Archive: Author: adminlilah

The robe is gone. I don’t know where it went. Maybe I took it off. Maybe it fell off. My boobies are too big for it anyway. They kept pushing it open and then it was just hanging off my shoulders doing nothing and clothes that do nothing are silly.

Clothes are silly.

I giggle. My tits bounce when I giggle and I can feel them and that makes me giggle more and then they bounce more and it’s like this loop that just keeps going and going and I’m standing in the hallway naked and giggling and bouncing and I don’t know where I’m going but my feet know.

My feet are smarter than me right now.

That’s so funny.

Something is pulling me. Not a hand. Not a rope. Just this feeling in my tummy. Like a string tied to the inside of my belly button that’s tugging me forward. Down the hall. Past the pink bedroom. Past the kitchen where Gavin made me— where I sucked— where I was on my knees and—

My pussy throbs.

Keep walking.

Past the library where all the books I can’t read live. Past a room with a big TV. Past another room with a bathtub I can see through the open door and I almost go in because baths are warm and warm is nice but the string keeps pulling.

I need to be somewhere.

I don’t know where. But I need to be there. It’s important. The most important thing. More important than cumming. Almost. Nothing is more important than cumming. But this is close.

I turn a corner and there’s a door. Dark wood. Heavy looking. And I know this door. My body knows it. My pussy clenches when I see it and my nipples get harder and my mouth starts watering and I know that behind this door is—

I push it open.

It’s an office. Big desk. Leather chair. Bookshelves. A lamp that makes everything golden and warm. Papers everywhere. And behind the desk, in the big leather chair, is—

Him.

My whole body goes liquid.

He’s reading something. Red pen in his hand. Glasses on. His sleeves are rolled up and I can see his forearms and the way the muscles move when he writes and his jaw is sharp and his eyes are dark and the silver at his temples catches the lamplight and I—

I can’t breathe.

I know him. I know him so deep it’s not even a thought. It’s in my bones. In my pussy. In the warm pink nothing where my brain used to be. He’s the most important person in the world. He’s the center of everything.

He hasn’t looked up yet.

There’s a sound. Wet. Sloppy. Coming from the corner of the office.

I look.

Kiki is on her knees. Gavin is sitting in a chair against the wall with his legs spread and Kiki’s head is bobbing in his lap. Her pigtails are wrapped around his fists and she’s making those happy little gurgling sounds and drool is running down her chin onto her tits and she looks so pretty.

I almost go over there. My mouth waters watching her. I want to suck something too. The thirst is right there, warm in my throat.

But the string in my tummy pulls tighter. Toward the desk. Toward him.

“Gavin.” His voice. Low. Rumbly. It rolls through me like thunder and my knees go weak. “Take your slut somewhere else. I’m working.”

Gavin groans. “Come on, man, she just—”

“Now.”

One word. That’s all it takes. Gavin’s hands drop from Kiki’s hair and he’s tucking himself in and standing up. Kiki whines. She actually whines when his cock leaves her mouth. Her lips are all shiny and puffy and she looks up at him with those big empty eyes.

“But I wasn’t done—”

“Come on, Kiki.” Gavin pulls her up by the arm. She stumbles on her heels. Her tits jiggle. She waves at me as Gavin steers her past.

“Hi Gabby! Have fun!”

Then they’re gone and the door clicks shut and it’s just me and him.

Naked. Dripping. Standing in the doorway of his office with my huge tits and my empty head and my pussy so wet I can feel it sliding down the inside of my thigh.

He looks up.

His eyes move over me. Slow. Starting at my face and dropping down to my tits and my waist and my hips and the wetness on my thighs and then back up. He takes off his glasses. Sets down his pen.

“There she is.”

Three words and my pussy clenches so hard I almost fall over.

I take a step forward. Then stop. I can’t just walk up to him. That’s not— I’m not supposed to— I need to—

I sink to my knees.

The carpet is soft. My tits hang heavy in front of me. I look up at him through my lashes and I can feel tears prickling because he’s so perfect and I need him so bad and I don’t know why I wasn’t here before. Why was I in the library? Why was I anywhere that wasn’t right here at his feet?

“Pro…” I start. “Profess…”

The word is so long. So many parts. Pro. Fess. Or. Three whole chunks and by the time I get to the second one the first one is gone.

“Profes… Profeh…”

He watches me struggle. There’s something in his eyes. Not mean. Patient. Like he’s waiting for me to figure it out.

“You know my name,” he says.

And I do.

It rises up from somewhere deep. Not from my brain. From lower. From the warm pink place where all the important things live now. The place where I know every sex toy by name. The place where I know how to suck cock and ride a dildo and make myself cum in four different positions. The place that knows what matters.

“Master.”

It falls out of my mouth like honey. Sweet and thick and warm and the second I say it my whole body relaxes. My shoulders drop. My thighs fall open wider. My pussy throbs and I can feel myself dripping onto the carpet.

Master smiles.

I could die.

“Good girl.”

I whimper. My clit pulses. Those two words do something to me that no orgasm has ever done. They fill up the empty spaces and make them glow.

“Master,” I say again. Just because I can. Just because it feels so good in my mouth. “Master. Master.”

“Come here.”

I crawl. Hands and knees across the soft carpet. My tits sway beneath me, heavy and full, nipples brushing the carpet with each movement and sending little sparks through me. I crawl around the desk to his feet and kneel there and look up at him.

He reaches down and cups my face. His hand is warm. Big. His thumb brushes across my lower lip and my mouth opens and I almost suck on it but I wait. I wait because Master didn’t tell me to.

“You had quite a morning,” he says.

“I forgot stuff,” I whisper. “I woke up and my boobies were big and I didn’t remember and Kiki had to help me and then I was in the kitchen and Gavin was there and I sucked his—” I stop. My cheeks get hot. “And then the library. I tried to read a book.”

He chuckles. Low and warm. “How did that go?”

“I couldn’t.” I look down. “The letters were all hard and my brain kept sending everything to my pussy.”

“That’s because your pussy is smarter than your brain now, Gabby.”

I nod. Because it’s true. My pussy knows everything.

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“It’s… it’s April Fools, right?” The memory is hazy. Thin. Like looking at something through fog. “I came to your office on April Fools and you said… you said something bad. And then there was a spiral. And I…”

He tilts my chin up. Makes me look at him.

“It’s not April Fools, Gabby.”

“But… but I just…”

“It’s September.”

The word doesn’t make sense. September is far away from April. September is months and months away. September means…

“You’ve been living here since April,” he says. His voice is so gentle. Like he’s explaining something to a child. “You’ve been my happy little bimbo for five months.”

“Five… months?”

“This happens sometimes. You wake up and you’ve forgotten. All the changes feel new again. Your tits. Your ass. Your empty little head.” He taps my forehead with one finger. “But you always find your way back to me.”

I’ve been his for five months. I’ve been walking around this house with my big tits and my wet pussy and my pink empty brain for five whole months and I just… forgot?

“I forget?”

“Every few weeks. You wake up confused. Scared, sometimes. But it never lasts.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “You always remember what matters.”

“Master,” I breathe.

“That’s right.”

I’ve been his bimbo for five months.

The thought should scare me. It should make me want to run.

But there’s nothing. Just warm pink nothing. And Master’s hand on my face. And the wet heat between my legs.

“I always come back to you?”

“Every time. Sometimes it takes an hour. Sometimes you make it all the way to the front door before you turn around.” He smiles. “Today you made it to the library.”

“I tried to read.”

“I know. Kiki told me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I know.”

I press my face into his palm. My eyes are wet. Not from sadness. From relief. I’ve been so confused all morning. Nothing made sense. My body didn’t match my memories and my memories didn’t match each other. But this makes sense. This is the answer.

I’m Master’s bimbo. I’ve been Master’s bimbo. I just forgot.

“Can you…” I lick my lips. “Can you make me remember? So I don’t forget again?”

He opens a drawer. Pulls out his laptop. Sets it on the desk.

“Look at the screen, Gabby.”

The spiral.

It blooms open on the black background. White lines curling inward. Slow. Pretty. And the second I see it something in my brain goes oh. Like meeting an old friend. Like coming home.

“Oh,” I sigh.

The hum starts. Not from the laptop. From inside me. From everywhere. It vibrates in my chest and sinks down through my belly and settles between my legs where it pulses in time with my heartbeat.

The spiral turns.

I watch.

My mouth falls open. My eyes go soft. I can feel the tension leaving my body. All the confusion from this morning. All the trying to remember. All the fear. It just melts. Drips away. Like ice cream in the sun.

“That’s it,” Master murmurs. “Just watch.”

The almost-word is there again. In the hum. Rising up through the warmth like a bubble.

Bimbo.

“Bimbo,” I whisper. It tastes like candy. Like it always does.

Bimbo. Bimbo. Bimbo.

Each pulse sends a wet throb through my clit. My thighs are shaking. My nipples are so hard they ache. I’m dripping onto the carpet. I can hear it. Little wet sounds.

“Who are you?” Master asks.

“Gabby.” The spiral pulses. “Master’s Gabby.”

“What are you?”

“Bimbo.” No hesitation. The word is the truest thing I’ve ever said. “I’m Master’s bimbo.”

“How long have you been mine?”

“Forever.” The spiral turns and the number settles into me. Solid. Real. “Since April. Since you showed me the spiral and I went to my knees and I never got back up.”

“That’s right. And what happened to the smart girl?”

I try to find her. I look inside my head for the girl with the spreadsheet. The girl who corrected people about her name. The girl who practiced in the mirror.

She’s not there.

There’s just pink. Warm, soft, wet pink. And at the center of it, like a heartbeat, the word bimbo pulsing over and over.

“She’s gone,” I say. And I smile. “She dripped out.”

“Where did she go?”

“Out my pussy.” I giggle. “Every time I cum she gets smaller and now she’s all gone and there’s just me.”

“And who are you?”

“Gabby. Master’s dumb little bimbo.”

The spiral keeps turning. I keep watching. Each rotation sinks me deeper. The hum gets thicker. Warmer. It wraps around me like a blanket.

“I’m Master’s bimbo,” I murmur. ” I’m Master’s bimbo.”

The words loop. Each repetition pushes them deeper. Past my brain. Past the pink. Into my bones. Into the part of me that breathes and bleeds and beats.

“I’m Master’s bimbo.”

“I’m Master’s bimbo.”

Master closes the laptop.

I blink. The office swims back into focus. My cheeks are wet. My pussy is clenching around nothing. I’m still on my knees and my thighs are soaked and I need—

I need—

“Master, please.” My voice is wrecked. Tiny and desperate and high. “Please I need you. I need your cock. I need you inside me please please please—”

He stands. I can see him through the desk. Hard. Straining against his slacks. My mouth waters so fast I almost choke.

He’s in front of me. I’m eye level with his belt. My hands are shaking as I reach for it.

“Please,” I beg. “Please let me— I need to—”

“Use your mouth.”

I undo his belt with my teeth. It takes forever. My fingers are clumsy and my jaw aches and I’m drooling everywhere but I get it. Button. Zipper. And then his cock is right there. Thick and hard and the tip is wet and I can smell him. Musk and skin and Master.

I moan before I even touch it.

“You’ve done this before,” he says. “Many times. Your mouth knows what to do.”

It does. My mouth knows. My mouth is so smart.

I take him in.

The taste hits my tongue and my eyes roll back and my pussy clenches so hard I almost cum. Salt and skin and something deeper. Something that tastes like belonging. Like home.

I suck. Sloppy and wet and messy. Drool running down my chin. Down my neck. Dripping onto my tits. I take him deeper. Past the point where I gag. Past the point where my eyes water. He hits the back of my throat and I swallow around him and the sound he makes is the best thing I’ve ever heard.

Better than any grade.

Better than any praise from any professor.

Wait. He is my professor. Was. Was my professor. Before. When I was smart and I sat in his class and I squeezed my thighs together during lectures and I went home and I touched myself thinking about—

This. I was thinking about this. About being on my knees with his cock in my throat. And now I’m here. I’m actually here. The fantasy is real and it’s better than I ever imagined because I didn’t know. I didn’t know that sucking his cock would make my brain go quiet. I didn’t know that the taste of him would fill up all the empty spaces. I didn’t know that this is what I was made for.

He pulls out of my mouth. I whine. Chase him. My lips are swollen and shiny and I need him back.

“On the desk.”

I scramble up. Papers scatter. I don’t care. I hop onto the edge of the desk and my tits bounce and my legs fall open and I’m so wet that I can see it. Glistening on my thighs. On my pussy. My folds are puffy and pink and my clit is swollen and throbbing and I need him inside me so bad I could scream.

“Please, Master. Please fuck me. Please fuck your dumb little bimbo.”

He steps between my legs. The head of his cock presses against my entrance. Just barely. Just enough that I can feel the heat of him. The thickness.

“Say it again.”

“I’m Master’s bimbo.” My voice shakes. “I’m your bimbo. I’m your dumb little bimbo and I need your cock and I need you to fuck me and I need—”

He pushes in.

One thrust. All the way. So deep I can feel him in my stomach. In my chest. In my brain.

I scream.

Not a moan. Not a gasp. A scream. High and raw and broken. My back arches off the desk and my tits bounce and my pussy clamps down on him so tight I can feel every vein. Every ridge. Every inch of him stretching me open and filling me up.

“MASTER!”

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t let me adjust. He pulls back and slams in again and the desk shudders and papers fly and something falls off the edge and shatters and I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.

“I’m Master’s bimbo,” I gasp. He thrusts. “I’m Master’s bimbo.” Thrust. “I’m Master’s— oh GOD— Master’s bimbo—”

Each thrust drives the words deeper. Past my mouth. Past my brain. Into the core of me. Branding them there. Permanent. Unshakeable.

“I’m Master’s bimbo. I’m Master’s bimbo. I’m Master’s bimbo.”

His hands grip my hips. Hard enough to bruise. Hard enough that I’ll feel the marks tomorrow and I’ll press on them and get wet remembering.

“Louder,” he commands.

“I’M MASTER’S BIMBO!”

He fucks me harder. The desk is slamming against the wall. My tits are bouncing so hard they’re hitting my chin. Wet sounds fill the office. My pussy. So wet. So loud. Squelching around his cock with every thrust.

“I’m Master’s bimbo! I’m Master’s dumb— slutty— empty-headed— BIMBO!”

I’m crying. Tears streaming down my face. Not from pain. From everything. From how full I am. How complete. Every thrust fills up another empty space and the spaces aren’t empty anymore. They’re full of him. Full of Master.

“I’m never gonna forget again,” I sob. “I’m never gonna wake up confused. I’m Master’s bimbo. I’ve always been Master’s bimbo. I was Master’s bimbo before I even knew it. When I was sitting in your class squeezing my thighs together I was already yours. When I was touching myself at night saying your name I was already yours. I was always gonna end up right here on your desk with your cock inside me because this is what I’m FOR.”

He groans. Low and animal. His thrusts get harder. Faster. Deeper.

“I’m Master’s bimbo. I’m Master’s bimbo. I’m Master’s bimbo.”

Over and over. Each repetition pushes it deeper. It’s not words anymore. It’s my heartbeat. It’s the rhythm of his cock inside me. It’s the pulse of my clit and the clench of my pussy and the bounce of my tits.

“I’m gonna cum,” I whimper. “Master please can I cum please please—”

“Not yet.”

I SOB. My pussy is clenching so hard it hurts. I’m right there. Right on the edge. One more thrust and I’ll—

He slows down. Long, deep strokes. Pulling almost all the way out and then pushing back in so slow I can feel every inch.

“When you cum,” he says, and his voice is rough now, strained, “you’re going to let go of everything. Every last scrap. Every memory of who you were before. You’re going to let it all drip out of your pretty little pussy and what’s left is going to be mine. Completely. Permanently. Do you understand?”

“Yes Master.” I’m shaking. Vibrating. My whole body is one big throb.

“And I’m going to fill you up, Gabby. Not just your pussy. Not just your head.” His hand slides down to my belly. Presses flat against it. Warm and big and possessive. “Here.”

Oh.

Oh.

The thought hits me like lightning. Master is going to cum inside me. Deep inside me. And he’s going to—

“You’re going to give me a baby, Master?” My voice is tiny. Awed.

“I’m going to fuck one into you.”

My pussy clenches so hard he groans.

“Yes.” I’m nodding. Tears streaming. “Yes yes yes. Put a baby in me. Fill me up. I wanna be round and full and pregnant for Master. I wanna carry your baby and my tits are gonna get even bigger and I’m gonna be so pretty and so full and—”

He thrusts hard. Bottoms out. I feel him all the way in.

“Please, Master. Breed me. Breed your dumb little bimbo. I want it. I want it so bad. I wanna be yours forever. I wanna have your babies and suck your cock and be your empty-headed slut for the rest of my life and I never wanna think again. I never wanna read again. I never wanna remember anything except your cock and your name and how to be good for you.”

“Cum.”

One word.

My body detonates.

It starts in my pussy and rips outward. Through my belly. Through my chest. Up into my brain where it explodes like fireworks. Pink fireworks. Warm and bright and everywhere.

I scream his name. “MASTER! MASTER! MASTER!”

My pussy clamps down on him in waves. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release. And each squeeze pushes something out. The last things. The final scraps.

The smell of my childhood bedroom. Pop. Gone.

The feeling of holding a pen during an exam. Pop. Gone.

The girl I used to be. The girl who had a plan. The girl who practiced in the mirror and color-coded her spreadsheet and corrected people about her name.

Pop.

Gone.

And what fills the space is Master. Just Master. His cock. His voice. His hands. His cum. Master is my whole world now. Master is all I need. Master is everything.

He cums.

I feel it. Hot and thick and so deep. Flooding into me. Filling me up. His cum pouring into my pussy and my womb and I can feel it. I can feel it finding the place where a baby will grow. Where his baby will grow. Inside me. Because I’m his.

“I’m Master’s bimbo,” I whisper. My voice is wrecked. Barely there. “I’m Master’s bimbo.”

He keeps cumming. So much. It’s leaking out around his cock, dripping down onto the desk, and I’m still clenching, still milking him, my pussy trying to keep every drop inside because it’s Master’s cum and I can’t waste it. I can’t let any of it go.

“I’m Master’s bimbo.”

He collapses against me. His weight on top of me. His face in my neck. I can feel his breath. Hot and ragged. His cock still inside me. Still twitching. Still filling me.

My arms wrap around him. My legs lock behind his back. Keeping him close. Keeping him inside.

“I’m Master’s bimbo,” I murmur into his hair. “I’m Master’s bimbo. I’m Master’s bimbo.”

The words are soft now. Not desperate. Not screaming. Just true. Just the truest thing in the world. Said quiet and warm like a prayer.

He lifts his head. Looks at me. His dark eyes are soft. Softer than I’ve ever seen them. His thumb wipes a tear off my cheek.

“Welcome home, Gabby.”

I smile. Big and dopey and wet and happy. So happy. The happiest I’ve ever been.

“I’m home,” I say.

He pulls out slow. His cum gushes out of me. So much of it. Warm and thick running down my thighs and onto the desk and I reach down and scoop some up and put my fingers in my mouth because I can’t waste it. I won’t waste it.

He watches me suck his cum off my fingers and his cock twitches and I know he’s going to fuck me again. Soon. Maybe in a few minutes. Maybe right now. I’ll be ready. I’m always ready.

I lie on his desk. Naked and sticky and full and empty. Papers stuck to my sweaty skin. His cum pooling between my legs. My tits rising and falling with each breath. My brain quiet and warm and pink and soft.

No thoughts.

No worries.

No plans.

Just Master’s cum in my pussy and Master’s baby in my belly and Master’s name in my heart and nothing else. Nothing else forever.

I giggle.

My tits bounce.

Master’s hand rests on my tummy. Warm and big and possessive. Right over the place where his baby is going to grow.

“Master?”

“Yes, Gabby?”

“I’m not gonna forget tomorrow. I can feel it. You fucked it in so deep. I’m not gonna forget.”

He kisses my forehead. “And if you do?”

I think about it. My brain is slow and warm and it takes a while. But the answer comes. Easy. Simple. The only answer.

“Then you’ll fuck me again until I remember.”

He laughs. Low and warm and rumbly. It vibrates through me everywhere we’re still touching.

“That’s my good girl.”

I find the library by acci… by ass… I wasn’t looking. I was looking for the bathroom. Or maybe I was just walking because walking makes my boobs bounce and bouncing feels nice.

But then I turned a corner and there were shelves. Big tall dark wood shelves full of books and the smell hit me. Paper and leather and something dusty and old and for a second—just a second—something flickered.

I used to love this smell.

I walk in. My fingers trail along the spines. So many of them. Gold letters pressed into leather. I pull one out. It’s heavy. The cover is dark red and the title says…

Says…

The letters are right there. I can see them. They’re in a row and they make a word. I know how words work. You look at the letters and they become a sound and the sound means something.

I stare at the first word.

P… H… I… L…

Phil.

Phil something.

Phil-o…

“Oooooh.” My thumb is on my nipple. When did that happen? I put my hand back on the book.

Phil-o-so…

“Philo… soffy?”

That doesn’t sound right. But it also doesn’t sound wrong because I don’t know what it’s supposed to sound like. The second word is even longer and I can feel my brain kind of… sliding off it. Like trying to climb something wet.

I sit down on the big leather chair. It’s cool against my bare thighs because my robe is basically just a suggestion at this point. I open the book. Page one.

“The… the… con-cept… of… of…”

My eyes move across the line. Each word takes so long. I used to read fast. I remember that. I could read a whole page in like… a number of seconds. A small number.

Now I’m on the third word and my pussy is tingling.

Why is my pussy tingling? I’m reading! Reading is the opposite of pussy tingling. Reading is for smart people who don’t get wet just from sitting in a chair.

I shift my hips and the leather squeaks against my bare skin and the friction hits my clit through my thin robe and—

“Oh.”

Okay. Okay okay okay. I’m just gonna read. One page. I can do one page. I was smart. I had a… a number. A grade number. Three point something.

I look at the book.

“The concept of… of…”

The next word has so many letters. I try to sound it out and my lips move and nothing comes out and the trying makes my head feel heavy and warm and the warmth sinks down into my belly and my thighs press together.

Why does trying to think make me horny?

That’s not how brains work. Brains and pussies are different things. They don’t—

But every time I try to grab a word my clit pulses. Like my brain is connected to my pussy and every thought I try to think gets rerouted down there instead. Like the wires got crossed and now thinking equals horny.

I squirm in the chair.

I’m going to read this sentence.

“The concept of… meta… meta-fizzy…”

My hand is between my legs.

I didn’t put it there. It just went. Like it has its own brain and its brain is way more in charge than my brain right now. My fingers are pressing against my pussy through the silk and I’m wet. Already wet. Still wet. Always wet.

“Meta-fizzy-cal…” I whisper, and my finger slides over my clit and the word dissolves.

Stop. Stop touching yourself. Read the book.

I pull my hand away. I look at the page.

The letters swim.

Not literally. They’re staying still. But my eyes can’t hold onto them. I read one word and by the time I get to the next one I’ve forgotten the first one. It’s like trying to carry water in my hands.

I try again. Slower.

“The…”

Good. I know that one.

“…concept…”

Okay. Harder. But I got it.

“…of…”

Easy!

“…meta…”

My finger is on my clit again.

“Ugh!”

I slam the book shut. My face is hot. My pussy is throbbing. I had three fingers pressed against myself and I didn’t even notice until just now and I’m so wet I can feel it soaking into the leather seat.

I can’t read.

The thought should scare me. It does scare me.

But the screaming girl in my head is so far away and my clit is so close and the book is so hard and my fingers are so easy.

I lean back in the chair. My robe falls open. My tits spill out, heavy and round, nipples stiff in the cool library air. I look down at them. They’re so pretty. Way prettier than books.

My fingers find my pussy again and this time I don’t stop them.

I’m so wet. My folds are puffy and slippery and my clit is swollen and when I rub little circles it sends sparks up through my belly and into my head where they pop and fizz and burn away whatever I was trying to think about.

“Mmm…”

I rub faster. My hips rock against my hand. The leather squeaks. My tits bounce. I’m in a library touching myself and I can’t stop because every time I try to think about why I should stop, the thought turns into pleasure and the pleasure turns into nothing and the nothing feels so good.

My other hand squeezes my boob. Pinches my nipple. The jolt goes straight down.

“Oh… oh God…”

I’m close already. I’m always close now. It takes nothing. A touch. A thought. The word “bimbo” whispered in the back of my head like a heartbeat.

My fingers push inside. Two of them. Wet and easy and my pussy grabs them and squeezes and I curl them up and—

“Whatcha doin’?”

My eyes fly open.

Kiki is in the doorway. She’s wearing a tiny pink crop top that barely contains her tits and a skirt that doesn’t even pretend to cover her ass. Her hair is in pigtails. She’s holding a lollipop.

She’s looking at me with my robe open, tits out, two fingers knuckle deep in my pussy, sitting in a leather chair in the library.

“Reading!” I yank my fingers out. Slam my knees together. Grab my robe. “I was reading!”

She looks at the closed book on the floor where I dropped it. Then back at me. Her lips curl around the lollipop.

“That’s stupid.”

“It was! I was reading and then I just… I got…” My face is on fire. “The book was hard.”

“Books are super hard,” she agrees, nodding seriously. She walks over and picks it up. Looks at the cover. Turns it upside down. Turns it back. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about… phil… philo…”

“Who’s Phil?”

“No! It’s a… it’s like thinking about thinking? About big questions and stuff?”

“Ew.” She drops the book. “That sounds really boring. No wonder you were touching your pussy instead.”

“I wasn’t—” But I was. I literally was. My fingers are still wet. “Okay I was. But I didn’t mean to! I was trying to read and my brain just kept… it’s like my brain sends everything to my pussy now. Every thought just goes down there.”

“Oh my God, same!” Kiki bounces. Her tits bounce with her. I stare at them. “My brain does that too! It’s way better, right?”

“No! It’s not better! I used to be able to read!”

“Could you though?” She tilts her head. Genuinely confused.

“YES! I could read whole books! Long ones! With tiny letters and no pictures!”

She gasps. “No pictures? That’s so sad.”

I open my mouth to argue and then close it because… she’s kind of right? Books without pictures are kind of sad. All those words just sitting there being hard and confusing when they could be pretty colors instead.

No. No no no. That’s not me. That’s the… the thing that’s happening to me. The spiral and the—

“Hey!” Kiki plops down on the arm of my chair. Her thigh presses against mine. Warm. “I have an idea! What if I quiz you?”

“Quiz me?”

“Yeah! Like, I ask you stuff and you answer and then we can see how smart you still are!” She claps her hands together. “It’ll be like school!”

School. The word triggers something. A building. Hallways. A lecture hall where a man with silver at his temples—

My pussy clenches.

“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Yeah. Okay. That might help.”

Maybe if someone asks me questions I can find the answers. They’re in there somewhere. Buried under all the pink and the warmth and the wet. I just need someone to dig them out.

Kiki pulls her legs up onto the chair, sitting cross-legged facing me. Her skirt rides up. She’s not wearing underwear. I can see her pussy. It’s smooth and pink and—

Focus.

“Okay okay okay.” She taps her chin with the lollipop. “First question. Super easy. What’s… um… two plus two?”

“Four.” It comes out instantly. Relief floods through me. I still know things.

“Yay!” Kiki claps. Then she leans forward and kisses me on the lips. Quick and soft and sweet and my whole body lights up.

“Wh— what was that for?”

“You got it right! You get a kiss when you get it right!”

“I don’t need a—”

“Next question! What’s the capital of… um…” She scrunches her face. “France?”

“Paris.”

“Ooh!” Another kiss. This one is a little longer. Her lips are so soft. She tastes like strawberry from the lollipop. My nipples tighten.

“Okay okay. What’s… what year did… um…” She looks at the ceiling. “What year is it right now?”

“It’s twenty twenty—” I stop. Twenty twenty… what? There’s a number after that. I know there is. “Twenty twenty…”

“Take your time!”

“Twenty twenty… f…” No. Not f. “Twenty twenty…”

The number is gone. It was there this morning. I think. Was it? Do I remember this morning?

“I don’t… I can’t…”

“Aww.” Kiki’s face melts into sympathy. She leans in and kisses me again. Slow this time. Her tongue slides against my lower lip and I open for her without thinking and her tongue slips into my mouth and I moan.

She pulls back. “That’s your wrong-answer kiss. So you still feel good even when you don’t know stuff.”

My head is buzzing. “That’s not… that’s not how quizzes work.”

“It’s how my quizzes work! Okay next one. What’s… what was your major?”

“My major was…” I had one. I definitely had one. It was… something with letters and reading and… “Eng… Engl…”

“English?”

“Maybe? That sounds… it sounds like a word I would know…”

“What’s English?”

I open my mouth. Close it. “It’s… when you read the… the things. The books. And you write about… what the books mean?”

“Why would you write about what books mean? Books already mean what they mean.”

“No, you like… you anal… analy…” The word is too long. “You think about them really hard.”

“And that’s fun?”

I try to remember if it was fun. I remember… a desk. Papers. A feeling in my chest like I’d figured something out. Pride?

But the memory is flat. Like a picture of a feeling instead of the feeling itself.

“I think it was?” I say. But I don’t sound sure.

“Hmm.” Kiki taps the lollipop against her lips. “Okay. What’s… eight times seven?”

“Fifty… fif…” I count in my head. Eight times seven. Eight. Sixteen. Twenty-four. I lose track. Start over. Eight. Sixteen. I can feel each number slipping away as I reach for the next one. “Fifty… something?”

“I don’t know either!” She kisses me. This time her hand lands on my thigh. High up. Her fingers are warm and my legs drift apart.

“Kiki…”

She kisses me deeper. Her hand slides higher. Her fingertips brush the edge of my pussy and I whimper into her mouth.

“Who wrote Romeo and Juliet?”

“Shake… Shakespeare!” The name bursts out of me and I feel a rush of triumph.

“Yay!” She kisses me and squeezes my boob at the same time and the triumph dissolves into a moan.

“What did Shakespeare write about?”

“He wrote about… love? And like… kings and stuff? And there were… plays? Where people…”

“Boring!” She pinches my nipple. I gasp. “Okay okay what about science. What’s… um… what’s DNA?”

“DNA is…” I know this. I learned this. It’s in cells. It’s the… “It’s the… twisty… ladder… thing?”

“Oh my God, a twisty ladder?” She looks delighted. “That’s so cute!”

“No, it’s like… it tells your body how to… how to be? Like the instructions for…”

“Instructions for your body?” Her eyes go wide. “Like, instructions for your boobies?”

“I… I guess?”

“So DNA is why your boobies are so big?”

I look down at my tits. They’re spilling out of my robe. So round. So heavy.

“I don’t think that’s how…”

But I can’t finish the sentence because I genuinely don’t know if that’s how it works or not. The twisty ladder thing is getting fuzzier. I can picture it but I can’t remember what it does.

“Next question! Spell ‘necessary.'”

“N… E… C…” I stop. “N… E… S?” No. “N… E… C… E… S… S…”

Too many letters. They’re jumbling up. I can’t hold them in order. It’s like trying to line up marbles on a slope.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

Kiss. Tongue. Her hand cups my pussy and I moan into her mouth and grind against her palm.

“Spell ‘beautiful.'”

“B… E… A… U…” I’m grinding against her hand. “T… I…” Her finger slides between my folds. “F… uh… um…”

“You’re doing so good!”

“I can’t remember the rest.” My hips are moving on their own. Her finger is teasing my entrance. “I used to… I could spell everything… I won a spelling bee in sixth grade…”

“What’s a spelling bee?”

“It’s where you… you stand up and… and someone says a word and you…” Her finger pushes inside me. Just the tip. “Oh God…”

“And you what?”

“You… you spell it… and if you get it right you…” Deeper. “You stay… and if you… ohhhh…”

“That sounds really hard. You must have been so smart.”

“I was.” My voice cracks. “I was so smart, Kiki. I was the smartest girl in my class and now I can’t… I can’t even…”

“Shhhh.” She kisses my cheek. Her finger slides all the way in and I arch my back. “It’s okay. Being smart was so hard, right? All that thinking and worrying and remembering stuff?”

“Uh huh.” I’m nodding. Tears are pricking my eyes but my pussy is clenching around her finger and I don’t know which feeling is bigger.

“And now you don’t have to do any of that.” Her thumb finds my clit. Slow circles. “Isn’t that better?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“I think you do know.” She adds a second finger. “I think your pussy knows.”

My pussy does know. My pussy knows everything now. It’s the smartest part of me.

“Okay!” Kiki pulls her fingers out and I actually cry out. “I just had the best idea!”

“Wha— no, don’t stop—”

“I know what you know!” She’s bouncing again. Tits everywhere. “You don’t know boring stuff anymore but you know fun stuff!”

She hops off the chair and disappears. I’m left there panting, robe destroyed, pussy throbbing, two seconds from just finishing myself off when she comes bouncing back in carrying a pink bag.

She dumps it on the floor between my legs.

Sex toys.

A whole collection. Different shapes and sizes and colors. Vibrators and dildos and things I don’t have names for and things I—

Wait.

I do have names for them.

“Okay!” Kiki holds up a slim pink vibrator with a curved tip. “What’s this?”

“That’s a rabbit vibe.” The answer comes instantly. No hesitation. No fumbling. “The curved part goes on your clit and you can like, adjust the speed with the button on the bottom.”

Kiki squeals. “YES! See? You’re so smart!”

She kisses me hard. Tongue and teeth and I moan.

She holds up the next one. Purple. Thick. Ridged.

“G-spot dildo,” I say. “The ridges make it feel all bumpy inside you and you angle it up toward your belly button and it hits the—” I shiver. “The spot.”

“Oh my God, you’re like a genius!”

Another kiss. My pussy is dripping. I can feel it pooling on the leather.

She holds up a small silver thing with a flared base.

“Butt plug.” No hesitation. “You use lots of lube and go slow and it feels really full and it makes your pussy tighter when something else is inside you at the same time.”

“GABBY!” She’s clapping. “You’re so smart about this stuff!”

I am. I really am. The answers are just there. Crystal clear. No fumbling, no fading, no trying to grab letters that slip away. I know every toy. I know what it does. I know how it feels.

Kiki holds up a thick realistic dildo. Flesh colored. Veiny.

“That’s a—” My mouth waters. “That’s an eight-inch realistic with a suction cup base. You can stick it to the floor or the wall and ride it.”

“Show me?”

“What?”

She licks the suction cup and sticks it to the leather ottoman in front of my chair. It stands straight up. Thick and hard and glistening with her spit.

“Show me how smart you are, Gabby.”

I stare at it. My pussy clenches. Hard.

“I…”

“You know exactly what to do with it. I can tell.”

I do. I know exactly what to do with it. My body knows. My hips are already shifting forward.

“We should keep quizzing,” I say weakly. “I should practice the… the brain stuff…”

“This IS brain stuff!” Kiki picks up the rabbit vibe and clicks it on. It buzzes in her hand. “Every time you show me how a toy works, you’re proving how smart you are!”

That… that logic doesn’t… does it?

She presses the vibrating tip against my nipple and every thought about logic evaporates.

“Ohhhhh…”

“See? You know exactly how this feels. You know what speed is best. You know where it goes.” She trails it down my stomach. “All that smart stuff about books and math? That was taking up space. Now you have room for the important stuff.”

The vibrator traces down my belly. Over my hip. Along the crease of my thigh. So close to my pussy but not touching it and I’m squirming, chasing it.

“Please…”

“Tell me what this one does first.” She holds up a small curved thing with two prongs.

“Clit sucker,” I gasp. “It uses air pulses to— to simulate oral and you put it right over your— please Kiki please just touch me—”

She presses the rabbit vibe against my clit.

My whole body jerks. The vibration is intense and perfect and I grab the arms of the chair and my tits bounce and I’m making sounds, high desperate sounds.

She increases the speed.

“FUCK!” My hips buck. “Kiki— I’m gonna—”

She pulls the vibe away.

“No!” I actually sob. “No no no please—”

“Not yet, silly!” She boops my nose. “We’re still quizzing!”

I’m shaking. My clit is throbbing so hard it hurts. I was right there. Right on the edge. And she just—

“What’s this?” She holds up a leather strap with a round ball in the middle.

“Ball gag,” I whimper. “Goes in your mouth so you can’t talk and you drool everywhere and it’s—” My pussy clenches. “It’s so hot.”

She presses the vibe against me again. Lower speed. Just enough to make me squirm but not enough to cum.

Speed up. My eyes roll back.

“And this?” I can barely see. Something pink and curved.

“Prostate— no. No that’s a— it’s a—” The vibration is scrambling me. “Wand attachment. Goes on the head of a wand vibrator for— for pinpoint stim— stimu—”

“Stimulation?”

“Yeah that word.” I’m panting. Drooling a little. “Kiki please I need to cum so bad please please—”

“One more!” She holds up a thick glass dildo. Clear with pink swirls inside.

“Glass dildo,” I moan. “You can put it in hot water or cold water to change the temperature and it’s so smooth and it hits every spot and you can see through it when it’s inside you if you look with a mirror and—”

“You’re SO smart, Gabby!” She pushes the vibe hard against my clit and my vision goes white around the edges.

“Please let me cum please let me cum please—”

“Get on the dildo first.”

The suction cup one. On the ottoman. I look at it through tear-blurred eyes. Thick and hard and waiting.

I slide off the chair. My legs are jelly. I straddle the ottoman and I can feel the tip of the dildo pressing against my entrance and I’m so wet it’s obscene. I can hear how wet I am.

I sink down.

“Ohhhhhhh…”

It stretches me open. Thick and hard and every inch fills me up more and more and I can feel it so deep and my tits are bouncing as I lower myself and Kiki is watching with her lollipop and her big empty pretty eyes.

I take all of it. Sitting on the ottoman with a fake cock buried inside me and my pussy stretched and full and throbbing.

“Now ride it,” Kiki whispers. “And I’ll help.”

She clicks on the rabbit vibe. Presses it against my clit.

I start to move.

Up and down. Slow at first. Feeling every inch slide out and then push back in. The ridges. The thickness. The vibe on my clit buzzing and buzzing. My tits bouncing with every thrust.

“What’s your name?” Kiki asks.

“Gabby.” No hesitation. Not Gabrielle. Gabby.

“What’s your major?”

“Don’t… don’t have one…” I’m riding faster. “Don’t go to school…”

“What’s two plus two?”

“Ff… four?”

“What’s eight times seven?”

“I don’t… ahhh… I don’t know…”

“What’s a rabbit vibrator?”

“Curved tip— clit stimulation— adjustable speed— oh GOD—”

I’m bouncing now. Really bouncing. The wet sounds are filling the library. Slap slap slap of my ass against the leather and the squelch of my pussy around the dildo and the buzz of the vibe and my moaning. So much moaning.

Kiki pushes the vibe harder. Increases the speed.

“What’s DNA?”

“I don’t— what?”

“Who wrote Romeo and Juliet?”

“I— someone— a guy—”

“What’s the best position for a suction cup dildo?”

“Reverse cowgirl on a hard surface so you can control the depth and angle with your thighs and lean back to hit your g-spot!” I’m screaming it. Every word perfect. Every word clear.

“GOOD GIRL!”

I cum.

It hits me like a wall. My whole body locks up and I slam down on the dildo and my pussy clamps so hard I can feel my heartbeat in it. My mouth opens but nothing comes out. Just air. Just nothing. My eyes go back in my head and I can feel it—something letting go. Something in my brain just… releasing. Like a knot untying. Like a door opening and everything behind it just pouring out.

Facts. Dates. Names. Formulas. Books I read. Papers I wrote. The spelling of “necessary.” The year I was born. My mother’s middle name. The capital of—

Gone.

Pouring out of me like my brain is cumming too. Like every clench of my pussy squeezes another thought out and it drips away and what’s left is warm and pink and empty and so so so good.

I cum again. Stacked right on top of the first one. My body convulses and I’m screaming now, really screaming, and Kiki doesn’t let up with the vibe. She holds it right on my clit and I can feel another orgasm building on top of the one that’s still happening.

“Let it go, Gabby,” she coos. “Let all that silly smart stuff just drip right out of your pretty little pussy.”

Third orgasm. My vision goes white. Then pink. My thighs are shaking so hard I can’t hold myself up and I collapse forward, the dildo still inside me, my tits smashed against the ottoman, my ass in the air, trembling and twitching and cumming and cumming.

Each orgasm takes something.

I can feel them going. Little pops of light behind my eyes. Each one was a thing I knew. A thing I learned. A thing I worked for.

Pop. Gone.

Pop. Gone.

Pop. Gone.

And what fills the empty spaces isn’t nothing. It’s warm. It’s pink. It’s soft and sweet and it feels like being wrapped in cotton candy. It feels like floating. It feels like the best thing I’ve ever felt.

Better than any grade.

Better than any A+.

Better than being smart ever felt.

Kiki turns off the vibe. I’m lying on the ottoman. Twitching. The dildo is still inside me and my pussy keeps squeezing it in little aftershocks and each one sends another ripple of warm empty pink through my head.

I’m drooling on the leather. I can feel it on my chin. I don’t care.

“Gabby?” Kiki’s voice is far away. Sweet. “You okay?”

I try to answer. My mouth moves but what comes out is just: “Mmmmhhhh.”

“How do you feel?”

I feel… I feel…

“Good,” I mumble. “Feel really really good.”

“What’s two plus two?”

I think about it. I really try. Two and then two more and that’s…

“…a number?”

Kiki giggles. “Close enough! What’s your name?”

“Gabby.”

“What do you like?”

“Cumming.” No hesitation. “And boobies. And sucking cock. And toys. And Kiki. And Master.”

“What’s the capital of France?”

“…”

“What year is it?”

“…”

“What’s your last name?”

I blink. My last name. I have one. Everyone has one. It starts with… it starts…

“Dunno,” I say. And I smile. Because I don’t know and that’s okay. Not knowing is easy. Not knowing means I don’t have to hold onto anything. I can just be here. On this ottoman. Full and warm and empty and happy.

Kiki strokes my hair. “You did so good on your quiz.”

“I did?”

“You got all the important ones right.”

I got all the important ones right. The toys. The positions. The feelings. The stuff that matters.

The other stuff… the books and the numbers and the letters…

Who needs it?

I giggle. It comes out bubbly and light. My tits press against the leather and it feels nice so I wiggle a little and they squish and I giggle again.

“Kiki?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we do another quiz later?”

She beams at me. “Totally! I have way more toys to show you.”

I smile. Big and dopey. Cum is drying on my thighs. My pussy is still twitching. My brain is warm and quiet and empty.

The robe is pink silk.

It keeps falling open. I keep trying to close it but then my hands brush my boobs and I just… oooh…

They’re so soft. And heavy. And when my fingers find my nipples it’s like this jolt that goes all the way down to my pussy and I forget what I was doing.

I’m walking down a hallway. I don’t know this hallway. My fingers are on my nipples and I’m walking and my tits are just out and I can feel the air on them and it feels so good.

Everything is soft. The carpet. The walls. The light. All of it warm and soft and I keep walking and my boobs sway with every step and I can feel them swaying and that makes me want to touch them and touching them makes me forget and then I’m walking again and they’re swaying and I want to—

I giggle.

Why am I giggling?

Focus. I need to find a phone. I need to call someone cuz I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. I can call my roommate. She had brown hair and she was always studying and her name was…

My thumb drags across my nipple.

Gone.

I keep walking. Left at the end. Then right. Then down some stairs.

Then I’m in a kitchen.

It’s big. White marble. One of those huge fridges. There’s fruit on the island and everything is clean and I know where the glasses are.

I stop.

I know where the glasses are. In the cabinet above the sink. Mugs one shelf up.

How do I know that?

My hand is on my boob again. I pull it back down. My fingers are wet. Why are my fingers wet?

I’ve never been in this kitchen. I’ve never been in this house. I woke up in a strange bed with a girl sucking on my titties and now I’m standing here and I know where the glasses are and that’s not… that’s…

Something happened to me. On April first. I went to Professor King’s office and… and then…

It gets fuzzy after the desk.

I look down. My robe is open. My tits are just hanging there. Huge and round and my nipples are so hard they almost hurt.

Okay the boobs are real. I can feel them. But everything else—

“Well, well, well.”

I spin around.

There’s a guy in the doorway. His eyes drop to my tits.

I should cover up. I should close my robe and tell him to stop looking.

My hands don’t move.

Something warm between my legs likes the way he’s looking. Likes how his eyes go heavy.

No. Stop.

I grab the robe. Pull it shut. “Who are you?”

He takes a step closer. “Gavin.”

“Gavin who?”

“Gavin who lives here with you, little slut.”

“I don’t— this isn’t—” The words keep slipping. “This isn’t my house.”

“No,” he says. He’s smiling. “It’s not.” He reaches out and tugs the tie of my robe. It falls open. Everything showing. I should scream. I should slap him. But my nipples get harder and I can feel myself getting wetter and I just stand there.

He walks behind me. His hand on my lower back. Sliding down. Down over the silk and then under it and—

I gasp.

His hand cups my ass. And there’s so much of it. His fingers sink in and I can feel how round it is. How it fills his whole hand and then some.

“That’s not— that wasn’t—”

He squeezes. Hard. And heat floods straight between my legs so fast I have to grab the counter.

“My butt is small—”

He squeezes again and my knees buckle a little. My ass is so sensitive. Like my boobs. Every inch of me is just waiting to be touched and it’s not fair because I can’t—

“I was normal! I had a normal body and I was going to— going to grad—”

SMACK.

His hand comes down on my ass and my brain goes white. Fuzzy. Nothing. The sting turns to warmth and the warmth sinks down into my pussy and I’m so wet I can feel it on my thighs.

“Oh,” I breathe.

SMACK.

“It’s always so fun when you forget,” Gavin croons.

I dunno what he’s saying. What did I forget?

My body jolts forward and my tits hit the cold marble and the sting and the cold hit me at the same time and—

I moan. It comes out of me loud and desperate and slutty and I can hear myself and it doesn’t sound like me. Doesn’t sound like anyone I—

SMACK.

“Ohhhhh please—”

Please what? I don’t even know. Please stop? Please more? Please—

His palm rubs slow circles over where he hit. Hot skin on hot skin. I’m bent over the island. Tits flat on the marble. Ass in the air. Robe bunched around my elbows.

And I’m so thirsty. Not for water. For something. I need something in my mouth. Something thick and I can feel him pressing against me through his jeans and my hips push back before I can stop them.

“What’s your last name, Gabby?”

“M… Mo… it starts with M…”

“What’s your major?”

“Wha’s… major…”

I can feel him pressed against my ass. Hard. My brain keeps trying to grab the answer and my body keeps pushing back against him.

“The… thing… with the…”

SMACK.

My elbows give out. My cheek presses against the marble. Cool and smooth. I’m panting. Drooling a little.

His hand slides between my legs from behind. His fingers find my soaking pussy and I hear him groan and I know it’s because I’m soaked. I’m dripping. I can feel it.

One finger slides between my folds. Slow. Up through all that slippery heat and barely barely barely touching my clit and then back down and I can’t—

“I’m not—” I’m trying to say something. Something about who I was before. I wasn’t a girl who got wet from being spanked. I wasn’t a girl who—

His finger pushes inside me.

OH.

One finger and it’s so much. My pussy squeezes around it and I can feel every ridge of his knuckle and I’m shaking. My thighs are trembling against the counter.

He adds a second finger and I bury my face in my arms and make a sound that isn’t a word. Isn’t anything. Just need.

He fucks me with his fingers. Slow. Then faster. His other hand grips my hip. The wet sounds. I can hear my pussy. Wet and obscene and each sound makes me wetter and each—

“Please,” I beg into my arms.

“Please what, slut?”

“Please I need— I need to— please—”

“Say it.”

“Cum! I need to cum please please please—”

His thumb presses down on my clit and his fingers curl up and—

Everything goes white and then bright and then nothing. My body locks up and shakes and I can feel my pussy clenching over and over and something warm floods through my head and something falls out. Something I was holding. A fact. A name. I was studying… I was…

I slump against the counter. Panting. His fingers still inside me. My pussy still twitching.

“Good girl.”

I whimper. Those two words do something to me. Something in my belly. I want to hear it again.

He pulls his fingers out. Holds them in front of my face. Wet. Shiny.

I open my mouth.

I don’t decide to. It just opens. Like it knows what to do.

He slides his fingers between my lips and I suck. I moan around them. I taste sweet and musky and I suck and suck and when they’re clean I keep sucking because I don’t want them to leave. I don’t want my mouth to be empty.

He pulls them out and I whine. Actually whine. Like a—

“Thirsty girl.”

I am. I’m so thirsty. It got worse after I came. My mouth is empty and I need it to not be empty. I need something in it. Something thick and warm and—

I’m on my knees.

When did I get on my knees? The marble is cold and hard and I don’t care. I’m looking up at him and his jeans are right there and I can see it through the denim and my mouth is watering. Actually watering.

“I don’t do this,” I say. My hands are already on his belt. “I’ve never—”

“You love sucking cock, you whore.”

“I haven’t! I’m a— I was a—”

The word. It means you haven’t had sex. Starts with V.

Vir…

Vir…

My fingers undo his belt. Pop the button. Zipper. His cock springs out and it’s big. Thick and hard and the tip is wet and I can smell him and my pussy clenches so hard I almost cum just from—

“I was a good girl,” I whisper. My lips are so close. I can feel the heat of him on my mouth.

He runs his fingers through my hair. “Good girls love cock.”

My tongue comes out. Just to taste. Just to—

And the second it touches my tongue something happens. Something clicks in my brain. Something that feels like yes. Like this is what my mouth is for. This is what I—

I moan and take him in.

My jaw stretches. He’s so thick. Heavy and hot on my tongue and I suck and it’s the most natural thing I’ve ever done. More natural than breathing. More natural than—

Than what?

I take him deeper. My lips stretch and I gag a little and the gagging makes my eyes water and tears run down my cheeks and I must look so stupid. Sloppy and messy and—

The thought makes me moan around him.

“Fucking love you like this.” His hand tightens in my hair.

My head bobs. Wet sounds in the kitchen. Drool running down my chin and dripping onto my tits. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except his cock and the way my brain goes quiet and soft and warm when I suck.

The campus. I was trying to remember something about…

Doesn’t matter.

My apartment. I had an apartment with…

Doesn’t matter.

Suck. Suck. Suck.

His hips push forward. Into my throat. Gentle but firm. And I relax and let him because my mouth is… this is where I’m s’posed to be. On my knees. Sucking.

Was I smart? I don’t… I don’t think so. Smart girls don’t end up on their knees. I don’t think. I don’t…

I don’t think.

I suck.

“Gonna cum.”

I moan and suck harder. The thirst. That horrible wonderful thirst. I need him to fill my mouth. I need to taste it. I need to swallow and feel it go down warm into my tummy and—

He cums.

It hits the back of my throat. Warm. Thick. I swallow. And swallow. And each swallow sends this pulse through my whole body and my pussy clenches and I cum.

I cum from swallowing.

My eyes go back in my head and I moan around his cock and my body shakes and I keep swallowing and cumming and swallowing until there’s nothing left.

Nothing in his cock.

Nothing in my head.

He pulls out.

I’m on the floor. On my knees. My robe is gone. My face is wet. Wet on my chin. Wet on my tits. Wet between my legs dripping onto the marble.

I feel so good.

I look up at him. I’m smiling. Big and dopey. I can feel cum on my chin.

He tucks himself in. Picks up his coffee. Sips.

“How’s your ass?”

I blink. I can feel it behind me. Big and round.

What about it?

I wiggle a little. It jiggles. Feels nice.

“Really good,” I say. My voice sounds far away. Dreamy. “It’s like… really good.”

“No more complaints?”

Complaints?

“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head. My tits wobble. I giggle.

He pats my head. “Good girl. Clean yourself up. Your master will be home soon.”

Master.

The word goes into me warm. All the way down. I don’t know who Master is. But my pussy clenches and my heart does something soft and I know I want to be good. I want to be so good.

I sit on the kitchen floor for a while. Naked and sticky and smiling. My fingers make little circles on my thighs. Sometimes I cup my boobs just to feel how heavy they are.

Mine.

The thirst is quiet. Resting. Warm in my tummy.

I pull myself up. Wobbly. I giggle.

I find a cloth in the drawer. I know which drawer. I wipe my face.

I put on the robe. It barely reaches my thighs. My tits spill out. The silk sticks to my ass.

I walk out of the kitchen. Hips swaying. Boobs bouncing.

Master is coming home!

I need to be Professor King’s TA next semester. I need it for my grad school application. I’ve got every requirement for Columbia’s program mapped out on a spreadsheet, color-coded, the whole thing. A TA position under Professor King is the one thing that separates me from every other applicant. I’ve given up parties, sleep, basically any social life I had left. I didn’t do all that to leave it up to chance.

I practiced what I’d say to him three times in the mirror this morning. That’s embarrassing, but I’d rather be embarrassed alone in my bathroom than stumble over my words in his office.

But maybe showing up on April Fool’s Day isn’t the smartest move.

Professor King is hot. Not hot in the way professors are usually hot, where you’re being generous because they’re smart and your standards are in the basement. No. Professor King is genuinely, unfairly, stupidly attractive.

Square jaw. Dark eyes that always look like he’s figuring you out. Silver at his temples that has no business working as well as it does. Broad shoulders that fill out his blazer in a way that makes me squeeze my thighs together during lectures.

Which I hate about myself.

I’m not some freshman giggling in the front row. I’m a serious student. I have a 3.94 GPA. I shouldn’t be thinking about my professor’s hands.

But I do. I think about them all the time.

I think about them at night when my roommate’s asleep and I’ve got my hand between my legs. The way he grips the lectern when he’s making a point, knuckles white, forearms tight. I think about what those hands would feel like wrapped around my throat. Grabbing my hips. Shoving my thighs apart. I think about his fingers pushing inside me while he tells me what to do in that low, calm voice.

I’ve cum so hard thinking about Professor King that I had to shove my face into the pillow so my roommate wouldn’t hear me moaning his name. And then I just lie there in the dark feeling gross and ashamed and I tell myself that was the last time.

It’s always the last time.

It never is.

I came twice last Thursday imagining him bending me over this exact desk, and I’m not going to think about that right now. I’m here for a professional conversation. My underwear is not already damp. That’s just the weather.

“Gabby,” he begins.

“It’s Gabrielle,” I correct him. I hate when people shorten my name.

He doesn’t say it again. “I already told Gavin he can be my TA next year. The position is filled.”

The floor drops out from under me.

Gavin freaking Park. Gavin, who showed up to the midterm review in basketball shorts and asked if the essay could be bullet points instead. Gavin, whose entire contribution to seminar is repeating what someone else just said but louder. Usually what I just said.

That Gavin gets the position I’ve been working toward for two semesters.

I blink. My eyes sting. I’m not going to cry in this office. I dig my nails into my palm and hold my face still. I had a plan. A perfect plan. And it just disappeared.

At least it’s not Katherine. That thought slides in right behind the disappointment, petty and satisfying. If I can’t have it, at least she can’t either.

“But there’s another option,” he continues.

“What?” If I can’t be his TA, maybe there’s something else. Some other way to pad my transcript.

“You can be my bimbo.”

What the fuck?

I stare at him. There’s no way he just said that. “What? Are you joking? It’s April Fool’s Day but this is sick. I’m going to report you to the dean.”

My face is burning. Not from embarrassment. From something worse. Because for half a second before the outrage kicked in, my body reacted. A hot pulse between my legs. A clench. Like the word “my” in “my bimbo” hit somewhere deep and stupid that doesn’t care about my GPA.

I’m wet and I hate it.

I hate it because this is the man I touch myself to in the dark. The man whose voice I hear in my head when I’m close. And now he’s ruined it. He took the fantasy and made it real and ugly and I can’t unfeel the way my pussy throbbed when he said that word.

Professor King raises both hands, palms out. The amusement drains right off his face. “I’m sorry, Gabby. That was completely out of line. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He stands, then sits back down. “I have a terrible sense of humor and today of all days… please. I sincerely apologize. And as a token of apology, how about some extra credit? I can add fourteen points to your last paper.”

That would make it an A+. I pause before I can storm out.

And he knows he has me. I don’t even correct him about my name.

“Come here and watch me enter it on the computer, Gabby,” he murmurs, and his voice is warm now, easy, like we’ve already moved past the ugliness. He turns the monitor slightly toward the empty space beside his chair. “I want you to see it go in so you know it’s real. No tricks. You deserve it after the semester you’ve had.”

I walk around to his side of the desk and look at the screen and it isn’t the grade portal. It isn’t a spreadsheet. It isn’t anything with numbers.

It’s a spiral.

A slow, pretty spiral turning on a black screen, white lines curling inward, and my first thought is “that’s not the grade book” and my second thought doesn’t come.

I should look away. I know I should look away. I just need to figure out what this is first. One more second. I’ll look away in one second. I just want to understand what I’m looking at and then I’ll—

Something tugs. Not my eyes. Something behind them. Something soft and warm and deep, and the spiral keeps turning and there’s a hum. Not from the computer. From inside me. From the blood in my ears and the lights overhead and my own pulse all blending together into one thick, warm throb.

My pussy clenches.

The throb gets louder. Or not louder. Deeper.

Like it’s sinking into me, past my ears, past the part of me that thinks, settling somewhere underneath all of that. Somewhere hot. And there’s something in the hum. Almost a word. Not quite clear enough to hear but I can feel it. Like a voice just below the surface of the sound, whispering something my body understands before my brain does.

My thighs press together.

I’m getting wetter. I can feel it soaking through my panties now, hot and slick, and I don’t know why I’m still looking at the screen but looking away feels like it would take so much effort. Like trying to pick up something heavy.

The spiral doesn’t ask me to pick up anything. The spiral is just warm and pretty and it keeps turning and the hum keeps pulsing and each pulse sends a slow, wet throb straight through my clit.

I hear myself breathe out. Shaky. Loud in the quiet office.

The almost-word in the hum is getting clearer. Not a sound anymore. A vibration. A shape in my chest. I can almost feel what it means even though I can’t quite hear it yet. My hips shift in the chair. My nipples are hard against my shirt and every tiny movement of the fabric sends little sparks down to my pussy and I’m so wet, so stupidly wet, and I still can’t look away.

The shape in the hum gets sharper. Closer to the surface. Like something rising up through warm water.

Bimbo.

My stomach drops. No. That’s not— I didn’t— I’m a serious student. I have a 3.94 GPA and I’m applying to Columbia and I need to look away right now.

I’ll look away in one more second.

The spiral turns. The word pulses. And each pulse sends a hot, slippery throb between my legs and I can feel myself clenching around nothing, squeezing, empty, needing, and the word keeps coming.

Bimbo. Bimbo. Bimbo.

It doesn’t sound like a word anymore. It sounds like a heartbeat. My heartbeat. Like it was always there and I’m only just now hearing it.

My lips are parted. I can feel air on my tongue. I was going to… I had a thought. Something about… a grade? My GPA is… three point… it’s a number. I know it’s a number. Numbers are…

The spiral turns and everything is warm and bright and soft and empty.

Bimbo.

I make a sound. Small and breathy and wet. My knees are shaking.

Between my legs I’m soaked, actually dripping now, the insides of my thighs going slick and sticky, and the word keeps pulsing and each pulse makes my clit throb and I can’t think. I can’t hold onto anything. Every thought I reach for just slides away like I’m trying to grab something with wet fingers.

I’m smart. I graduated top of my class.

The thought is so thin. Tissue paper. And the spiral just keeps turning and the word just keeps pulsing and my pussy just keeps throbbing and the thought gets thinner and thinner and—

Bimbo.

I don’t want to hold onto it. Holding on is so hard. The spiral is so easy. The spiral is warm and pretty and it doesn’t ask me to think or try or hold onto anything. I want to watch the pretty spiral. I want to be the pretty spiral.

“Bimbo.” The word falls out of my mouth. Breathy and slow. It tastes like candy.

Something is happening to my chest.

A tingling that starts deep, right behind my nipples, and spreads outward. Warm. Getting warmer. A heaviness settling in, like my breasts are filling up with something hot and thick. I look down and I can see them swelling against my shirt, the fabric stretching tight, my nipples pushing out hard and obvious through the cotton. They’re growing. They’re actually growing and I can feel every second of it, this aching, pulling fullness, like they’re being inflated from the inside, and it feels—

“Oh.”

It feels so good. It feels so, so good. The heaviness keeps building and my titties keep swelling and the tingling is everywhere now, radiating out from my nipples in hot waves that roll straight down to my pussy. My shirt is so tight. My titties are so big and so heavy and so sensitive that the fabric dragging across my nipples makes me whimper.

Then hands. His hands. On my titties, squeezing through the stretched fabric, and I gasp and the gasp turns into a moan I don’t recognize because it’s high and breathy and dumb.

He kneads them and they’re so full and so tender and every squeeze sends a line of liquid fire straight down to my clit and the spiral is still turning and the word is still pulsing and I’m making sounds. Little whimpery wet sounds. Sloppy sounds.

Bimbo sounds.

“Oh.” My hips are rocking. “Oh oh oh.” I’m grinding against nothing because my body wants something inside it so bad I can taste the need in the back of my throat like something thick and sweet.

My titties are being squeezed and pulled and it feels like the best thing that has ever happened to me. Better than any grade. Better than any acceptance letter. Better than the plan and the spreadsheet and Colum… Col… the school. Whatever it was called. All of it was so heavy and this is so light.

So light.

“On your knees, Gabby,” Master commands, and I sink. My knees hit the floor and it feels right. It feels like the only place I’ve ever been supposed to be.