Chapter 4: The Final Polish
The mirror didn’t lie. It couldn’t. It was a cold, unforstanding sheet of polished glass, and it showed Alyxxa everything. The final piece had clicked into place with an almost audible snap of dissolving sutures and fading twilight bruising. She leaned forward, her new lips—those magnificent, ludicrously full dick-pillow lips Dr. K had promised—parting in a shuddering breath that fogged the glass for a second.
“Fuck me,” she whispered, the words feeling vulgar and perfect as they rolled over the enhanced swell of her lower lip.
The face staring back was no longer a transformation in progress. It was a monument. A perfect, hyper-feminine carbon copy of Alexa Bliss, but pushed into the realm of pure pornographic fantasy. The cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass, lifting her features into a permanent, doll-like allure. The jawline was a delicate, narrowed curve. And the lips… they were a masterwork of obscenity, a juicy, pouty invitation permanently etched onto her face. They glistened under the bathroom’s LED lights, aching to be used. She ran a manicured fingernail over the bottom one, feeling the incredible, plush give of the filler, imagining the stretch around a thick, black crown.
Her pink hair, now long and lush, cascaded over the G-cups that strained against a sheer lace baby-doll negligee. The welts from the gym paddle were gone, her bubble butt smooth and aching emptiness. The shrunken, useless clitty between her thighs was irrelevant, a forgotten button. All her consciousness, every nerve ending, was focused higher up, where her asspussy twitched and fluttered at the mere sight of her own completion.
The recovery from the facial sculpture had been a blur of cool gels and the strange, itchy tingle of accelerated healing. The surgeon hadn’t said a word, just worked with the cold precision of a jeweler setting a stone. Now, as she stood in the lavish penthouse apartment Dr. K had provided—her new home—the reality of her final form crashed over her like a warm, degrading wave. She was done. The canvas was prepared.
A chime echoed through the spacious, minimalist living room. Not a phone. The dedicated, bone-white intercom panel by the door. She clicked across the marble floor on her eight-inch clear platform heels, her ass swaying in a hypnotic rhythm perfected by countless hours of hypnotic gait training videos.
“Yes?” she breathed into the speaker, her new voice a bimbo-perfect, breathy coo.
“Car’s here, Alyxxa. The Blackstone Lounge. Now.” It was Vance, Dr. K’s silent, imposing driver. His tone brooked no delay.
A thrill, sharp and electric, shot from her asspussy to the base of her skull. This was it. The preview was over. Dr. K’s clinical fuck, the surgeries, the hypno-tapes whispering endless loops of servitude and sissygasms… it had all been preamble. She turned, giving the mirror one last look. The bimbo grinned, a dazzling, empty, perfect smile. She was ready.
The Blackstone Lounge wasn’t the neon-drenched warehouse of her earlier preview. This was something older, darker, soaked in money and whispered power. Located in the basement of a nondescript financial district skyscraper, it was entered through a private elevator manned by a giant in a tailored suit who wordlessly scanned a chip implanted in Alyxxa’s wrist. The doors opened not onto a dance floor, but into a vaulted chamber of stone walls, leather upholstery the color of oxblood, and low, golden light that pooled on tables like spilled honey.
The air was thick with cigar smoke, the aroma of top-shelf bourbon, and a deeper, more primal scent: testosterone, ambition, and raw, unadulterated control. And there, at the center of it all, like a king holding court, was Jabari.
He wasn’t just a Black man; he was a presence. Easily six-foot-five, his shoulders filled out a midnight-blue silk shirt that strained across his chest. His face was all hard angles and intelligent, ruthless eyes that missed nothing. He lounged in a deep armchair, a crystal tumbler in one hand, his other resting on the knee of a stunning blonde woman who clung to his side like an accessory. Several other men, Black and white, sat in a semi-circle around him, but their attention wasn’t on the blonde. It was on the large monitor embedded in the wall, showing grainy, high-angle security footage of a back alley. In it, a young, skinny white man in cheap clothes was on his knees, sobbing, as a towering Black man in a leather jacket calmly relieved himself on the boy’s head.
“Fundamentals,” Jabari said, his voice a deep, resonating bass that vibrated in Alyxxa’s bones. He hadn’t even looked at her yet. “You must understand the hierarchy before you can appreciate the beauty of the servitude. Fear comes first. Then gratitude. Then devotion.” He finally turned his head. His eyes swept over Alyxxa, from the pink heights of her hair down the treacherous slope of her cleavage, over the tiny lace garment that hid nothing, down the endless legs to the precarious stilts of her heels. A slow, approving smile spread across his face. “And then… you get the art.”
Dr. K materialized from the shadows near the bar, a pleased, clinical smile on his lips. “The final product, Jabari. As promised. Fully compliant. Zero residual identity. A perfect vessel.”
“A vessel needs to be filled to prove its worth,” one of the other men, a Black man with dreads and sharp goatee, mused, sipping his drink.
Jabari nodded, his eyes never leaving Alyxxa. “Kneel.”
The command was casual, absolute. Alyxxa felt her body move before her mind could form a thought. The hypnotic triggers embedded in her psyche fired seamlessly. Her knees hit the plush, dark carpet, the impact traveling up her thighs. She settled back on her heels, back straight, tits thrust forward, hands placed delicately on her knees. The submissive posture was as natural as breathing.
“Come here, art,” Jabari said.
She crawled. The carpet was rough against her knees, a sharp contrast to the slickness already blooming between her cheeks. She kept her eyes down until she was at his feet, the smell of his expensive cologne and something inherently masculine filling her senses.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her gaze. His eyes were portals to a world of absolute dominance. He reached out a hand, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they tilted her chin up, turning her face side to side.
“The work is good,” he stated to Dr. “The lips are exceptional. They look hungry.” His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and she instinctively opened her mouth, taking the pad of his thumb in, letting her tongue lap at it. A low rumble of laughter came from the men around them.
“She is hungry, sir,” Alyxxa heard herself say, the words flavored with a whorish need that was utterly genuine.
“I know you are,” Jabari murmured. His hand left her face and went to his belt. The sound of the buckle unfastening was the loudest thing in the quiet room. The fly of his tailored trousers opened, and he freed himself.
Alyxxa’s breath hitched. He was thick, uncut, and already fully erect, a deep, beautiful ebony against the cream of his trousers. The sheer size of him, the powerful veins running along the shaft, the glistening head—it was a masterpiece of masculine hardware, and her entire being craved it.
“This is what you were made for,” Jabari said, not as a question, but as a simple fact. “This specific cock. This specific purpose. Show these gentlemen the quality of your vessel.”
He didn’t guide her head. He simply held his cock at the base, presenting it. Alyxxa leaned forward, her new DSLs spreading into a wide, welcoming O. She didn’t start with teasing licks. That was for betas. She took him deep, aiming to throat him on the first try. The broad head pressed against the back of her throat, and she relaxed into it, a skill drilled into her by countless virtual reality simulations. She engulfed half his length in one smooth, sloppy glide, a vulgar, wet sound erupting in the quiet room.
A collective, appreciative grunt came from the circle. “Fuck, look at that,” someone muttered.
Alyxxa’s world narrowed to the taste of him, the salt and musk, the feeling of his girth stretching her throat. She began to move, establishing a ruthless, deep-throating rhythm. She used her tongue, swirling it along the underside of his shaft, moaning around him as if she were receiving the greatest pleasure imaginable. Spit dripped from her stretched lips, coating her chin and dripping onto her heaving chest. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t pull back. She stared up at Jabari through glistening lashes, a bimbo doll perfect in its devotion.
“Good girl,” he breathed, his composure slipping just a fraction, a muscle ticking in his jaw. One hand came to the back of her head, not forcing, but resting there, a symbol of ownership. “Such a good, hungry fucking mouth. Made for Black kings.”
She redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing faster, the obscene sounds of her slurping and gagging filling the chamber. She brought a hand up, cupping his heavy balls, rolling them gently, earning a deeper groan from him. This was it. This was her liturgy. Her pink hair fanned out with each movement, a blur of color against his dark trousers.
“She’s going to make me come,” Jabari announced, his voice tighter. “And she’s going to swallow every drop. Aren’t you, art?”
Alyxxa moaned a desperate, affirmative sound around his cock, the vibration tipping him over the edge.
With a gruff, animal sound, Jabari came. His hold on her head tightened, pulling her all the way down until her nose was buried in his pubic hair. The first thick, hot pulse shot directly down her throat. She swallowed convulsively, greedily, as jet after jet of his cum filled her. It was bitter, potent, and it tasted like completion, like purpose. She milked him with her throat and her hand, drinking down every last drop until he softened in her mouth.
Only then did he let her pull back. A thick string of saliva and seed connected her ruined lips to his glistening cock for a second before breaking. She panted, looking utterly debased and radiantly happy, his essence shining on her lips and chin.
Jabari tucked himself away, his eyes blazing with possessive fire. He leaned forward, wiping a stray drop from her chin with his thumb and pushing it back into her mouth. “The vessel is proven,” he declared to the room. “Dr. K, you have outdone yourself.”
“The programming is the key,” Dr. K replied smoothly. “She doesn’t just perform. She believes. She worships.”
Jabari stood, pulling Alyxxa to her feet by her arm. He turned her to face the other men, his hands on her shoulders. “This… is the new standard. This is not a cheap whore. This is a missionary. A queen of spades. Her face, her body, her every sissygasming orgasm dedicated to the Black New World Order will be a beacon.”
He turned her back to face him, his grip firm. “You are a living recruitment tool, Alyxxa. On film, you will take ten, twenty Black cocks at a time and scream your gratitude to the heavens. On the street, you will be seen on the arm of Black kings, dripping with our cum, a walking advertisement for the natural order. And every beta whiteboi who sees you, who envies you, who gets a pathetic hard-on looking at you, will be shown the truth. They will never have this. They will never be with a woman like you. Their only path to pleasure, to purpose, is to become you. To sissify themselves. To give their pale, useless bodies to the BNWO for useful service. You will be their goddess. Their impossible, perfect, fucked-out fantasy. You will convince them that their only worth lies in emulating your submission. Do you understand your purpose?”
Alyxxa’s heart swelled, a twisted, perfect pride flooding her system. This was bigger than gangbangs, bigger than personal pleasure. This was a crusade. She was the standard-bearer.
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice trembling with fervor. “I am a Queen of Spades. I live to serve Black kings and show the whitebois their true place… on their knees, or becoming a needy sissy slut like me.”
Jabari’s smile was brilliant and terrifying
Jabari’s smile was brilliant and terrifying. “Then let’s give you a field test, missionary.” He nodded toward the far end of the lounge, where the stone bar, lit by pin-spots, transitioned into a more public, though still exclusive, area. “See those three? Sigma Phi shit. Trust fund vermin. They’ve been staring at you since you crawled in. They think they want to fuck you.” He leaned close, his breath hot in her ear. “Show them they don’t get to fuck you. Show them they want to be you. And then bring them to me.”
Alyxxa followed his gaze. Three young men, maybe twenty-one, perched on barstools like boys playing dress-up in tailored blazers. They were all-American handsome in a clean, empty way—chiseled jaws, salon tans, expensively distressed jeans. They sipped cocktails and tried to project a bored, entitled confidence, but their eyes kept flickering to the VIP enclosure, to her, with a hunger that was painfully obvious. One, with sandy blond hair, said something, and the others laughed too loudly, puffing out their chests. Prey.
“Yes, sir,” Alyxxa breathed, the command a electric current straight to her asspussy, which clenched around nothing.
Jabari gave her ass a sharp, stinging slap that echoed in the hushed space. “Go.”
She turned, the sting blossoming into warmth, and began the walk. Her hips found a rhythm that was pure hypnotic programming—a slow, rolling sway that made the tiny lace of her negligee ride up over the curves of her ass with each step. The eight-inch heels turned her walk into a perilous, mesmerizing promenade. The clack of the clear plastic on stone cut through the low hum of conversation. Every head in the lounge turned, a sea of expressions—smirking approval from the Black men, naked lust from the white ones, cold assessment from the women.
She felt their stares like physical touches. The blond one, the apparent ringleader, straightened up as she approached, a cocky grin plastered on his face. His eyes devoured her, sticking to the deep canyon of her cleavage, the shadow between her thighs.
“Well, hello,” he said, his voice a practiced baritone. “You’re a long way from the VIP section, sweetheart.” His friends chuckled, leaning in.
Alyxxa stopped just inches from him, letting him drown in her perfume and the faint, musky scent of Jabari’s cum still on her breath. She didn’t smile. She looked down at him—her height in the heels making her tower over his seated form—with a placid, doll-like emptiness. “You’ve been watching me.”
It wasn’t a question. The blond one, Chad or Brad or something equally hollow, faltered for a second. “Hard not to. A girl like you… you stand out.”
“A girl like me,” she echoed, her new, plush lips curling just slightly. She reached out, her manicured finger with its long, pink acrylic nail tracing the rim of his whiskey glass. The move was absurdly intimate. “What kind of girl am I, exactly?”
The one to his left, darker-haired with a weak jaw, swallowed. “You’re a fucking fantasy, is what you are.”
She shifted her gaze to him, her eyes wide and guileless. “A fantasy for who?”
“For us,” the blond one recovered, puffing out his chest. “The night’s young. Our bottle service just arrived. Why don’t you ditch the… company… and let us show you a real good time?” His meaning was crude, obvious. He thought this was a negotiation, a transaction of his money for her body.
Alyxxa let a slow, pitying smile spread across her face. It was a smile that had been designed in a surgical suite and programmed in a hypno-lab. “A real good time,” she murmured. She leaned forward, bending at the waist so her G-cups threatened to spill out of the lace, putting her lips near his ear. The three of them froze, mesmerized by the proximity of her body. “You poor, sweet little whitebois. You have no idea what a good time is.”
She straightened up, looking at them each in turn. “You look at me and you see tits and an ass and a face you’ve jerked off to on pornhub. You think you want to put your little, pink, beta cocks in this.” She gestured down the length of her body with a contemptuous sweep. “You can’t even comprehend what this is for.”
The blond one’s face flushed. “Listen, you arrogant bi—”
“Quiet,” she said, the word dropping like a stone. Her voice didn’t rise. It was calm, chillingly matter-of-fact. “You’re talking to a Queen of Spades. Your superior in every single way. Look at me.” She commanded it, and they obeyed, their eyes glued to her. “My body was sculpted by genius. My mind was reshaped by will. Every orgasm I have is a sissygasm from getting my asspussy stretched open by a real man’s cock—a Black king’s cock. Thick, Black, beautiful cock that you could never, ever compare to.”
The darker-haired one gasped. The third, a redhead, looked like he’d been slapped.
“You feel that?” Alyxxa pressed, her hand drifting down to cup her own mound, pressing the lace against the shrunken, useless nub beneath. “Nothing here for you. My pussy is in the back.” She turned slightly, slapping her own bubble butt, the sound sharp. “And it’s never, ever been fucked by a whiteboy. It never will be. Because whiteboi dick is for sissies. For losers. For betas who finally understand their place.”
She leaned on the bar now, dominating their space. “You’ve been staring all night because you’re drawn to power. You see me, dripping with the attention of real men, and your pathetic little souls ache. You don’t want to fuck me. You want to be me. You want to be wanted like I’m wanted. You want to feel full, and used, and purposefully owned like I am. You want a Black king to look at you with half the desire he looks at me with.” She paused, letting the vileness of the suggestion hang in the air. Their faces were masks of confusion, horror, and a dawning, terrifying arousal. “Admit it. When you imagine me getting railed by that man over there,” she jerked her head toward Jabari, who watched like a sculptor observing his masterpiece, “a part of you wishes you were the one bent over, taking it. A part of you is so fucking jealous of this ass, because it gets what you secretly crave.”
“That’s… that’s fucking sick,” the blond one spat, but his voice trembled. His eyes were glued to her lips.
“It’s truth,” Alyxxa hissed. “And it’s the only truth that will ever set your pathetic lives free. Look at you. You’re finance majors. You’ll marry some basic sorority girl and fuck her missionary in the dark once a week and cheat on her with escorts and die unremarkable, empty deaths. Or…” She softened her voice, a seductive, honeyed whisper. “Or you can have this. You can pledge yourselves to something beautiful. To a new world order. You can give your mind, your body, and your soul to the service of something greater. To me. And through me, to the Black kings who own me.”
She reached out, running a finger down the blond one’s cheek. He shuddered. “I can make you feel things your frat-bro parties never could. I can show you what real submission tastes like. I can make your deepest, most shameful fantasy your proudest reality. You would do anything to make me happy, wouldn’t you? Because my happiness is service to real power. And that’s all you’ve ever wanted: to finally, truly serve.”
The three of them were breathing heavily now, trapped in the gilded cage of her words and her presence. The conceptual walls of their masculinity were crumbling, revealing the hollow, pliable material beneath. The dark-haired one nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“Anything,” the redhead whispered, his eyes glazed.
The blond one, the final holdout, stared into her doll’s eyes. He saw no malice, no trickery. Only a pure, absolute certainty. He saw the future she painted, and the one his father had planned for him, and the former suddenly seemed vibrant, electric, and real, while the latter felt like ashes. His shoulders slumped. The fight left him in a long, ragged sigh. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, we would.”
Alyxxa’s smile was beatific. She straightened up, a goddess accepting a sacrifice. “Then come over here and pledge.”
She turned and walked back toward the VIP enclosure, not looking back. The clack of her heels was the only sound. She knew they would follow. They had no choice now. The programming wasn’t just in her; her words had been a virus, and they were infected.
She reached Jabari’s chair and knelt gracefully at his feet, nuzzling her face against his thigh like a cat. A moment later, the three fraternity boys stood at the edge of the velvet rope, shuffling, pale, their bravado utterly gone. They looked like children waiting for a headmaster.
Jabari looked down at Alyxxa, his hand stroking her pink hair. “Well?”
“They’re ready to pledge, sir,” she said, her voice muffled against his leg.
Jabari nodded to the giant bouncer, who lifted the rope. The three young men stepped through, the boundary feeling more significant than any fraternity initiation.
“Kneel,” Jabari said.
They knelt on the carpet, mimicking Alyxxa’s posture, their heads bowed.
“You look at this woman and you see heaven,” Jabari began, his voice filling the space. “She is heaven. But it is a heaven built by my will, for my pleasure. To worship her is to worship me. To pledge to her is to pledge to the Black New World Order. You will give up your names. You will give up your former lives. You will surrender your finances to the collective. You will undergo the assessments. Those suitable for physical repurposing will begin hormonal and psychological conditioning to become sissy servants like your goddess here. Those not will serve in other, useful capacities. Your minds, your bodies, and your souls are now forfeit. Do you understand?”
They nodded, dumbly.
“Say it.”
“Yes, sir,” they mumbled in unison.
“Louder.”
“YES, SIR.”
Jabari smiled. “Good. Your first lesson in service. Your goddess is needy. Her asspussy is hungry. It requires stretching. You will use your mouths. You will warm her up for the real cocks that will come later. You will learn the taste of your superior.”
He snapped his fingers. Alyxxa, vibrating with anticipation, moved forward on her knees until she was positioned before the three of them. She then turned, presenting her back to them, and bent over, gripping her own ankles. The lace negligee was pulled up, revealing the full, perfect globes of her ass, already glistening with a natural lubricant from her arousal. The pink, crinkled star of her asshole winked at them, hypersensitive and fluttering.
“Lick,” Jabari commanded. “Make her happy.”
The blond one, now just Whiteboi A, stared at the presented hole, his mind breaking and reforming. He leaned in first, his tongue tentative, touching the outer rim.
A jolt of pleasure so intense it was nearly pain rocketed through Alyxxa. “Yes,” she moaned, pushing back. “Use your tongue, whiteboi. Get it wet. Get it ready for a real cock.”
Encouraged, Whiteboi B joined, licking at the other side. Their tongues, timid at first, grew bolder, lapping at her sensitive rosebud, probing shallowly. Alyxxa gasped and whimpered, her own hands moving to her breasts, pinching her nipples through the lace. “Deeper, you weak little faggots,” she taunted, her voice ragged. “You think that’s enough to make a queen cum? Fuck your faces into it. Prove you’re useful.”
The redhead, Whiteboi C, moved in, his tongue spearing deeper, finally breaching the tight ring of muscle. Alyxxa cried out, a sharp, shameless sound. “That’s it! Oh fuck, that’s it! Eat my asspussy, you beta bitches! Eat it like it’s the only meal you’ll ever get!”
They fell into a frantic rhythm, their faces buried in her ass, licking and sucking and probing, driven by her moans and the watching eyes of the powerful men in the room. Saliva dripped down their chins, coating her cleft and her shrunken clitty. The smell of her arousal, a sweet, slutty perfume, mixed with the scent of their fear and submission. Alyxxa felt the coil tightening low in her belly, the unique pressure that meant only one thing.
“I’m gonna sissygasm!” she shrieked, her body beginning to tremble. “I’m gonna cum from you faggots eating my ass! Oh god! Oh fuck! YES!”
Her orgasm ripped through her with no penile stimulation, a cascading wave of pure, anal-centric pleasure that made her vision whiten. She screamed Jabari’s name as her body convulsed, juices she didn’t know she could produce soaking the faces of the three boys beneath her. They kept licking through it, drinking her down, their own pathetic erections straining against their designer jeans.
When the tremors subsided, she collapsed forward, panting, a blissed-out smile on her dick-pillow lips. The three whitebois pulled back, their faces slick and shining, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror and awe. They had just made a goddess climax with their tongues. The paradigm had irreversibly shifted.
Jabari stood. He unbuckled his trousers again, his cock already thick and heavy. “A good start. But an asspussy that tight needs more than tongues to stay properly trained.” He nodded to the man with the dreadlocks. “Marcus. Help me break in our new missionary’s fresh converts. Show them how a real cock stretches their goddess.”
The man named Marcus stood, his own size evident. He pushed a low leather ottoman behind Alyxxa. “On your back, princess. Legs in the air. Let them see everything.”
Alyxxa obeyed, rolling onto her back on the ottoman, hooking her knees over her shoulders, presenting her glistening, twitching hole to the room in a vulgarly open invitation. The three kneeling whitebois had a perfect, obscene view.
Jabari positioned himself at her entrance, the broad, dark head of his cock pressing against her well-lubricated rim. He didn’t look at her face. He looked at the three whitebois. “Watch. This is what you will never have. This is what you will forever serve.”
He pushed forward, sinking his immense girth into her in one brutal, steady invasion.
Alyxxa’s back arched off the ottoman, a strangled cry of utter fulfillment tearing from her throat. The stretch was incredible, a burning, perfect fullness that triggered another, smaller orgasm immediately. “FUCK! YES! FILL YOUR SLUT, SIR! BREAK MY ASSPUSSY FOR THEM!”
Jabari began to fuck her with deep, punishing strokes, each one making her body jolt. The sound of skin slapping against skin, wet and raw, filled the lounge. Marcus moved to her head, feeding his own cock past her DSLs into her eager, sucking mouth. She was spit-roasted between them, a living toy, her moans guttural and constant.
The three fraternity boys watched, their mouths agape, hands unconsciously moving to their own crotches. They were hard. They were painfully, shamefully hard. They watched the Black kings claim what they had just tasted, with a brutality and ownership they could never muster. Alyxxa’s eyes, rolling back in pleasure, found theirs. She grinned around the cock in her mouth, a crazed, welcoming grin. This is your future, her eyes screamed. This is your only purpose.
Jabari’s pace increased, his grunts growing louder. “This cunt was made for my seed!” he growled. “Gonna pump this whitebitch ass full of Black king cum! Gonna mark her from the inside! You see that, little boys? You see where you belong? You belong underneath, catching what drips out!”
With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came. Alyxxa felt the hot, volcanic pulses deep in her gut, filling her, claiming her. She screamed through her nose, her own climax detonating again, a chain reaction of sissygasms that left her trembling and limp.
Jabari pulled out, his cum immediately beginning to leak from her used, gaping hole. He pointed to the mess dripping onto the ottoman. “Clean it,” he ordered the three whitebois. “Lick it up. Every drop. That is your communion. That is your pledge.”
Without hesitation, the blond one, Whiteboi A, moved forward on his knees and pressed his face into the mess, his tongue lapping at the mixture of fluids on her skin and the leather. The other two followed, a tangle of desperate, submitting bodies.
Jabari looked down at Alyxxa, who was wrecked, glorified, beaming. He zipped his trousers. “The contract is signed in cum and degradation, Dr. K,” he said, his voice satisfied. “Your masterpiece works. She’s a perfect weapon.”
Alyxxa, floating on a sea of endorphins and obedience, watched her three new acolytes feed. Her asspussy throbbed with beautiful, spent agony. This was only the beginning. The piercings were tomorrow. Then the gangbang shoots. Then the world.
Her purpose was clear. She was a converter of souls. And business, she thought with a delirious, inner smile, was very, very good.