The fluorescent hum of Wayne West's private studio was a familiar lullaby to me these days, a stark contrast to the thumping bass and sharp snares echoing from the massive speakers. Wayne, a dynamo of pure, unadulterated talent, was hunched over the mixing board, his fingers dancing across the illuminated faders like a maestro conducting an orchestra. Sweat beaded on his forehead, a testament to the raw energy he poured into every beat.
"Yeah... That's it, Wayne," I murmured, leaning back into the plush leather couch, a half-empty glass of something strong and smoky resting on the side table. "Just like that… Let the bass breathe."
He nodded, not looking up, lost in the rhythm. "Just… feels right, Sael. This beat? It's a goddamn revelation. Certified gold before it even drops. A goddamn hit." He punched a few more buttons, the low-end frequencies vibrating through the floor, straight into my bones. "Bwoom. Bwoom-bwoom."
I watched him, a slight smile playing on my lips. He had it, alright. The natural, raw talent, just like the Kanye I remembered from my old world. Sunday, my ever-present AI companion, had already confirmed it.
"[Affirmative, Sael. Wayne West's neural pathways and creative output show remarkable parallels to the historical figure, Kanye West. The probability of shared artistic genius is statistically significant.]" And if Sunday agreed, it was practically gospel.
It was a safe bet, really, that a lot of people here, looking like familiar faces from my past, would carry the same damn spark. Heminem, the self-proclaimed "Rap God" of this alternate Earth, was another prime example. Same sharp tongue, same lightning-fast flow, just a different name and a penchant for rapping about genetically engineered space chickens. Go figure.
Roughly sixty percent of the major celebrities I knew from my original timeline existed here, albeit with tweaked names, ages, or even entirely different career paths. Take Jamie Foxx, for instance. Right now, he was sitting across from me, perched on a stool, looking entirely too eager. He was much younger in this timeline, a fresh-faced, aspiring actor who'd barely sniffed a major role. Here, he was just an extra, barely scraping by, and the only reason he was even in this room, so comfortably ensconced, was because he was a man.
Men were a rarity, a commodity. They were cherished, protected, and often… exploited, by those who held power. Jamie was clearly sucking up to Wayne West, trying to parlay his male privilege and undeniable talent into a career boost. He was good, though. Really good. I'd seen him mimic voices, pull off improv sketches that would leave you pissing yourself laughing. He just needed the right break, and in this world, being a man was half the battle won.
Jamie, sensing my gaze, offered a nervous, slightly fawning smile. "You feel that, Sael? That's… that's fire. Wayne, you're a genius, man…. A goddamn prophet."
Wayne grunted, still lost in the soundscape. "Just trying to make music that makes these bitches open their legs and these studios open their wallets, Jamie… Ain't no prophecy, just good business." He finally pulled back, stretching his arms above his head, a satisfied groan escaping his lips. "Okay, let's run that verse one more time…. Sael, what do you think? That hook needs to slap harder than a dominatrix on payday."
I chuckled. "It's hitting, Wayne. Trust me. But if you want to dial up the 'dominatrix' vibe, maybe a little more aggression in the vocal delivery. Less 'asking,' more 'demanding.' You know, like you're telling the world, 'This dick is mine, bitches, and you're gonna like it.' kind of vibe…"
Wayne threw his head back and laughed, a genuine, booming sound. "Haha! I like that! 'This dick is mine!' You're a wordsmith, Sael…. A goddamn poet. Jamie, you hear that? Write that down, you might need it for your next audition."
Jamie quickly grabbed a notepad, scribbling furiously. "Oh, absolutely, Wayne! 'This dick is mine!' Brilliant! Pure poetry!" He looked up, his eyes wide and earnest.
"Sael, you always know exactly what this track needs. It's like you're channeling the muses themselves... Or… a ghost from another timeline, maybe?" He winked, a playful jab, trying to be edgy.
I just raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in my own eyes. "Something like that, Jamie… Just call me the 'hit whisperer.' Now, Wayne, let's get that demand in there. Make 'em feel it in their pussies."
Wayne grinned, already back at the mic. "POP! POP!" went the pop filter as he tested his breath. "Alright, let's fuckin' do this."
The day bled into afternoon, the studio air thick with the scent of ambition, expensive booze, and the faint, sweet aroma of Riana's perfume, which still lingered in my nostrils. I'd sent her off earlier, a bittersweet moment that tugged at something deep inside me.
"Um… Sael, should I go?" Riana had asked, her single packed bag clutched in her hands, her eyes wide and a little sad. She looked like a lost puppy, which, considering her recent circumstances, wasn't far from the truth. She was mine now, though.
"Yes, just follow my security details, she would bring you to where I'm staying... So, stay there for now, I'll talk to you later". Gently I said to her as I instructed one of my security details to take care of Riana
"Okay," she'd mumbled, leaning into my hand for a moment, pressing her cheek against my palm. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too, sweetheart." I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
She'd nodded, then turned and walked out, her small frame swallowed by the hulking presence of my bodyguard, Claire, who always looked like she could snap a lamppost in half. Watching her go, a knot had formed in my stomach. Letting her stay here, in this liberal, open-minded, sexually charged world, especially in a household as notoriously wild as Wayne's, made my possessive instincts scream.
Girls, especially young, desirable ones like Riana, were targets in this society, and the thought of anyone touching her, let alone fucking her, ignited a cold fury in my gut. Sure, no one said a word about it, of course, Everyone here had their own peculiar tastes, their own "cup of tea," and a respect for boundaries was, surprisingly, one of the few unspoken rules. But even unspoken, the threat felt palpable. She was mine. And I'd make anyone who dared to forget that understand the consequences. So rather than tempted the fate, better avoid the possibility altogether.
***************
Time, in the studio, was a peculiar beast, it crawled when you were waiting for inspiration, and then, without warning, it galloped like a racehorse when the creative juices flowed. We worked, Wayne and I, in a shared trance, refining, polishing, injecting soul into every note, every word. I'd made it clear to him from day one: I wasn't staying in Hollywood for long. My time was limited, so we had to make it count.
Roughly around 3 PM, a glorious, golden hour that seeped through the studio windows, painting streaks of warm light across the mixing board, we finally finished. The last track had been laid down, the final tweaks made, the last expletive-laden ad-lib recorded. Wayne and I both leaned back, exhausted but exhilarated, our minds still buzzing from the raw intensity of creation. We'd been in a zone, a deep, almost spiritual connection to the music, and the silence that followed felt almost deafening.
"Click. Hnnnngh." My body groaned as I stretched, feeling the stiffness in my shoulders. Wayne simply ran a hand over his bald head, a wide, beatific smile on his face.
"Sael," he breathed, his voice hoarse, "You're a goddamn miracle worker. These tracks… they're gonna break the internet. They're gonna melt faces…. They're gonna make so much money, I'm gonna buy a fleet of spaceships shaped like my own dick."
"Just make sure you paint 'em gold, Wayne," I replied, a tired grin on my face. "And maybe skip the dick-shaped part…. Unless you want everyone to know how small you actually are."
Wayne barked a laugh. "You're a savage, Sael! A goddamn savage! But you know what? That's why I fuckin' love ya."
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Courtney, Wayne's manager, strode in, her expensive heels clicking sharply on the polished floor.
"Click-clack. Click-clack." She was a woman who always looked like she'd just walked off the cover of a business magazine, all sharp angles and even sharper intellect. Her eyes, however, were currently gleaming with predatory satisfaction.
"Gentlemen," she purred, "I hear magic was made. The vibrations are palpable." She pulled out her phone, already snapping pictures. "Click. Click-click."
"I need to post a few shots, maybe a short video about this session… It was a massive PR opportunity, The world needs to know where these hits came from… Primarily Wayne, of course, but it's good for your brand too, Sael."
I shrugged. "Go for it, Courtney. Just make me look suitably mysterious and brooding... Good for the 'enigmatic genius' vibe."
She chuckled. "Oh, Sael, you don't need help looking mysterious. It's practically your default setting. Any objections to a few snippets of the tracks?"
"Nah," I waved a hand. "Just don't give away the whole damn album… A tease is already good enough… Let 'em salivate."
"Excellent." She was already typing, a flurry of hashtags and emojis flying across her screen. "The internet is going to go wild…. This is going to be huge."
Wayne, still riding the high of creation, stood up, walked over to a well-stocked corner of the studio, and began rummaging. "Sael, my man, my savior, my musical messiah! You can't leave empty-handed… Not after what you've done for me." He motioned for me to come over.
I pushed myself off the couch, feeling a pleasant exhaustion settle over me. "Wayne, you don't have to-"
"Nonsense!" He pulled out an armful of merchandise: fresh hoodies with his stylized logo, limited edition vinyl albums of his entire discography, still shrink-wrapped. Then, he delved deeper, retrieving a few rather ostentatious bottles of booze. "Here, take these. My entire catalog. And these… these are special."
He presented a bottle of champagne, glittering with what looked like actual diamonds embedded in the custom gold-plated bottle. It pulsed with internal lights. "This bad boy? Cost me about half a million dollars… Pure swag, Sael…. Pure flex. For the man who just gave me the album of my career."
I took the ridiculously opulent bottle, feeling its surprising weight. It looked like something a Bond villain would drink before blowing up the world. "Wayne, half a million dollars for champagne? I don't get it. It tastes the same as the ten-dollar stuff, probably."
He clapped me on the shoulder, a wide, genuine grin on his face. "That's where you're wrong, my friend. It doesn't taste the same. It feels the same. It feels like you've made it. It feels like you're telling the world, 'I'm rich, bitches, and I can literally piss money if I want to!' It's a statement, Sael. A goddamn beautiful, expensive statement." He looked at me, a hint of something resembling respectful envy in his eyes.
"Sometimes I wish I had your detachment. Your… purity. You don't give a damn about the bling, the flex. You just care about the music. I envy that, man. Sometimes."
I just shrugged, taking a swig from my earlier glass. "Vanity's a hell of a drug, Wayne. But it's not my fix… The music is. And for that, I appreciate the gifts. Seriously. Thank you." I nodded towards the studio door. I chuckled, hefting the ridiculous champagne bottle and tucking the other gifts under my arm.
"Ah! don't mind it!" He boomed, already turning back to the mixing board, his mind no doubt already conjuring up the next sonic masterpiece from the raw materials we'd forged today.
We left together, walking out into the late afternoon sun, the heavy door closing softly behind me, carrying the weight of a half-million-dollar bottle of vanity, and the far more valuable satisfaction of a job well done. The plush, white carpet of Wayne's living room felt like a cloud under my boots. We were sprawled out, the high from a flawless recording session still buzzing in the air. Wayne was holding court, one arm draped around Jamie Foxx, who was doing a spot-on impression of some stuffy music exec they'd just fleeced.
"And then the man had the audacity," Jamie said, his voice shifting into a nasally whine, "to say the track lacked cultural depth. I looked him dead in the eye and said, 'Motherfucker, the only depth you know is the deep end of your trust fund!'"
We all roared with laughter. Courtney, shook her head, sipping her champagne with a smirk. The vibe was easy, and relaxed as we hanged out a little bit, before I leave. Just as Jamie launched into another story, the massive double doors to the living room swung open.
"Hi baby~"
The voice was a syrupy, high-pitched coo that I'd recognize anywhere. All heads turned. There she was. Kim Kardashan, looking like a sculpture poured into a skintight, pearl-gray dress. And she wasn't alone. It was a full-blown invasion.
Kourtney, Khloé, Kendall, and Kylie filed in behind her like a glamorous squadron, followed by the matriarch herself, Kris Jenner, orchestrating the whole entrance with a practiced smile. Bringing up the rear was a two-man camera crew, their lenses already glowing red, capturing every damn thing.
West's face split into a proud, beaming grin. He leaped up from the couch, arms wide open. "Kimmy! You made it!"
He met her in the middle of the room, grabbing her and planting a loud, sloppy kiss right on her mouth. The sound was wet and exaggerated for the cameras. "Sllrupp~ Kiss Kiss"
"I just got back from shopping and had to come straight here," Kim announced, her voice dialed up to eleven for her audience. "The traffic was, like, a total nightmare."
"Ugh, tell me about it," Kourtney chimed in, inspecting her nails. "But that new boutique was worth it."
"Absolutely," Khloé added, though her eyes were already scanning the room, cataloging who was there.
It was Kendall, Kylie, and Kris whose gazes didn't wander. They landed on me, the unknown variable in Wayne's orbit, and stuck. I was still in my post-studio gear: black jeans, a vintage band tee, and my ever-present black face mask, only my eyes visible.
Kris took the lead, a predator's grace in her step. She glided across the room, past her son-in-law-to-be, and extended a perfectly manicured hand toward me. The cameras swiveled to follow.
"And who do we have here?" she asked, her voice a blend of warm hospitality and sharp calculation.
I took her hand. Her grip was firm, and she held on a second longer than necessary. "Sael VT… A pleasure, Ms. Jenner."
"Oh, please, call me Kris," she purred, her eyes crinkling. "The pleasure is all ours."
Kylie and Kendall materialized on either side of her. They were younger, their attempts at seduction less refined but no less potent. Kylie bit her plump lower lip, her eyes wide and inviting. Kendall offered a cooler, more modelesque smile, but her gaze was just as intense.
"Hi, Sael VT," Kylie almost whispered, taking my hand next. Her skin was soft.
"Sllrupp~ Kiss Kiss" She faux-air-kissed next to my cheek, the scent of her vanilla perfume enveloping me.
"Hey," was all I could manage, giving her hand a slight squeeze before Kendall's taller frame leaned in for her own greeting. It was a whirlwind of introductions, a blatant and unsubtle appraisal. The three of them formed a half-circle around me, a beautiful, scented barrier separating me from the rest of the room.
My mind was racing. Keeping Up with the Kardashans. A reality show empire that was just as dominant here as it had been back home. The faces, the names, the dynamics—it was all a perfect, bizarre mirror. Wayne was chest-out proud, basking in the reflected glory of his famous girlfriend and her infamous family.
"You see this, Sael?" he boomed, throwing an arm around Kim again. "This is my family! Crazy, right?"
"It sure are," I just nodded from behind my mask. You have no idea, man. I knew the history, the divorce, the very public unraveling that was destined to happen. Kim, for all her curated perfection, was a vortex.
A stunning, intoxicating vortex that loved the spotlight more than anything else. Wayne knew the score. He knew her reputation, and he was fine with it. She was a trophy, and he was the showcase. It was a transaction they were both happy with.
'And me? Let's be real. Looking at Kim, at Kylie's infamous curves, at Kendall's willowy frame, and even at Kris's surgically perfected confidence… yeah, I wanted to fuck them.'
Any red-blooded man in this world or any other would. But that's where it began and ended. Getting emotionally involved with a Kardashian-Jenner was like volunteering to be a supporting character in someone else's never-ending drama. No thanks.
"Everyone, this is Sael VT," Wayne announced to the room, though the cameras were the real audience. "The genius behind the new sound… The ghost in the machine!"
"Ohh~" The reaction was… a lot. Gasps. Wide eyes. Jaw-drops. It was so over-the-top it felt like a bad soap opera. Courtney rolled her eyes from her corner, and Jamie just chuckled into his drink. I had to play along. This was their show, their circus. I was just a guest performer.
Through it all, Kendall and Kylie's eyes were locked on me. Even with half my face covered, their interest was palpable, a heat I could feel. I met their gazes, my own eyes offering a slight, acknowledging crinkle. A silent conversation passed between us.
Theirs said 'Who are you?' and 'I want to find out.' Mine said, 'I know,' and 'Maybe you will.'
The crowd shifted. Kim and Wayne were now doing a couple-y interview for the camera. Jamie and Khloé were debating something animatedly. This created a pocket of semi-privacy on the large sectional sofa I was on.
Kris didn't waste a second. She sank onto the cushion right next to me, her hip pressing against mine. A moment later, Kylie slid in on my other side, her leg lining up flush against my own. I was sandwiched between the mother and the youngest daughter.
"So, Sael," Kris began, her voice dropping to a more intimate, conspiratorial tone even as she smiled for the cameras that were panning the room.
"We're so thrilled to have you here…. By the way, would it be alright if we included you in a few shots for the show? Our viewers would just die to meet the mystery man working with Wayne."
Her hand, which had been resting on her own knee, casually drifted onto my thigh. Her fingers were warm, her touch light but deliberate.
"It's fine," I said, my voice even. "Just make me look good…"
She laughed, a tinkling, practiced sound. "Oh, darling, that won't be a problem at all…Squish~"
As she said this, her fingers gave my thigh a gentle squeeze. At the same time, Kylie leaned her body into my arm, her breast pressing against my bicep.
"Sael," she murmured, her voice a little breathy. "We should, like, totally exchange numbers... You know, so we can… talk about the music scene."
Smart girl. Asking for a number directly was too forward, even for this world. But her eyes were begging.
"How about we start with a follow?" I suggested, playing the game. "Find me on social. @Sael_VT."
Her face lit up like I'd just offered her the crown jewels. "Yes! Definitely!"
"I'll have to find you too," Kris purred, her hand sliding a crucial inch higher up my thigh. "I'm always looking for new and… exciting… people to network with."
The rivalry was instant and electric. Kylie shot a tiny glare at her mother over my chest. Kris's smile just widened, her eyes challenging. And the entire time, her hand was moving. It crept slowly, confidently, inward until her fingertips were brushing against the growing bulge in my jeans. I didn't flinch. I just leaned back, making it easier for her.
Meanwhile, my left arm was draped along the back of the couch behind Kylie. My hand found the curve of her ass, hidden from the main camera's view by the couch cushion. I grabbed a handful of her firm flesh through her thin leggings and gave it a rough, possessive squeeze. "PAH!" The soft sound of the material tightening under my grip was barely audible.
Kylie let out a tiny, sharp inhale, "Ahn~" her eyes fluttering for a second before she composed herself, a faint blush creeping up her neck. Her gaze dropped to her mother's hand, which was now openly palming my cock, stroking it slowly through the denim. Shick~ Shick~ The rhythm was hypnotic.
I turned my head and smiled down at Kylie. She looked up at me, a mixture of shyness and raw lust in her eyes. She was squirming, her body reacting to the secret groping. Emboldened, I moved my hand from the back of the couch and slipped it down, under the waistband of her leggings and right into her thong. My fingers slid through her slick folds without any resistance. She was already so wet. "Schlurp. Schluuup."
"Ahn~ Ahhh!!" she moaned softly, biting her knuckle to stifle the sound, her hips giving an involuntary little thrust against my invading fingers.
On my right, Kris leaned in, her lips near my ear.
"Someone's excited," she whispered, her breath hot. Her stroking became more firm, more urgent. "Slick Slick~" She was working me over my jeans, her knuckles brushing against my shaft with every movement.
It was an insane, surreally hot situation. In the center of the room, Kim was laughing at something Wayne said. A camera was pointed their way, but the operator's eye might have caught the intense, intimate huddle on the sofa. Maybe he saw a famous momager talking closely with a new producer. Maybe he saw a young socialite leaning close to hear the conversation.
But if he looked closer, he'd see the faint rocking of Kylie's body as my fingers worked her soaked pussy. "Schlurp. Schlick!" He'd see the subtle, rhythmic motion of Kris Jenner's forearm as she jerked me off right there in her future son-in-law's living room. And I was starting to like it. The sprawling living room of Wayne West's mansion was a symphony of chrome, white leather, and ego.
"—and then the beat dropped, right? And this motherfucker," Wayne said, pointing a jewel-encrusted finger at me from across the room, "he looks at me, dead in the eye, no smile, nothing, and he lays down a harmony so filthy it shoulda been rated X. I'm tellin' you, Kim. It was genius. Absolute. Fuckin'. Genius."
Kim Kardashian, curled up on a chaise lounge like a pampered panther, let out a sigh that was pure bedroom.
"God, I wish we'd been here. You know I love watching genius at work." She pouted her famous, plump lips, a look perfected over a thousand selfies.
"Right?" Chloe chimed in, swirling the wine in her glass. "You two holed up in that studio for days. It's not fair to keep all that… creativity to yourselves."
Kendall, all legs and aloof beauty, just nodded in agreement from her perch on the arm of the sofa, though her eyes seemed more interested in the abstract art on the wall. I gave a lazy, tired smile, soaking it all in. It was easy to play the modest artist when you felt this drained. But my attention wasn't really on Wayne's boasting or the sisters' swooning. My focus was split, a secret burning in my lap.
On the couch to my right, looking for all the world like the elegant, matriarchal hostess, sat Kris Jenner. And tucked right up against her side, a vision of young, bubbling lust, was her daughter Kylie. To anyone else, we were just three people sharing a couch. But beneath the veil of casual conversation, a different story was unfolding.
While the others were lost in Wayne's stories, Kris and Kylie had become daring. It started with a casual brush of Kylie's hand against my thigh. Then Kris's knee 'accidentally' nudging mine. It had escalated from there.
Now, Kris's hand was resting on the cushion, her fingers subtly tracing circles on my leg. Kylie, with a devilish glint in her eye, had her hand hidden behind a throw pillow, her fingertips dancing along the seam of my jeans, right over my cock, which was hardening with every passing second of this illicit game.
But they weren't stopping there. Driven by a shared, simmering hunger, their hands grew bolder. Kris's manicured nails gently scratched my inner thigh before her fingers, with practiced subtlety, drifted higher and pressed against the denim covering my ass. She didn't just rest her hand there; she began to massage, her thumb edging dangerously close to my hole, applying a pressure through the fabric that was undeniable and incredibly lewd.
Not to be outdone, Kylie's hand slipped lower, her palm cupping my balls through my pants before her own fingers mimicked her mother's actions, tracing a tantalizing circle over my other cheek, seeking out the same target. They were double-teaming me in the most secret, delicious way possible, their breathing slightly hitched, their bodies angled toward each other as if in deep conversation, all while their hands worked me into a frenzy.
I could feel them both squirming next to me, their own arousal building from the risky, dominant act of edging me in plain sight. A soft, almost imperceptible "Ahn~" escaped Kylie's lips, which she quickly masked by taking a sip of her drink. Kris bit her lower lip, her eyes glazing over with pure, unadulterated lust.
It was too much. I was a breath away from coming in my pants like a teenager. I had to move. Now.
I shifted, causing both their hands to instantly snap back as if burned. I cleared my throat and stood up, adjusting myself discreetly.
"Hey, Wayne," I said, my voice a little rougher than usual. "Incredible session, man. I'm wiped. I'm gonna hit the head before I head out."
Wayne waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah, you know where it's at…. Down the hall, third door. Don't steal the gold-plated toilet paper, bro. That shit's custom."
Everyone chuckled. But then, like a perfectly timed scene in a play, Kris stood up too. She smoothed down her tight dress, putting on her best 'concerned hostess' face.
"Oh, don't be silly, Wayne. I'll show him," she said, her voice sweet and earnest. She reached out and took my hand. Her skin was warm. "It's easy to get turned around in this big place."
Kim rolled her eyes so hard I thought they'd get stuck. "Mom, please. He's a big boy… He can find the bathroom. We all know you're just trying to get a private moment with the genius."
Kris turned, placing a hand on her hip, a picture of mock offense.
"I am simply being a good hostess! My God, can't a woman have good intentions without everyone assuming the worst? My hormones are not that out of control." She delivered the lie with such conviction it was almost believable.
The room nodded, buying her act completely. It was, as she said, only logical. Of course, the hostess would show a guest the bathroom.
"Come on, sweetie, it's just down here," Kris said, her tone now light and casual. She led the way, her hips swaying with a rhythm that promised everything her words had denied. A camera operator from their reality show crew took a step to follow us.
Kris glanced over her shoulder without breaking stride. "Ah, ah, ah. Give him some space. The poor man doesn't need a camera in his face while he's trying to pee. We'll be right back."
The camera halted. Her authority was absolute. She led me down a wide, art-filled hallway, away from the noise of the living room, toward a heavy, ornate door.
The door clicked shut behind us, and the world outside vanished. The bathroom was ludicrously large, all marble and gold fixtures, smelling of expensive sandalwood and bleach. The second the lock engaged, the poised matriarch vanished.
Kris Jenner dropped to her knees on the cold tile floor like a sack of bricks. Her eyes were wide, dark pools of pure hunger, fixed on my crotch. Her hands, which had been so gentle minutes before, were now frantic and desperate.
"I've been wanting to do this all goddamn day," she breathed out, her fingers fumbling with my belt buckle.
The clasp gave way. The button on my jeans popped open. The zipper came down with a rough zzzzip.
"Do what, exactly?" I asked, playing dumb, looking down at the top of her perfectly styled hair.
She didn't answer with words. She yanked my jeans and boxers down to my knees in one swift motion. My cock, already rock-hard from their earlier attention, sprang free and smacked right against her cheek with a solid "PAH!"
Her eyes went even wider, if that was possible. She gasped, a sharp intake of air.
"Oh my… oh my fucking God," she whispered, staring cross-eyed at the thick shaft now resting against her face. It was almost comical. "It's… it's a monster."
I grabbed my length, enjoying the weight of it in my hand, and slapped it against her pouty, plump lips. "You said you wanted to do this. So do it. Show me you deserve it. Show me you're better than your daughter."
The challenge ignited something in her. A competitive fire flashed in her eyes. She wrapped a hand around the base of my shaft, her grip firm.
"She isn't skilled enough to handle this," Kris purred, her voice already dripping with slutty promise. "Not like her mother."
She leaned forward, not taking me in her mouth just yet. Instead, she stuck out her tongue and began to lick the head of my cock in slow, deliberate circles.
"Sllrupp~" She swirled her tongue around the tip, tasting the pre-cum already beading there, coating me in her saliva.
It felt good. Really good. But I wasn't in the mood for a slow tease.
I tangled my fingers in her hair, fisting a handful and pulling her head back just enough to make her look at me. "Stop playing, Kris…. Suck it. Suck it like the whore you are."
I didn't guide her; I shoved. I pushed her head forward and drove my entire length deep into her mouth, down her throat in one brutal, unrelenting thrust.
"Ughk!" she gagged, her body jerking. But she didn't pull away. Her eyes watered instantly, tears welling up and tracing paths through her perfect makeup.
I held her there for a second, feeling the tight, convulsing heat of her throat around me, then pulled back until just the tip was in her mouth. Then I shoved down again. "Ugh. Ughk."
I set a punishing rhythm, fucking her face with deep, lunging strokes. Her head bobbed frantically, forced entirely by my grip on her hair. The sounds were obscene, a wet, sloppy symphony of need. The sharp, choked gags, "Ugh. Ughk," mixed with the lewd, sucking sounds of her mouth working my shaft "Schlurp. Schluuup. Schlurp."
"That's it," I grunted, my own hips beginning to piston forward to meet my thrusts. "Use that slut mouth. That's all it's good for."
"SLAP!!! SLAP!!!" The sound of my balls smacking against her chin echoed off the marble walls. Her tears were flowing freely now, her mascara starting to smear. She was a mess.
A beautiful, desperate, used mess. She reached between her own legs, frantically rubbing her clit over her dress as I throat-fucked her. A low moan,
"Ahn~ Ahhh!!" vibrated around my cock. I could smell her arousal, musky and sweet, filling the air. A dark patch of her juices bloomed on the front of her dress, and a small pool of her cum began to form on the floor beneath her. The bitch was coming from being used like a fuck-toy.
"You take it," I growled, driving into her one last time, burying myself to the hilt. I held myself there as my balls tightened and a familiar heat coiled in my gut. "Take my fucking load, you greedy cunt."
"Spluuurt Spluuurt Spluurt!" I came hard, jet after jet of thick cum shooting directly down her throat. Her entire body seized up. Her eyes rolled back into her head, showing pure white. Her fingers dug into my thighs as she swallowed convulsively around my pulsing cock.
When the last spasm faded, I pulled out with a wet pop. She collapsed forward, coughing and sputtering, "Ughk… cough… ugh…" strings of spit and cum connecting her lips to my slowly softening dick.
"Don't you dare waste it," I commanded, my voice rough. "Swallow. Every. Drop."
She looked up at me, dazed and utterly debauched, and obediently gulped, a visible shudder running through her.
I grabbed her under her arms and hauled her to her feet. She was unsteady, her legs wobbling. "Hands on the cabinet," I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument. Dazed, compliant, and dripping, she turned and placed her palms flat on the cool marble of the vanity, sticking her ass out, presenting herself. She knew what was coming next. The game was far from over.