Chapter 88: Starter Strap-On
Lydia held the pose, one hand on her hip, the other resting lightly on the changing room door frame. The blue silk of the Chun Li costume strained over her breasts, and she arched her back just enough to watch Alex’s eyes darken from across the room. A slow, wicked smile spread on Lydia’s lips. She turned her head, letting her hair cascade over her shoulder, and looked at Alex through her lashes.
“See something you like?” Lydia’s voice was a low purr, a new instrument she was still learning to play but already loved the sound of.
“You’re a fucking menace,” Alex breathed, not moving from her spot by the glass case. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the edge. “A beautiful, terrible menace.”
Lydia laughed, a genuine, throaty sound. She gave a final, deliberate shimmy that made the costume’s skirts swish, then slipped back into the changing room, closing the curtain with a deliberate slowness. She could feel Alex’s gaze like a physical heat against the velvet.
She changed back into her own clothes—the simple jeans and sweater that felt like a costume themselves now. The ordinary fabric was a whisper against her skin, which still hummed from Alex’s attention. When she pushed the curtain aside, Alex was immediately there, closing the distance in two quick strides.
Before Lydia could speak, Alex’s right hand shot out and grabbed a firm, possessive handful of her left ass cheek through the denim. She squeezed, hard enough to make Lydia gasp, her fingers digging in with an expertise that promised both pleasure and pain.
“Christ, you’ve got an ass that just won’t quit, Collier,” Alex muttered, her voice husky. It wasn't just a compliment; it was an appraisal, an insult wrapped in worship. She released her grip, leaving a phantom pressure. “So? What’s next on your descent into depravity? Nipple clamps? A riding crop?”
Lydia met her gaze, the ghost of Alex’s grip still tingling. “A strap-on.”
For a second, there was silence. Then Alex let out a sharp, excited squeal that echoed off the glass cases. “No shit? You’re gonna fuck me senseless with it, right? Tell me that’s the plan. Tell me you’re gonna bend me over that chaise and ruin me with it.”
Lydia leaned in, her lips almost brushing Alex’s ear. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she whispered, her breath stirring the fine hairs at Alex’s temple. She pulled back, a teasing glint in her eye. “Besides, you might not be the only person I intend to fuck with it.”
Alex’s face changed. The hungry, playful lust evaporated, replaced by a stark, flat disbelief. Her brows knitted together. “What?” The word was quiet, almost a breath.
Lydia just smiled, turning to walk towards the towering Sex Toy Wall, its contents gleaming under the spotlights.
Alex followed, a step behind. “Lydia.” Her voice was low, urgent. “Who else?”
Lydia trailed a finger along the edge of a glass shelf, not looking back.
“Lydia, for fuck’s sake.” Alex caught her arm, spinning her gently but firmly. Her eyes were wide, a note of hopeful wonder cutting through the disbelief. “Jason? Are you… are you going to fuck Jason?”
The sound of his name in the hushed, perfumed air sent a jolt through Lydia’s core. She held Alex’s gaze, letting the silence stretch, letting the possibility hang there, thick and tangible. Then she gave a slow, single nod. “That’s the plan.”
Alex’s hand flew to her own mouth, stifling another sound. Not a squeal this time, but something deeper, guttural. Her eyes blazed with a fierce, almost frightening intensity. “I want to be there.” The words were stripped of all playfulness, deathly serious. “I need to be there. To watch you fuck him. To see you take him.”
The request was so raw, so unexpectedly specific, that it stole Lydia’s breath for a moment. This wasn’t about joining in. This was about witnessing. The power of that image—Alex, watching, as she dominated the man who held the keys to Dima’s fate—washed over Lydia in a hot, dizzying wave. It was the ultimate corruption. The ultimate power.
A slow, triumphant smirk curved Lydia’s lips. “Okay,” she said, the agreement simple and absolute. “You can watch.”
Alex’s breath hitched, a sharp, greedy sound. “Fuck,” she whispered, the word vibrating with promise. Then she nodded, a quick, business-like motion that didn’t match the wildfire in her eyes. “Right. Okay. You’ll need the right tool for the job.” She took Lydia’s hand, her fingers cool and tense, and led her deeper into the boutique, past the mannequins and velvet curtains, to the intimidating, spotlit back wall.
It was a temple of silicone and chrome. Rows upon rows of shapes in every conceivable color protruded from the displays, some smooth and elegant, others monstrously veined and bulbous. The air here smelled less of perfume and more of clean, sterile rubber. Alex released her hand and walked along the wall with the reverence of a sommelier in a cellar. “Forget the basic harness kits,” she said, waving dismissively at a section of nylon and plastic. “You want control. You want to feel it.”
She stopped before a display of harnesses that looked more like intricate leather art. From a hooked shelf, she lifted one made of supple black leather with silver O-rings. It was simple, severe, beautiful. But it was the silicone attachment she selected that made Lydia’s pulse thrum. It wasn’t a straight, conventional dildo. The shaft was a deep aubergine color, curving subtly upward, but at its base was a complex, organic-looking addition.
“This,” Alex said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush as she turned it in her hands. “This is the engineer’s fuck. See this shorter, curved bit?” She ran her thumb over a protruding, tongue-like silicone appendage that extended back from the base of the shaft. “That slides inside you. Fills you up while you’re doing the filling.” Her thumb moved higher, to a ridged, bumpy pad situated just above. “And this textured cluster sits directly on your clit. It’s not just a nudge; it’s a full, persistent grind. Every thrust you make into someone,” she said, her eyes locking onto Lydia’s, “every time you slam your hips forward to bury this cock in Jason’s ass, you’ll be getting fucked, too. You’ll come while you’re making him scream.”
She stepped closer, her body heat radiating against Lydia’s side. She guided Lydia’s own hand to the toy, making her fingers trace the pathways of pleasure. “Imagine it. Strapped on tight, that inside bit already stretching you, wet and ready. You line up behind him. You push in.” Alex’s voice was a raw, hot whisper against her ear. “The second you’re balls-deep in his tight hole, this pad is crushing against your clit. You’ll feel every heartbeat in your cunt. It’s a fucking feedback loop of pleasure.”
A vivid, shocking image blasted into Lydia’s mind: Jason’s back, tense and muscular, her hands gripping his hips, the scent of his sweat, the muffled sound of his groans into a pillow as she rocked forward, the simultaneous, startling fullness and the delicious abrasion on her most sensitive nerve. A low, unbidden moan escaped her throat.
“It’s perfect,” Lydia breathed, the words shaky and thick.
Alex beamed, a triumphant, feral grin. She carefully placed the harness and attachment into a black velvet drawstring bag. “Ec-fucking-xellent choice, baby girl. Anything else? Lube? We’ve got a cooling one, a warming one, a desensitizing one if you think he’s gonna be a bitch about it—”
“A dildo,” Lydia interjected, the shyness rushing back, coloring her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I need one. To practice.”
Alex’s eyes lit up with predatory delight. “Practice! Fuck, you’re serious. Okay, practice.” She spun to face the wall, gesturing broadly. “Size? Shape? Realistic or abstract? Dual-density? Vibrating? Remote control? Suction cup? We have ones that ejaculate, if you’re feeling particularly blasphemous.”
"We have ones that ejaculate, if you’re feeling particularly blasphemous."
Lydia's fingers twisted in the hem of her sweater. The clinical lighting of the sex toy wall suddenly felt exposing, judgmental. She swallowed, her throat tight. "Thirteen inches," she said, the words barely audible. She cleared it, forced volume. "About thirteen inches long. And thick. Maybe five or six inches around."
Alex's playful leer froze, then melted into pure astonishment. She let out a long, low whistle that cut through the store's low music. "Jesus, Lydia. You’re not fucking around, are you?" She leaned back against the glass case, crossing her arms. "That’s not a beginner’s toy. That’s a statement. Who’s the statement for?"
"It’s not for—I mean, it’s for me. To practice." Lydia’s cheeks burned.
Lydia’s cheeks burned. “Practice,” she repeated, the word sounding ludicrous even to her.
Alex just stared, her arms still folded, one eyebrow creeping toward her hairline. “Practice for what, exactly? You planning to deepthroat a baseball bat? Because I’ve got friends who could arrange that.”
“It’s for my neighbor,” Lydia blurted out, then immediately wished she could snatch the words back and choke on them. The sterile, spotlighted air grew thicker, charged with a new kind of anticipation.
“Your neighbor.” Alex’s voice was flat. “You’re buying a thirteen-inch dildo to practice for your neighbor.” She uncrossed her arms and took a single step closer, her presence suddenly overwhelming. “Start talking, Collier. And don’t you fucking dare leave anything out.”
The story spilled out in broken fragments, pushed by Alex’s relentless, quiet prompts. It wasn’t a linear narrative; it was a series of sensory flashes Lydia had tried to bury. The cloying smell of Gary’s nervous sweat in his immaculate, art-filled living room. The shocking softness of his lips, which felt like betrayal against the revolting landscape of his large, bulbous nose and greasy, gray-fringed head.
“He’d never been kissed,” Lydia whispered, staring at a veined, flesh-colored toy on the shelf. “Not once. Fifty-four years. Everyone just… dismissed him. He cooks like a genius, Alex. He sees beauty in things. And he’s just been invisible.”
She described the pity, a clean, almost clinical impulse that curdled into something else the moment her lips touched his. He had wept, great, shuddering sobs that shook his 400-pound frame. The sheer catastrophic gratitude in his wet, timid eyes had ignited a dark, unfamiliar spark in her gut.
“I wanted to give him more,” Lydia said, her voice gaining a strange, metallic edge. “A blowjob. Just a simple, merciful fuckin’ blowjob.”
Alex’s breath had become audible, a shallow in-and-out. She didn’t speak.
“And then I saw it.” Lydia’s laugh was a short, sharp crack. “This… this monstrous, beautiful cock on this sad, disgusting man. It didn’t belong there. It was a cosmic joke. And I couldn’t take it. I gagged like a fucking amateur. Eight inches, max. I’d swallow, gag, tears in my eyes, try again. His hands were fluttering near my head, apologizing for his own goddamn dick.”
The memory of her own failure twisted inside her, hot and urgent. The anger at her own limits, at her own delicate gag reflex, had been a physical rage. It had mixed with the growing, unspeakable heat spreading from her core — an arousal born directly from the power to absolutely annihilate with pleasure a man she found physically repulsive.
“So I flipped him over,” she said, the words coming faster now, lower. “I pinned his knees to his fat chest. He was crying again, confused. I spread his ass cheeks and I licked his asshole. I tongue-fucked him until he was screaming into his couch cushions. Then I fucked him with my fingers, hard, while I sucked him off. I swallowed every drop of his cum. He tasted like salt and shame and… and victory.”
Alex made a sound, a low groan from deep in her throat. Her knuckles were white where she gripped a shelf.
“After, I asked him to help me with my living room. The white mausoleum.” Lydia’s eyes glazed, seeing it. “He came alive. His voice changed. He talked about color theory and texture and light like it was a fucking religion. That passion… it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen on him. So I fucked him. Properly. Or tried to.”
She finally looked at Alex, her gaze sharp and fiery with frustrated need. “I could only get about eight inches inside me. It burned. It stretched me so full I saw stars, but I couldn’t take it all. I was so pissed. At myself. He deserves… he deserves to fuck someone properly. To finally use that incredible, stupid cock for what it’s for. To be inside someone, all the way, and feel wanted. Not pitied. Wanted.”
Lydia’s chest heaved. “So I need to practice. I need to learn to take all thirteen inches. In my mouth. In my cunt or my asshole. I owe him that. I want to give him that.”
The silence that followed was absolute, a vacuum where the store’s music had been swallowed whole. Alex’s face was a mask of pure, undiluted hungry awe.
Alex stared, her mouth slightly agape, breathing through parted lips. The humid air of the boutique felt charged, as if Lydia’s confession had ionized it. Finally, Alex’s throat worked, producing a scratchy, strained sound. “Do you… fuck, do you have a picture of him?”
Lydia blinked, the request a cold splash of reality. “A picture?”
“Of Gary.” Alex’s voice was rough sandpaper. “I need to see.”
A nervous flutter twisted in Lydia’s stomach. This felt like a test. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, her fingers clumsy. She swiped through her gallery, past screenshots of legal statutes and images of Dima, until she found it. The screen’s glow lit her face from below as she turned it.
It was a selfie from Santa Monica, sunlight glaring off the water behind them. Gary stood stiff and pale, his body a mountain of pale, soft flesh spilling from a black swimsuit. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, squinting against the light. Lydia, in her tiny, shocking purple metallic bikini, was pressed tightly to his side, her toned arm around his thick waist, her radiant smile a stark, violent contrast to his grimace. Her breasts were pushed up, nearly spilling from the gleaming fabric, her body a sculpture of health against his monument of neglect.
Alex took the phone, her gaze devouring the image. Her silence stretched. She zoomed in on Gary’s face, then on Lydia’s hand splayed possessively on his belly. She exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that fogged the screen for a second. Her voice, when it came, was a throaty, disbelieving whisper. “This is him? This is the sad, fat neighbor you rimmed and finger fucked? The one you fucking choked on?”
The words were not a question, but a confirmation that scalded. Lydia’s heart dropped like a stone into cold water. She misread the awe in Alex’s tone for horrified judgement. A hot, corrosive blush erupted across her chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, snatching the phone back, fumbling to blacken the screen. “Oh god, I shouldn’t have… it’s disgusting, I know it is. I’ll. . . I'll just go.”
She shoved the phone into her purse, her movements frantic with shame. The tears, hot and sudden, welled up, blurring the gleam of the sex toys into streaks of garish light. Her voice cracked, thin and desperate. “Just forget I said anything. Forget all of it. Please.”
She turned, a sob catching in her throat, and took one stumbling step toward the curtained exit.
The hand that closed around her forearm was not gentle. It was a vise of sudden, arresting force, spinning her back around with a sharp jerk that snapped her head. Before Lydia could process the motion, before the sob could fully escape her lips, Alex’s other arm lashed around her waist, cinching her close.
Their bodies collided, and Alex’s mouth found hers with a desperate, consuming hunger. It wasn’t a question; it was an answer. Lydia gasped into the kiss, her hands flying up to grip Alex’s shoulders for balance as the world tilted. Alex’s tongue pushed past her parted lips, a hot, demanding invasion that tasted of cinnamon gum and shared complicity. It was a kiss that swallowed her apology, her shame, her tears, transmuting them into a thick, electric current that arced between them.
When Alex finally broke away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together. Without a word, Alex turned her head and pressed her ear firmly against the soft swell of Lydia’s breast, nuzzling into the V-neck of her sweater. Lydia felt the warm puff of Alex’s exhalation through the fabric, felt the firm, tender pressure of Alex’s head anchoring her to the spot.
She could hear her own heart, a frantic drum against her ribs, feel the heave of her chest as she struggled to breathe normally. Alex just listened, her eyes closed, her body molded against Lydia’s.
“I love how big your heart is,” Alex whispered, the words vibrating directly into Lydia’s skin. “How fucking kind you are to people. It’s insane. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Lydia’s breath hitched, a fresh wave of tears spilling silently down her cheeks, dripping onto Alex’s dark hair.
“I would be repulsed by him too,” Alex continued, her voice low and utterly certain. “Totally disgusted. But you… you sold me. You painted this picture of this sad, brilliant man with this beautiful, cursed cock, and now I want to help him, too.” She lifted her head then, her eyes gleaming with fierce, unclouded desire. “You have to let me know the next time you’re doing your ‘charity work.’ I want to experience him. I want to see that monster dick for myself, and I want to help you take it.”
A shuddering sob of relief wracked Lydia’s frame. Her arms, which had hung limply at her sides, now flew around Alex, squeezing her tightly, crushing Alex’s face back against her chest as if she could absorb her. She bent her head, pressing a trembling kiss into Alex’s hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and the boutique’s vanilla perfume.
Lydia whispered, the words raw and unfiltered, “I love how you don’t flinch. You’ve never judged me, not once, not even when I was just a scared teacher in a parking lot. You taught me how to want what I want.”
She held on for another long moment, feeling Alex’s strong heartbeat syncopating with her own slowing one. Then, a wet, shaky laugh bubbled up from her throat. She pulled back just enough to look down at Alex’s face, her thumbs wiping at her own damp cheeks.
“So,” Lydia said, her voice hoarse but laced with a new, shaky humor. “You really want to double-team my sad, fat neighbor? You, me, and Gary’s thirteen-inch problem?”
Alex’s gaze held hers, utterly unflinching. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by a seriousness that was far more intoxicating. “In all seriousness,” Alex said, her voice low and stripped of all humor. She pulled back just enough to look Lydia dead in the eye. Her hands came up to frame Lydia’s face, thumbs resting on her cheekbones. “If you’re involved, I will fuck anyone. Anytime. And anywhere.”
She punctuated the last word with another deep, passionate kiss. Her heels rocked up and forward, shifting her balance to push her body tighter against Lydia’s, to help her kiss Lydia more deeply, with a claiming, desperate pressure that stole the air from Lydia’s lungs. It was a seal on a pact. Then she broke the kiss with a soft, wet sound, her breath coming in quick puffs against Lydia’s mouth. She gave Lydia’s hips a final, firm squeeze before turning back to the wall, her professional mask sliding back into place with eerie speed.
“Right. The thirteen-inch problem. Let’s find your trainer.” Alex’s tone was brisk, but her fingers trembled slightly as she gestured to a higher shelf Lydia hadn’t even noticed. “We don’t carry any anatomically correct dildos at that size. Not human ones, anyway.”
Lydia blinked, the warmth of Alex’s declaration still buzzing on her lips. “Why not?”
“Because most people wanting something that big,” Alex explained, reaching up, “aren’t looking for realism. They’re looking for an experience. Something special.” She pulled down a heavy, flesh-toned silicone shape and held it out. “Exhibit A.”
Lydia stared. It was shaped like a muscular forearm, complete with defined veins and tendons carved into the silicone, ending in a tightly clenched fist. The knuckles were prominent, brutal. “It’s a fisting trainer,” Alex said matter-of-factly, rotating it. “The wrist has a slight curve for G-spot or prostate contact. The idea is to work up to taking the entire fist. It’s about fullness, a stretching sensation, not thrusting.”
A vivid, impossible image flashed: Gary’s bewildered face as she presented this to him. Lydia shook her head, a faint smile touching her lips. “Not that.”
“Okay.” Alex replaced it and selected another, this one a shimmering, pearlescent blue. The shape was strange, sinuous, with undulating ridges and a flared, scalloped base. “Alien design. The ridges are supposed to stimulate in sequence, like a wave. It’s a vibration pattern thing. Very popular.”
It was beautiful in an eerie, non-terrestrial way, but it felt disconnected from the raw, human mess of Gary and his pathetic gratitude. “No,” Lydia said softly.
Alex nodded, putting it back. Her fingers skipped over a few others before she carefully lifted a monstrous piece from its stand. It was a deep black, shot through with iridescent purple flecks. The shape was a tapering cone, thick at the base and narrowing slightly before flaring again at the tip, encircled by pronounced, ring-like ridges from base to tip. “This is a dragon dildo,” Alex said, her voice dropping with a hint of reverence. “The rings are intense. The taper is for gradual, relentless stretching. The flared base is to prevent… tragic loss.”
Lydia reached out, her fingers hovering over the textured rings. She imagined the drag of them, each one a distinct event stretching her throat or her insides. It was closer. It had a mythic, punishing quality that resonated with the fairy-tale curse of Gary’s body.
Then Alex’s hand closed around a different one on the lower shelf. She hefted it, and Lydia heard a soft, dense thump as she set its base on the glass counter.
This one commanded the room.
It had the vague, overall shape of a human penis—a shaft, a head, a set of balls—but it was a thing of grotesque fantasy. The head was a lumpy, mushroom-shaped cap studded with large, irregular bumps and nodules. The shaft beneath wasn’t smooth; it was ribbed with deep, spiraling ridges all the way down to where it met a pair of massive, pendulous silicone balls. The color was a deep, mossy green, the shade of something that grew in shadow.
“This,” Alex said, her voice hushed, “is an orc cock.”
Lydia couldn’t look away. The repulsive beauty of it held her captive. The bumps on the head looked like they would catch and tug on every sensitive inch of flesh. The ridges promised a brutal, corkscrewing friction. The sheer weight of those balls implied a heaviness, a finality to each thrust.
“I’ve always been turned on seeing it on the shelf,” Alex admitted, running her index finger along a pronounced ridge. She didn’t look at Lydia. “It’s so fucking ugly. So blatantly not human. It’s for getting wrecked by a monster. I’ve never bought it. Never really let myself delve into that… repulsive, but sexy side of me.” Now she looked up, and her eyes were blazing with transferred hunger. “But you, Lydia. You and your sad neighbor with his beautiful monster dick? You have me completely sold on it now.”
She offered the green dildo to Lydia. It was warm from Alex’s grip and surprisingly heavy, a dense, intimidating pound of silicone. Lydia’s fingers traced the bumpy head, then the relentless ridges. She wrapped her hand around the shaft; her fingers didn’t meet.
“This is it,” Lydia whispered. The decision felt inevitable, like fitting a final, missing piece into a twisted puzzle. “This is what I need to practice on. This is what will get me ready for him.”