Chapter 1: Training Session Temptation
The gravity chamber hummed, a low, white noise that filled every corner of the stark white room. It wasn’t the oppressive, crushing hum of a high-gravity setting, but the idle thrum of a machine recently powered down. The scent of ozone and hot metal hung in the air, sharp and clean.
Videl wiped a line of sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist, her blue gi damp across her shoulders. She hadn’t trained here for months, not since Pan was born. Her body remembered the movements, but the rhythm felt… off.Hollow. Gohan had offered to spar with her, but he’d been called away to some scholarly emergency, a text that was half apology, half stream of translated alien glyphs. She’d told him it was fine. She was used to it.
The door hissed open behind her.
“Oh, hey. Didn’t think anyone was in here.”
She turned. Krillin stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the brighter light of the hallway. He was towelling off his bald head, his own orange gi loose and unmarked by the strain she felt in her own muscles.
“Just finishing up,” she said, and her voice sounded strange in her own ears. Too bright. “Gohan got pulled away.”
“Typical.” Krillin grinned, stepping inside. The door sealed shut with a soft thump, leaving them in the humming quiet. “I was just doing some maintenance on the unit. Making sure it doesn’t decide to crush someone into paste one day. Eighteen says hi, by the way. Said you two should do lunch.”
“Yeah. We should.” Videl’s reply was automatic. Her eyes tracked him as he walked over to the central control panel, his back to her. He was short, compact, but there was a density to him, a sense of coiled power that his friendly demeanor belied. She’d seen him fight. She knew.
Her gaze drifted down, over the loose fabric of his trousers. A heat, sudden and unbidden, coiled low in her stomach. It was a thought she’d beaten back for weeks, a fantasy that felt more real to her in the quiet midnight hours than the familiar, gentle touch of her own husband. It was ridiculous. It was wrong.
And in this sealed, silent room, it was all she could think about.
She walked towards the water cooler near the wall, her path taking her close to him. “Mind if I…?”
“Huh? Oh, go ahead,” he said, not looking up from a diagnostics screen.
As she passed, she let her step falter. She misjudged the distance, or maybe she didn’t. Her thigh brushed against him.
It wasn’t just a brush.
Through the thin, sweat-dampened cotton of her gi and his, she felt it. A solid, unmoving weight. A heat that seared through the layers. It wasn’t arousal; it was just… there. A shocking, undeniable mass pressed against the back of her leg. Her breath hitched, sharp and audible in the humming room.
Her mind went blank, then flooded with a single, obscene image. The stories, the locker-room whispers she’d pretended not to hear, the times she’d caught herself staring and quickly looked away—they were all true.More than true. The sheer, physical reality of it, the passive weight against her muscle, short-circuited every thought except one.
This is it. Now or never.
Krillin had stiffened. He hadn’t moved away. “Sorry,” he muttered, his voice tight. He still didn’t turn around.
“For what?” Videl heard herself say. The words were casual, but her tone was low, a vibration that felt foreign in her throat. She didn’t move her leg away.
That did it. He turned slowly. His face, usually so open and cheerful, was a mask of conflicted tension. His dark eyes searched hers, looking for a joke, for a sign she’d stumbled. He found neither.
“Videl…” It was a warning, a question, a plea all at once.
The guilt was there, a sharp pang behind her ribs. Gohan’s trusting smile flashed in her mind. Pan’s soft baby scent. It was drowned out by a tide of something darker, hotter, more desperate. Two years of comfortable, predictable passion that left her staring at the ceiling. Two years of feeling her own fierce fire banked into embers. This wasn’t fire. This was an inferno, and she was tired of being cold.
She closed the inch between them. Her hand, of its own volition, came up and rested flat against his chest. She felt the rapid, hammering beat of his heart.
“It’s just us,” she whispered, her blue eyes locked on his. “The door’s sealed. No one’s coming.”
“Eighteen…” he started, but the name died on his lips as Videl’s other hand drifted down, past his navel, her fingers tracing a deliberate path through the fabric.
“Don’t think about her,” Videl breathed, her own heart a wild drum against her ribs. “Don’t think about anything.” Her fingers found the firm, impossible swell of him, and she curled her hand around it, not gripping, just measuring. A soft, shocked gasp escaped her. The whispered descriptions hadn’t done it justice. The sheer, veined girth of it, the heavy heat, felt less like a part of him and more like a separate entity. A third presence in the room. The two dense, full weights beneath her fingers made her mouth go dry.
Krillin’s control shattered. A low groan rumbled from his chest, and his hands came up, gripping her hips. They were strong, calloused fighter’s hands, and they held her with an intensity that made her knees weak. His nostrils flared.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” he growled, the friendly man gone, replaced by something raw and hungry.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she fired back, the challenge automatic, even as desire pooled molten between her legs. She pressed herself against him fully now, letting her generous curves mold against his compact frame. The hard ridge of him was a brand against her stomach. “I’ve been thinking about this.About you. For months.”
The confession hung in the ozone-scented air.It was out. There was no taking it back.
His eyes darkened. One hand slid from her hip, up the curve of her spine, leaving a trail of fire. It fisted gently in the short, spiky hair at the nape of her neck, not pulling, just holding. Possessing. “Months?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip. The guilt was still there, but it was a distant thing, smothered by the pounding need. This was a terrible, wonderful mistake, and she was going to dive headfirst into it.
He looked at her—really looked—seeing the frustration, the hunger, the willful disregard for the cliff edge they were approaching. His own internal war was plain on his face: loyalty, friendship, marriage, all versus a temptation that had just physically announced itself in the most unambiguous terms possible.
The humming of the chamber seemed to grow louder, a soundtrack to the tension.
Finally, his grip in her hair tightened, just a fraction. A decision made.
“Then stop thinking,” he said, his voice rough. “And show me.”
His words weren't a command, but a permit, and Videl felt a terrifying freedom unlock inside her. The hum of the gravity chamber faded into a singular, rushing sound in her ears, like a distant ocean.
She didn't hesitate.
Her fingers, which had been tentatively curled around the impossible girth of him, now fumbled with the knot of his waist cord. Her knuckles brushed against the heavy, hot flesh beneath the fabric, and she felt a corresponding jolt travel up her own spine. The cord gave way. The loose orange fabric of his trousers hung open.
She saw the line of his hip, the taut muscle of his abdomen, and then, revealed, the staggering reality of him.
All the air left her lungs in a soft, "Oh."
It wasn't arousal that made it look like that. It was just… its state of being. A thick, veined column of flesh, pulsing slightly with his heartbeat, curving upward against his stomach. The sheer, ruddy weight of it was obscene, almost clinical in its defiance of proportion. The two heavy sacs beneath, full and taut, completed a picture that was less erotic and more like confronting a natural force. A dormant volcano.
She wanted to taste it.
The thought was primal, a clean slash through the tangled guilt and fantasy. It was a need, simple and direct.
She dropped to her knees.
The cool, hard floor of the gravity chamber bit into her kneecaps through the thin fabric of her gi. The shift in height was dramatic. He loomed above her now, not as the friendly Krillin, but as a statue of living, breathing want. The scent of him—clean sweat, ozone, and something muskier, deeply male—filled her senses.
From this angle, it was utterly daunting.
Her bright blue eyes, wide and dark with lust, traveled the length of it, from the thick root to the broad, flushed head. A single bead of moisture glistened at the tip. Without conscious thought, her tongue darted out to wet her own lips.
Up close, the detail was mesmerizing. A thick network of blue veins traced a map of pressure beneath the skin. It felt alive, hot, and radiated a heat she could feel on her face. This was the center of the secret. This was what had haunted her dreams.
"Videl." His voice was a strained rasp above her. His hands, which had been at his sides, clenched into fists, then relaxed. One came up and pressed against the smooth, cool surface of the control panel for support. The other hovered near her head, not touching, trembling with the effort of restraint.
She didn't look up at him. Her entire world had narrowed to the space between her lips and him.
Her first touch was with her hand, a necessity. Her fingers couldn't fully circle him. She had to use a loose grip, her thumb stroking along a prominent vein on the underside. The skin was silk over steel. A deep, guttural sound vibrated in his chest, echoing in the sterile room.
Emboldened, she leaned forward, her short black hair brushing his stomach. She opened her mouth and took just the broad, smooth head past her lips.
Salt and heat. A foreign, electric taste.
A sharp hiss escaped him. His hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk. "Easy," he gasped, the word tight.
She ignored him. The challenge was absolute. Her own hunger surged, competitive and desperate. She wanted to conquer this. She wanted to be the one who could.
Using her hand as a guide, she pushed forward, allowing more of him into the wet heat of her mouth. Her jaw ached immediately, a sharp protest at the stretching. She couldn't take much. It was a humbling, deeply erotic defeat. She worked with what she could, her tongue flattening against the sensitive frenulum, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked.
Her other hand cradled the massive, weighted fullness of his sac, feeling the tension there. She heard him curse, a raw, shattered word that wasn't in his usual vocabulary. His fingers finally sank into her hair, not forcing, just holding on, anchoring himself as her head began to bob in a slow, determined rhythm.
The guilt was gone. Burnt away in the furnace of this act. There was only the ache in her jaw, the salt on her tongue, the sounds he made above her, and the desperate, slick throbbing between her own legs. This was what she’d wanted. Not just him, but this feeling—of being overwhelmed, of pushing a limit, of doing something unequivocally, sinfully real.
She looked up, her eyes meeting his. His face was a mask of agonized pleasure, his teeth bared, his brow furrowed. The sight of him coming apart because of her, because of her mouth, sent a violent thrill through her core.
She increased her pace, a messy, earnest rhythm, saliva slicking her chin. The hum of the gravity chamber was now syncopated by his ragged breathing and the wet, intimate sounds she made.
The hum of the gravity chamber was now syncopated by his ragged breathing and the wet, intimate sounds she made. Her jaw was a blunt, burning ache, a testament to the physical reality of him. She tasted the sharp, clean proof of his arousal on her tongue, and the vibration of his groan as her hand worked the thick base she couldn't accommodate thrilled her in a way that felt predatory.
She was losing herself in the mechanics of it, in the faint, salty drip at the back of her throat, when his grip in her hair tightened. Not painful, but decisive.
“Enough,” he grunted, the word strained and gravelly.
He pulled her head back gently, freeing himself from her mouth with a soft, wet pop. Her lips felt swollen, used. She looked up, dazed, a string of saliva connecting her chin to his glistening tip. His eyes were black with a need that had eclipsed all hesitation. The friendly Krillin was gone, erased by this feral, focused intensity.
Before she could speak, before she could even process the sudden emptiness, his hands shifted.
They slid from her hair, down under her arms. His strength was absurd, effortless. In one smooth, powerful motion, he lifted her up from her knees as if she weighed nothing. Her feet left the cool floor. A gasp of pure shock was torn from her throat. This wasn't a romantic gesture; it was a claiming. He maneuvered her, turning her in the air until her back was against the smooth, humming metal of the gravity chamber's central control unit. The surface was unyielding and cold through her damp gi.
He held her there, pinned between the machine and the solid wall of his body, her legs dangling for a moment before he hooked his arms under her knees. He spread her, folding her legs up and out, opening her completely to him. The rough orange fabric of his trousers scratched the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
He was breathing hard, his forehead nearly touching hers. “You started this,” he whispered, the heat of his words washing over her face. His cock, a monstrous, insistent pressure, nudged against the soaked fabric between her legs. “You sure you wanna finish it?”
Her mind was a white noise of panic and desire. This was the point of no return. The cold metal against her back, the sheer display of his power, the thick promise pressing where she was already throbbing—it was terrifying. It was everything.
“Fuck yes,” she hissed, her voice cracking. She wrapped her arms around his neck, not for support, but to anchor herself in the freefall. “Stop talking. Just… fuck me. Please.”
The ‘please’ did it. A dark, approving smile touched his lips.
He didn’t bother with her gi. He shoved the loose blue fabric of her pants to the side, the tear of the seam a sharp, final sound in the room. There was no finesse. No gentle exploration. The broad, slick head of him found her entrance and pushed.
Videl’s head slammed back against the control panel with a dull thud. A broken cry, half pain, half surreal ecstasy, escaped her. It was too much. It was an invasion in a single, relentless stroke. Her body, unprepared, fought the impossible stretch, a searing, full-to-bursting pressure that tore a gasp from her lungs. She felt impossibly split open, stuffed to a depth she didn't know she had.
“Oh fuck… oh my god, Krillin…” The words were a ragged prayer.
He was buried to the hilt inside her, a complete and shocking possession. He stayed there, frozen, shuddering. His own eyes were screwed shut, his jaw clenched. “Christ, Videl… you’re so fucking tight.” His voice was a raw scrape. “You feel that? You feel all of it?”
She could only nod, her breath coming in sharp, shallow pants. She felt everything. The maddening stretch, the deep, internal nudging at her limit, the terrifying, delicious fullness. The pain was already transmuting, burning into a pleasure so intense it bordered on nausea.
Then he moved.
He pulled back, a slow, devastating retreat that made her whimper at the loss, then drove back in. It wasn't a rhythm. It was a battering. A relentless, piston-like fucking that held her captive against the unyielding machine. Each thrust slammed her body into the metal, a jarring impact that rattled her teeth. The control panel buttons dug into her spine.
The sounds were obscene. The wet, rhythmic slap of their joining. The heavy, guttural grunts from his chest. Her own high, desperate cries, which she didn't even recognize.
“Is this what you wanted?” he growled into her ear, his breath hot. His pace increased, brutally efficient. “Huh? This what you were thinking about while he was reading his books?”
The mention of Gohan was a lash, a spike of guilt that only sharpened the pleasure into something vicious and shameful. “Yes!” she screamed, the admission torn from her. “God, yes! Harder!”
He obliged. He fucked her with a single-minded ferocity that belonged in a fight, not a bed. There was no tenderness, no romance. It was pure, unadulterated carnality. Her gigantic tits bounced roughly with every powerful drive, confined by her gi. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs, his fingers pressing brutal, claiming bruises into her toned flesh.
Her climax built not as a wave, but as a detonation. It started deep in her core, where he stretched her most, a coiling, white-hot wire pulled taut. His relentless pounding pushed it, frayed it.
“I’m gonna… Krillin, I’m gonna come…” she babbled, her vision spotting.
“Come then,” he commanded, never breaking his pace. “Come all over this cock you wanted so bad.”
The command, the filthy words, the sheer, punishing fullness, shattered her. The orgasm ripped through her, violent and convulsing. Her inner muscles clamped down around the impossible girth of him in a series of desperate, rhythmic pulses. Her cry echoed in the stark white room, a raw sound of absolute surrender.
Her cry echoed in the stark white room, a raw sound of absolute surrender. The convulsions gripped her, wringing a pleasure so intense it felt like pain from her core. Her head swam, the white lights overhead blurring into nebulous streaks.
Krillin didn't stop. He didn't even slow.
He used her climax, fucking her through the violent shudders, his own control fraying at the edges. Her tightness, now fluttering and clenching rhythmically around him, was a silken vise. A deep, animal groan was torn from his throat.
"Fuck... fucking hell..." he panted, his hips pistoning in a shorter, frantic rhythm. The slap of skin against skin was wet, rapid. He was close. She could feel him swelling even further inside her, a terrifying, exhilarating promise.
His thrusts became ragged, losing their punishing precision. He was chasing it now, driven by a need that had eclipsed all thought. His fingers dug into the fleshy curve of her ass, lifting her slightly to angle his final, deep drives.
Videl was mindless. A vessel of sensation. The initial, sharp pleasure of her orgasm was subsiding into a heavy, overstimulated throb. Each new plunge sent fresh sparks through her oversensitive nerves. It was too much. It was perfect.
She felt him tense, every muscle in his compact body locking. A harsh, guttural shout erupted from him, nothing like his normal voice. It was pure, raw release.
He slammed into her one last time, burying himself to the root, and held there. She felt the hot, insistent pulse deep inside her, a flood of warmth that seemed to go on and on, filling the impossible space he’d created. Each throb was a confirmation of their transgression, a physical record seeding itself within her.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the hum of the machine. He slumped forward, his forehead damp against her shoulder, his weight pressing her even harder into the unyielding control panel. The scent of sex—musky, salty, sharp—overwhelmed the clean ozone.
Slowly, the world swam back into focus. The cold metal against her back. The damp, torn fabric of her gi. The slick, aching fullness between her legs. The weight of him, inside and out.
He softened, but didn’t pull out. He just stayed there, a heavy, breathless anchor.
Videl’s mind, which had been blissfully blank, began to stutter back online. The first thing that filtered in wasn't guilt. It was a hollow, aching want. The feeling of being so completely… used. Filled. It was dwindling, seeping away as his massive cock began to soften and retreat from her stretched, tender flesh.
A profound sense of loss followed the physical emptiness. The ordinary world, with its moral boundaries and quiet disappointments, was rushing back in to fill the void he left.
Without thinking, her hands, which had been clutching his shoulders, slid down his sweaty back. Her voice, when it came, was a hoarse, broken whisper against the shell of his ear.
“Don’t stop.”
Krillin went very still. He lifted his head, his dark eyes searching hers, cloudy with spent lust and dawning horror.
“Videl…”
“I mean it,” she insisted, the words tumbling out, desperate and hungry. The clarity of her need shocked her. It wasn't about orgasm anymore. It was about oblivion. It was about staying in that white noise where nothing else existed. “Please. Just… keep going. Fuck me again.Right now. I don’t care. I need it. I need you to fuck me until I can’t even remember my own name.”
She squeezed her inner muscles, a feeble, aching pulse around the softening length of him. She shifted her hips, a pleading grind. “Your… your libido. It’s limitless, right? That’s what they say.So prove it. Don’t think. Just give me more. Please, Krillin. I’m begging you.”