brand surrender. The AI handles your feed. You answer to me.”
He stepped closer.
“Or you take it off, and I release it.”
The ring sat in his palm like a shackle wearing a disguise.
“Your choice, Sienna.”
~oO🐺Oo~
“You’re insane!” The scream tore out of me, raw and jagged. “I’m calling the police. I’m… my followers will notice I’m…”
My phone buzzed.
Once. Twice.
Julian didn’t even glance my way. Just kept scrolling on his screen, bored. Clinical.
The third buzz made my chest tighten.
I looked down at the ledge. My phone— still there, still mine— lit up with a new notification.
SiennaVale just posted.
No…
The video autoplayed. Me. Walking through the villa in a silk robe, laughing that breathless, candid laugh I did when I wanted something to feel real.
“Omg, I almost forgot— look at this view from the bedroom!”
The camera panned. Showed the ocean. The bed. Zoomed in on a champagne bottle I hadn’t opened yet.
The voice sounded more excited than I’d felt in months. More me than I’d been all week.
Julian slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“They don’t miss you, Sienna.” His eyes met mine. Grey. Flat. “They don’t even know you’re gone.”
He tapped the ring still sitting heavy in my palm.
“Now get out of the pool. We have a full itinerary to get through before dinner.”
I slipped on the ring.
It’s only 48 hours.
~oO🐺Oo~
Cold air hit me the moment I entered the lounge, the AC cranked to full. My skin, still slick with pool water and sunscreen, prickled as goosebumps rolled upward from my ankles, relentless.
White oak beneath my feet. Darkening where I stepped.
Julian moved through the suite like he’d measured it twice already. Unbuttoned his cuffs. Rolled them once, precise, up to his forearm.
I stood there. Dripping.
He circled back. Stopped just close enough that I could smell the faint bite of his cologne.
Two fingers caught my chin.
Turned my face left. Then right.
Not rough. Worse than rough.
Clinical.
“Tilt your head.”
I did.
His thumb ran along my jawline, stopping where the bone curved sharpest.
“Your best angle’s at three-quarters. You always shoot straight-on.”
My teeth started to chatter. I clenched them shut.
He released me. Stepped back.
~oO🐺Oo~
The master bedroom glowed blue as soon as we entered.
Three panels. Floor-to-ceiling. Aura’s logo etched faintly into brushed steel frames.
My reflection tripled— front, left, right. Everywhere I looked, there I was. Wet hair plastered to my collarbones.
“Stand in the middle.”
I moved. Stood where the light converged.
The scanner hummed. A low frequency that sent vibrations between my legs.
“Top off.”
My fingers found the knot between my shoulder blades. Pulled once.
The fabric dropped.
Julian didn’t look at me. He addressed the center mirror.
“Run a full-body biometric scan on the asset. I want a baseline for the 48-hour audit.”
The blue light intensified. Swept downward in three synchronized beams.
“Scanning. Please remain still.”
I locked my knees.
“Heart rate: 102 BPM. Elevated. Detecting micro-tremors in upper extremities. Cortisol markers indicate acute stress response. Skin hydration at 62%… suboptimal. Musculature tension concentrated in trapezius, deltoids…”
“Stop!”
The voice kept going.
“…Blood flow redistribution detected. Pattern inconsistent with fear. Data suggests concurrent arousal response.”
“I said stop! This…”
Julian lifted a hand, stopping me mid-sentence.
“Let it finish.”
~oO🐺Oo~
The kitchen gleamed under recessed lighting— all marble and chrome and surfaces that had never seen a dropped spoon.
I watched his hands move. Long fingers peeling back the skin of a blood orange in one continuous spiral. No wasted motion. No hesitation. His movements carried that same terrifying efficiency, the kind that came from men who’d mastered everything they touched.
I stood by the island. Still topless. Still dripping.
The knife came down. Clean. Precise. Segments of citrus fell away from white pith, exposing dark flesh beneath. Dragon fruit next. White with black seeds, the kind that cost eighteen dollars at Erewhon.
He arranged them on a small ceramic plate. Artful. Better than half the compositions I’d posted.
Didn’t look at me once.
Then he walked around the island. Stopped in the center of the room. Bent down and placed the plate on the floor.
“You’ve had a long flight, Sienna. You need your energy for the next phase. Eat.”
I glared at him.
The plate sat there. Catching the light.
“On your hands and knees. Eat.”
The gold band suddenly weighed a thousand pounds.
I could pull it off. Right now. Walk out. Let him post whatever he wanted. I’d survived scandals before. I could…
But not this. No, not footage of me performing acts that would get me banned from all my accounts.
My knees hit marble.
Palms next. Cold. Unforgiving.
I crawled forward. Those three feet felt like three miles.
My hand reached for a blood orange segment.
“No hands.”
I froze.
The ring dug into my finger where my weight pressed down.
I lowered my head. Opened my mouth. Took the fruit between my teeth.
Citrus burst across my tongue. Tart. Sweet. Better than it had any right to be.
I heard his footsteps retreat. Back to the counter? It didn’t matter.
Distance. Thank god.
I ate faster. Segment after segment. The dragon fruit next, watery and mild after the orange. I chased the last pieces around the plate with my tongue, then licked up the remaining juice. Blood orange pooled at the rim. I didn’t care. I needed it.
The notification chime cut through the silence.
Then he was next to me again.
Kneeling.
His fingers threaded through my wet hair, gathering it at my neck. Pulled it back. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just firm. Securing it in a short, rough ponytail with something— a hair tie, probably mine, stolen from the bathroom.
His other hand landed on my ass.
Just there.
No movement. No squeeze. No warning.
Just weight. Ownership.
A claim.
~oO🐺Oo~
His hand stayed where it was.
Heat radiated through the thin fabric of my bikini bottoms, burning hotter than the Caribbean sun ever could. I didn’t dare move. Didn’t breathe.
Then his fingers shifted. Found the bow at my left hip.
One pull.
The fabric went slack.
Other side. Same motion. Clinical. Methodical.
The bottoms peeled away.
I was naked. On my knees. On his kitchen floor.
He gathered the damp fabric in his fist, then gripped my jaw. Turned my face up.
The bikini bottom dragged across my chin. My cheek. Wiping away blood orange and dragon fruit like I was a surface that needed cleaning.
No tenderness. No acknowledgment that this was my face, my skin.
Just efficiency.
“Much better.”
He released me and stood.
Movement in my peripheral vision made me turn my head.
The TV mounted above the lounge glowed. My phone screen, mirrored large.
AI-me smiled into the camera, fingers delicately working Augustinus Bader serum into flawless skin.
Julian’s gaze moved from the screen to me.
Naked. Wet. Dripping with need.
“The digital version is easier to maintain.” His voice carried no inflection. “But the physical version requires manual labor.”
His hand moved lower. Hovered.
Just there.
The barest suggestion of contact. Knuckles against my slick pussy. Not pressure. Not friction.
My hips twitched. Involuntary.
He had to feel it. Had to know what he was doing to me. The wetness, the way my body was screaming for more than this faintest of touch.
The floor bit into my knees. My palms pressed flat against stone that had gone warm beneath my weight.
I shifted backward. Slow. Testing.
Ground myself against his motionless hand.
A gasp punched out of my chest. The friction sent lightning straight through my core, and I rocked again, chasing the sensation like some desperate animal.
“You’ll do this yourself.”
His voice cut through the haze. Clinical. Observing.
I ground harder. God, I never got like this. Never lost control during hookups with athletes who thought their abs did all the work. Never felt this raw, clawing need.
But the fear had melted into something worse. Something that made my thighs shake and my breath come in shallow bursts.
“Arms straight.”
I locked my elbows.
“Head up.”
My chin lifted. The TV screen glowed ahead. AI-me applying highlighter with practiced precision while real-me fucked herself against a stranger’s hand on a kitchen floor.
“Ass higher. Arch your back.”
I obeyed without thinking. My back curved deeper, that perfect Instagram-worthy arch I’d practiced a thousand times in yoga studios and bedroom mirrors. But this wasn’t for a photo. This was raw submission, my body presenting itself.
The new angle sent his knuckles sliding exactly where I needed them. Where I was aching for contact. A moan tore from my throat— no breathy, not a calculated performance for an audience of millions. Just pure, unfiltered need.
I worked myself faster against his hand. Ground down harder. The pleasure coiled tight and hot in my belly, a spring wound to its breaking point. Every roll of my hips pushed it tighter, sharper, until my entire world narrowed to that single point of friction.
So close. Right fucking there.
My breath came in shallow, ragged bursts. My thighs trembled with the effort of holding position while chasing release. The orgasm built like a wave gathering size and speed, ready to crest and crash and obliterate everything in its path—
His hand withdrew.
“No—”
The word shattered on a whimper, dissolving into something raw and broken. My hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing the contact that was no longer there, grinding against nothing but cool air and the devastating emptiness where his hand had been.
I was left there.
Knees spread wide on the unforgiving kitchen floor. Dripping. Desperate. My carefully curated image reduced to this— a needy, writhing mess begging to cum.
Shaking with need that had nowhere to go, my entire body vibrating like a live wire suddenly cut from its power source. The orgasm that had been building, that perfect crescendo I could practically taste, now hung suspended in my core like a held breath that would never find release. My thighs quivered with the strain of holding position, muscles taut and aching, while my pulse hammered against my throat in a rhythm that matched the desperate throbbing between my legs.
I pressed my forehead against the cold floor, a grounding sensation amidst the storm inside me. On my knees, arms bent, I was a pliable creature chasing the ghost of that missing touch, the whisper of his presence.
Smack!
The shock of his hand cracked the air, heat exploding across my skin.
“I told you arms straight.”
His voice, smooth as polished stone, sliced through the swirling haze of denied pleasure. I jerked upright, arms locking, and the sharp sting on my ass lingered like a brand, a reminder etched into my flesh.
Silence stretched.
I knew I had to hold this position. All I wanted was to cum, but now it hovered just out of reach, that fleeting closeness mocking me, reminding me who held control.
Behind me, his footsteps moved, shifting weight, casual in their departure. Never hurried. Each step a measured decision, leaving me alone in the space he’d carved from my will. The air cooled against the heat left by his absence, his presence fading until all I sensed was the pulsing emptiness where he’d been.
I remained frozen, each beat of my heart an echo of what had never come to be, longing lingering as my sole companion.
~oO🐺Oo~
The silence stretched, pressing down on me like a physical weight.
My arms screamed. Locked straight, elbows trembling with the effort of holding position, muscles burning with the kind of deep ache that came from forcing the body into submission. The cool air brushed across my overheated skin, raising goosebumps along my spine while droplets of sweat pooled in the hollow of my lower back.
The throb between my legs hadn’t faded. If anything, it had intensified. A maddening pulse that refused to quiet, refused to let me forget how close I’d been. How completely he’d unraveled me.
My thighs were still wet. I could feel it, the humiliating evidence of my desperation cooling on my skin.
The gold band caught the light. That simple circle of metal on my finger suddenly felt impossibly heavy, a shackle I’d placed on myself.
Footsteps!
My breath slowed. I didn’t dare turn my head, didn’t dare move from the position he’d locked me in.
Something cold touched my pussy.
I flinched. Couldn’t help it. The sensation was surgical, precise— smooth metal gliding through the… my wetness, mapping every fold with clinical detachment. Up, then down. Tracing paths like he was verifying coordinates on a blueprint.
The contrast made me gasp. The metal was ice against my overheated flesh, and my body jerked involuntarily as it slid backward, higher, to somewhere I absolutely wasn’t prepared for.
“Wait…”
“Relax.”
No comfort in his tone. Just instruction.
“It’s easier to insert when you relax.”
Pressure. Insistent. My body resisted on instinct, clenching against the intrusion, but the pressure didn’t stop. It increased, steady and unyielding, until my muscles had no choice but to surrender.
The plug slid in.
I bit down on a whimper. The stretch burned, unfamiliar and impossible to ignore, filling me in a way that made every nerve light up in protest. My hands curled into fists against the floor, nails digging into my palms as my body struggled to adjust.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Something soft and impossibly lush landed across my lower back.
I turned my head.
A fox tail. Dark, reddish-brown fur cascading down, connected to the plug now seated inside me.
“Oh my god—”
“Much more fitting for what you are, don’t you think?”
His footsteps were already retreating, leaving me there… plugged, tailed, and gasping on his kitchen floor.
