Chapter 1: Chapter 1
The restaurant lighting was warm and low, soft gold washing over the room like honey, the kind of ambiance Cabba picked on purpose. Romantic. Tender. Thoughtful. He was staring at Kefla like he’d won the universe’s favor just by sitting across from her. And to be fair, she looked… devastating.
Her tight green dress clung to her like it was terrified to slip off. Her tits, huge, heavy, pornstar-big, fought the neckline with every breath. The fabric threatened to give up and spill them out any second. Her waist pulled tight, hips wide and lush, thighs thick and sculpted beneath the table. She shouldn’t have worn something this revealing for dinner with her boyfriend. But she had.
Because it made her feel good. Because she liked the attention. Because Kefla cut that thought off before it formed too clearly. Cabba beamed at her, gently squeezing her hand. “You look beautiful tonight, babe.”
She smiled back, pretending her heart wasn’t hammering for completely different reasons.
Across the restaurant, at the bar, was the reason.
Oolong.
The anthro pig leaned against the counter, arms crossed, lazy confidence radiating from him. And gods… that bulge. His pants strained around a heavy, thick outline so obscene she couldn’t stop glancing at it. It was the kind of bulge that didn’t just hint at size — it announced it.
Every time she accidentally let her eyes flick toward it, heat curled low in her belly.
She wasn’t cheating.
She wasn’t.
She was just… noticing. That’s all.
Oolong caught her staring. His grin sharpened.
He let his gaze drag down her body — her tits, her hips, her thighs — slow enough to make her skin prickle. His eyes burned with filthy amusement, like he already knew what she didn’t want to admit.
Kefla’s thighs squeezed together.
Cabba thought she was shy. Oolong knew better.
One of her dress straps slipped a little lower as she adjusted herself, exposing even more cleavage. Pure accident. Probably.
Oolong’s nostrils flared.
Cabba squeezed her hand again, oblivious. “You’re blushing. You okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” Kefla smiled sweetly. “Perfect.”
Her phone buzzed silently in her lap.
She shouldn’t have checked it.
But she did.
Daddy Oolong: Bathroom. 5 minutes. You still owe me.
Her pulse stopped. Then kicked back twice as hard.
She didn’t owe him anything serious.
Just a handjob.
Just payment. Just payback for something he helped her with last week. Just something that didn’t count as cheating.
It didn’t.
And she would not call herself his slut. That was not what this was.
Cabba was talking about their year together now — how happy he was, how much she meant to him. His voice trembled with sincerity.
Kefla’s stomach twisted. Not with guilt.
With arousal.
Her phone buzzed again.
Daddy Oolong: 3 min. Don’t test me.
She swallowed.
“Babe,” she said softly, leaning across the table to kiss Cabba’s cheek, “I’m just gonna freshen up before the food comes, okay?”
He smiled warmly. “Take your time.”
She stood — her tits bouncing dangerously in the tight fabric — and walked away with slow, controlled steps. But the second she turned the corner out of Cabba’s sight, her gait changed. Quicker. Needier.
She wasn’t cheating. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.
She was just repaying Oolong. Just keeping a promise.
The men’s bathroom door clicked behind her.
Oolong was already there. Waiting. Arms crossed. Greedy grin in place. Bulge still massive and impossible.
“On time,” he said, voice low and smug. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Kefla crossed her arms, defensive. “I told you I’d repay the favor. That’s all this is.”
He pushed off the wall, stepping closer until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Right. Not cheating.” His voice dripped with mock sympathy. “Just my pretty little pornstar-looking tease giving me the handjob she owes.”
She bristled — and blushed.
“It’s not cheating if Cabba and I haven’t been intimate for months,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “He wants to wait. I’m respecting that.”
Oolong snorted.
“Sure you are. And here you are in a dress one wrong breath away from flashing those huge tits at me.”
She flushed deeper.
“That has nothing to do with you.”
His eyes dropped to her chest — those heavy, perfect breasts straining to stay inside the dress.
“No?” He smirked. “Funny. ‘Cause they look like they’re begging for attention.”
Kefla took a shaky breath.
“Can we just… get this over with?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly, “I’m going to enjoy every second.”
He planted himself in front of her, the bulge inches from her stomach, radiating heat. Kefla swallowed hard. She hated how her thighs pressed together automatically.
“Undo my pants,” Oolong said.
She reached forward.
He caught her wrist.
“No hands.”
Her breath hitched.
“But— that’s not—” she stammered. “The deal was a handjob. With my hands.”
Oolong leaned down, voice hot against her ear.
“You’ll use them soon enough.”
Her knees trembled.
“Open my pants,” he growled, “with your mouth.”
Kefla’s heart slammed. Her mind screamed no. Her body whispered god yes.
“I… I don’t think—”
“You’re not cheating, remember?” he murmured. “You’re just paying a debt.”
He nudged his hips forward, making that monstrous bulge brush her stomach.
Her breath broke.
Slowly — painfully slowly — she sank to her knees.
She wasn’t his slut. She wasn’t cheating.
She was just doing what she owed him.
Her face hovered inches from the bulge she pretended not to crave. His scent — warm, musky, intoxicating — filled her lungs.
“That’s it,” Oolong murmured, threading his fingers into her hair. “Good girl. Now open Daddy’s pants.”
Her lips brushed the zipper.
She hated how she shivered.
And then she hooked her teeth around the metal tab… and pulled.