"Jesus Christ, Mikaela—you look like a fucking fertility goddess!" Jenna shouted over the bass-thump bleeding through Velvet Vixen's backdoor, her leopard-print tail swishing against Mikaela's thigh. "Esmeralda my ass—you're gonna make every dyke in there spontaneously ovulate!"
Mikaela snorted, adjusting the violet scarf anchoring her hair against the October wind whipping through the alley. "Shut up, Jen. You're the one dressed like Catwoman's horny cousin." She eyed the neon sign flickering above them—a silhouetted woman arching backward impossibly far—and crossed her arms beneath her corset-lifted breasts. "Remind me again why I let you three drag me to a titty bar on Halloween? I could be elbow-deep in a '67 Camaro engine block right now."
"Because," Priya interjected, adjusting her slutty-nurse headband, "your criminal record's cleaner than a nun's knickers since Sam Witwicky dumped you, and frankly?" She grinned, sharp and wicked. "Watching you fix carburetors is less fun than watching you squirm when that redheaded stripper last Tuesday ground her crotch into the stage lights. Admit it—you came in your jeans."
The fourth friend, Lacey—swathed in torn fishnets and fake blood—leaned in conspiratorially. "Priya saw the wet spot. We *all* did." Her breath fogged against Mikaela's ear. "Tonight's performers are all femmes. No dick in sight. Just... slick, gorgeous women who know how to make a girl drip." She pressed a VIP pass into Mikaela's palm. "So quit bitching about distributor caps and let your clit lead for once."
Inside, the air tasted like sweat-salt and cherry vape smoke. Onstage, a woman in iridescent body paint undulated around a chrome pole, her thighs glistening under blacklights. Mikaela's own thighs pressed together instinctively—a slow, molten ache blooming low in her belly as the dancer's hips rolled in a liquid figure-eight. Jenna whooped, tossing a crumpled bill onto the stage. The dancer caught Mikaela's gaze, smiled lazily, and hooked a finger into the side of her thong—pulling it aside just enough to reveal a glistening, swollen fold. Mikaela's breath stuttered. *Fuck.* The corset suddenly felt too tight, her skirt too thin against the sudden slick heat pooling between her legs.
They found a sticky booth near the back. Jenna immediately leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Holy shit—did you *see* that bartender? The one with the Medusa headdress? She just poured tequila straight into that guy's mouth without spilling a drop. Bet she could do *other* things without spilling..." She waggled her eyebrows.
Lacey snorted, peeling fishnet from her thigh where fake blood had glued it. "Please. The *waitress*," she nodded toward a woman balancing trays in sky-high stilettos, her Marie Antoinette wig tilted precariously, "she's got calves like fucking pistons. Imagine those thighs wrapped around your head while she—"
Priya cut her off with a sharp laugh. "Amateurs. Look at *her*." She jerked her chin toward a performer descending the stage stairs—a stripper in a torn schoolgirl uniform, her skirt hiked up to reveal nothing but thigh-highs and a harness glinting with steel rings. The stripper's dark eyes locked onto Priya's, predatory and amused. "She's coming over," Priya breathed, her knuckles whitening around her plastic cup. "Bet she eats pussy like she's starving."
Mikaela stayed silent, scanning the room. Everywhere she looked: sequins catching low light, fishnets stretched taut over ass cheeks, corsets straining against cleavage. A woman dressed as a succubus licked whiskey off another's collarbone. Near the DJ booth, someone in a leather nun habit ground against a pirate's thigh. It felt like drowning in velvet and musk. Her own corset dug into her ribs with each shallow breath, the turquoise boning a cage around the frantic flutter beneath it. She shifted, the damp silk of her panties clinging—*god*, she was already wetter than she'd been in weeks. Sam had never made her feel like this: raw, exposed, *hungry*.
The schoolgirl stripper slid into their booth like smoke, her thigh pressing deliberately against Priya's. Her harness gleamed under the blacklights, the steel rings cold-looking against her warm brown skin. "Hey," she murmured, voice husky as gravel under tires. Her fingertip traced Priya's knuckles. "You've been staring holes through me since I walked offstage. Wanna get out of this noise? Private room's quieter… and I've got a velvet swing that'll hold your weight just fine." Priya's breath caught—sharp, audible—before she managed a shaky nod. "Fuck yes," she whispered, sliding out after the stripper without a backward glance, her slutty-nurse skirt riding up her thighs.
Before Mikaela could process Priya's exit, the Marie Antoinette waitress materialized beside Lacey's fishnet-clad shoulder. She smelled faintly of spilled gin and powdered sugar. Leaning down, her towering wig brushing Lacey's cheek, she murmured, "The champagne room's got a clawfoot tub filled with rose petals. Just for two." Her painted lips curved. "And I know how much you like… bubbles." Lacey's eyes widened, her hand instinctively clutching her fake-bloodied corset. "Lead the way," she breathed, scrambling after the waitress, her fishnets snagging on the booth's vinyl edge.
The waitress paused, turning back toward Jenna. With a conspiratorial wink, she slid a folded napkin across the sticky table. Jenna snatched it up, unfolding it to reveal a messy scrawl: *Medusa @ bar. Wants to see how much tequila you can swallow without choking. Private. Now.* Jenna's leopard-print tail lashed once, violently. "Holy shit," she hissed, crumpling the napkin. She shot Mikaela a wild grin. "If I'm not back in twenty, send a search party… or don't." Then she was gone, swallowed by the pulsing crowd toward the glowing bar.
Mikaela sat alone. The booth felt cavernous suddenly, the bass thumping hollowly against her ribs. She watched Jenna vanish—the Medusa headdress catching the light like scales—then Priya's giggle echoing down a velvet hallway, Lacey's pale hand disappearing around a corner curtained with beads. The corset dug deeper, a vise around her breath. Everywhere: laughter, moans, the slick sound of skin on skin. Her own thighs clenched, the damp silk of her panties clinging obscenely to her swollen folds. A low throb pulsed deep inside her—sharp, insistent, almost angry. She scanned the room again: dancers, patrons, the DJ lost in his booth. *Nobody's coming for you,* the ache seemed to whisper, *nobody ever does.* Her knuckles whitened around her untouched drink.
Then the stage lights dimmed completely. A hush—unexpected, profound—swept through the Velvet Vixen. Even the bass paused mid-thump. Silence pooled thick as spilled syrup. Then, a single spotlight clicked on, blindingly bright, illuminating nothing but empty stage. A murmur rippled through the crowd. Where was the next performer? The anticipation thickened, tasting suddenly of ozone and saltwater. Mikaela leaned forward, her Esmeralda skirt rustling against the sticky vinyl.
From the darkness beyond the spotlight, a figure emerged—not walking, but *flowing*. She seemed poured onto the stage, limbs moving with a liquid grace that defied joints and bones. Light brown skin glistened as if perpetually wet, catching the beam like polished river stones. Long, impossibly light-blue hair drifted around her face, framing enormous, innocent green eyes that seemed to hold entire oceans. Gold gleamed at her brow—a delicate tiara—and around her neck, an open-heart pendant rested just above the swell of E-cup breasts barely contained by a wisp of pinkish-white fabric. Below, a thong so minimal it was more suggestion than coverage. Webbed ears, delicate as fins, twitched slightly. The air shifted instantly; the scent of cherry vape smoke vanished, replaced by something sweet, milky, primal—like warm skin after a bath. The Apsara's gaze swept the crowd, a gentle, searching wave… then crashed onto Mikaela.
Her Disney-princess eyes widened—pure, startled innocence—and her full lips parted in a soft 'O'. For a heartbeat, she froze, utterly still amidst the charged silence, her jaw visibly tightening as if fighting gravity itself. *Found you.* The thought wasn't Mikaela's; it slammed into her gut like a physical blow, hot and undeniable. Then the Apsara smiled—a slow, luminous curve that seemed lit from within—and the music began: not bass-thumping electronica, but the deep, resonant thrum of drums like a heartbeat underwater, layered with the shimmering chime of tiny bells.
Every movement was a promise whispered directly into Mikaela's spine. The Apsara didn't just dance; she *unfolded*. Her arms lifted, arcing overhead, drawing Mikaela's gaze inevitably to the smooth, glistening hollows beneath—her underarms, dewed with pearlescent moisture. The deliberate exposure wasn't crude; it was an invitation, intimate as a shared secret. Her hips swayed in a hypnotic figure-eight, the tiny thong shifting, revealing the slick, swollen curve beneath, glistening like wet pearl. But it was her fingertips that held Mikaela captive—long, elegant, tracing the air as if painting Mikaela's skin with phantom strokes. Each flick of her wrist, each extension, guided Mikaela's focus: the trembling swell of her breasts, the taut dip of her waist, the impossible roundness of her ass, the trembling inner thigh. It was a choreography designed solely for female hunger, forcing Mikaela to acknowledge every inch as an object of pure, aching lust. The Apsara's gaze never left hers—locked, unwavering—even as she spun, her hair fanning out like liquid silk. The message was clear: *This dance is yours. Only yours.*
The ache in Mikaela's belly sharpened into a blade of pure need. Her corset felt like iron bands, crushing her ribs with each shallow, desperate breath. Beneath her long skirt, her own slickness soaked through the silk panties, clinging coldly before warming again instantly against her fevered skin. She felt exposed, raw—every nerve ending screaming. Her thighs trembled, pressing together instinctively, but the friction only stoked the fire. She remembered Priya's teasing accusation—*you came in your jeans*—but this was different. Deeper. Primal. It wasn't just arousal; it was a terrifying, exhilarating *recognition*. The Apsara's hips thrust forward in a slow, deliberate pulse, her back arching, throat bared. A soft cry escaped her lips—high, sweet, utterly abandoned—mingling with the wet, rhythmic *schlick* audible even over the drums as her thighs slid together. Milky fluid, thick and pearlescent, trickled down her inner thigh, catching the light. Mikaela's own pussy clenched violently in response, a fresh gush of clear fluid soaking her panties. She gripped the edge of the sticky booth, knuckles bone-white, her mouth dry as desert sand. *Come to me,* the dance screamed without words. *Claim me.*
The Apsara sank to her knees, thighs spread wide, facing Mikaela fully. She leaned back onto her hands, presenting herself—glistening folds parted, swollen clit visibly pulsing. Her innocent eyes held Mikaela's, wide and pleading, yet her smile was pure, knowing sin. She lifted one hand, slick with her own milky essence, and brought trembling fingers to her lips. Her tongue darted out—pink, impossibly delicate—and slowly licked the sweetness clean. Then, holding Mikaela's drowning gaze, she extended that glistening fingertip… pointing directly at her. A silent, devastating command. The drumbeat paused. The air crackled. Every other patron blurred into irrelevance. The Velvet Vixen vanished. There was only the stage, the dripping Apsara, and the unbearable, liquid heat pooling between Mikaela's legs, demanding surrender.
The Apsara flowed off the stage like water poured from a jug, her movements impossibly smooth, bypassing patrons who instinctively leaned back as if touched by an electric current. She navigated the sticky floor without a misstep, her bare feet leaving faint, shimmering prints that evaporated instantly. Her gaze remained locked on Mikaela, unwavering, drowning out the murmurs and the resumed bass thump. She stopped inches from Mikaela's knees, the scent of warm milk and saltwater enveloping her completely. Up close, her skin wasn't just brown—it was like polished amber infused with light, dewed with moisture that beaded and rolled down her curves. Her innocent green eyes held galaxies of knowing. "Name?" she breathed, her voice a husky chime, like bells underwater.
Mikaela's throat tightened. "Mikaela," she managed, the word scraping raw.
The Apsara's smile deepened, luminous. "I am Nila," she murmured, her name tasting like cool water on a scorched tongue. Then, without preamble, she turned, presenting Mikaela with the impossible swell of her hips and the twin dimples above her thong. "For you," Nila whispered over her shoulder, her voice thick with promise. "Only you."
Nila sank backwards onto Mikaela's lap with liquid grace, her weight settling like warm silk. Her ass pressed firmly against Mikaela's corseted abdomen, the thin fabric of her thong soaking through instantly to Mikaela's skirt. The sheer heat radiating from Nila's core was staggering—a furnace pressed against Mikaela's aching belly. Nila began to move. It wasn't grinding; it was a sinuous undulation, a ripple travelling from her spine down through her hips and thighs. Her head tilted back, light-blue hair brushing Mikaela's cheek, carrying the scent of salt and sweet milk. Mikaela gasped as Nila's hips rolled in slow, deliberate circles, the friction against her own swollen clit sending jagged bolts of pleasure up her spine. One of Nila's hands reached back, fingers tangling possessively in Mikaela's hair, pulling her head closer. Nila's other hand slid down her own stomach, fingers disappearing beneath the tiny thong. Mikaela felt the wetness seep through her skirt onto her thighs as Nila's fingers worked against herself, heard the slick, rhythmic *schlick-schlick-schlick* amplified against Mikaela's body. Nila arched, pressing her back flush against Mikaela's breasts, her head resting on Mikaela's shoulder. "Feel?" she murmured, her breath hot against Mikaela's ear as her hips pulsed faster. "Feel how wet you make me?"
Mikaela's hands, trembling violently, found purchase on Nila's hips—smooth, impossibly slick skin beneath her palms. The corset felt like a cage about to shatter. Every nerve screamed. Nila's movements became sharper, more urgent, her hips thrusting back against Mikaela's core in short, desperate jerks. The wet sounds from beneath the thong grew louder, frantic. Mikaela's own slickness was a flood now, soaking her panties and chilling her thighs before instantly reheating. She felt Nila's inner muscles clench rhythmically against her thigh. "Look," Nila commanded, her voice ragged. She lifted her hand from beneath her thong—fingers glistening thickly with milky white fluid—and brought them to Mikaela's lips. The scent was overwhelming, primal. Instinctively, Mikaela parted her lips. Nila's slick fingers slid inside her mouth—salty-sweet, impossibly rich—and Mikaela sucked instinctively, a low moan vibrating against Nila's shoulder. Nila cried out—a high, sharp sound of pure ecstasy—and her body went rigid. A torrent of milky fluid gushed from beneath the thong, soaking Mikaela's skirt and thighs, hot and shocking. Simultaneously, Mikaela's own climax ripped through her—violent, convulsive waves that stole her breath and vision. Clear fluid pulsed from her in hot spurts, soaking her panties completely, mingling with Nila's milk on the vinyl seat. Nila shuddered violently, collapsing bonelessly back against Mikaela, her breath coming in ragged gasps, murmuring incoherently against Mikaela's neck. The scent of sex and sweet milk filled the air, thick and undeniable.
On stage, the harsh spotlight snapped back on, illuminating a new performer—a woman clad only in swirling gold body paint, her movements sharp and angular against Nila's lingering liquid grace. Nila twisted sharply in Mikaela's lap, her innocent green eyes suddenly fierce, desperate. Her wet hands framed Mikaela's face, thumbs tracing the trembling line of her jaw. "Look at me," Nila demanded, her voice thick with urgency. Before Mikaela could react, Nila's lips crashed against hers—a fierce, possessive kiss that tasted of salt and sweet milk and the raw aftermath of release. Mikaela gasped into it, her hands instinctively tightening on Nila's hips as the kiss deepened—hungry, devouring, tongues tangling fiercely. Nila pulled back just enough to speak, her lips brushing Mikaela's with each ragged breath. "Would you have me?" she whispered, the words raw, pleading. Her gaze locked onto Mikaela's, drowning out the pounding music, the new dancer, the entire club. "All of me. My dance, my body, my wetness… everything I am. I want to give myself fully to you. Tonight. Forever." Her voice cracked on the last word, vulnerability stark beneath the fierce desire. "Say yes."
Mikaela stared, drowning in those ocean-deep eyes. Her own lips felt bruised, swollen. The taste of Nila lingered—sweet milk and salt and something utterly intoxicating. The ache between her legs, momentarily sated, flared back to life, hotter than before. Her mind raced—carburetors, Sam's clumsy hands, the cold steel of a wrench, the sticky vinyl booth, the impossible heat of Nila's body against hers. The sheer, terrifying *rightness* of it. Her knuckles, gripping Nila's hips, were bloodless. "You don't even know me," Mikaela breathed, the words rough, scraping against her throat. "You saw me… and you just…" She gestured weakly at the stage, the wet seat, the impossible reality of it.
Nila's smile was luminous, fragile. Her thumb traced Mikaela's lower lip, smearing traces of her own milky wetness. "I saw your hunger," she murmured, her voice a husky chime. "Deeper than engine oil. Darker than midnight. A hunger untouched." She leaned in again, her lips brushing Mikaela's earlobe, her breath hot and damp. "I saw the woman who fixes broken things…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, intimate as a secret shared in bed. "…and knew I wanted her to break *me*." Her hand slid down, pressing firmly against the soaked silk covering Mikaela's core. "Say yes."
Mikaela recoiled slightly, her knuckles whitening on the vinyl. "Break you?" The words tasted metallic. "What the fuck are you?" Her gaze flicked to the milky stain cooling on her skirt. "That—that's not normal." She gestured sharply. "Human girls don't… *squirt milk*."
Nila didn't flinch. Her innocent green eyes held galaxies of ancient knowing. "No," she breathed, her voice thick with reverence. "I am a Apsara. Born from the Ocean of Milk, where Eros mixed her essence with the sea." Her fingers intertwined with Mikaela's, slick and warm. "We are dancers. Lovers. We exist to awaken desire… and be claimed." Her gaze intensified, locking onto Mikaela's. "I want you to claim me. As your wife." She pressed Mikaela's hand hard against her own thong, where fresh wetness seeped through. "Forever. Bind me. Own me." Her voice cracked, raw with vulnerability beneath the fierce declaration. "Make me yours."
Mikaela stared, drowning. Wife? *Wife?* The word echoed like a dropped wrench on concrete. Her mind raced—juvenile records, grease-stained hands, Sam's fumbling apologies. Not this. Never this. A dancer. A… *thing* from some milk ocean? Yet the heat radiating from Nila's core against her palm felt terrifyingly real. The slickness. The scent of salt and sweet cream clinging to her skin. The way her own body screamed *yes* even as her brain short-circuited. "You're insane," Mikaela breathed, her voice rough. "Or I am." She pulled her hand back, sticky with Nila's essence. "This… binding. What does it even *mean*?"
Nila shifted, straddling Mikaela fully now, her thighs framing Mikaela's hips. Her movements were liquid grace, deliberate. "It means," she whispered, leaning close until their foreheads touched, "my dance belongs only to you." Her breath mingled with Mikaela's—sweet milk and desperation. "My pleasure. My wetness." She guided Mikaela's sticky hand to her own throat, pressing Mikaela's thumb against her pulse point. "My life." Her gaze held Mikaela's, drowning out the pulsing bass, the clinking glasses, the world. "Say yes," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "Claim your Apsara."
Mikaela's fingers tightened instinctively around Nila's throat—not choking, but holding. Anchoring. Her thumb pressed harder against the frantic flutter beneath warm skin. "You're insane," Mikaela breathed, the words rough against Nila's lips. "Binding? Owning?" Her other hand slid up Nila's spine, beneath the damp curtain of blue hair, pressing her closer. "I don't own carburetors. I fix 'em." She searched Nila's eyes—those impossible green depths swirling with devotion. "What if I break you?"
Nila's smile bloomed—radiant, reckless. "Break me," she whispered, her hips grinding down against Mikaela's aching core. Milky slickness soaked through Mikaela's skirt anew. "Break me until I weep." She tangled her fingers in Mikaela's violet-scarfed hair, pulling her closer. "Break me until I scream your name." Her lips brushed Mikaela's ear, her voice dropping to a velvet rasp. "Break me… and I'll dance only for your hands." Her breath hitched. "Please."
Mikaela stared—past the gold tiara, the webbed ears, the impossible innocence—straight into the raw, trembling devotion. Her thumb stroked Nila's pulse point. Slow. Deliberate. "Prove it," Mikaela commanded, her voice low, rough—the tone she used when telling a stubborn engine block exactly who owned it. "Kiss me like you mean forever."
Nila didn't hesitate. She surged forward, capturing Mikaela's lips in a kiss that wasn't passion—it was consecration. Her mouth moved with desperate reverence, pouring every ounce of her being into the press of lips and tongue. Mikaela tasted salt tears mingling with sweet milk, felt the trembling loyalty in every gasp Nila breathed against her. Nila's hands framed Mikaela's face like sacred relics, her thumbs tracing Mikaela's cheekbones as if memorizing their shape. The kiss deepened—a slow, aching slide of tongues, a silent vow whispered against bruised lips. When Nila finally pulled back, breathless, her eyes shone with tears and utter surrender. "Forever," she breathed against Mikaela's mouth. "My heart. My body. My soul. All yours."
Mikaela's fingers tightened possessively on Nila's hips, her knuckles pressing hard against slick skin. "Enough talking," Mikaela rasped, her voice rough as engine grit. She shoved the sticky vinyl booth seat back with a screech, standing abruptly. "Take me somewhere quiet. Now." Her gaze burned into Nila's—demanding, impatient. "I need to fuck you. Properly. Where I can hear you scream without this damn music." Her thumb brushed the damp edge of Nila's thong. "Can't wait."
Nila's smile bloomed—radiant, relieved. She slid off Mikaela's lap, her movements liquid grace even as her thighs trembled. "Follow me, wife," she murmured, her voice thick with promise. She turned, presenting Mikaela with the hypnotic sway of her hips—an exaggerated roll that made her ass cheeks ripple beneath the soaked pinkish-white fabric. Each step flowed into the next, a deliberate cascade of muscle and motion designed solely for Mikaela's hungry gaze. Her hips dipped and rose, a slow, mesmerizing pendulum, the damp thong clinging to the cleft of her ass, revealing glistening folds with each deliberate shift. She glanced over her shoulder, green eyes wide and innocent yet heavy-lidded with lust. "Keep close," she breathed. "Don't lose sight of me."
Mikaela followed, her own legs unsteady beneath the soaked silk of her skirt. The club's pulsing lights blurred into streaks of neon as they moved through a velvet-curtained archway. Nila led her down a dim corridor lined with closed doors muffling low moans and rhythmic thumps. The air here was cooler, thick with musk and spilled champagne. Nila paused before a door marked by a brass lotus, her hand resting on the knob. She turned fully, pressing her back against the dark wood, her E-cup breasts rising with each breath. Her gaze locked onto Mikaela's—drowning, demanding. "This is where you make me yours forever," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. "Are you ready to break me?" Her fingers twisted the knob. The door clicked open, revealing shadowed velvet and the faint scent of roses. "Come claim your Apsara."
Inside, the private room swallowed sound—a crimson womb of crushed velvet chaise lounges and low-hanging lamps casting amber pools. Mikaela barely registered the opulence. Her attention snapped to the three identical doors along the far wall, each vibrating with distinct, urgent sounds.
Behind Door One: Priya's sharp, ragged cries—"Fuck! Fuck! *Fuck*!"—punctuated by wet, rhythmic slaps and the low, gravelly chuckle of the schoolgirl stripper. "That's it, nurse… take it deeper." Priya's voice dissolved into a choked sob.
Behind Door Two: Lacey's breathless, high-pitched whimpers—"Ohgodohgodohgod"—drowned out by the splash of water and Marie Antoinette's throaty murmur: "Arch higher, pet. Let me taste those bubbles." A moan ripped from Lacey, raw and desperate.
Behind Door Three: Jenna's guttural groans—"Christ, *yes*!"—echoing with the clink of glass and Medusa's serpentine hiss: "Swallow it all, kitten. Every drop." Jenna choked, gasped, then whimpered—a sound Mikaela had never heard from her.
Mikaela stood frozen, the sounds washing over her—Priya's choked surrender, Lacey's watery gasps, Jenna's liquid gulps. Each thud, splash, and groan echoed the frantic pulse between her own thighs. She turned slowly, meeting Nila's wide, innocent green eyes—now dark with predatory understanding. Nila leaned against the chaise lounge, one hand idly tracing the damp cleft beneath her soaked thong, her expression serene, expectant. Mikaela's lips curled—slow, feral, triumphant—as the final choked gasp from Jenna's room faded into wet silence. "Hear that?" Mikaela rasped, her voice rough as a stripped gear. "Sounds like my friends finally learned how to *shut up*." She took a single step forward, her violet scarf brushing her collarbone. "Your turn."
Nila's smile bloomed—radiant, relieved—just as Mikaela lunged. Not a pounce, but a piston-stroke of pure intent—muscle coiled and released in one fluid motion. Her hands slammed into Nila's shoulders, shoving her backward onto the velvet chaise. Nila gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping around Mikaela's waist, pulling her down. Mikaela's mouth crashed onto hers—not a kiss, but a branding. Teeth scraped lips, tongues clashed, tasting salt and sweet cream and the electric tang of possession. Mikaela's hands tore at the flimsy pinkish-white thong, shredding it like tissue paper. Her fingers plunged into the slick heat beneath—finding Nila impossibly wet, already pulsing around her fingers. "Scream," Mikaela growled against her mouth, her thumb finding the swollen bud of Nila's clit. "Scream like you mean forever."
Nila arched violently, a choked cry escaping her—half sob, half ecstasy. "Y-yes! Mikaela—*please*!" Her hips bucked, grinding down onto Mikaela's knuckles. Mikaela's fingers curled deeper, harder—a relentless piston driving into wet silk. "Fuck!" Nila gasped, her head thrashing against the velvet. "Harder! Break me—*break* me!" Her hands scrambled at Mikaela's corset, fingers trembling against the turquoise boning. "Let me see you—all of you!"
Mikaela leaned back just enough, her fingers never slowing their brutal rhythm. "Strip me," she commanded, her voice rough as sandpaper on steel. "Show me how much you want it." Nila's fingers flew—tugging at the violet scarf in Mikaela's hair, letting brown waves spill free. She fumbled with the corset's hooks, her breath coming in frantic gasps. "Hurry," Mikaela hissed, her thumb grinding circles on Nila's clit. Milky fluid gushed around her fingers, soaking Mikaela's skirt where it pressed against Nila's thigh. Nila whimpered, her hands shaking as she finally popped the last hook. The corset fell away, revealing Mikaela's sweat-slicked breasts straining against the thin white shirt. Nila tore at the off-shoulder sleeves, ripping the fabric down Mikaela's arms. Mikaela's breasts spilled free—full, heavy, nipples hard as rivets. Nila moaned, leaning forward to capture one in her mouth—sucking hard, her tongue swirling. Mikaela gasped, her fingers driving deeper into Nila's core. "Skirt," Mikaela gritted out, her hips grinding against Nila's thigh. "Now."
Nila's hands slid down Mikaela's sweat-slicked sides, fingers hooking under the waistband of the long light purple skirt. She shoved it down Mikaela's hips in one desperate yank, revealing simple black silk panties soaked dark at the center. Mikaela kicked the skirt away, standing momentarily to peel off the ruined shirt. Now only the panties remained—a dark triangle clinging to the apex of her thighs. Nila stared, her green eyes wide, hungry. "You," Mikaela breathed, towering over her, fingers getting buried deep inside Nila's pulsing heat again. "You don't cum," Mikaela commanded, her voice low and dangerous, "until I'm bare." Nila nodded frantically, her hands reaching for the waistband of Mikaela's panties. Her fingers trembled as she hooked them, pulling them slowly down Mikaela's thighs—revealing the dark, wet curls, the glistening folds beneath. Mikaela stepped out of them, completely naked now—peach skin gleaming under the low amber light, D-cup breasts heaving, her body a taut, powerful curve. She looked down at Nila, sprawled and trembling on the chaise, fingers still buried inside her. "Now," Mikaela growled, curling her fingers hard against Nila's inner walls. "*Now* you cum." Nila's back arched off the velvet, a raw, shattered scream tearing from her throat as her hips pistoned against Mikaela's hand—milky fluid erupting in hot, pulsing gushes that slicked Mikaela's wrist and soaked the velvet beneath them.
Mikaela withdrew her fingers slowly, watching Nila shudder through the aftershocks. She brought her wet fingers to her own mouth, tasting salt and cream and something electric—like licking a battery terminal. Her gaze locked onto Nila's flushed face. "Always heard," Mikaela murmured, her voice rough but low, "that girls fuck each other… skin on skin." She traced her own slick lower lip with her wet thumb. "Grinding." Her eyes dropped to Nila's smooth mound—utterly hairless, glistening wet, swollen folds flushed pink under the lamplight. "Heard it feels… intense." She leaned forward, planting her hands on either side of Nila's hips on the chaise. "Wanna know if it's true." Nila's breath caught—a sharp, ragged inhale—as Mikaela swung one leg over her waist, straddling her hips. Mikaela settled her weight low, her knees pressing into the velvet beside Nila's thighs. Her own wet heat hovered directly above Nila's slick core. "Show me," Mikaela whispered, her blue eyes fierce, demanding. "Show me how good it feels."
Nila's hands flew to Mikaela's hips, fingers digging into the smooth skin. "Yes," she gasped, her voice thick with need. "Like this—" She guided Mikaela down, her own hips lifting slightly off the chaise. Mikaela felt the first hot slide—her own swollen folds meeting Nila's smooth, wet ones.
A gasp punched from Mikaela's lungs. "*Fuck*." It wasn't penetration—it was fusion. Soft, slick flesh pressed flush against soft, slick flesh. Nila's clit, hard as a tiny pearl, ground directly against Mikaela's own throbbing bud. The friction was immediate, electric—a hot, molten drag that sent sparks shooting up Mikaela's spine. She rocked her hips forward instinctively, grinding down hard.
Nila cried out—a high, keening sound—her fingers tightening on Mikaela's hips. "Harder," Nila begged, her hips bucking upwards to meet Mikaela's downward grind. "Grind—*grind* on me!"
Mikaela obeyed, setting a relentless, rhythmic pace. Her hips rolled—forward, down, pressing Nila's wet heat flush against her own, then rocking back slightly before plunging down again. Each downward grind sent shockwaves of pure sensation through her core. She could feel every ridge, every pulse of Nila's pussy against her own. The wetness between them was obscene—a hot, audible slickness that filled the quiet room.
Nila's cries escalated—sharp gasps punctuating each deep grind. Mikaela's own breath came in ragged pants; sweat dripped between her breasts, onto Nila's trembling stomach. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the chaise back behind Nila's head, her breasts hanging heavy above Nila's face. Nila turned her head, capturing one hard nipple in her mouth—sucking fiercely, her tongue swirling. The dual assault—the deep, grinding friction below and the sharp, sucking pull above—made Mikaela's vision blur. She ground down harder, faster—her clit rubbing directly over Nila's with bruising intensity. "Is this—" Mikaela gasped, her voice thick, "—is this how it feels?"
Nila released her nipple with a wet pop, her green eyes dazed, desperate. "Yes!" she cried, her hips lifting frantically to meet Mikaela's downward thrusts. "It's—oh goddess—*perfect*! Don't stop—don't ever stop!" Mikaela didn't stop. She drove her hips down again and again, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing Priya's muffled cries behind Door One. The heat built—a coil tightening impossibly tight low in Mikaela's belly, fed by the relentless friction, the slick slide, the desperate sounds tearing from Nila's throat beneath her. Her own cries began—low, guttural groans she didn't recognize—as the world narrowed to the burning point where their bodies fused.
"Feel it?" Mikaela gasped, her voice raw, grinding deeper, harder. "Feel how fucking *hard* I take you?" Nila's E-cup breasts bounced wildly with each forceful downward slam of Mikaela's hips, the soft flesh jiggling in a mesmerizing rhythm against Mikaela's sweat-slicked skin.
Milky droplets flew from Nila's nipples with each impact. "Yes! Yes!" Nila screamed, her hands scrabbling down Mikaela's sweat-slicked back, fingers digging into the curve of Mikaela's ass cheeks. "Harder! Fuck me harder—*own* me!" The plea ripped from her, ragged and primal. Mikaela obeyed, pistoning her hips faster, the wet grinding sound obscene, drowning out even Lacey's watery gasps behind Door Two. Nila's eyes rolled back, her mouth slackening. "Close—oh Eros, Mikaela—I'm so close!" Her fingers tightened brutally on Mikaela's ass, pulling Mikaela impossibly deeper into the grinding fusion.
"Cum for me!" Mikaela snarled, feeling the tremors starting deep within Nila's core against her own clit. "Cum *now*!"
Nila's entire body arched violently off the velvet chaise. A strangled scream tore from her throat—not human, pure ecstatic agony—as her hips bucked uncontrollably against Mikaela's grinding weight. Milky white cum erupted from her pulsing slit in thick, hot gushes, slicking Mikaela's thighs and stomach, flooding the velvet beneath them. "Mikaela!" she shrieked, her fingers clenching Mikaela's ass like vices, holding her tight as wave after wave of convulsive pleasure wracked her body. The sight—Nila utterly shattered, milk gushing, breasts bouncing wildly—and the feel of her clenching inner muscles against Mikaela's slick mound was too much. Mikaela gasped, a sharp intake of breath, the coil inside her snapping violently.
She managed only three more desperate grinds—hard, deep plunges—before her own orgasm detonated. It ripped through her like shrapnel, blinding and brutal. Clear female cum shot from her own pulsing slit in a sudden, forceful spray, mingling with Nila's milk on their stomachs. A raw, ragged cry tore from Mikaela's throat—part roar, part sob—as her hips stuttered wildly against Nila's, grinding through the electric shocks tearing through her nerves. Her vision whited out, the sounds of her friends' pleasure fading into a high-pitched whine, replaced only by the frantic gasps tearing from her own lungs and the wet, rhythmic slap of their joined bodies as she rode out the brutal, shuddering climax.
Nila's voice cut through the haze, breathless and reverent: "You're… leaking." Her fingers traced the clear fluid dripping down Mikaela's inner thigh. "All over me." Mikaela's hips jerked involuntarily at the touch—a fresh spark flaring low in her belly—and she hissed, collapsing forward onto her elbows above Nila. Their sweat-slicked breasts pressed together, nipples hard and dragging against each other. Nila tilted her head up, her lips brushing Mikaela's jaw. "Kiss me," she whispered, her voice thick with awe and lingering need. "While you're still… open like this."
Mikaela didn't hesitate. She crushed her mouth to Nila's—a deep, claiming kiss that tasted of salt and exhaustion and the sharp, metallic tang of her own release still wet on Nila's lips. Their tongues tangled, slow and thorough now, exploring the aftermath. Mikaela groaned into the kiss, her hips instinctively rocking in a slow, grinding circle against Nila's still-throbbing core. The friction was softer now, almost tender, a low thrum of sensation rather than the earlier frantic fire. Nila whimpered softly against Mikaela's mouth, her hands sliding up to cradle Mikaela's face, fingers threading through damp brown hair. "Again," Nila breathed against Mikaela's lips, breaking the kiss just enough to speak, her green eyes dark and pleading. "Grind on me again. Slow this time. Show me… show me you're not done."
Mikaela's laugh was a low rumble against Nila's throat. "Fuck no," she murmured, her voice wrecked but fierce. She lifted her hips slightly, just enough to reposition herself, aligning their slick cores perfectly once more. Then she pressed down, deliberate and deep, rolling her pelvis in a slow, sinuous wave. Nila gasped, her head falling back against the velvet, a shudder running through her. Mikaela watched her, blue eyes locked on green, and kissed her again—softer this time, but no less possessive—as she began the slow, deep rhythm anew, her body a steady piston against Nila's yielding heat. "Tell me," Mikaela demanded against her lips, her hips moving with relentless, grinding precision. "Tell me how good it feels."
Nila's fingers tightened in Mikaela's hair, pulling her closer. "Like... like drowning in honey," she gasped, arching into the slow friction. Her thighs trembled around Mikaela's hips. "Everywhere you touch me—it's electric. Burning." She moaned as Mikaela's clit dragged hard over hers in a slow circle. "Your skin... goddess, your skin against mine... it's like silk dipped in lightning." She kissed Mikaela again, hungry and messy, her tongue sweeping against Mikaela's. "Don't stop," she breathed into Mikaela's mouth. "Never stop."
Mikaela broke the kiss, panting. Her thumb traced the seam of Nila's lower lip, slick with spit. "Feels like... welding," she murmured, grinding deeper. A fresh wave of clear fluid leaked from her onto Nila's stomach. "Two hot pieces of metal... fused." She watched Nila's eyes flutter shut. "Can you feel it? That... molten point where we're joined?" She rolled her hips—slow, deliberate—feeling Nila's clit swell against hers. "Tell me."
Nila's fingers tightened in Mikaela's hair. "It's... liquid lightning," she gasped. Her hips lifted, seeking pressure. "Right *here*—" Her hand slid between their bodies, pressing Mikaela's clit hard against her own. Mikaela hissed as sensation exploded—white-hot wires connecting spine to womb. "Your skin... tastes like rain on hot asphalt," Nila breathed against Mikaela's collarbone. "Sharp. Clean." She licked a stripe up Mikaela's throat. "Kiss me again. Before the storm passes."
Mikaela crushed their mouths together—not gentle, not exploratory, but a raw, claiming press of lips and teeth and tongue. She tasted desperation in Nila's gasp, the slick-salt tang of their mingled fluids, the faint metallic zing of her own exhaustion. Their tongues slid together—slow, deep thrusts mirroring the relentless grind below. Nila whimpered, fingers scrabbling against Mikaela's sweat-slicked back. "Harder," she begged against Mikaela's lips. "Fuse us." Mikaela obeyed, driving her hips down in a brutal, circular grind that forced Nila's thighs wider. The wet slap of skin-on-skin echoed Priya's distant cries—a counterpoint rhythm.