Chapter 3: Experiments
The cracked screen of Kira's phone felt cool against her flushed cheek as she tapped Maya's contact. Each ring echoed the frantic thudding of her heart. She paced the small patch of floor not covered by discarded clothes that no longer fit – the jeans split at the seam, the sweater stretched beyond recognition. The unnerving hum of power was a constant vibration in her bones now, a stark reminder of what she’d done, what she’d become.
"Kira? Everything okay?" Maya's voice, laced with instant concern, cut through the line.
"No. Yes. Sort of." Kira's voice hitched, the words tumbling out in a shaky rush. "Maya... I tried to stop someone. A car thief. Like, right after the coffee shop. But... my powers... they just vanished. Poof. Gone. I was useless. He shoved me, I fell..." Humiliation burned hot in her chest. "This guy, Tom, he saw, helped me up. Seemed nice. Took me for a drink. Then... he came up."
"Ooh," Maya breathed, the concern instantly replaced by avid curiosity. "Okay, details, Harding. Spill everything. Did you... test the hypothesis?"
Kira squeezed her eyes shut, the memory raw. "I did. I told him. To go down on me. First. Like you said. Owned it." She swallowed hard. "He did. It was... okay. But then he tried to pull away, wanted his turn. I... I grabbed his hair. Held him there. Made him keep going." The admission felt like swallowing glass. "I came. Hard. Powers slammed back in, Maya. Like getting hit by lightning. I felt huge. Strong. But then..." She faltered.
"But then what?" Maya pressed, her voice sharp.
"He tried to grab me. Pulled my hair. Tried to force my head down." Kira’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "Said I 'owed' him. So I... I pushed him. Not hard! But with the power... He flew back. Hit the bed. And I... I just climbed on. Straddled his chest. Held his head down and... rode his face. Until I came again. I squirted everywhere, Maya. All over him." The shame was a physical weight. "And... when he tried to grab my wrist? When he pulled my hair? I squeezed his hand. Just... reacted. Heard something crunch. Maya, I think I broke his fucking hand."
A stunned silence stretched on the other end. Kira braced for disgust, horror. Instead, Maya exhaled, a long, low whistle. "Holy. Shit. Kira."
"It was awful! I lost control! I hurt him!"
"Hurt him?" Maya’s voice turned fiercely pragmatic. "He tried to force you, Kira. After you explicitly told him no. He fucking assaulted you. What did you expect? A polite thank you note? You defended yourself with the tools you had. Big fucking tools, apparently." Another pause. "Though the face-riding while he was pinned... that's... intense. New level, Harding."
"It felt... primal," Kira whispered, the terrifying power still vibrating within her. "Like the strength needed it. Needed to dominate."
"Okay, okay," Maya said, her engineer brain clearly clicking into gear. "Data points. Powers fade after initial orgasm. Significant boost upon second, especially when fueled by... asserting dominance? Self-defense? Extreme emotion? And they seem permanent after that second surge, at least for a while. You still feel it now, right?"
"Yeah," Kira confirmed, flexing her hand, feeling the dense power thrumming. "Strong. Solid."
"Good. We need controlled experimentation. This Tom guy? Not controlled. Dangerous. You need safe. You need someone who understands the assignment and doesn't expect a fucking gold star just for showing up." Maya’s tone shifted, decisive. "I know someone. Chris. Barista in our building cafe. Sweet kid. Shy. Total pussy-eating enthusiast. Seriously, that’s his whole thing. Loves it. Doesn’t expect reciprocation. Doesn’t want it, according to Stacey in Accounting who dated him briefly. She dumped him because he wasn't 'assertive' enough, didn't want to fuck her after. Just wanted to... service."
Kira blinked. "Just... wants to go down?"
"Exactly. Certified safe harbor. Eager to please. No hidden agenda, no sense of 'owing'. Perfect for you to practice control, test power recharge, without the risk of some asshole trying to grab you." Maya’s voice softened slightly. "You scared me with the alley story, Kira. Let's figure this out properly. Safely. Let me set it up. Tonight? My place. I’ll make sure Chris is available and understands the... parameters. Just oral. For you. That’s the deal."
The thought was terrifying. Exposing this raw, powerful, hungry part of herself to a stranger. But Maya was right. She needed to understand the rules. Needed to channel this without violence. Needed to know if she could recharge without breaking someone. The power inside her seemed to pulse in agreement, a low thrum of anticipation. "Okay," Kira breathed, the word heavy with nerves and a strange, burgeoning resolve. "Okay, tonight. But I want to see he's normal first, before he... you know",
The cloying scent of spilled whiskey and cheap candles hung heavy in Maya’s cramped apartment when Chris arrived, his knuckles tapping lightly on the open door. He hovered awkwardly, a lanky silhouette against the hallway light, clutching a six-pack like a shield, his shy smile barely visible beneath a messy fringe of dark hair. “Hey Maya. Uh, brought beer?”
“Chris! Perfect timing!” Maya boomed, sweeping him inside before he could bolt. “Meet Kira, right!” She practically shoved him towards Kira, who perched stiffly on the worn leather sofa, a glass of wine already clutched in hands that felt too large, too powerful for the delicate stem. The power hummed low in her bones, a constant reminder of Tom’s terrified eyes and the sickening crunch under her grip. Chris mumbled a greeting, his cheeks flushing crimson as he avoided direct eye contact, setting the beer down with clumsy precision. “Sure, yeah. Hi Kira.”
The next hour crawled by, punctuated by Maya’s relentless cheerleading and stilted small talk. Kira nursed her wine, feeling the cheap merlot burn a path to her already tense stomach. Chris answered questions about the cafe, his voice soft, occasionally stumbling over words, his gaze fixed on his untouched beer bottle. He seemed genuinely sweet, nervous, utterly unlike Tom’s predatory charm. Maya kept refilling glasses, her engineer’s mind clearly ticking off boxes: Safe? Check. Willing participant? Check. Knows the assignment? Hopefully. Kira watched Chris’s long fingers fidgeting on the bottle label, remembered Maya’s promise: He just wants to serve.
“Okay!” Maya clapped her hands suddenly, standing up too fast. “Emergency! I just remembered, my neighbor needs help with her demon cat’s litter robot. It’s beeping. SOS beeping. Can’t ignore it.” She grabbed her jacket, already heading for the door. “You guys stay! Finish the wine! Chris, make yourself useful, yeah? Kira’s had one hell of a week.” She winked, a broad, unsubtle gesture, and vanished into the hallway before either could protest, the door clicking shut with finality.
Silence crashed down, thick and suffocating. Kira stared at the closed door, then at Chris, who looked like a deer caught in headlights, his ears burning scarlet. Her own cheeks felt hot. The awkwardness was a physical presence, pressing in. The image of Tom’s furious, humiliated face flashed behind her eyes, the feel of crushing bone. Not again. Not like that. Maya’s earlier words cut through the panic: You need safe. You need control. Chris wasn't Tom. He was here, nervous, because he wanted to be here, for this. The power inside her, that dense thrumming energy, seemed to quiet, waiting. Own it. Gently.
She took a deep breath, the air catching slightly in her throat. Setting her wine glass down with deliberate care, the stem chiming softly on the scarred coffee table, she pushed herself off the sofa. Chris flinched almost imperceptibly as she approached, his knuckles white on the beer bottle. Kira stopped in front of him, close enough to smell the faint citrus of his soap beneath the beer scent. He finally looked up, his hazel eyes wide, vulnerable.
“Maya talks a lot,” Kira said, her voice surprisingly steady, softer than she’d used with Tom. “Sometimes too much.” She reached out slowly, giving him time to pull away. He didn’t. Her fingers brushed against his, easing the beer bottle from his rigid grip and placing it beside her glass. His skin was warm. “She told you what I… need?”
Chris swallowed hard, a visible bob in his throat. “She… she said you liked… receiving. Oral. That you needed it.” His voice was a low rasp. “Said you wouldn’t… that you didn’t have to… reciprocate.” He looked down again, focusing intently on a scuff on his boot. “I like that. Just… doing that. Making someone feel good.” His admission hung between them, raw and honest, eroding some of Kira’s tension.
“Okay,” Kira murmured, a spark of that familiar defiance flickering, quieter this time, tempered by his vulnerability. She took his hand, her large, strong fingers engulfing his slender ones. They felt surprisingly delicate in her powerful grip, a stark contrast to the violence she was capable of. She guided him gently towards Maya’s unmade bed tucked into the corner. “Then let’s get comfortable.”
The mattress dipped as she sat on the edge, the coarse denim of her new, better-fitting jeans stretching taut over her powerful thighs. Chris stood hesitantly before her, his gaze roaming nervously over her shoulders, down to where her sweater hugged the new, fuller curve of her breasts revealed by her recent growth. He looked overwhelmed. Kira reached for the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and off over her head in one smooth motion. Her new black bra, bought hastily that afternoon, strained against the significantly larger swell of her breasts. Chris’s breath hitched audibly. Her hands went to her belt buckle, the heavy metal cool under her fingertips. She unfastened it, popped the button on her jeans, pulled down the zip. The rasp was loud in the quiet room.
“Help me with these?” she asked, her voice low, not a command, but an invitation. Chris knelt instantly, his movements jerky with nerves. His hands, trembling slightly, hooked into the waistband of her jeans and the plain cotton panties beneath. He peeled them down her legs, his knuckles brushing the coarse, wiry thatch of dark auburn hair at the apex of her thighs – the hair razors couldn’t touch. He eased the clothes off her ankles, his eyes fixed on the floor. Kira shifted back onto the bed, settling against the pillows, her legs falling slightly open. The cool air of the apartment kissed her exposed skin, making her inner thighs prickle. Chris stayed kneeling on the floor, staring at the worn rug pattern like it held the secrets of the universe. His shoulders were rigid.
“Chris,” Kira said softly. He flinched. “Look at me.” Slowly, he raised his head. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, fixed somewhere near her collarbone. “Here,” she guided, patting the space on the bed between her legs. “Come up here. It’s okay.”
He scrambled up awkwardly, knees sinking into the mattress, his posture hunched and uncertain. He was close enough now that Kira could see the faint dusting of freckles across his nose, the rapid flutter of his pulse in his neck. He smelled like coffee grounds and clean cotton. The shyness was palpable, a wall between them. Kira remembered Maya’s words: Be active. Tell him what to do. She reached out, her hand cupping his jaw, startling him. His skin was smooth, warm. She tilted his head gently, forcing his gaze down, past the swell of her breasts, past her stomach, to the dark, damp curls glistening slightly between her thighs. “This is what you want to do, right?” she murmured. “Make me feel good?”
He nodded jerkily, a strangled sound escaping his throat. His gaze was locked on her pussy, a mix of reverence and sheer terror. “Yes. Please.”
“Then do it.” Her voice was calm, firm. She slid her hand from his jaw into his soft, dark hair, not gripping, just resting, a gentle anchor. “Slowly. Like you mean it. Don’t stop until I tell you to.” She lowered her hips slightly, opening herself further to him, the wiry hair brushing against her inner thighs. “Taste me, Chris.”
A shudder went through him. He leaned in, hesitant at first, his breath warm against her sensitive skin. Then, tentatively, his tongue flicked out – a shy, feather-light stroke along her outer labia. Kira let out a soft sigh, her fingers tightening fractionally in his hair, guiding him closer. “Good. Again. More.” He obeyed, his tongue becoming bolder, tracing the dampening folds, exploring the contours with a focused intensity that belied his nervousness. He found her clit, a swollen nub already pulsing with need, and circled it slowly, experimentally. Pleasure, sharp and sudden, jolted through Kira. “Oh fuck, yes. Right there. Keep doing that.” Her hips lifted instinctively, seeking more pressure, grinding against his mouth. The raw power inside her, momentarily subdued by awkwardness, began to stir, a low hum awakening deep in her core.
Chris seemed emboldened by her response. His shyness melted into concentration. He flattened his tongue, pressing firmly against her clit, dragging it in slow, deliberate circles. The wet, sucking sounds filled the room, vulgar and intimate. He used his lips too, sucking gently on the swollen bud, then laving it with broad, wet strokes. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, came up slowly to rest on her powerful thighs, his thumbs digging gently into the dense muscle as he held her open, his face buried completely between her legs. “God, your cunt tastes so fucking good,” he mumbled against her, the words muffled, thick with saliva and desire. The unexpected filthiness from his shy mouth sent another jolt through Kira, hotter this time.
She surrendered to the sensation, the building pressure, the exquisite friction of his relentless tongue. The hum intensified, vibrating through her pelvis, up her spine. She remembered the alley, the helplessness, the crushing weight of failure. She remembered Tom, the rage, the terrifying ease with which she’d broken him. This was different. This was control. Sweet, demanding, given control. Her fingers tightened in Chris’s hair, not painfully, but firmly, holding him exactly where she needed him, grinding her pussy harder against his eager mouth. “Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t you dare stop. Make me come, Chris. Suck my clit like you fucking mean it.”
He moaned against her, the vibration adding another layer of sensation. His lips sealed around her clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitized peak. His fingers dug deeper into her thighs, holding her steady as her hips began to buck more erratically. The coil inside her wound impossibly tight, a pressure cooker about to blow. She could feel the power surging, not as a violent wave, but as a focused, expanding heat filling every cell. Her breasts felt heavy, aching against the tight bra cups. She felt taller, denser, even lying down. “I’m gonna come,” she gasped, her voice guttural, barely recognizable. “Right fucking now. Don’t stop!”
His sucking became frantic, his tongue a blur, lapping at the flood of wetness that suddenly gushed from her. Kira arched off the bed, a silent scream tearing from her throat as the orgasm detonated. It was a different kind of explosion – not the terrifying, violent release with Tom, but a deep, rolling wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure amplified by absolute control. Liquid heat pulsed out of her, soaking Chris’s chin, his neck, the sheets beneath them. The power roared back with it, a deafening hum filling her skull, her bones singing with renewed, amplified strength. Her spine seemed to lengthen against the mattress; the bra straps cut sharply into her shoulders, her swollen breasts straining the fabric to its limit. The coarse hair between her legs felt thicker, more vital. The energy was solid, immense, permanent. She collapsed back, gasping, her grip loosening in Chris’s hair.
He lifted his head slowly, his face glistening wetly in the low light, lips swollen, eyes dazed but bright with something like awe. He licked his lips slowly, tasting her, a shy smile finally breaking through. “Wow. Thanks.”