Chapter 11: Little bit of shit during sex
The city below Cassie’s windows was a grid of midday sun and shadow. Inside, the air was cool, silent except for the low hum of climate control and the wet, rhythmic sounds coming from the large dog bed in the center of the living room.
Sasha was on her back, a position of profound vulnerability she would have once found unthinkable. Cassie straddled her hips, a vision in peach-colored velour, her unnaturally large breasts swaying as she moved. Her hands were busy, greedy. One kneaded the dense muscle of Sasha’s pectoral, pinching a nipple through the thin fabric of the tank top Sasha wore. The other was buried between Sasha’s thick, powerful thighs, working her with a relentless, knowing rhythm.
“Such a good, strong bitch for me,” Cassie cooed, her voice syrupy. “Yes, you are. My mighty girl. All that muscle, just… melting.”
Sasha’s head tossed side to side, her short hair damp with sweat. The silicone mask was off—a reward—so every hitched breath, every choked-back moan was naked in the room. Cassie’s fingers curled inside her, and Sasha’s hips jerked off the plush bed. The pleasure was a tight, coiling spring in her gut, amplified a thousandfold by the shame, by the absolute ownership in Cassie’s vacant, hungry eyes.
A different pressure built, deeper, more insistent. A direct consequence of the massive, rich breakfast Cassie had hand-fed her hours earlier: eggs Benedict, sausages, buttery croissants, all washed down with a protein shake laced with fiber supplement. Cassie had watched her eat every bite, smiling that empty smile.
A low gurgle echoed in Sasha’s abdomen. She stiffened.
“Cassie,” she gasped, the word strained.
“What is it, puppy? Tell me.” Cassie didn’t slow her hand. She leaned forward, her pouty lips brushing Sasha’s ear. “Use your words.”
“I need… I can’t…” Sasha swallowed, her face flaming. The pressure was becoming acute, a physical truth her body could no longer ignore. A tight, urgent cramp followed the gurgle. A fart escaped her, loud and abrupt in the quiet room.
Cassie giggled, a light, airy sound. “Oopsie. Someone’s full.”
“Cassie, stop,” Sasha pleaded, though her body was still arching into Cassie’s touch. “I’m going to… you don’t want… here.”
“I don’t want?” Cassie pulled back to look at her. Her expression was one of pure, mocking delight. “My big, nasty bitch is full of my good food. Her belly is so, so full.” She pressed her palm flat against Sasha’s taut abdomen, rubbing in a firm circle. The cramp intensified. “I know exactly what’s gonna happen. I want it to happen. Right here.”
She kissed Sasha then, sloppily, tongue thrusting past her lips, swallowing Sasha’s groan. It was a claiming. When she broke the kiss, a string of saliva connected them. “I love the stink. I love the mess. It’s real. It’s you. My animal.”
The permission, twisted as it was, shattered Sasha’s last wall of resistance. The dual sensations—Cassie’s fingers relentless on her clit, the massive, urgent weight in her bowels—collided. Cassie rolled her over onto her hands and knees with surprising strength.
“There. That’s it. Let it go.”
Sasha buried her face in the cushion, a broken sob tearing from her throat. Her body took over, obeying its deepest, most basic function. It was not quiet, not clean. It was a harsh, visceral release, accompanied by another loud, guttural passing of gas. The smell hit the air immediately—organic, profoundly human, cutting through the apartment’s sterile perfume.
And as she emptied herself, a violent, shocking wave of orgasm ripped through her. It was seismic, untethered from any sense of propriety, a raw physical scream that left her trembling and babbling.
“Cassie… bozhe moy… my Cassie… love you, I love you, I’m yours, yours, yours…”
Cassie watched, enraptured, her hand still moving between Sasha’s thighs, drawing out the last shudders. “I know, puppy. I know. Look at you. So perfect. My strong woman, making her mess for me. There’s no one else like you.”
She didn’t flinch from the smell. She breathed it in, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. This was the ultimate canvas: strength brought to its most base, private point. Power, defiled and worshiped in the same breath.
When Sasha finally stilled, spent and hollow, Cassie withdrew her hand. She patted Sasha’s heaving flank, a stablemaster with a prized mare.
“Such a good girl. You made your Cassie so happy.”
She stood and walked to a discreet panel on the wall, pressing a button. A faint chime sounded elsewhere in the penthouse. “María will come and clean you up, sweetie. Then it’s nap time in your kennel. You must be exhausted.”
Sasha didn’t move. She lay in the aftermath, the smell of her own release and the scent of Cassie’s perfume on the cushion beneath her cheek. The humiliation was a live wire, but it was fused now with an inexplicable, drowning gratitude. She had been seen, in every possible way, and had not been turned away.
Cassie wandered to the window, humming lightly, watching the city. She glanced back over her shoulder, her platinum hair catching the light. “We’ll do that again soon,” she said casually, as if planning a spa day. “Maybe after pasta night. All those carbs.”
Sasha closed her eyes. The deep peace from the kennel returned, but it was warmer now, tinged with the aftershocks of pleasure and the profound fatigue of complete surrender. She was empty. She was owned. The transaction, in all its filthy, undeniable reality, was complete.